#the crimson clown's threat

[atomic-chronoscaph]

The Crimson Clown's Threat - art by John A. Coughlin (1931)

[barkingbonzo]

John A. Coughlin The Crimson Clown's Threat, 1931

John A. Coughlin was born in Chicago in 1885 and was educated at Notre Dame and the Art Institute of Chicago.  Like many of the artists of the pulp era, he got his start in advertising.  He first started painting covers in 1913 and, for the next thirty years, he was a busy illustrator.  Among his credits: The Popular and Detective Story, Argosy, Complete Stories, Detective Fiction Weekly, Detective Tales, Real Western, Short Stories, Top-Notch, and Wild West Weekly.  He was only 58 when he died in 1943 but he left behind a long legacy of pulp art.

[dare-g]

Made The Crimson Clown 🤡

[yandere-romanticaa]

🍂 tear you apart.

❝ i want to hold you close, soft breasts, beating heart. as i whisper in your ear - i want to fucking tear you apart. ❞

yandere! various! ghostface! characters x gn! reader.

inspired by the song "tear you apart" by she wants revenge.

just a compilation of characters that i think would be interesting for this. happy friday the 13th!

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 ! (genshin impact.)

After years of training and endless carnage, it's only natural for a person to develop specific tastes for the darker aspects of life. Battle and blood were Childe's bread and butter but due to his friendly and frankly charming exterior no one could tell that the young man was a ruthless killer.

Provided that he hides his Harbinger status that is.

There were times when his status was a hastle but there were always some perks, always some string for him to pull and make everything go in the way he wanted them to go. Sometimes, that would include people.

But now, that included you.

Upon first meeting him there was an addictive and boyish charm to the ginger haired man and he had you completely wrapped around his fingers. His pockets were deep but so was his heart and frankly, how dare you just steal it? How dare you be so careless? Don't get him wrong, he wasn't mad per say but he still wanted to teach you a lesson or two, just to make it all stick to your feeble little mind.

He started with your neighbors first.

Childe watches comfortably from high above, hidden away in a tea shop as natives of Liyue Harbor scamper back to their homes as darkness nears. A serial killer is on the loose and the shop owner in which Childe was in had no idea that he just served the man responsible for the deaths of 3 different families. He sipped his tea with content, his heart pounding with excitement. The blade in his pocket was itching for its next victim but he had to be patient.

Patience was a virtue after all.

And once he was done, he was going to claim his prize.

In the meantime, he was going to be nothing less than a sweet and doting friend who was just worried for you. It was only a matter of time when you would fall into his greedy hands and you didn't even know it.

𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐋 ! (bungo stray dogs.)

Meeting him was not by choice but you were bound by fate, or so the clown liked to tease.

He stopped you on the street in order to show you a card trick. It was simple but it did the job, he impressed you even if just barely. You'd sigh and turn your head but Nikolai did not fail to see the blush on your cheeks.

He was a man on a mission. Why not indulge himself, just for a little bit?

The public always was fond of a good show and why not give them one in the form of a crazy mass murderer? Donning on a mask and a long black cape his escapade began, his ability was so useful for this.

However, you were always his favorite target.

It started out small, at first. He would use his ability to touch you and to steal your things, particularly if he knew you were alone at home. Seeing that confused expression on your face became a past time of his. His fingers would brush against your cheeks, his touch barely there, like a wandering phantom. Sometimes he would be bolder and press his hand gently against your ribs, maybe even be cheeky and smack your behind ever so playfully.

After a few weeks of this song and dance, watching wasn't enough.

You answered his first call, which pleased him greatly. He gave you impossible riddles and forced you to answer humiliating and degrading questions, all under the threat that he was in your house and was going to kill you lest you complied.

Of course, he had no intentions of doing that. Perhaps he would one day. But for now, he would continue to paint the streets crimson with blood and make you squirm in your seat.

It became his reason for living.

𝐊𝐀𝐅𝐊𝐀 & 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 ! (honkai star rail.)

Ah, these two psychos. Where do I start?

Their plans are at first glance, all over the place. Attacks are random and they do not necessarily always go for the big fish too. Sometimes it's a poor street vendor who was just doing their job but his life meant nothing in the end.

Kafka was the main mastermind. Blade was the one who did most of the dirty work.

Her plans were meticulous, deadly. She would come crawling to you from the shadows, her jacket draped over your shoulders as she'd coo into your ear, her face bloody from her latest victim as she toyed with her mask, a carefree smile on her face. You couldn't see him but Blade was also behind you, his presence was impossible to miss. He was large and imposing, like a phantom that couldn't find peace.

Could you perhaps give him something that he couldn't have? If he can't have you in life, can he have you in death?

There was no escaping them, never ever. Dare to try and there would be consequences.

They were so in love with you to the point of madness. The question was - were they going to keep you alive and leashed or were they just that insane to stab you in the heart?

If they can't have you, no one can.

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 ! (Moriarty the Patriot.)

The streets of London are filled to the brim with gossip and paranoia as the Lord of Crime made his move the previous evening, slaughtering yet another poor noble in his family home. The papers reported that his own children found the corpse, the poor little things.

You hurried to show William the morning paper, morbidly curious about his opinion on this.

Said man could be found lounging about in a cushy, plush red love seat, a hot cup of tea served in front of him by none other than his brother. The two were lost in their own chatter until you abruptly stopped them. Like a sudden storm you pounced on William, his red eyes widening in shock as he tried to calm you down with a sweet smile on his face. You bombarded him with endless questions - who could do something like this, why was it this messy, was the killer sending a message? - all of it came out at such lightning speed that William didn't really understand half of what you said.

It was wrong to corner him like this and let out your frustrations on the man this early in the morning. You knew every single person that died in these past few weeks, all of which were either minor annoyances or massive obstacles in your day to day life.

When it came down to it, their only connection was with you.

Was the police going to come knocking at your door? It was possible! You had no involvement with the crimes but it was incredibly suspicious how everything was connected, like a spiderweb that was being crafted day by day.

It was difficult for William to keep his smirk concealed that morning.

Hours had passed since that interaction and he was back at it, his new victim. He incorporated the fact that you were most likely going to be incriminated in this scheme but it was still in his best interest. It was not difficult to tamper with evidence and blackmail people if need be and best of all, you would always come running to him, scared and worried, for both yourself and the people around you. It was beyond precious how you tell him to not go after sun down, how you made sure to check to see if he was injured or ill.

If you kept doting him like this, he might just slit the throat of every single person that steps foot into London.

[proxylynn]

How powerful do you think mammon is?

[Now here we have a real toughy because the Sins aren't power ranked or scaled to my knowledge. That and I am unsure how their sin affects them like a boost or if that's even a thing (for example; more lust or just being in Lust Ring adds power for Ozzie). For Mammon, I do think he is strong, might be one of the most powerful Sins we've seen so far based on a few things. If I do go with "the more doing that sin, they get a boost" thing, then it's obvious that Mammon is jacked with power. Ozzie, Bee, and Lucifer appear strong but with control of the strength of their sin, but Mammon is so swoll with greed and the greed from others that it comes seeping out as those electric surges when he gets intense. Another reason I think he's strong is because he is the clown. No one takes him seriously and he plays to it, using/exploiting everything around him as, despite his dorkiness, he is intelligent and incredibly skilled in manipulation. Who would look at him and think he's a serious threat? No one. If he's so strong why didn't he fight Ozzie? Because there are rules that even the Sin are bound to and Mammon's skillet is more about using intimidation first. (Also just coming out in a power battle is more of a Satan thing and Mammon can't show all his powers right away) My theory on how the show will go forward with Mammon is that they may make him the true antagonist but downplay him as a threat till all the pieces fall into place. The remaining episodes of HB season 2 are called "The Full Moon", "Apology Tour", "Ghostf**kers", "Mastermind", "Sinsmas", and the last two are TBA. Out of those I can see a few where Mammon can be used for. Apology Tour sounds very Fizzarolli to me, so the Glam Sisters might be there to throw shade and fuck with his confidence to make Fizzy believe without Mammon's promotion that no one liked him at all (fishy bitches). Mastermind could be Crimson teaming up with Mammon out of desperation for revenge and figures he's clever enough to manipulate a Sin like he nearly did with Ozzi. Mammon, however, would be the one pulling the strings and setting the stage for Crimson's demise in a "kill two birds with one stone" deal. And Sinsmas is gonna be very interesting as this might be a rare point of all 7 sins being in an episode (though they may cut out Luci to not crossover HH) and it could be here that things get very juicy. Mammon could intentionally be absolutely good and everyone, justifiably, calls bullshit on his act yet he keeps it up to cast doubt. Only after do the seeds of his actions take root, as when Mammon slips away do the previous enemies strike, maybe even make a callback to the D.H.O.R.K.S. agents from season 1 who might have made a deal for reasons, but unfortunately for Mammon this goes south and now with this attack it's a declaration. One that won't go well for anyone.]

{Kinda went off course at the end there, but I hope it does show how strong I think Mammon is/can be.}

[anechomirrored]

Prompt:     "Come with me, hurry."

Fandom: fnaf sb, apocaplex au

Rating: G

Warnings: non detailed panic attack at the end.

    "Come with me, hurry." Said the rasping voice to your right.

After a moments hesitation you followed the darting red glow of the attendant's eyes into the shadows. just as you passed under a piece of twisted rebar marking a cave in, the familiar sound of heavy metal footsteps reached your ears.

You moved quickly, straining your eyes to see any obstacles the darkness held. Broken concrete cracked and shifted under foot. You had to stop moving soon if the sound of unoiled joints down the hall behind you was anything to go by.

"Troublemaker, you get this far?" The growling voice of Monty echoed off the delapitated hallways.

You picked up the pace, the scavenged parts and equipment in your back connecting uncomfortably with your spine with every uneven stride.

Your retreat was brought up short as your hands met a wall of rubble.

Iron, concrete, platic and crumpled bots were piled up in a horrific mess where the upper floor had come down entirely. Far above your head a ventilation shaft sagged down from the ceiling to the floor above. It's yawning mouth held only more darkness. You frantically searched the surrounding space for that red glow.

"Moon?" You whiper shouted, the panic in you voice making it squeak.

He...he wouldn't have left you, right?

Sun said they wanted to help.

"There you are!" You jolted at the sudden closness of Monty's voice.

Turning around with gasp you found yourself looking up into the face of one of your childhood's stars. His casing was cracked and torn away in places . His shades sat crooked, giving you a glimpse of his rather intense gaze.

He didn't look happy to see you here.

Why would he?

Humans had been attempting raids on the pizzaplex for years. This place was said to be a scavenger's dream.

It was why you had come after all.

You felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of Sun's excitement. Did he really think you just came back to visit?

You barely remembered them. You had steered clear of the animatronics mostly.

Just because your dad had fixed them didn't mean you'd liked them.

They had terrified you.

You took a step back and your back hit the imovable debris behind you. A tremor came back into your hands as the realization of how trapped you were settled in your gut like a stone.

A flash of metal and tattered stars dropped from the ceiling. You cried out, the sudden movement causing you to flinch back, striking your head on the wall.

The attendant stood crouched, like an animal ready to pounce. His back was to you, crimson optics bathing the other animatronic's broken features in a frightful glow.

He had made almost no noise, a feat that you couldn't comprehend.

The others were so noisy.

No wonder scrappers went missing in here so often...

Your scattered thoughts were snapped back to the scene in front of you as Monty let out a staticky noice of distaste.

"What are you doing, clown?" He growled.

Moon's faceplate tilted one way then the other before he let out a blood chilling giggle.

"Not this one, she's a guest."

"You must be glitching, Moon Man. We don't get guests anymore-"

"Check the registry." Moon's tone was biting, his fingers twitched, the exposed metal tips glinting like claws.

The growl that left Monty was gutteral. Too organic sounding for a creature made of metal and circuitry.

There was a silence, only interrupted by the sound of rusted joints as the gator animatronic flexed his claws.

Your mind went absently to the half bottle of oil you found in the basement.

"Tch, so they were a guest once," snarled Monty. "that doesn't mean-"

"Sunny likes her. Don't do anything you will regret." The threat was clear and after another beat, Monty threw a punch at the wall to his right.

Concrete cracked under the strike and dust flew up.

"Fine, keep it but if I find them in the Row..." he didn't finish, opting to storm off.

It wasn't until you felt an unsettlingly familiar grip on your shoulders that you realized you were hyperventilating. You let out a strangled sound, eyes darting up to meet Moon's optics.

"You are okay, little thief. He will not hurt you." Cool metal fingers combed through your disheveled hair.

"Come, you need to sleep." The attendant said softly.

You took a shakey breath and not for the first time, wished you hadn't gone scavenging here, of all places.

[fizziifrxg]

"your bullshit's costing mammon and me a pretty penny, clown. for your sake, ya best hope your royal financier is 'round when he comes knocking." the don says plainly, threat evident in his calm demeanour, "no debts go unsettled in greed."

Fizzarolli should of known better than to think that his problems would go away once he cut Mammon off like the tumor that he was. No, of course this was just going to open him up to a whole new world of problems. Mammon or any of his underlings weren't just going to let him walk away, and that much was apparent with Crimson right in his face.

He honestly could of gone the rest of his life without seeing his mug again, he just wasn't that lucky.

"LOOK- both you and Mammon can just go fuck yourselves, an NOT in a sexy way. It's not like he lost his cash cow, in fact he gained TWO MORE when I left. So as far as I'm concerned, I have nothin' else to do with him."

With Asmodeus backing him up, it was easier to speak up for himself like this.

[talesofsonicasura]

Clowning Around Excerpt

Clown and Shadow

Thought of toying around with an MK from one of my AUs meeting his canon counterpart. Canon Lego Monkie Kid universe will always be in Lego style cause I find a human being stuck in a world of Lego people and vice versa hilarious. I'll be giving each major character of each AU a nickname if I ever wrote them meeting their canon counterpart. Clowning Around MK's nickname will be LC or Little Clown.

A normal Lego person is half the height of an average human man. BTW, I been suffering some writer's block so I trying to clear it up. This takes place in S3 but there isn't any spoilers. Enjoy this conflict involving two Tumblr Sexymen. Yeah, Tricky is a Tumblr Sexyman, got in before Macaque even was a concept. You can say the clown is his senior. 😂

To the Six Eared Macaque, capturing Sun Wukong's little successor shouldn't have been so difficult. His previous unlocked powers were stolen by 'his' lady's Bone Mech like her destiny script said. Yet, it seems fate decided a slight change was in order.

An alternate version that looked completely out of place. So much taller, too 'roundish' and detailed in appearance…oh can't forget the fucking zombie clown companion. It didn't look unnatural like his partner but the being was way too round and had no arms just floating hands.

Macaque already knew LBD would want him to catch this otherworldly MK copy alongside the little zombie as well. No doubt be pissed about the new cog in her grand plan. The details didn't matter since his Smoke Monster would be enough.

Kid only defeated it last time because the Monkey King was there. But now he's powerless and by assumption, this second MK probably shared the same experience. Yet, nothing could prepare him for what came next. "It's Jester Time!"

A single shout from this strange version of his former student and everything just…glitched. The once blue sky now eaten by blood red as the light brown ground had decayed to a dead grey. But the biggest change came when the little clown set ablaze this strange MK alongside itself in crimson fire.

With the flames soon splitting to pieces from the dance of a masked theatre clown mockery. Even the kid nearly fell on his ass seeing this stunt. Macaque could barely blink when a line flash onto his Smoke Monster. Shock and horror churn in his gut seeing the shadowy giant split in two like a banana peel. Spinning behind the head of the dying summon… is a cudgel.

Pure steel capped by clumpy gold on one side and muddle silver on the other, both sides engulfed by crimson fire in the shape of an Emergency Stop Sign. It spun back into the masked clown's welcoming long green rotten tail. The hairs on Macaque's neck rose upon the raspy distorted laughter rumbling behind the creature's monkey mask.

"Nice try, little Six! Your Smoke Monster went out like a fart in the wind!" His face hot red in fury as the original kid snickered. "Fart in the wind! I'm definitely using that from now on." Macaque called upon his shadow cudgel for any fear quickly became rage at the mockery.

The zombie performer however danced at the threat, his own cudgel expertly spun in the grasp of that rotten tail. "Oh little Six wants to play? Yay! Just know…" The twisted staff flung into the air like a boomerang, spiralling around the jester. Only when the smile on that bastardized mask spark red did the fusion snatch his cudgel.

'Danger', 'Error', 'Die', 'Suffer' and 'Weakling' flashed throughout the air in the form of glitching blood red text. The flaming Emergency Sign ends of the cudgel now point towards Macaque in equal challenge.

"Jester tends to break playmates."

Until next time folks, continue to thrive in the madness and I'll see you back at Megapolis.

Main AU

Jester

[painprns]

Horror & Edgy Neopronouns

CW: Illegal activity. TW: Violent actions, murder, stalking, body parts, weapons, and religious themes. A lot of the content in here triggered me so be careful if you want to look at this list. (And before you ask, yes, I am fine. You learn to cope.)

Of course, I don't approve of anything in this list, and this list isn't meant to glamorize those who have mental issues or violent tendencies. I have issues with violence and mental issues. Sometimes, it just helps. If there are any words you think should be added (or removed) feel free to send in an ask.

Note: Try putting a suffix on some words, like -ful or -less. Gives you plenty more options. Also, every new beginning letter will be bolded and with a new color for reading ease.

Pronouns (including emojis, not including extras like parentheses or alternatives): 443

🖤 🕷 🦇 🗡 ⚔ 💣 🔪 🕸 ⛓ 🥀 💀 ☠ ⚰ 🚬 🪦 🔥 😈 👿 💉 ⚠ 👻 🦴 🧠 🫀 🫁 🦷 👁 👀 🪝 🔨 🪓 ⛏ 🩸 💊

abandon

abyss

accelerate

again

alive

alley(way)

anarchy

anger

apart

apocalypse

arm

arson

ash(phalt)

attic

away

awful

awry

axe

back(alley/rooms)

bait

bat

beast

beat(down)

beg

belittle

behead

bet

bite

blade

blaze

blood

body

boil

bomb

bone

boo(m)

brain

break(down)

breath(e)

brick

brittle

bug

bullet

burn

bury

buzz

cannibal(ize)

cap(ture)

car(cass)

carnivore

cat(ch)

caught

cause

chain(saw)

chaos

chase

cig(arette)

claw

clown

coffin

corvid

concern

concrete

consume

control

copy(cat)

core

corpse

corridor

cover

coward

cower

crawl

creature

creep

cremate

crimson

critter

cross

crow

crime

criminal

crumble

crunch

crush

cry

crypt(id)

curse

cut

dagger

danger

dark(ness)

daunt

dawn

daze

deflate

disease

disgust

dissect

dizzy

dead

death

decay

demon

destroy

devil

dice

die

dirt

disappear

disease

disgust

doll

done

drac(ula)

drain

dread

drown

dull

eat

ecto(plasm)

edge

edgy

eerie

elbow

empty

evil

eye

facade

face

fail(ure)

fall

fang

far

fatal

fear

fight

final

finger

fire

flame

flesh

follow

freak

fright(en)

fury

gain

gargoyle

gas(h)

gauze

gaze

ghost

ghoul

gimp

glee

gnash

god

gore

gouge

grab

grain

grasp

grate

grave(yard/stone)

grease

grim(ace)

grime

grind(er)

grip

grit

gross

grotesque

grunge

guard

grue(some)

gun

gut(teral)

hail

hammer

hand

harbor

hard

harm

hatch(et)

hate

hatred

haunt

havoc

head(stone)

heart

heat

hell

hidden

hide

high(way)

hilt

hit

hook

hollow

horror

hound

hunt

hurl

hurt

ice(pick)

ill(ness)

immolate

immortal

imp(ale)

incinerate

inflammatory

inhale

inhalation

instant

intense

irritate

jab

jail

jam

jank

jostle

joke

joy

junk

kill

kilter

knee

knife

lank

last

lather

laugh(ter)

leak

leg

lich

lim(inal)

linger

link

little

lung

lurk

macabre

maim

malicious

manslaughter

marrow

mask

mass(acre)

maze

meat

melt

mime

mince

misery

monster

morbid

moss

murder

mystery

nail

nausea/nauseous

night(mare)

noise

nowhere

necro

off

one

omen

open

over(power)

pail

pain

pale

panic

phantom

phobia

piece

pill

plead

poison

poltergeist

power

prey

puddle

purge

pyre

question

quiet

quiver

rabies

rage

rail

raid

rain

rake

rat

raw

restrain

retch

rip

road(kill)

rock

rot

run(away)

rust

saw(dust)

scare

scary

scent

scratch

scream

search

seize

sewer

shadow

shake

shiver

shock

shoot

shove(l)

shred

shriek

sick(ness)

silent

sink

sin(ister)

skin

skull

slash(er)

slay

sledge(hammer)

small

smash

smell

smoke

sob

somber

some(body)

someone

slip

spider

spirit

spike

spook

stab

stain

stalk

start(le)

steal

step

storm

strain

strange

stun

suffer

sunk

survive

sword

syringe

teeth

tense

terror

thorn

threat

tinge

tomb(stone)

torn

torture

tooth

trail(cam)

train

trigger

trip

turn

tyranny

undead

unknown

vamp(ire)

venom

vicious

villain

violent

void

wary

weak

weapon

weep

weird

wick(ed)

wicker

whir

whiz

whisper

will

wilt

wither

wound

worry

wraith

wrath

wreck

wring

wrong

wrought

yank

yell

yelp

zero

zombie

[thesquireinvictus]

Locksley Hall BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn: Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn.

'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call, Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall;

Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts, And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts.

Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West.

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.

Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time;

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed:

When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see; Saw the Vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.—

In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest;

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung.

And I said, "My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee."

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour and a light, As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night.

And she turn'd—her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of sighs— All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes—

Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong"; Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weeping, "I have loved thee long."

Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.

Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring, And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fulness of the Spring.

Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, And our spirits rush'd together at the touching of the lips.

O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine no more! O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, barren shore!

Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung, Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue!

Is it well to wish thee happy?—having known me—to decline On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine!

Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level day by day, What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with clay.

As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown, And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

What is this? his eyes are heavy; think not they are glazed with wine. Go to him, it is thy duty, kiss him, take his hand in thine.

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought: Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with thy lighter thought.

He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand— Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew thee with my hand!

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace, Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a last embrace.

Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth! Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth!

Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule! Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten'd forehead of the fool!

Well—'t is well that I should bluster!—Hadst thou less unworthy proved— Would to God—for I had loved thee more than ever wife was loved.

Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? I will pluck it from my bosom, tho' my heart be at the root.

Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home.

Where is comfort? in division of the records of the mind? Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew her, kind?

I remember one that perish'd; sweetly did she speak and move; Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love.

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore? No—she never loved me truly; love is love for evermore.

Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.

Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof, In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof.

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall, Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise and fall.

Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his drunken sleep, To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears that thou wilt weep.

Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whisper'd by the phantom years, And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears;

And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy pain. Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy rest again.

Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry. 'T is a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy trouble dry.

Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival brings thee rest. Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's breast.

O, the child too clothes the father with a dearness not his due. Half is thine and half is his: it will be worthy of the two.

O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.

"They were dangerous guides the feelings—she herself was not exempt— Truly, she herself had suffer'd"—Perish in thy self-contempt!

Overlive it—lower yet—be happy! wherefore should I care? I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair.

What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these? Every door is barr'd with gold, and opens but to golden keys.

Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the markets overflow. I have but an angry fancy; what is that which I should do?

I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground, When the ranks are roll'd in vapour, and the winds are laid with sound.

But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels, And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels.

Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that earlier page. Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou wondrous Mother-Age!

Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife, When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my life;

Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield, Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field,

And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn, Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn;

And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men:

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new: That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do:

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales;

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue;

Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm, With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm;

Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.

There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.

So I triumph'd ere my passion sweeping thro' me left me dry, Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye;

Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint: Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point:

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire.

Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns.

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's?

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast, Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest.

Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on the bugle-horn, They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn:

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing.

Weakness to be wroth with weakness! woman's pleasure, woman's pain— Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain:

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine—

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah, for some retreat Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat;

Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father evil-starr'd,— I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward.

Or to burst all links of habit—there to wander far away, On from island unto island at the gateways of the day.

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies, Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.

Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag, Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag;

Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the heavy-fruited tree— Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea.

There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind, In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind.

There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing space; I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they shall run, Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun;

Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks, Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books—

Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child.

I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains!

Mated with a squalid savage—what to me were sun or clime? I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time—

I that rather held it better men should perish one by one, Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon!

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range, Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.

Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day; Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as when life begun: Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the Sun.

O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet.

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall.

Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt.

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.

[a-dorin]

crush

pairing: college au! maul x female!reader

word count: 2.411k

warnings: smutttttt, teasing, cursing, mentions of death threats, endless teasing, some filthy talk, nsfw, pet names

a/n: hi so this is my first time writing over 1k in months. please be gentle with me, as i'm really proud of this & i can never get enough of college aus. feedback is very much appreciated. request was anon, but i hope you enjoy <3

prompt: "Hi yes if this managed to make it in time for request, can I please request a Maul x Fem reader smut,,, like anything I’m a desperate hoe ahdhdbsbsbzb"

“so,” there’s the crisp crinkle of a page turning, “why’d you choose university of coruscant?”

“the atmosphere.”

“come on,” he scoffs, “are you a tour guide now? what major are you anyways? isn’t it something really nerdy? something along the lines of biochemistry? a minor in genetics or some bullshit like that?”

“i think you’re thinking of some other girl you’ve fucked because that is nowhere along the lines of what i’m studying. you weren’t even in the right college. some partner you are.”

sitting right across from you, was the star recruit of the university of coruscant. a lacrosse player who transferred from mustafar central. he was the reason why the team was expected to qualify for nationals. why they were supposed to even make it to the championship.

over the summer, it was almost as if the entire campus was buzzing about it. after all, it wasn’t often that the university was able to snag such good athletes. well, it was a division one school so of course it was a given that everyone was pretty good in their respective sport.

however, the zabrak sitting right across from you was utterly exceptional.

in almost every way.

all everyone raved about was his looks. which, you had to admit, the zabrak was gorgeous. with rich crimson skin, complemented by inky tattoos, sharp cheekbones, a dashing smile, and eyes that were pools of pure honey, it was difficult to deny the fact that he was attractive.

however, it was not hard to accept the other truth, either. he was quite acquainted with a majority of the women on campus, matching with almost every single one on tinder. that was if you were a part of a sorority or part of a sports team, of course.

what made matters worse was his intelligence. so, when you were paired with him for a project in your astronomy class, you learned fairly quickly that the zabrak was quite the smartass. and not a nice one, either. he seemed to enjoy harassing and berating you with his jokes and punchlines during every encounter.

he was everything you despised in a man. cocky, stubborn, and careless.

so why were you so attracted to him? you had absolutely no idea.

there’s a beat of silence, and the only noise the zabrak emits is a quiet exhale. the sound of his breath as it whistled through his teeth. yet, it’s followed by a quiet huff.

“you wish you could fuck me. you’ve mentioned it before, to that nautolan friend of yours, hmm? kit, right? he’s on the lacrosse team. your name may have come up a few times.”

heat flourishes through your cheeks as you glance upwards, any last remnants of focus completely crumbling away. your breath hitches in your throat at the smug smirk plastered on his lips, incisors poking against his lower lip.

golden eyes scour you, almost analyzing the sheer and utter shock plaguing your features. satisfaction glints within the depths, and you blink, scrambling to formulate some sort of response.

leaning forward, the zabrak tilts his head, so close that the tip of his nose grazed yours. this time, the words are a low rumble, harsh and gravelly.

almost like a growl.

“you told your little friend kit that you wished that i would just take you right here, in the library, and fuck you senseless. i find that interesting though, because you’ve been feeding me this little premonition that you absolutely loathe every aspect of my existence. now, do you actually want that little wish of yours to come true, or are you going to keep putting up the act and we act like this never happened?”

shrinking in your seat, you could almost feel the eyes searing into the both of you. there’s arched brows and low murmurs, a few giggles ringing through the space. swallowing thickly, you pull the collar of your hoodie over the lower half of your face, in a vain attempt to conceal your obvious embarrassment.

of course your fellow peers were staring. in the corner of your eye, you witness a group of girls roll their eyes. from the decals on their laptops, along with the other memorabilia, you pick out they’re chi omega girls, a popular sorority on campus.

you squeeze your eyes shut as you hear them whispering amongst each other. there’s a few points, and you were dead sure the dusty rose twi’lek in the black nike hoodie wanted to end your life right there.

maker, were you so flustered.

and he had you right where he wanted you.

“m-maul,” you stutter, fidgeting in your seat, “pe-people are s-staring.”

“do i look like i give a fuck?”

“i’m pretty sure the chi omega girls over there are going to send me death threats once they find my instagram,” you grumble, burying your head in your hands, “it’s your fault they’re all looking, you know.”

“hey!” the taunting tone in his voice sent your eyes wide open, strands of curses flowing from your tongue as he called over to the group, “i know we may have matched on tinder, but i’m not yours. i’m not territory to lay a claim on. i’m my own zabrak, you know. i can talk to other girls.”

letting out an exasperated sigh, you bury your head into your arms, laying your head on the table.

getting any work done with him was a lost cause.

“you okay? you gonna make it?”

for a moment, you melt under the tenderness in his tone, the way the words just sounded so gentle. he lays a hand on your shoulder, and you look up, the heat in your cheeks lingering as your eyes lock with his.

“we could get out of here, you know,” maul murmurs, “i live in an apartment with a few other guys on the lacrosse team. they’re all out, though. we could get some peace and quiet. and i could get you away from those chi clowns. i think they already found your twitter. i don’t like the way they’re looking at you either.”

i don’t like the way they’re looking at you either.

“um, sure. i don’t have anything else tonight. at least, i don’t think. i cleared my schedule so we could get this project done.”

“don’t worry about packing up your stuff. act like you’re on the phone or something and i’ll grab your things. i made this mess so i’ll clean it up,” it takes a moment to register the suggestion, but you knew it wasn’t a suggestion.

he wasn’t going to budge.

clearing your throat, you press your phone to your ear, “hello? oh hey! no, you didn’t catch me at a bad time. i just need to leave the room really quick.”

carefully, you weave your way through the maze of chairs and tables, pushing open the door. moments later, you’re outside, inhaling the brisk january air, grateful for the coolness as it seeps into your skin.

“you okay?”

you nod, probably a little too quickly, “yes.”

maul’s brow furrows, yet he doesn’t press any further, adjusting your book bag, “don’t worry about carrying this. i got it. i feel bad.”

“don’t feel bad i mean, you were just teasing--”

“i do,” he cuts in, “i feel bad because i know how you much you dislike unwanted attention. you always get so flustered when the professor calls on you with no warning. you either stutter just a little bit or you pull the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands. i was a little bit of an asshole back there, and i apologize for that. i took care of everything with those chi omega girls too.”

in the darkness, you nearly trip over the sidewalk, “you.. you notice that?”

“i sit right by you and have been for the past two weeks,” he snorts, “i pick up on a thing or two. take a left here.”

all around you, the lights of campus glow softly, illuminating the surroundings with a warm golden glow. the night sky is clear, a few stars glittering over the light pollution of the city. you follow the zabrak, unsure of what to say.

“were.. were you serious about what you said earlier? did kit really say something?”

your knees buckle at the sound of his laughter. how it was so sweet and melodic as it rang out into the night.

“he did say something,” the zabrak raises a hand, pointing to a complex just a few hundred feet ahead of you, “i’m right here. you still up for the offer? i mean, we still have a week and a half but i don’t want to waste your time. you have a lot going on with your classes already. how’s chemistry going?”

“how do you know about chemistry?” you arch a brow, a shudder coursing through you as the breeze rolls through the campus.

“you bitch about it all the time on your instagram story?” the zabrak holds his id next to the door, pulling it open, “regardless of what you may think, i do pay attention to you sweetheart.”

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” your tone shifts, “i’m not sure what you’re referring to, maul.”

“well,” a hand finds its way to the small of your back, just above the curve of your ass, pushing you gently. realizing that you have to go up the stairs, you begin to trudge upwards, his hand still lingering.

“you have this belief that you’re unattractive because you don’t possess conventional beauty set by the standards of social media and society. i know this because you’ve talked about it on your twitter and your instagram. also, your comment about ‘some other girl i fucked’ really took me aback because i don’t just sleep with anyone. you know that, right? i have standards. and i have goals too, outside from ‘how many bodies i have.’ you also said that to kit, which made me upset. is that what you really think of me?”

in that instant, it was almost as if your heart dropped. you stop at the top of the flight, the clammy sensation coating your hands only growing. wiping your hands on your leggings, you dodge his gaze, clamping your mouth shut.

gods, were you in deep shit now.

fingers grasp your chin, forcing your head to the right. maul takes a step forward, pushing your back against the wall. the concrete sends goosebumps lining your arms, hairs standing on end.

“i asked you a question,” your heart thuds as he leans forward, “is that what you really think of me sweetheart?”

“i-i--” you stammer, heat flourishing to your neck, “t-that’s not i think of you. i was just frustrated because i didn’t know how to process the feelings i had and i’m sorry.”

“feelings?” maul’s lips were practically brushing against yours. and gods, were they so tantalizingly soft, “what kind of feelings?”

“i may have a crush on you.”

“a crush? what is this, fifth grade?” the tease was edged with somewhat you couldn’t quite place your finger on. what was it? lust? want? hunger?

“a crush,” you affirm, “i have a crush on you, maul.”

“you wanna know what i told those chi omega girls?” he inquires, one hand on the wall, the other reaching for your face, cupping your cheek.

“what did you tell those girls?” fuck. were you in deeper shit now.

“i told them we were talking. that you were my girl,” your lashes flutter at his touch, “and you know wanna know what else i told them?”

“what else did you say?” puckering you lips, you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking lightly.

the sound that you hear is nothing like you’ve encountered before.

“i-i,” you feel your lips curve into a smirk as he grits his teeth, “i told them that i was going to fuck you after this. that i was going to completely destroy you.”

“you didn’t---”

his mouth connects with yours for an open-mouthed kiss. it’s electrifying yet blissful, something that would sweep you off your feet yet keep you grounded, keeping you wanting more and more. gods, was it such a craving. to stay in this stairwell, to cherish this moment.

it’s gratifying, enough to make you light-headed with giddiness.

it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more.

yet, he pulls away, panting ever so slightly.

“fuck.”

“fuck?”

his jaw clenches, “you have no fucking idea how much i’ve been wanting to do that. ever since i met you. fuck, i need more. i need more of you. ‘taste so good.”

“we could always--”

“finish this in my apartment? yeah, i want to. but i don’t want to force anything on you and i don’t want to make you uncomfortable. i’ve just -- i’ve just been having dreams about you.”

“dreams?” you watch as the zabrak’s eyes squeeze shut, his body shifting away from yours. he’s heading towards the door now, nearly throwing it open.

“dreams about being inside of you. fuck. i need to know how you feel. if you’re as tight as i imagined. and fuck, i need to feel how wet you are too. how wet you get for me. have you ever tasted yourself before?”

you shake your head, “i haven’t.”

maul practically stalks down the hallway, finding his door. sliding the key into the lock, he steps inside, placing your bags on the floor, “would you rather study or would you rather let me express how i feel?”

thumbs loop through the pocket of your hoodie, pulling you close to him. fuck, you could feel him against your body. the stiffness of his cock underneath his sweats. how hot and bothered he was for you, practically aching for some sort of release.

“what do you mean ‘express how you feel’?” carefully, you dip a hand into the waistband, hand wrapping around the outline, squeezing gently.

“oh fuck,” maul throws his head back, moaning ever so slightly, “i-i may have a crush on you too. and i wanted to express how i felt. i-i’m not good with words.”

“why don’t you show me then?” your clit throbs as you feel along his shaft, fingers grazing over the ridges, thumb pressing against his tip.

“bend over the fucking counter then and i’ll fucking show you then, princess. you better not utter a single fucking word about this fucking project because it’s my turn to study you.”

☆☆☆☆☆

taggin' some maul moots: @maulieber @maulfrk @hounding-around @maximumninjavoid @xcertaindarkthingsx @zabrak-show @anakinswhore @arsonistvoyager @bonesaldente @catsnkooks@darthmaulslut

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 3 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

The next Monday found you anxiously nursing a coffee, carefully looking over Bakugou’s latest results.

You’d let the model retrain overnight, just to get a more up-to-date picture of Bakugou’s work, and you’d barely slept a wink while it ran, fretting over your first meeting with him. After waking up earlier than ever, you’d found yourself restless all morning, so you’d made your way into Miruko’s agency well ahead of schedule and had spent your time since sucking down coffees and eyeing Bakugou’s assist and rescue scores warily. They still sat well beneath his kill and capture scorings, and you mentally braced yourself for the near impossibility of getting him to prioritize those aspects of his work.

With Mina’s help, you’d been able to con him into working with you. But just because he’d agreed to your bet, you were not stupid enough to think that meant he was going to make anything easy for you.

Bakugou, for his part, seemed the very antithesis of nervous when he met you in the surveillance room. He barged into your makeshift office mid-morning, looking well-rested if annoyed. The door banged loudly off the opposite wall and rebounded closed with a slam that rattled the AV equipment.

“Let’s get this over with,” Bakugou growled, throwing himself down in the seat opposite you. He was dressed in dark training clothes--simple athletic fabrics that suggested that he meant to book it to a training room the second he was done with you. His whole manner suggested you should keep things short.

You sat frozen, fingers paused over your laptop keys. “...Good morning to you too.”

He looked at you incredulously, blonde eyebrows raising. “I didn’t fucking come here for small talk. Get on with it, nerd.”

You suppressed a twitch of irritation, looking away from him where he sat in an agitated pile of strong lines and tense muscle. God you hoped this was all going to be worth it, at the end of things.

You sighed and clicked into the model results screen, knowing it was only going to work him into a lather if you pressed him on social niceties. “Okay, so I did some analysis--”

“Big fucking surprise.”

“--and,” you continued loudly, “as you well know, you need to adjust certain priorities on the field.”

A scoff issued from his direction. “I don’t need to adjust shit.”

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. He was literally here to discuss adjusting shit. What was the point of him being so defensive?

You eyed him speculatively, taking in the oppositional slant to his broad shoulders, the thin slash of his mouth as he regarded you irritably. Your observations from last week floated to the forefront of your mind, that this was a man who would not easily do anything he didn’t want to do. And it was clear he did not actually want to do this--he had only been baited into it by the grace of his meddling, pink-haired friend.

You mentally resolved to play as nice as you possibly could, to minimize the amount of fussing from his side of things.

“As I think I explained last year,” you began carefully, “the model I train relies on a set of weights, and you’re ranked on that. Your work is divided up into categories: public perception, kills, captures, property damage, rescues, and now assists. Some of those categories are weighted more heavily than others, so if you do well in them, you’ll outperform your peers in the rankings who do just as well in other categories.”

Blood red eyes darted up to a monitor as you projected your laptop screen onto it, the model results translated into neatly organized and color-coded graphs.

“You are unmatched in kills, fairly unmatched in captures as well, and you’ve kept property damage to a surprising minimum in the last few years considering your quirk. You’re also wildly popular, particularly with young people, according to public polls.”

You glossed over the fact that his appearance probably had a lot to do with it, considering the tidal wave of interest from the female bracket of respondents. The fact especially did not bear thinking about when he was alone in a tiny office with you, bare arms and the hard planes of his chest displayed prominently in his training gear.

“Just fucking---out with it,” Bakugou demanded, turning to glare at you again. “I don’t have all damn day.”

The tiniest hint of smoke and sweetness hit your nose as he leaned closer, and you pushed away from him, baring your palms in the universal gesture for peace.

“Okay, okay. So you’re good at those things, but your rescue scores need work, and your assist score puts you in the top ten least cooperative heroes in the entire industry,” you explained, watching as a muscle in his jaw jumped in obvious irritation. “Rescues are the highest weighted category in the rankings model, and assists are the third highest. So no matter how good you are in other areas, you will not surpass anyone who performs well in these categories.”

Bakugou made an annoyed sound, his brows drawing together. “Quit fucking talking to me like I’m a baby. I fucking know--tell me exactly what your fucking nerd-ass model needs me to do and I’ll fucking do it.”

You breathed out of your nose very slowly, quelling the rising tide of annoyance within you. Everything out of his mouth was so abrupt and demanding.

Software engineers, picture the software engineers.

“Okay so I ran deeper analyses on those two categories and compared your movements with generalized results from the top ten heroes from each category,” you continued.

“The thing that stood out in terms of rescues, is that you were almost twice as fast as other heroes to leap into combat with a villain. This means you’re spending less time assessing the situation than other heroes, and therefore spending less time processing victims. So if I had to make a recommendation here, it’s that you should actively look for civilians before jumping into a fight. You might still find that the smarter thing to do is leap into the fight instead of evacuating them, but you at least need to slow down before you do.”

The crease between his brows erased itself and he leaned back in his chair, tension bleeding out of him somewhat, which was--unexpected. You’d have thought he’d get more defensive as you explained his shortcomings to him.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “What else?”

You pulled up two videos and projected them side by side, bright little clusters of dots collected over the location of each hero. “For assists, it looks like when you’re in range of other heroes, you actually do help, at least a little. I only found an issue when I generalized results from the top ten in this category and ran calculations about their movements in comparison to yours.”

You let the videos play, watching Bakugou’s eyes track the movements with unblinking precision. He said nothing as you let the loop repeat, the tense lines of his body inexplicably unravelling even further with each loop. He looked as close to relaxed as you had ever seen him.

After a few loops, he finally let out a scoff. “Those needy fucks stick closer to other heroes,” he concluded gruffly. “That’s what the dots are tracking.”

You nodded. “On average, you move three times farther away from other heroes on scene than the top ten heroes do. So you’re less likely to be in range to help.”

He rolled a powerful shoulder, unwittingly drawing your eyes straight to it. You gave your leg an annoyed pinch under the table, forcing your gaze back up to his face once you realized what you were doing.

“So I have to look for weaklings and stay closer to these b-list fucking clowns, that’s what you’re telling me?” he prompted, running a hand through his mess of blonde hair. It looked unexpectedly soft under his fingers.

You drew your eyes away from him again, focusing hard on the relief you were feeling that he seemed to be processing and internalizing your feedback. “Yeah, you need to assist civilians and stay in range of your team. Those are the only areas in which you really need help.”

There was a sharp crackle, and tense movement caught in the corner of your eye. You turned to find that all of Bakugou’s unease had suddenly returned, a snarl riding his mouth.

“Help?” he demanded. That scent of smoke and sugar suddenly pressed in on you again, sharp and dangerously hot.

You blinked at him in confusion. “...Uh, yeah?”

His gaze darkened and he leaned over the table between the two of you, a calloused hand catching the collar of your shirt to yank you towards him. The corner of the table dug into your ribs, and his fingers were hot where they brushed the skin under your collar.

“I don’t fucking need help,” he spat, crimson eyes boring into your face like a drill. Your hands came up to grab his, trying to untwist it from your shirt, but his fingers only tightened, unyielding.

“What--? Yes you do?” you garbled, fingers scrabbling over his. “What do you--?”

He pulled you further across the table, so that his face was scant inches from your own.

“Fuck you if you think I need anything from you,” he growled in a low tone, voice almost dangerously soft. Your blood iced over in your veins, limbs freezing. He stared at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, in the next second, you were being shoved backwards into your chair, and then Bakugou was gone, door slamming behind him with a force that shook the walls.

You stared after him in shock, mouth gaping open. He had been fine up until a couple of seconds ago, even seeming to relax under your analysis. But then his temper had suddenly flared for no fucking reason.

What….what the fuck was wrong with him?

You spent the rest of the morning in a state of restless agitation.

What the literal fuck was wrong with Bakugou? Why had he just stormed out like that? What had flipped the switch for him in the space of mere seconds?

You replayed the conversation in your head nonstop all through your next few meetings and over your lunch break, where you furiously wolfed down a bento without tasting any of it. Your frustration carried you all the way into the afternoon, when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through your door.

You looked up into Pinky’s dark eyes and brilliant smile.

“Y/N!” she chirped happily, closing the door behind her and sprawling into the seat across from you.

You returned her friendly smile. “Ashido-san,” you greeted her politely.

She laughed and waved a rosy hand, leaning forward over the table. “I would never ask stats girl to be formal with me. Call me Mina!”

You huffed an embarrassed laugh. That was sweet, but the nickname stats girl needed to die a brisk and fiery death.

“Mina, then,” you amended, pulling up her model results on your laptop, trying to tamp down on your embarrassment. She was almost overwhelmingly friendly.

Her dark eyes flickered over you curiously and a cautious smile played about her mouth. “Heard it didn’t go well with Katsuki this morning.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “He told you?”

She laughed. “No, I just saw him annihilating a training room. I know him well enough to know when he’s throwing a tantrum.”

An awkward, hot sense of shame welled up within you at the thought that you’d pushed him to that, though you didn’t know how. You got the sense that you’d taken one step forward but two steps back. So much for your promotion.

“Uh yeah, he kind of...stormed out? He’d been listening, actually, and I thought things were going weirdly well. The bet was a good idea, so thank you,” you said. “I just…somehow I screwed it up, I think.”

Mina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, splaying out flat in her seat. “God, you know what? I’m just so tired of my best friends being guys. They’re so dramatic and so fussy about their tough guy image. And take themselves so seriously, for no reason, even fucking Denki. I have sat every single one of them down and forced them into make up so it’s absolutely baffling to me that they still stomp around like they’re so serious and so tortured.”

Your mouth dropped open as what she’d just said caught up with you. Take themselves seriously...when she’d forced them into make up? “No. Even…?”

Mina smirked. “Oh yeah, even Katsuki. No idea why he thinks he’s such a tough guy when all it takes is a couple of tears and boom, he’s working a smokey eye and tiny little pigtails.”

You choked on a laugh, trying to dispel the horrifying image in your mind of Bakugou in mascara and lipstick. The idea of him in make up was somehow even more intimidating than his usual appearance. You did not want to know more.

It certainly did beg the question, however, why he was such a difficult jerk if it was that easy to get him to acquiesce to something that horrifying. Maybe the answer lay in Mina’s powers of manipulation. She’d known to make the bet with him, after all. And if she knew how to get him into eyeliner and lipstick, then she might know how to get him to agree to let you help him.

“Wow,” you murmured. “That’s...terrifying. How did you even convince him though? I can’t get him to spend more than two seconds around me without blowing his top like a volcano.”

Mina grinned conspiratorially, leaning over the table. “You just have to know how to work him. Trust me, you might have good numbers sense, but I have pretty good people sense. Katsuki is all smoke and fire until you dig underneath.”

You almost did not want to know what was underneath. “That’s--but he’s so volatile. I can’t predict any of it.”

Mina's grin widened. “Actually, it’s pretty straightforward. He’s actually super in control all of the time, even when it seems like he’s lost it. He’s only really sensitive about one thing.”

“For example,” she leaned forward, her smile morphing into something dark and leery. “I heard he burned through your dress at the Hero Awards.”

You put your face in your palm. “Yes. This is what I’m talking about--I thought he was gonna fry me to a crisp.”

Mina snorted, raking a hand through her mess of curls. “Maybe I only see it because my acid is similar--but it’s pretty hard to only burn through a tiny strip of fabric and not touch anything underneath, even if you’re not out of your mind with anger. It requires some precise control. Wouldn’t you say?”

You froze in your seat, staring at her. Implications began to creep over you like a dark shroud. “What?”

She grinned. “He didn’t touch you, right? Only the dress?”

You gaped at her. “Yeah--only the dress.”

She cut her dark eyes to you, looking like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “Very interesting that he managed to sear straight through your dress, then, without burning you. One might think he did it on purpose.”

You floundered. “But I--but he--! I told him to do better and he got all worked up and intense!”

Mina laughed out loud. “I bet he did. Katsuki’s a total control freak but he loves a challenge. That’s why he took your bet, and that’s why your meeting didn’t go as poorly as you thought it might at first, and that’s why he was so fixated on you after the Awards.”

Your face heated. “Don’t put it like that.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know how you feel about him, but I can guarantee he’s very interested in you. He loves girls who don’t take any of his shit. Why do you think he signed with Miruko? It’s actually kinda gross,” she made a face.

Your face was on fire. A hot wave of embarrassment washed through you and you resisted the urge to dive under the table and hide. This is not the turn you thought the conversation would be taking.

“Uh, so,” you managed, fingers fluttering. “So--um, why did he freak out earlier then? I did tell him everything he was doing wrong. But then he lost it, I think when I told him I would help.”

Mina’s grin settled back into place. “He’s so fucking predictable. He hates being looked down on, and the word help implies that you think he’s weak enough to need it. I’ll bet you anything that’s why he totally flipped.”

You considered this. “But I didn’t mean it like that--”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s got a very specific way of looking at things. He’s way better than he used to be but that’s the one thing he’s still sensitive about.”

You mulled that over. It did explain, then, why he’d reacted so poorly when he’d seemed to be fine with your critique. “Does he really need to be seen as strong that badly?”

Mina picked idly at the fluff on her costume’s jacket, thin fingers tangling in the white strands. “He has insane expectations for himself, and he’s only comfortable when everyone else has those too. It’s like if you think he can’t live up to those standards, that you don’t truly see him.”

So that was it. The mystery of Bakugou’s volatile nature explained--a weirdly deep-seated inferiority complex wrapped up in layers of crankiness and--you blushed--an interest in girls who gave him shit. You quickly buried any considerations on his romantic inclinations, and focused on the inferiority complex.

Whether you’d intended to or not, this morning you had managed to convey to him that you thought he was incapable, and not in a way that personally challenged him like the bet had, or your demand he do better at the Hero Awards. It was so ridiculous, you thought, but then so was he. And if you wanted to make any progress on your promotion, then you were gonna have to suck it up and work within those constraints.

You sighed. You owed him an explanation, maybe even an apology.

Mina regarded you approvingly from across the table. You also owed her a drink. Maybe several.

“Got it,” you acknowledged, clicking back into your model results and pulling up her ranking analyses. “And thank you--I owe you a ton. Now let’s get to what we came here to do which is to talk about how you can kick even more ass.”

Mina grinned, leaning forward in delight. “You’re welcome. And hell yeah, this conversation was so not passing the Bechdel test.”

You snorted, suppressing a wild smile. Oh, you really liked her.

You would apologize and get things back on track with Bakugou. And once Bakugou netted you your promotion, you were gonna turn back and rocket Mina up the rankings to give him a run for his money.

[lunaticsandidiots]

kidnapped

request: Jerome x reader where she’s known as his girlfriend so she’s often kidnapped by their enemies but she always knows she can depend on him to save her so she’s never worried. (Kind of like a Roxy from Megamind attitude- very sarcastic) But there’s one instance where he’s either outgunned or his enemy is really close to killing/hurting her and he’s struggling so they end up having to take the enemy down together? @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night

synopsis: jerome was your knight in a shining straitjacket. well, until his hands were tied.

warnings: explicit language, violence, blood/gore, sexual themes

You knew what was at stake when you met Jerome at the circus. You had seen what would happen when you got involved, helping him throw body over body off the rooftop of the Gotham Gazette. And you decided to take the risk as you kissed him on the rooftop of Galavan’s penthouse. But you weren’t scared. Because you had him.

Everyone knew you were his, hearing whispers of the vixen in the arms of Jerome Valeska, their howling laughter harmonising as they sped away from the flaming school bus in the hest oil truck. Naturally, the threats began to roll in.

“Pay up, Valeska, or we’ll take the sweetheart”

“Show your face, clown boy, or the broad gets it!”

“Let’s see how long the leader of the Maniax lasts without his other half!”

But you weren’t scared. Because you had him.

Soon after the threats had started, someone made their move. You’d been ambushed in a dirty alleyway in the heart of the narrows, finishing off a night of mayhem with a kick to the guts of a thug who thought he could take you on. Following a nefarious cackle, you felt your face being slammed into a scratchy piece of rag that reeked of chloroform, remembering only the dull ache in your nose before you passed out. You awoke to such a predictable sight; you wrists were bound behind your back and you were fastened to the chair around your torso with rope, duct tape over the mouth, in a dark room with a flickering lamp in the corner, blah blah blah. This was becoming a familiar routine for you. Picked up by gangsters and fruitlessly tortured only to be saved by your knight in a shining straitjacket. You couldn’t help but start to enjoy it, seeing the confidence, the power, the life drain from your captors eyes as they realise who really has the upper hand, taunting them all the way until they’re a pile of blood and lifeless flesh on the floor by your lover’s hand. Your snicker from behind the silver tape raised the attention of the hooligan in the corner, rapping on the door with the back of his knuckles which beckoned three more goons to invade the room. ‘So typical’ you thought, your eyes rolling violently to the back of your head in unamusement. The cheap tape was ripped from your mouth, far too cheap and far too slick with sweat to cause any pain, and a snorting chortle erupted from the back of your throat, head thrown back in sarcastic merriment.

“What’s so funny, whore?” one of the men chuckled darkly, “your little boyfriend isn’t around to save your ass this time” he taunted, though you knew that wouldn’t be the case for long, and you knew you could hold up just fine until that eventuality.

“Why is it that all you thugs look the same? I swear, the goons of gotham all share a close, common ancestor. Beady little eyes, stumpy little legs, receding hairlines and the total absence of a neck,” you taunted, “seriously, where are your necks? I guess it makes it a little harder to choke you out, i’ll give you that. Did your mom fuck her cousin?”

Your musings were answered with a closed fist to the nose, though your reactionary grunt was laced with more pleasure than pain.

“Good shot bucko, I thought the inbreeding would’ve affected your coordination a little more,” you chortled, feeling the blood flowing down from your nose, tasting the coppery crimson as it seeped from your gums, “come on stud, show a lady a good time”.

Jerome chuckled as he heard your sarcastic soliloquy, ‘there's no mistake, that’s my pumpkin’. He was perched in the shadows and around the corner from the concrete room they had you barricaded in. He had no fear or worry about your safety, he knew you could handle yourself, and that this wasn’t either of your first times at the rodeo. After the first few times you wound up missing it started to get a little tired, but the rush of breaking in to be reunited with the bonnie to his clyde, guns blazing as he sweeps you back up with a deep kiss turned out to be quite addictive. He snuck up to the cracked, frosted window to see you tied to a chair, exhibited before the flock of stocky men in black clothing. What Jerome didn’t see as he scoped the room was the fifth henchman creeping up behind him, lug wrench and rope in hand, and how with a silent smile, he raised it high above his head, and struck down hard on the ginger to render him unconscious.

The shock of the cold, dirty concrete floor against his cheek woke him up, sweaty, panting and bound on the floor. A deep, brooding laugh brought his attention to the shadow above him. A buff, ugly brute of a man looked down at him with mean eyes and a sinister smile.

“Not so powerful now, are we champ?” he taunted, lightly kicking Jerome with his boot, Jerome’s body refusing to provide any sort of reaction. Ignoring the situation around him, he rolled over and tilted his head upwards to look at you, you were staring back at him with a small smile and a furrowed brow, and he noticed the split lip and swollen eye that had arrived since he last saw you.

“Hey handsome” you tittered, blood spilling out along with your words in a half-smile.

“Hey pumpkin, how was your day?” he chuckled back. ‘These kids are fuckin’ psycho’ he heard muttered behind him. Jerome rolled over once again, looking back and forth between the men.

“You have no idea buddy” he laughed through gritted teeth. The man simply responded by taking a step forward, swinging his boot behind him, and swinging it back into Jerome’s ribs which forced a pained grunt out of his diaphragm. Once again, Jerome covered it up with a laugh, his forehead pressing into the cool flooring for relief.

“Do it again, maybe somethin’ different will happen next time” he jested. And again, a steel cap boot met with the centre of his abdomen, leaving him folded in half, weezing with laughter. He inhaled loudly, you heard the phlegm in his throat crackle and sputter as you watched on as best you could through your blurry vision and swollen face.

“Come on you ugly son of a bitch! Is that all you got?” he bellowed. And just like he requested, the beating continued. Three pairs of steel cap boots, three pairs of fists and a lug wrench made their mark on Jerome on the floor in front of you. He folded in on himself further, his hands tied behind his back and unable to protect himself. His cries of pain and howling laughter blended so seamlessly in your ears, and with no visual on his face, you had no idea of the state he was in, simply watching on in bated breath.

This had never happened before. Jerome would always swoop in, pop the bad guys, sweep you up like cinderella and call it a day (with a little violence and sexual gratification in the middle). You trusted him, god you trusted him with your life, but seeing him bound on the floor resembling the defenceless child he once was, you had no fucking idea how he’d get you out of this one. Eventually the beating eased up, and after hearing a cough and a sputter from the ginger, it was enough reassurance he was still alive to start focussing instead on what the fuck to do now. Your eyes roamed the room for anything to do, anything to use, but aside from the shitty lamp and the blood-stained wrench, the room was stark. Your eyes finally met back up with Jerome, still smiling through the pain like the psychopath you knew and loved, and staring up at you through bruised, half-shut eyelids.

“You can beat me all you want boys, the harder you hit, the harder I get” he whooped, snorting and spitting a glob of blood and mucus onto the floor beside him. His spirit made you laugh, knowing that not only is he riling everybody up with his shit talk, but he’s not really lying about enjoying it either.

“Alright then, if you’re not gonna crack, we’ll try our luck with the brat” came a voice from one of the men standing behind Jerome. You saw his face go from mild amusement to crippling fear to pure rage in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t you touch her! Don’t you fucking touch her! You’re here for me, leave her out of this!” he threatened through the layer of phlegm in his throat, wriggling around on the floor in vain.

“You said it yourself, clown, beatin’ on you ain’t gonna do shit. Beatin’ on her? Well, it looks like we’ve found the jester's weak spot” the goon retorted, grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank your head back, looking directly up at him. You could see the old, faded scars behind a layer of stubble and knew he definitely wasn’t all bark and no bite, but you refused to show any sign of weakness or fear, not even in the very shadows of your retinas. He released your hair and circled menacingly to face you, bending at the waist to look at you face to face.

“Try me, fucker” you spat, your bloodied drool spattering across his face with a grimace, “show me what you got.” The man wiped his face with his large palm, your blood now spread in a thin layer across his face, before he grabbed your jaw with the bloodied hand.

“I must admit, I like a girl who knows what she wants” he snarled at you, you could smell his foul breath laced with his venomous tone. You yanked your jaw from his grasp, a faint, bloody handprint residing on your face and the man laughed as he pulled back his fist and landed a solid blow to the side of your face with a crack. You swore you felt your brain rattle against your skull as your ears rang, but regardless, you continued to save face and recentered your head with another deep cackle.

“That was fun, do it again” you laughed with wild, wide eyes, and again, another blow to the other side of your face landed with no hesitation. A third blow, a fourth blow, and one to the nose for good measure. Your face was numb, beyond pain, but you still felt the bile rise from your stomach and the lacerations in your mouth continue to leak fresh blood.

Jerome watched on, his mouth loosely hanging open. At first he was terrified, worried sick that this time, fate had not worked in his favour. His lucky streak was finally over, the gods of chaos had finished clearing his path and this was their grand finale. A second pang of nausea hit as he realised just how fucking much he cared for you, so disgustingly out of character for him that his guts rearranged themselves at the thought. Instead, he focussed on how well you handled yourself, through all the abuse and violence, your sickly sweet smile was as present as ever. How the blood seeped from the sides of your smile, extending the lines like a fresh chelsea grin, and how it brought a similar smile to his own bloodied face. His laughter harmonised so sweetly with yours, just like the rumours had told of the mad king and queen of gotham, cackling all the way to hell.

The laughter soon subsided when it was interrupted by a guttural groan coaxed from the small knife that had found its way into your abdomen. Jerome saw your eyes water and glaze over, your head limply lulling forward in shock as silence filled the room, only the heavy breathing of the perpetrators able to be heard. It felt like the warm blood in his veins had been replaced with toxic ice water. He could feel the bile rise all the way from his stomach to the back of his throat, and how it burned swallowing it back down. ‘This is a final fuck you from the gods’, he thought, ‘they can fuck with me all they want, but they fucked with her. It’s fucking over.’ Jerome's eyelids fell shut below his rumpled brow as others watched on in anticipation. They could see the shadows dancing on your shoulders as they began to bounce up and down.

“Aw… is the princess crying?” the outlaw taunted, cocking his head to the side in false sympathy, “not so tough now, is she?”

The ruffian watched on as you slowly lifted your head up, smiling as he saw the glistening tears on your cheek. His face was soon wiped clean of any joy however, as he saw your smile, beaming from ear to ear, more twisted than he’d ever seen before. Jerome opened his eyes to assess the silence, and felt the air swiftly leave his lungs when he saw the sadistic, devilish grin plastered on your face which ushered a smile of his own.

“You just messed with the wrong bitch, bitch” you rasped, the mischief flickering madly behind your eyes. Despite your attachment to the chair, you used your feet to stand up and launch head first into the man screaming, landing you both to the floor with a thud as the cheap wooden chair smashed to splinters across the floor, your body splayed on top of his stocky one. Unable to use your hands, you bit down hard into the man's neck, and after thrashing your head from left to right, you jerked back quickly with a joyous growl, spitting a chunk of flesh across the room as your smile now dripped with another man’s blood. Jerome watched on with pure adoration in his eyes and in his heart, so entranced with his beloved showing their true colours, unquestionably, you were his animal.

As another man approached you, you quickly slammed your back against the floor and launched your feet upwards, straight into his groin with a force so strong it kept him down for the count. You managed to free your hands from the shitty rope, no time to sooth the broken, irritated skin as you took on a third henchman. You jumped on his back like a child and slung your left arm around his neck, holding it tight with your right. He flailed and spun around the room to throw you off, your grip was tight enough to hold on, but not nearly enough to choke him out.

“Jesus christ you guys really are hard to strangle” you hacked, opting instead to poke your index and middle finger deep into his eyes and hop off as he too met his fate on the concrete floor to cradle his wounds. One of the thugs grabbed you from behind in a similar chokehold as the last one stalked towards you menacingly. You gripped his large forearm, nails digging deep into the flesh to try and pry him off you to no avail. You could see the stars form in the corners of your vision and the ringing slowly pounding your eardrums, coughing and sputtering as you shot the man in front of you a venomous, deadly glare.

“You, little bitch, are more trouble than you're worth” he snarled, pulling a switchblade from the clip on his belt with a flick. You felt a rush of adrenaline pump itself through your system as your weak knees found their strength once again. As the man slowly stalked towards you, you leveraged your neck just enough space to take one final deep breath. Unanticipatedly, your hand grasped the hilt of the knife, still wedged deep inside your torso, and with a scream you released it from it’s fleshy abode. You quickly flipped it between your fingers and jabbed it backwards over and over again until the hairy arms released you from their grip with another thud.

“Fuck you” you deadpanned at the remaining thug, swiftly sweeping the knife from left to right as it cut deep into his neck. And again, with a gurgle, he hit the floor.

Silently, you trudged over to Jerome who had his eyes keenly trained on you, flicking back and forth between your face and the oozing wound on your torso. You knelt down with a hiss and cut his wrists free from their binds, dropping the knife to the floor with a clink as soon as you were sure he was able to untangle himself, and sat back, staring off into space with weary eyes. Jerome quickly freed himself and scrambled to kneel in between your now outstretched legs.

Without a word between you, Jerome slithered his hands through you hair as his lips met yours and you tasted his own blood. You felt his tongue try to plunge it’s way into your mouth and you cordially welcomed it with a soft whimper. You could feel Jerome was holding back, he wasn’t the most gentle person in the world and he always got what he wanted, but he knew you were hurt and he didn’t want to exacerbate the damage.

“Where’d you learn to do that pumpkin?” he asked, hungrily looking you up and down, only faltering for a moment to assess the damage done to you.

“I’m the fucking queen of gotham, honey” you laughed lowly. Although you were beyond exhausted, somehow Jerome always managed to conjure that playful spark in you. He placed a long kiss behind your ear as he flung your arm around his shoulders and carefully helped you up, peppering kisses down your neck as you made your way out of the building in each other's arms.

“I think after all that badassery and heroics, my baby definitely deserves a reward. Whadda ya want pumpkin?” he planted a kiss on the corner of your mouth, remnants of a smirk still hiding in the creases.

“After saving your ginger ass? You owe me a lotta head”

[genderfluid-insomniac]

"I'm Still Standing" singer!Hawks x reader

words: 1.4k

You saw him nervously pacing on stage and playing with his black leather jacket and red wings fluffed up due to anxiety, locking eyes with you and laughing nervously. Going over and putting a hand on his cheek, “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to do great!”

Keigo leaned into your touch and hummed, “I know. I just can’t help these pre-show nerves. How are you feeling, baby bird?” You sighed and rested your head against his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you while you do the same.

“I could be better,” you received a look from your boyfriend, “okay, I’m nervous but you are too!” He raised his hands in defense, “Fair point”. You both laughed and ran your hands over his jacket. The black leather complimenting the dark blue ripped jeans he had on and white shirt, not even mentioning how his vermillion wings stood out and accentuated his gorgeous features.

Glancing up and seeing him catch you staring, smiling as you got flustered, and continued to reach a hand up over his soft slightly chapped lips and below his eyes, tracing his black birthmarks around his eyes. You felt so lucky to have him as a partner for love and for singing, the confidence he gave off was infectious and he knew it.

You heard the manager call him over, kissing each other before he was on, sending you a wink and smiling excitedly. Keigo knew what he did to your heart and never stopped making it flutter, as he always did. You waved to him and crept closer to the wings of the stage.

“Come on, Keigo. You got this!” muttering under your breath. All of you had practiced for a week and tuned your skills, your lover had rehearsed his piano lessons up until tonight and refused to show you, insisting that the surprise would be worth it.

On the stage was a single old classic piano with a mic attached and a stool, lighted dimmed and tinted a navy blue. He walked over and sat on the stool, looking back up to you and your group, flittering his hands over the keys and his facing blooming with determination.

Running his hands over the keys and playing the first few notes, the music and lights giving a light pumped up feel, “You could never know what it's like, your blood like winter freezes just like ice.” The crowd picked up the beat and started swaying in their seats and you were doing the same dancing where you stood, glancing at the other performers beside you.

You could see Keigo’s eyes closed but keeping the rhythm and feeling himself, trying to stay seated as his feet tapped along with him, his head bopping up and down, angling his head so the mic could still pick him up. “And there's a cold lonely light that shines from you, You'll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use,”

His wings twitched and moved behind him, each feather feeling the energy of him, and syncing with it. He was in his own world, his blonde hair swaying and remaining in perfect shape, his whole body surging with joy as he sang his heart out. “And did you think this fool could never win? Well look at me, I'm coming back again.”

“I got a taste of love in a simple way. And if you need to know while I'm still standing you just fade away” With every lyric he sang, the crowd responded and clapped along. The kids got up from their seats and dancing with their parents and the elders smiled as the handsome man captured a song they once heard beautifully.

You knew the chorus was coming and you met Keigo’s gaze as grinned, “Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did,” eyes brimming with happiness and wings flaring out slightly, “Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid” Shining with confidence as he sang the last couple words, his past was known between you both and he told you there were a couple of things that distracted him and made him feel free, singing was one of them.

The euphoria inside you was nothing compared to his, “I'm still standing after all this time,” you could tell how connected he was to those words and how true they were. “Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind.” The audience was eating up the energy he gave off and giving it back twofold, they could feel the emotions through the song, it had a different meaning to each of them but all similar.

Whatever you did can’t stop me from getting better.

“I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah”

Here I am, stronger than ever.

“I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah”

Your friends bumped your shoulder and grinned with pride, inviting you to quietly dance with him and you happily accepted, catching Keigo’s eyes as he glanced from the keys to the mic. The emotion you both shared was undeniable, “Once I never could hope to win, you starting down the road leaving me again.”

Letting your mind drift through your memories as he sang the third verse, how he struggled to believe that things could get better and his life could change for the better. That’s when you both met, giving him a chance at hope and shifting his mindset by letting love into his life, as much as he grew to appreciate you, you appreciate him and how hard he fought every day.

“The threats you made were meant to cut me down, and if our love was just a circus you'd be a clown by now.” Some days Keigo came home depressed and hopeless, thinking back on all the times he was berated and gaslit. Trying desperately to not give in to those negative thoughts, knowing they went nowhere, learning it was okay to accept help.

Lovingly staring at him as you danced and spun with the others backstage, cheering loudly as he reached the chorus and stood up, pushing the stool over. “Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did? Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid!” Wings unfurling as he got swept up in the song and the crimson feathers catching the light of the spotlights,

Keigo looked to you full of pride and exhilaration and tearing up. You mouthed to him, ‘I’m so proud of you.’ and laughing as tears brimmed your eyes as well. “I'm still standing after all this time, picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind” By now the crowd was singing along and completely in the moment as your boyfriend was, hearing him press a high key a few times for effect.

“I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah” It truly was a magnificent display, Keigo full of joy and hope singing fully heartedly into the mic and annunciating each word with meaning. “I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah” pounding out the final notes and finishing it off with a bang, hitting the keys and pushing away the piano as he jumped back.

The lights flashed and came back on, the overwhelming cheer from the audience and how loud it was, still shook up from singing, Keigo smiled and looked to you a bit nervous. Laughing you motioned to take a bow and he copied you, bowing at the hips and fanning his wings out as he did so, charming the crowd as he always did.

You applauded him and ran to him and soon as he got off stage, jumping into his arms and giggling as he spun you around, his hands firmly on your hips. “I knew you could do it, you were amazing! I don’t have the words!” Keigo laughed with you and held you close, his golden eyes bursting with joy, and kissed your lips.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Dessert Before Dinner, Part 2

Read Part 1 here

Pennywise x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: An unplanned midnight stroll brings you right into the jaws of a predator.

Warnings: Dubcon oral while reader is on her period, blood, threats, degradation, squirting

 ~~

             Icy water laps at your toes. You stare, transfixed, at the full moon reflecting off the water’s surface. A chilly breeze lifts the sweaty hair off your neck, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

             You blink.

             Your head snaps up, eyes darting wildly around you. Tall reeds and brush surround you, rustling quietly in the wind. Ahead lies the creek gently trickling past, frigid water stinging your bare toes. Beyond that is the yawning blackness of a storm drain.

             Breath ghosting white before your chattering teeth, you wrap your arms around yourself and glance down at your bare legs. You’re still in your sleep shorts and a t-shirt. The cold air bites your exposed skin and you step back out of the water, curling your toes to work some heat back into them.

             Two parts annoyed, one part scared, you groan. You’ve been sleepwalking again. This is new, though. You’ve never made it out of your yard before. To have walked all the way to the river in the middle of the night….

             Maybe you should start strapping yourself to the bed.

             You’re about to turn, to make the long trek back to your house when a low giggle reaches your ears, carried to you on the wind. You whip around, heart hammering, and stumble back when you spot two yellow eyes glowing in the darkness of the storm drain. Your heart leaps into your throat and you turn on your heel to flee.

             Your name purred in a sing-song voice stops you in your tracks. Breath catching in your throat, you slowly turn to look over your shoulder. Your heart stutters in your chest, then throws itself frantically against your ribs when you spot the…thing standing in the middle of the river.

             The clown. No, no, nononono

             The clown from the mall. The clown who has haunted your nightmares for the past two weeks. The clown with the toothy, drooling maw that, when split open, will reveal a warm, mesmerizing glow. He told you, when he’d held you face down on the glass covered floor, that if you look too long, you’ll fall right in, all the way down, down, down.

             “We all float down here.”

             We all float down here.

             You both speak at the same time, though the clown’s crimson mouth doesn’t move with his words. He tips his head to the side, nodding awkwardly in agreement. Hidden bells jingle with his movements. He grins, thick saliva dripping past his bottom lip and down his chin to patter into the water.

             “I can smell you,” he sings in that deep, warbly voice you’ve heard so many times in your dreams, “You’re wet, dripping red. So sweet, and all for Pennywise.”

             You wish you could take a full breath. Your lungs burn, but trying to draw in oxygen is nearly impossible. You stagger back, but this time you fall, landing on your ass with a grunt.

             The clown advances, sloshing through the water, two long steps bringing him to your side of the river. You scramble back, but your frozen, trembling legs won’t hold your weight when you move to stand. The rocky soil stabs your palms as you clamor back, but it’s useless.

             Pennywise reaches you in seconds, gloved hands gripping your ankles and pulling you across the ground until you’re resting between his legs. Frightened tears spill down your cheeks and the clown coos in mock sympathy, petting your hair in long, exaggerated strokes.

             “Little treat. Kind of you to bring me a midnight snack.” As he speaks, he shoves you back with a palm to your chest, hard enough so your head smacks against gravel, jarring you painfully.  

             “P-Please, no, please,” you beg, but the clown ignores you, kneeling to straddle your waist. He laughs wildly, leaning over you to sniffle at your hair, your neck, coating your skin in chilly drool. Unbidden, sickening anticipation twists in your stomach when he touches you, and the way he laughs cruelly against your skin tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

             “Ripe, sweet like sticky fruit,” he whispers in your ear, wafting hot, carrion breath across your face until you gag. You jump when you hear fabric tearing. Pennywise leans back and shows you the terrible, blackened claws that have torn through his gloves. Extending one, he sets the tip against your sternum, teasing the skin until it breaks and bleeds into your shirt. You whimper, resisting the urge to writhe and pull away.

             The clown pops his claw into his mouth, humming in delight as he noisily sucks your blood from the digit. He pauses, eyes growing comically wide, face splitting into a grin overflowing with pointed shark teeth. You start to scream, but a clawed hand claps over your mouth, silencing you.

             “You have something else for Pennywise, I think, yes I do. I. Can. Smell. It.” The last words are growled, a sound that grips your throat with icy dread. You shriek around the glove covering your face when the clown tears your sleep shorts and underwear from your hips, tossing the ruined fabric over his shoulder.

             Pennywise scoots back and grips your thighs with bruising force, claws digging bloody grooves into your flesh. He peels your legs apart, spreading you wide. This time you do thrash, heedless of the way his talons catch and tear on your flesh. Your drive to escape overrides the pain.

             “Ohhh, I was right! Naughty girl, keeping this a secret from Pennywise.” You sob, fingers fruitlessly tearing at the gravel around you. The clown opens his toothy mouth wide, wider, too wide, bones cracking and snapping as his lower jaw falls open. You clamp your eyes shut, twisting your head to the side to divert your eyes from the inviting light.

             You yelp and squirm when chilly drool splatters onto your mound and slips down your folds. Your hips are lifted off the frozen ground and you hastily crack open your eyes when you feel pointed teeth brush the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Terror grips you at what you see, seizing your muscles and ceasing all movement in an act of self-preservation.

             The clown works your pelvis into his gaping mouth, teeth clamping shut on your ass and lower belly, hard enough to dent and threaten but not enough to break the skin. Your trembling legs rest on either side of his ears, the tips of your toes barely brushing the rocky earth. Hot, metallic breaths wash over your sensitive flesh and send shivers of pleasure racing up your spine.

             Something thick and slimy—a tongue—prods at your bleeding entrance and you wheeze, stomach muscles jumping in shock. Pennywise groans deep in his throat, the sound rumbling against your pussy and sending a jolt of want through your gut. Golden eyes roll in their sockets, disappearing and revealing veiny white.

             His writhing tongue breaches your slit and you gasp as it pushes through slippery muscles, farther than any normal tongue should be able to reach. Too far. You tense, feeling a deep ache as you’re stretched to the limit. Your chest heaves and you grunt, shoulders and thighs burning as you struggle to maintain the arch in your back so you don’t impale your ass on pointed teeth.

             You feel the appendage twist within you, curl, drag along your stuffed walls until it pops from your cunt. The slurping noise the clown makes as he swallows the blood he’s pulled from your passage is absolutely obscene. You’re startled by the moan that sneaks out of your throat, your cheeks heating up in shame.

             Pennywise chortles, thick tongue snaking inside you once again. You choke on a whimper, frigid fingers digging into your sweaty palms when you feel that slick appendage undulating deep in your guts.

            Slurp, thrust, slurp, thrust.

            Soon, you’re moaning, clenching every muscle in your body to keep from bucking into the clown’s shark mouth and begging for more. Fire races across your flesh, burns in your belly, curls into a beautiful pressurized ball. You’re about to burst.

            When Pennywise hums a tune you jolt, slicing your legs on his teeth. You cum despite the stinging pain, a powerful implosion of sensation that gushes from your cunt and whites out your vision. The clown gurgles appreciatively, resurfaces with a noisy pop, and abruptly drops your hips.

            You shudder, still twitching from the aftershocks, panting breaths curling white before you. Thick, bloody drool drips from the clown’s teeth when you meet his jaundiced gaze. Do you dare ask what’s next?

            Another shiver overtakes you, this time from the cold seeping into your limbs and Pennywise clicks his tongue, “Poor little popsicle. Better get you inside.” He scoops you up, tosses you over his shoulder, and sloshes back through the creek toward the gloomy storm drain, “If you’re cold, they’re cold,” he sings quietly to himself, his words echoing off the concrete walls of the pipe.

            Despairingly, you reach for the lip of the drain, but your weak fingers merely slip off the icy surface. There’s nothing more to do but watch the moon disappear from view as you’re swallowed up by the dark.

[phoenixtakaramono]

A Prince and His Baron - Ch3 Preview III (Revision of Preview I)

He had awoken just as dawn was breaking. It was the hour of silence where the veil of darkness began to lift in Hell, the realms being remade in their unique, antique pattern just as the red light moved over the horizon.

Gray feathers drifted down from him as Stolas slowly propped himself up on an elbow, rubbing the sleepiness from the corner of his eye. The scent of sex blanketed the air, stirring memory of the tryst of yesternight, his body still feeling the blissful ache of satiation.

Peeking through the gaps of his talons, he went to inspect the extent of the damage.

His feathers were disheveled. Other small feathers littered the bed, one of the few casualties from their copulation. Another was the ripped pillow beside his, which still had the indentation of someone having laid their head on it. When he glided his talons over the empty side of the bed, the covers still felt lukewarm to the touch.

The realization made a smile break across the white facial disc.

His mind summoned the memory of Blitzø lying there, snuggled beneath the rich velvet coverlet, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. Having been put to the test, the assassin had performed well beyond expectations. And such aggressive endurance deserved the reward of deep slumber. How sweet it had been for Stolas to be on the receiving side of being taken for once, ravaged and cared for.

The imp very much reminded Stolas of a big, disgruntled hellcat, with the slant of their eyes and their sly temperament. Against the gray sheets and the case of his pillows, the reputedly fearsome hitdemon had made for a surprisingly endearing sight when asleep, vulnerable with his back turned to Stolas and slightly curled in on himself. Even the way he’d clutched the pillow as though dreaming of a victim dying in a stranglehold had been precious, Stolas had felt tempted to pet him—and, worse, memorialize the moment with a photo.

Whoever had said lowerborn demons were weaklings surely hadn’t encountered outliers of similar mettle to this one. Even though the precedent was rare, it was possible for a lowerborn to rise in status.

The vehemence of sensuality, of conquering and asserting a right to dominate, stirred unbegotten memories of yore. Demons of a younger age like Blitzø tended to blaze brightly like a flame, incensed by their burning passions and ambitions.

He'd certainly chosen well.

The crimson in his eyes formed into upside-down crescent moons. As he went to pluck a few loose feathers from himself, he could still recall the phantom sensation of the sturdy body pressed against him in all the right ways. Bruises had bloomed from the claws digging into his hips, just a touch too much to be proper.

Sliding to his feet, he searched the floor for his discarded robes. He’d noticed, as he tugged the sash over his waist, that Blitzø’s clothes were nowhere in sight. Even the shredded remains of the dress shirt and his riding crop had been confiscated, erasing all traces of the assassin’s presence.

His tail feathers drooped. Just as he was about to resign himself to that reality, behind the closed doors of his balcony, he caught the faintest whispers. Indistinguishable, hushed mutterings not meant to be eavesdropped.

The surge of triumph and rekindled desire at the wake of that realization caught him off guard. Stolas couldn’t help the smile that twitched to his face.

He was still within the confines of Stolas’ family estate.

An air of buoyancy was reflected in his footsteps as he approached the paintings on his wall.

“Good morning, my darling starfire.” Stolas pressed a kiss to Octavia’s forehead in the life-sized portrait he’d commissioned of her. A night owl through and through, his daughter was due to be awoken for her royal lessons. As per his customary routine, he drifted to the royal family portrait and he respectfully pressed a kiss to his wife’s knuckle. He breathed, “My queen.”

He hoped his family didn’t begrudge him of his indiscretion. It wasn’t often he told his paramours to stay the night, but yesternight was the rare exception. He’d promised, after all, and Stolas kept his promises.

Opening a door to the hall, he flagged down a servant and exchanged words. The servant immediately understood his intentions. The door clicked shut behind him when the hired help turned in the direction of the stable to find a carriage and a coachman.

Spinning on his feet, Stolas stalked toward the balcony, keeping his tread as silent as possible. He smiled as he edged closer, pushing the doors open slowly, thoroughly enjoying the hunt in a way he hadn't for a long time.

A familiar voice drifted into his hearing.

“—you tell that animatronic clown no deal.” Blitzø was hissing into his—burner?—phone.

The assassin was glowering at the estate grounds. He was crouched by the balusters, his tail swinging back and forth agitatedly.

Having heard a noise, he’d shot a sharp look over his shoulder. One hand had slipped under his coat.

When he saw the noise came from somebody he recognized, the tension in Blitzø’s arm automatically loosened and his grip released from a pistol that had been cinched to his leather holster. Leveling Stolas with an apologetic look, he held up one claw.

Stolas understood the universal sign. Give me a minute.

Turning his face away, Blitzø spoke into his phone, “Ain’t no pay worth dealing with that crazy.”

Stolas’ interest was piqued.

Although the imp had yet to be conferred a title of nobility, he was of such a position where others couldn’t swear openly and talk behind his back without fearing retribution. Despite rebuking the demon on the other side of the line, Blitzø’s voice lacked heat.

Listening to the reply, after a while Blitzø interjected, “That’s a heaping pile of fuck no juice right there.”

Crouched on his haunches, Blitzø made for a strange but arresting sight on his balcony. The long dark coat was draped over Blitzø’s shoulders, as though he’d had every intention of pulling his arms through the sleeves—before his motion had been interrupted by a call. The fabric fanned out behind him on the glittering stone surface, reminding him of a black hole consuming a nebula.

Stolas’ gaze trailed appreciatively down the imp’s figure, over the protruding spikes and down the curve of his spine. It was strange, but seeing his back was like a siren’s call. Stolas’ talons itched with the need to reach out and touch.

XXXXXXXXXX

Author Notes: When Sneak Peek I was initially written, it was posted on tumblr days before the Helluva Boss ep2 released. Going back to my first draft of ch3 now that ep5 has dropped, I’d gotten some new ideas—but it required me to edit somethings from my first draft. I’d wanted to share the beginning of the revised first scene.

Note: since this is part of the first draft, some details are subject to revision when the final draft comes out. Ch1-2 can be read on AO3. Near the end of ch2 is 🔞, so please do be mindful of that.

SUMMARY: It was undeniable that there was a new and upcoming threat in Hell, rivaling some of the realm’s most ancient fiends in ruthlessness despite his pedigree. Prince Stolas arranged to meet the hitdemon, ready to confer upon him a title. Their first meeting didn't go exactly according to plan.

Blitzø didn't think he'd catch a royal demon's interest in that manner, but as an assassin who's got several centuries under his belt, he might be able to roll with it.

(A sort of What-If AU, inspired by demon mythology, canon, and some other things like the Helluva Boss Instagram accounts.)