txkha

Latest Posts by txkha

expedition 33 is a game about what would happen if you died and your family went insane fighting over your minecraft world you made when you were 12

「 DON'T GET THE DOOR 」

OLDER!CLINGY!DAMIAN WAYNE X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: After days of being too busy to be intimate with you, Damian's finally got you propped up on the kitchen island, sweet and like putty in his hands, when a sudden knock sounds at the door... and he absolutely refuses to let you go and answer it.

★ TAGS: damian is 18+, suggestive content, nothing too much—just making out, and a bit more, damian is physically incapable of keeping his hands off you, srsly babe wtf did you do to him, dick and jason cameo at the end

★ A/N: just some dami hating everyone but you action 🤭 enjoy trying to get him off you lmao

line divider by @cafekitsune

Damian's gaze is heavy as it runs all over you, soaking you in with an intensity that makes you squirm on the counter, the marble cool against your bare thighs.

His hands are firm on your waist, sitting there like that's where they're meant to be—like they know no place else—as his chest moves to press up against your own, and his body stands situated right between your thighs, hot and present.

"I've missed you, Habibti," he whispers after a beat of just staring, and it comes out breathless, framed a little by disbelief, like he just can't fathom you're actually there.

You can only squirm in response, eyes ready to move to the side in all their bashful glory—when he ushers them back to him, fingers gentle against your chin.

"I've barely seen you these past few days—and now that I can, you choose to hide from me?"

You blink back at him, eyes wide and head shaking from side-to-side to convey what you can't with words, what you can't under the intensity of his gaze.

He hums, and he's so close now, so within kissing distance, that his breath fans over your face, minty and fresh, begging and pleading.

You don't even realise the way your lids grow heavy until it takes only half the time it usually does to shut them, until you're leaning forward and eager to meet him halfway as it registers to you just how much you've missed his touch.

Damian receives you with open arms, lips pressing against your own as he further pushes himself against you, hands now curling around your waist instead of situated at its sides.

All you can breathe is the scent of nature and cologne, drowning in all that is him until your head grows dizzy and your body begins to shake, until you're suffocating in heat and pounding need.

He kisses you like he's running out of time to, like at any minute, he'll be forced to pull away, hungry and desperate and left with an ache near impossible to fill.

He also kisses you like he has all the time in the world to, like he's taking in a piece of art, studying every inch until he has it etched into his mind forever.

It's too much—it's not enough—and you're left a panting mess when he pulls away, the air hot and heavy and seeping so much steam it practically fogs up your vision.

"Dami..."

He hums, lips now on your neck, having moved there as soon as he pulled away as though incapable of truly ever leaving you.

Your fingers move to card through his hair, and he groans right into your skin, just above a vein, sending a vibration straight through your body.

God, the moment is just so perfect, and you've just been so starved for attention, and everything in the world seems to just be going so right, that it feels wrong, like something will happen to ruin it all.

Something like a knock at your door.

At first, you think you're imagining it, because Damian continues to litter your skin with kisses like nothing's happened, his hands even beginning to roam beneath the hem of your shirt, touch light against your skin.

But then you hear it again, louder this time, and you're sure that it's real.

But Damian acts like it isn't.

His hands continue tracing patterns into your skin, lips painting your neck like it's one of his canvases as he worships you with all the devotion of a man begging for his life.

It's only when a third knock, even harder and louder than the former two, sounds from the door that he shows even a hint of acknowledgement, fingers digging into your sides, but not enough to hurt, your Damian would never hurt you.

"Damian!" a voice calls from the other side of the door, deep and insistent, "I know you're in there! Open up!"

"Would you be quiet?" another hisses right after, "People are looking."

You blink, pulling back a little, only for your boyfriend to chase after you.

Another knock at the door.

Damian growls into your skin just as you call softly, "Dami."

"Ignore those two idiots," he scoffs out with all the vitriol of a man wronged, one starved of something he's needed for far too long. "They'll leave eventually."

You nod, readily and easily because you don't particularly care for answering the door either. Not when he's holding you so sweet, and kissing you so right, and loving you like you're the only thing in his sight.

And you practically are with how he devours you, biting and sucking as he tastes you enough to shoot tingles down your spine and flood your veins with heat.

"Maybe he's not home," one of the two voices says, and you're just lucid enough to recognise it as Jason's.

"Oh he's home alright," the other responds, and you're quick to find that it's Dick.

But then all your lucidity washes out your veins because Damian's fingers start to crawl up your skin, and you're parting your lips to warn him with another call of his name.

"Dami—"

"Shh," he hushes you gently, and you know he doesn't mean it, soft and reverent as his hand reaches up to play with the band of your bra, lifting and snapping it back in place to send a jolt down your spine.

Your eyes dart to his, a heat pooling low in your stomach, and he simply meets your gaze with his own hooded one.

Then he moves to capture your lips again, and you're moaning low against his mouth, lips parting just a brief amount to let him in, when another huge bang slams against your door.

You pull back with a frantic, "Coming!"

Damian is already moving to try and capture your lips again, but you shut him down immediately, hands pressed firmly against his chest.

"Damian."

He growls, cursing beneath his breath in Arabic as he lingers a second longer, fingers curling against your skin. But he does ultimately let go, backing away enough to leave you room to hop off the counter, but not enough so that you can't feel the heat of him against you once you do.

And as you make your way towards the door, Damian follows right after, a shadow to his light, a knight to his princess.

A boyfriend to his girlfriend.

You swing open the door to two figures stood on the other side, both who you suspected them to be, wide-eyed and blinking as though they never thought you'd answer.

"Finally," Dick whines, lips jutted in a pout before they tug back up, flashing you one of his signature charming smiles. "Hey [Name]! Think Jason and I could crash—?"

"No."

A rush of wind flies over your face, the door to your apartment slamming shut before your very eyes to leave you dazed and a tad confused for a second.

Then a pair of arms wrap right around your waist, and that same voice that rejected the two brothers at your door is whispering right against your ear, hot and heavy, "Now... where were we?"

PLAY ALONG

pairing: Sodo Ghoul x Ghoulette!F!Reader

summary: After debutting not so long ago, the fans seem to adore the new addition to their beloved band. However, after noticing how their fans react to their interactions- Sodo and Y/N test the waters to make their fans go feral.

word count: 1.2k+

warning: tension TENSION SEXUAL TENSION!!!

note: i've noticed the lack of reader being a part of the band so you know what TAKE THIS! also i love you phantom but this position is MINE!! (for this story lol) p.s i took 2 hours to write this because i was so excited and was on a GRINDD

"Dust." Papa's deep voice shook the venue, the vibrations flowing like waves from the source of the sounds into the thrilled crowd. With a microphone in his hand, the man who had the blinding sequined blue jacket pranced across the stage. The spotlight followed every movement he made, shining upon him as if he were a revealed prophecy.

Screams erupted from the crowd as they held their phones high up from the crowd- ready to capture moments from their favourite ghouls and ghoulettes. However, this night had been different since the few previous shows had sparked a new trend. Pupils and phone lenses were glued onto the lead guitarist who had been ripping his infamous white guitar while others stayed on the ghoulette who strung her black one.

There was excitement in the air that was missing from the tours before. It wasn't grand but it definitely felt significant. And oh, was that excitement going to explode. Bodies were jumping as Papa thrust his hips, his voice growling out, "In God you trust."

Swiss moved further into the stage and those closest to him let out high-pitched yells. Even though both parties knew there was no point in trying to make contact due to the large gap between them, there was always an attempt because the veins on the man's arm were irresistible.

"Your cavalier of crapulence, to this feast of rapacity."

If it wasn't loud before, now it was boisterous. Sodo's fingers were moving on their own- a result of countless practices, while his body shuffled over to the ghoulette.

Y/N or Raven (as she was known) had her lips pressed together as her mind was solely focused on giving a satisfying performance. Papa's voice bounced through her earpiece and her body obeyed the music and played the right chords. Despite the sudden incline of screams, she kept her gaze on the crowd with a smile. Playing an instrument was one thing, but serving a good performance for the crowd was another. Knowing that fact, she shouldn't have been surprised when she felt another body pressing her back.

Her mind needed a second to process who it was but her body was on its own journey. Not even a stagger in her performance. Throwing her head over her shoulders, she was met by the same mask encapsulating her head. The fans noticed how close their bodies were and more screams erupted from the front to the back of the venue.

"In God you trust."

With his other arm free, he placed his hand on her waist. It descended, following the curve of her body before he yanked her back to close the gap between them. Masterminds- that's what they were because everyone had been enamoured by the two. Phones from all the way back were faced in their directions, possibly recording the hundredth clip of that night.

After the recent shows, Y/N and Sodo had picked up how the crowd had loved when they were close to one another. So in a genius fashion, they both decided to interact more on stage.

Even though the light fell onto the back of their heads, shadowing the front of their masks, few realized the way Y/N had opened her mouth in shock at Sodo's action. They scrambled to open whatever social media they favoured, not bothered by the fact that their phone was holding onto the last bits of battery. Later on, the duo would find the clip to pull in more interested fans with their electrifying chemistry.

Leaning her head back to rest on his shoulder, Y/N realized something. Noises came from every angle. The sounds that were trapped by the large room bounced off the walls, wrapping around the people under its roof. Despite all this, she could clearly hear his heavy breathing. The man wasn't running around the stage, so why was he?

Then a smirk played on her lips. When they discussed their little plan, Y/N knew there would be rumours about the two but in any good marketing, denying those rumours would not be beneficial at all. She also knew that there would be other... feelings involved. Feelings that would be more apparent on him than on her.

Angling her lips towards his, she leaned in but not exactly closing in. Screeches blew up and a smirk played on her lips at her success. She breathed out onto his lips, "You hard?" Oh, the things she would do just to see his eyes beneath those opaque goggles. Sodo felt his body still behind hers. He was incredibly thankful that most of his face had been covered apart from his lips because his face gave away everything. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips at her question. So many things to be thankful for tonight. Especially to the guitar that covered the most telling parts.

Cirrus' part was up and Y/N pressed a hand on Sodo's chest to push him away. Making her way to the other side of the stage, she stood close to the edge, her feet perched on the blasting speakers. Unbeknownst to her, the same figure that was behind her had been trailing after her like a lost yet love-sickened puppy seeking attention. She should have known when phones were angled behind her.

With his hand free again, Sodo pushed his guitar to rest beside him, his front now free from the protection of the instrument. A small gulp swam down her throat once she felt something prodding her back. Lord. Placing his hand on the bottom of her neck, he ground his teeth as he brought it up to fully grasp it.

Another thing to be thankful for- no one had heard the silent moan that left her lips. Just for him.

"Very." Sodo gave a late reply.

"And divine you feel my thrust."

The ghoulette smirked at the coincidence of the lyrics for that moment.

"In God you trust."

Papa's thrusting towards the crowd caused strings of screams, and bubbles of excitement were waiting to burst out. The crowd was ready for the confetti. On the other hand, Sodo fans had their phones angled to capture his routine for Mummy Dust. This time... everyone knew that something would be different.

As the drumming got louder, Sodo ran his left down from Y/N's mouth to her neck- stopping above the curves of her chest. Just for a moment, a small part of her cursed him out for not going further down. Wrapping his fingers as if he was jacking off the air, Sodo had his head thrown back. He wished he was doing the exact same thing to himself right now.

The ghoulette turned her body to face him. His eyes changed course to watch as her hands slowly trailed down his chest. The fans were exhilarated at the sight, screaming at the sight of the pair they liked so much. Sodo felt his heart beat at its own hastened pace while the rest of his body was vibrated by the stage. His heart skipped one single beat. Y/N got on her knees with her eyes on his black lenses. She swore he had gulped when confetti was shot out onto the crowd.

This was definitely going to be awkward to talk about later.

cherry pt.1 tyler joseph

famous!reader x tyler joseph from twenty one pilots

summary: you out yourself in front of a whole stadium about you crush on tyler.

a/n: I haven’t found many fics about tyler and I felt like contributing to the cause, xoxo, also, I tried to incorporate instagram posts here to make it more interesting, stealing lana del rey’s discography here btw, promise more in person interaction on part 2. PART 2 HERE.

breathing was difficult at this point, running from one end of the stage to the other, singing and dancing, interacting with fans, trying to make the concert the best experience for them.

“girl, you’re killing it tonight, damn!” carol, your manager, said while taking the sweat off your forehead before the next set.

“killing my lungs, actually” barely any sound coming out of your lips “I’m gonna need a gallon of water after this”

you can hear the screams while the screens showed some visuals to give you time to recover and retouch your makeup.

“hey, what was the name of the singer from that band that you like? I saw on twitter that he is here” red lipstick now adorning your lips, changing the light brown from before.

“I like a lot of bands, carol, any more details to give?” the two of you jogged across the dressing room to the platform that puts you on stage.

“one minute” a voice yelled from a distance.

“the one with the black neck and one with red hair, something about pilots” a comb ran through your hair for the last time before continuing with the show.

“tyler joseph? you have to be kidding, carol!” your head moving fast towards her, screaming loud while securing the in-ear monitor, the same voice from before starting to count down. “now I’m going to faint in front of the guy before meeting him, you know twenty one pilots are my favorite, god!”

“10 seconds, guys”!

“good luck out there, love you” she threw a kiss at you, making you smile while the platform went up, revealing the entire arena full of people.

“oh, hi there” a crew member handed you a guitar for the next song, “so, you know I’m a big fan girl, I tend to cry went I met celebrities from time to time” the first chords of the song cherry played through the speakers, “and someone told me backstage, that my favorite bandito is here”, the arena went crazy as you played the beginning of bandito.

“yeah, I know!” you smiled from ear to ear, seeing how thrilled everyone was “this next song doesn’t have any relationship with twenty one pilots or any of its members, by the way” a subtle laugh from the fans made you smile more, “but in all seriousness, I truly love twenty one pilots, my favorite band ever, and is truly an honor that tyler is here at my concert!” your hands touching your chest and your mouth open, exaggerating your surprise.

“I don’t actually know where he is, but I want you to know that I love you, in a no creepy way obviously” your eyes danced through the thousands of people in front of you “you guys get me, right? normal fan girl things, having their faces as wallpaper, having posters, reading some fanfics maybe” redness covered your face, moving your head side to side, “ignore that, shit, this is cherry”

the concert ended an hour after that, leaving the fans full of memorable moments, and you feeling ecstatic, running backstage to check your phone and rest. laying on the couch with a bottle of water on hand, you scrolled instagram, almost howling while seeing the first photo in your timeline.

liked by joshuadun, twentyonepilots, billieeilish, yourusername and others.

tylerrjoseph any fanfic recommendations for your favorite bandito?

clancymyking omg my dreams came true

twentytwopilots STOP I’M SCREAMING

joshuadun well played

yourusername i have some

see all comments

your phone buzzing with notificacions after that comment, putting your phone on no disturb mode was the only way to calm you anxiety just a little, a million thoughts running thru your head.

he thinks I’m a weirdo

he’a gonna blocked me

I’m gonna get banned from their concerts

“okey, at least he took it with humor, it could be worst, yeah” your own mind tried to calm you, but your heart keep going like you were being chase by a lion.

with trembling fingers, you picked your phone, opening instagram again, reading all the comments, some being positive and very funny, and some saying you were a creep, which was almost true.

the next hour was dedicated to reading comments on instagram and twitter until carol came to take you out of the venue, which usually take two hours, and after refreshing the discovery page on instagram and reposting a few stories from fans on your stories, you decided to check your inbox, a verified account catching your eyes immediately.

tylerrjoseph send you a message.

oh shit. shit. shit. shit

your phone flew away to the other couch, to afraid to open the message, your gaze frozen, looking at the phone like it was going to explote any minute from now. still debating between reading it or delete you entire account, you grabbed your phone and opened the message with your eyes closed.

tylerrjoseph hi! great concert, favorite song was cherry:)

oh, not as bad as you thought, still a little embarrassing.

yourusername oh my god i’m sososo sorry about that, i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything like that. thank u for going to the show, you are truly an inspiration and i’m so honored that you listen to what i sing, again i’m sorry

tylerrjoseph dont worry at all! im flattered, i truly am, thank you for dedicate a minute of your show to talk about me

yourusername i could spend all day talking about you!

yourusername again, weird, sorry about that, i mean its nothing! you are such a talented person, truly!

tylerrjoseph you’re funny, we should talk some time, like about music and stuff, or anything really, if you would like that, no pressure:)

“tyler freaking joseph wants to talk to me” that sentence keep repeating over and over, making you squeeze your phone a little more tighter than usual.

yourusername of course!

to excited, toned it down.

yourusername i mean, we can do that, i have some time off in a couple of days actually

much better.

tylerrjoseph awesome, you can send me your schedule and i can work around it

tylerrjoseph also im still waiting for those fanfic recommendations;)

Sugar Plums. | W.S

summary: The soldier has an attachment to you.

warnings: Suggestive 18+ MDNI & Fluff | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Brief mentions of PTSD | Brief talk of HYDRA | Heavy petting | Love biting/hickeys

a/n: This came to me randomly but thought it was cute and somewhat spicy. I added some fluff to balance it all out and tried to keep the sexy scenes sweet too. I see so many fics of him being super aggressive in bed and those are great, but for me I think he'd be a little more like this. Takes place after the events of CA:TWS. Contains roughly translated Russian, native speakers can correct me if anything was translated wrong. Ty. ;; wc: 5.5k

It was so awkward.

Everyone sat frozen in place, their eyes locked on the imposing figure of the Winter Soldier as he towered behind you, his piercing blue eyes methodically scanning the room and studying each occupant with an intensity that made them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"Absolutely not!" Tony was the first to break the suffocating silence, his voice sharp and decisive as he beat Steve to speaking by a mere second. There was absolutely no way he would even consider allowing the fist of HYDRA to take up residence in his tower, treating him like he was nothing more than some lost stray that needed sheltering. "He's not staying here, no way in hell - this isn't a halfway house for reformed assassins."

"Tony, come on. HYDRA is gone, their control over him is broken," you reasoned desperately, your voice taking on a pleading tone as you gestured toward the silent figure behind you, "He's been surviving on his own for weeks, barely getting by. Just look at him...he's exhausted, malnourished, and clearly needs somewhere safe to stay and recover."

"Uh, how about no?" Tony fired back, staring at you like you had grown a second head...or like you had a towering sleeper soldier looming behind you.

Tony wasn't your favorite person in the world, but he was usually somewhat reasonable.

"There's absolutely no way that he's staying here. Have you completely lost your mind? What if he suddenly snaps or loses control and goes completely berserk, hm? What if one night those sleeper triggers buried in his brain suddenly activate and he systematically takes us out one by one in our sleep?" Tony added emphatically, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he attempted to visualize the gruesome scenarios playing out in his mind.

"Your state-of-the-art security cameras can't give us a heads up before that happens?" You asked with dry sarcasm, your tone deliberately flat and unimpressed, clearly making a joke while you tried to find some kind of middle ground that would get the agitated, self-proclaimed playboy to calm down and think rationally.

"No chance in hell, sweet cheeks," he folded his arms and glared at you with sternness that etched across his features. "Too dangerous."

"He's staying, whether you like it or not," you replied in the same unwavering tone, standing your ground with resolute conviction. "He's hurt, weak, completely vulnerable. There's absolutely nothing he could possibly do in this state. He needs somewhere warm and safe to stay, especially since he's been struggling to survive out on the streets for weeks now. Besides, winter is coming fast and there’s no way he won’t get hypothermia or something." You added with concern, knowing full well that while the soldier hadn't been entirely helpless during his ordeal, he certainly hadn't managed to secure any kind of stable shelter.

His temporary refuges consisted only of cold spaces beneath bridges, dark corners tucked away in forgotten alleys, or the remains of abandoned buildings - not a single place where he could truly let his guard down or feel protected from the harsh elements. With winter's rapid approach and already light dustings of snow, the temperatures would only get more brutal as the nights went on.

You continued to argue with Tony, Steve butting in every so often, luckily siding with you, desperate to have his old friend somewhere safe. It was a long, frustrating argument that lasted much longer than need be.

Earlier that day, while you had been making your way down the frost-covered street of New York's downtown district, his eyes had caught sight of your familiar form. Something deep within him told him to follow you, a magnetic pull that he couldn't explain. He obeyed the instinct, trailing silently behind you all the way back to the tower. When you finally became aware of his presence, he was thoroughly drenched from the steadily falling snow, his cheeks and nose having turned a bright, rosy color from the biting cold as he tried to suppress his constant shivering.

The moment you made your sudden turn to approach him, he visibly startled, immediately taking a defensive step backward as his mind raced through all the possible scenarios and potential threats. His eyes darted across your face with obvious wariness as you fully turned to face him, his entire body subtly shifting its weight from foot to foot, muscles tensed and ready to bolt away.

"It's okay...you look cold..." You spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, trying not to startle him as you took in his disheveled appearance. The soldier, the one whose face had practically been plastered across every news channel, the same one Steve had spoken about with such raw emotion in his voice.

You remembered how Steve had mourned his best friend, utterly confused and devastated about why he had saved from the river, while Bucky fell to what should have been his death. Steve held onto that grief, that guilt, like a lifeline. He held onto it so desperately, clinging to the faintest hope that a sliver of Bucky was still somewhere deep inside the persona of the Winter Soldier.

Looking at him now, you couldn't see any trace of the man from Steve's stories - the soldier's eyes were too wild and wide, filled with fear and confusion.

But despite everything you'd heard, despite the destruction you'd witnessed on the news, despite the intense warnings from everyone in the tower, there was something about his presence that didn't trigger your fight or flight response.

He didn't make you feel unsafe.

He looked absolutely beat down, exhausted to his very core, his shoulders slumped in a way that made you wonder when he'd last had a moment's rest. You weren't even sure he could take you down if he tried in this state, though you knew his reputation suggested otherwise. He was shaking from the cold air as it blew in a stinging breeze, his metal arm gleaming dully in what little light remained, while the incoming winter storm brought with it a thick haze and countless tiny pinpricks of needle-like snowflakes that seemed to cut through the air.

"Come inside with me, I'll take care of you." You offered quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as you extended your hand towards him. Your body language remained open and non-threatening, shoulders relaxed and posture deliberately casual to help put him at ease and to show him you felt no fear.

After a few silent moments where his piercing blue eyes studied you through the thick haze, he finally shifted his weight forward and took a step in your direction.

The water in the shower had set a steady steam in the bathroom, the mirror had fogged and the tiles sweat below your bare feet.

You could hear the gentle splashing of water against the bathtub as he cleaned himself. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm caught your attention, hopefully that thing was waterproof, but it must be, right?

After setting out a fresh towel and clean clothes for his use, you quietly excused yourself to provide him with privacy. The state of his current attire was awful, every piece was thoroughly saturated and carried an unmistakable stench that made you wrinkle your nose. The clothes were in such poor condition that you couldn't help but wonder if they had been scavenged from someone who no longer needed them.

You wouldn’t put it past the soldier to steal from a cadaver.

His shower routine was notably brief, years of conditioning taught him to minimize the time spent on his personal care. Upon finishing, he emerged from behind the curtain and efficiently dried himself with the provided towel. His gaze fell upon the fresh clothes you had thoughtfully placed by the sink, while his previous garments had been discreetly removed.

The soldier hesitated momentarily before donning the clean outfit. It wasn’t anything fancy, a pair of grey sweatpants emblazoned with the Avenger's logo along the side and a simple yet comfortable black tank top. When he finally emerged from the bathroom to face you, his body language betrayed his uncertainty as he stood there, not sure what to do now. Comfort was completely foreign to him, and care was a dream away.

"Tony finally gave in," you replied softly, your voice sounded in the quiet stillness of the bedroom. "He said you could stay here with us."

He remained motionless, his expression blank and unreadable as he stood there, offering neither response nor the slightest hint of acknowledgement to your words. You weren’t sure what to expect but that seemed pretty in character for him at the moment.

"You'll be staying in my quarters since no one else is comfortable having you in their space just yet...but don't worry too much about that," you reassured gently, though you could tell from his demeanor that others' opinions held little weight in his mind. "They'll come around after some time, I'm sure of it."

His gaze fixed upon you then, his brow creasing ever so slightly with an unspoken question as he began to move. Each step was deliberate and measured as he crossed the room, closing the distance between you until he stood directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets from his freshly washed hair beading at the ends and falling onto the fabric of your top, leaving dark spots where they landed.

"Everything's going to be fine," you said with gentle reassurance, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Why don't we head to the kitchen and get you something to eat? You must be hungry." You offered, hoping to bring some normalcy to the situation.

The soldier shadowed your every movement, following closely behind like a faithful companion who refused to stray from their master's side.

Upon entering the expansive kitchen, you immediately made your way to the industrial-sized refrigerator, searching through its contents for something suitable to offer him. The kitchen was perpetually stocked to the brim with an array of foods, snacks, and ingredients, practically anything one could imagine or desire. It was like having a private, fully-stocked grocery store.

Though with a the ravenous super soldier with enhanced metabolism, the mighty Asgardian god whose appetite matched his status, and Banner's surprisingly hulk-ish consumption…the team still depleted their food with an efficiency that would put a pack of famished wolves to shame.

"Hm...what should you have...do you want anything specific?" You turned over your shoulder to address him, but he maintained his characteristic silence. Unmoving, and completely stoic, like a statue carved from marble.

"Нет [No]," came his quiet response, the Russian word rolling off his tongue deeply. He remained perfectly still, observing with careful attention as you continued your search through the refrigerator's contents, trying to determine what would be most appropriate for him to eat. Your mind was working quickly, knowing you wanted to avoid anything too time-consuming to prepare. You wanted to get some food into him sooner rather than later.

"How about...I could make some soup real quick? Tomato and grilled cheese might be a safe option for you. Shouldn't upset your stomach too much if you haven’t been eating a lot, and it will warm you up if you're still feeling cold." You turned back toward him once more, studying his features carefully for any hint of reaction or preference to your suggestion, any subtle change in his expression.

But, he didn't provide even the slightest indication of his feelings.

You decided on tomato soup and a grilled cheese anyway, you figured it was best and immediately set to work in the kitchen.

Although you typically prided yourself on preparing meals completely from scratch, this particular circumstance called for something different. You assembled the sandwich, buttering the bread before placing it in a heated pan to get a golden-brown crust while keeping a watchful eye on the pot of soup simmering beside it, occasionally stirring for even heating.

Once everything reached the perfect temperature and consistency, you transferred the meal onto clean dishes, relieved it didn’t take too long. You presented him with the steaming bowl of soup and perfectly grilled sandwich, watching as the soldier deliberately took his place at the counter, his eyes fixed intently on the rising steam from the bowl before him.

You watched him, noting how his entire body remained unnaturally rigid and motionless, as though every muscle was locked in place and braced for something. His lips bore a slight sheen of moisture, like he had licked them at some point when you weren't watching. Yet despite his obvious hunger, he hadn't made even the slightest attempt to reach for the food. His eyes held intense longing and hesitation, briefly meeting yours before quickly darting away, as if making eye contact was somehow forbidden.

"What's wrong?" You asked with growing concern etched across your features, "You're hungry aren't you? I can tell you haven't eaten in a while. Especially not anything warm, at least. I know it can be hard out there, all by yourself…"

His response came in the form of an almost imperceptible nod, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the bowl and sandwich before him, as though they were the most important and most dangerous objects in the room.

"So why aren't you eating? The food's getting cold, it won’t be as good if it cools too much."

"Я не могу совершить действие без приказа. [I cannot perform an action without an order]," the soldier responded in barely more than a whisper, his voice carrying the weight of years of conditioning.

You stood there, completely lost in the language barrier between you. Your limited knowledge of Russian extended only to the most basic words - 'да' and 'нет' - leaving you clueless by his response and worried about the implications of his behavior.

You didn't want to wake Natasha, even though she would certainly understand what he was saying in Russian, but disturbing her sleep for something as simple as a quick translation seemed unnecessary and might put her in a bad mood. Instead, an idea popped into your head that would avoid an angry widow. You reached for your phone and placed it on the smooth counter surface, navigating to a translator app before looking up at him again. "Can you repeat that?"

The soldier's eyes flickered briefly to the phone screen, taking in the sight of the translation app with what seemed like recognition, before his gaze deliberately returned to the untouched food laid out before him. "I cannot perform an action without an order," he stated in perfect, albeit mechanical English this time.

You blinked in surprise, thoroughly caught off guard by the sudden switch to English when he had been persistently speaking Russian up until this point. "Okay...well...eat then, you can eat freely here, you don't need an order to do that." You slowly tucked your phone away into your pocket as his right hand gradually lifted from where it had been resting in his lap, reaching out to pick up the sandwich.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but he wolfed down his food within a minute, that sandwich was gone within maybe three bites. The soup swallowed just as fast.

God, he was starving, and the realization made your heart ache.

"Better?" You asked gently, to which he only nodded, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth.

This became routine, the soldier stuck by your side like a duckling imprinting on its mother.

He followed you diligently around every corner of the tower, his protective instincts activated as he positioned himself like an ever-vigilant guardian. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings, noting how others would cast uncertain and sometimes suspicious glances in his direction.

These looks made him increasingly self-conscious and anxious, as though he were some exotic creature put on display at a zoo for others to gawk at. But in your presence, he seemed a bit more at ease. He genuinely liked being around you.

Gradually, the rigid tension that had defined his existence began to melt away, and he started allowing more intimate gestures of care. He let you gently brush his unruly hair into place, carefully wash his face with warm water, or trim his growing stubble for him.

He accepted these tender ministrations without the slightest resistance or complaint, though a nagging worry lingered in your mind that his compliance stemmed from years of conditioning to submit to others' wishes. Each time you worried about that, you’d see a genuine warmth and contentment in his gaze rather than submission, showing you that he truly found comfort and pleasure in your gentle touch.

It was evening, the room reflected the warm glow of festive holiday lights emanating from a miniature Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The soldier found himself transfixed by the small decorated tree, his eyes lingering on each twinkling light as their vibrant colors danced and shimmered. The sterile, monotonous walls he had grown accustomed to during his confinement were nothing compared to the colorful lights. The gentle play of red, green, and gold seemed to awaken something long dormant within him, he almost wanted to plant himself in front of the tree and just stare at it.

Tony may have allowed his stay, but that didn’t mean there weren’t restrictions. He was stern about where and when the soldier could go anywhere with you, and he demanded that he not leave your room afterhours. It wasn’t hard to follow, the solider showed reluctance to leave your room at all, having been so accustomed to being kept in one room. You didn’t push him, but you felt bad for him because he was missing how the tower had been decorated for the holidays. So, you got a smaller tree for the bedroom to provide some kind of festive look for him to take in.

You emerged from the bathroom, wisps of steam following in your wake, your damp hair leaving little droplets on your shoulders as you continued to towel it dry with scrunches. He remained motionless on the edge of your bed, his attention immediately shifting as he turned and blinked up at your approaching figure.

His icy eyes traced a deliberate path across your form, which was barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the hem teasingly brushing against your mid-thigh with each movement. "I am beat," you sighed heavily, your voice carrying the weight of the day's festivities. The marathon of holiday activities had clearly taken its toll, leaving you thoroughly drained. The tower often held an array of things to do because Tony loved to show off what he could afford, and it wasn’t like anyone else would object.

He observed with rapt attention as you made your way onto the bed and settled back against the pillows, releasing a deep exhale that seemed to melt away the day's tension. His unwavering gaze remained fixed on the rhythmic, hypnotic motion of your chest rising and falling with each breath.

You felt the bed shift beneath you as he moved, his weight causing the mattress to dip and creak softly. He crawled over to where you lay, his arms positioning themselves on either side of your body, caging you in. Your eyes fluttered open to find him hovering directly above you, his presence overwhelming in its proximity. This was something new…he had always maintained somewhat of a distance before, never daring to position himself so intimately over top of you.

"Я скомпрометирован. [I'm compromised]," the soldier spoke in a hushed tone, his voice carrying that distinctive gravelly pitch that made you feel tingly. The tension between you had become damned near impossible to ignore. What had started as a subtle pull had grown into an overwhelming force of attraction that seemed to draw you both together like magnets.

Still, you forced yourself to hold back, maintaining that last thread of restraint. You had no way of knowing the depth of his emotional capacity, if he was even capable of genuine feelings, or wanted to experience them at all after everything he endured.

"Soldat...?" The whispered word escaped your lips as you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his muscles tensed as he remained suspended above you, perfectly still. "You know I don't understand-"

"I am compromised," he repeated, switching to English this time. His voice had dropped even lower, carrying an edge of frustration that vibrated through the minimal space between your bodies.

"Comprom..." You sat up slowly on your elbows and shook your head in confusion, your brow furrowed as you tried to process his words. That’s what you’d say about a machine or computer, not a man. "What are you talking about?" Your eyes wandered downward, suddenly drawn to an unmistakable tent in his fitted briefs that became obvious from your new viewing angle, causing you to freeze in place as your breath caught in your throat.

So, he could feel things.

"Oh..." You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you remained frozen in place, your cheeks growing warm. "I think I understand now...you're feeling a bit pent up, aren't you?"

His metal arm whirred softly, the sophisticated machinery humming as he moved to adjust his hand placement. "Да. [Yes]," he responded in a low voice, his gleaming titanium fingertips delicately ghosted across the bare skin of your thigh, just barely grazing beneath the hem of your thin sleep shirt. Goosebumps erupted along your body in response to the contact, the cool metal sudden against your flushed skin.

"Мне не нравится делиться вашим вниманием. [I don't like sharing your attention]," he muttered with an undertone of possession, his lips curling into a slight frown as he gradually leaned closer to you. His silken hair delicately tickled your face as he slowly lowered himself, the tips of your noses barely grazing against each other in an intimate gesture. His lips parted ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of anticipation before he dipped his head down, warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your jawline.

You swallowed reflexively, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his warm, steady breath caress your sensitive skin, sending a visible shudder of growing excitement through your body.

He continued his gentle exploration, encouraged by your acceptance and the absence of any resistance. He pressed a trail of soft, purposeful kisses along the curve of your jaw, each one more intimate than the last, before gradually working his way down to your neck. His lips carefully followed the rhythmic flutter of your pulse beneath your skin, his tongue peeking out shyly to touch against you.

"Ah-" You voiced softly, feeling him settle on a particularly sensitive spot, right against the delicate side of your neck. It was nestled perfectly between the graceful junction where your neck connected to your collarbone, the skin there warm and inviting, holding a faint trace of blood flow from the intricate network of smaller veins positioned just beneath the surface.

He kissed many times with increasing intensity, clearly finding this spot ideal for his attentions. The soft, tentative pecks gradually became more passionate, open-mouthed kisses as each one was placed. His tongue began gently pressing against your skin with each lingering kiss, the pressure slowly growing in need. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth when he finally latched on, your eyes widening in surprise as the soldier's strong arms held you a little tighter.

Soldat began to suckle a mark, his ministrations gentle and teasing at first, but quickly growing in force and intensity as his skilled tongue swirled expertly around the trapped skin between his lips and teeth. The sensation drew a breathy moan from deep within you, making your entire body feel as though it were engulfed in flames of desire. Though you were completely helpless beneath the assassin, you had absolutely no intention or desire to push him away.

This felt too damned good.

Without thinking, your leg came up and hooked around his hips, drawing him closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat between you grew and you felt his painful erection trapped in his briefs, straining against the fabric as his arousal was staining them. Soldat exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening possessively, but he did not let go.

His suckling grew increasingly intense, the sensitive skin tingling and starting to sting and burn with each passing moment. Still, he didn't release the bruised skin just yet.

Instead, he just bit down harder, ensuring the mark he left would last for days. You moaned loudly, your fingers gently tangling in his thick hair as your pleasured sounds encouraged his attention. He became more attentive when your little sounds of pleasure turned into sharp, quiet hisses - clearly indicating that the sensation had crossed from pleasure into discomfort, silently telling him to ease off.

When he did finally relent, he pulled back to admire his handiwork, looking down at the deep purple mark blooming on your neck. His breath came in heavy pants through his parted lips as he stayed quiet, watching intently as you struggled to catch your own breath too. The sight of you beneath him, disheveled and vulnerable, with flushed skin and labored breathing, was enough to draw him right back in.

He dipped back down with renewed hunger, his metal hand slowly threading through your hair before gently fisting it at the base of your skull, though his careful control ensured it wasn’t painful, just firm. He tugged just enough to guide your movement, encouraging you to expose more of your neck to his hungry gaze.

"E-easy..." You whispered, a note of anxious anticipation in your voice. You wanted more, god you wanted more, but his sudden change of behavior was a bit surprising for you.

"Понял. [Understood]," he whispered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss of reassurance to your jaw before returning his attention to your neck. Those soft kisses began again, trailing along your skin, but his restraint didn't last long as he quickly sought a new canvas for another mark. He latched onto a spot just a little bit higher on your neck, alternating between sucking and carefully controlled bites to gradually darken and bruise the sensitive flesh.

You felt bite after delicious bite, hickey after possessive hickey.

He marked the tender flesh of your neck in several deep, purple marks that bloomed like violent flowers across your skin...each one throbbing with a sweet ache when he pulled away. His tongue always swirled over the mark with care to soothe the sting of it, making you arch into his touch as you fell into a complete daze.

"S-Soldat," you muttered breathlessly, cheeks flushed crimson and eyelids heavy with desire. Your pupils matched his own - completely blown with hunger and desperate need. Those bermuda swirls meeting yours as he continued a torturously slow trail of hot kisses down your chest, nipping your collarbone with just enough pressure to make you gasp before following the gentle dip of your sternum.

He paused deliberately, pulling up so he could lift the thin sleep shirt over you and expose more of your bare chest to his hungry gaze, giving him better access for his heated kisses and teasing nips. Once your top was discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands gently but firmly held your sides, trailing up with reverent touches until settling against your ribcage. His larger hands completely encompassed your torso, making you feel small but protected.

The soldier was absolutely transfixed at the sight of your breasts, eyeing the soft mounds and peaked nipples as they hardened in the cool air, growing increasingly sensitive and rosy with your mounting arousal. It was like he was completely mesmerized by the sight before him, the fucking Winter Soldier, the most dangerous assassin in history, stopped dead in his tracks at the mere sight of your bare breasts.

You felt in charge now.

"What is it? Do you like them?" you purred softly to the soldier, your body swaying in a deliberately teasing motion that made them gently move. His eyes remained fixed, drinking in the sight before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. Slowly, his head tilted down again, surrendering to the moment. He let his face nestle against your chest, his lips trailing a constellation of unhurried kisses across your skin.

He began to nip and suckle the tender skin of your breasts, his mouth working to create deep, purple love bites on that delicate flesh. The bruising blossomed easily beneath his ministrations, almost like they were eager to show themselves.

His lips would find a promising spot, then he would begin lapping at the skin with gentle strokes of his tongue until he felt you squirming. The soldier took the sensitized flesh carefully between his teeth, rolling the captured skin while his talented muscle swirled and sucked.

Your chest displayed his passionate handiwork when he finally drew back to admire his creation. The plum-colored bruises created an intimate pattern across your skin, their rich hues made even more striking by the soft glow of the holiday lights that danced through the room, highlighting each carefully placed love bite until they seemed to shimmer like twilight stars against your flesh.

"Soldat...I think you covered enough surface area," you breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the intense throbbing that radiated from each mark he'd left. The sensation pulsed in waves across your skin, making it difficult to focus. Your neck was thoroughly covered in the passionate marks, and now your chest bore an equally impressive collection.

The soldier gazed down at you with intensely, his eyes taking in each little sugar plum bruise that decorated your skin like a masterpiece. Though they were scattered without any deliberate pattern, the overall effect clearly pleased him. You lay there looking thoroughly affected by his attention, hair mussed and breathing uneven, cheeks beautifully darkened with a dust of blush, just from his careful application of bites alone. The sight of you in such a state, marked so thoroughly, brought deep set satisfaction in his gut.

"Моя теперь. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own. The almost-kiss was delicate, just the faintest brush of contact that sent electricity dancing through your nerves. He almost seemed nervous to close that final distance, his confidence faltering despite the passionate trail of marks he had already left scattered across your skin.

He drew back slightly, seemingly snapping out of a trance, and you could see the vulnerability written plainly across his features as that nervousness flickered in his eyes. Shifting his weight, he settled back onto the bed, his right hand finding your knee and tracing gentle, soothing circles there with his thumb. The tender gesture matched his hushed voice as he spoke, "Я не хочу идти дальше. [I don't want to go any further]," the words carrying both certainty and a hint of apology.

Your brow furrowed deeply as you struggled to understand what he was trying to stay, the confusion evident in the slight crease between your eyebrows and the questioning tilt of your head. You really needed to study Russian. "Do you not want to continue?" you asked slowly and carefully, focusing more on interpreting the subtle nuances in his tone rather than trying to parse the exact words he was using.

His facial expression held hesitance and uncertainty, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his eyes wouldn't quite meet yours telling you what you needed to know. Body language was his primary mode of genuine communication, and you had become very good at reading these silent signals he unconsciously broadcast.

"It's okay, we can stop," you replied with a reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice soft to help dissipate any lingering tension he might be feeling. "Let's just lay here, okay? We can cuddle without any kind of pressure to do anything else, if you want." You offered with a warm smile, wanting him to feel that his comfort and boundaries were completely respected and that there was no expectation or obligation to continue.

This was a lot of good progress with him, you typically just cuddled or he kept to his side of the bed but he had shown you a lot of sweet affection tonight, and you loved it, it meant he was growing more confident in himself and your relationship. The evidence of his passionate yet tender attention remained visible in the form of gentle, plum-colored marks that decorated your neck and chest as you lay beside him, watching as his silent form trembled slightly beneath the heavy warmth of the thick blankets that enveloped you both.

You opened your arms, offering him a warmer space, and he quickly scooted forward, tucking himself against you. Prone to being cold, he liked being under many layers of blankets, so you made sure to provide plenty for him to not only feel warm but secure. Plus...having you to hold him always helped.

Without the worry of being a soldier, he could rest easy like this.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

he had NO RIGHT looking this good in corpse paint. Like who tf does this man think he is?!

I'LL GET EVEN, dave mustaine.

pinned rules masterlist

pairing; modern!dave mustaine x fem!reader

summary; dave is angry at a producer and comes home, just wanting to see you. you have other plans, deciding to join in on a couple tiktok trend—he doesn’t find it as funny as you do.

warnings; very fluffy, modern era but with 1980s dave, slight cussing, no use of y/n, mentions of toxic masculinity, dave gets butthurt, tough boy isn’t so tough anymore. if im missing anything else let me know!

word count; 750

requests open, not proofread, based on this ask.

You never thought you’d see the day when Dave Mustaine—the snarling, sharp-tongued leader of Megadeth, the same man who wrote lyrics about death and betrayal—would be curled up in your arms like an overgrown cat. But here he was, his spiralling, copper curls a mess against your chest, his breath warm against your collarbone, completely unaware that he was currently being recorded, despite your quiet, hushed giggles that left your soft lips. He was so fucking tired he didn't even think anything of it: his first mistake.

It had started out as an innocent cuddle session. He’d come home after hours in the studio, grumbling about producers who didn’t “get” his sound, and immediately toppled onto you like a weighted blanket. You knew better than to say anything at first—Dave was a like cat in human form; if you pointed out that he was being affectionate, he’d immediately "hiss" and pretend he wasn’t. So you just let him rest, lazily running your fingers through his hair while his arm draped possessively over your waist, his strong, calloused thumb stroking the hem of your pants.

That’s when the idea struck.

With your phone angled just right, you hit record, keeping your voice soft, teasing. This will fucking get him. You knew he wasn't active on social media, let alone TikTok. And you loved your pranks—rather, you loved to push your boyfriend’s buttons.

“Who's my good boy?” you cooed, fingers tracing light patterns on his back.

A sleepy mumble; “...Me.”

Your grin nearly split your face into two. Got him.

“Yeah? My bestest boy?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, nuzzling closer into your warm neck.

You held back a laugh, heart melting at how completely relaxed he was. This was the Dave most people didn’t get to see—the one who craved softness, who would willingly tangle his limbs with yours just to feel safe for a while. The one that just yearned for intimacy and love, and admiration. Even if he didn't admit it. His gentleness with you proved it right—despite what the people had to say in the media. It was all bullshit.

Then, as if some internal alarm sounded, his whole body suddenly stiffened against you. Uh-oh…

“Wait,” he muttered. You felt the pause; the slow, tired wheels turning in his brain. He lifted his head slightly, hazel eyes squinting in suspicion. “The fuck did you just say?”

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle. “I said, ‘Who’s my good boy?’”

His brows furrowed. Then his eyes flickered to your hand—manicured nails clasped around your phone. His domestic, exhausted eyes met his own within your phone. What the fuck was wrong with you—on every level. Mentally, emotionally, physically—hell, spiritually. You don’t do that shit to thee Dave Mustaine!

“…Are you recording this?”

“Maybe.”

Dave shot up faster than a rocket and you barely had time to react before his tall frame was towering over you, his expression caught somewhere between betrayal and damage control. No, no, no, no—fuck no!

“Delete it.” His voice was gruff now, like you’d just walked in on him playing with kittens and he was scrambling to reassert dominance. He had an image to uphold—both with the fans and you. “Right fucking now.”

You pouted. “But you were soooo cute.”

"I’m not cute,” he grumbled, already crawling back into his toxic masculinity shell. He ran a hand through his thick golden hair, shoulders straightening, jaw clenching. “I’m fucking dangerous."

You tilted your head, still recording. Your phone shook as you held back a laugh. “Oh? Who’s my big, strong, dangerous boy?”

A muscle twitched in his cheek as a vein popped in his forehead. Dave pointed at your phone. “I swear to God—”

But before he could finish, you gave him the look. The one that said, I’ll stop recording if you just play along for two more seconds, pretty, pretty please sweetheart.

Dave groaned, rubbing his face. You could tell he was so done with your antics. And then, with the deepest, most reluctant sigh you'd probably had ever heard from his lips, he muttered under his breath:

“…Me.”

You burst out laughing, nearly dropping your phone in the process—but you relentlessly gripped it for dear life. Gotcha!

Dave, realizing what he just did, let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a feral growl before launching himself at you, trying to snatch your phone from your iron grip.

“You’re fucking dead,” he grumbled, burying his face in your neck, but the warmth of his arms tightening around you told you otherwise. Dave even shocked himself sometimes, it's like his heart reacts before his head. The little things made him realize that he truly was infatuated with you. Inside and out, no matter how cruel you may be. You took to him when no one else did.

And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind being your "good" boy after all.

© lagunned (2025—) all rights reserved.

𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖙 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊 | cmj.

choi mujin x fem!reader

warnings: suggestive content; violence; death; slightly toxic relationship; age-gap;

song: desert rose — lolo zouaï

word count: 2k

disclaimer: scene slightly based on that one joker and harley’s scene on suicide squad (yes, the club one)

              THE LOW BASS OF THE MUSIC PUMPED THROUGH YOUR VEINS, RACING AGAINST THE THUNDERING SOUND OF YOUR HASTY HEART. The golden dress that ran down your sweaty body, twirled like rain droplets as you took another spin around the pole, your only free hand caressing your flying hair as you did so. More and more people surrounded your small stage as you did another risky move, this one bringing two men to almost faint at the close proximity of your bodies, yet you never once touched them. It wasn't their hands you were interested in, you contemplated after another seductive dance move. A small tear of sweat caressed your forehead, kissing the bridge of your nose as you threw your head back in giddiness, however, you didn’t bother to wipe it. It was only the beginning of the evening at your husband’s club, and you knew that you would be sweating much more by the end of the night.

The crowd began whistling as you lift your leg up, right against the silver pole, yet your eyes only crossed with one single person across the dark-room, neon lights reflecting the sharp features of Mujin as he tentatively licked the same lips that he had used to so easily roll a blunt, to which he offered to the man in front of him, the one he was trying so hard doing business with. Your husband’s net was growing by the day, almost taking over all of South Korea’s darkest corners as it did so, and it came to no surprise to you that he was now trying to breach Japan’s underworld as well. Soon enough, all of East Asia would know and fear your husband’s name, and whilst it couldn’t make you prouder, it also made you incredibly worried by his safety, and, well, yours. More power meant more risks to take, and after so many betrayals for the past year, you actually wondered if this was actually the right time to take such a huge step.

And although his love met no end, you knew how he felt about you interfering in his business. It wasn’t as if he wanted you meddling in his affairs, he just feared the consequences of you doing so. Mujin knew the effect of working on this field, after all, he made a livelihood of it, and the thought of you gaining a single scratch just from sharing that burden of his, brought an ache to his soul that he refused to feed. Both of you had agreed to leave you in the dark about his business, mostly to your safety, and the only exception he made to this rule of yours only happened when things went down south or when they had to lay low for a while.

But you trusted Mujin. If there was anyone capable of pulling through hell and back was that fierce husband of yours. As long as he remained by your side, there was nothing that could possibly go wrong. You loved him as much as he loved you, and you knew his intelligence and wit didn’t have an end.

And that was why, when he called for you with a casual whistle, you obediently left the small stage and happily walked over to him, sitting by the back of his sofa as you finally reached his cabin. Taeju scoffed ironically at your dainty smile, offering you his large hand so that you could pass over the sofa and right into your husband’s side, rightfully yours since the day you had met him, over three years ago. Mujin tilted his head in your direction and lazily threw you one of those smiles of his, the ones that made you weak in the knees, right before inviting you to his empty lap. And how could you refuse such an offer, especially when he was so lovingly looking at you?

So, you carefully sat down on his thighs, the dress moving slightly higher as it almost showed all your intimate bits, much to Mujin’s displeasure. He grabbed the hem of the sparkling skirt and gently pulled it down, right before adjusting your position so that you could rest against his chest as he gave one more puff on his blunt. You felt the temptation to steal the small roll and put it in between your lipstick-covered lips, but Mujin, as if reading your thought, gave you a warning look before offering the blunt to one of his colleagues. Drugs were definitely out of reach as long as you were married to him, and sometimes it infuriated you how much he cared about your health but completely ignored his.

The man in front of the two of you, however, seemed to be enjoying the little spectacle, for the way his smirk lifted the corners of his pink lips. He seemed younger than Mujin, and far healthier than your nicotine-addicted husband, although that was part of his charm. You had always had a spot for men “rough around the edges”, it’s what made the relationship so much interesting. He couldn’t have been older than Taeju, though, maybe in his thirties, and with dark-black ink covering both his neck and the length of his arms, which were fairly shown by the sleeves of his paper-white shirt. There were some Japanese words that you could almost recognize on his exposed chest, yet when the man caught you looking, he couldn’t help throw Mujin a knowing smile. The man under your body didn’t move an inch, yet you, who knew him so well, could see the deep change in your husband’s gaze.

⸻ Is the girl familiar with Japanese?⸻ His voice was sour and pitched like an expensive martini, whilst Mujin’s tasted like an old fashioned. It made you cringe at how venomous it sounded on each word he spoke. Mujin, however, remained impassive. Stone-cold. And you sank into his embrace even more under the stranger’s attention, as if it could shield you from his wandering eyes.

⸻ Perhaps. Her family is half Japanese, after all. ⸻ Your love had answered quietly, gesturing for the bartender to refill their now empty glasses. To say you were confused at how easily he had shared such important information of you was an understatement, yet you simply hid your hand on the inside of his jacket as you hugged his torso, finding his warmth comforting.

⸻ A Japanese family in a Korean country sounds very polemic. I’m sure it brought a rough upbringing. ⸻ The man had mused, finding it enthralling how much you side-eyed him and his cocky attitude. If you could, you would gladly grab the gun attached to Mujin’s ribs and press it to his provocative smirk, but you knew better than to cause a scene in your husband’s favorite club.

⸻ No rougher than others, I assure you. ⸻ He seemed delighted at your response, laughing merrily at the rage that you so boldly carried in your frowning eyes. Mujin remained observant, casually caressing the back of your neck whilst fiddling with the opening of your necklace in order to distract his hands. Taeju noticed this quietness of his, and knowing his boss better than anyone, he simply grabbed the handle of his gun discreetly and waited.

⸻ You’re a very lucky man, Mujin. I wouldn’t know what to do with a lady like that attached to my arm. Maybe I’ll find out, if I’m lucky enough. You’ve got a bad bitch by your side. ⸻ That was when you tensed at his words, nostrils flaring at the way he had so casually mouthed the name as if it had been your birth one. Not even your husband dared to call you such lewd things, preferring to stimulate you with words of reassurance that so amazingly fed your praise kink. It came as to no surprise when Mujin stopped playing with his drink and carefully lifted his eyes, barely moving a muscle before letting out a raspy laugh that you knew to be bitter.

⸻ Oh, her? The fire in my loins. The blood on my veins. The one and only… Choi Y/N. ⸻ His voice reached a crescendo the more he spoke, and although you felt the familiar sweet taste of pride blooming in your chest, the way his words were so carefully picked made you uneasy in his arms. You despised violence, ironically enough, yet you knew in your gut that this situation wasn’t exactly going to end peacefully. ⸻ I suppose… You want her?

The man must’ve sensed that same prediction, for his demeanor too changed at the same pace as your husband’s, fear taking over his dilated pupils as he realized the nerve he had touched. Not only were you his wife, but also the one he had killed far more important men for.

⸻ Nah… That's your lady, Mujin. ⸻ His companion had reassured him, eyeing the floor as he did so. The blunt they had shared was now halfway done and it’s flame completely out, as well as the amusement and formalities inside that same cabin. Mujin’s free hand, the one he had caressed your neck with a moment ago, found its way towards the back of your head, and with it he gently pushed you to meet his perfumed neck, shielding you while he himself pulled the gun out of its holster. You shifted at the clicking sound of the weapon.

⸻ That’s right… That’s right. ⸻ And so he shot twice, the sound of it being muffled by the loud music that prevented the rest of the crowd from noticing the blood that had been spilled on the heart of the party. You had maintained your eyes open, not daring them to close at the rush of fear that it drowned you as it always did whenever your husband expressed his violent tendencies. You knew now why he had shared such important information about you; the man wasn’t meant to leave the club tonight. You just had to wonder whether Mujin had already planned to kill him, using you as an excuse, or if he had just pressed the right nerve of your husband. ⸻ Take him out of my sight.

You heard the sound of a heavy body being dragged out of the cabin, and from the corner of your eye, you saw the trail of dark-red blood he had left behind. It made your mouth dry in an instant, and you muzzled back against Mujin’s neck in order to try to forget what you had seen. He noticed this act of yours, as he noticed everything else about you, and in response, he simply kissed the side of your head and caressed your beautiful hair, the one he loved so much to pull.

⸻ You understand why I did it, don’t you? You always do. ⸻ His lips chanted against your forehead as if muttering the holiest of prayers. And that you did, even when he didn’t explain to you. It felt easier convincing yourself that every death was deserving than constantly asking him why. And so you kissed the vein on his neck, lifting your head so that you could meet his always tired gaze. You loved this man so dangerously much, it felt like walking at the edge of a knife. ⸻ I’m sorry that you had to witness it this time. But if I had sent you away he would’ve known.

⸻ I know, my love. I know. ⸻ You gave him another peck, this one on his beard-covered chin, and muzzled your nose to it, taking in the comfort he so easily brought to you. ⸻ Does this mean we can go home, now? My feet hurt from dancing.

He hummed a faint laugh, the sincerest one of the night, and deeply kissed your dry lips, ignoring the discomfort that it might bring. This man worshiped the ground you walked, the air you breathed, and the only thing he asked of you, his sole and most important request, was your understanding, even in the bloodiest of situations. And that was something that you could give, although not always easy, as long as he ended up in your arms at the end of every day. You felt so young and naïve sometimes with these thoughts of yours, always loving a man with so much red in his fingers, a man so much older than you. Yet you were so far deep in this relationship that you couldn’t find the surface anymore. Not that you were particularly searching for it.

⸻ Let’s go home, then, my love.

i just need them to be friends

I'm imagining how Logan letting you see his claws up close for the first time would go and like not to be too tmi, but I do think Logan's claw slits would be soooo sensitive.

I could imagine him not really holding hands with you or letting you get too close to his hands in general until the two of you have progressed past something superficial.

The first time he lets you even get near his hands is when the two of you are lying in his bed. Your back pressed to his chest and his chin resting atop your head.

You've got one of his hands held by both of yours, running your fingers over his blue veins and tracing the divets and scars of his skin.

"How'd you get this one?" You ask, running your thumb over the rough line of skin, tilting your head up against his chin some.

His other hand momentarily stops its path where he'd been smoothing it down the soft of your arm.

"Think I was cutting up an apple," he jokes.

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles and he presses a kiss to the side of your temple, moving to speak before he's suddenly caught off with a moan so low you almost weren't sure what it was at first.

Logan doesn't even seem as though he's noticed as his brows remain furrowed and his body relaxed beneath you.

"What was that?" You turn to him, brows arched. You know he can already read the scheming expression written over your features.

Wordlessly, he pops his neck as he moves his hand upwards towards your face, pulling your hands along with it.

Balling his hand into a fist, he turns his knuckles towards you.

Your eyes catch on three small slits between each of his digits, only about half and inch or so long.

Cautiously, you run the tip of your finger down the length of one, earning a shiver from the man beneath you.

"Does it hurt?" You say quietly, nearly a whisper. Almost as if speaking too loud would startle the riveting atmosphere of the room.

You feel him shake his head 'no' behind you before he says gently, "feels good."

You give a slow nod at that, eyes glued to his knuckles.

"Can I touch them again?" You ask after a quiet moment passes.

Logan hums from behind you, "Go ahead."

You're careful in the amount of pressure you apply as you gently stroke the tips of your finger down each slit, relishing in the soft hums earned by the man behind you.

You can feel Logan's eyes watching you – as if equally enthralled with your newfound fascination of his mutation.

He lets you enjoy the delicate nature of it. A man so brutally threatening and deemed almost wild for the majority of his life subdued by something so seemingly trivial about the very thing that labeled him dangerous in the first place.

It's sweet to him.

"D'like it?" Your voice pulls him from his haze.

He seems to mull over his response, unfurling his hand to flex all five fingers in a spread palm.

"S'okay," he offers before unsheathing his claws, letting you look them over.

The lights from his room add a sparkle to their sharp tips, and for a moment, he finds his loathed despotion for them to be almost futile.

"They're pretty." You comment, meeting his hazel eyes in the metallic reflection of them.

He scoffs, "That's just cus' you're lookin' at yourself in 'em."

You feel him reach towards his beer on the nightstand. "I mean it." You click your tongue.

It's a sensitive topic for him, you know that.

Logan takes a swig of his beer, taking another look at his claws. He turns his hand back and forth before retracting them with a 'Shing!'

"Well, in that case," he flicks your temple with a chuckle, "Thank you."

"Can I see them again?" You pull his hand back into your own.

With a sigh, Logan unsheathes his claws for you again.

He takes another swig of his beer, mumbling "Brat."

guilty as sin

You're a dedicated nurse who loves their job even when it means taking care of stubborn, battle-worn pro-heroes (or maybe especially then). Aizawa Shouta x gn!reader. Set between S6 & S7. Fluff, slight angst with comfort. SFW, 2k words.

The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air as you walk down the pristine white hallways of Central Hospital. The raid against the Paranormal Liberation Front had left the medical facility overcrowded, understaffed, and bustling with activity. You yourself had been working tirelessly for the last 24 hours straight to care for the numerous injured heroes and civilians. 

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, your feet dragging slightly with each step. Your shift was supposed to have ended hours ago, and you were more than ready to clock out and get some much-needed rest. However, there was just one patient left to see.

You knock at the door. 

"Good morning," you greet the man lying down on the bed. You don't have the strength to muster a smile, but that's okay. He doesn't seem to either. 

Instead, he gives you a familiar nod. "Good morning."

He was a brooding, reserved man of a few words. With dark hair and even darker eyes - well, eye, the other being wrapped in bandages - he looked more tired than you some days. You can't fault him for that though. You knew he had been at the front lines of the battle that day and had paid a heavy price for it. 

He sits up as you come closer, approaching his bedside. The room is quiet, save for the soft beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals.

"How are you feeling today?"

He shrugs. "I've been better. I've been worse."

"I can see that," you nod, noting the way his complexion is less pale and his hair less unruly today compared to the past week. You open the blinds for him, warm light streaming into the dim room. “More sunlight ought to be good for you.”

“Mhm,” is all he says, blinking up at the bright, blue sky out the window. 

You take that as your cue to go about your usual tasks silently, adjusting his IV, checking his bandages, writing down his vitals. 

Then, out of the blue, he says, “You’ve been working long hours lately. You should get some rest.” 

"Believe me, I will. Just as soon as you're taken care of first."

"I'm fine,” he responds in a clipped, dismissive tone of voice.

“Fine or not, it's my job to make sure you’re comfortable and healing properly. You went through a lot, losing an eye and a leg. Frankly, I’m not sure we should go through with discharging you tomorrow.”

He heaves a tired sigh, “Like I said, I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse, too.” 

Frowning, you sit down on the bedside chair and take a moment to look at him. Despite his stoic facade, you can see the toll all those years of being a hero have taken on him, especially the past few weeks. The dark circles under his remaining eye, the weary lines and scars etched into his face. The worried, pained look that lingers even when he's trying to relax. 

"You know, it's okay to admit that you're not feeling great. From what I've been told, it seems like you've been through hell and back."

He shrugs again, leaning back against the pillows with a wince that he tries to hide. "It comes with the job. If anyone deserves your concern, it's my students."

“It must be hard, seeing them fight in a war. They’re just children, after all.”

He nods grimly, his mouth a tight line. "And because of this—" he touches the bandages covering his eye "—my quirk is pretty much useless now, especially on the villains we’re up against.”

He doesn't say it, but you can hear it in the tightness of his voice, his clenched jaw, his hands fisting the bedsheet. You know what he really means: “I'm useless now."

You want to reach out to touch him, maybe place your hand atop his, but you're not sure if he'd welcome such a gesture, especially from someone he's only known for a short time. You settle for a few sympathetic words instead, folding your hands in your lap. 

"Aizawa-san, do you honestly think your quirk is the only thing that makes you a hero? You've done so much for your students, for so many people. You're a mentor and a role model to these kids. I'm sure they trust and look up to you more because of this, not less.”

He looks at you for a long moment, that same unreadable expression on his face.

"I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t protect them the way I used to."

"Maybe not, but even without your quirk, you have your experience, your wisdom, and a heart that cares deeply for them. That's more than enough."

Instead of responding, he stares silently up at the ceiling. You don't push him, resigning to let the moment simply stretch out. After all, this is the most you've ever talked to him the whole week.

As he gets lost in his thoughts, you find yourself mentally tracing the contours of his face, where the sunlight bathes his skin in a soft, warm glow. It accentuates the strong lines of his jaw, his nose. Softens the look in his dark eyes. 

You take a quiet breath, surprised by the fluttering sensation in your chest. It's an odd time and place to notice something like this, but you can’t deny there's a certain rugged handsomeness to him.

You shift your weight, feeling a little self-conscious about your own thoughts. It’s unprofessional, you chide yourself, to think of a patient this way. But the inexplicable attraction you feel for the man before you is unmistakeable.

Aizawa turns slightly, catching you off guard as his eyes meet yours. When he finally speaks again, his voice is softer, almost contemplative. 

“It's strange. There was a time in my life when I wouldn't have cared what happened to me in the line of duty, whether I lived or died. But now...I want to live for those kids. My kids.”

You manage a wobbly smile even as your heart aches at his words. "Your students are lucky to have someone who cares about them so much."

“You remind me of them a little bit.” He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling softly in the quiet room. “Determined, stubborn, always insisting on helping.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

The corner of his lips quirk up, and the realization that he might actually be teasing you sends your heart aflutter. 

“Mostly good,” he murmurs. “A little bit troublesome for me though.”

“Yeah?” You bite back a smirk. “You’ve been a bit troublesome for me, too, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the pillows. “Is that so? And how do you propose I make it up to you, then?”

Maybe it’s the huskiness of his voice, the quiet intensity of his gaze, or the faint smile tugging at his lips, but something about him in this moment makes your stomach freefall. And you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him, passionately and spontaneously, as if afraid to see sense. 

You know you shouldn't indulge this, should put a stop to this train of thought before it gains too much momentum. You’re thankful you manage to keep your voice steady despite the rush of blood pounding in your ears. 

“Well, Aizawa-san, you could start by taking me out to dinner. Dealing with a patient as stubborn as you has its price, you know.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. But then his gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, and you feel your breath hitch. He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful yet guarded, as if trying to read between the lines of your playfulness.

“I suppose,” he concedes softly. “But you might find that I’m not as interesting as you think, Y/N. I’m just a man who cares about the people in his life and does what he can to protect them.”

"That's exactly what I like about you.” Your voice drops to a whisper, your hand lightly brushing against his.

He groans softly, and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the sound. He rubs his hand down his face, seemingly weighing his options. 

It’s not too late, you assure yourself in a rush of anxious thoughts. You haven’t crossed any lines you can’t go back on, haven’t overstepped the delicate boundary between patient and nurse, between flirtation and something more. 

“Will you let me kiss you at the end of the date?”

Oh.

The line is a dot now.

You swallow hard and — heart pounding in your chest, everything else spinning dizzyingly out of focus — you rush forward to close the distance between you, pressing your lips urgently against his. 

The spark you felt before intensifies into an electrifying current now, racing down your spine as he tangles one hand in your hair and another holds you by the nape. He tilts your head back to kiss you deeper, his lips hungrily exploring yours, and you feel drunk on the pleasure of his touch, the intoxicating scent of his skin and his aftershave.

The softness of his lips contrasts with the roughness of his stubble, sending shivers of delight coursing through you. His mouth is warm and inviting, and you lose yourself in the sensation of his kiss, the way he breathes you in, the quiet sighs of pleasure that escape both of you. 

Your mind spins with the realization of how much you’ve wanted this and how many ill-advised daydreams you’ve had of him these past few weeks. When you finally break apart for air, you keep your forehead pressed against his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The sound of your blood rushing in your ears drowns out the rhythmic beeping of the machines around you, and for a moment, the world feels narrowed down to just the two of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” Your breath comes in ragged gasps. Your fingers gingerly touch your lips, which are pursed in surprise. “That was reckless of me. I shouldn’t have.”

Aizawa blinks at you, his dark eyes wide and dazed, like he’s trying to process what just happened. He licks his lips, a gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body.

“Do you…” His voice is husky, tinged with uncertainty. “Do you regret it?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I only regret not doing it at a better time.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise before softening, the tension in his shoulders seemingly melting away. 

"Good," he murmurs, reaching for you, his thumb cradling your jaw and tracing small, soothing circles on your skin. “Because I’d like to do it again—”

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek.

“And again—”

He brushes his lips teasingly against yours, feather-light and promising of more.

“And again.”

The admission sends a thrill through you, a rush of joy and excitement that makes your pulse quicken. "All the more reason to look forward to dinner, I suppose. After you get better, that is."

He chuckles softly. "Shouldn't be a problem, seeing as how I have an excellent nurse taking care of me."

"Mmmhm. Speaking of, is there anything else I can do to make you…more comfortable before I leave?” You can't help but ask, a playful lilt in your voice.

He captures your lips in a delicate kiss, so sweet and tender, like a dream barely skimming the surface of reality. You've finally calmed down enough to hear the sound of his heart rising, betrayed by the loudening beep of the machine. His hand trails down your arm and he laces his fingers with yours, smiling against your lips. 

“I can think of a few things.”

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ 𝐈'𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔

—★ alucard hellsing x nonbinary!reader ⋆⋆⋆ sfw. already late to an important meeting, your vampire servant refuses to let you go ········· › fluff. cuddles. praise. alucard is possessive.

“Alucard,” you sigh, your voice tinged with desperation as you struggle in the vampire’s unyielding grip. “I have a meeting now, I really have to go.” Your eyes dart towards the clock, anxiety creeping in. Another deep sigh escapes from your lips, a mix of frustration and annoyance evident in your expression, knowing all too well that the Count will not give up so easily.

His grip tightens around your waist, his clawed fingers gently digging into your skin. Alucard pulls you closer, his breath hot against your neck, a low growl rumbling from his chest as a warning. With each of your attempts to wiggle free, his grip only becomes more secure, his red eyes flaring with possessiveness, glowing brightly beneath his crimson shades.

“You know how important this is,” you continue, voice trembling slightly as you try to reason with him. “I can’t keep missing these meetings.”

Alucard's eyes flash with a mixture of annoyance and something darker, his lips curling into a snarl. “Your meetings are meaningless,” he barks, his voice a deep, resonant sound that reverberates through you. “Stay with me.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the primal need to keep you close, to protect what he considers his. His embrace is a prison you cannot escape, and his determination to keep you by his side is unwavering.

“You know that's not an option, Lu,” you coo softly, an almost parental tone as you try to gently coax the attention-hungry vampire into letting go. “You know you can come with me if you want to.”

As you reach out to gently push against his chest, Alucard growls again, a deep, menacing sound, akin to a dog warning its owner to stay away from its food. His eyes narrow, and the possessive fire within them burns even brighter.

“Lu, please,” you continue, your hand lingering against his firm chest, feeling the tension in his muscles. “I can't be late again. They’re already questioning my commitment.”

His growl deepens, vibrating through his chest and into your palm. The sound is both a warning and a declaration of his unwillingness to let go. Your heart races as you realize the depth of his need to keep you close, his primal instincts refusing to allow you the freedom you desperately seek.

“I won’t be long,” you add on while subtly wresting against him, your movements gentle yet insistent. “Just a few hours, and I’ll be back.” You nod encouragingly as his sounds of protest grow quieter, a sign of his reluctant submission. “There you go, my needy little vampire. Let your master go and I’ll reward you later,” you whisper sweetly before planting a soft kiss on his handsome face.

But it’s still not enough for Alucard. His grip remains firm, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and stubbornness. You still feel the tension in his body, a silent plea for you to stay.

“Please, Lu,” You murmur, your fingers gently tracing the contours of his jaw. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Just let me go for now.”

Alucard's protest slowly subside as you begin to tame the beast within him. He lets out a soft growl but allows you to shower affection on him. Your soft words and gentle kisses, coupled with your offer of a reward later, begin to calm his possessive nature.

“There you go, my sweet vampire." You continue to stroke his hair, your fingers threading through the silky strands as you whisper reassurances. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just let me go for now.”

His grip gradually loosens, his growls turning into low whines of contentment as he submits to your tenderness. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, his resistance melting away.

"Will the reward be worth it?" he grunts, his voice still tinged with a hint of stubbornness.

You smile softly, cupping his face in your hands. “I promise it will be,” you reply, your tone both sincere and playful. “You’ll just have to be patient, my love.”

Alucard’s tired eyes search yours, the stubbornness slowly giving way to trust. He hesitates for a moment longer before finally loosening his grip. “Fine,” he mutters, though his voice carries a hint of reluctant acceptance. “But don’t keep me waiting too long.”

As you finally slip out of his grasp, you feel a mix of relief and longing. You know leaving him is never easy, but his understanding and patience make it bearable.

Without you knowing, he disappears from your bed with a deep chuckle, using his powers to turn into a dark mist that isn't seen by the human eye.

The Count phases through the walls, silently following behind you as you make your way to the conference room. As you step inside, he materializes back into his usual form, his presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

The atmosphere shifts dramatically as the room falls silent, and all eyes turn towards the imposing figure of the vampire by your side. His powerful aura and intense gaze create a palpable sense of intimidation, making everyone present feel a wave of unease.

You offer him a reassuring smile, grateful for his steadfast support, while the others exchange nervous glances, clearly unsettled by his presence.

Despite the tension, you feel a sense of comfort and protection, knowing that Alucard is there with you, his unwavering loyalty evident in every step he takes beside you.

OLD COWBOY’S REPRIEVE — pre-canon!boothill x gn!reader, 543

the light from your shared room casts boothill’s figure in shadows and angles as it streams through the curtains and spills across the covers — in the silence of the bed, you hear the distant bleating of sheep and mooing of cattle somewhere far in the fields. the sound reminds you of a childhood trip to the countryside that you had long forgotten, lost and muddled somewhere in the back burner of your mind, but with this moment and these sounds it comes rushing back to you.

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” beside you, your lover’s foul mouth indicates that he is less than pleased to have forgotten to draw the curtains close last night, again. boothill grunts beside you, stirring in bed and burrowing his head underneath the pillow in effort to hide from the sun.

“mhm,” your own bleary eyes blink in the light that filters in through the gaps between the curtains. deciding that yes, it is indeed much too early for it to be so bright, you turn over and away from the window, burying your face in the broad expanse of boothill’s back.

boothill grumbles tiredly, and you — sweet you, darling you, the love of his life and the fire of his loins — just hum. the tension coiled around his wide shoulders eases when he feels your lips press against an old scar on his back, your softer, uncalloused fingers curling along his pec, where the unshaven scruff of chest hair continues to grow.

“c’mere, ya,” boothill rolls over with a shift of the mattress beneath your bodies as you press against him.

your sweet affection towards him in the morning light never ceases to make him weak, and his heart aches from the tenderness of your touch as you press against him, running your hands over his chest while he grunts softly and pushes himself against your hand. he wants to shift closer, push himself against you till he can make a home in the soft warmth of your skin, and the two of you can forever be one entity so he would never have to part from you.

eh, an old cowboy can have his dreams.

you raise your head so boothill can slip his arm underneath, letting his bicep act as a pillow for your soft head. when you do not open your eyes, he nudges you lightly.

“y’ gon’ wake up, toots?” he rasps, voice still groggy from sleep.

“five more minutes,” you groan, which roughly means it’ll be an hour or two before boothill can properly get you out of bed.

boothill sighs as he lets his arms pull you to him completely, your head laying on his bicep now while you remains with your eyes closed. his own head falls back heavily against the pillows, hair cast over the simple linen in a mess of black and white.

he buries his face in the crook of your neck and inhales deeply — it is your perfume now that is an irresistible bouquet, the scent of sunshine and something sweet, and boothill relaxes into the embrace he holds you in, closing his eyes as he too lets sleep overcome him.

his chores out in the ranch can wait a lil’ longer.

Sleepless

Rindou Haitani x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (allusions to sex), swearing

Description: The reader can't sleep because the Tenjiku members are being far too loud.

You had tried so hard all night not to disturb your boyfriend and his friends as they celebrated their recent successes in your lounge room, but as your eyes fluttered open for the fifth time that night, you knew you had to go and ask them to be just a tad quieter. Of course, you felt terrible because Rindou was being so considerate already. You couldn’t even hear the crappy rap music they were playing, just the echo of the bass through the walls, and both of the times that you were woken up by their chatter you heard Rindou frantically scrambling to hush them.

With a yawn and a small stretch, you pulled your throw blanket over your shoulders and shuffled across the carpet until you found your ugg boots in the complete and utter darkness. After a pained “fuck” slipped past your lips as you hit your knee on the edge of your bedframe, you slowly opened the door and stepped out into the lounge room.

It wouldn’t have taken more than a second before the boys noticed your meek, sleep-deprived frame cringing at the power of the lights while your eyes took their time to adjust. Most of them were strung out across the three grey couches in front of the television which was tuned into an MMA fight on mute, while the younger members (that Kisaki kid, his friend Hanma, Kokonoi, and Sanzu) were awkwardly sitting around the dining table behind them. Madarame offered you a short wave to which you responded with a tired frown, then you finally caught sight of Rindou sitting in the corner of the middle couch with his hand outstretched towards you.

“Rinnie…” You whined as you made your way into his lap with his arm lazily draped over your waist. Ran, your brother-in-law for all intents and purposes, snickered at the nickname, and the tone of your voice which was laden with exhaustion.

“Sorry, did we wake you up?” Rindou asked quietly, and then turned to the rest of the group, “I told these fuckwits to keep it down.”

Rindou wasn’t ignorant of the fact that you were wearing nothing but his shirt as pyjamas, and he knew well from the night’s earlier — and more private — events that your underwear were the barely-there kind. So, he was cautious to make sure that one of his hands was sitting firmly under your bum at all times, holding the shirt against your skin.

“If you guys stayed quiet I would’ve made you pancakes for breakfast as thanks,” you teased. Mocchi’s shoulders tensed in clear disappointment at your words. While all of them were fond of your cooking, Mocchi was always the biggest eater.

You pressed your lips against Rindou’s neck while they continued their discussion. His voice vibrated into each kiss you bestowed upon his neck and collarbone with a kind of intimacy that made you feel as though you were melting into one another. After a while of this, you began to doze off, your mind stuck in the in-between state of being oddly aware of everything around you, but not quite awake.

Rindou took one glance at the state of you, nearly asleep despite the volume of the room, and hooked his arms under your thighs to carry you back to the bed you shared. He folded the throw neatly at the end of the mattress, then placed you down on your preferred side, and admired the irritated look on your face which was made possible to see by the slightly open door.

As he made a movement to leave and rejoin his friends in the lounge room, you groaned, grabbed the cuff of his shirt, and pulled him back towards you. He was much stronger than you, strong enough not to be even slightly moved by your pull, but he was never the kind of boyfriend to fight your affection. He knelt down on the floor beside you with his hand rubbing circles on your cheek, already feeling terrible about how you couldn’t get to sleep because of him and his friends.

“What’s wrong, N/n?” He said lovingly.

“Come to bed. It’s cold. I want you in here with me.” You saw how Rindou’s eyes flicked back to the light emanating from the doorway, so you pouted in the sexiest way you could given how tired you were. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

The sleeve of the shirt you were wearing had — at some point, unbeknownst to you — fallen from your shoulder to reveal the lacy strap of a new bra Rindou had bought you. It reminded him of your underwear. Of how nice it felt to take them off earlier…

“You’re too tired for any of that, babe. Just go to bed, and I’ll come join you in no time, promise,” he said as he shook the images from his mind, knowing you were one blink away from falling asleep again.

“You hate me,” you huffed, and turned away from your boyfriend before adding, “You’re just gonna end up passing out on the couch like you do every time they come here. I’m gonna wake up all alone. You’re such a bad boyfriend.”

Rindou smiled softly, “Are you trying to guilt-trip me right now?” You turned back to make eye contact with him and nodded. “Fine.”

For a moment, he disappeared into the lounge room. You could hear Ran making fun of him for being “absolutely whipped”, and Izana telling him to “man up”, but you were already beginning to feel your eyelids getting heavier, so you didn’t care much to go out and defend him. When he returned, he took off his shirt and pulled on a pair of trackpants, and then crawled into bed beside you.

Content to have gotten all you wanted from Rindou, you traced the tattoos on his torso until you were so exhausted you could no longer hold your hand up.

“I will make it worth your while,” you yawned as you rested your head on his chest and let him run his hands over your hair, “Just… In the morning when I’m rejuvenated.”

You closed your eyes and Rindou felt your heartrate slow down along with the frequency of your breaths. You were snoring ever-so-gently, and he stifled a laugh at the irony of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to get even a second of sleep because of it.

malfunction | Revenant x reader

He’s wearing his wolfie skin. 

Floofy and stuff

Possessiveness in the sweetest way

Idea: Trapped beneath the beast, you’re at a loss

Word count: 671

Keep reading

Gotham Nights—Battinson x catwoman reader

summary; the aftermath of an interrogation gone a bit too far.

warnings; mentions of bloody knuckles, an unconscious body; a hint of floof

song; monsters (acoustic reverb version)—ruelle

author's note; happy fall.

The low, yet incessant humming of the generator in the background did little to ease the groans coming from the barely conscious body in the corner of the room. Stubbornly, you massaged the bloody nubs that coated your knuckles.

A pair of black boots approached you, offering a piece of torn, bloody fabric. Your eyes went to the body in the corner. The shoulder of his buttoned down shirt had been missing. You looked back at the cloth in your partner's hands.

It was better than nothing.

Reluctantly, you took it and applied pressure to the wounds on your hands before wrapping it intricately around your fingers. By no means you couldn't get it to stay wrapped around your fingers - the wounds too big to keep it secure.

A hand settled on top of yours just before you could give up. Your partner crouched before you, gently taking the torn fabric. Without any warning, he wordlessly took your injured hand and began to wrap it firmly. Weaving the fabric between and around your fingers, you winced in pain. Fresh wounds were always tender to the touch.

"So, what are you going to do with him?" You dared to ask as he worked on fastening the knot.

"I'm taking him to the police," he replied almost instantly, cinching the knot firmly. He did another knot for good measure. You gritted your teeth as pain prickled throughout your hand.

"The police?"

"I trust them. Some of them."

You begged to differ. The body in the corner was a petty thief layered in sheep's clothing - a closet drophead who had connections in the underground that stretched beneath the city like roots that infiltrated the government, the police department, and even the poor. Those same roots put a chokehold on those closest to you—pulling them down further and further to the ground until they were no longer there. Until their minds were far off - hung up on addiction, murder, and greed.

"I don't," You said, running your fingers over the makeshift bandage as he finished wrapping your hand. You balled it into a fist, making the tight cinch loose. "Everyone's corrupt—"

He grabbed your hand, not forcefully but enough to ease your anger.

"Not everyone," he said, fastening the "bandage" once more before looking at you.

You scoffed lightly and shook your head in amusement, a brief smile breaking through. "I know you're not corrupt."

"How do you know that?"

"Because actions speak louder than words." You looked down at your bandaged hand sitting in his gloved one. Despite the conversation being laced with frustration and debate, he had been nothing but gentle. His thumb lightly settled across your knuckles, his fingers curling around your palm gently. There was a mutual understanding between the two of you. Your curious suspicions about his trust in the some of the police department had already been answered.

Actions speak louder than words.

You both did little to break eye contact before a soft 'thud' in the corner brought you both back to reality. The body's boot kicked the generator one final time before it went still.

"He's dead," You said. A part of you hoped your observation was wrong as Vengeance stood to check his pulse. You knew very well you had caused too much damage before the real questions had yet to be asked.

"Unconscious," he reported a few moments after, causing you to sigh in relief. Vengeance removed his fingers from the Body's neck before he crouched down to sit him up.

You watched quietly as you nursed your hand, your fingers lightly massaging over the wounds. Your festering anger simmered down and was slowly being replaced with curiosity as Vengeance tied to the ropes around the Body's chest tighter so he couldn't escape when the police arrived.

You weren't sure if you had made the situation worse by knocking him unconscious, but the monstrous deed of revenge had been done...and for the sake of the person you trusted, you didn't feel guilty about it.

After all, you were just as much of a monster as he was in the eyes of Gotham.

Concept for a Rob Lucci fic where the reader is a CP9 assassin ranked just below him strength-wise. Reader has gone ahead on a mission and when Lucci catches up, he finds the reader in the aftermath of a small scale massacre, surrounded by dead bodies and soaked head to toe in blood. They don’t immediately notice his presence and it goes something like

Killing wasn’t new or shocking anymore, but it was your first time taking on more than one person alone. You were used to blood splatters on you after the fact, but not to this degree. The average adult had roughly 5 liters of blood in their body. Multiplied by the twenty men that now lay in shreds, you were drenched, clothes soaked through, hair starting to mat.

You stare at your bloody hands. You’re not sure what comes over you, right then. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, having yet to wear off. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity. Maybe the stress of killing for a living has finally made you crack. Regardless, before you fully realize it, you’re licking a clean stripe up your palm.

The taste of iron fills your mouth, thick and cloying. An involuntary shudder runs through your body, leaving you with pleasant goosebumps. You’re not supposed to like it. Don’t do it again, you think, even as you bring your hand to your mouth for another go.

“Coo!”

The familiar sound makes your head snap to the doorway, where Rob Lucci is standing with Hattori perched on his shoulder. He seems to be frozen in place, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in what must be shock. You freeze, too, as your eyes meet. Did he see? After a tense minute, you force yourself to lower your hands and the movement snaps him out of it. He licks his upper lip and closes his mouth, but keeps staring with a burning intensity. Did he see? He must have, because Lucci has never looked at you like that before.

Don’t panic, play it cool. “I ended up not needing any help. Just like I told you I wouldn’t.”

-

That’s all I got so far but I want to make it into a full smut fic.

My Crime To Commit

summary: Blade can commit sins for you, but he would rather you hurt him thousands of times before you ever commit those sins too.

warnings: violence, blades

If you were to ask Blade to kill for you, he would do it. Not a hint of hesitation to be found, his sword swiftly slashing through the object of your aggression in cold blood.

But if you were to kill, he would rather you tear his flesh apart hundreds of time with a heated dagger than let you do such a sin.

He's your weapon, so why are you starting a battle unarmed?

It’s not him doubting your skill, it’s his centuries of experience that hold up his view. He knows what becomes of those who murder from their own free will, he’s one of those unfortunate souls. If you were to fall into the viscous cycle, he would be at a loss.

He doesn’t think of you as a saint, no far from it. He sees you as a person, a person that can alleviate his own sufferings. But he would never force you to, even in the worst midst of his mara striking. To be more accurate, you just calm it down with your presence alone, you’ve never done anything in particular.

But it’s never gone, the sensation his mara lets bubble in his body is still there, it’s just locked away in a pathetic part of his mind. That same mara that leads him to madness, the same thing thats caused him to shed blood on his resurrected hands. He doesn’t want you to turn into him.

So, he’ll patiently wrap his hand around yours, and help your fingers grip the handle of the weapon. He’ll even guide you to stab his heart hundreds of times if you so wished it, he’s weak for you like that, so he’ll do it.

He isn’t asking you to be innocent, nor does he want you to be guilt free. He wants you.

If you ever mention killing, his cold eyes will stare into your own while placing the nearest tool in your palm, and directing it towards him. His face only inches apart from yours, feeling him breathe through his nostrils. Take your rage out on him if you have to.

He views it as a connection of sorts. Share your feelings to him and he’ll guard them as much as he can, though his techniques of protection aren’t exactly sane.

He doesn’t speak, but you can tell from the firm grip on you what it is he’s saying.

If you’re his cure, let him be the disease you spread.

Lowkey this works with both regular and yandere Blade. (He’s just smitten) .

FOR YOU, I SHALL DESTROY MYSELF

PAIRING: Obsessive!Vergil Sparda x GN!Reader

WARNINGS: NOT PROOF-READ, alcohol consumption, stalking, obsession (obsessive behavior on vergil's part), possessiveness, acts of ownership, mentally unwell reader, submissive reader, sensual themes, smut (lightly written), murder, violence, small blood-play.

WC: 7,481

DESCRIPTION: To save yourself, you make a deal with a demon.

11:35 PM ; DECEMBER 31st ─ THE DEAL.

Eyes are watching you, sparing simple glimpses through each passing second. Irises and pupils that become distorted and ugly as they peek through wine glasses, the color glossing over with a crimson hue. The vision feels judgmental, full of ridicule. Too many people huddled close, speaking in hiccupping boasts. Everybody here wishes you gone. They're all watching, smiling. Smiling at your failure.

The air is pungent, reeking of sweat, and of rotten musk. People are slicked over, kneeling over the bar's countertop, sloppy lips molding over one another while with a lazy smile. You swear you feel the graze of an unwanted hand across your back, but you had mistaken it for a waft of air coming from the entrance doors. The breeze comes just as quick as it goes, you wish you could have drifted with it.

How embarrassing of you to slouch forward on the marble countertop, and draw nervous breaths of panic, thinking that someone had fancied you of all people tonight. How wrong you were. That’s how you had always been, for no one cared for your presence. Just another breath that got lost amongst the others. Another squeak that was overpowered by a shriek.

You want to scream, want to shout, “stop it all!”, but then you catch yourself with a quick breath, and it all comes crashing back down on you. The eyes are looking, yes. But at you? Never. Maybe it was the thick atmosphere, the bustling bodies, the cheers of the new year arriving upon the hour. Maybe it was this that made you feel so anxious, so afraid. So alone. No one by your side.

No one was holding you at this hour, kissing you happily until you saw the clock strike 12. Is that what this is about? You couldn’t understand. You were not blissfully drunk, rather pitifully intoxicated, your mind foggy and your conscious drawing blanks. Your senses were locked, your emotions deepened from the shots of vodka.

Is that what you wish for? For someone to long for you? Arrive right at this location, this exact bar, in hopes to see you?

Why did you come here? How pathetic you were, standing here isolated, swallowing glasses of alcoholic beverages that you found rather disgusting, and all for the hopes it would ease some cracking that formulated inside you. To dull the sharp edges of your ache, your sorrow. It did rather the opposite, only tended to the embers that now rose to flames deep within your soul.

“I must go”, you whispered solemnly, but you did not know who you were whispering it to. Mostly yourself. A woman gives you a strange glance as she hears you mumble to yourself, thinking you're completely hysterical.

I must go, I must go, I must go. You did not need to leave, you only wanted to. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't, but stubbornness is a passion, and you were quite stubborn.

Your movement is quick, unnoticed when you escape away from the public and into the darkness. The atmosphere is light now, fresh, natural as you embrace the cool night. The air is still damp from the rain that soaked the Earth a few minutes ago, but you don’t mind the puddles that soak into your pants as you hustle through them. You would rather thank the chilling water that grows slick upon your calves, the sensation of it easing your heated skin. You prayed it would sober you up, save you from this spinning world of madness.

It's much better to feel this, you think as your drunken state leads you stumbling into an alleyway. Much better to be away, in the darkness, where you belong. Sheltered, and untouched.

You stumble once more and swallow up a whimper as you feel a twist in your ankle, your shaking hands reaching forward to grip sturdily on the brick wall. Your nails flick against the rough surface, growing tarnished with every daring step forward. You were shocked you hadn't fallen yet, but the sprain in your ankle only mocks you, tells you ‘just wait’.

This night, right now, you were to go home.

Had you known any better, you would have prevented a thickening curse that looped into your life just brief moments from now. But instead of caring about your future, you carelessly dawned on the past. Letting a drunken wail tumble down your lips and echo amongst the abyss of the alleyway, not a shroud of light in the distance.

Where do I go? Do I go home? Who will take me home?

Another stumble. You sniffle.

Where are my keys? I can’t see, my eyes hurt. My head aches.

There’s still no light to be seen. Snot bubbles in the blacks of your nostrils, pooling forward.

I shouldn’t have drank. I'm so stupid. Please help, someone help me.

There is a sound of hissing.

“Yes”, you sigh, voice hoarse and groggy. You presume it must be the sound of a car, albeit the sound of a rattling engine that has just been powered to life. To you, it must be a sign you're near a street. You will ask someone to give you a ride, take you away from this area of mental wreckage, and bring you home. Home? You shake yourself for a moment, brushing the confusion away as you keep pushing your legs, turning a sharp corner and searching the best you can for a gateway of exit.

What you find though, is not a chance of escape. It is a street, indeed, but there is no one in sight, no voices to be found, not even the guttural hiss that you swore was an engine. Nothing. Only the copper scent that permeates the air. It is too dark, and too close to midnight for you to make out any colors or hues, only shades and glimmering objects underneath the moonlight.

There, laying upon the gravel, a puddle is slick amongst the road, soaking into the indents of the asphalt. Just like the other rain puddles, you thought the same as this, but as you near it, one thing only becomes clear. The scent. The puddle. The moonlight. The darkness. The hissing. The street.

It is clear now, it is clear. It is the scent of death. Slick upon the road in front of you lay a fresh pool of blood, not yet yielding the hue of brown, rather, crimson. It was new. A new murder. The body is limp, a man that had streamers once grasped firmly in his palm, you could tell as you knelt to examine him. He was most likely late to a new year's party, but now he will be late to any other event in life. His life was cut- taken by the grasp of death.

Your mouth felt dry, your tongue tasted nothing but sour.

Across his bloodied shirt, skin is parted, flesh jarred open like cutting a piece of paper apart with scissors. His laceration is deep, and his organs are no longer holding, being that someone- something has slashed him so thoroughly. His face is colorless, pale, solemn. He was young, he could have had a purpose.

Your heart- you think it has stopped. You take one last look at his lifeless palm, streamers still spread across it, before rising and daringly twisting on your heel, heaving a dry lump down your throat with a solid gulp.

It is only then that you understand, you should have been home. Shouldn’t have gone out. Shouldn’t have been here.

You knew you had done wrong by turning on this street, but the audacity you had to try and run. No one, especially the drunken likes of you, can escape an inhumanly being. But you are stubborn, and you are pitiable. You are by no means an athlete. You are by no means an agile contortionist. You are by no means an intelligent and stable specimen. Only fragile, and weak. Ready to be shattered, like glass.

You are limping with your sprained ankle, and your breaths are erratic as you hear it snarling from the skies above, the hissing- the ecstatic and primal bloodthirst in its howls becoming known as it leaps from the rooftops, crawling down the brick of the buildings and knocking down street signs in its treacherous wake.

You do not last; you had expected this much.

You are taken down by one powerful blow from its elongated arm, sharp like a blade, and as red as the blood you had seen on the street. The creature bounces thematically, so quick to pounce whenever it wishes, its speed and agility making you tremble. Its skin is like armor, rough and built like a shield, you are no match, you are just a human.

“Oh god”, you squeal, its blow not landing on a fatal position on your body, but rather, an area that makes the experience more tortuous, and grueling. Its blade-like hand has swooped through the air and slashed across your arm. You are quick to start bleeding, the wound so deep your body caves in, but you attempt to put pressure on the gushing area with your shaking palm, the salty sweat you leak only makes the ache worse. Your tarnished nails are now drowned with red.

“Oh! Oh”, you cry and cry, not capable of formulating words, but it's not like anyone would hear you now. The creature smells you, draws your scent in. It seems to play with you, revel in the way you squirm and sputter whimpers amongst the concrete. Smells your purity, your innocence. You smell amazing, and delicious, and delectable, and so much better than the man it had originally planned to feast upon. It has decided to play with its food.

You have stopped your attempts to scramble away, you are too weak. Still intoxicated, slightly sobered from the adrenaline that has pulsed within you. Your ankle is still sprained, and your feet are blistered beyond repair. Now, you leak your bloody essence from your arm, and you sob desperate tears, the whites of your eyes now a shade of pink.

Who am I, anyway?

You blink, the demon draws closer.

I shall die here, won't I?

It swipes its blade across your leg, the unharmed one. You scream dryly.

No one will save me...I am doomed.

The monster licks away at its weapon, hissing in glee at your taste.

No one. I have no one. No purpose. I will die here. Yes, I will die.

It brings its arm in the air for the final blow, and you watch without fear, seeing the glint it beholds underneath the moon's luminescence. You are ready. Even through sorrowful tears. You are ready to die here, so beautifully, under the moonlight.

But the blow never reaches you, and the sound of its howl echoes through the air, up and down the street, reaching every space, every crack, every pit of darkness. Its shrill is a sign of its defeat, and you watch in horror as a sword has pierced through its body of armor, tinted with red and black. With much haste, the weapon is sheathed, its slice sounding slick as it pulls out from the demon's flesh, letting the villainous thing fall flat on the street, fallen victim to the same act it made on the young man it killed prior.

You had been so ready, but now here you sit, staring ahead with a curiousness come about your dampened eyes, pupils dilating at the sight of a man. You make out his figure, his face, his weapon, even all through your blurred vision. You had made him out to be aged, his precision with his sword showing experience, but the smoothened, porcelain-like skin he had made him appear youthful. He is beautiful, stunning beyond reason. His majesty standing before you. ‘How old may he have been?’ you found yourself wondering, just as much as he found yourself to be ignorantly staring. A glint about his sharpened, light blue eyes. So light and mysterious that they could resemble gems.

“How ungrateful” the man speaks, his voice is so proper, and yet you make out a scowl from his words, his lips curving to produce a grimace. His jaw is solid, and sharp when he speaks, full lips soft and plump when they frown at the sight of you. You must have looked foolish, for he eyes you with judgement.

“Not even appreciative for the saving of your pitiful human life” he speaks once more, airy, and soft, but it still pierces your soul. “What have you to give?”. His appearance is comparative to his speaking. Monotonous, and yet striking. Dressed in a blackened leather vest, blending into the sheen of his leather pants clad on him, sculpting him out like a shadow of the night. If it wasn’t for his whitened hair, he would be unnoticed, one with the abyss.

You shift for a moment, stained fingers dismantling from your tainted flesh, letting the blood feel cool amongst your skin. You do not move as much as you wished, as once you move your feet to shuffle upward, you wince and pipe out a squeak of agony. You had forgotten the demon tore up your leg, too. You glance upward to catch his eye, to look at him properly, and catch a slight flare of his nostrils, like he had been smelling the air. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and you watch with a distrusting expression. He must have been disgusted by your injury, because the glint in his eye becomes something different. Something you cannot describe. You had mistaken it for being censorious.

“What-what can I give?” you stutter with your words, your speech impaired and jumbled from your prevalent fear, “I...I have nothing to give you. I do not know if I even have a home” you shiver under his predatory gaze, his entirety nothing short of intimidating. “But I have called...I have no one, but I still called. I thought no one would come. But you came. You saved me-you...you-you saved my life. Thank you-” you cut yourself short, your cheeks flush and your breathing growing unstable from your rush of words.

You cannot tell now if you are still intoxicated, still swayed by the alcohol, you do not think you are. You think your emotions have just been bubbled up inside you for so long, that now when you speak to this mysterious savior, you only speak with earnest desire. The desire that has been trapped and hidden.

“I cannot give you anything but myself, I want a place to belong, please, please do not think me foolish. Please take me away, please, I beg of you- I have nowhere to go- no one-”

“Correct- you are a fool. I save you, and you cannot give anything, but yourself. I will kill you now, strike you down, and what purpose will you have?” He tampers with you, watches the rise and fall of your chest, the quiver in your failing body. He has not tucked his sword away safely, for it stays sheathed, and pointed at you. He ushers it forward, letting the weapons tip just barely graze your breast, right above where your heart lay beating wildly in your chest.

“You misunderstand”, he moves a little closer, his coat ruffling along with the passing wind, “I do not save souls, I take them. What has your human life have, that will be of any importance to me?”.

‘That is why he must look so young’, your thoughts are so disorganized, ‘he is a demon himself. Come here, to fight amongst the other demons for his prize as the winner. The king’.

He watches you so closely that all you wish for is to cower away, but how can you? You have no choice but to swallow and look up at him. The same desire in your eyes burning. The same glint in his eyes unreadable. You have yet to know his name as you speak so confidently:

“Then take mine! Take my soul! You have saved me. I will be yours, I swear it. Just take me-won't you? Please, it hurts so much”.

He does not smile, doesn’t even scowl. He only stares, and stares, and stares, his nostrils flaring once more, and his adam’s apple shifting with his intake of a gulp.

You feel a sudden burning sensation rise amongst your arm, and you close your eyes amidst a wince, but when you open them again, he is gone. He hadn’t agreed to your deal. He hadn't even expressed his distaste about it. The strange, and hauntingly gorgeous man became one with the night again, dissipating into the darkness.

There is a sound of sirens arriving in the distance. It is barely distinctive from the blaring pops and explosions that erupt in the sky, the colorful fireworks looming over the city, signaling the new year has arrived.

‘What has your human life have, that will have any importance to me?’, his voice still echoes in your head.

You hadn't even learned his name.

You haven't even learned how important promises may be.

11:35 PM ; DECEMBER 31ST ─ DREAM OF A DEAL

To be a troubled man is one thing.

A man who has had too many tragic events to corrupt him. Make his sanity crumble into dust, to be nothing more than an unrecognizable memory. A man who witnesses everything he loves disintegrate into nothingness, fall past the webs of his fingers, even though he made sure to clench his gnarled hands into fists, to desperately keep close what little he had. He would take in everything as a young boy, see faults to be his own, taking in the blame and guilt, swallowing in the darkness.

To be a demon is another.

A demon who does not care for the strangled screams of the innocent, but rather, takes pleasure from their blood-curdling pleads of mercy. A demon who tastes the life it ends, tearing apart flesh by flesh, skin by skin, bone by bone. Consumes the soul, relishes in their utter terror, growls in pleasure.

Vergil awakes suddenly, sitting himself up on his bed, feeling the blankets crease and bundle into piles beside him as he pushes them off. He sighs and then grumbles, a wave of disappointment reaching him.

To be a demon, Vergil slaughters. To be a human, Vergil dreams. And on this particular night, Vergil has dreamt, and dreamt wonderfully.

The dream felt so real, so lucid, it swept over him like a sacred prophecy, like a vision that would soon come to him if he manifested it enough.

In it, he sat at a table brandished with a red satin cloth placed neatly on the surface, lavish items decorated in the center. The room he’s sitting in is too dim, too blurry and discreet from the low candlelight, but he knows, he knows there is someone sitting with him at the very end of the table.

He’s drinking rich wine, and strangely, he is human in the moment. Smiling from the foggy words that the stranger speaks from the end of the table, his dimples deepening with every bashful grin. The only thing recognizable is how sweet their voice is. How pure. How loving.

“I shall........

I am........

Devoted.....

I am yours.....

take me......

my soul......

is yours”.

They keep chanting and chanting, certain words only memorable. He is so content with this dream, feeling so bound to the pleasant ownership of the mystery person he sits with, but suddenly the candles sway in their low light, and are wiped out within seconds, the sound of the strangers' screams echoing around him. The dream had advanced into a nightmare.

This, is when he wakes. Sweat is sticky against his temples, his heart is thumping hard against his ribcage. He usually does not let his composure slip over something so trivial, but dreams are different. Dreams can control you, paralyze you, show you your deepest fears. And Vergil's fear is to grow sensitive, grow close to something again, all to watch it die. And fall away from his hands over and over again.

The troubled half-demon slips away into the night, far from devil may cry. He roams the streets, gawks in misery at bustling restaurants filled with jubilant voices. He curses whatever presence to make him feel so weak, to make him feel so unnerved that he must find a way to escape his emotions.

He is miserable as much as he is restless, clutching his precious Yamato in his firm palm, turning corner by corner, slaying creature by creature to occupy his time, and smelling scent by scent. The scent of sweat from the cooped-up bars, smelling the soil after it ripened from the fresh rain, smelling chemicals after another civilian sets off fireworks in honor of the upcoming new year. Oh, how he despised such human holidays.

He turns yet another corner, and something piques his interest. Yet another smell to devour, and not from the aroma of fresh bread, or a floral plant, but the richness of blood. It is so powerful that he cannot contain himself, the demon within him begging him to get just a taste. It is nothing he’s ever come across. He gets closer and closer, and then he hears it.

“Oh! Oh!”

It is a mere mistake for his arrival in this area. He only intended to brush some weights off his shoulders, help his thumping heart soften until he felt numb and devoid of human sensation.

Although, the voice he hears, the voice that is crying. It is pure. It is sweet. It is so familiar. It is the voice from his dream. It is you.

It is a mere mistake for him to be here, and yet, when he sees you wince and squirm, to see you crawl and bleed along the street, so frail and abused, he feels infuriated.

He draws out his Yamato, lurches it forward until it has made good use, its blade piercing the “Fury” in front of him. The demon that dares to touch the stranger of his dream cries and crashes. He is finally able to see you properly.

Your weak eyes tremble so softly, glistening and wet with human tears. His heart thumps faster.

“What have you to give?” . He only meant to tease you. He doesn’t understand why he hasn’t left yet.

Your blood smells divine. Your tears, he yearns to lick away with his warm tongue. He drinks it in, trying to deny urges.

“Then take me! Take my soul!”. He only meant to tease you. He doesn’t understand why he didn’t take you away that night, claim you, make his dream become reality.

Your voice. Your blood. Your soul.

He hadn't even learned your name.

He hadn't even learned that an interest can blossom into obsession.

9:30 PM ; MARCH 31ST ─ A REUNION

Months are brushed by with time, events going faster than it usually does. That incident, that specific night, it stayed with you, lingering in your memories. It was just until recently that you finally healed, your thick lacerations that once bled and bled, and lifted your skin with an unpleasant swell, have finally softened. The skin has finally connected, now a lighter shade and smoother compared to the rest of your body. Inches of imperfection that mock you.

Sometimes it all came back to you, the bar, the people, the alley, the shadows, the street, the monster, the man. When you thought back to it, it was practically unbelievable, you had almost considered it a part of your drunken imagination, until your eyes connected with your abused skin. It was real, that was true. Everything you said─that was true as well.

Everything….you wished it had not been true. Maybe it would have been better if the man had ended you. Point his sword a little further into your chest, impale you so gracefully like he had the other creature.

The blue, crystalline eyes that glimmered like water, but held such a roguish stare. He had been a demon himself, you knew that much. A demon disguised as a beautiful god.

You would go out on certain days, the once chilly air molding into a choking humidity, one that is heavy and warm in the spring. The crowds would soon get thicker than before in the streets, people hand in hand, side by side. You would ignore them, walk to destinations with a purposeful stride, all until you caught a glimmer hidden amongst the sweaty crowds.

That blue shade. That white hair. That blackened vest. That unblemished skin. That stare. It was only until you blinked your eyes in confusion, just to notice it was gone. He was gone.

‘Do not worry so much’ you would speak to yourself, into the depths of your head, ‘you are only anxious. He is gone now. He is gone forever’. You were still innocent till this point, still youthful and naïve. You would soon learn that your consciousness is a powerful thing, but only through a life of corruption. Through lessons of toil.

Your shoes drag up the weathered steps, its beaten surface feeling so dull under your body. You remember walking up these apartment stairs that night, seeing how something can be so challenged over time. To become so walked over, and used, all until it is nothing but dirt and dust.

You cried as you sat on them, as you finally came to recognize where you belong. What your “home” seemed to be. A place that is sorrowful, empty, and cruel, cast away into the pitiful parts of the city.

Your feet push up the final step, your fingers fumbling over uncertain objects in your bag, your eyebrows creasing and wrinkles molding onto your face as a frustrated expression is shown.

You mumble words of impatience, “fuck”, and “where is it” tumbling past your lips with a huff, all until you finally catch hold of the thing you’ve been desperately searching for, lifting the jingling keys to connect into the slot on your apartment door.

When it is opened, you shuffle yourself inside, feeling worn and tattered from hours of work, tossing your bag aside until it collides with the wooden floorboards.

A glow is spread across the room, presumably from your oil lamp, which you took much caution in making sure was never lit when you were out. You creep on your feet, staying nimble on your toes as you turn a corner, your vision taking hold of what waits in the living room.

The oil lamp is heated, its light flickering playfully, dancing inside the glass. You feel yourself melting, as it feels so warm in here, you swear the room will just enclose any second, swallow your existence. You are right about one thing, but oblivious to the other. Oblivious to the lounge chair that sits adjacent to the golden light, a figure sitting coolly upon it. Leather-clad legs, that are long and graceful, sit neatly crossed. Like a king sitting on his rightful throne. His weapon placed along the expanse of his lean thighs, his gloved hands gripping over it so hard you saw his knuckles turn white.

“Took you quite a while, don’t you think?”, his tone is soft, smooth and devoid of emotion, as if him being here was perfectly normal. “Why don’t you sit?”, the way he says it does not sound like a suggestion, but rather, a demand.

The man does not turn an inch to face you, no movement in his posture, or disfigurement in his poise. He is regal, he is dominant, and he is waiting. Waiting for you to seat yourself beside him, in which, you do not spare a second to do so. His grip on his sword becomes tighter, and his lips purse as you pass him.

You do not ask him why he is here, and why would you need to? He is much more powerful than anyone else is. You watch him carefully as you lower yourself down amongst the other chair, your hands clasping into an anxious fist, your palms suddenly growing clammy. You would have never expected to meet him again.

“The deal” he starts off, his eyes now meeting yours, pupils blown enough to show you your own tormented reflection, “I have agreed to it. Your soul-”

“I did not mean it”, you are quick to interrupt him, trying to make your tone assertive and brave. You are only the opposite, as your voice sounds meek and hoarse the moment it slips off your quivering tongue. That is your first mistake. To try him. To deny a half-demon.

“What I said was a mistake....” you are lying through your teeth, “I am sorry for troubling you, but I’ve decided that my life is much better-”

You yelp suddenly as his hand shifts off his weapon and to the arm of your chair, dragging it forward so that you're closer, his lengthy fingers gripping so roughly on the material you think it will break the seams.

“Your life was never yours the moment you promised yourself to me” he speaks with a snarl, words coming out in an aggravated hiss, almost seeming offended. “You dare deny me, after I saved your life?’. He leans in, his lips folding into his teeth so he can growl at you, to come off as threatening, to tell you there is no other choice.

“You had told me that my life was not important to you” you whispered in a feeble voice, glancing at him through the webs of your eyelashes, fingers still molded into one another and shaking with such a capacity you thought you would shatter. “I do not even know your name”.

He gazes at you for a few mere seconds, seconds that feel impossibly long under the authority of his still eyes. He sits up, adjusting himself away from you, the palm that was clutched on your chair now nimbly easing itself off and back to his body. He now settles his interest on the wall of the room, you take it that he doesn’t wish to see your pathetic face trembling under him.

“It is Vergil. My name”, he states, matter-of-factly, his form still glistening under the light as it waxes and wanes, casting indistinguishable shadows along the walls. He holds his composure well, head held high with determination, and lack of regret.

‘Vergil’. You repeat his name, over and over in your head, as if it’s a mantra. “Vergil...”, you say it aloud this time, curiosity tinted in your sweet voice. You watch him, waiting for a sudden sneer, but he only shudders from your silken tone, as if he hungered to hear you say it. “My name is-”

“I know who you are, more than I care to admit”, he quite enjoyed interrupting your sentences, you dared not to bark back. You feared he would kill you if you did so.

“I have known you for a very long time” he huffs, voice thick now and heated “you have nowhere to run. You foolish thing. It is better just to listen”.

And what did you have that could possibly make you say no? A future, filled with endless experiences? A career, one that pays well and never puts a single callous along your frail hands? A family, something you can hold on to, rely on when you need it? Happiness, tranquility, security in yourself? These things did not exist. You had nothing, truly, and that is why you had offered yourself to him that night.

If not anything, your soul had no purpose. If not anything, it wouldn’t hurt to try with him.

“O-okay” you are suddenly stuttering on your own words; mouth unsteady with every syllable spoken, throat dry. You had not realized you were crying. Vergil finally turned to watch you; his emotions unreadable.

“The deal, let’s do it”.

You have learned his name.

You have learned how powerful promises can be.

The deal had been made, stamped by your own, sobbing words.

MONTH OF JANUARY ─ A STALKING PRESENCE

Vergil takes your words harder than the blow of any weapon. Your scent, your quivers, your voice, your promise. It visits him in his dreams, so much that he refuses even a second to close his eyes. It is all familiar, every night, any occurrence. The moment he drifts away, he is met with the red satin laid on the wooden table, the candelabra in the center, a dim light glowing on the apples of your cheeks. The pure smile that creases up on your lips. Then, your words of devotion.

You? Of all people? How dare you. You have ruined him.

He spends weeks in a fit of utter rage, in denial of the lust he feels for you. The want, no, the need to have you by his side.

Then, he gives in, deciding it will all just stop if he listens, and do what needs to be done to restore his sanity. Now he must have you. Make his dream come true.

You are naïve, and innocent. So stupid to not even catch him standing beside your bed, in your own home. His large, calloused hands would reach to rub gentle caresses into your resting face at night, watching your lips part to let out breathless sighs as you swayed toward him. Drool would draw slick against the corners of your mouth, bubbling on your pruned bottom lip, and Vergil would conceitedly swipe over it with his thumb, popping it in his mouth delicately to taste you. His tongue was greedy as it lapped over his thumb, he had to chain himself down, force himself not to kiss you.

“Hush, little one”, he would coo softly in your ear whenever you would whine from a nightmare, “it won't be long before I take you”.

He did this for months, watched you carefully, crept beside you like he was your own shadow. Made sure to fade into the crowds when you grew too close. He did well to figure you out, to deny his obvious feelings until he could not contain himself anymore.

Your neighborhood had been notorious for demon cases, a dangerous residence. He could not let this be. To imagine your life taken by some measly creature? To bury their teeth in your flesh? His flesh. Your body? His body. Your soul? His soul.

He had obliterated every object of evil that could possibly even lay a finger on you, even went out of his way to grab stalking humans that eyed you for too long, dragging them into alleys, his hands locking onto their neck and twisting just enough to hear a snap.

He has lived this cruel, tormenting life for too long. If this is the way he must have something, he will not spare any moment to have it. How sweetly you gave yourself up to him. Now, he will visit you. Take you. Own you, and never let you go. You would comply, wouldn’t you? You had told him yourself, you had nothing.

Your weakness made him tremble, made him thirst just as he did when he was young, 19 all over again.

He is selfish, he knows this. He does not care. Power is the only thing he knows, and power will get you to succumb to his touch, let him take you over and over, just as he did in all his wicked dreams.

You need him.

You need him.

You need him

You...need him?

5:00 PM ; APRIL 10TH ─ THE CLAIMING

He has taken you far away from the public, through wooded forests, and up into the billowing mountains, a manor he has promised you. A life that will no longer battle with you, only a future that is peaceful, as long as you promise to be his.

You have figured out that he only is kind when you obey his orders, and speak to him in a submissive, soft manner. It would be best not to challenge him, for your own good.

He does not speak to you when you travel to the manor, and you make no attempt to ask him anything, being that your jaw is locked, and your head is sweltering with panicked assumptions whenever you are near him.

He is tall, and looms over you like a giant when he stands. His legs are long, and he takes elegant, yet long strides. Tells you “make haste!” whenever you fall behind as he guides you through your new home, in which you rush up beside him shyly, gazing up at his face for guidance. He takes great notice of this, and grips his Yamato a little tighter, just as he always does whenever you grow too close. Maybe he found you annoying? Wanted to rip you to shreds with his beloved sword?

You did not know he was only simply holding himself back.

“Come” he beckons you over to him with his hand spread open, waiting patiently for you to take it. “I feel rather hungry, let us eat”, he suggests, and you oblige like the obedient soul that you must be for him. You place your smaller hand in his, watching as his fingers wrap over your knuckles greedily, his hand interlocking yours into his. Like a butterfly that has been trapped in the silken web of a black spider.

He only smiles as you shake in his possessive grip. “Feeling shy?”, he teases, but you shake your head in denial, which makes him only grin further, the dimples on his cheeks becoming pronounced. “Good, you mustn't be. Not with me”.

He takes you through the doors of the one room you have not seen yet, which is the dining room, and is wide and spacious just as much as the other parts of the house are. This is much more lavish than your apartment back in the desolate city.

The floors are wooden, and the walls are colored with a beautiful crimson red, which is a wonderful comparison to the red silk that is spread along the oaken table that sits strangely in the center, small candles sitting along the edge of the top, leaving the center depressingly empty. There are no chairs in sight, and you turn to question Vergil, only to catch him boldly staring back, his pupils enlarged and full just the same as the night he came to confess to you.

“Won’t you...” he licks his lips as he keeps his eyes trained on you, hand still squeezing onto yours firmly, “take a seat?”.

“But there is nowhere to sit”, you interject, batting your eyelashes in worry, gulping down a lump of uneasiness. He chuckles lowly in response, his reaction being so irregular that it terrified you.

“Well then, shall I help you?” he spoke to you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, biting gently down on the flesh of your earlobe. “Yes”, you squeak, and he guides you toward the table, pushing you down until you lay sprawled on top of the red satin, his gripping palm letting go of yours finally so he could peel off his long black coat. His arms now remain bare, muscles protruding as he grips your ankles and yanks you closer to him, casting your leg over his shoulder, your toes crazing over his leather vest.

“You understand, don’t you?” he has ripped your clothes off, one by one, impatient and selfish, a salacious side you have never seen from him before. “I like to claim what is mine”.

And claim he does, as he kisses marks into your precious skin, his teeth grazing over your body until his softness blends into primal, and the kisses transform into passionate bites. There are bruises along your neck, thick along your collarbone, sucked into your breasts, placed sloppily along the stretch of your stomach, and swollen along the flesh of your thighs. His saliva so slick against you, seeping into your pores, becoming one with your body.

“Please” you cry out a plead, fingers shaking and reaching out to grab him, you do not know what you are begging for. He just licks away your tears, tastes the saltiness of your sweat, swallows your lips into his, his nose brushing along your cheek as he finally gets to feel you against him, to taste your consent.

“Vergil” you whine breathlessly when he parts, his spit slobbered all over your bottom lip and down to your chin, his consuming kiss making your lips bright and puffy, all from his desire. He is gawking at you, eyes drinking you in, making sure he will ingrain this image of you in his head. It is that expression that you could never understand. Now you know, it is the expression of lust, of yearning desire.

“Tell me” his voice is akin to a growl, like a wolf that is ready to swallow its prey, “tell me that you are mine. That you belong to me. That your soul is mine to keep forever”.

The wax of the white candles dribble from the wick, become dry and hard along the oak of the table, they dance and shake in a ritualistic essence, wickedly excited when Vergil takes you, fills you up, chuckles when you grip shyly on his forearms with your shaking hands.

“Tell me” he coaxes out a throaty groan, rocking his hips into you, hip bones colliding with the flesh of your thighs. A sickening heat rushes to your face, makes you dizzy and apprehensive. You shelter your flustering face, whimpering from sudden pleasure.

“Do not hide your face from me”, he leans down, connecting his chest with yours, perfectly bottoming out within you, like two puzzle pieces that needed each other. He grabs the hand that you hide your face with between his pearly white teeth, canines biting down hard enough to draw blood in the center of your soft palm, your red liquid pooling on his lips, he only fucks you harder.

“I shall only be yours!” you cry out, palm feeling heavy under his tongue, the warm muscle lapping away at you as if your taste is divine.

“I am devoted to you!” he grunts at your words like a madman.

“I am yours, you can take me” he takes your fingers into his mouth, thrusts perfectly articulated, breath heavy. Candles still dancing with pride.

“My soul, is yours”.

He finishes, staking his claim.

MONTHS LATER ─ FINAL CONFESSION

Forks and knives collide and clash against porcelain plates, the light is dim, the dining room a sacred place for you and your husband. It is the evening that you two sit for dinner, Vergil keeping himself trained on you with a possessive glare.

You are tipsy from the wine he has served you, hiccupping from the heat that bubbles up inside your esophagus. A tingling aftertaste sweet on your tongue, you swallow, it only enhances. Your hands find themselves under the table, an index finger tracing the scar he impeded on your palm. A scar formulated from a rough love-making months ago, it is stunning compared to the ones on your arm and leg.

“Do you remember…” you start, soft-spoken, vision hazy and the surroundings seeming opaque, “do you remember when you saved me that night?”.

He smirks, seeing your question more as a challenge. His nails trace over the condensation on his glass, feeling the water topple along his skin and down to the leather of his glove.

“In our garden? Stopping you from falling in the rose bushes?”

You shake your head. He slicks back his white hair with an intrigued look on his face.

“The library, when I cast you aside before those books fell on you?”

You try to interject, he doesn’t let you. Rather, he smiles nonchalantly, a hint of jubilance in his tone.

“On our walk in the forest, when I slayed those wild animals who attempted to bite you?”

“That night Vergil, when we first met”.

He has stopped his glass mid air, lets it fall back on the table slowly, his attention still steady on you. You stop just the same, refusing to set a finger on your cutlery as you desperately await his answer.

“How could I forget?” he seems confused, and almost irritated. He stands from his chair, stalks over to you, his elegance dignified beside the luminescence of the candlelight.

“I had promised you my soul. My everything. You have given me much more than I had ever expected”

“Only what you deserve” he whispers, fingers tracing over your shoulders. Tracing “mine” over and over again.

“But why?” you choke, biting away at your swollen lips as you fluster at his lips pressing chaste pecks along your nape.

“Why?” he repeats your question, breath ghosting against your skin, yet another kiss is placed, and you gasp as he bites down.

“Because for you, I shall destroy myself”.

Return to Arkham - Yandere!Joker x Doctor!Reader

"Catch me if you can," The Joker's voice echoed over the intercom. "First one to find me gets a prize!~"

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, every hair standing on end and every nerve shot as you forced yourself to creep through the hall of the asylum. The adrenaline that flooded your veins practically screamed at you to run, but running meant almost certain death. You'd make too much noise, you'd take a wrong turn in your panic, you'd run straight into the clutches of the blackgate inmates or corrupt guards. Despite every instinct screaming at you to flee as fast as you could, you had to take it slow.

So, you crept through the asylum's dirty, ancient halls. And now, in this moment, your brain taking in everything with increased clarity out of panic, is when it really hit you how awful the set of circumstances were for everyone here. Not just now, during the Joker's mass takeover, but throughout all of Gotham's history. 

The demonization of mental health issues and those afflicted, preventing those who need help from actually getting it because they might be villainized and ostracized. Throwing people - adults, children, criminal or otherwise, into a rundown building built on the conflation of mental illness and crimes and letting them be abused by guards and doctors and even the warden, himself.

Not that that was an excuse for crime, of course. But, isn't that why you were hired in the first place? To replace the older generation of doctors and psychiatrists and breathe new life into the asylum, to treat the inmates better? You had tried. You wanted to make things better.

You had heard of the tales that psychiatrists faced at the hands of The Joker. Murder, stalking, assassinations… And, of course, the case of former Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Still, you tried to reach him.

You looked over his case, looked over his files, listened and re-listened to interview tapes over and over again. Maybe, you could learn from the mistakes others had made. Not so angry as to draw his ire, not so understanding as to allow him to manipulate you, not so neutral that you failed to reach him. A monumental feat, to be sure.

He lied. A lot. But, of course, he did - you expected, as much. You could understand why Ms. Quinzel began to trust him. The Joker didn't look as intimidating as he did on Television or in photos when he was in the required inmate jumpsuit, the bright orange clashing with his stark white skin and dark green locks.

He told you conflicting stories - of a drunken father who beat him and his mother, who took him to the circus- or the ice rink- or the amusement park. A sister who got cut up by the mob, but wasn't he an only child? Or didn't he have a little brother? His wife got pregnant and lost the child- but, he never had a wife… Or he did, and he lost both his wife and their unborn child.

But, no matter the story and no matter the contradictions, you did your best to take him at his word while attempting to tackle the problem - or, at least, tried your hardest to seem like you were taking him at his word. Not enough to allow him to take advantage of you, but just enough to suggest ways to help him improve. Had he tried Cognitive Behavioral Therapy? Perhaps he could try breathing techniques in order to cope with the flashbacks to that night in the Ace Chemicals factory? If he needed reassurance, it would be good to turn to Ms. Quinzel and… His fellow (Friends? Allies?) inmates.

You knew it was unlikely that Joker was taking your advice seriously - or that it would even help, at all. Numerous psychologists before you had already studied Joker's psychological profile and had come to the conclusion that whatever was ailing Joker wasn't found in the DSM, or anyone else struggling with mental health issues. He was a complete anomaly, but that didn't mean you could give up on him. Maybe… Maybe just knowing that someone else cared enough to come in and try to help communicate with him in a way that wasn't violent or demeaning could get through to him, at least a little bit.

You could tell when he had stopped trying to lie in order to trick or anger you. A majority of your sessions had become him goofing around and attempting small talk. He would fiddle around in his chair, switching his sitting positions and even flipping upside down in his seat while the guards tried to keep their trigger fingers in check.

You remembered the last session between you and him before his break out.

"Having fun down there?" You asked, watching the Clown Prince of Crime as he sat upside down. 

His hair brushed against the floor, bubbly giggles leaving his painted lips. His long, lanky body outstretched over the bow back, legs kicking in the air. His arms hooked around two of the legs, his surprising upper body strength holding him down and keeping himself from toppling over.

"Oh, you know I am," Then, quick as a flash, Joker righted himself, spooking the two guards that remained positioned at the door. The clown's hair remained unchanged in his righted position, still smoothed back, save for a stray curl that fell to his forehead. "You should try it some time! There's nothing like blood rushin' directly to your head!"

"I'll consider it," You replied, before adding a faux-whisper. "I'll have to do it off the clock, though, I think the Warden'll get mad if he walks in on me doing it during a session."

"Ugh, Sharpie is such a killjoy. You deserve a raise just for putting up with him," The Joker thought for a moment. "Want me to put in a good word for you?"

You snickered. "I appreciate it, Joker, but there's no need. I get paid enough as it is, and coming in to help my favorite patient is a good bonus."

Another bellow of laughs escaped the clown, Joker hunching forward to rest an elbow on his leg, holding his chin up with a fist. There was a soft look in his eyes, filled with light and adoration. "You know, Doc, you're a real charmer!"

"Am I?"

"Indeedy-doo-da-day!" The Clown beamed, eyes crinkling. "And quite the looker, too! Careful, Doc, you might just steal me…~"

"I'm sure Ms. Quinzel would have something to say about that."

Joker waved the thought off. "Oh, you and half of Gotham already know about her and Pammy. We both know how good it is to share!"

You hadn't expected the conversation to turn so… Personal? Intimate? It was most likely all jokes and ribbings, but the thought of Joker actually flirting with you - attempting to court you, even - made you uncomfortable. It was dangerous, not to mention incredibly wrong and unprofessional. Keeping your relationship as caring doctor and patient with the Joker was incredibly important and you couldn't risk losing the raport you had built.

A nervous laugh escaped you, brows furrowing. Your gaze flicked over to the guards. You swallowed.

"Well, I'm extremely flattered, but," You paused, taking in a shaking breath as you chose your next words. "I'm afraid I'm already taken."

It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that. It would nip that little problem in the bud, and he'd move on.

But, your heart sunk as a scowl stretched over The Joker's lips, all glee fleeing his expression and his eyes going dark.

A tension filled the room, so thick you thought you might choke on it, only to be dispersed by the beeping of a timer. The session was over.

The two guards approached Joker, one holding him stoll as the other cuffed him and lifted him to his feet. 

"Well, Doc, I'll see ya next time!" The Joker looked over his shoulder, meeting your eyes.

"See you…"

"Oh! One more thing-" The Joker stilled only to be shoved forward by one of the guards.

"Keep it movin', Clown!" One of the men barked.

The Joker bared his teeth, glaring down at the man. "Hold your horses, Pig." Joker turned back to you, his expression softening. "I have a secret for you…"

Hesitantly, you stepped forward. "Oh?"

"I'm gettin' outta here real soon," He grinned. "It's gonna be a real party!"

"Not on your life, Clown!" The other guard spat, shoving Joker out the door and into the hall.

You followed them into the hall, watching as your patient was roughly escorted away. You called after him. "Please, don't break out, Joker! You're here so we can help you!"

Before he was taken around the corner and disappeared from your view, the Joker called back. "Sweetheart, I think you and I both know that this place can't help anyone!"

—

He had kept his promise. He had broken out.

The moment you got word of his escape, you had spent most of the day cowering in your room, sure he'd break in at any moment. It was actually a relief when you were called back into work, just so you could be far, far away from the city while he was free.

You were so sure he was angry at you. So sure he'd come after you.

He didn't. It wasn't until you checked messages from your friends in the city that you realized what he had done. They all went dark. No replies. No nothing. Pictures of victims on the news that were both familiar and yet… Destroyed beyond recognition. The weight of your words fell heavily on you.

He hadn't come after you. He had gone after whoever he thought might have "taken" You from him.

And what was worse was…

How did he know who you talked to?

—

Creeping through the dark halls of the Asylum, now, you could really see - he was right. You always knew that, in a way, but you were blinded by the thought of fixing this place. The thought that you and people like you could rebuild what was broken and bring Arkham Asylum into the 21st Century. No more torture of patients, no more abuse, no more lobotomies. But, with every crack sealed, more and more reappeared or were discovered to take its place. This wasn't something you could put a band-aid on and call it a day.

Arkham Asylum was built on hatred and fear and prejudice, and it would stay that way. The best thing anyone could do for this place and the people in it was to tear it down. No amount of doctors replaced or modernized treatments or Wayne family funding could undo that, could undo the damage it had done to the people in this city. Generations upon generations who had heard horror stories from the Asylum and decided to fear the inmates instead of the abusive staff. Is it any wonder why mental illnesses went undiagnosed, that so many people went without help, out of fear of people thinking them the next supercriminal?

Maybe… Maybe you could speak out, if you got out of this alive. Convince the mayor or Bruce Wayne or Warden Sharp or whoever the hell was in control of stuff like this to tear the whole place down and reopen a new mental health facility in the city, without the baggage and horrific past of this Asylum. Maybe then, there would be some change.

The halls and floors were so dirty. Water leaking from the pipes and ceilings, damaged floorboards or ceiling panels. Blood gone uncleaned for who knows how long, smeared upon the walls. You always knew there were cracks in the seams, but it only hit you now how many there were.

How could anyone here get better if they were living in a waking nightmare? How many people had this Asylum, this city, failed?

You crept slowly through the halls, walking slow and silent, barely breathing in fear of making a sound. You spotted a side room out of your periphery, one that could be closed with an electronic security gate. You strained your ears and heard… Nothing.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. You'd hide there. You'd hide there until it all blew over and you were safe and Batman took care of everything.

You made a break for it, hustling into the room and-

The hum of electricity sounded as the barrier was activated, making you jump. Your heart pounded in your ribcage. You- you hadn't pressed the switch, hadn't even *seen* it, so how did-

"I knew you'd find me, Doc! You could always see right through me."

No. No, no, no, no-!

Slowly, you turned to face him. Joker. Out of his uniform, in his usual Clown get-up. He looked so much taller without it. So much more dangerous and unpredictable out of the controlled environment of your therapy sessions.

"Joker," You breathed out, surprised you could even find it in you to talk at all, "Please, don't…"

The Clown shushed you, raising his arms up as he slowly approached you. "I know you're scared, dear, but you're safe now, alright?"

You couldn't bring yourself to speak. Too focused on watching him, focusing on every moment. Too scared to fight, too scared to run. All you could do was stand still as a statue.

Your whole body shook as The Clown Prince of Crime rested his hands on your shoulders. Somehow, you found the strength to look up at him, meeting his eyes. They were dilated, bright green eyes drinking you in completely.

"Now, my boys didn't hurt you, did they?" He asked, voice soft. 

You shook your head.

"Good," Then, he pulled you forward against his chest, arms curling around you in a tight embrace. Your body seized up as you were captured in his hold. "If they had hurt a single hair on your head, I would've flayed them alive and used their intestines as streamers."

If he had said something more, you couldn't hear it over the sound of blood pulsing in your ears. He was holding you. The Joker was holding you in his arms, your body pressed up against him. You could feel how surprisingly solid he was, in spite of his lanky figure. Could feel how gentle his touch was, in spite of how brutal and bloodthirsty he could be. Could hear the steady thumping of his heart. You could probably only name two other people who've been in your position before and came out alive, and one of them was Joker's girlfriend.

You were brought back to reality as Joker mumbled to you. "I've wanted to hold you like this for so long, Doc. And now, I finally can. This really is the best night ever."

The Joker rocked you to and fro in a lazy dance, making you step backwards. He leaned down slightly, softly brushing his forehead against your own, distracting you until your legs hit something solid - the Joker guiding you to sit down on a chair placed against the wall. You swallowed thickly as you looked up at him - he looked even taller now, looming over you.

"Well, a deal's a deal, ain't it? Ya caught me!" A mischievous look crossed over Joker's face. "Or was it me that caught you?"

"Either way," He purred, leaning down to get closer to you. He raised a hand to cup your face, before a gloved thumb ran over your bottom lip. "I think it's time for you to get your prize…"

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍.

·˚ ༘ premise: gotham’s princess wants gotham’s prince, what does she gotta do to get his attention?

·˚ ༘ pairing: bruce wayne (pattinson) x f!reader.

·˚ ༘ warnings: age gap (reader is around 20, bruce is 30). unprotected sex. teasing. dirty talk. implications of reader’s wealth.

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your silky white dress was complimented perfectly by the yellowish lights that adorned the great hall, charity galas were always a place where you could impress and be impressed, but you didn’t want to impress anyone who wasn’t him.

bruce wayne.

you had somehow managed to take bruce out off the gala with you, convincing him to go to the wayne tower, both completely sober, but minds deeply lost in each other.

you both sat on the pair of green couches on the principal living room, glasses of champagne in each other hands; a small talk turned into other, until you touched the subject bruce tried so hard to avoid when he was with you.

“you’re too young.” he said.

“mhm.. but i’m not.” you said, throwing your leg over his lap and saddling up on top of it, now sitting on his lap, your hands running through his straight hair.

bruce was 10 years older than you, and he had taken the role of a protector type figure in your life, due to your age.

your ‘friend group’ had a wide range of ages, but he was one of the oldest in it, he made company to you in those boring galas and often got the creeps away from you, and most importantly, wouldn’t give in to you.

there was undeniable attraction between the both of you, everyone knew it, but bruce always used the same excuse, ‘she’s too young’ he would say, he really was trying to keep it going, you would probably be more satisfied with a younger man; he liked crossword puzzles, he didn’t enjoy parties, he liked sleeping in on sundays, he liked coming home from his night activities and relax in front of the fire with a glass of wine.

you were fresh into adulthood, bruce had gone with you to buy your first brand new car, helped you move into your apartment and helped you understanding financial stuff better, he even helped you with your parents company, and while others would find those tasks boring and normal, you found it incredibly hot.

bruce was a man.

all man, his life figured out, his own collection of cars, a company on his name, a huge mansion, a tower and a couple of houses.

he wasn’t a player, he liked the same music you did, the same movies you did, he could dance and cook, he was shy, reserved, respectful, and that was exactly what you always wanted to have.

bruce always tried to avoid your flirting, but it was obvious to you it wasn’t because he didn’t want you, he stared too much, his eyes always lingered longer than the others, his touch went out of the way of a normal friend, you had even shared a kiss on new year’s, that he had said was a mistake, but you knew better.

“y/n…. please.” he pleaded. “you’re going to get bored of me.” he whispered, making you frown, you adjusted in his lap, leading his head to lean back so you could look into his eyes.

he should have known that accepting your offer of hanging out alone would end like this, his self control fraying like an old, weak thread.

“bruce..” you whispered, running your free hand over his cheek. “i’m not gonna be bored of you, i adore hanging out with you, i love you, so so much…” your voice went soft and sweet, leaning down and kissing his forehead, his eyes closed, a sigh leaning his mouth as he tried to recover but the action went straight to his heart.

“i love your lips… i haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss, your hands held me so tight, bruce, it felt right, and i think about it every single night when i’m all alone, i think about you every time i’m all alone.” your voice turned to a more sultry tone, kissing over his high cheekbone and down to the center of it. “i think about you all the fucking time, i know you do too.”

there was a debate in his mind and he was going to lose it.

“of course I do, princess, but you’re so young, you don’t want to have a family any time soon, you don’t want to have chess nights instead of parties and galas-.” you placed a hand over his mouth.

“who told you i didn’t want that?”

your words caught him off ward, his green eyes looking over your face, you were death serious.

“who told you i don’t want to come home to a strong, older man who can give me everything i want in a relationship?” you tilted your head in questioning. “hmm? who told you i like all those things to begin with? have you asked me, bruce? because the answer it’s not what you think.” you said, nose brushing against his.

he felt you take his hand and moved it around your waist, wrapping one of your arms around his neck while your fingers played with the ends of his hair. “go on, ask me.”

he took a shaky breath, the fingers at the nape of his neck sending chills all over his body. it felt like a dream, he licked his lips before he asked.

“what do you want?”

“i want you, i want to do all the things you do, with you. I know i’m young, but you don’t have a clue of what i want, i want a family, i want a man who will treat me with respect, a man who respects himself, one who has an extensive vinyl record collection… a man who sings nirvana at the top of his lungs with me…” you pecked his lips slowly. “i want a man who’s passionate, a man who has a deep and slow voice to whisper pretty, dirty things to me, someone who wants to protect me the way you already do.” another peck, your opposite hand cupping his jaw.

“i want a man who knows how to treat me, a man who has some experience in life.” your lips trailed to his jaw. “i want a man with big hands, hands that can hold me, stroke my hair and run all over my body like i know you so desperately want to, despite telling yourself you can’t.” your teeth nipped at the junction of his jaw and neck, smirking when you felt his hand smooth down her back and reach the bare skin of your thighs, where your dress had ridden up.

he was losing composure.

“i want a passion, someone who can hold me and give me the most intimate time of my life… and a man who can throw me down over the hood of his vintage car and pound into me like he doesn’t know how to do anything else, a man with dedication….” you lowered your hips and rocked them into his own. “i want you.”

a groan erupted from his throat, his other hand coming to clench down on your hip to steady himself, you were his weakness, and you knew you had this power over him.

“you say I’m too young, bruce. but i’m not, i know a lot of things.” you ground your hips against him, moaning softly as you felt the bulge in his pants press right between your thighs, he was big, as you knew, but it was something else entirely to feel it right against where she wanted it most.

“i know that i want you in my mouth, in my cunt, so fucking badly that i ache for it.” you whimpered, pulling his head back to rest against the couch. your eyes took in his moony eyes as he looked up at you in awe, this was a newer side of her that he hadn’t seen, but he was loving it

“i want you to make love to me any and everywhere, in every room of this tower and in every surface of my apartment, in any position.” your hand stroked through his hair, tugging lightly at the end of it, you could feel his cock pulse against you, making you grin. “mhm, like this” you lifted your hips, mimicking riding him, your breathing was heavier, pressing you forehead against his as you did so. “i want to ride you on this couch when you come home from work… want to climb right on and give you a a place where you can dump all of that stress to.” pulling back from his face, you tugged his hand from her hip and placed it on your ass.

“go ahead, feel it.” you taunted. he was at the end of his wit, drunk off of you alone and letting his large hand squeeze over it, he was going to give it to you so good as soon as he fully gave in, and you knew it. “that’s it, bruce. imagine it, we get along so good, spend so much time together, why can’t we move it to the next level? spend more time giving each other what we both really want?“

your case was solid, breaking through all of his barriers, you were exploding each and every excuse he could have, the guilt was washing away, he really had nothing to be ashamed of.

“god… fuck, y/n.” he cursed. “how do you do this to me? how do you make me feel this fucking good?” he pleaded, needing to know why you had this power over him.

“because you want me too.” you kissed his lips again, slowly, that was the end of his resistance, his mouth closing over yours, internally jumping for victory as you let the kiss run its course before pulling back with a satisfied hum.

“i do… fuck, i do.” he let the final string unravel, admitting it to the both of you, that’s all it took for you to unzip your dress, letting it pool around your waist, moving your hand towards your center, moving your lace thong to the side, exposing yourself.

“then have me.”

bruce had tried so hard to avoid this temptation.

you were younger than him and for so long he had viewed it as him being a dirty, creepy older man, but when you let him know just how badly you actually wanted him? it changed everything.

“please, please, please.” you whimpered. bruce’s cock ran over your soaked slit, watching in awe as the tip bumped your clit and how your hips would jerk up each time. “don’t tease, bruce, give it to me.” you pleaded, hand going to the wrist holding his cock, pulling it closer. “i want it inside.”

you flipped off of his lap to lay on the couch properly, bruce ripped the dress off your body, you returned the favor, you both needed this. months of avoidance had led to the pent up sexual tension that needed to be released.

“shh. i’m just….” he licked his lip. “just admiring, princess. we’ve got the whole night, as long as you want. this is only the beginning.” his teasing was cruel, perhaps, but he wanted a bit of the control action, you had it before, was dangling over him like a shiny toy he had been so guilty lusting after, and he wanted it all for himself.

“yeah. we have all night, so please put that fucking cock inside of me.” you huffed in frustration. “please. bruce, i need you.” your voice dropped to a hint of desperation, a bit raspy when you spoke the last bit, bruce would normally want to punish you for the demands and snarky tone but, how could he not give her what she wants when she speaks like that?

“watch how you speak to me, princess.” his hand smacked your thigh, making you whimper his sudden dominance making you feel needier. “you made me break all of that self control i’ve built up over these months, tried so hard not to be a dirty older man who wants the pretty, young thing in his bed, but you’ve managed to tear it all down and make me into exactly what i’ve tried to avoid.” his voice was low, pressing himself against your center, the slickness dripped around the head of his cock, making the deep red tip glisten.

“god, i tried so fucking hard to not look at you that way, tried to be nice, but you lure me in, with those fucking giggles and that pretty smile, those hugs that lingered too long and fucking crawling into my bed for a cuddle.” he scoffed. “felt so fucking guilty for getting up that new year’s morning and fucking my hand in the shower, cumming so hard with your face in my mind and name on my tongue, barely could look at myself, i’ve managed to not bury myself into this pussy before, and now look.” he leaned over, pursing his lips and letting a string of spit drool down and pool over your cunt, drip slowly to where his cock met your entrance.

“look at me, about to fill you up, fill you up to the brim, stretch you…” he slowly began to push forward, letting the tip press into her and the stretch that had both of them hissing. “shit, just like that.” the sight of it stretching open, his cock pulsing as he pushed in slow and getting a bit further in, stretching you up completely.

“this….” you whined as you felt the last of the head sink into you, your nails digging into his forearms. “is exactly what i always wanted, oh my god…” you panted, eyes looking at his wild expression, even just this bit had your cunt stretched and full, how he was going to manage to get all of that big, thick cock inside of you was beyond your mind.

but you wanted it more than anything.

“yeah, princess?” bruce cooed, pulling a hand away from his cock and dragging it down her stomach. “i should have known, the way you looked at me, the way you’d get possessive over any other woman talking to me.. should have known you were serious.” he admitted, reeling at the feeling of her cunt slowly swallowing him up.

“didn’t want them to fucking have you.” you spit, sitting up on your elbows as you looked down at your connection, the sight had your mouth dropping open. “look at us, do you think any of them could compare to this?” she stroked over the hand on her stomach before going to her sensitive cunt, fingers spread herself open further, exposing her clit as she watched his eyes grow darker. “do you think any of them can give you what i can? desire you the way i do?.” you moaned, circling your clit a few times and clenching around him, making him moan.

“enough.” he yanked your hand away. “didn’t fucking want them, believe me, i tried, but you’ve been haunting my dreams, have owned this cock before we even properly spoke, when you walked in… in that fucking black sundress, i wanted to grab you, keep you in my grasp.” he admitted. “selina told me how old you were… thought my chances were over, but i was wrong.” his chuckle was dark, pressing in further and getting a sweet moan from you. “you insisted on breaking me down, making me into what was afraid of being.”

you gasped as you lifted your hips, getting his cock in a bit deeper, sparks of pleasure lit up your stomach as the sting of his thickness stretched you. “uh huh. i wanted you to be dirty, wanted you to give me this, wanted you to stuff this cock inside of my young pussy and make me yours.” you revealed.

with each inch he sunk into you, the most wild you felt. never had you felt so full or needy but now. “i want you to be dirty, want you to show me how real men treat their women… want you to own me, bruce.” your voice was a sultry whisper, pulling his hand up to cup your cheek. “show me how those silly boys don’t know a thing about treating pussy.” your cheek nuzzled into his hand.

“god, you’re so deep…” her voice got a bit higher pitched. “don’t stop… i want more.” you whined, rocking your hips up and making the both of you moan. bruce couldn’t stop himself from grinding his hips into you slightly, the pleasure of a hot, soaked cunt squeezing around him, he couldn’t believe this was really happening.

“fuck.” he grit his teeth together as he felt himself get deeper than his slow pace had original anticipated. his thumb slipping into your mouth and lips puckering around it as you began to suck.

you were his sin.

“can’t get over this pussy.” his thrusts we’re shallow, getting used to the suction of your mouth and your cunt as you seemed to arch into him. “so fucking tight, dripping for me, just for me, right princess?” he asked, pulling his finger out of your mouth. you nodded.

“yes. is yours, bruce. all fucking yours. take it.” you pulled the hand to your throat, urging him to wrap it around. “fuck me, show me you own me, show me how much better you are, old man.” your dirty smirk and teasing finally broke him.

your body jolted as he finally got into it. he had started slower, the beautiful lead up had your squirming and eager. but as soon as he began to truly fuck into you, you knew you were fucked.

his body caged you in, one arm over your head and the other holding your throat, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, keeping him locked in and his cock from fully pulling out, the couch was jerking and hitting the wall, but neither of you gave a shit about the potential damage.

“yes, yes…” you whined, nails dragging over his lower back as he thrust deep into you. “oh my fucking god, bruce.” he was showing her what sex had been about. “it’s so good, you’re so good, no one has ever fucked me this good.” you panted

your words stroked his ego, yes, but he was more fulfilled that he was ruining you, no one else would be able to give you this, this passion, this need, this tension you needed to fill up, each messy thrust coated his balls in your slick but he couldn’t help but revel in the feeling. the sting of your nails, how you arched into him.

it felt like heaven.

“and no one ever will, besides me.” he snarled into your ear. “you gave yourself to me, and now this cunt belongs to me.” that was an understatement, he wasn’t letting this giving into temptation be for nothing, not that he thought it wasn’t what you wanted, because obviously your feelings were both intense and heavy. but the reminder would serve her well.

“belongs to me alone, spread those legs for me… no one else can ever get between them again.” his hand tightened in your throat and you moaned, hips bucking into his heavy thrusts. “yeah… you like that, don’t you baby?” he licked over your jaw, where a few tears had fallen down. “you like being mine? of course you do.” he pressed his damp forehead against yours as he continued his deep thrusts, feeling each gasp for air against his mouth and the palm of his hand.

“uh huh…” you whined, eyes watery as you looked into his. “want to be yours, bruce, want… fuck, i want you to fuck me every single day.” you pleaded, tightening your legs against his hips, lifting yourself up so you could be closer. “want you to own me fully, be mine too.” you leaned up and pressed your lips to his own making him melt.

you wanted him to be yours too, that’s what sent him spiraling. “i’m yours. god… i’m all yours.” he whispered darkly, kissing your slick mouth and moaning at the taste, you responded the best she could, but being fucked like this was taking it out of her.

“gonna be my pretty, sweet little girlfriend… do all those things you promised.” bruce couldn’t help but find himself inching towards the edge at the idea of coming home to you and your affections, your body, you. “gonna let your older boyfriend spoil you fucking rotten… kisses, gifts, sex.” he cooed and you moaned. “yeah… got yourself an older man to take care of you, give you everything those boys your age can’t, gonna give you everything, soon you’ll have a pretty ring around your finger.” his promise rand through the room as he kissed you sloppily.

“and now i’m gonna give you every single drop of my cum.” he smirked, feeling himself begin to throb inside of you.

“fuck!” he had been hitting at just the right angle. your orgasm overwhelmed you both, clinging your arms around him as you wailed into the air, biting down against his shoulder to keep yourself from sobbing, the white hot pleasure running deep as you gushed all over his cock.

he couldn’t pull away, your cunt wrapped around him sending him into a flurry of frantic thrusts and sloppy sounds, but it was the bite to his skin that pushed him fully over, his mouth dripping open in shock as he buried his face into your hair, feeling his own hot cum fill you up, sweat making both of your bodies stick to each other’s, he couldn’t find any excuse that would pull him away

Cool Rider

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon gets you ready for a ride on his motorcycle

word count: 1.4k

a/n: just a little fluff drabble i've been thinking about while i go back and forth on my other longer fics. imagine this to be a little bit after vendetta when leon's starting to get better. hope everyone enjoys, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

“Quit joking around or you’re not going anywhere,” Leon grunts as he continues to mess around with the tire pressure on the rear wheel of his motorcycle.

“I’m just saying-” you chime before being cut off.

“You’re saying nothing more or I’m changing my mind,” he says and gives you a warning look.

Despite his attempt at being stern with you, affection clouds his eyes. You play along for him and mime zipping your lips. With a sharp exhale and shake of his head at your antics, he returns his focus to fidgeting with the pressure gauge hooked to his bike. But you’re happy just because you saw him smile.

You’d been begging him for months to take you for a ride on his bike. Every time you’d asked, you were met with “no” or “in your dreams.” You’d always ask him why, and he’d just brush it off. Too dangerous. It’s something he does alone. You eventually just gave up. He deserved his space, and you knew he’d seen so much pain and death in his life that he was probably a little overprotective by nature. It came as an absolute shock to you when he approached you last week and asked if you’d wanna go for a ride this weekend. He’d said it so casually, like he hadn’t shot you down time after time before. You weren’t sure what had changed, but a win is a win, right?

Now sitting on the stool by the bench where he kept all his motorcycle stuff, you swing your feet back and forth. As much as you’d been teasing him for the last thirty minutes about taking forever and a half, it was fun seeing him so locked in on his task. You studied his face, the way his brows furrowed and his eyes hardened, his lips curling a little with dedication.

“Hey stalker girl, instead of staring me down, maybe you should finish getting ready,” he teases as he finishes up and starts putting the tools away.

“I am ready,” you say.

“No you’re not. Where’s your helmet?” he asks while walking to you.

“Mmmm… you don’t wear a helmet,” you playfully point out.

You were just being difficult because he was so easy to mess with. You weren’t dumb, and you had no desire for your brains to splatter across some pavement. In general, motorcycles kind of scare you to be honest. If anyone but Leon was driving it, you wouldn’t even consider hopping on the back. So there was absolutely no way you were gonna get on that thing without a helmet strapped on.

“I didn’t ask you if I wear one. Where’s yours?” he says.

He stands between your thighs and looks down at you, taking in your pretty eyes, pouty lips, the face he couldn’t get enough of. His fingers run along your jaw, his thumb stroking over your chin. Every detail had him enraptured. He made fun of you for staring, but truth be told, he was just as guilty. The only difference was he hid it much better than you did.

“I’ll get it in two seconds. You were just taking so long, I figured I had some time to relax,” you joke with a quick peck to his lips, hopping off your seat.

“You better get it. I want your pretty little head kept in one piece,” he murmurs and lays a kiss on your hairline. He lightly swats your ass as you walk away, drawing that laugh from you that he loved to hear. He’s smiling while grabbing the keys, not that you could see it with your back to him. You were easy to mess with too.

“I just don’t think it’s fair that I have to wear one if you don’t,” you say as you lift the helmet up and inspect the one he’d bought for you.

“Too bad. I know what I’m doing. You don’t. God forbid I actually let you do this, and you end up with a concussion or something,” he grumbles while grabbing the keys.

“If we get in a crash though, your experience won’t matter. We’ll both go flying all the same. Then you’ll be the one with the concussion or worse, and I’ll be flat outta luck having to take care of you,” you explain while fidgeting with the straps on the helmet.

“Here, gimme that,” he says, taking it from you. He fixes the straps and gets them where they should be. Yeah, you’re being intentionally stubborn, but you had a good point and he knew it. “If it’s so important to you, I can wear one too.”

“It is important to me. I always want you safe,” you say, taking a moment to be genuine between all your teasing.

“I know, baby,” he says softly. It’s all he could say. Obviously, with the life he had, he couldn’t “be safe” all the time. But god, you made him want to try.

He gives you one last kiss before putting the helmet on you. He fastens it into place, making sure it’s nice and tight. Tilting your head around, he inspects it thoroughly. Has to be certain this shell of hard plastic is gonna do its job and protect his precious girl. 

After he’s done examining the efficacy of the helmet, he pulls back to give you a once over. Really look at you.

“Does it look good?” you ask, voice slightly muffled.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah, it looks good. Pretty cool,” he confirms.

Of course you looked more than good. The sight of you completely melted his heart. He just didn’t know how to say it. He’d never been too good with words when you were involved. You made everything foggy, hard to think.

He couldn’t see the grin on your face right now, but he could just about feel the excitement radiating off of you as you pulled him into a hug, the shiny dome covering your head resting over his heartbeat. His palm runs up and down your back before you pull away and head to the motorcycle.

“Are we ready to go?” you ask.

He could hear the anticipation in your voice too. It was infectious, made him want to get on and speed off without looking back. But he still had a little hesitation left. Rationally, he knew he’d done everything he could to make sure this would go smoothly. In all likelihood, you would just have some fun and then come back home and everything would be fine. The irrational part of him just wanted that to be 100% guaranteed. He’d lost so many people. He couldn’t survive losing you, especially to something as trivial as a motorcycle accident.

But he was stalling now, and he knew it. You deserved this. Deserved to have the fun he’d offered you. You’d been so good to him for the last several months, putting up with him when it would’ve been reasonable to leave him in your rearview mirror. He swallows his doubt and nods.

But as he sees you start to look at it like you’re gonna get on, he stops you.

“Wait a second,” he says, starting to shrug off his jacket, “It’s cold out, and with the wind and everything. Just put this on.”

He can’t see how you lovingly roll your eyes at this which is probably for the best anyways. Knowing him, he’d probably get all huffy and defensive about it. Argue the practicality of his decision rather than just admitting he’d gone soft for you.

Regardless, you let him wrap the leather around you, sliding your arms into the sleeves. You give him a thumbs up, and he pulls you close to him, thoughtlessly planting a smooch on the cool helmet like he’d normally do to your head.

“You better hold on tight. This isn’t a video game. You don’t get extra points for riding with no hands,” he teases before grabbing the extra helmet he had and putting it on.

This time you give a mock salute and watch him swing his leg over the seat. He waves you over and you gladly get on behind him. The warmth of your front presses against his back. He looks down, admiring the way your hands lock around his waist, your arms adorned in the white stripes of his jacket.

He wheels the bike out of the garage, taking a deep breath as checks to see that the street is clear. One more sigh and mental reassurance later, he’s speeding out onto the road. He knows it’s all worth it as soon as he hears your laughter and feels you clinging to him even harder.

Infernal Shadows

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: The world we knew by Frank Sinatra.

A/N: I wanna make this a three part short story, so if anyone is interested in being tagged in the second part just let me know!! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2655

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part two

Getting an invite to the annual crimson ball, hosted by yours truly, was nothing but an honor. Every overlord and every sinner in the pride ring waited anxiously for a letter. A black card with white letter in a cursive font stating ‘You have been personally invited by Hells biggest designer. The list of the gala was simple. The usual overlords, Zestial, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters, Zeezie, Rosie, Fredrick Von Eldritch and Bethesda von Eldritch. Alastor who had came back after seven years of hiding god knows where, and by special request, the three vee’s who had never attended the gala before. Then it becomes a bit more political.

Next on the list was the Goetia family, inviting the recently divorced prince with his daughter. Inviting Lucifer and Lilith, though they only ever came when everyone was gone. Then was their daughter Charlotte, who got a plus one as a special perk of being the princess of hell. Husk because he had been an old friend of yours before his status of Overlord was taken from him by none other than Alastor. He was also given a plus one, though he usually never brought anyone extra. Sir Pentious was a candidate, but ultimately scrapped from your list of invites as you felt he was too childish.

The gala was tonight and everything was going smoothly. Preparations were almost done, the foyer was spotless just the way you liked it, and everything seemed to be falling into place. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had spent months designing your perfect dress for tonight. Everyone attending the gala knew there was only ever one color off limits, because you always wore it best. The color black always suited you perfectly. No one could wear it better than you.

Back at the hotel, Charlie felt guilty for using her authority as princess to have people help her get ready for this gala. Based on what Alastor had told her, there would be a lot of political powers and fellow overlords there. She wanted to look her best if she was going to pitch the hotel to them. She needed more people on board with the project, maybe someone who didn’t think it was complete and utterly ridiculous joke like Alastor did.

“How do I look?” Charlie asked as the makeup and hair artists stepped away from her. Charlie stepped out, allowing Vaggie to get a better look at her in a tailored charcoal gray suit, a departure from her usual vibrant red attire. The jacket, adorned with subtle pinstripes, accentuated her frame, while the crisp, white silk shirt underneath added a touch of formality. Completing the ensemble, she wore a black tie with a discreet pattern that hinted at both elegance and authority. The ensemble was a strategic choice, projecting confidence and a readiness to engage with the political powers present at the gala for the sake of her hotel. Vaggie smiled and hugged Charlie deeply, their embrace making Charlie feel a little less nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Charlie you look amazing. What happened to the red?” Vaggie asked, before Charlie just chuckled.

“Well, I wanted a change for tonight. I’m always in red, and I feel like they’ll take me more serious if I’m not walking in there with my usual attire. Besides, you read the invitation, ‘formal attire, look your best’.” Charlie said. Vaggie nodded, and Charlie pulled back from the hug to admire Vaggie in her dress. She was wearing a sleek and modern grey dress that gracefully embraced the formal occasion. The dress, with its tailored fit and subtle shimmer, exuded class. The knee-length hemline added a contemporary touch, and Vaggie had decided to pair it with black heels to complete the ensemble. The choice of grey complemented Charlie’s charcoal gray suit, creating a coordinated yet distinct look that would surely make an impression at the gala. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up taking in her appearance, her long hair gently pinned back, the loose pieces of hair framing her face.

“Aww, Vaggie you look so pretty!!” Charlie said excitedly. Vaggie just smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks heated up at Charlies compliment.

“I agree, you look good vagina.” Angel said mockingly, causing Vaggie to glare at him. Charlie just gushed.

“Angel be nice. This is really important for the hotel.” Charlie explained. He just nodded, tilting his head back and downing a bottle of liquor. The staff however was interrupted by Angel making a purring sound at Husk, who was dressed in a nice white suave dinner jacket, with perfect cutouts for his wings, along with some sleek black trousers and some black dress shoes. The match, he had a black silk lapel.

“I can think of another place that suit would look.” Angel said, leaning onto Husk. He rolls his eyes, bottle in hand.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks, and Angel just grins.

“On my bedroom floo-“ Angel doesn’t get to finish, being shrugged off by Husk who just walks away with a shake of his head.

“Oh my gosh! Husk you look amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. Husk just smiled softly before setting his drink on the bar counter.

“It appears everyone is ready.” Alastor said, the focus of the room shifting to him. Niffty was at his side studying his outfit from head to toe.

Alastor emerged in an ensemble that deviated from his usual eccentricity, opting for a more formal yet captivating look. A deep red velvet tailcoat adorned his frame, its luxurious texture catching the light. Dark-red lapels, meticulously piped with gold, added a touch of opulence. Underneath, he wore a perfectly tailored crimson dress shirt, the power emitting off of him. Suddenly, the room grew just a tad bit darker, the shadows of the room stretching just a bit. Complementing the ensemble, he chose a pair of well-fitted black dress pants, allowing the bold red hue to take center stage on his appearance. His choice of footwear shifted to polished black oxford shoes, a departure from his usual pointed-toe boots. The finishing touches of the outfit included a matching red silk bowtie, neatly knotted at his throat, and black leather gloves that added a refined edge. Alastor’s presence was commanding, radiating an air of formality while retaining the distinctive charm that defined him. The room was captivated by the Radio Demon’s unexpected transformation into a vision of refined class and style.

“You took forever for that?” Niffty said, before Angel Dust tossed a pillow at her.

“Shut it you. We, we are keeping,” Angel said, hands waving around Alastor, “to whatever this is.”

“Style.” Alastor said confidently. Vaggie just face palmed while Charlie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Okay, I think everyone’s ready. Should we head out?” Charlie asked. Vaggie nodded, before Alastor dug the invitation out of his coat pocket. Standing near a wall, he traced the symbol on the back of the card on the wall. “Uh, Al? What are you doing?” Charlie asked. He grinned, putting his hand flat on the wall. The symbol began to glow green, before it opened a portal. On the other side, was a large house. The grand Victorian mansion stood as a testament to opulence, its imposing facade adorned with intricate wrought-iron black railings and embellished balconies with hints of chains. Tall, arched windows with stained glass panels framed the exterior, allowing glimpses of the soft glow emanating from within. The entrance, marked by a sweeping staircase, welcomed guests with ornate, carved intricate detailed doors. Charlie, Vaggie and Husk followed Alastor through the portal, Charlie waving goodbye to Niffty, and Angel. Sir Pentious was most likely hiding out in a room somewhere with his egg boys.

As guests approached, they marveled at the meticulous details of the architecture – elaborate moldings, corbels, and friezes adorned every corner. Ivy-clad walls added a touch of nature’s grace, intertwining with wrought-iron lampposts that cast a warm ambiance over the meticulously landscaped gardens.Inside, the grand foyer unfolded, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail. Crystal chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings, their light refracted by ornate mirrors that lined the walls. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, creating intimate spaces for guests to gather and converse.Every room whispered of a bygone era – intricately patterned wallpaper, gilded frames displaying classical art, and the faint fragrance of aged wood and lavender.

The air was infused with a sense of refinement, transporting guests to a time when elegance reigned supreme. The Victorian mansion, a splendid backdrop for the gala, promised an evening steeped in grandeur and charm. In the middle of the exterior grounds, a grand fountain of blood took center stage. Its sculpted marble figures spouted blood into the air, catching the moonlight in a dance of liquid elegance. The fountain, surrounded by manicured gardens and flowering shrubs, became a focal point for guests as they strolled through the outdoor spaces, the gentle sound of cascading blood adding a serene touch to the gala’s errie atmosphere.

The overlords arrival made the event much more real. Alastor hums to himself as he walks around the outside grounds. There are servants of all kinds walking around with glasses of champagne. Rosie is sitting on a bench, plucking thorns off a rose. Alastor smiles to himself, happy to see a familiar face he know he can confide in.

“Rosie dear! So nice to see you.” Alastor said with a smile. She smiles at him, teeth razor sharp.

“Do you think you’ll be getting a seat tonight?” She asks, snapping the rose off its stem and tossing it to the side.

“Well of course I will. It’d be a mistake if I wasn’t.” Alastor said with a smile, crossing his legs as he sat down next to her. Sinners from all over the pride ring were socializing outside of the large mansion. He knew you were inside finalizing preparations and possibly screaming your head off. Overall, the air was chilled with a comfortable atmosphere. Well, it had been comfortable, until a loud noisy vehicle stopped at the front gates. Everyone’s heads were turning, Rosie and Alastor looking at each other with strained smiles. Stepping out of the large limousine were the three vee’s, vulgar music blaring from the vehicles speakers as the three made their way through the now open gates. Reporters lined the edges of the gates, trying desperately to see the overlords inside and to try and sneak into the gala, which was starting soon.

“Mr.Vox! Mr.Vox!” News reporters shouted. Velvet was busy taking selfies of her and her outfit, her assistant following close behind her. Valentino was busy looking down at everyone, smoking his usual, while taking his long strides next to Vox, who was in the middle of the three.

On Vox’s right was Valentino, who donned a captivating look for the gala. His tailored white suit boasted a jacket that reached just above the knee, a subtle departure from his usual floor-length coat. The crimson silk lining peeked through, adding a luxurious touch to the outfit. The coat, reminiscent of his extravagant style, also had a vivid-red hue with his signature white fur trim at the wrists. The black and white striped fur trim along the center-front added a distinctive flair. A gold chain and love-heart-shaped broach fastenings adorned the coat, creating an opulent yet alluring look. Finally, he wore polished black heeled boots, maintaining the sleek and captivating allure that defined Valentino’s presence. The familiar color scheme remained intact, blending sophistication with a hint of provocative charm for the grand gala.

On Vox’s left was Velvet, who had spent months perfecting her outfit for the gala, in hopes she’d be invited of course. She had begged the boys to keep a good public appearance, in hopes they’d be recognized and invited to the crimson gala. Velvette, deciding to ditch her usual style, embraced a lavish and over-the-top look that represented her brand. Dressed in a knee-length dress, the garment had a striking blend of black and red hues. The dress, fitted at the waist, flowed into a voluminous skirt, creating a sense of extravagance. The bodice of the dress featured intricate lace detailing. A white collar adorned with a velvet bow added a playful yet mature flair. The sleeves, a fusion of burgundy and white patterns, contributed to the overall lavish aesthetic she had been going for. Her accessories took on a more refined form. Velvet gloves, adorned with delicate lace, graced her hands, and a pearl necklace adorned her neck, adding a classic touch, completed with maroon heels, each step resonating with a sense of grandeur. Velvet’s transformation into this upscale attire reflected her desire to make a statement at the Crimson Gala.

In the middle, and the brains of the three vee’s, was none other than the head of Vox Tech, Vox himself. He wore a sleek and modern dark blue tuxedo, tailored with precision. Of course he could only have the best. The suit featured subtle futuristic patterns that enhanced his ‘perfect’ sense of style. To complement his high-tech vibe, Vox wore a light blue undershirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol. Vox's gala attire seamlessly blended power and control with his technological edge, creating a memorable look in shades of dark blue, which in his opinion, was the best color.

Upon seeing Alastor, Vox’s eye twitched noticeably. The gates shut behind the three vee’s, closing off the gala to the public. The overlords begin to get closer together unknowingly, Zestial finding a comfortable corner to watch things play out. Carmilla and Zeezie stand close together, whispering to one another as both Rosie and Alastor stand from the bench. Vox, Valentino and Velvet make their way to the Radio Demon and his colleagues.

“I see the grandpa’s were invited.” Velvet says with a scoff, scrolling through her phone.

“So disrespectful.” Carmilla says under her breath, looking away from the three vee’s.

“Hm, interesting, and I was beginning to think the only interesting thing tonight would be the dinner.” Bethesda said, her brother nodding.

“Well, it seems the children brought their play date to the public then.” Zeezie says. The other overlords laugh and Valentino sneers at her.

“Well an idiota like you would think so. Then again, don’t you all do the same with your diapers?” He asked, puffing the smoke into her face. She growls at him, fists clenching at her side, but Carmilla stops her.

“Didn’t they say this was an adult only gala?” Carmilla asked, Rosie chuckling at her words.

“Oh can it grandma.” Velvete said. But Vox remained silent, having his own personal staring match with Alastor, whose smile was stretched ear to ear, teeth on full display.

“I thought this gala was meant for real talent?” Vox asked, stepping closer to Alastor.

“Well it was until you showed up.” Alastor said with a smile. “There’s no originality in copying someone else.” He tuts. Vox narrows his eyes, face twisting with anger as he steps closer to Alastor again.

“You wanna tell me something, you old piece of-“ Vox is stopped, the lights to the exterior of the mansion dimming. The lights behind the large front doors opening slowly. Two tall black shadowy figures stepped from the door, smoke at their feet.

“Thank you all for your attendance. As we know, the annual Crimson Gala is held every year, and this year is no different. With the new extermination date, important decisions must be made. Tonight, ten individuals will be selected to sit at Madame’s table where she will discuss private plans on how to move forward.” The two said in unison. Everyone fell silent as more shadows appeared, each one sitting on the sides of the steps. Lights around the staircases began to light up, and people began making their way up the stairs.

“Well~ this should be fun.”

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A Wretched Love

A Gn!Durge X Gortash short fic.

Featuring Angst 💀

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An alternative outcome to the Gortash boss fight.

The first fic I’ve done in years so let's see how this goes :)!

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Bloodied and heavy is all this cursed body of yours felt as you clambered your way up another flight of steps, steps that felt…oddly familiar. Trailing behind you were your exhausted companions who had ever so generously lent their strength to aid you in every way they saw fit. They meant everything to you, such precious souls that you've fought to keep alive, not just from the enemies that dare stand in your path… but from this profound urge that leaves you ever so restless.

You've done so much just to get to this pivotal point, you've slaughtered his men, his noble warriors, and his onslaught of soldiers, all to get to Lord Enver Gortash. Strange how such a name fills a sweetness in your bitter tongue, a sweetness you can't help but wince at. Regardless, you shook the familiarity and strangeness aside, rushing forth to the final flight of steps. You're so close to victory, a victory that could put an end to the Absolute and the chaos it had wrecked in its path. Enraged and pumped to the bones with a blissful rush of sweet sweet adrenaline, you were ready to slice this man into pieces and revel in his blood.

And there he was.

Standing a few feet away from your bloodied hands.

For a moment your eyes widened, a strange pull tugging at your darkened heart that was enough to make you hurl if it weren't for the sheer stubborn will you carry. You froze as you gazed upon him, a tired visage you can't help but feel utterly fixated by. You've seen this face before… somewhere lost in the sea of forgotten memories, you've met those same tired eyes dozens of times. Still, you pressed on. You were this city's last hope were you not? This is what everything you've done has led, right?

“Gortash! Step forth and face me so! Allow my blade to pierce through your godforsaken body, let these walls be coated with the color of your damned crimson blood!” Your words were violent, a rumbling growl of malice directed toward the man before you, and yet in you stirred a barrage of emotions you couldn't possibly understand. You were angered, frustrated, hurt, and perhaps even confused. But he sensed it too. No, he did not confront you with a scowl or a prepared speech over breaking your shortly-formed alliance, the man was smiling. A horrid smile you wish you could just tear off his face.

“Ah. It’s been far too long since I've seen that fiery look in your eyes… that darkened urge to maul whoever was unlucky enough to meet your striking gaze. Oh, how I miss it.” He uttered ever so sweetly, his phrases akin to a soothing remedy that only seemed to cause you to choke on your own words. How dare he say such things? How dare he leave you so clueless, so lost, helpless to the loss of a forgotten past… a past that certainly involved him. You tried to still your frustrations, and your confusion, stepping closer with an unsheathed blade.

“Whatever I was to you. Whatever we were. It means nothing to me now! I will be put an end to this, I will do what I know must be right!” your words of conviction sounded more like a plea than anything else, a desperate cry that longs to put aside all these familiar feelings this man had placed upon you. No, you can't recall what you two had done or were… but everything about him sent you into a craze. You wanted to rip him apart, to curse him for all that he’s done to the city and your dearest friends but... Your hands, bloodied as they are they long to touch him. Still, you shake those cursed feelings rush through you, snarling at the sensation.

“Tell yourself whatever you wish, my dearest assassin. Lie to yourself. Blind yourself, try your hardest to claw your way out but we have shared far too much for you to truly forget… for your body to forget.” His whispers were sickening, sickening in ways that bewitched your entire being. Out of desperation, you lunged at him, slicing a cut through his luxurious robes, though he managed to save his own skin by missing just in time. His guards were all too ready to attack, moving to their master's aid and yet, he signaled for them all to halt.

Still, you were persistent, refusing to falter now. You've come too far to fall at the hands of a man whose tyranny couid have ruined this entire city. You drew your sword against him again, attempting to slice and tear pieces of his flesh just as you always do to your every foe and yet you couldn't hit him. It was as if he memorized your every move, exactly how you fought, exactly how your body would strike. It was a glorious dance of death. Your companions were left to stand back as they attempted to attack the guards who circled around their tyrannical Lord, allowing you and Gortash to focus on one another in a rather familiar proximity.

“Just as I remembered. Just as how I dreamed. You are as dreadful as the day I first met you. Just how many have you slain without me? Don’t tell me you've replaced me now.” He chimed, even laughing as he fought against you. A low growl found its way out of your lips, followed by the swing of your blade which Gortash could have so easily avoided yet again… but he did not. Blood began to drip down his chest as you finally were able to cut through his skin, his blood being the most beautiful kind you've ever seen. You shook at the thought of finding his blood beautiful, of finding him beautiful.

“Stop! Whatever it is you’re pouring into my mind! Stop this madness! I’ll cut your throat and dine on your bones like the worthless thing you are.” the words roared out your throat like a violent threat, enough to make anyone cower, anyone but Gortash himself. Instead, his smile only seemed to widen, his eyes brightening in ways you couldn't understand. That wasn't a look of hatred, that was a look of admiration, of enhancement, of desperate longing. Pure unrivaled longing. You couldn't stand it, you couldn't stand feeling so helpless around a man you swore to kill. With another swing of your blade, you continued to cut through his skin, your composure shattering bit by bit as cry after cry left your lips.

“And that would be the most magnificent thing you could ever give me. To have such an ethereal monstrosity such as you rip through my very heart once more…if I could only have you once more, if only you could cry out for me once more..” His words… so soft, words that were meant for you. He was smitten by your every move even if each strike was meant to hurt him. He was drawn to those bloodshot eyes and the trembling little growls that would leave your lips as if by nature. You felt as if you wanted to scream, to cry out, to pull out these confusing sensations you feel for the man who’s been happily bleeding out for you. It almost feels as if you've done this before as if you've made him bleed a dozen times and more…

For a moment, your eyes darted all about, finally taking in the massive room you and your companions stood within as you all fought and bled. A room that felt all too familiar to you. These stone walls and these blood-stained carpets… stained by your hands somehow if only you could remember. Those disgusting paintings you could have sworn you've passed by many times before and in the corner of your eye a soft bed whose bed frame is etched with deep claw marks of… are those yours?

All too suddenly, you were shoved up against those stoned walls by clawed fingers, snarling at the man who dared do such a thing to you. Writhing and clawing beneath his hands, you struggled to push him away from you. He was bleeding, bruised, and bloodied from your onslaught of attacks, and yet his smile never once disappeared. He was getting closer... Close enough to make your skin crawl. His scent was enough to drive you mad, an all too familiar scent that made you want to skin him in hopes of keeping such a precious scent to yourself.

“Oh, love. My wretched love. We could have been so good together. We could have moved mountains, we could have ruled this world, we could have been… us.” As charming as his words were you could feel a deep pain stir within him. He was smirking and yet pain was nestled within those dark eyes. He knew all too well that you wouldn't recall a thing, that all memories you may have had with this man were long gone, and yet… you could feel it. Like a cold haunting whisper that caressed your skin, your body, and perhaps even your heart could remember just how much this man meant to you, how much he once completed you. And the way he calls you his… the way that once upon a time perhaps you two were beyond mere allies or enemies.

You opened your lips to protest, to bark out every threat and insult that you could muster but they were silenced by a sudden tug of your hair and sharpened claws against your throat leaving nothing but a growl to rumble out your mouth. “We were unstoppable! We were a team! Through the hells and back we were by each other’s side. We were magnificent! We were above it all! Two Kings atop a golden throne! We waltzed through foul piles of rotting flesh and built towers out of our sheer brilliance! We were everything we could ever…” and for a brief moment, he hesitated to continue, not when both of your Gods looked down upon their chosen with weary eyes. He couldn't say such a thing… yet still, he pressed himself closer, clawing deep sweet cuts at your skin which only caused you to shriek. Even so, it all felt too good, such a wonderous feeling of chaotic bliss that you hadn't felt in so long. Both of you bleeding together, your breaths so close together. Somewhere deep within your heart no matter how much you deny it, you've been through this before. You’ve basked in each other’s unholy blood before.

“Enver. What was I to you?” You choked out through heavy sighs, the name rolling out the tip of your tongue like a forbidden pleasure. You've said this name a hundred times or even more, a name that even now despite all the memories you lack, leaves your body shuddering head to toe. Your blade was still pressed against his skin like a warning, a warning that if he came closer, close enough to reach your bloodied lips, he’d die. You couldn't let him get that close no matter how much you seemed to ache for it.

“You were mine. As I was yours.”

A sudden shiver ran up your spine at his confession, a confession so sweet it made you sick. You've come so far, and done so much to get here and it was taking everything within you to not drop your blade and fall into the arms of a man from your dreaded forgotten past. There was no denying it, both of you were pained beyond belief, lost in a flurry of sensations that left both of you breathless. Perhaps, in another life, things could have been better… perhaps you two could have been rulers of a rotting world, but not this one. Not anymore. The struggles you’ve gone through to resist The Dark Urge you felt coursing through your wicked blood were nothing compared to how insanely difficult it was to resist the treacherous embrace of Gortash. Your Enver.

In a final moment of sheer desperation, you finally mustered up the strength to pierce your blade through his body, heaving at the realization that you had just taken a life that at a certain point meant everything to you. His blood felt glorious against your skin, the life from his eyes slowly flickering as he gazed upon you with nothing but utter awe. Even in his final moments, hatred was something he never could have felt for you. You shook in fear for the first time in decades, grasping onto the man whose roughened hand gently began to graze the skin of your cheek. You did what had to be done… and yet you could not help but feel utterly broken. Shattered by the fact that even now, you’ll never understand just why your heart beats so intensely for him.

A sharp angered cry left you the moment the fondness buried deep within his eyes began to drain, a loss you couldn't possibly comprehend. All the people you've slaughtered and tormented throughout your life but why is it he that you cry for? All you wish to do now is claw at your own flesh and curse yourself for once again bloodying those sinful hands of yours with a sweet visage that long ago you used to long for. This battle was doomed from the start, you may have come one step closer to saving the world but would it ever be enough to fill the sudden void in your heart?

Gods above all, what has this man done to you?

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The Sunwalker's Gift

Synopsis: Legends say those who were cursed to live in the shadows are not lost. There is a ring, a ring of incredible power that allows its vampiric wearer to walk in the sun once more. If there is one thing you know, it is that Astarion—your partner, your lover—deserves to own this ring more than anyone. You put yourself in great danger to acquire it for him without his knowledge but in the end, you succeed. So now, what magical piece of jewellery would be more suitable to propose to the vampire spawn you want to spend the rest of your life with than this one?

A/N: Who’s the goose that’s on the loose…

Words: 1694 Warnings: so much fluff, mentions of smut, SPOILERS FOR ACT 3

Blood, tears, sweat, another suicide mission. The rusty ring in your hand almost appeared as if it hadn’t been worth it to risk your neck and sanity for it but appearances were deceptive. This unassuming piece of jewellery in your hand held the answer to Astarion’s prayers. The very object that had made this long and exhausting search so rewarding in the end.

He didn’t know about it yet. He had no idea you’d had a lead with this legendary object at all. And after months of relentless and disappointing searches, Astarion had all but decided the ring was just another myth created to mock him in his misery… to the very point you had begun to doubt your decision to stop him from finishing Cazador’s work and letting him ascend.

You took a deep breath, shaking your head to chase the thought away. No. Walking in the sun was not worth spoiling his mind, his very soul—regardless of the fact you would have never left his side. You’d decided that the night he had confessed his feelings for you. This man was to be yours, forever.

Now you’d give this ring a little bit of polishing, and a bath in vinegar and soap and then you were certain it would look as good as new. You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face, to see the first moment he slid it on his finger and stepped back into the daylight without tadpoles and sacrificed souls. Nervousness washed over you when you pictured your plan in your head but there was no doubt—only excitement and impatience.

Today would change his life for the better. Perhaps one day, if he so wished, you would even find a way to cure his vampirism altogether but for now, you wanted him to have this gift.

Your shared bedroom was empty, the sheets unmade and the smell of sex still lingering in the air. You were still getting used to the nocturnal lifestyle, of course. Staying up with him all night and sleeping during the day was messing with your inner body clock but it was a small price to pay to be with him.

The wooden door leading out to the balcony was open, the barest hint of light pouring through the gap. You approached it on bare feet, the hinges creaking when you pushed the door open further.

“There you are,” he mused without turning around. Astarion was leaning against the metal railing of the balcony, staring into the darkness. A few torches here and there lit the still-sleeping city as the sun began to crawl up from behind the hills, the chirping birds urging it on to start the morning. He truly was a sight to behold—shirtless and pale, even with the everlasting scars Cazador had inflicted on his back, you were overcome with the urge to drag him back to bed and have your way with him in an instant. You did that a lot these days—giving him pleasure upon pleasure without asking for anything in return. Astarion had learned in a rather rewarding way what your mouth and tongue could do for him. Teaching him to be intimate with you in a both consensual and sensual way was a task you were happy to pursue.

You hummed in response, walking up to him to sling your arms around his middle from behind, the ring hidden in the pocket of your morning robe. You pressed the side of your face against his back, his cold skin cooling your heated cheek.

He had been doing this a lot lately. Dragging out the final moments of the night, catching a glimpse of the sun and Baldur’s Gate below him before retreating to the shadows again to ensure his own survival. No more. You sighed.

“What is it, darling?”

“Nothing… I just… love you.”

Astarion chuckled—a barely audible sound coating your heart like sweet honey. At last, he turned around to face, your arms still wrapped around him. You had to look up to meet those crimson-red eyes and the gentle smile tugging on his lips.

“I love you too.”

“I don’t ever want to be apart from you again, my love.”

“Nor I from you,” he purred. His smile was gentle, genuine. You’d fought hard to make him drop that wall of feigned confidence and reveal the real feelings lying underneath. Now, you couldn’t get enough of it. “Let’s head back inside. I’m starting to feel… warm.”

“Just a moment, please.”

The vampire spawn raised his eyebrows but waited nonetheless.

“You said forever,” you went on, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Yes?” He dragged the word out and smirked, reciprocating your hug now; his palms resting against your waist. His closeness calmed your nerves, encouraging you without him knowing.

“I… I want forever to start now. I want us to belong to each other and I want everyone to know.”

“Oh my… you’re feeling quite poetic today, my sweet. I don’t object.”

The first sunbeams hit the stone floor of the balcony upon his playful teasing and you could tell that he was getting nervous, eager to flee to the bedroom to avoid the angry burns he expected any moment now.

With a deep breath, you freed yourself from his embrace and took a step back to get down on one knee. It was then you saw the surprise dominating his beautiful face, his lips parting. Determined, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the shiny ring, holding it out to him.

“Astarion Ancunín… will you make me the happiest woman of Faerûn and marry me?”

It took him a heartbeat to remember how to draw oxygen himself, it seemed. He muttered your name under his breath, red eyes fixed on the plain but powerful ring in your hands. He didn’t recognise it, of course, didn’t expect it to be what it was. He had no reason to believe that this unimpressive piece of jewellery was about to return something to him which should have never been taken in the first place.

“Marry you?” he repeated, almost unbelieving. “I… I do, love. I want… yes.”

Yes. You smiled, the weight of uncertainty falling from your shoulders at once. You took his hand in his, sliding the ring on his finger and rose to your feet again, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him.

Astarion melted into your affectionate treatment without hesitation, yet you could tell he was holding back. Uneasy, he pulled away.

“Darling, as much as I would like to savour this moment, could we celebrate our engagement inside?” He glanced at the sun rising higher and higher. Any second now the balcony would be fully submerged in its warm light.

Instead of responding to his plea, however, you only smiled at him. You were certain this would work—you had seen the ring in action after all, made sure it was safe before you took it to your love. You had met up with Dalyria, one of Astarion’s spawn siblings, in secret, only two days ago for this exact reason and she had volunteered to try the effects of the ring—saying it was the least she could do in return after Astarion had freed them.

“I need to get inside!” You reached for his hands when he panicked, holding him in place. Only seconds later, you were both drowned in the soft morning sunlight.

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut and flinched, expecting the burn and the pain the day brought him—but nothing happened. He remained standing, the sunbeams warming his skin.

“What… what is… how is this possible?” he breathed out.

“The Sunwalker’s Gift. It’s the ring, Astarion.”

His red eyes widened, disbelief swinging in his smooth voice as he looked down on his ring-clad finger to admire the shining piece of jewellery reflecting the sunlight. “But… but how? How did you get it?”

“The mage we found and spoke to contacted me a few weeks back. He put me in touch with a bard who meddled with vampires before—two of which, after a couple of pints, revealed that the ring was every vampire’s secret dream and rumoured to have been buried with a deceased vampire lord in the lands north of Rivington a couple of centuries ago. After that, the mage and I returned to do more research and discovered where his tomb is located.”

“And you went to this tomb… alone? Have you lost your mind? Gods, anything could have happened to you!” He was trying his best to be upset, truly. You had to hold back a giggle when his voice went a little high-pitched. It was flattering knowing that the only person this gorgeous man had ever truly shown honest concern for was you.

“I wasn’t alone, I promise. I had help. Halsin and Gale accompanied me.”

“Halsin I can understand. But… Gale?” He pretended to gag, eliciting another childish giggle from you. But then, his tone became more serious once again.

“You did this for me… I…” The very hint of an embarrassed laugh clung to his words. “I’m not sure I even deserve you.”

“You do. I love you. And you’re stuck with me now. You just agreed to be my husband, remember?”

“How could I?” Astarion muttered your name again. There was admiration and affection as it left his lips like a prayer. You had no doubt that part of him was still processing what this engagement ring really meant. It was too early still for joyous screams and running across the flower fields hand in hand. “Thank you. This is… I did not dare dream of this and yet you continue to surprise me. I just… thank you, my love.”

You nodded. “I told you all I want is for you to be happy. I would have turned every single rock in Faerûn to find this ring for you. Now come on. We have a long day ahead of us and a wedding to plan.”

Astarion smirked, his red eyes sparkling with joy, relief and affection. “Darling… there is nothing I’d like more.”

A/N: I am so crazy for him this is abnormal even for me. I'LL BE GETTING A GROUP PHOTO WITH THE WHOLE MAIN CAST AT MCM, I'M SO HYPED!

BLLK boys react to you breaking up with them and getting with a different boy:

Isagi Yoichi: genuinely wishes the best for you and hopes you find happiness :) fantasizes about your boyfriend dying to keep himself sane

Itoshi Rin: gets arrested for trying to murder your new boyfriend in the streets

Michael Kaiser: pastes your new boyfriend's face to the goal so he can kick footballs at it and spends thirty minutes every morning with bloodshot eyes gripping the edge of his sink and repeating that he's better than whatever ugly dweeb you're dating right now

Alexis Ness: also gets arrested for trying to murder your new boyfriend in the streets

Nagi Seishiro: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (cozy in bed)

Mikage Reo: sends you 100 voice texts every night begging you to take him back and stays up all night to make 100 different actionable plans about how to make you love him again

Chigiri Hyoma: engages in slow psychological warfare to destroy your boyfriend's self-esteem, like making sure to put on the 20 step skincare and haircare rountine when he knows he's going to run into your boyfriend so he can flip his floral scented hair into your boyfriend's face and remind your boyfriend that he is NOTHING compared to chigiri

what are the wolf thoughts. sharing is caring.

the thoughts were this,,,, and dilf twi,,,,, combined,,,, so tbh i dont think i really need to say anything for legal reasons 😁 so instead have my very incoherent thoughts on semi-feral (furry)! protective (territorial)! twi‼️

content warning/s.. this is me rambling. written with afab/fem reader in mind (BUT i think i kept it vague, so its more of a gn reader), possessiveness/territorial nonsense, not written with linked universe in mind, y'all remember the citrus scale? i do. (ending dips into lime territory)

i like to imagine that link kept some of his more inhumane traits after the events of twilight princess were all said and done. whether it be a parting gift from the twilight, or a side effect that came along with being a wolf, link never did enough investigating to find out what stayed, what left, or why.

his nose was better, so he could catch whenever a crop was bound to rot or flourish, so good for his stomach.

his eyes were better, so he could catch whenever the kids were making a fuss about something, so good for his mental well-being.

his ears were better, so he could hear whenever his herd were riling themselves up from the other side of the village, so good for his pockets.

all-in-all, he didn't really care to get rid of the side effects if they were going to be such a benefit to his work life— and even better for his personal and love life.

alongside rotting crops and his own post-work stench (yes, he is very self-ware, kudos to midna), link can smell a change you. whether it be a change in your emotions (pheromones were a tricky thing) or wherever you had wandered off after a particularly bad disagreement between the two of you— as rare as that was.

(he's been more ill-tempered as of late. seldom to you, more often to the adult villagers. always over something stupid like to little on an order of food and winter clothes not being thick enough.)

(something, something, the wolf has yet to fully leave him behaviorally, he guesses.)

it was a particularly bad spell between the two of you. link doesn't even remember what it was about and he wasn't keen on doing so. it was late and all he wanted was to apologize so you would return home, he could take being kicked to the couch if it meant you were in the vicinity.

his nose leads him to a darker part of the forest. the trees felt like they moved everytime you turned your back to them, working with the monsters to further trap you inside the woods.

bulbins always had a nasty smell; especially when it muddled and ruined yours.

it's a blur to link, really. it was like he was black out drunk, except rather than alcohol, something else ran through his veins.

there's the catching of your scent, the sprint to the forest, the blackout, and then there's you.

(you. you. you. youyouyouyouyouyouyouyouperfectyouwonderfulyouthereasonhestillbreathesyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyou—)

you're staring up at him with those big doe eyes of yours when he feels some semblance of himself again. he feels less like an animal and more like a person when he sees the way you're sitting against the tree, trembling, but not from fear.

he wipes away the stray bulbin blood as he checks you over for injuries, biting back gags of disgust and the urge to clean you then and there (mark. bite. claim. mark, bite, claim. matematematematemate—).

the way he feels is visceral when he sees your bruising skin, scrapes, and gashes.

it's suffocating when he pulls you into his arms, his tight grip making it hard to take a comfortable exhale. his face is buried against the side of your neck, a spot he's been more and more keen on paying attention to since he's returned home from his adventure.

his breathing grows heavy as he finally drops from his squat to kneel before you, hands traveling wherever they can reach after they pull you into his lap. they're heavy and would be overwhelming if you weren't used to the behavior.

his teeth make an appearance just as his hands make a dive beneath your clothes. he nips and nibbles the expanse of your skin while his hands squeeze whatever handfuls of flesh he's able to reach, the warmth and give of it working to further ground him.

(you were here, with him. alive. you loved him. you wouldn't be letting him handle you like this if you didn't love him. all he wanted was you. his spouse. his better half. the flame to his melting candle. the furnace that kept his home warm.)

(his mate.)

"link," you call when his nips turns into full on biting-and-sucking while his squeeze evolve into gropes and— goddesses, your voice is so angelic when you speak, he stops everything to stare up at you. the blues of his eyes barely visible with the way his pupils expand.

"i want to go home."

and home is where he takes you, hands gripping your thighs as he locks your legs around his hips and carries you home, lips pressing kisses to that spot on your neck that he can't get enough of, canines occasionally reintroducing themselves when he starts to feel greedy again.

idk idk thinkin about billy’s hands

the way his palms are rough and dry and his fingers have calluses that catch on your skin. his hands are always so warm, so gentle with you wherever they land on your body. he touches you like you’re the finest piece of pottery he’s ever been given, as if one wrong move could put a crack in your pretty glaze.

those same hands that slide soothingly down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the warm sun outside. he’s pressed against your back, his chest broad and firm behind you and you can feel billy’s breath behind your ear when he praises you. “good job, honey. keep your arms just like that, hm? and when you’re ready, you squeeze that trigger. don’t just pull on it,” he tells you. his voice drops even lower as his touch skims down your back slowly, then his long fingers are curling around either side of your waist. “squeeze it,” billy whispers, his grip bearing down on your body. squeezing you.

you take a deep breath and aim as best you can at the glass bottle perched on the fence post, carefully squeezing the trigger on his revolver. the shot rings out and kicks you back just a little, but billy’s right there behind you to keep you steady. the green glass shatters and you hear his delighted chuckle, feel his lips peppering kisses along your cheek and jaw.

“look at that, baby! you’re a natural,” billy praises. “my girl’s gonna take my title, huh? fastest gun in the west?” it makes you giggle, such happiness and pride radiating from the man you adore so much. his words make your cheeks flush with heat every time he calls you his girl.

billy uses those hands you never stop thinking about to gently pull his revolver from your grip, setting it aside to spin you around so you can face him. his hat blocks the sun from both of your faces where he stands, and his eyes match the shade of the sky. he brings his hands up to cup your jaw, brushing his thumbs along your cheeks reverently.

“what’s that pretty blush for, baby?” he asks, voice airy and sweet. the corner of his mouth ticks up in a grin. he dips his head down just enough to kiss your cheek, then smiles and presses a matching one to the other side. “is it ‘cus i called you my girl?” he teases, delight running through him as you make a little sound in the back of your throat. he loves to rile you up, make you putty in his hold. “think i ain’t noticed how you get all shy on me when i say it? its just about the cutest thing i could ever imagine.”

one hand continues to hold your jaw and you don’t even realize you’ve tipped your head into his touch, leaning your cheek into his palm like a cat being given affection. his other hand goes to brush away a strand of hair that came loose in the breeze. billy’s hands are so strong, have caused so much damage in his young life. they’ve worked hard and played even harder. his hands are steady, quick. your gunslinger.

“you are my girl, ain’t you? c’mon, honey, say it. please?” billy asks with a pretty grin.

“yeah, billy. i’m your girl.”

billy who loves calling you pet names

“hey, sweetheart,” he whispers as he pulls you into his body the moment he finds you in the bar. he dips his head to brush the tip of his nose along your cheek affectionately. he lifts one hand to brush your hair away from your face gently, his eyes taking their time to scan over your face adoringly. his long fingers splay over your back with his free hand, the warmth from them seeping in through your blouse to heat your skin. he always runs so hot.

and

“m’fine. just a scratch, honey,” billy tells you as you clean the blood from his skin. he’s sat on your bed while you kneel to him, tending to the rough wound where a bullet had grazed his ribcage. the idea that it could have embedded itself, pierced into his lung or otherwise important organs, made your hands tremble. he catches your chin and lifts your face to look up at him, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “i’m alright. promise.”

and

“look at me, angel. let me see those pretty eyes on me, hm?” as he presses you down, down, down into his mattress. his bare skin slides against your own, his soft pants and quiet moans filling your ears. his hips rock into yours with more control than you would have guessed he would have. “my sweet girl,” he coos, arms caging you in. and maybe it would feel trapping, ensnaring to be at the mercy of one of the most feared outlaws this side of the mississippi river. but it doesn’t. it feels safe.