#this is my red flare out to the masses

[applecranberryjuice]

Asking exclusively bcs im desperate, WHERE can I watch the new eps from DR I'm dying out here without netflix people

[thewinchestah]

"PREY" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: One-Shot, 18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, begging, overstimulation, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink,

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: i lost count. it's big.

  | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: Helloooooo!!! I write a lot but i never publish it! My lovely friend and also biggest inspiration for this fic @smallershorteranduncut ordered me to post this and i'm nothing but her loyal servent! I hope you guys enjoy the fruits of me writing 10 google docs pages today while i was enraged. Also english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here yadayayfayada! enjoy <;3 (UPDATE!) Part 2 is now up!

-

Everything about the Radio Demon seemed to be designed to make you desire him, want him. Many times in ways you weren’t even ready to admit to yourself. You haven’t been in Hell long, that’s true. But ever since you manifested here you felt like someone had picked your brain open to make Alastor the perfect bait to lure you into even more sinful, sinister paths. 

He had an inexplicable magnetism around him, a piercing presence that made your eyes stuck on him when he worked a room. He had you bewitched and you hadn’t share more than polite pleasantries with each other since you became a guest at the hotel.

Today, again, you were transfixed in his gaze. Sitting in the corner of the hotel lobby, trying to make your embarrassing attraction to him go unnoticed while Alastor waltzed across the room explaining more of his wicked plans to Charlie. God, how you wish he had his wicked way with you. 

He seemed more… on edge today. His red eyes  glowed a little brighter, his nostrils flared a bit more, static filling the room more often, he was smiling with almost barred teeth, and everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Even Charlie was trying to politely dismiss him, the general feeling of uneasiness inside the hotel  just growing larger when Angel stationed himself near your little corner of the room. 

“Don’t go near that creepy motherfucker today, he’s about to lose it.”  Angel alerted, almost whispering, a pair of his hands making the “crazy sign” near his head 

“Isn’t he always creepy and about to lose it?” Husk added, staring at the exchange between the radio demon and Charlie.

“I’m telling you toots, I know that guy definitely isn't normal, but today he is borderline a mass extinction event. I swear, he’s just waiting for someone to give him the excuse” Angel replied, confirming your suspicions. Something was off.

“Uh. Well, about that, I think it’s time we rescue Charlie” 

As if on cue Charlie turned to the corner of the room, gesticulating really hard to be taken away from the small commotion her conversation with Alastor was becoming. 

“Hey Charlie, do you remember that thing with the hotel’s… personalized stationery you asked me to help you today? Let’s do it!” Said angel gently guiding Charlie away from the Radio Demon.

“Guess that’s my cue Alastor! Greaaaaat chat! As always! Have a nice day!! Byeee!” Charlie’s overly chirpy tone giving away her uneasiness. 

Suddenly it felt like all the air was taken out of the room. Alastor’s neck turned into an ungodly angle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Static grew around the group, almost suffocating. As your vision went blurry from the sheer power that was being evoked, you contemplated if there was another afterlife. Preferably one where you didn’t inherit a death wish from your previous ones.

And as quick as it started, it was over. 

Alastor just said a creepy “hm” turned on his hell, and walked away. 

It almost felt like it was all in your head, but your friends standing perfectly still and dead silent next to you gave the reality of the situation away: everyone just had a near death-death experience. Maybe it would be a good topic for Charlie’s bonding exercises, who knows with this place. 

“I told ya’ll. Mass. Extinction. Event. Stay out the psycho’s way”

Angel’s voice became background noise in your head, your eyes focusing on the spot where Alastor just threatened everybody’s life without saying a word. As the voices dissipated around you and normalcy slowly returned to the hotel, your mind sank deeper and deeper into the mystery that was the Radio Demon. 

-

They were so oblivious, so naive. Thinking he wasn’t listening what they said about him behind his back. Thinking he was unaware of him being the topic of the discussion when he wasn’t looking. He could bathe in the smell of their fear, and he was relishing it. 

Alastor stared at the new pretty little thing that arrived at the hotel. Oh how pathetically sweet and innocent she was, thinking she was being subtle about her infatuation with him. Thinking she could hide her interest in him, when she was nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes. Oh, she was just the perfect prey for him, wrapped in this lovely red bow she wore on her hair. 

Angel was right, he was just waiting for an excuse, and she just offered him one on a silver platter. And alastor was everything but a coward. 

-

You cursed a little bit louder than you intended when you saw the blood dripping from your finger. “Stop. making. a. spectacle. of. yourself” you mentally screamed. You still could not figure Charlie’s “special stationary stapler” out, so stapling your finger was bound to happen. 

Even though it was not much, the silly little cut was stinging like a bitch, and your best efforts to stop the bleeding were futile, considering the mess on the hem of your skirt. Still high on the adrenaline from earlier, your shaking hands searched for something, anything to put on your finger so you could continue your work without anyone noticing. Everyone already had enough for one day, it was fine. 

“My dear, did you just hurt yourself?” Alastor’s voice invaded your ears. Oh, fuck. That’s it, he was going to murder you for being so incompetent with the damned stapler.

Turning to face him, you meet his piercing gaze, not sure if you should run and scream for help. “Oh no worries alastor, it’s just a small cut, i can manage!” you give him your most confident smile. 

Alastor’s head tilts, eyes burning red as he watches the small droplets of your blood make their way down your index finger.  

“Nonsense, I can't have my staff running around with injuries and bloodied clothes. We are in hell, but we are not savages, dear” He seems transfixed by the blood, and you are too scared to move, too scared to anything other than hold the weight of his gaze and hope for the best. Your lizard brain is screaming for you to run, ask for help. Maybe Charlie isn’t too far away, could you make a run for it? Somehow your survival instincts override your brain, maybe all those hours watching true crime back on earth weren’t in vain, and you decide against running. Let him initiate first. 

He catches your wrist, trapping it inside his deadly claws. His face, towering over you, comes all the way down to inspect the offending finger. You can feel his breathing on your skin. 

Your breathing stops. You swallow an imaginary lump. He’s gonna bite off your fing-

“Would you be a doll and let me take care of it? Blood being unnecessary wasted truly abhors me” 

You must have said yes at some point, you don’t really remember, now you are holding the red handkerchief he handed  you, answering his request to “please follow him”. Trailing behind the Radio Demon, both of you walk through the large corridors. 

This might be the time to scream for help. the voices inside your head warn. With every step of his feet you hear his microphone going tsk tsk tsk where it touches the ground. You are walking the death row, the paintings on the wall chanting “dead woman walking, dead woman walking”. 

“Keep pressuring the wound darling, we are almost there” he gently commands you, too gently… it feels almost… soft, pleading. The way Alastor goes from 0 to 100 is giving you whiplash. 

He slows down, reaching for the door knob of an unknown room. Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to enter first.

the door locks behind you.

 if i’m being murdered, at least i’m being murdered with class. 

“Don’t be silly, I’m not going to murder you” Alastor says, almost singing the last part of the sentence. 

“Oh fuck, i said that out loud, didn’t I?” you blurted out 

“Yes you did. And yes, I also noticed your lovely doe eyes on me every time i’m in the room” 

Your brain short circuits. That 's it. You are dead. He’s not going to murder you (apparently), but you are going to die of embarrassment. It will feel like murder. He knows, fuck, he knows. He knows about your crush (?) and he’s going to drag you for it. You are going to be so dragged the angels will pity you and bring you to heaven. A creative way to be redeemed, Charlie should know about this. Your thoughts are going downhill as a big snowball, there are too many of them and you can’t follow a single coherent train of thought. You don’t even want to know how you look in the middle of this. You must look pathetic, truly like a doe caught in headlights. And then you hear your name once.

Twice now, in a sing-song voice.

Your eyes fly open towards the sound, breaking from the anxiety induced spell as you realize the Radio Demon had just called you, by name. He knows your name???

“Ah hahah! You’re back.” Alastor says, as he starts to circle you like a predator. Your eyes, as always, follow his across the room.

 “I don’t like to repeat myself, little doe. You heard what I asked?” 

Again, you don’t really remember answering, your brain is going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as you watch him pace around you, eyes burning red, demanding your attention. Teeth slightly barred, voice on the edge of something. Was that “X” on his forehead always there?

“I asked if you know what you are doing to me” static fills the room as he finishes speaking. Alastor’s clawed hand trapped your bloodied finger dangerously close to his grinning lips. Your brain is doing flips as he stares deep into your soul, and when your thoughts land you make the connection. Alastor is horny. Alastor is horny for y-

“You see, little doe, I know what your eyes hide when you desperately lower them everytime I come near you. I know how you feel you can hide in plain sight if you stay quiet enough. But I can taste it. Your fear. Your lust. In the air. In your blood.” He has a white knuckled grip on your wrist now, same with his microphone. You lower your guard, eyes going from startled to lustful. “Good thing right now there’s nothing more i want in this godforsaken pit than your lust, pet”

You want this. There’s no point in lying to yourself. You want Alastor to fuck you. You’ve fantasized about the Radio Demon taking you more times than you can count. More times than you would like to admit to yourself. This feels deeply wrong, but you crave it. 

Fuck it, you are in hell, there’s nothing to lose. Alastor is still watching you, impatiently. For the first time today you realize you actually forgot to say something. He’s waiting. Alastor is waiting for your permission. 

“Take my breath away, Alastor” 

Your permission might have been really loud, it felt like you were screaming the words. But you can’t be sure, it might have been a whisper. Either way he didn’t miss it, what happens next is fast, angry and delicious. 

Alastor pounces and licks the blood on your finger, something clicks inside him as he tastes the red liquid, because he lets go of his microphone instantly and his arms grab your waist aggressively, so forceful you wouldn’t be surprised if it breaks skin. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, by the sight of a psychopathic demon drinking your blood. But you are, and there’s no going back. 

“Strip” he orders. You want to say to him that you can’t take your clothes off your person with him holding you like this. He must have realized the conundrum: if he wants you naked, he has to let go of you. To Alastor, letting go of you right now is simply unthinkable. So he doesn’t: you feel his claws cut the bodice of your dress open, sending the most delicious shivers down your spine. Another claw rips your skirt apart, and you are almost fully naked in the Radio Demon’s arms, pressing your body hard on his still impeccable dressed body.

It’s humiliating, it’s dangerous, it’s hot, it is delicious, to be at his complete mercy, just how you always wanted.

Somehow both of you made your way close to the enormous bed in the middle of the room. Alastor cornered you, so the only way you could escape was walking backwards towards the bed. The brilliant bastard. 

You feel your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and Alastor breaks away.

 Pity, your mind complains. Get him back to touching you again. right. now,.

“Now now, we should establish some rules for this, pet” Alastor’s hands might have stopped touching you, but his piercing eyes never did. He knocks you on top of the bed, you lay there sprawled open just for him. His hands move up to do a quick work of his bowtie

“Rule one: you will take what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less. What I give you is enough. You might feel like you can’t take anymore, but you can. You will take it, I will make you take it” He takes his tailcoat off, his frame towering over you, even with your body completely flat on the mattress and his in front of it. 

“ Rule two: every ounce of your pleasure is mine and mine only. Mine to give, mine to take. And you will give me everything. I want to hear every sound, to feel every touch, to know every nasty thought that runs inside that pretty little head of yours. You will not suppress anything, I wanna hear your moans when you make a mess of yourself as I take everything I desire from your delicious body. I will relish on your desperate screams of pleasure.Nothing outside these walls matter” He is climbing on the bed now. You hold the weight of his gaze, underneath your demonic lover’s eyes your skin burns.

“Rule three: don’t you dare cum without my permission, good girls earn their orgasms and you will be a good girl. Or else…” static starts to pick up around the room, you are seeing the blackest black that ever was, his shadows enveloping you both. Nothing outside these walls matter. “Understood?” Alastor says as he pins your hands on top of your head, against the fancy headboard. His hand cups one of your boobs and he is worrying your nipple between his sharp claws. finally finally, your mind sings. You feel a surge of magic binding your wrists in green chains, attached to the headboard. It’s overbearing, it’s ridiculous. His magic feels like him, another part of him for you to take.

He pinches your nipple particularly hard and you moan softly, pleasure and pain consuming any other sensation. You forgot to answer him, you realize. You’ve barely started and you are already being bad. “yes alastor, yes.. but please don’t stop” the soft whimper leaves your lips.

“lovely.” he replies, and with that his mouth is on your nipple, sucking it while he administers his wicked ministrations to your other one. His sharp teeth prickling on the edge of breaking skin, and you already feel like you won’t be able to take all of him. 

His hand trails down to aggressively grip your thighs, his tongue sucking the neglected nipple his fingers left. Your moans become frequent and messy, if he’s already making you go insane with the beginnings of foreplay... You might pass out and die when he starts fucking you, but you don’t care. Let him show you the true meaning of la petite mort.

“My my, what do we have here” his hand leaves your thigh to trace the wetness of your panties. A clawed finger rips it apart, the last barrier between you and total consumption by the Radio Demon. He takes the finger between your glistening lips, not entering, just teasing 

“I don’t think i will get enough of this pretty little body of ours anytime soon, pet” he says as his finger finally enters your sex, He moves his digit with an expertise you didn’t really know he had in him,  making you whimper his name, ooohs and aaaahs, your hips start threshing from the pleasure. If you continue at this pace, you will be  begging for permission to cum too soon. Pathetic. you think to yourself. Because you know how hard this building orgasm will be,you don’t know if he will grant you more than one orgasm. And will you murder you yourself if you don’t feel his cock inside you tonight. You take a deep breath in between your moans and will your hips to stay in place, your nerves to calm down. 

Alastor adds another finger, and it takes all of your willpower not to become a puddle of wetness right there. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood. 

“you do make a mess of yourself, don’t you? you just can’t help it” he says as he curls his digits inside you. Your hips start thrashing hard again, and you sink them deeper into the bed. The chains on your wrists shake with the effort to hold back. As if alastor wasn’t going to notice. “no no no what did I say?” he snaps angrily, he’s eyes flash red at you and he takes his fingers out with a wet “pop”, you feel like crying at the emptiness. “please please alastor, don’t stop” you plead. His hands leave you entirely, you are left with just his piercing gaze, the one that makes your skin burn. “did I say you could hold back? don’t pretend like you aren’t a common whore for me, that you love how pathetic it feels that you are creaming yourself and we haven’t even really started” 

his condescending tone just makes everything even more sublime. It’s so wrong how good being told you are nothing more than a common whore by the Radio Demon feels. But you never felt anything close to this. “please Alastor” you beg again, nothing but a small whisper

“I would love to taste this pussy, so red already for me, but since you broke one of the rules… i’m afraid I will make you understand that are nothing but my pretty cockslut the hard way” 

Punishment? His punishment sounds ever better than his praise right now. You moan at his voice. He laughs. 

His knees cage you, as he lifts his upper body from you and starts undoing his zipper. He is taking his cock out. Oh fuck, he’s gonna fuck you without anymore foreplay. And he’s not going to be gentle about it either. You shiver. 

Alastor pumps himself a few times, his cock is big, thick, and an angry red shade, flush red like that, because of you, just for you. He’s gonna make you pay: pay for holding back from him, pay for making him feel like an animal and almost losing his hard constructed control. 

The look on his face says it all, he’s gonna take it out on you and you can’t do nothing about it.

You don’t have much time to think about the repercussions, in one swift motion his tip is already inside you, stretching you deliciously. Your brain short circuits again, the feeling of his cock inside you is everything you imagine and more. Depraved, heavenly, delicious. You struggle in your binds again, you want desperately to touch him. To feel his skin beneath your finger, to scratch him, mark him. But oh well, he’s the Radio Demon, he’s the one in charge and you are his prey.

Alastor starts to slowly enter you, he’s trying his best to hold back. He knows if he does this too fast it will hurt in a way he doesn’t want you to feel. And by the look on his face going slow is as torturous for him as it is for you. tantalizing inch after tantalizing inch he spreads the walls of your cunt apart. You understand now why this is punishment, it hurts in a perfect way, it hurts even more that he is doing it slowly, and not just thrusting like you imagined  he would, if he had more time to work on you. 

You become a mess of moans and incoherent words. His cock is halfway inside you now “HoLY FUCK ALASTOR” you scream. It’s already too much. 

“There’s nothing holy about this my dear. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to break you” and with that he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Now you truly scream in pleasure and pain “you won’t be able to walk straight for days, you will feel me in every step, and you will thank me for it”. His thrusts pick up at breakneck speed, the bed shakes from the sheer force that Alastor is using to fuck you. Every snap of his hips you moan more and more. 

The sound you make when he takes everything out and enters you at once is so obscene that it would make Angel Dust blush. He’s growling now, his antlers growing bigger as he fucks you like his life dependend on it. As he fucks you like he hates you. 

Alastor pushes your hips higher, and suddenly he’s even deeper. His other hand holding your waist in a bruising grip. The strain on your pinned hands will bruise too. His lips graze the skin of your collarbone, he looks so feral you are scared he will maul, the thrill of not knowing adding to your fucked up sense of pleasure. 

He seems to pick up on your fear, and bites down on your collarbone, hauling as he tastes your blood and buries himself inside you again and again. Moans turned into screams, and the only thing coming out of your lips is his name, spoken like a profane prayer. You would give everything you have to Alastor, and he doesn’t even have to ask.

Your orgasm has been building for a while now, the coil on your belly becoming tighter and tighter, like a supernova about to be born. “Alastor, please please let me come” you beg. His unfocused eyes stare down at you, as he takes a moment from feasting on your sweet blood to address your desperate, sweet pleas.

“Don’t. You. Dare” he says, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust. As much as you want, you are not sure you will be able to hold any longer. “I beg you alastor, please let me cum, i will let you do anything you want. but i need it so badly, please please”

You sounded so desperate when you begged, so beautiful.

“Don’t strike deals you don’t know you can fulfill, pet” his voice is low, a warning. You ignore it. “I promise Alastor, anything”. Alastor laughs.

 his finger touches your clit as he finally allows your sweet relief “you may come now, sweet doe” and that’s it, you are off, you are dead. You see stars, you see the entire universe as you scream out and climax. Walls tightening around Alastor’s monster cock, eyes rowling, his name a scream on your lips. You ride out your wave slowly, but Alastor is not slowing down.

Instead he is picking up his pace, maneuvering your hips even higher, your chains are stretched to the limit. You can feel them start piercing your skin. Thrust after thrust the sensation becomes too much, you are too overstimulated to go through all of this again.

“i can’t take it, i can’t take it!”

Alastor doesn’t care. “I told you not to make deals if you can’t hold them, didn’t I?” You don’t answer, you can’t. you can’t to anything but let him fuck you as hard and as much as he want. “but you are such a little cockslut for me that you can’t help it. What a shame” 

He is gripping your hips so hard it breaks skin, tiny trails of blood on his claws. “you will take it. You better take it, or I will make you take it” static picks up as he threatens the last words. You know you are spent, you know how bad it hurts, you know how bad his words sound, but the lines between pleasure and pain are so blurred that you can’t think coherently. Even this  pain of being broken feels good. 

Still, tears fill your eyes and you start crying, from pleasure, from pain, you don’t know anymore. What Alastor is doing to you has no precedent. No one can do this like he does. He knows torture too well, and he is tortouring you in the most decadent, delicious ways possible. “alastor i want to, i want to so bad but i just can’t” the tears sting your eyes and stain your face. 

Alastor sees it. He slows down just a bit, his voice softening “oh my dear doe, but you can. Just this once more, just for me. One more” his voice is so maddening soft it acts like fuel to your tears. Your skin tingles and you feel giddy, somehow your throbbing hot, wet cunt seems to find the right amount of relief, and you can feel only pleasure again.

Alastor continues to fuck you, your moans returning to normal, you are being so loud now, making a mess of yourself, just like he said, and a big hand comes to cover your mouth. 

“Oh we can’t have you being this loud can we?” his voice goes to that delicious mocking tone. His thrusts are slower now, but as deep as they can go. “what would you friends say if they found out that you moan like a common whore for their feared radio demon.. hum,.?”

You start to feel the pit of your belly tightening again, and alastor doesn’t stop humiliating you. The degradation feels just the right amount of perfection. You are exactly what he says you are. A common whore when it comes to him. “weren’t you ashamed just a few moments ago? trying to hold back the sinful sounds you make when I touch you? I already gave you one orgasm. I’ve been way too generous for my liking. I should stop right now since you feel so conscious about this”  Alator’s breathing is becoming erratic, his thrusts sharp, hard, and out of the breakneck rhythm he was torturing you before.You start moaning even louder through his hand. “ungrateful little pet. You are just so greedy for one more orgasm, you don’t even care that everyone downstairs can hear you hm??”

You can’t think straight. you feel on the edge of glory, this orgasm threatening to be harder than your previous one, as if it is possible. “alastor i’m so sorry, i know i don’t deserve it” you muffle behind his hand, he hears you speaking and takes if off “but can you please let me cum? just this once? just for you. Please Al” his thrusts are truly erratic now. He’s close too, even though you are too wrapped up on your own sensations to notice 

“please” you beg, nothing more than a whisper. Already making peace with the fact that you are going to come without his permission and he will probably never fuck you again

“Good girl, you can come now”

instantly as you are granted his permissions your world explodes, blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, the waves of pleasure making your heart beat so fast you feel like it’s going to stop. The petit mort is coming, and her sweet embrace envelops you, specially now that you feel Alastor’s cock twitching and spilling his seed inside you. You scream his name. Maybe you hear him screaming yours too. You don’t know anymore, your nerves are singing from pleasure unheard of back  when you were alive. Pleasure so great it could only be found in hell. The most heavily, depraved way of torture. 

You come down from your high, still dizzy, your body going limp. You are not dead, but you are positively spent. You give in into the warm and fuzziness of sleep. 

The last thing you remember is the softness of a blanket, a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Oh my dear, I knew you had one more on you,spending yourself this way just for me! What a truly precious thing, doe”

You might be dreaming now.

-

You weren’t dreaming. Alastor praises you, knowing his words will be the last thing you hear before a night of peaceful, deep dreamless slumber. He makes sure to put the softest velvet blanket he owns on your body, not to make the damage you gladly allowed your body to take for him an inconvenience. Tomorrow you will wake up to fancy letters of praise and sweet chocolate covered strawberries. And no one will know how Alastor found the perfect doe to breed as he pleases during the height of his mating season.

[coastalcowgirl35]

Just Us- Tyler Owens x Reader

Note: I accidentally wrote this in first person, then had to go back and fix it and I'm very mad.

Also I'm horrible at titles, mb guys

Also I went to go see Twisters again last night and let's just say I've reaffirmed that Glen Powell is going to be my entire personality for quite some time.

Also listened to the soundtrack while writing this, 10/10 Too Easy is literally the most motivational song ever.

Also apparently Y/N really likes murmuring against Tyler's lips when they kiss, once again mb

Warning: pretty hot and heavy at the end guys, idk what came over me

"Y/N... Y/N" You blink my eyes open slowly revealing your boyfriend Tyler's grin in your face. "Hey baby, come on get up, we've got a big one coming." His excitement is palpable as he plants a kiss on your lips.

"Wait what?" You mumble, confused.

"Time to get up hon, we got a storm to chase." He kisses you again then pulls away so you can sit up. You quickly brush your teeth, change into cargo pants and a tank top, and pull your hair back to keep it off your neck in the Oklahoma heat.

"Okay Ty, I'm ready!" You say as you slip on your boots. He's looking up at you from where he sits on the edge of the bed with a grin on his face. "What?" He stands up and wraps his arms around you.

"You're just so damn cute." He says, tilting your chin up to give you yet another kiss.

"Mhmm I thought we had to go." You murmur against his lips as your kisses become more passionate and his hands find their way to your waist.

"We do." He agrees and you reluctantly pull apart. You open the door and he grabs his keys.

"Who's coming with today?" You ask over your shoulder as he ensures that the door is locked.

"Just us today sweetheart, that okay?" He says, grinning again. You nod and he puts an arm around your waist as you walk into the parking lot and up to his giant red truck.

As soon as you are both in your seats he places a hand on your thigh, you're dying internally but he acts as if it is the most casual thing in the world. You clear your throat and shake your head, trying to think of anything else.

"Do you see it?" Tyler asks quietly. His green eyes are fixed on something up ahead on the red dirt road and you follow his gaze. A dark mass of clouds are forming and you can see it too, the way they are swirling towards each other slightly, the way the wind is brushing over the grasses in that direction, in a way you both know will add fuel to the fire and hopefully cause a storm.

"God it's beautiful." You whisper.

"Not as beautiful as my girl." Tyler responds, eyes fixed on you now, a wide grin on his face.

"You're so fucking cheesy." You say, as if your cheeks aren't flaring a bright red and your heart didn't skip a beat at his words. He simply laughs and looks back at the road, with his hand still on your thigh.

You fall into a comfortable silence as you watch the clouds. They seem almost as if they are dancing, their movements so perfect and fluid. Tyler's driving matches the storm and as it begins to grow faster he speeds up, soaring down the open road as the sun just barely begins to peek over the horizon next to you.

The sight is truly breathtaking. The orange light spills across the acres of land sprawling out before you and is heavily contrasted by the dark clouds floating menacingly above, miles away.

As you get closer light rain begins to tatter against the top and sides of the truck. You watch, transfixed by the storm, when suddenly an idea hits you. You roll down your window and unbuckle your seatbelt.

"What are you doing?" Tyler asks, but he clearly can guess because he slows down slightly. You slip away from his hand that is still resting on your thigh and hoist yourself up so that your entire torso is outside the window. You tilt your head back, enjoying the gentle shower of droplets and reach one arm out, feeling the wind. You stay like that for a few minutes before Tyler calls up to you.

"Get back in Y/N/N, the rains about to get harder." He says gently. You nod and slide back inside, resuming your previous position and rolling the window back up. Tyler doesn't miss a beat and his hand is already on your thigh again before you can re-buckle your seatbelt. You smile and blush but don't say anything.

As Tyler predicted, the rain gets harder almost instantly and you can feel the atmosphere changing as you venture away from the orange sunrise and towards the gray storm.

You peel your eyes away from the storm and turn to look at your boyfriend. His beautiful green eyes are fixed on what's ahead, his jaw set determinedly.

"Whatcha looking at pretty girl?" He asks, caressing your thigh with his thumb. You blush and he turns to look at you, grinning.

"Eyes on the road Tyler." You say, blushing harder.

"What so you're allowed to stare at me but I can't look at you?" He teases.

"Just drive." You groan, attempting and failing to not laugh at his comment.

"Alright, alright." He says, still grinning. "Hey look" He points out the windshield. The clouds are swirling closer together and beginning to form a tight tendril that reaches towards the ground.

"Come on baby." You urge in a whisper, willing it to touch down. Tylers grip on your thigh tightens slightly. It reaches closer and closer then finally touches the ground, instantly causing a swirling cloud of dust to explode into the air. "Fuck yeah!" You shout, clapping your hands together triumphantly.

Tyler laughs raucously at your reaction but can't hide the excitement on his face.

"Happy are you?" He asks with a grin.

"You're lucky you're I love you Ty or I would absolutely hate you." You scoff. He laughs harder at that.

"Whatever you say babygirl."

You sigh dramatically at his teasing but can't help the permanent grin on your face. You're really in love with the stupid Tornado Wrangler. The wind and rain both get harder and louder as you both pull on your harnesses.

Tyler is going at nearly full speed now. Your heart is pounding, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The cyclone is growing and hurtling towards you faster than you are hurtling towards it.

"Ready Y/N/N?" Tyler asks, almost shouting so that you can hear him.

"Hell yeah!" You shout back. He slams his foot on the break, pulling you to an unnecessarily rough stop. You give him a look and he smiles apologetically as he deploys the augers.

"Here she comes baby!" He yells. You curse under your breath and wrap your hand around his wrist tightly as he squeezes your thigh again.

The cyclone slams into the truck, throwing both you and Tyler harshly against your harnesses. The swirling cloud of dirt and leaves and who knows what else obscures your vision on all sides. The truck rocks violently and you squeeze Tyler's wrist so hard you wonder if it will bruise.

As fast as it started, it ends. The howling wind pulls past you and dust begins to settle on everything that was torn apart in its path. You laugh in astonishment, no matter how many times you chase you'll never get over that feeling. You and Tyler both jump out of the truck, turning to watch the twister get further and further.

You don't hear him walk around the truck but suddenly Tyler is next to you. You turn to him, beaming at his handsome face.

"You have fun babe?" He asks, endearingly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You nod and stand up on your toes slightly to press a kiss against his lips. He tangles his fingers into your hair instantaneously as the other hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "God I love you Tyler." You murmur against his lips.

"I love you too Y/N." He walks you backwards until he has you pinned against the truck. You whimper quietly as his hands start to roam your body and his kisses become more passionate. He suddenly breaks away and tilts your head upwards gently so his can kiss your neck. "You. Drive. Me. Fucking. Crazy." He pants out as he sucks on your soft skin harshly.

You moan breathily at his words and unconsciously buck your hips towards him, desperately searching for relief. He reads your mind and, while still passionately marking up your neck, slots one of his legs between yours so that you can rub up against his thigh.

"Fuck baby, I need you so bad." He groans, pulling his head back. His eyes are filled with lust and longing and his beautiful lips look swollen from your kisses.

You place a hand on the side of his face, peering straight into his perfect green eyes.

"Well it's a good thing it's just us today." You say with a smile. "The backseat is wide open."

[blackshadowswriter]

Kneel At The Altar┃Matt Murdock

Summary: The one in which the Devil fucks you at the altar.

Warnings: blasphemy? (because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to fuck in church), reader (me) having very unholy thoughts about Matt in church and Matt acting on those unholy thoughts, little bit of exhibitionism, smut: dom!Matt, kinda rough p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, edging, praying while Matt eats you out AND fingers you (???), choking kink, praise kink, spanking, some degradation, marking, multiple orgasms, some overstimulation, dirty talk (not particularly in that order)

God, if you're reading this, stop here, it isn't for you bby 😘

Words: 7,691

AN: Would you believe me if I said that this fic idea formed in my head WHILE I was in church? I'm not even kidding, I got dragged to church, and I literally thought up this fic while sitting in church, half-listening to a sermon. This fic has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I guess the wait was worth it because I bring you 7k words of pure sin. My content warnings have never been this long before, and that's probably not a good sign (or it's a very, very good sign)

Tagging my wonderful @farfromstrange because you also inspired me to finish this, and our horny enthusiasm for this fic kept me going, ily sm girl 🖤

As you knelt in front of the altar on your hands on knees with tears in your eyes and the Devil himself between your legs, you wondered how you had gotten yourself into this predicament. 

It had started out so innocent: dear Matthew asking you to go to mass with him, swaying you with his plea of "I don't want to go alone, sweetheart, please" and that drowned puppy look in his eyes. For someone who couldn't see out of them, Matt could express a great deal of emotion in his eyes. 

You agreed to accompany him to Sunday morning mass and returned the victorious grin that had spread across his face with a fond one of your own. You weren't usually one for religious settings like this, but it was worth it to see Matt in that black suit with the white dress shirt—one of your favorite outfits on Matt. 

Half of the sermon fell on your deaf ears as most of your attention was on Matt, studying his gorgeous side profile and that stubbled jawline that you loved kissing when he fucked you. God, it felt even better between your legs. The thought of that sent heat flaring across your body as you squeezed your thighs together. 

Besides you, Matt cleared his throat quietly, nudging you in your side, undoubtedly guessing where your thoughts had gone. A faint blush rose to your cheeks when you saw that Matt's jaw was clenched tightly, a sign you had come to know meant that he was trying to control himself. The sight of that only spurred on further thoughts of Matt losing control and fucking you right there. 

Matt let out a quiet but ragged breath, and you knew he could smell the arousal between your thighs. His grip on his cane was so tense that his knuckles had turned white, his scars visible against his trembling fist. Your mouth went dry as you remembered those knuckles buried inside of you as you moaned for him just a few nights ago. Thighs clenching even tighter together, you bit back a grin at Matt's low hiss of your name. 

Subtly, Matt adjusted his pants next to you, and the discomfort on his face made you stifle a laugh. The quiet growl Matt rumbled in warning did nothing to dissuade you. You could feel the heat of Matt's body pressed against yours and bit your lip, recalling how it felt against your bare skin. 

Your fingers started to creep towards Matt's thigh, lightly skimming up and down the side of those muscular thighs that always caged you in when he knelt on top of you in bed. Faster than you could blink, Matt's hand flew towards you and caught your wrist in his tight grip. 

"Not here, for God's sake," he hissed in your ear. 

"Funny you'd phrase it like that," you murmured in amusement. 

Matt turned to glare at you behind his opaque red glasses, but the way he had to fold his hands across his lap to maintain some semblance of his Good Catholic Boy image in church (which you had come to realize was a total façade) told you he wanted it as much as you did. 

You should probably listen to him and stop before anything happened. What was the punishment for getting handsy in God's house again? You had a feeling you didn't want to know. 

But there was the slight thrill of excitement shooting through you at the risk of doing this in pubic. A sly grin slid across your lips as you tilted your head towards Matt's ear, letting your hair fall forward in a way that would seem to onlookers as though you were merely whispering something to him. Instead, you nipped at his neck right below his ear where you knew he was sensitive. Matt's entire form, every inch of thick muscle and power stiffened at the contact, and you heard him give the smallest, tinniest groan that no one other than you would be able to hear.  

Matt growled your name in warning, but there was no denying the lust burning in his dark eyes. His blank gaze had landed somewhere around your lips, and you wondered if he really was going to give into desire and kiss your right there. 

But then everyone started to rise around them to sing the closing songs, and the sudden movement snapped both of you out of whatever horny haze you had been in. You stood like everyone else, shoulders pressed together, forced to ignore the blatant lust coiling in both of you.

For now.

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"I'm going out," Matt whispered to you sometime late at night as you laid curled in bed with a book in hand while the shadow of the Devil stood behind you. 

At his words, you shut your book and rolled over to face him, eyes roving over the skin-tight black suit through which you could practically see every single ab. His black mask was held in one hand while the other came up to cradle your face gently. As much was you enjoyed Matt in his black lawyer suit, you decided that you enjoyed Matt even more in his black Devil suit when you could run your fingers across his broad chest and feel the almost burning heat of his skin underneath. 

You tilted your head up to study Matt's face. Whenever his mask was on, cloaking so much of his face in black, he felt like a phantom shadow that could disappear if you closed your eyes for a second too long. There was something sharp and fiery and dangerous about him.

You didn't mind of course. In actuality, you enjoyed it—enjoyed the danger of dancing with the Devil. 

"Okay," you said, sitting up to press a kiss to his soft lips. "Stay safe." 

"I will," he murmured, brushing his calloused fingers across your temple. "Stay in the apartment. Wait for me when I get back." 

You knew that voice—that low, possessive tone that dripped with promise for what was to come. A knowing smirk flitted across your lips as you hooked your legs around his waist to pull him nearer. "Yeah?" you challenged. "And what are you going to do when you get back?" 

Matt chuckled softly, and even though the mask was off, that sound right there was purely the Devil speaking. "Oh sweetheart," he purred. "That's only for me to know, isn't it?" 

That low, raspy voice he used rekindled that fiery want that had burned so dangerously in you hours earlier. By the time Sunday morning mass had been over, Foggy and Karen had called you both over for lunch in the office. The rest of the day had went by as normal with neither of you acknowledging what had transpired in the church outside of his promising smirks and your light, teasing touches ghosting across his body. 

Now, however, with the Devil ready to be unleashed, there was nothing stopping that eager, burning desire rearing its head in both of you.

Nothing except Matt's duty to the city. 

Fucking morals. You could just stay with me in bed, you thought about telling him. You might even be able to cajole him into staying if you could rile him up enough.

But no. You understood Matt's commitment to Hell's Kitchen even if you weren't too fond of the fact he got beat up every night. Still, it would be cruel to ask him to stop what he did just for you, just so he could hear the cries of those who needed him going unanswered in the merciless shadow of the night.

You weren't above asking for a little taste of his promise, however. "Tell me," you begged softly. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

That sharp grin was still on his face. "When I come back," Matt whispered in your ear, "I am going to fuck you into this mattress so hard that you won't be able to keep quiet." His fingers danced down the nape of your neck lightly, and you shivered. "And you're going to be screaming my name so loud, so everyone can hear who you belong to." 

"Oh my God," you whimpered, eyes rolling back at the promise. That heat coiling in your stomach lashed out across your body, spreading through you like a wildfire. It pooled between your thighs, making you clench them tightly together with a soft moan. "Matthew." 

The devilish smile that spread across his lips was absolutely sinful, a promise of the night to come. "But," he rumbled in your ear, his hand reaching down to grasp your wrist as he had in church. "You are not to touch yourself until I come back. Do you understand?" 

You whimpered again. 

"I said," Matt growled, "do you understand me?" 

"Yes," you whined. "But God, Matt, please...I can't wait that long, Matt, please—" 

"You will," he said sharply, "or you'll be punished." He released his harsh hold on your wrist and brought his hand up to trail lightly across your cheek, his tenderness a stark contrast to his rough dominance a few seconds ago. "You can do that for me, can't you, sweetheart? Can't you be a good girl for me? Can't you be a good girl and wait for me to get back to fuck you?" 

Fuck, not the praise. 

Your head fell backwards with a small shuddering moan, eyes falling shut as your thighs squeezed tightly together, a desperate motion to ease the ache in your core. "Matt," you whimpered. "Please." 

His low laugh breezed across your cheek, and Matt's hand disappeared from your cheek. "Be good," came his stern order, and then the radiant heat from Matt's body vanished, leaving you panting and desperate.

By the time your eyes had snapped open, the Devil was gone, melting back into the shadows into the night. 

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You tried. 

Oh God, you truly tried. 

You laid there in bed, body burning with desperate need as you tried not to think about what Matt was planning to do to you lest your predicament worsen. 

You tried to read. You rolled onto your stomach and flipped your book back open, trying to pick up where you left off. It did no good—the words wouldn't permeate the fog of sinful thoughts swarming in your head that screamed Matt, Matt, Matt. 

You thought about disobeying Matt and touching yourself, just to relieve some of that pressure building between your legs but quickly dismissed the idea. Matt would know if you did—he would smell the scent of your arousal on your fingers and instantly know what you had done. Even though the prospect of his punishment was excitement, tonight you didn't think you could stand his merciless teasing. You needed him desperately. 

Eventually, after nearly an hour of lying there, you got out of bed and slipped your shoes on. You would go for a walk around the neighborhood, you decided. The fresh air would help clear your head and calm yourself down. 

At least that's what you told yourself you would say if a certain Devil caught your scent and chased you down. 

And if you were really just hoping that said Devil really would catch your scent...well, that was no one's business, was that? 

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In an interesting twist of irony, you made it as far as the gates of Clinton Church before he caught up with you. 

You thought you had heard him behind you several times as you walked, and you knew he must have been letting you hear his small footsteps and scuffles on purpose. If he wanted to, Matt could move like a giant Devilish cat, leaping across rooftops thought the dark in absolute silence. 

But then you paused in front of the church, staring at the stained glass windows through which you could see the dark interior as you thought about that morning. You didn't even noticed the church doors slowly creeping open in front of your, too caught up in your thoughts. 

Suddenly, a strong arm snaked around your waist and yanked you through the doors into the dark church. The startled gasp that flew from your lips at the quick movement was quickly stifled by a large hand over your mouth, but you weren't afraid. You could feel the familiar, broad line of muscle pressed against your back, his body heat that always burned so warm a comforting feeling after the cold New York air. 

"I told you to wait for me," a low voice hissed in your ear. 

You bit back a grin, the tingle of excitement in your stomach growing stronger. "I was just going out for a walk," you said innocently. 

He growled behind you and dragged you towards the altar through the rows of empty pews. As your feet stumbled along, your eyes darted around the dark interior, sweeping for any sign of company. You shouldn't have been worried though—Matt had far more effectively scoped out the inside already to make sure no one else was there. 

"Kneel," Matt ordered when they reached the altar. 

You obeyed, dropping to your knees in front of the wooden table. The cloth that usually draped across it was absent tonight—perhaps being cleaned or for some other reason. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was the man pressed against your back. 

"You've been a bad girl tonight," Matt mused, his chest vibrating against your back when he spoke. 

"Well, you were taking so long, so I thought I'd come find you," you replied sweetly, unable to keep the grin off your face this time. 

Matt hadn't told you that you could move, so you kept still in the position he had ordered you in—kneeling in front of the altar facing forward away from the warm frame of muscle and power at your back. Your eyes turned, almost automatically, up towards the massive statue of Jesus hanging from the cross as you silently wondered if Matt really was planning on taking your right in front of that statue. You decided you wouldn't mind if he did. 

Behind you, you could hear Matt pacing quietly, purposefully keeping out of your line of sight. He made a tsking noise. "So impatient," he tutted. "Perhaps I need to teach you the virtue of patience, don't you think, sweetheart?" 

You licked your lips slowly. "What does this lesson on patience include, sir?" you asked, emphasizing the last word with a smirk. 

His sharp inhale carried to your ears, and your grin widened. Your goal tonight was to rile Matt up enough that he would either forget about your disobedience or not care. So far, the plan was going great.

Then, his hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back. Matt's burning form reappeared, pressed flushed against your back. His hot breath was in your ear suddenly, growling, "I want you to take these off—" his finger curled in the waistband of your pants and snapped them against your waist "—and get on your hands and knees."

When you didn't move at first, he landed a sharp hit to your clothed ass. You yelped, and his hand darted up to cover your mouth.

"Move, sweetheart," he ordered lowly. "And keep quiet. We don't want anyone hearing us here, do we?"

"No," you panted even though you weren't sure if you were telling the truth. His hand released your hair, and you scrambled to obey him, peeling off your jeans and tossing them aside before kneeling how he told you to. The position felt oddly exposed—you could feel cold air breezing across your naked legs and shivered.

"That's better," Matt murmured behind you. His bare hand—when had he taken off the gloves?—brushed against the back of your thigh, and you whimpered, instinctively pressing back against him. This time, when his hand came down your ass, you didn't have the denim of your jeans to protect you. The sound of his hand against the thin material of your panties echoed with a sharp crack through the church. You had to bring a hand up to fist in your mouth to keep quiet from the sting.

"So." He trailed a finger across the back of your thighs lazily, occasionally dipping them down to slide along the soaked fabric of your panties, taking pleasure in each of your hitched breathes. "You want to explain what that was about earlier?"

"I was just going for a walk," you whimpered, desperately arching back into him, but his fingers disappeared the moment you did. The next second, another sharp smack landed on your ass, jolting you forward with a small gasp.

"That's not what I was asking, and you know it," Matt said calmly. "I was talking about this morning."

A feeling of something—you didn't know what that was—ran down your spine, and you shivered, heart rate picking up at the memory of your little dalliance during mass.

"I don't know," you breathed.

Your heart skipped. Lie.

Another harsh strike landed on your ass. "You do."

"Fuck, Matt," you nearly cried, "please!"

"What are you asking for, hm?" Matt murmured, running a large palm over your stinging ass. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"Touch me, fuck me, anything," you begged. "Please, Matt, I've waited so long."

"Then you can wait a little more, can't you?"

"No," you panted, trying not to move, your body on fire. "Matt, please!"

He gave a thoughtful hum, fingers teasing you lightly through the thin fabric of your panties. Your hips bucked back instantly, a sharp whine leaving your throat at the touch. You tried to grind against his hand, but he yanked it away with a low, almost mocking chuckle.

"You've been naughty today, sweetheart," Matt purred. "Having such unholy thoughts in church—don't think I didn't know what you were thinking about. Tell me what were you imagining, hmm?"

Heat rose to your face, melting right along with the fire raging across the rest of your body. "I don't know," you stammered.

"Lie," Matt said, his voice darkly amused. His hand slid underneath your jaw and tilted your head back, so he could press his lips to the shell of your ear. "Were you thinking about me fucking you, sweetheart?"

A ragged moan fell from your mouth, a pulse of heat running across your spine. You let your head fall back against Matt's shoulder, arching back against him. The hand gripping your jaw stroked your cheek gently, a glimpse of softness underneath his dominating exterior.

"Please," you begged quietly. "I need it, Matt. I'll do anything, please..."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He let out a quiet, considering noise, his fingers absently stroking your jaw with a gentleness that you had come to know precede the roughness. You whimpered quietly, begging him in your head to hurry up and do whatever the fuck he wanted to do so he could just fuck you already. Your body was aching with need, that fire in your raging to be satisfied.

"How well do you remember the Lord's Prayer?" Matt asked you abruptly.

You blinked in surprise. "T-the Lord's Prayer?"

"Yes."

"Um...kind of?" you said uncertainly. "Haven't done it since middle school." You felt the breath from his quiet laughter skate across your earlobe and twitched in anticipation of whatever he had planned.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said slowly, his tone dipping back down into the low timber of his Devil voice, the one that always sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to recite it for me as penance for your sins."

"I didn't—"

"Thinking about the Devil fucking you in church is a sin, sweetheart," Matt cooed. "You're going to need to repent if you want to get what you want."

"Y-you want me to pray."

"Yes."

"Right here. Kneeling in my panties. With you at my back, half grinding on my ass."

A sharp swat landed on your ass. "Hmm, it seems more like you were the one grinding on me," he chuckled lowly, dragging his finger along the seam of your underwear. "As for the panties, God might mind, but I don't think the Devil does. In fact, he prefers you praying like this. Go on, sweetheart. Say your prayer, and maybe I'll think about giving you what you want."

You drew in a shaky breath, trying to clear your head away from thoughts of Matt, fuck me already and remember the words of the prayer. This actually wasn't so bad, you decided. It was a bit of a weird request to pray, kneeling at the altar in soaked panties, but it was fine. All you had to do was recite the prayer, and then hopefully, Matt would be satisfied and finally give in to you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

"Okay," you started to say, the vaguely remembered words coming to the tip of your tongue. "Um...Our Father...who art in heaven...hallowed be...thy name?"

"Keep going," Matt purred in your ear, his hands sliding down from your face to lightly grip your throat for a brief moment, enjoying your shaky groan at the contact. He pushed you back down onto your hands and knees, hand running down to your waist and dragging sensually across your hips.

Whimpering at the touch, you bit your lip and forced the next words out. "Y-your kingdom come....and, um....your will be done—Matt, what are you—?"

For he had just hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and started to slide them down your hips. Your breath caught in your throat at the way the fabric slid against your most sensitive areas. "Don't worry about me," he murmured. "Just lift your legs up for me—there you go. Continue."

What the actual fuck? Did he honestly expect you to be even close to okay after that? He slid your panties completely free of your legs, leaving your soaked heat bare to him. You whimpered at the barely there brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, just a few inches away from where you ached for him most.

"Continue, sweetheart," Matt ordered.

You tried to take another deep breath and continue where you'd left off. "Okay, um...will be done...on—on Earth as it is in Heaven. Uh...give us this day our—fucking hell, Matthew—oh my God, fuck!"

You lurched forward, a strangled cry falling from your lips when you felt Matt's mouth suddenly close around your dripping cunt, tongue lashing mercilessly against your clit so fast and so sharp it nearly hurt. He kept up the torturous pace for a few seconds while you writhed and moaned, pleasure striking like lightning between your legs and arcing up to your back and across your legs. His mouth on you was both a remedy and fuel to the desperate need that had been kindling there all night. Your hands clawed at the carpet underneath you, fire burning across every nerve in your body as you shuddered and cried out for him.

Then, as suddenly as it came, his mouth vanished from your cunt in a heartbeat, and you were left just as empty and desperate as you were a few seconds ago.

"No!" you choked out, voice thick with fading pleasure and need as you tried to grind back against him uselessly. "Matt, please!"

He didn't answer your plea for a few moments, instead dragging his tongue across his lips and moaning softly as the taste of you. God, you were perfection to him, you always were. Matt wanted nothing more than to dive back between your legs and drink from you until you had nothing left to give him.

But half the enjoyment of the catch was the chase, and Matt was not done teasing you yet. He laughed darkly, landing another slap to your ass, gentler this time but no less firm. "I told you to pray, sweetheart," he reminded you. "I told you to pray and repent for your sins. And what do you do? Be a filthy little girl and start moaning for me? In God's house? What a dirty little girl you are."

Your mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of this man to accuse you of such a thing when he just fucking ate you out right in front of the altar. Still, there was no hiding the shudder that rolled through you at his words, and Matt gripped your hips firmer.

"You're going to finish your prayer," Matt ordered. "No matter what happens, and then we'll see if you deserve to get fucked."

"'No matter what happens?'" you repeated in a choked whisper. "Are you—you're not actually going to—"

Another hard hit landed on your ass, the sting only feeding the fire threatening to consume you. "Pray, sweetheart," Matt ordered. "Can't you follow a simple command?"

You swallowed thickly. "Y-yes, I can."

"Good. Then continue."

You whimpered softly, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore the burning, aching need for him between your legs. Where had you even left off on the prayer?

"Give us this day our daily bread," you stammered out. "And—um—forgive us our— oh God!"

Because fuck, his mouth was on you again, hungrily lapping at your cunt as you bucked against him desperately. His hot tongue dragged across your clit, and burning pleasure was scorching every inch of your skin. You threw back your head with a wanton moan when Matt circled the sensitive bud with a quick swipe of tongue that had you writhing in his firm grip.

"Matt!" you cried, molten heat rolling across every nerve in your body. Your hands curled against the carpet, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, to brace you against the raging fire licking at your insides.

Matt paused in his motions, pulling his mouth away for a second, but his finger came to replace his tongue, drawing languid circles on your clit that had you rolling your hips in desperation.

"I told you to pray," he told you again, quiet warning in his voice. "Don't make me remind you again."

A strangled noise fell from your lips. "Y-you keep eating me out, and you want me to pray?" you squeaked.

You didn't have to look back to know he had that feral grin on his lips, the one that always drove you insane. "Oh sweetheart, that was the plan from the beginning."

And his deliciously thick finger plunged into you with a sinfully slick noise that seemed to echo through the empty church like a reminder of the blasphemy taking place at the altar, and then you were writhing, whining, whimpering as Matt fucked you slowly with his middle finger. His purposefully slow, deliberate strokes had you moaning so loud, you thought anyone passing by the church might hear you. Each thrust of his finger inside of you stoked that deep, festering pleasure that burned in your very core, making you arch and cry out to a God too ashamed to answer you.

That was okay, you thought through a thick haze of pleasure. You didn't need God to answer you. You needed the Devil to fuck you.

Matt groaned, his eyes rolling back at the smell of your arousal. He dragged his tongue over his lips, bringing the delicious taste of you from the air into his mouth, heat rippling through him at that new sensation. Painfully hard and throbbing in his pants, Matt panted, desperately drawing another breath in just to drag more of your taste into him. You were exquisite. You were perfect, his good little girl, making such pretty noises for him. You were everything he needed and so much more.

His thumb dragged across your sensitive clit, sending jolts of fiery pleasure stabbing through you as that pressure started to build in your lower abdomen, fire coiling into a tight rope, ready to snap. And oh, there it was, sweet orgasm dancing within reach, so close but so far away. Half sobbing, you arched against him, desperately trying to get him to fuck you faster.

But then Matt's fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, slick dripping down your thighs as a harsh sob left your chest. The burning edge of orgasm was already fading away. "Matt," you cried, "please! Please, Matt, please, you've been teasing me for so long—"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he snarled, his hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, so his lips were right against your ear. "Don't act like you didn't want this, you dirty little girl."

A wanton moan slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, before you could register the embarrassment. "I wanted you to fuck me," you groaned. "I need it, Matt, please."

Abruptly, he released his grip on your hair but not before delivering another harsh swat to your ass. "You want me to fuck you? Then do as I say," he commanded. "I gave you an order, sweetheart, and you still haven't followed it. You better finish that prayer before I decide to give you another punishment for not listening."

"I—I don't—"

Another hit to your ass. "Did you not hear me?" Matt growled, his voice all rough edges and heated ash drifting across your skin. "Or do you just enjoy being a brat?"

This, you thought vaguely, this should be embarrassing. The way he degraded you, the way he called you his dirty little girl, his brat—if it had been any other man, you would've beat the shit out of him. But oh, it was him, it was your Matt, it was your Devil whispering filthy words to you, and every single syllable sent another pulse of heat rolling through you like molten lava.

"This is your last warning," Matt said lowly. "Finish your prayer now, or I'll give you another punishment."

Your brain scrambled to comprehend what he was saying, or at least some part of your brain that hadn't shut down, that wasn't giving in to primal instinct to beg Matt to fuck you. Where the fuck had you even left off?

"...F-forgive us our trespasses as we forgive...our—no, uh, those who trespass against us. And, um, lead us not into temptatio—ah, Matt!"

God, this time it was two of his wonderfully thick fingers pushing into you abruptly, thick heat pulsing through you. Your hips bucked against him instinctively, seeking moremoremore. The words of the prayer died on your tongue, replaced by shameless whimpers and moans as Matt dragged them out slowly and then shoved them back in a harsh thrust, the tips of his fingers barely grazing that spot, deep inside of you. Desperate, keening cries tumbled from your mouth as you threw your head back, gasping and whining.

You—oh God—you needed more. Hot pleasure wormed its way through your body, consuming every other thought until you were left with nothing but primal, wanton need. Your arms trembled as you barely held yourself up, cunt throbbing around Matt's fingers achingly.

This time, when Matt pulled your hair back and snarled in your ear, his fingers didn't leave you. Instead, they continued their torturously slow pace even as he purred, "Finish the goddamn prayer, sweetheart, and don't make me ask again."

You knew better than to protest the unfairness of him making you recite a prayer while he fucked you on his fingers in front of the altar. You could barely summon a thought that wasn't fuck me, Matt, please, but you managed to choke out the next line.

"Deliver us from evil," you sobbed even as Matt brushed his thumb across your clit again, making you jolt at the sharp pleasure racing along the bud of sensitive nerves. "I—ah!—don't know the rest—" you stammered, desperate to reach the end.

"Lie," he chuckled in your ear. "Lie one more time, and that prayer is going to be the least of your problems, sweetheart."

Your head fell back against his hand, eyes falling shut as your needy whimpers echoed along the church walls. His fingers had picked up pace, and now Matt pressed them deep enough to just ever so slightly brush against your g-spot. Even that brief, barely there contact was enough to have you dripping and throbbing on his fingers.

"Finish it," Matt cooed in your ear. "Come on, honey, you're so close."

In both ways, you thought distantly in your muddled mind. "Please!" you cried.

"Finish the last bit, and you can come," he promised.

Well, that changed things. Spurred on by his vow, you blinked harshly, trying to put aside the scorching pleasure arcing through your body for a second.

"For the—the kingdom and—uh something about power and glory—is yours, uh, nowandforeveramen," you rushed out, squeezing your eyes shut, and begging, begging that it was good enough for Matt.

"Hmm," he hummed, considering. Should he make you redo that last bit? Technically it wasn't correct, and how he would love to hear you cry for him if he made you repeat it. But then you ground your hips back, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers with a strangled cry of "please, sir!" And oh, how he could deny that?

Matt didn't reply, but you heard him shifting behind you, the rhythm of his fingers pausing for a second. A half sobbed plea was forming on your lips, but it was chased away in a heartbeat when the glorious wet heat of Matt's mouth closed around your cunt again.

Sinfully loud moans and gasps tore from your throat, your head falling forward. Fiery pleasure almost too much to handle burned between your legs, coursing up through your entire body until your toes were curling and your hands gripping the carpet. Matt lapped at your clit like a man starved, all while his fingers resumed their motions, finally picking up pace, settling into a fast rhythm you so desperately needed.

You were racing towards your climax at a speed that would've been embarrassing if Matt hadn't been edging you all night. "Please," you choked out, tears streaming down your face from the sheer intensity of it all. "Please, Matt, you said I could come, I need it, please—"

And his hand that was holding on to you squeezed your hip, and that was all the confirmation you needed. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, Matt curled his fingers inside of you just right, pressing down on that spot, and then you just fell. Off that high cliff you had been dancing to and from for the entire night.

The plummet was truly something else: your back arched, and a ragged cry—almost scream—was falling from your mouth, incoherent noises and words reaching Matt's ears as orgasm surged over you like a tidal wave, knocking you off your feet and dragging you under into a blanket of blissful oblivion. You swore you saw stars popping in the corners of your blurry vision, so much white-hot pleasure burning through you, it was almost incomprehensible.

Matt slowed the drag of his fingers but kept up soft little kitten licks on your clit as you came down until you were twitching and whimpering from the oversensitivity. But he didn't wait for you to fully recover before continuing.

In one swift move, he flipped you over into your back, and you got a glimpse of his powerful form leaning over you, his flushed face, his straining bulge in his pants, his lust-filled eyes burning into you before his mouth crashed against yours in a fiery kiss.

You could practically feel his hunger devouring you from that kiss from the way he claimed your lips, hot tongue pressing into your mouth the second you opened to him. His teeth lightly nipped your bottom lip, and your moan was swallowed by his tongue sliding against yours. Matt groaned into your mouth, his hips grinding down against you.

"Matt," you whined when he broke the kiss to let you come up for air. "Please, I need you."

He growled, the hungry sound nothing short of feral as he dipped his head to suck at your neck. The hot embrace of his mouth at your throat had you keening, tilting your head back for more, which he gave you, his teeth grazed the delicate, vulnerable skin. A low hum rippled through his form before he suddenly sank his teeth into your neck, nipping you hard enough to leave a mark. You gasped, body involuntarily arching up into him as Matt dragged his tongue over the spot he had bit as if soothing it.

"Wanna mark you, sweetheart," he moaned into your neck. "So they know who you belong to."

Jesus fucking Christ. This man was going to be the death of you.

"Fuck me," you begged. "I want it, Matt, please. Mark me, fuck me, make me yours."

Another feral snarl rumbled deep in his chest, and then suddenly, you were lifted up into the air before your back hit a cold, stone table.

Did he just put you on the fucking altar?

You didn't have time to think about that, however, because Matt was hurriedly unbuckling his pants, and the only thought left in your head was finally. Eagerly, you helped him shove those goddamn pants off his hips, licking your lips at the sight of his straining cock in his boxers before you yanked those down too, reveling in Matt's soft whimper. His cock was painfully hard, the tip bright red and slick with his precum that dripped down his throbbing length. The mere sight of his gorgeous cock had you clenching your thighs together as you wrapped your hand around his thigh girth, stroking him softly. The throaty moan of your name he let out sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Sweetheart," he groaned, eyes falling shut.

"Please," you whined, "I need you, Matt. I need you inside me."

"Fuck," he breathed, and his fingers curled around your hips, yanking you forward suddenly. With a gasp, you were dragged across the altar until your legs could wrap around Matt, who was standing right between between thighs, all that thick, powerful muscle cradled between your legs. Matt lined his cock up with your entrance and brought his hand out to cradle your face. "I want to hear you scream for me," he ordered. "I want everyone to hear who you belong to."

You whimpered, nodding frantically. "I—yes, Matt, yes, just please—just fuck me, Matt."

Even like this, flushed, panting, and as obviously needy as you were, he could still manage that cocky smirk as his finger brushed across your lips. "You asked for it," he chuckled and finally, finally pushed himself into you, inch by burning inch.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth falling open as slowly, he slid his thick length into you, the stretch of him in your cunt welcome after the emptiness of so long. "Matt," you moaned when he finally bottomed out, his ragged groan matching your own. God, he was so big, so thick, seated deep inside of you. His burning body molded perfectly against you, the endless expanse of lean muscle and soft skin glorious underneath your roaming hands.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he panted, dragging his cock out slowly and sliding back in, his leisure pace driving you mad. "Ah!—fuck—you're so tight, baby."

"Want you," you moaned, arching into him. "Want you to fuck me. Fuck me the way I know you want to, Matt, please."

He let out another ragged groan, the hand cradling your cheek moving down to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding for the time being. "Y-yeah?" he stuttered, trying to sound rough and in control but failing as he swallowed down another eager moan. You loved watching him like this, watching the way he fell apart in front of you, all because of you. "And what's that?"

You wrapped your legs around Matt's hips to let him grind deeper into your cunt, matching his heady pant with a needy whimper of your own. "Y-you wanna fuck me hard," you moaned out. "Could feel it, Matt, could feel the way you want it. Please, I—I can take it, I need you to—oh fuck!—fuck me rough. Take me, Matt, please."

His growl rumbled deep in his throat, and the large hand gripping your throat squeezed just once. Matt dipped his head down to place a kiss on your lips, sweet and gentle one last time as he purred against your mouth.

Then, he braced his other hand next to your head on the altar, and when he dragged his hips back, this time he returned to you with a vicious snap of his hips, slamming his cock back into you. A strangled gasp flew from your mouth as your hands scrambled against the altar surface beneath you, trying to find something to hold onto.

But there was nothing, nothing other than you and Matt and the fast, rough, almost brutal pace he set as he drove himself into you again and again. This pleasure was so much deeper and stronger than before, each delicious drag of his cock against your slick cunt sending sparks careening through your body until your brain felt overloaded with bliss. The sounds you two were making were nothing short of downright filthy: the slap of skin on skin as Matt's hips collided with your thighs, the slick noise of his cock gliding through your obscene wet cunt, the sinfully loud moans falling from both of your lips.

Matt's grip on your throat tightened when you clenched around his cock, and he growled, the sound thick and hazy with lust and need. He picked up his pace even more, fucking you so hard you knew you were going to feel it tomorrow, but you didn't give a shit. Worth it, in your opinion, if it came from Matt Murdock railing you like this.

"Matt," you slurred, half drunk on the pleasure he gave you. He stroked your jaw with his thumb, his blank eyes, dark with arousal and lust, focused somewhere around your lips.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he panted, his hips driving into you with animal-like need. "Y-you feel so good. So wet, so tight just for me. You sound so—fucking pretty getting fucked on my cock."

You whined, writhing beneath him even as his hand not gripping your throat pressed against your waist to hold you down. Every goddamn nerve in your body was screaming, burning, scorching with the pleasure that rolled across your body in throbbing waves. Matt adjusted his grip on your waist, lifting you up every so slightly but oh at that perfect angle that let him hit your g-spot with each thrust of his hips.

Your high moan, pitched almost at a scream, was the result as mind numbing pleasure sparked between your thighs with each harsh thrust. You clenched tighter around Matt, spurring his frantic thrusts on until he was pounding into you at a pace close to brutal, the obscene squelch of his cock diving into your soaked cunt echoing around you like an unholy melody, the chorus being your screams.

Matt leaned over you, panting roughly. You could smell the sweet scent of musk and sex in the air and see the way his pink mouth parted with each heavy breath against your throat. He lowered his head to drag along your cheek until his lips were pressed against your ear.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he groaned. "I can feel you, you're almost there." And you were for the second time that night, you could feel the cloud of your orgasm hovering right above you, pushed closer and closer by each brutal stroke of his cock inside of you.

"Come on, honey, come on my cock," Matt ordered, and you whined. "You're taking my cock so well, all you have to do is come for me. Be my good little girl and come all over my fucking cock."

That was all you needed. Your back arched off the altar, your hands shot out to grab desperately at Matt, your eyes squeezed shut, and your head was thrown back in absolute bliss. This time, orgasm rolled over you slower than the first time but even more intense. It scorched its way through every nerve ending in your body, consuming you like a blanket of fiery heat, making your vision go white. Distantly, you heard yourself scream—actually scream—as you descended into a blank state of pure, utter pleasure.

You could feel Matt's pace growing sloppy and frantic, short, desperate thrusts as he panted and groaned louder and louder until his hips stuttered against yours, and the most beautiful moan you had ever heard left his lips. He emptied himself into you, and you felt his hot seed spilling deep inside of your cunt even as Matt continued to grind into your tightness until every last drop of his spent was buried inside of you. He slumped over your body on the altar, both of your chests heaving in sync as you came down from your highs together.

Finally, Matt lifted his head from your chest and peered at you with his lovely dark eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked uncertainly. "Was that too much?"

You cradled his face in your hands, marveling how this wonderful, wonderful man was yours. "It was perfect," you promised, kissing him sweetly. "It's never too much. I love you, Matt."

"Hmm," he hummed contently into your mouth. "I love you so much, sweetheart. You're sure you're okay?"

"Oh I am absolutely glowing, Matthew. If I had known this is what you meant when you said you wanted me to come to church with you, I would've came ages ago."

═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘═══════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ════════

AN: It's been a hot second since I've written full blown smut, so forgive me if it's kinda rusty. Although I feel like I should be asking forgiveness for this whole fic soooo 🤷‍♀️ I wanna say I need to go to church after writing this, but the last time I was in church, I came up with the most unholy smut fic idea ever, so maybe not a good idea (maybe it'll inspire another one though)

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

My Matt Murdock Masterlist

[shitsndgiggs]

Hi!!! Your Fics are so amazing I felt like I just needed to tell you that. I was also wondering if you would write for Barış Alper? If not I totally understand. If so could you write one where the reader goes to a game (possibly the derby fener vs gala) and she’s sitting with the fans and they get a little crazy and something happens to her and he finds out after the game and just is all panicked but comforts her and showers reader with love?

MATCHDAY MAYHEM - BARIŞ ALPER YILMAZ

In which you get hurt at one of his games

Barış Alper Yılmaz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The roar of the crowd was deafening as I made my way to my seat, my heart pounding with anticipation.

The atmosphere at the Galatasaray vs. Fenerbahçe match was electric, the stadium alive with energy.

This was one of the biggest games of the year, and I was here to support Barış. But the sheer volume of people and the intensity of the fans around me made my social anxiety flare up.

I took a deep breath and found my seat among the Galatasaray supporters. They were already chanting and waving their flags, a sea of red and yellow.

I tried to focus on the positive, reminding myself that I was here for Barış, that he would be proud to know I was in the stands cheering him on.

As the game started, I found myself getting swept up in the excitement. The first half was intense, with both teams playing aggressively.

I cheered loudly with the rest of the fans. But as halftime approached, things took a turn.

Fenerbahçe scored a goal just before the whistle, and the Galatasaray fans around me erupted in frustration. The atmosphere grew tense and hostile, and I could feel my anxiety creeping back.

I tried to keep my composure, but the noise and the pushing from the crowd became overwhelming.

"Get up, we need to show them we're not giving up!" a man shouted, pulling me to my feet. I stumbled, trying to stay balanced, but the crowd was too much. I felt a sharp pain in my ankle as I was jostled and knocked to the ground.

I gasped, tears springing to my eyes as I tried to get up. The pain was excruciating, and I felt trapped in the mass of bodies. Panic set in, and I struggled to breathe.

"Hey, are you alright?" a concerned voice called out, but I couldn't respond. My vision blurred with tears, and the noise was too much.

Eventually, halftime arrived, and the crowd began to thin out slightly. I managed to hobble to a quieter area, clutching my ankle. A kind fan helped me to a seat and called for medical assistance.

"Just breathe, you're going to be okay," the fan said, patting my shoulder reassuringly. I nodded, trying to calm myself.

The medics arrived and quickly assessed my injury. "It's a sprain," one of them said. "We'll get you some ice and bandage it up."

As they worked, my thoughts turned to Barış. He had no idea what had happened. I wanted to text him, but I knew he was focused on the game. I didn't want to distract him.

The second half of the game passed in a blur. I tried to watch, but the pain and the anxiety made it hard to focus.

Finally, the final whistle blew, and I heard the cheers of the Galatasaray fans. They had won.

I saw the players celebrating on the field, Barış among them. My heart swelled with pride, but I also felt a pang of sadness.

I wanted to share this moment with him, to tell him how proud I was.

As the stadium began to empty, I stayed in my seat, unsure of how to get to Barış. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a message.

Barış: Where are you? I'm coming to find you.

Relief washed over me as I texted back.

Me: I'm still in the stands. Sprained my ankle, but I'm okay.

A few minutes later, I saw Barış running towards me, his face a mixture of worry and relief. "What happened?" he asked, kneeling beside me and taking my hand.

"I got caught in the crowd during halftime," I explained, my voice shaky. "It's just a sprain."

He looked at me with such concern that it brought tears to my eyes.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there," he said, his voice filled with guilt.

"It's not your fault," I reassured him, squeezing his hand. "You were amazing out there."

"You're what's important," he said firmly, helping me to my feet. "Let's get you home."

He wrapped his arm around me, supporting me as we made our way out of the stadium. Despite the pain, I felt a sense of calm wash over me with Barış by my side.

When we got home, Barış settled me on the couch, propping up my foot with pillows and wrapping me in a blanket. "Stay here, I'll get you some ice and tea," he said, kissing my forehead.

I watched him move around the kitchen, my heart swelling with love and gratitude.

Despite the pain and the anxiety, the day had ended in the best possible way – wrapped in the love and care of the person who meant everything to me.

As he handed me a steaming cup of tea, he sat beside me and took my hand again. "I'm so glad you're okay," he said softly, kissing my forehead.

"I am," I replied, smiling up at him. "Thanks to you."

[anianurst]

Dreams Do Come True

Summary: days go by, and Yuji's dreams stop. restless by your absence, Yuji decides to confide in his teacher

A/n: the final part of this mini-series :( im happy that it's received so much love <3 thank youuuuu

Warning(s): mentions of death, puke, mental breakdown, spoilers for jjk season two (episode 17)

It's quiet without you. Not a peaceful quiet but an unsettling one. One that fills your lungs and sits and you struggle to breathe. You hadn't appeared since Yuji was awakened from his last dream with you. Night after night, he goes to bed with bated breaths, hoping you'll appear and he can again relish in your devoted love.

But that doesn't happen. A day goes by, then another, and before he knows it, two weeks pass by with no appearance of you. It's noticeable to everyone that something has been irking Yuji. He smiled a little less and always responded with short answers.

The more noticeable change was the absence of the curse within him. Now that he thinks about it, Yuji doesn't remember Sukuna appearing or talking to him ever since you had appeared in his dreams. The king of curses had been quiet and seemingly lurking in the depths of his soul.

There was one moment that Yuji remembers (more like his body remembers). The moment that you had left with Uraume, he remembered a deep pull from the bottom of his soul. A rough tug that told him he needed to go to you now. The sharp pull then fizzled out as his body turned the opposite way.

"So, what's bothering you, Yuji?" Satoru asks, his bright blue eyes filled with curiosity hidden behind his trademark blindfold. Yuji jolts from the sudden question as he looks up from his phone. An unsure feeling fills his stomach before he sighs and confides in his teacher.

"There's this girl."

"Oh?" There's a teasing tone as Satoru smirks. Yuji's cheeks flare up as he quickly shakes his head.

"It's not how you think it is," he says. "I don't know her." Okay, now Yuji's just talking nonsense, Satoru thinks. "She started showing up in my dreams a while ago, but she hasn't appeared in a like long time."

"Oh?" Satoru says, and it's different this time. He's intrigued by Yuji's confession.

"It's like I know her, but I don't at the same time," Yuji adds. Satoru hums and runs a hand through his snow-like hair. A second passes before he snaps his fingers and makes finger guns at his student.

"You don't know her, but someone else does," Satoru concludes, and Yuji's eyebrows furrow. Why is his teacher always speaking in a metaphorical way? It isn't until Yuji feels something shift on his cheek. A single eye surfaces underneath the teen's left cheek and glares at the white-haired male, warning him not to dig any deeper.

23:14, Dogenzaka, In Front of Shibuya 109

Your lips are parted in awe as you stare at the crater of destruction before you. Even now, in modern times, Sukuna's destruction has always left you breathless, in awe of the beautiful chaos left behind.

A gust of wind comes from behind you, and you turn to look. 'He looks different,' you think, your eyes meeting four ruby-red ones that have always sent warmth through your body.

As he steps towards you, a smirk makes its way to Sukuna's face. A single hand (he has two arms instead of four. a fact that makes you question if you like this change) caresses your face, and you snuggle into the warmth of your lover's hand.

"Be sure to savor this, brat," is all Sukuna mutters as his red eyes give way to brown ones. His hand falls from your cheek, and Yuji's eyes are wide in horror.

He takes in your captivating form, smiling at him and the mass destruction behind you. His hands come up to clutch at his face as shaky breaths leave his lips. Memories of Sukuna's destruction fill his mind, and he falls to his knees.

A groan leaves him as he empties his stomach onto the ground before him. Tears start falling from his eyes as he screams his lungs out. Chants of 'die' and 'only me' fill the air as you continue smiling at him.

His cries die down in volume while you kneel down, your traditional, thin kimono becoming stained with his puke. Your welcoming arms wrap around his shoulders as you pull his figure into yours, your neck becoming damp with his tears.

"Welcome home, my love."

taglist: @aish777 @chuuberrysworld @reigenation @shegetsburned @destroyer-of-za-warudo @darkcowboypirate @cunisna @reverrieee @hotpossumjam @nnasv @sunshinesetsstuff @smolgojo

[glassesfreekjr]

... Why did they build a whole-ass flood bypass out in the Splatlands, anyway? Is it like California rules where it's arid as hell most of the time except for when everyone drowns, or has the flash flooding caused by Big Runs been more of a long-running issue then we initially thought?

The fan splatband Red Flare District is named in reference to the 190-chapter juggernaut "exercises in gratitude (The Barclay Street Flood)" by @redeyedsheepskull over on AO3. Contrary to what Inkopolis news media would have you believe, the Order vs. Chaos Splatfest was only partly the reason for the mass cultural exodus to the Splatlands. Maybe it had something to do with the fallout after a catastrophic spillway failure submerged a low-class Inkopolis neighborhood in millions of tons of polluted floodwater, I dunno.

RFD changed its name (from RLD) partly to capitalize on the event and partly out of genuine albeit ham-handed tribute.

And here, out in the middle of the desert, is yet another failed flood bypass. The ironic hilarity was too good for them to not write a song about. Fast-forward five years and some still consider the end product to be a tad insensitive.

(sample source list can be found on my YouTube)

[nerdypuddincup]

“You cannot be serious Christine!” Growled the Viscount. At that moment, the charming young man that had plunged into the sea to fetch her scarf was gone. A man now stood seemingly unfamiliar to the Prima Donna. She took a step back, she felt that she was back in the lair of the Opera Ghost again. This violent and sudden mood swing that had overcome her betrothed.

It had been three months since Christine Daee had been rescued from the bowels beneath the Opera Garnier Since she had been rescued by Raoul and the mysterious Persian man. Well, in truth it was her that truly rescued them. But it mattered little. Since that time, she had felt something within her. Or perhaps a more astute observation that she did not feel something within her. There was a hollowness in her chest ever since she had left her mentor a crying mass upon the ground of his house on the lake. She was so overwhelmed at the time that these feelings had not fully registered with her. When she again breathed fresh air it all came to her, she prayed silently that these feelings would subside. Yet they would not no matter how hard she tried.

A letter had arrived for her while her fiancée was away for the day. Upon opening it, a chill ran down her spine. The parchment paper and the childlike red handwriting were dead giveaways. This message was from him, her poor Erik. It had been a letter that she had dreaded to receive for quite some time. It was the announcement that he would soon be departing from the Earthly plain. He would finally succumb to that which his visage reflected. The Phantom of the Opera was dying. The letter asked only to see her one last time. He wrote that he wished for his final moment to behold beauty. She wanted to refuse but knew that she couldn’t. Something deep within her knew she would never feel whole again if she did not properly say goodbye.

And that was how it came to be. Christine expressed her intentions upon Raoul when he returned home. She didn’t want to hide anything from him, not ever again. But when she explained she was not at all prepared for the look of disgust and anger that crossed upon his usually soft features. His nostrils flared even as he spoke. “You are to be married soon Christine, and you want to go galivanting about with that inhuman thing!” He roared.

“I am not galivanting anywhere with anyone Raoul. I simply have to do this.” Christine said, feeling rather offended at the accusation.

“Have to do this?” He parroted her. “Go see the man who murdered my brother in cold blood? The thing that locked me in a torture device and made you play some sick game so he could lie to himself and say he won you? Absolutely not!” Raoul’s fist came slamming down upon the table he stood beside. “I forbid you from seeing that beast.”

“You forbid me?” Christine now getting mad. “I am not yours to control anymore than I am his.” Christine yelled, trying her very best to hold back the tears that were threatening to come spilling out. “If you want some puppet who will do your bidding then maybe you’re not the man I thought you were.” With that, Christine turned and ran out of the room. Raoul just glared in her direction and sat down in his chair.

“Damn women.” He grumbled. Ever since the death of his brother, Raoul had taken on the responsibilities of House de Chagny. He was the last male of his bloodline who could. His older sisters already married off and his dear Phillippe now dead. He was worn out from carrying out the tasks of a count. Raoul never took much stock into his title, merely using it when it suited him. But now, with actual responsibility he would have to grow up rather fast. He snapped his fingers for a servant to fetch him some much needed wine.

Christine had managed to hail herself a carriage and bring herself back to the Opera House. Upon entering she was greeted by the managers who questioned why it was that she was here. A quick lie about leaving something behind easily brushed them off. She made her way to her dressing room where the entrance to the Phantom’s world lay for her to descend into.

She had been taught the trick to opening her mirror and with ease she slipped behind the illusion and found herself at the top of a large staircase that went down into the darkness below. By now she knew the way, she could do so blindfolded. Which would have only been slightly hampering as the void that lay before her was thick and seemingly endless. Taking a deep breath Christine was about to take a step when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She whipped around to find a man that she recognized but did not know well.

“Ms. Daee.” The Persian said. “You have come. Good, he is expecting us.” He said, pulling a nearly identical letter to her’s from his jacket. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced…” He bowed his head. “I am Nadir Khan, an honor to finally meet you.” Christine took a deep breath and nodded. She was surprised and comforted by his presence here. It would be better if they would not be going alone. Even better was that from beneath his cape he pulled forth a lantern to light their way.

The trek down into the depths below was silent aside from the sound of their footsteps. The small boat had been left behind for them to use. A small ride across the glassy lake and they were once once more at Erik’s house upon the lake. The place where the deformed and half mad genius lay, and was dying. Nadir called out to his old friend but there was no response. Now the silence was cold and ominous. Christine could feel her heart wanting to beat out of her chest. Then she tried, she called out into the seemingly empty house. After a pause that felt like an eternity a response came. It echoed and swirled around her head. However, it was not the hauntingly beautiful tones of the voice that she had once known. Instead it was horse and strained.

“The bedroom.” The voice spoke. Nadir and Christine shared a look between the two of them and then slowly began to make their way. Behind the curtains there lay Erik, in his white coffin. He never looked more like a corpse than he did when he lay there. His chest rising and falling was the only indication that he lived at all. His yellow eyes opened and fell upon the two. Slowly and weakly he lifted himself up and was now sitting within the casket. He hadn’t even bothered to place a mask upon his horrid features.

Where once there was a yellow pigment to his thin skin like that of an Egyptian mummy, now the features were more sunken and pale. His once careful and delicate hands shook as he gripped the sides of the coffin. “I...apologize… for not greeting you...properly.” His voice came out in slow and ragged breaths. “I am...not myself.”

“Shh do not speak Erik.” Nadir said, walking to his side. “We are here now.”

“Daroga...my friend...oh what a friend I have been to you.” Erik’s eyes moved down as he shook his head. Then he turned his head. “And my...my Angel of Music…” He tried to reach a skeletal hand out to touch Christine but pulled away before touching her. To his surprise, Christine had taken it before he could recoil fully. His eyes widened and from within those deep sockets tears began to stream down. “I am so so sorry...to both of you...but to you Christine...oh the horrors I have inflicted…”

“Erik...please, there’s no need for that now.” Christine cooed. “We are here because we care. If we did not, we wouldn’t have come.”

“Care?” Erik whispered. “Never in my life have I been cared for…” His thumb gently caressed her soft and warm hand. His was deathly cold to the touch no matter how long Christine held onto it. “In my final hours...I am finally blessed.”

Nadir took a step back, allowing the two of them to speak. Christine reached her other hand out and cupped Erik’s cheek. “Oh my poor Erik, you will get through this sickness.”

“No...this is a sickness that has poisoned me from my first cry.” Erik insisted. “It finally comes to claim me now that I have known true happiness and redemption. Ironic is it not?””

“You should save your energy.”

“For what purpose? I serve none other than….other than bringing misery and misfortune to others. Like you Christine…”

“It is in the past now, I forgive you.”

“But I do not forgive myself...for the rest of my short life I never shall. I hurt and kept hurting...the one person whom I would have...burned down the world for…” A weak smile formed upon the death’s head. “I love...you...so...much...words cannot…” Before Erik could finish he began to cough rather violently. He clutched at his mouth and fell back into the casket. When his hand moved away a bloodstain was revealed upon his palm.

“I love you too Erik.” Christine whispered, a sad smile upon her beautiful face. She leaned down and just like before she planted her soft lips upon his forehead. She wanted to cry, to pull him close and embrace him. But, she knew that this could never be now. “Goodbye Erik...my Phantom. You will forever haunt my mind.”

“Then...I shall truly be immortal...I thank you for...your kindness and...and...I…” With that, Erik’s eyes closed and his chest ceased rising and falling. The Opera Ghost was dead. Christine let out a cry that echoed throughout the house. Nadir tried to console her but it did no good. She fell down to the foot of the casket and gripped tightly at her dress. It was truly over, he was gone.

“May you finally know peace my friend.” Nadir said and then recited a Persian prayer over his body.

[yarrystyleeza]

The 1: You Would've Been The One (M.M)

Matt Murdock x female!reader

Religious settings (at the beginning), implied intimacy, misunderstandings, alleged cheating, things going south, sadness, break—up, exes but pining, no happy ending.

Summary: on an August rainy night, you walked by Josie's and the memories came rushing back in your head.

Word count: 1.4k!

Writer's note: this idea popped in my head when I was recalling 'the 1' lyrics and I get the first and last scenes in my head and I almost cried. This will get a second part from Matt's perspective. Not very proofread but I'm trying to fix it :')

Drop after drop, the rain sweetly bounced off your shoulders as you strolled down the street. The rain makes the sound of sizzling rice from a distance. The ground is glistening, it smells earthy despite you're walking in New York. The city always looked beautiful when it was raining. It was calm, quiet, and cozy. You'd snuggle into one of the walls and they'd embrace you warmly.

Splashing the little water puddles forming on concrete with your steps, you kept walking on the sidewalk to prevent getting water in your boots.

Your hair is damp and your skin is flushed and wet. It's not fall yet, but you loved this time of the year.

Beams of light flared through the partially fogged glass, people's warm breaths created a tepid and pleasant atmosphere.

Your eyes peer inside for an unintended glance and you see him there, sitting at one of the tables with his two friends around him.

Your heart palpitates as if you were hit by a truck and thrown on the side of the road. Broken, bleeding, crying, dead.

Why did it have to end?

Two years ago. After attending the Mass on a Sunday morning, you went to a coffee shop nearby to meet one of your friends at noon.

You sat alone for a while and waited. You called your friend and she told you she had an emergency and couldn't call you. She apologized and you hung up. You ordered coffee and waited for your order.

The bell at the door rung and it caught your ears, you glanced up from your phone and you saw him walk in. You recognized him. He always attended Sunday service, you've often seen him sitting at the last couple pews, he'd always stay after the Mass. You'd watch him kneeling, hands gathered at his forehead in a praying fist.

You've seen him crying a couple of times and you wondered what a good—looking —in the sense of kindness because you've seen it—blind man would've done that would make him snivel and tremble the way he did.

You would've never expected what he cried about. Not in a million years.

He placed his order and you saw him walk in your direction. He took a seat in front of you. It was astounding. You cleared your throat. His head shot up and he himself was astonished to find out that someone was sitting on the other side of the table.

The eleven in the morning sunlight casted upon the side of his face as he sat by the window in front of you. The beams crept into the corners of his gentle face. His eyes sparkled behind the red blinds and you later learned that they were hazelish brown.

"I'm Matt." his voice still vivid in your ears as if he just said it. His voice was gravelly but sweet. Warm. It made your stomach churn with butterflies that you died to keep from rising once again.

You often thought if he did that on purpose, if he intended on sitting in front of you the way he did, if he knew you before you knew him.

It makes you smile. He chose you. Above all. At least for once.

The next Sunday, he stopped you as you paced between the pews on your way out. He asked if he could grab some coffee with you—after learning that you too attended the Sunday service.

You sat together and talked about almost everything. He kept flashing smiles at you and you kept falling deeper. You knew he was going to be the death of you. And how you wished to die in his hands.

Where did it go wrong?

The haunting memory of his lips marking your being, worshipping every inch of your existence. The words he never stopped telling you. The 'I love you's and the 'you're mine's. The sweet flirts and the tempting ones.

You were his death and his living, you were his vigor and his redemption, you were his eyes and his hands and his being, you were his everything.

Heart, head, body and soul. He loved all of you. He wanted all of you, the same way you did.

You accept—hell, you wanted both Matt Murdock and Daredevil, you wanted the lawyer and the vigilante, you embraced both his darkness and daylight, you were in for the deep and the high, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

If he died you'd die with him, and if he lived you'd live for him.

So why did it all go wrong?

A year of going back and forth, bickering and talking, stitching and love-making, dating and staying in, dinners and brunches, kisses and touches. You did it all. You've never been better.

But then he decided to make it even better.

Saturday night at Josie's. You sat with him and his friends to grab some drinks and bond. Foggy and Karen walked to the island to grab refills when he grabbed your hand, slowly, gently, sensationally and adeptly.

You turned to look at him, a little taken aback by the touch—a little taken off guard. He stood off his seat and knelt to the ground. Red blinds off and his face is so red and torn by a smile, tinted with a bit of uncertainty, of fear but of excitement about the unknown, too.

Maybe he was afraid you'd reject it, or maybe he rethought it and found it was too early. You never knew.

"Will you marry me?" you look at his free hand—but it wasn't that much of free. He had a ring between his digits and his thumb, placed so close to the finger that shoots straight to your heart.

You said yes.

He promised to love and cherish you, till death do you apart.

He never lied, though. Because one night, you died, and to you—he died, too, both of you died.

The night it all went wrong.

He told you he had a mission later that night, but when he returned—he didn't have his red suit on. He wore a tuxedo, instead. You imagined this was how he'd look on your wedding day.

He'd wait for you at the end of the aisle next to Father Lantom as your father escorts you to your spot, your white dress makes you look like an angel—no, you were an angel, that's what he always told you.

You'd look onto both sides, both families are present, all smiling and happy. Your mother is crying—but she's happy, too, she's always wanted to see you in white and this is your day.

You look back straight. Matt is grinning, his bowtie is a little crooked to the side but his hair was combed perfectly. Foggy and Karen are standing on each side along with your other friends—your bridemaids and groomsmen.

Both of you recite your vows perfectly, almost knowing them by heart. You're now a husband and a wife. Even death would never do you apart.

Until you saw the red lipstick print on the white collar of his dress shirt.

Both your brain and heart shattered, you almost heard glass breaking. Maybe it was the glass of water you had once carried in your hand when you walked out of the kitchen to meet him at the hallway.

That's when you really noticed the other details. His loosened bowtie. His wrinkled collar. And the reddened nail marks on the skin of his neck.

Your stomach sunk. The cold crept up your fingertips to fill your body. Your eyes remained fixed on him. Did he thought you wouldn't notice?

You were terrified to ask how he got to look like that. Not from him, Matt never scared you, he was always gentle and kind—but from the things he might have done to get to this point.

There was another woman.

The next events were a blur. Your ears were clogged, you were crying, you threw the ring in his face, you barely put any proper clothes on, you walked away and out of his life.

It was raining. Just like tonight.

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you

You sob. The heavy dew showers you—hiding your tears, to console you, to let you know that you're not the only one crying tonight—the sky is crying, too.

You felt heavy. Head and heart, and clothes. It felt cold to think of it all.

You hug yourself tighter. You glance back for the last time. You walk yourself home.

But it would've been fun

If you would've been the one

taglist: @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @floral-charlie-cat @bellaxgiornata @1988-fiend @babygirlmurdock @c-mrdck @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @bunmurdock @loveroftoomanyfandoms @everythingsf1ne23 @shiorimakibawrites @shouldbestudying41 @lazyxsquirrel @munsonownsmyass @mindidjarin @v4leoftears (feel free to ask for addition or removal 🤍)

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for reading! 💞💞💞

[aylish91]

A Den Of Snakes

@seirindono I promised you a story about nagas a while ago but remembered you also liked mob/mafia aus. So this little piece started poking around my brain. New Au? Maybe? Don’t know, but I hope you like it!

Sorry if there are any mistakes, my computer has been a little glitchy lately and skips over a lot of stuff. haha!

~ ~ ~

A black and red-bellied naga lounged behind a grand desk drumming his gold-laden phalanges against the hard wood. The clicks from the sharp tipped claws were slow and methodical, prickling the hair on your neck as the man who escorted you scuttled from the room. A brief glance back revealed another standing in the corner, darker blue scales fading into a light underbelly. 

Both wore impeccable suits, fedoras casting eerie shadows over their faces. 

Both, were heads of the mafia…

Unfortunately for you, you were learning things tonight. Some more important than others, but all things you wished you had known before. Like finding out the mafia existed or that it wasn’t a connotation when you had heard people being called Snakes. 

They were, in fact, giant man-eating snakes or those who worked for one.

Before moving here, you would have sworn mobs and mafias no longer existed. But here you were, holding a package filled with who knows what, while a concerningly large naga monster stared you down. To make matters worse, his upper half was that of a skeleton, piercing red orbs intently watching you from the void of his sockets.

It called into question every reason you had decided to become a freelance courier. It also explained why you had been getting jobs with increasingly higher payouts over the last several months.

If only you had figured it out sooner…

The tapping stopped, replaced by a deep drawl from the monster before you as he rose with an unsettling scraping of scales. “Good of you to finally make it, Doll. Been wait’n fer this for a while.” 

You tried not to focus on the sheer amount of coils and tail he had or the knowledge that there was a second equally large mass behind you. Instead, you locked onto those red orbs and ignored the feeling of eyes on your back. 

You had to be strong. That was all you could do in a situation like this. Suppress the shaking of your hands, show respect, and maintain a polite and professional manner. It got you through some of your more sketchy transactions and would hopefully get you through this one.

Letting out a breath, you did your best to offer a sincere smile.

“I apologize if the delivery took longer than anticipated, Sir. This was a bit last minute and I was not given proper warning as to the procedures of your establishment. In the future, should I be hired to make a delivery here, I will make sure to take that into consideration.” Pulling out your phone, you opened it to the electronic signature page. “If I could just get your preferred signature indicating the package has been delivered, I can be out of your way.”

As you presented your phone and package, you resisted the urge to look down and flinch when something brushed against your leg. The monster behind the desk didn’t move except to smirk and take out a particularly fat cigar. 

“That won’t be necessary. I know the guy who sent it and I have no plans on let’n ya go. You are part of the delivery, after all.”

Your smile strained.

Whatever you do, don’t show fear.

It was like a mantra in the back of your mind as you processed what was just said.

Movement behind you broke your concentration, something brushing against your opposite leg. The smug look of the naga before fell into a sneer, eyelights morphing into thin slits. 

There was an edge to his hiss.

“Sans, don’t–”

You almost tripped when a blue coil forced you back against a warm sturdy chest, an arm wrapping around to pin you in place. “I was wondering why you had me go through all the trouble of using this one. Heh. Didn’t think it would turn out to be something this interesting, Red.”

Red reared up, eyelights flaring with magic while his body physically puffed and shifted beneath him. Your heart raced, cold sweat beading on your neck from the sudden fear.

“Think ya overstayed your welcome, Sans. How bout ya go back ta the main house where ya belong and stay outta my business.”

Sans’ arm tightened around you but his voice seemed unbothered and relaxed. “Can’t do it bud. Your business just became our business. Think the others would agree with me.”

The air buzzed. “I found em first. Back off.”

You could feel the low chuckle rumble through you at Sans’ reply. “Sorry Red. Maybe next time.”

In a split second, Red lunged, throwing his massive body across the room with a roar. All you could do was close your eyes with a cry and brace for the inevitable impact. You felt strangely breathless after, as if you were falling. Then, with a very jarring sensation and an oomph from your captor, you fell forward and over top a pile of blue scales.

“BROTHER!!! I THOUGHT YOU ALL AGREED TO SHORTCUT INTO THE GARDEN, NOT THE LIVING ROOM!”

Confused by the new voice, you jerked up, frantically looking around. To your relief and horror, you found you were no longer inside Red’s office but in a truly massive and grand room filled with lounging cushions and short tables. However, there were also no less than three naga skeleton monsters among them. All eyes focused on you.

The ground moved.

“Sorry bro. Was in a bit of a hurry. Got an important delivery I wanted to make sure ya all saw.” Gloved skeletal hands lifted you to your feet before gripping your shoulder. “Heh heh. Welcome to The Den kid.”

…

Oh. Oh no…

Grand Master            Mafia Master

[butterflies-dragons]

Hi! What are your favourite quotes/moments that showcase Sansa’s romanticism? 😊

Here we go:

Alone and humiliated, Sansa took the long way back to the inn, where she knew Septa Mordane would be waiting. Lady padded quietly by her side. She was almost in tears. All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs. Why couldn't Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Myrcella? She would have liked a sister like that. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

~~~

"Joffrey, perhaps you would be so kind as to entertain our guest today." "It would be my pleasure, Mother," Joffrey said very formally. He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa's spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders. The touch of Joffrey's hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster. "What would you like to do?" —A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

~~~

Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind … and the knights themselves, the knights most of all. "It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

~~~

To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls, his eyes like liquid gold. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after Ser Loras had ridden off. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

~~~

Lord Baelish stroked his little pointed beard and said, "Nothing? Tell me, child, why would you have sent Ser Loras?" Sansa had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The king's councillor smiled. "Well, those are not the reasons I'd have given, but …" He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." Sansa did not feel like telling all that to Jeyne, however; it made her uneasy just to think back on it. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

~~~

"Who cares about your stupid dancing master?" Sansa flared. "Father, I only just now remembered, I can't go away, I'm to marry Prince Joffrey." She tried to smile bravely for him. "I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

~~~

Perhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singers would write songs of her grief. Her body would lie on the stones below, broken and innocent, shaming all those who had betrayed her. Sansa went so far as to cross the bedchamber and throw open the shutters … but then her courage left her, and she ran back to her bed, sobbing. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

~~~

"Better if we are never seen together." Nodding, Sansa took a step . . . then spun back, nervous, and softly laid a kiss on his cheek, her eyes closed. "My Florian," she whispered. "The gods heard my prayer." She flew along the river walk, past the small kitchen, and through the pig yard, her hurried footsteps lost beneath the squealing of the hogs in their pens. Home, she thought, home, he is going to take me home, he'll keep me safe, my Florian. The songs about Florian and Jonquil were her very favorites. Florian was homely too, though not so old. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

~~~

"I'm honest. It's the world that's awful. Now fly away, little bird, I'm sick of you peeping at me." Wordless, she fled. She was afraid of Sandor Clegane . . . and yet, some part of her wished that Ser Dontos had a little of the Hound's ferocity. There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can't be lies. That night Sansa dreamed of the riot again. The mob surged around her, shrieking, a maddened beast with a thousand faces. Everywhere she turned she saw faces twisted into monstrous inhuman masks. She wept and told them she had never done them hurt, yet they dragged her from her horse all the same. "No," she cried, "no, please, don't, don't," but no one paid her any heed. She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came. She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. Women swarmed over her like weasels, pinching her legs and kicking her in the belly, and someone hit her in the face and she felt her teeth shatter. Then she saw the bright glimmer of steel. The knife plunged into her belly and tore and tore and tore, until there was nothing left of her down there but shiny wet ribbons. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

~~~

Ser Dontos disappeared. She could hear him huffing and puffing as he began the descent. Sansa listened to the tolling of the bell, counting each ring. At ten, gingerly, she eased herself over the edge of the cliff, poking with her toes until they found a place to rest. The castle walls loomed large above her, and for a moment she wanted nothing so much as to pull herself up and run back to her warm rooms in the Kitchen Keep. Be brave, she told herself. Be brave, like a lady in a song. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

~~~

Her maid rolled herself more tightly in her blanket as the snow began to drift in the window. Sansa eased open the door, and made her way down the winding stair. When she opened the door to the garden, it was so lovely that she held her breath, unwilling to disturb such perfect beauty. The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. All color had fled the world outside. It was a place of whites and blacks and greys. White towers and white snow and white statues, black shadows and black trees, the dark grey sky above. A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

~~~

Alayne took Robert's gloved hand in her own to stop his shaking. "Sweetrobin," she said, "I'm scared. Hold my hand, and help me get across. I know you're not afraid." He looked at her, his pupils small dark pinpricks in eyes as big and white as eggs. "I'm not?" "Not you. You're my winged knight, Ser Sweetrobin." "The Winged Knight could fly," Robert whispered. "Higher than the mountains." She gave his hand a squeeze. Lady Myranda had joined them by the spire. "He could," she echoed, when she saw what was happening. "Ser Sweetrobin," Lord Robert said, and Alayne knew that she dare not wait for Mya to return. She helped the boy dismount, and hand in hand they walked out onto the bare stone saddle, their cloaks snapping and flapping behind them. All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains. —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

~~~

It was clever. The tourney, the prizes, the winged knights, it had all been her own notion. Lord Robert's mother had filled him full of fears, but he always took courage from the tales she read him of Ser Artys Arryn, the Winged Knight of legend, founder of his line. Why not surround him with Winged Knights? She had thought one night, after Sweetrobin had finally drifted off to sleep. His own Kingsguard, to keep him safe and make him brave. And no sooner did she tell Petyr her idea than he went out and made it happen. He will want to be there to greet Ser Harrold. Where could he have gone? —The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

~~~

Thanks for your message ❤️

[talonabraxas]

“The great god whose name is unknown’, ‘he, whose name is hidden’, ‘one whose true form could never be known’, ‘He, who hides his name and conceals his image, whose form was not known at the beginning’, and ‘Secret was your body among the elders, and you keep yourself hidden as Amun, at the head of the gods”. (Leiden Papyrus)

Amun ‘The Hidden One’ Talon Abraxas

Amun, the Egyptian “King of the Gods” was the Aurora

As proposed in my books and throughout my web, planetary chaos saw the plane of the ecliptic besieged with countless tons of dust, gasses and debris – this a natural consequence of any given comic catastrophe. From the perspective of earth, the ecliptic dust hazed the Sun red exactly as depicted on almost every tomb and temple wall the length and breadth of the Nile valley. A diminished red sun also allowed the Egyptian’s the luxury of wearing nothing more than a loincloth throughout the year, again exactly as portrayed (see Red Sun).

Throughout the Pharaonic period (3,000 years) tons of debris fell into the Sun’s atmosphere resulting in Coronal Mass Ejections, solar flares and prominences on a scale we would find difficult to comprehend. Courtesy of a red Sun this ‘lashing out’ was clearly observed and duly represented by the cobra which spat fire against Egypt’s foes. This being the very reason why the Egyptian Sun was many times depicted with a snake draped over it.

This ‘feeding frenzy’ dramatically increased the solar wind and gave rise to intense geomagnetic storms and global auroras unlike anything experienced in modern times. They were not restricted to the Polar Regions; they were a truly global phenomenon, observed at all latitudes especially during the night and at times, even during the day. The hazed red Sun, once again, granting visibility to the otherwise invisible.

These magical dancing neon lights were personified in the great Egyptian god Amun.

[kurominiiiz]

SERIES: Bomb's Away!! - Chapter 5 : So Thank You and Goodnight

Masterlist

Join my discord!

A/N: tried my luck at a fight scene with Sukuna! I hope I did this right. Let me know your thoughts! Also, tags added to reach people!

The night air feels heavy around you, thick with the tension that always signals something’s wrong. You’re used to the weight of cursed energy, but tonight, it feels different—heavier, more suffocating. Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara move ahead of you, stepping cautiously toward the abandoned temple, unaware of the true gravity of what lies inside.

You’ve been here before, in places where the cursed energy is so dense that it warps the air itself, turning it cold and electric. But this? This feels like walking into a storm just before the lightning strikes.

You know better than to let your guard down.

“Let’s get this over with,” Nobara says, her hammer twirling in one hand, but even she doesn’t sound as confident as usual.

Megumi is silent, eyes sharp as he surveys the temple. “The energy feels off. More than one curse maybe, or something stronger than it’s letting on.”

You roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling of dread. Your cursed energy buzzes at the back of your mind, wanting to be let loose. You’ve been holding back for too long, and part of you welcomes the idea of unleashing it tonight, if necessary.

“Stay sharp,” you warn, your voice low. “Somethin’s not addin' up.”

Yuji, always the optimist, cracks his knuckles, trying to mask the growing tension. “Doesn’t matter how strong it is. We’ll handle it.”

You want to believe that, but deep down, something in your gut tells you this isn’t just a routine exorcism. There’s a reason you were sent along to supervise. Gojo might play it off like you’re just babysitting the first-years, but you know him too well. He sensed it too—whatever’s lurking here is far more dangerous than anyone anticipated.

As the group enters the temple, the cold air shifts, growing heavier, almost thick enough to taste. The walls seem to bend with shadows, and that oppressive energy presses in on you from all sides. The cursed spirit is near. You can feel it watching.

Then, from the darkness, it emerges.

A twisted, grotesque mass of limbs and gaping mouths, its skin blackened and rotting, dripping with something viscous and foul. Its eyes, glowing a sickly red, lock onto the group, and it lets out a low, rumbling growl that makes the floor tremble beneath your feet.

“This thing’s…” Yuji’s voice falters.

“…not normal,” finishes Megumi, his tone sharp as he summons his wolves.

The curse moves faster than you expect, lunging at Yuji with claws stretched wide, aiming for his throat. Without thinking, you grab Yuji’s shoulder and yank him back, your own cursed energy flaring as you shove him out of the way.

“Stay on yer toes!” you snap, heart pounding as the curse screeches, its claws scraping the ground where Yuji had just stood.

Megumi’s shikigami charge, their jaws snapping as they leap at the curse, but it barely registers their attacks. They tear into its flesh, but the creature doesn’t even flinch, swiping them aside like they’re nothing more than flies.

“Damn it,” Megumi growls, his expression hardening as his wolves flicker and dissolve.

Nobara hurls a cluster of nails at the curse, her hammer cracking through the air as she follows up with a precise strike, but it’s no good. The nails bounce off its decayed skin, clattering uselessly to the ground.

“This thing’s built like a tank!” Nobara curses, her frustration evident.

You feel it then—the dark shift in the air, the telltale tremor that makes your breath hitch. The curse is stronger than any of you anticipated. It’s not just a regular cursed spirit. It’s something worse.

And before you can react, the curse roars again, and its body warps, stretching and twisting grotesquely. With a speed that catches you off guard, it swipes at Megumi, its claws aimed straight for him.

“Megumi!” you shout, rushing forward without thinking.

But it’s too late.

In an instant, the cursed energy in the room spikes dangerously, and you know, with a sinking feeling, what’s about to happen.

Yuji’s body stiffens. His energy shifts violently, like a dam breaking under pressure. And then, before your eyes, that cruel, twisted grin splits his face.

Sukuna.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” Sukuna’s voice drips with amusement as he cracks his neck, taking in the scene with his usual air of arrogance. “You lot were struggling with this thing?”

Megumi takes a sharp step back, his face going pale. He knows what’s coming. You all do.

You feel your body go rigid, a familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through you. Your hand instinctively reaches for the knives holstered at your thigh. “Itadori” you yell, but it’s too late. He’s gone, buried beneath the monstrous presence of Sukuna.

Sukuna turns his head, looking down at the curse with a smirk. “Well, I suppose I could warm up a little.” Without warning, he’s on the curse, tearing into it with brutal efficiency. His movements are fluid, his strikes precise—each blow from his bare fists shatters bone and rips through the creature’s flesh like it’s nothing more than paper.

The curse doesn’t stand a chance. In less than a minute, it’s a writhing, bleeding mess, gasping for whatever cursed life remains.

But Sukuna isn’t done. His eyes slide over to Megumi, that wicked grin stretching wider. “Now, for something more interesting.”

You step between them before you realize what you’re doing, cursed energy crackling around you like a live wire. “Back off, Sukuna.”

Sukuna’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his grin falters, replaced by something darker. “Ah, (Y/n) (L/n). How delightful.”

You grit your teeth, eyes locked on him. “I’m not lettin' you hurt him.”

He chuckles, low and mocking. “I’d like to see you try to stop me. I have unfinished business with him.” Without another word, Sukuna lunges at you, faster than a blink, his fist aimed straight for your chest.

You barely manage to react, bringing up your arms to block, but the force of his blow sends you skidding across the room. The impact rattles your bones, but you hold your ground, summoning your cursed technique in an instant.

“Hellfire Detonation!”

Your body surges with energy as you release a cluster of bombs from your hands, their sizzling, red glow illuminating the dark space around you. You hurl them toward Sukuna, each one sparking with deadly intent. The air fills with the crackling hum of your cursed energy, a mix of heat and pressure building up.

The bombs explode as they hit their mark, lighting up the temple with a series of deafening booms. Smoke billows up, and for a moment, you think you’ve done it—you’ve actually hurt him.

But as the smoke clears, there he stands, unscathed, grinning that infuriating grin.

“Cute,” Sukuna says, brushing some dust off his shoulder. “You’re not holding back, are you?”

You narrow your eyes, ignoring the pain spreading through your ribs. “I haven’t even started.”

He lunges again, and this time, you’re ready. You drop a series of smaller bombs from your body, scattering them across the ground like mines. As Sukuna moves, the explosives detonate, forcing him to adjust his movements mid-attack.

You take advantage of the moment, flipping backward and launching a larger bomb directly at him. “Inferno Cascade!” you shout, the bomb igniting into a massive column of fire as it hurtles toward Sukuna.

He dodges, but not fast enough. The explosion catches him, sending flames licking up his arms. His cursed energy flares, smothering the fire almost immediately, but you see it—a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Not bad,” Sukuna mutters, his grin returning, though there’s a gleam in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “But you’re still not enough.”

He’s on you in an instant, closing the gap faster than you can react. His fist slams into your side with a bone-crushing force, and you feel something crack. Pain shoots through your body, and you’re thrown back, slamming into the temple wall. The impact leaves you gasping, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth.

You struggle to your feet, your vision swimming, but you can’t stop. Not yet. Not while Megumi’s still in danger.

Summoning the last of your strength, you force your cursed energy to spike again, gathering it into your palms. “Final Burst! ” you roar, releasing every last bit of power in a massive, fiery explosion aimed directly at Sukuna.

The temple shudders from the force of the blast, and for a moment, you can’t see anything through the flames and smoke.

But when the smoke clears, there he is. Sukuna, standing tall, barely scratched, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Impressive,” he says, voice calm, but there’s a dangerous edge to it now. “You’re stronger than I thought. However, not close enough to me.”

He moves faster than you can react, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you off the ground. His grip tightens, cutting off your air, and you feel the darkness creeping in around the edges of your vision.

Sukuna’s face looms inches from yours, a cruel smirk twisting his lips as his grip tightens around your throat. You can feel your windpipe compressing under the pressure, each breath becoming harder to draw. The world starts to blur, the edges of your vision going dark. But you don’t let it stop you—not yet.

“Such a waste,” Sukuna murmurs, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through the temple. “I thought you’d be more fun.”

Through the haze of pain and suffocation, you manage to glare at him, the fire of your cursed energy still flickering beneath the surface. You won’t go down like this. Not with Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara watching. Not while they still need you. You can feel your cursed energy pulsing, desperate to break free. Even as your strength fades, it burns hotter, more volatile. If this is the end, you’ll make sure Sukuna remembers you.

With one last surge of effort, you release another explosion from your chest, your cursed technique pushing your limits. The explosion is powerful enough to throw Sukuna back, his grip loosening just enough for you to drop to the ground. You hit the cold stone floor hard, gasping as air rushes back into your lungs. Your throat burns, your body aching from the impact, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Sukuna’s form emerges through the dust and smoke, still smirking, but this time there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes—annoyance. You’ve managed to scratch that untouchable ego of his.

“Still got some fight in you, huh?” he drawls, his tone sharp. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

He’s on you again, moving faster than before, and you barely manage to summon a barrier of explosive energy to cushion the impact. The blast between you sends shockwaves through the room, cracking the walls and scattering debris. But Sukuna doesn’t relent. He’s testing you, pushing you to the brink, and even with everything you’ve thrown at him, it’s not enough.

Your body is screaming in protest, muscles straining as you keep up with his relentless assault. Your bombs explode around him, but his cursed energy shields him, blocking the worst of the damage. He’s not toying with you anymore. Now he’s trying to put you down.

You grit your teeth, blood dripping from the corner of your mouth as you hurl another volley of bombs at him. The explosions light up the temple in flashes of red and orange, the heat scorching the air. But Sukuna weaves through them with ease, his movements almost graceful as he closes the distance between you.

“Is that all?” Sukuna taunts, his voice a low growl as he dodges one of your bombs and lands a devastating punch to your gut.

Pain explodes through your body, knocking the wind out of you. You stumble back, clutching your side where the impact hit hardest, but you refuse to go down. Not yet.

“Shut the hell up,” you manage to spit, your voice hoarse. Your hand flares with cursed energy as you create another bomb, this one brighter, more concentrated. You hurl it toward him with everything you’ve got.

But Sukuna is faster. He dodges to the side, and before you can react, he’s in front of you again, his hand snapping out to grab your wrist. His grip is iron-tight, and he twists, forcing you to your knees with a sickening crunch as pain shoots through your arm.

“Stubborn,” he mutters, his face inches from yours now, his voice low and dangerous. “But pointless.”

His cursed energy flares, a suffocating wave of power crashing down on you. You try to fight it, to push back with your own energy, but Sukuna’s power is overwhelming. It crushes you, like the weight of a thousand tons pressing down on your chest. You can feel your strength slipping away, the last of your energy fading as the darkness creeps in around you.

But just as Sukuna’s hand tightens around your wrist, something shifts.

A voice—Yuji’s voice, faint at first, but growing stronger. It was threatening. You've never heard a tone quite like this come from Yuji before. “Sukuna!”

Sukuna freezes, his expression twisting into a scowl as Yuji fights to regain control. For a moment, it’s a tug-of-war between the two, their energies clashing violently inside the same body.

“Yuji,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you watch the struggle unfold. You’re barely hanging on yourself, your vision blurring and your body feeling heavier with every passing second.

Then, with a snarl of frustration, Sukuna’s hold weakens. His grip loosens, and suddenly, Yuji’s face is staring back at you. Wide-eyed, panicked, and horrified by what’s happened.

“(L/n)!” Yuji’s voice cracks as he falls to his knees beside you, hands shaking as he reaches out to help you. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—I—”

You try to wave him off, but your arm feels like lead. “Not your fault,” you rasp, wincing at the pain lacing every word. “Just… stay in control next time.”

Yuji’s eyes are wide with guilt and fear, his hands hovering over you, unsure of what to do. He’s a kid, terrified of the monster inside him, and now you’ve paid the price for it.

Megumi and Nobara rush over, their faces pale with concern. Megumi kneels beside Yuji, his usually stoic expression strained with worry. “We need to get her out of here.”

Nobara stands, her hammer still in hand, looking like she wants to kill something. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she mutters through gritted teeth. “We didn’t sign up for fighting Sukuna.”

You let out a weak laugh, coughing up a little blood in the process. “Tell me about it.”

Your body feels like it’s been through hell—bones bruised, muscles torn, cursed energy nearly depleted. But you’re alive, and that’s what matters. You did what you needed to do. You kept them safe.

Yuji, still pale with guilt, looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry, (L/n). I—”

“Stop apologizin' ,” you cut him off, though your voice is weak. “Just… make sure next time ya keep him 'n check.”

Yuji nods, his face grim, and you can see the resolve building in him. He won’t let this happen again.

As Megumi and Nobara help you to your feet, you wince at the sharp pain radiating through your ribs. You can barely stand, but you grit your teeth and lean on them for support.

“Let’s get out of here,” Megumi says, his voice steady but laced with concern. “We need to get you to Miss. Ieiri.”

You nod, your head swimming from the effort, but you manage to take a few shaky steps forward, determined to walk out of this temple on your own two feet.

As you leave the temple behind, the weight of the fight starts to settle in, and exhaustion pulls at your limbs. The first-years stay close to you, their expressions a mix of worry and newfound respect.

You did your job. You protected them. But deep down, you know that the next time Sukuna surfaces, things could be much worse.

And for now, all you can do is hope you’re ready for when that day comes.

The trip back to the school is a blur of pain and exhaustion. Every step feels like fire racing through your body, but you force yourself to stay upright, leaning heavily on Megumi and Nobara. Yuji follows closely behind, his eyes filled with guilt, but he’s silent now, his expression hardened with the weight of what happened.

By the time you make it to Shoko’s office, you’re barely holding on. Your legs threaten to give out as you’re lowered onto the exam table, your body finally succumbing to the beating you took. The sharp, sterile smell of the room cuts through the haze of pain, but you’re too tired to care.

Shoko walks in, her eyes scanning you with a practiced coolness. "You look like hell, (L/n)."

You manage a weak grin. “Feel like it too.”

Shoko doesn’t waste time. She moves quickly, her hands glowing with cursed energy as she begins healing your most critical injuries. The warmth of her technique is a welcome contrast to the ache that’s been gnawing at your bones since the fight. You can feel her mending the worst of the damage, knitting together your broken ribs and torn muscles, but the fatigue remains.

Yuji stands awkwardly by the door, wringing his hands. Nobara and Megumi sit nearby, their worry palpable. You watch them through half-lidded eyes, too tired to say much, but you’re grateful for their presence. Despite everything that happened, they’ve stuck by you.

"She'll need some time to rest," Shoko says as she finishes. "But she'll be fine. I’ve seen worse."

"Thanks," you mutter, feeling the weight of her words sink in. You’ll live, but you’ll be out of commission for a bit.

As Shoko finishes, she gives the first-years a nod. “You should let her rest. She needs it.”

The three of them hesitate, looking at each other before Yuji speaks up. "Actually… we were hoping to stay with her. If that’s okay."

Shoko raises an eyebrow, glancing at you. You blink, surprised by the request, but you don’t argue. Maybe it’s their way of dealing with what happened, or maybe they just don’t want to leave you alone. Either way, you’re too exhausted to object.

“Fine,” Shoko says, waving them off. “Just don’t do anything stupid. She needs to rest.”

With that, she leaves the room, and the first-years all turn to you. Megumi, predictably, stays quiet, his arms crossed as he leans against the wall. Nobara pulls a chair up beside the bed, her sharp eyes flicking over your injuries like she’s mentally cataloging every bruise.

Yuji, though—he’s the one that looks the most wrecked. He sits at the foot of your bed, hunched over, his eyes fixed on the floor. You can tell he’s been carrying the guilt of what happened all the way here.

"Yuji," you croak, your voice still hoarse from the fight. "You need to stop blaming yourself."

His head snaps up, his face twisted with anguish. “How can I not? Sukuna—he—he almost killed you.”

You let out a weak chuckle. “He didn’t though, did he? I’m still here.”

“But…” Yuji starts, but Nobara cuts him off with a sharp elbow to the side.

“Listen to her, idiot,” Nobara says, glaring at him. “She’s fine. And if you keep sulking, I’ll make you wish Sukuna did finish you off.”

That pulls a weak smile from you, and you watch as Yuji sighs, rubbing his arm where Nobara hit him. “I just… I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

“It’s not about you, Yuji,” Megumi says from the corner, his voice calm but firm. “We’re all in this together. We knew what we were getting into. And (L/n) knew what she was doing.”

Megumi’s words hit harder than you expected, and you glance at him, grateful for his understanding. He’s right. You made the choice to step in, to protect them. You knew the risks, and you don’t regret it.

Yuji lets out a long breath, looking more at ease now. He still seems unsure, but at least the weight of guilt has lightened a bit.

“Thanks,” Yuji mutters, giving you a small, sheepish smile.

“Don’t mention it,” you reply, shifting a bit on the bed to get more comfortable. Your body still aches, but it’s bearable now, thanks to Shoko.

The silence stretches out for a moment, the tension from the mission still hanging in the air. You can tell they’re all thinking about the fight, about what happened. But instead of dwelling on it, Nobara decides to break the quiet in the only way she knows how.

“So, (L/n),” she says, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “Since you’re stuck here recovering, you might as well tell us some stories. I’m dying to know more about what you were like before we met you.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. “Stories? 'bout what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nobara says, her grin widening. “Maybe about your time with the others? Or Gojo? You must have some wild stories from your time as a third year.”

Yuji perks up at that, leaning in as well. “Yeah! I bet you and Maki got into some crazy stuff.”

You snort, a small laugh escaping you despite the soreness in your ribs. “I could tell ya some things, sure. But most of them aren’t exactly… school appropriate.”

That earns a few chuckles, even from Megumi. The mood lightens a little, and you feel the tension ease as the three of them settle in, waiting for you to share something.

“Alright, alright,” you sigh, shifting again to get more comfortable. “I’ll tell you about the time Hakari and I almost got expelled. It’s a long story, though, so don’t blame me if I pass out halfway through.”

Their eyes light up with anticipation, and you start to recount the memory, your voice low but steady. As you talk, you notice the way they’re all listening, hanging on to every word. It’s strange, really. Despite everything that just happened, they’re here, bonding with you, wanting to know more about you.

It feels… nice.

The story goes on, with interruptions from Nobara’s sarcastic comments and Yuji’s wide-eyed reactions. Megumi stays quiet, but you can tell he’s listening intently, his usual stoicism hiding a genuine curiosity.

By the time you finish the story, you’re completely drained, your body sinking into the bed as fatigue washes over you. But there’s a warmth in your chest now, something that wasn’t there before. Despite everything that’s happened—despite the pain, the fight, and Sukuna’s overwhelming power—you’ve bonded with them. They’re your students, sure, but now they feel like something more.

Like friends.

“Alright,” you murmur, your eyes starting to droop as exhaustion takes over. “That’s enough storytelling f' tonight. Get some rest, you three.”

Yuji nods, giving you a sheepish grin. “Thanks, (L/n).”

Nobara stands, stretching her arms above her head. “Yeah, yeah. You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

Megumi says nothing, but he gives you a small nod, his way of showing his gratitude.

As they file out of the room, you close your eyes, letting the exhaustion finally take you. Your body still aches, but the warmth in your chest lingers, and for the first time in a long while, you feel… content.

You’ve done your job. You’ve protected them. And now, for the first time since returning to Jujutsu High, you feel like you belong.

[spocktheestallion]

why joel was right to save ellie bc i have a lot of opinions and by god i’m gonna share em

so since the show has premiered i’ve seen this debate flare up again and a lot of people saying joel “robbed the world of a cure” when he saved ellie but lets be real, the fireflies were never gonna make that cure.

first off in the original game the hospital and operating room were FILTHY. and yes in the remaster they retconned it to be clean but that just seems silly to me. the fireflies had so little infrastructure that they were wiped out by ONE angry old man in a single night, where are they getting hospital cleaning crews? where are they getting the supplies to properly and i mean PROPERLY sanitize a working OR? more importantly WHO were the medical staff? what were their qualifications? to pull off what they wanted they would’ve needed a team of brilliant scientists specializing in different specific fields and i doubt any of them had been to med school recently. the outbreak was over 20 years old by that point, and medicine is a continually evolving field. those licenses were EXPIRED and even if they had experience during the pandemic it likely would’ve been in field medicine, which is not the same as epidemiology or neuroscience or any of the things they would’ve needed specializing in to get a cure. also the fact that they were saying “we’re gonna make a vaccine!” was another red flag, bc fungal infections aren’t even treated w vaccines. it just goes to show they didn’t know what they were doing. they were just reckless and desperate and ellie would’ve died needlessly.

secondly killing ellie especially right off the bat would make NO sense. what if they find out later on they need a live subject or more samples or whatever? well too late your only subject is dead. why wouldn’t they do blood tests? imaging? or if the cordyceps is only in the brain you can still do a biopsy without killing the person. again, these people didn’t know what they were doing. they were grasping at straws and even if they had gone through with their original plan they probably wouldn’t have been able to synthesize a cure anyway. the sample would’ve expired or been contaminated in the dirty hospital or they would’ve fucked up their sample through ignorance. the whole rushing straight to pulling ellie’s brain out was ridiculous. they would’ve killed a kid needlessly without a second thought.

which brings me to my next point. the fireflies aren’t exactly cut and dry good guys either. i may be reaching w this and i need to rewatch the premiere episode to confirm this but they don’t seem all that picky about their targets and civilians seem to get caught up in them a little too easy. the fireflies aren’t super concerned about human life if it gets in the way of their cause, i mean they were recruiting young kids and giving them weapons just like fedra did. there’s a reason tommy left them high and dry. they’re extremists and they don’t care who they hurt or exploit so long as it serves their cause. they aren’t philanthropists and they FOR SURE would not have been giving out that cure out of the goodness of their hearts. they would’ve gatekept it to themselves and they absolutely would’ve used it as a recruiting tool or political bargaining chip.

but more importantly even in the very unlikely situation they COULD make a successful cure AND mass produce it AND move it cross country which they clearly don’t have the resources for, there’s no way fedra would’ve let them get away with it. their fascist control is all justified in the name of preventing infection, if the disease is no longer a threat that’s a massive blow to fedra’s power. they might’ve been chasing around fireflies for setting off a few car bombs or whatever but if you think fedra isn’t going full extermination mode if they find out the fireflies have a cure you’re kidding yourself. and we’ve clearly established the fireflies would be crushed if they had fedras full attention given that they were pretty much eradicated by one guy in a single night.

and if we’ve learned anything from our own covid pandemic, it’s that if you want to effectively immunize a whole population it needs to be WIDESPREAD. you can’t just treat a few people and call it a day, EVERYONE needs to take the cure or the disease is going to survive and mutate until it can come back in a treatment-resistant variant again and again and again. and after a 20 year outbreak the kind of infrastructure you need to make that happens is gone. it just doesn’t exist anymore. fedra is probably the only group with the level of organization and infrastructure anywhere CLOSE to being able to achieve that kind of feat and i doubt even they could, and even if they could they wouldn’t.

so the fireflies were NEVER gonna be able to make a cure in the first place, they were NEVER gonna be able to mass produce and distribute it, they were NEVER going to be handing it out to anyone they weren’t tight with, and even if they had been well equipped philanthropists who could make a cure and were actually giving it out freely fedra would’ve crushed them immediately.

and i’ve also seen people argue that either way it should’ve been ellie’s choice but i disagree. ellie was a traumatized CHILD with severe survivors guilt. she was not mature enough or in the right headspace to make that kind of decision. JOEL was the closest thing to a legal guardian she had, and it was HIS responsibility to protect her until she was old enough to make decisions like that for herself AND HE DID. a kid should not be allowed to make that choice even if they want to because they’re a KID. also the fireflies weren’t gonna let joel live anyway, i’m pretty sure they were planning to kill him even if he complied.

and ultimately it’s not like joel was considering all this when he made his choice, he saved ellie because he LOVED her. like i’m sure he picked up on some red flags and knew things were sketch and realized the fireflies would probably fail and she’d die for nothing but more than anything he went back bc that was HIS BABY and he wasn’t letting desperate assholes sacrifice her for their cause. “save who you can save” remember? maybe you can’t single handedly change the world or make some miracle cure but you can do what you can for the people you love and maybe that’s enough. maybe you can never make the world go back to the way it was and maybe you SHOULDN’T but you can take it as it is one step at a time and you can do it with the family you’ve made. i think that’s a much better takeaway and i don’t like how the “joel was selfish and did the objectively bad and wrong thing” narrative in tlou2 minimizes that.

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Dancing in the Dark

Summary: Bradley was never one for clubs. Flashing lights, dance remixes of the same four songs, and overpriced watered down drinks just weren’t his thing. But you had begged him so prettily to go with you that he couldn’t help but agree. It was exactly as bad as he thought it was going to be, but when he saw how irresistible you looked on the dance floor, he decided to get his revenge in a way that left both of you satisfied but wanting more. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: thigh riding, dirty talk, language, exhibitionism 

Word Count: 2900

Notes: This idea entered my head and then simply wouldn’t leave no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. Here’s the end result.

______

Bradley wasn’t one for environments like this. The flashing lights made his head hurt, and the different dance remixes of the same four songs sounded more like screeching or someone getting tone on him than anything else. Not to mention the drinks were overpriced and watered down, and because of the hoards of people, it took forever to get them in the first place. 

You knew he hated it, but had given him that pretty little pout and begged him to go with you anyway. You were going with a few of your friends from college and they were all bringing their significant others. You didn’t want to be the only one flying solo. He had resisted, but then you dropped to your knees in that slinky black dress you had put on for the night and wrapped your red painted lips around him. He was agreeing before he even realized it. 

Getting him to do exactly what you wanted came easy; he was wrapped around your finger, and you both knew it. 

It was his luck at least that you pulled this stunt on the night the DJ was focusing on music he actually liked, 80s and 90s throwbacks pulsing through the dimly lit club. Even if the techno flare that overlaid them made him want to cringe, the familiarity of the lyrics made listening to it more bearable, especially when you had inevitably abandoned him to go dance. 

He did his best to keep track of you in the crowd, but the annoying blonde you insisted was your friend was pulling your group deeper and deeper into the mass of bodies on the overpacked dance floor. He sighed when you finally disappeared from his view and the blonde’s even more annoying blonde boyfriend started talking to him almost immediately, asking about what life was like in the Navy, throwing out every stereotype he’d probably ever heard about the branch, the other two guys quickly joining in with their own takes. He could barely get a word in to answer any of their questions or correct them before they’re firing off some joke about being able to swim that he’d heard a million times before. 

Bradley loved you so much, but the two of you seriously needed to have a conversation about your taste in “friends”, and their taste in men.  

He threw back the rest of his drink, the liquor going down his throat with a pleasant burn. He stood from the booth with a tight, forced smile. 

“Excuse me,” he said. He heard one of the guys calling after him - red head’s boyfriend, he thought - asking to grab him a drink while he was up. Bradley figured the music was loud enough that he could pretend he didn’t hear him. He kept as close to the edge of the room as he could as he weaved his way through toward the bar. It was just as crowded on this side of the club, but at least he was free of forced conversation with people he had no interest in being around. He flagged the bartender down relatively quickly, and when his drink was in hand, he turned toward the dance floor. He had no plans of going back to the booth right away. 

It was almost fascinating, observing all these strangers as they danced and jumped around, some clearly with more rhythm and passion than others. He watched them in amusement, and maybe a little bit of judgment. 

It wasn’t long, though, before his eyes found you, and those feelings melted into something else entirely. Sometimes, it still took Bradley by surprise how, even after two years of dating, just the sight of you could get his heart racing like this. 

The neon strobe lights that filled the club illuminated your body in the dark, and it was almost like you were otherworldly. You had separated from your friends, choosing instead to get lost in the music by yourself, and watching you move captivated him. Your eyes were closed, your hands trailing over your own body, one in your hair and the other running the length of your side. The already hot room felt hotter when your fingertips teased the hemline of your short black dress. He took another sip of his drink as he let his eyes slowly trail back up. When he got to your face, your eyes were open and already on him. 

You crooked a finger, beckoning him to come join you. He saw the little quirk of your lips; you knew what you were doing to him and clearly thought you had the upper hand. It wasn’t a far fetched thought; you often did have the upper hand when it came to him doing what you wanted. But Bradley felt the sudden urge to remind you of the control he had, too.  

With a slight smirk, he shook his head. Your face transformed into that familiar pout that got him into the club in the first place. He did nothing but quirk an eyebrow at you and sip from his glass in return. Your pout deepend while Bradley’s smirk grew. 

You were nothing if not determined, though. Your body never stopped moving and as the song changed to something lower, your movements adjusted to the new rhythm. Even from this far away, he could see that your eyes were dark and hooded. You brought one of those red lips between your teeth and the hand that had been at your side trailed up your stomach to rest on the space between your breasts where your dress didn’t cover. Bradley felt his pants tighten as he watched you. 

You were dancing just for him now, and he was mesmerized.  

His eyes didn’t leave you as your body continued to sway. The flashing lights provided you with a colored spotlight every other beat, and the way it bounced off you almost made you look like you were shimmering. The way you were moving your hands over your exposed skin had him shifting in his seat and running his tongue over his bottom lip; he was hungry for you, but he wanted to make you wait just a bit longer. This slow kind of torture was something both of you enjoyed. 

Once a full song had passed, your head cocked to the side in question. Bradley took the last sip of his drink and set the glass down on the bar top behind him and started moving toward you. Like the tease that you were, though, you smirked at him and moved further into the crowd. Bradley could have rolled his eyes if it weren’t for how turned on he was; he had made you wait, and now you were making him chase you, right into the middle of the dance floor that you knew he didn’t want to be on to begin with. 

You turned your back to him once he drew near. He didn’t hesitate to grab your hips and pull you flush against him. The giggle that had been escaping your mouth turned into a soft moan when you immediately felt how hard he was. You went to turn in his arms to face him, but Bradley held you in place with a large hand on your stomach. The silky material of your dress was cool under his palm. 

“You wanted to dance,” he said in your ear. A shiver ran through your body. “So let’s dance.” 

“Bradley…” 

He didn’t acknowledge you aside from beginning to sway his body behind you. After a shuddering breath, he felt you relax against him as you did the same. Dancing together wasn’t something new for either of you, though the vibe in your shared kitchen as breakfast cooked on the stove was admittedly more lighthearted than what he was feeling now. Still, your bodies moved together, a perfect compliment to the other. You always felt so good against him, no matter the setting. 

The hand that wasn’t pressing you into him by your stomach ghosted up your body. Your head tilted to the side as he pushed your hair out of the way, exposing the column of your throat for him. He inhaled deeply, letting your scent wash over him. He groaned lightly before placing a kiss to the soft skin where your neck met your shoulder. He let his finger slip under the thin strap of your black dress, caressing the skin for a moment before snapping it back into place. You jerked in surprise, and he pressed you closer. He ground against you with more intention this time. Your moan was lost in the loud, pulsing music, as you reached a hand back to thread your fingers through his curls, the other resting over his at your front. 

The music changed again, the beat turning more seductive, and the throbbing neon lights transitioned to something darker. Bradley spared a quick glance around. They were surrounded by bodies on all sides, but the dance floor was so crowded and dark, he could barely make out the faces of those directly next to them. Everyone was so caught up in their own partners and moving to the speakers; nobody seemed to be paying them any attention at all. With that in mind, Bradley moved his lips to your ear. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked. You nodded without even trying to look at him, and if anything, the blind faith you showed him made him even hotter for you. He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear. “Good girl.” 

The hand that had been settled on your stomach slowly moved south. He grazed where he knew the band of your underwear lay beneath your dress. You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair. 

“I bet if I were to lift this dress and move those pretty panties of yours to the side, I’d find you wet for me, wouldn’t I?” 

He let his hand slip lower and pressed the pads of his fingers down until he could feel you through the layers of clothing keeping you hidden. He only gave you the pressure for a moment before moving his hand back up. 

“I’m not the only one turned on right now, baby. I can feel you, too,” your words were steady, but he could hear the effort that went into them. You were teetering on that edge of control and he knew it wouldn’t take much more for you to give in. 

Bradley hummed in agreement, holding you still for a moment while he rubbed himself against you, proving your point. 

“You did this to me, pretty girl. Watching you dance for me in this dress? How could I not be hard?” 

He nipped at your shoulder when you were opening your mouth to respond, the words stolen from your mouth with a gasp. He soothed the bite with his tongue before moving to your neck, pressing hot, open mouth kisses to the skin. He wasn’t gentle; he wanted you to walk out of this damn club with marks on your skin, ones that he put there. You moaned out his name, clutching at his hand. He didn’t stop until he was satisfied that the skin would be blooming a pretty bruise. 

“Everyone in this place can see how beautiful you are, but you’re mine, aren’t you?” 

You moaned his name with a nod, and he knew he had you. 

With no warning, he grasped your hips and spun you so you were facing him. You barely had time to gasp out in surprise before he was pressing his mouth to yours. His tongue swiped against the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You happily complied. He licked into your mouth, tasting the tequila you had drank earlier. Kissing you always made him crave more. 

One of his hands moved down to cup your behind. He squeezed and you rolled your hips into his, chasing friction. His cock throbbed in his jeans. 

He tugged your bottom lip between his teeth when he pulled away. You whimpered and chased after him. Your kiss was hungry and possessive and he matched every ounce of your intensity. 

After one more rough squeeze of your ass, Bradley slid his hand down to your thigh. He groaned into your mouth at the feel of your soft skin once he bypassed the hemline of your dress. He rubbed back and forth in the way that always made you flush and shiver before he moved you enough to slot his leg in between both of yours. He pulled you impossibly closer, dragging your wet core against the rough denim. The sudden stimulation is enough to have you pulling your lips from his, gasping for air. Your lips were swollen and your chest heaved as you fought to fill your lungs. Your eyes were glazed as they met his in question, but even then, you didn’t hesitate to roll your hips with a soft whimper. 

“That feel good, baby?”

You nodded, but your eyes left his to glance around. Bradley clicked his tongue in disapproval and guided your gaze back to him with a bounce of his leg. “Don’t look at them. You look at me. Does it feel good?”

“So good,” you breathed, so low he almost couldn’t hear you as the music pounded through the speakers. Your hips circled again and he smirked. “Please, Bradley. Please.”

“Mmm, I got you,” Bradley hummed in approval. He flexed the thick, corded muscle between your legs and your head lolled to the side again as your eyes fluttered closed. 

Throngs of people were grinding and moving together around them, hands roaming over their partners, pressed just as close together as the two of you were. But he wondered what the two of you looked like right now, in the middle of it all. You were practically straddling his thigh as the two of you danced. It was indecent, but it was thrilling, too, knowing that only he could get you like this. He hadn’t been intending to take it all the way; he had been planning simply to rile you up as a punishment for making him come to this damn place at all. But now, bringing you pleasure in this crowd of people who were completely unaware of what was happening, was all he wanted. 

He could tell you were itching for it, too. 

“Does this turn you on? Grinding on my thigh like this in front of all of these people?” 

You whimpered, one hand clutching his shirt while the other tugged at his curls. Your face found the crook of his neck and he could feel you practically panting. The little puffs of air against his skin mixed with the needy sounds falling from your lips had his head swimming.

“I can feel you soaking through my jeans already. You’re so fucking filthy, you know that?” 

With a hand on your hip, Bradley helped rock you back and forth. He really could feel your wetness seeping through to his skin. The flimsy material of your underwear had to be molded to you at this point. You ground your hips down at the same time he tensed the muscle you were dragging yourself against and your body gave a hard jerk he was all too familiar with that happened any time he touched your clit. He smirked in delight, doing it again. 

“Can feel you throbbing, baby. I know you want to come - I know you need it. So do it, dirty girl. Soak my thigh. Come for me right now for everyone to see.” 

Your movements sped up a little, and Bradley’s grew harsher in return. As the song playing reached its crescendo, so did you. Your back arched and your teeth sunk into his neck to keep from screaming, but he tugged your head back with a hand in your hair so he could bring your lips to his. Your mouths connected in a filthy kiss of tongue and teeth and he swallowed your moans as you trembled in his arms, riding out your orgasm. You whined into his mouth when you entered the realm of oversensitivity and he pulled away slowly. Your red lipstick was practically nonexistent now, your eyes glazed over and fucked out; you were breathtaking. 

He moved his leg, giving you the reprieve you were looking for. He kept you wrapped in his arms, swaying again like everyone else, as you caught your bearings. 

“You didn’t make a great case of me not dragging you out with me anymore,” you breathed out. “That was so fucking hot.” 

“Mmm,” Bradley hummed, trailing kisses from your nose all the way to your ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth before he whispered to you, his voice still rough and low with want. He pushed his center into yours once so you could feel how hard he still was. “The next time you try to get me to come to this place, I’m tying you to the bed, and neither of us are leaving.” 

------

Notes: Hope you liked it! Likes/comments/reblogs always mean the world. Thanks to Mak and Em for reading over it as per usual💚

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[ruumirmir]

Reprise of a rolling mist

Part 1 Part 2 (soon)

☽◯☾ Summary - You, the revered God of Healing and Mist, one of the oldest friends of Zhongli, are not one to be easily taken down, but alas, in the Archon war of brutal massacres, you can’t escape death for long.  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Characters - Zhongli, (minor) Cloud Retainer, (minor) Madame Ping ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Tags - Zhongli x Reader || Gender Neutral || Angst || Eventual happy ending || Description of blood, violence, and fatal injuries || Mention of death   ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Word count - 1.2k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☽◯☾ Rumour◇ says - my first ever fanfic to be published on tumblr. In case you haven’t seen my previous post, please do! It has some context in it. I hope i did peepaw some justice,, as much as I love him, it was slightly hard to pin his personality down especially in this wild scenario. I’ll probably belt out the part 2 really soon cause I’m done with it, just gotta decorate the post lmao.

‎• ——————————————————————— The nearby corpse of a beast twitches once before falling still. The loud ringing in your head gets louder by the passing minute. Mouth set into a grimace, you roll onto your back and hack out a wet cough.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ It's hard to breathe with a gaping hole in your torso, still fresh and bloody. Your half-lidded eyes focus onto a speck of ash, floating up to melt into the night air. ‎  ‎

‎ ‎ ‎

The God of War doesn’t fear. No. He is the one who’s feared. And yet...

“No...”, Morax kneels there, watching his old friend, laid upon the charred grass.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Your once lustrous hair, now melds into the soot-stained ground, tainted by blood and grime. Your breaths come shallow and short. For all the dust and debris left in the battle's wake, Mt. Tianheng had a pleasant breeze to offer.

His palm find its way to yours; cold to the touch. Fingers tighten around you, and the clarity slowly returns to your hazy eyes.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

The stench of burnt flesh permeates the air. His gaze lingers over the yawning cavity in your body; charred at the edges. From such a pair of gods, its not Morax who wields the power to heal and mend. It’s not you who possesses the energy to do so.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ And so. his hands tremble uselessly over your gut, or the lack thereof.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

His most trusted. His closest companion. His oldest friend... The one who shares countless memories with him. The one who had promised to do so for many more years to come.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

"M-morax," his name spoken like a sigh. The corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile. Your stomach flares in pain when you fight back a strangled whine. "I am... not your burden to bear amidst a battle."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

He sits by you, pained. “Hush... do not strain yourself by talking.” You lie before him, bleeding.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

“O great Rex Lapis, won't you be kind? Won't you be wise? Renounce your lands and people? Spare us all a calamity from befalling those subjects of yours? It’s the least of your payment... for eons of slaughter caused by your hands”

A great many creatures had cackled, with many more swarming in. The seething mass of... beastly wasps, misshapen and overgrown, were all too eager for a massacre. A hivemind; disgustingly coordinated in brains and brawn. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

By the first rumbling of his meteorite that bombed over Mt. Tianheng, a familiar billowing mist had rolled forward to assist. Whether in your solid body, or a lashing mist, it was hard to quell the pyro gnats. ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

The grass is stained red by now.  He takes your hand and grips it tight, to his chest. You brush your fingers over his bruised knuckles.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ By the second rumbling of raining spears, Morax’s harsh orders had sent the adepti and yakshas scrambling towards the unprotected city of Liyue. . . . By the third rumbling of his shield molding around you... a flaming projectile had already shot clean through your torso.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

You need to fight to keep your eyes open.  From a simple flesh wound... what a joke. Your not the admired deity of recovery, just in name, are you?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Your fingers twitch, tightening around his robes. "Help me sit upright..."

His sharp exhale falls upon your brows, and with the utmost softest touch, You’re pulled up against his torso. Your head sags against his shoulder, where you can feel the thick pool of sorrow under his skin.

"Please... I do not want to cause you more hurt," The words fall hollow from his lips. He holds you up gently, and you can finally focus on his face.  … where you’re met with a wet shine to his eyes.

"What... are you trying to do?" His mouth trembles downwards ever so slightly.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

But you... you break out in a rebellious smile, don’t you?

The pain is unbearable. And you laugh all the harder for it. Sweat beads your forehead, and your fingers dig into his arm when he presses into your stomach to slow the bleeding. You bite out a groan. It burns.

"Don't look at me like that Morax", you pant. "This... this is but child’s play for a healer of my caliber...."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Yet, your life trickles out like the grains of sand in an hourglass, and your vision flickers. 

He wipes the blood off your lip, clearly vexed, "You are still yourself, I see. Even as you lay here, near death, you are still joking."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

"Just... won’t you humor me one last time?" You rasp out, feeling faint. All sensations except the gritting pain have left already. "Lend me some energy- so my body can return to what it once was..."

"Because... I, the Healer God of Mist, am alone the revered one... who holds mortality at my fingertips..." your voice breaks towards the end, but you still flash a smile of dogged arrogance, don’t you? (There is nothing but a theory borne from your feverish thoughts.)

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

He gazes at you; minutes away from the end. The god who holds no regrets, who has not one ounce of fear in their voice. (You have never been more terrified of death, for you only know how to run from it.) With a melancholy rustle of feathers, comes another soft voice, "Ever so conceited, until the very end...”, Cloud retainer murmurs into the night.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

His skin glows alight, veins illuminated on his chest and arms. His gnosis ignites for your fanatical whims. It always did.  "How could I ever refuse you...?", his trembling voice, so quiet. You’re met with a familiar embrace.

‎ … ‎ ‎ ‎ “If mortals pray to gods in their time of need, who does a god pray to?”

Two drops fall to your neck, rolling away until they wet your clothes.

“No one.” His smile is soft, and voice raspy. “A god can only pray to himself... but, he may have hope in others.” ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Your body slowly starts to dissipate into millions of droplets of condensation that scatter into the air, where the wind blows parts of you away, and away. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The soft tunes of a zither ring out into the air, permeating the atmosphere with a slow melody. An adeptus sits atop a nearby rock, her eyes downcast.

ah. ‘Ping's zither’, you sigh. ‘How kind of her.’

And he smiles through his tears.

Isn't it beautiful?

A great rolling mist dissolves into the air. With dust and ash in the air, it swirls and rises up and above. The wasted grassland is littered with thousands of droplets that shimmer like stars as the moonlight reflects off them. It is as beautiful. as it is empty.

On a night like this, Streetward rambler’s tune graces the wind, until her fingers bleed. Cloud Retainer sheds no tears, but know that she holds your memory well.

And you, Rex Lapis,

Morax,

you weep for me.

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