#(this is where green remains for the time being)

[cadavercowboy]

O Come, All Ye Frightful

Art The Clown x Reader | WC: 5.3k+ | Explicit Content

Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Santa actually comes way more than once a year. Warnings: 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI. Idk this entire thing feels slightly sacrilegious. Art being criminally hot in the Santa suit while behaving like a Certified Freak. Slightly dubious consent. Handjob. Premature ejaculation. Multiple orgasms (his refractory period is non-existent). Cum as lube. Unprotected sex. Rough sex. Choking & breath play. Degradation if you squint really hard. A/N: In the words of my iconic king...ho, ho, UH OH🎄Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and so on and so forth. <3

The clock hands finally crawl their way past 7pm and you sigh tiredly, knowing you’ll soon be freed from this hellish holiday prison. Christmas music plays quietly from the speaker system and you mouth the words mockingly, tired of hearing the same dozen or so songs repeat over and over during each shift. Between rude, entitled customers and the unruly hordes of children screaming their heads off for a chance to beg a fake Old Saint Nick for crap they definitely don’t need, you’ve just about had your fill of the season.

Outside the store, the rest of the deserted shopping mall has been left in engulfing shrouds of pitch-blackness; the other closed-down and empty shops like a line of pocket-sized abysses. It’s Christmas Eve and everyone else has shut their doors early to spend time with loved ones. You should be home too, but your boss is a heartless prick.

You huff with annoyed boredom, bent over beside the register with your elbows planted atop the counter and your palms cradling your chin. It’s been dead for hours—not a single customer in sight—but you’ve been forbidden to leave until the mall officially closes for the night. A quick glance at the clock says that’ll be in about an hour or so. Just beyond the entryway, a flurry of movement near the floor catches your attention and you lean over the counter to see what it is. 

The dingy strands of an old mop sweep into view and your eyes trace along the wooden handle until they land upon Mike, clad in his loose-fitting uniform. His long legs bring him into view with stuttered steps as he cleans the tiled floors. He spares you a quick glance and a wave which you return, trying to hide your obvious disappointment in the presence of the headphones planted firmly over his ears. You’d kill for some conversation right now. 

Aside from the janitor’s brief visit and the flash of someone dressed all in red in the distance, you’re certain the building is otherwise totally vacant. With that in mind, you decide to pack it up just a little early. What your boss doesn’t know won’t kill him, you muse.

Your back is turned as you straighten merchandise and lock the door to the rear exit, rendering you completely unaware of the noiseless presence lurking and watching you from just around the corner. When you close out the register, your head is buried in the drawer and your attention is too focused on what you’re doing to notice the tall figure which glides sneakily past the shop.

You flip the switches near the door and step outside, reaching over your head to pull down the steel security gate. The heavy contraption slams shut with a resounding clang and you crouch with your key in hand to lock it in place. From your stooped position, you spot a small puddle and several oddly-shaped droplets splashed across the tile floor beneath you; the substance opaque and viscous. You hum contemplatively, knowing Mike had been by not long ago to mop and wondering where the mystery liquid could have come from. With a dismissive shrug, you stand back up and turn to head for your usual exit, the only door you know will still be unlocked at this hour.

A single row of recessed lights remain lit overhead, lending a somewhat spooky atmosphere to the abandoned concourse. You reach up to whip the red-and-green felted elf hat off of your head, the decorative gold bell jingling as you shove it into the pocket of your matching dress. A pair of tight, flesh-toned stockings hug your legs and you long to peel them off. While the uniform is fun and festive, this year you’re feeling decidedly not. In fact, you’d go as far as to deem yourself unjolly. Even as you absently hum along to the tune still filtering through the mall, you aren’t feeling your usual holiday joy.

Passing through the food court, you approach the center of the mall where the massive North Pole backdrop still stands, illuminated beneath the silvery halo of a light that never gets turned off. You laugh to yourself, wondering whether a selfie inside Santa’s sleigh in your silly costume might help to prompt some Christmas cheer. You'd deemed yourself too old to take a photo with the man himself during business hours, but you still deserve to have a little fun on your own time, you suppose.

With renewed energy, you traipse towards the yuletide scenery where you find the zig-zagging velvet ropes blocking your way, but easily slip beneath the blockade between two posts. Once you’ve entered the empty queue, you spy a comically large pair of black boots sticking up from inside the sleigh—propped casually on the curled front. Your heart stops at the exact moment the ambient music cuts off and the wide-open space falls eerily silent. It would appear you aren’t as alone as you thought.

A familiar red hat peeks over the back of the cushioned bench seat and you approach cautiously, admittedly hoping to find the rosy-cheeked man who usually occupies the sleigh. Maybe you’ll be permitted to take a photo with Santa after all, as childish as the notion may be. 

What you actually find is alarmingly opposite of what you expected. The face tucked beneath the fur-rimmed hat isn’t jolly or round, nor is it warm or welcoming. It’s harsh and angular, painted in a stark black-and-white motif; seemingly done up for the wrong holiday altogether. A long, lithe body clad in all the trappings of a traditional Santa suit reclines leisurely in the sleigh, crowding the confined space as if he belongs there. Blackened lips wrap around the blunt tip of a candy cane and upon hearing your startled gasp, a pair of pure white eyes—spectral and inhuman—lock onto your face. The darkened pupils shine like two specks of coal.

Art’s expression twists into one of genuine surprise, having not expected you to come across him quite so soon. Your eyebrows flick upwards and he mirrors the gesture, waiting with barely restrained excitement as the wave of confusion contorting your face is swiftly replaced with the tell-tale signs of apprehension he knows and loves. His stomach knots with gleeful anticipation.

“S-sorry,” you laugh, awkward and breathy. “I thought you were Santa.”

The clown immediately hurls the peppermint candy aside and his oversized shoes come down with a loud thud as he hastily sits upright in the sleigh. Art points frantically to the massive banner overhead that bears the namesake, then gestures to himself; seemingly wanting to indicate that he is in fact Santa Claus. You can only chuckle in amusement, but when he emphatically waves in an attempt to have you join him where he sits, you realize he isn’t joking. 

Your smile falters only a little and with a dismissive lift of your hand, you attempt to politely decline his request. Art is not pleased with this response so he childishly stamps his feet and crosses his arms over his chest as he regards you with an exaggerated and churlish pout. When he tries crooking a beckoning finger in your direction, an actual laugh escapes unbidden. His surly expression of disappointment softens slightly at the sound and his hope renews. He attempts once more to entice you, this time patting a velvet-clad thigh with his hand and even offering an inviting if not unsettling smile.

Something about the animated stranger intrigues you and you find yourself compelled to accept the clown’s invitation. You relent with some hesitation, smoothing your palms over the knee-length skirt of your elf dress and shuffling timidly towards the sleigh. Art can hardly contain himself and twists his body, looking swiftly from side to side as if struggling to remain calm and seated. You lift your foot onto the raised platform and slide your way into the tight space with him.

Art continues to wiggle back and forth restlessly, his knees pressed tightly together as he pats them excitedly with both hands before eventually straightening his spine and adjusting himself until his posture is stiff and proper. A rush of air bursts from your nose as you laugh nervously. The celebratory clapping of his palms is muffled slightly by his fingerless gloves as he waits for you to plant yourself in his lap. You do so gingerly, lowering yourself with as much finesse as you can manage and situating your bottom at the very edge of Art’s bony knees.

You’re perched awkwardly only for a moment because Art promptly yanks you in, spreading his own legs so abruptly that you nearly tumble to the floor of the sleigh between his feet. The jarring movement forces you to reach out, grabbing onto his shoulder with one hand to balance yourself as he wraps an arm around your waist and uses the other hand to nestle both of your legs between his parted thighs. Your hip is so close to his body, you can feel the warmth emanating off of him and notice a distinct lack of the customary belly you’d normally expect to find beneath the velvety soft suit.

“Sorry,” you apologize a second time, clearing your throat with a smile and another awkward chuckle as you fold your hands in your lap. “This is probably weird...me sitting on a grown man’s lap.”

Art responds with a scandalized, open-mouthed frown and a firm shake of his head that makes the white pom-pom sewn at the end of his hat flop back and forth. He blinks his eyes rapidly and swishes a gloved hand in your direction, effectively batting away your concerns. It’s clear he finds little issue in having you perched on his thigh. 

When Art leans uncomfortably close, you stiffen, though he pays it no mind and peers around your shoulders to look at one of the props which comprise the festive scene. It’s a crooked sign whimsically nailed to a red-and-white striped pole that begs the question: What Do You Want For Christmas? He sweeps his hand towards the signage—inviting and expectant—prompting you to provide an answer.

“Hmm,” you stall, having not expected the creepy clown to go through all the motions of the mall Santa experience. You shift with a huff and his arm tightens around you as his other hand pats the outside of your thigh in what you suppose is meant to be some semblance of encouragement. It only serves to distract, filling your head with a disorienting buzz at the near-intimate closeness of this complete stranger. “Guess I haven’t really given it much thought.”

He considers your admittance for a moment, his face slack and pensive before he shrugs. Art releases his hold on your thigh in favor of diving a hand into a pocket in the pants of his red suit. To your surprise, out comes an artfully weathered scroll of paper that he unrolls with a quick flick of his delicate wrist. Evidently another prop, it contains names written in two columns—apparently a naughty and nice list. Art tips his head towards the paper and regards you inquisitively, as if asking which side you belong on.

“Well, I think the nice list,” you offer, happily playing along. “But I’m not entirely sure what it would take to end up on the naughty list.”

The clown tilts his head and regards you like a predator, grinning salaciously and wagging his thinly-drawn eyebrows in a way that causes an undeniable heat to stir low in your belly. You squirm in the clown’s lap and he playfully squeezes your leg just above your knee. Your cheeks prickle with something you’d rather not acknowledge and suddenly you can no longer meet Art’s pale gaze. Endeavoring to assuage your growing discomfort, you redirect your attention back to why you’d come over here in the first place.

“Would you mind if I took a picture of us?” you inquire politely. 

Art acquiesces quite gladly and frantically nods in agreement, his obvious enthusiasm making you smile. You shift your weight to access the deep pocket of your costume and his colorless eyes follow your every move. 

“You don’t talk very much, do you?” 

The conversational question somehow sounds more invasive out loud than it had in your head and you turn to dig around determinedly in your pocket so as to disguise the way you cringe. Luckily, your phone slides out and brings with it the floppy elf hat you’d shoved in there earlier, leaving no time for Art to respond. Not that he would.

The clown moves swiftly, snatching the crumpled felt hat and violently unfurling it with a loud jingle. His mouth forms a perfect circle of delight and he gives the hat several more shakes just to hear the musical tinkling before lifting both arms to gently fit it over the top of your head.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” you say, bending to allow him better access and smirking when he playfully flicks the little gold bell sewn on the end.

He adjusts the hat to his liking, then taps a single long digit on the tip of your nose. You duck your head bashfully, though he doesn’t allow you to hide for long. Two slender fingers hook under your chin and he lifts you by the jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes in a silent stare that stretches on until your pulse increases and your entire body grows hot.

Turning your attention to the phone clutched in your fingers, you beg your hands not to shake as you open the camera app and lift the device to align both yourself and Art in the frame, making sure to include the beautifully decorated tree in the background. The clown is so large, you have to extend your arm to its limit in order to fit him. As you do, his eyes meet your own in the image reflected on the screen and he draws his body even closer to yours. One of his hands drop into your lap and the other rests gently against your lower back. You swallow loudly. 

“Smile,” you command softly, struggling to make your lips lift in a gesture that doesn’t reflect the conflicting feelings of trepidation and attraction brewing within you.

Art’s grin slashes across his face in an instant, a wide set of teeth suddenly emerging from behind his inky lips. His ghostly eyes burst open and his eyelids all but disappear with the exaggerated stretch of his face. The abrupt appearance of the severe expression makes your stomach curl with unease, but you cannot deny the way the thrilling glimmer of fear settles somewhere a little further down.

You snap a couple of photos, then switch the angle to capture a few more. When you drop your arm slightly, Art repositions himself as well. With the hand that had settled in your lap, he reaches up to cup your chin and draw your face nearer to his. This close, your senses cloud with nothing but the clown: the earthy scent of grease paint mixed with something spicy, the warmth of his nearness and touch, the subtle whisper of his steady breathing.

His painted skin is unexpectedly soft when it rests against your own and he goofily purses his lips against your cheek like a teenage girl taking a silly selfie. While the pose appears playful, the painful way his fingertips pinch the flesh of your face against the firm edge of your jawbone is anything but. Shock zings through your body, though the heat it carries isn’t due entirely to surprise. Art holds you with unrelenting force and your smile weakens even further as you fire off several more snapshots.

Before you can lower your phone, Art’s hand ventures from the small of your back until it settles between your shoulder blades. Its counterpart finally falls away from your face, instead reaching for the illuminated screen and switching over to a video before returning to firmly encircle your throat. Your breath catches and you suddenly feel as though you may overheat. The furry cuff of his suit presses against your cleavage, the synthetic material quickly absorbing the warmth that rolls off of your body in waves. Your hand shakes so much, you doubt the recording will even be watchable.

When Art turns his head, the tip of his pointed nose drags sensually along your jaw and his grinning mouth opens with an audible slickness. Humid puffs of breath skitter along your hypersensitive flesh, a prelude to the wetness of his tongue wriggling lasciviously along your cheek and up towards your temple.

You’re paralyzed—arm still hovering parallel to the floor—frozen beneath the disbelief of Art’s seductive attention and held still by the increasing pressure surrounding your neck. You know you should tell him to stop or push him away, but you just can’t bring yourself to put an end to the suggestive way he holds you prisoner and samples the saltiness of your skin.

As quickly as he licked your face, Art stops and you cease filming with your phone, hardly able to comprehend what you’ve just recorded. His mouth snaps shut with force and his hands slip away from your body as if burned by the contact. To your surprise, he carries on as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened and steadies you in his lap as he pitches to one side.

Reaching into a bag stashed near his feet, Art presents you with a single candy cane. Your head is still reeling from the hot, wet drag of his tongue across your skin and it takes a moment for your brain to catch up to what your eyes are seeing. The hooked confection is waved tantalizingly in front of your face before you manage to raise a hand and accept it.

“T-thank you,” your words emerge barely a breathy whisper. 

The cellophane crinkles slightly in your grasp and you robotically stuff your phone back into your pocket. Your body moves on autopilot as you plant your feet and shift to stand, but Art’s sinewy arm bands around your waist and crushes you right back into his lap. It seems to jostle you from your stupor and you blink several times before turning to face the mysterious clown. He reaches out and snatches the candy cane from your hand, causing you momentary concern that you’ve done something to offend him by trying to leave. 

He proceeds to methodically unwrap the candy with theatrical flair, then holds it out to you, indicating a desire for you to eat it here and now. You hum in understanding and attempt to take the candy cane, however Art pulls it away with a chiding look and instead directs it towards your mouth himself. Staring incredulously, you watch with niggling suspicion as the clown nods in encouragement, a glint of something sinister flickering in his white irises. 

Your lips part obediently and though you do so somewhat clumsily, you lean forward and—as requested—allow the candy to slip into your mouth. Sweet peppermint flavor bursts across your taste buds and your mouth instantly begins to water. Art studies you with unflinching and steadfast attention as he feeds you, his pupils expanding into deep, dark pools of hunger. While the act is bizarre and slightly humiliating, you find yourself inexplicably turned on; exhilarated by the pleased way in which Art’s open-mouthed expression seems to silently praise your compliance. 

Perhaps it’s how intimately close you are to his monochrome face or the way he shamelessly watches the lewd swirling of your tongue with such rapt, appreciative awe, but you find yourself clenching your thighs in an attempt to quell the sudden wetness blooming between your legs. Art takes notice of your restless predicament and his body responds in kind, blood rushing to his loins where he begins to harden against you.

Without warning, Art yanks the candy cane from your mouth, giving no thought to the way the sharp, hard sugar scrapes painfully along your bottom lip. He plunges the spit-sheened end of it into his own mouth, savoring the taste of you and coating it with his own saliva before carelessly shoving it past your now-bleeding lips once more. 

You’re unsure what possesses you to behave so wantonly, but you lock eyes with the clown and practically swallow the narrow cylinder of candy whole; being mindful of the slight point your sucking had formed, but taking it deep into your mouth until your lips meet the tips of Art’s fingers where he holds the curved end of the candy cane. For good measure, you even let out a throaty moan that shatters the quiet of the empty mall. 

His drawn-on eyebrows raise so high, they disappear behind the furry brim of his hat and his mouth rounds into a humorous circle of facetious astonishment. This time, he removes the candy cane from your lips more gently, ignoring the thin strand of saliva that follows it. With the list he had procured earlier back in hand, Art takes the pointed end of the candy cane and uses it as a pencil, pretending to add your name to the naughty column. He smiles proudly and fakes a hearty laugh before blindly tossing the props over his shoulder.

You lick your sticky, bloody lips and try once more to slide off of Art’s lap. When he latches onto you this time, something noticeable shifts in his demeanor. Whether it is the darkening of his eyes or the muscles in his body growing taut and coiling like a beast prepared to pounce, it is blatant and frightening. Your skin prickles with apprehensive awareness, though your aching center doesn’t seem to receive the same message. 

A breathy cry escapes you when Art harshly twists your body around, pulling you away from his thigh and settling you directly over his pelvis where you immediately feel an unmistakable ridge of firmness through the thin material of his suit. You have no choice but to allow all of your weight to rest against him as Art holds you down and begins to grind against your ass. He isn’t testing your reaction to his advances like you might have expected, rather the distinct lack of shyness in the unhurried rotation of his hips indicates something more like a warning of what’s to come.

Unsure what else to do with your idle hands, you reach behind yourself and brace either palm on the clown’s writhing hips. Your biceps quiver with the effort to ease at least some of your weight off of Art’s lap, but he’s having none of it. He yanks you down fully and even parts his thighs wider to facilitate more contact between your body and his painfully hard erection. You’re overcome with your own bout of carnal need and reciprocate his enthusiasm, swiveling your hips with determined precision.

Art has only known physical contact though the occasional struggle of a terrified victim’s body against his own and this new sensation is totally foreign to him. The stimulation is overwhelmingly pleasant—a particular faction of indulgent self-gratification yet unfamiliar to him—and he leans into the strangeness of it. His body’s reaction is swift and imminent. Art’s arms twine around you with disconcerting strength that renders you immobile, practically squeezing all the air from your lungs as a powerful shiver wracks his trembling body.

The clown makes no sound, but he hotly exhales the relief of his release against the back of your sweat-dampened neck. His hold is unrelenting, trapping you close to the solid heat of his lanky frame for a moment longer until he recovers. However, his composure does not return and instead he’s burdened with a new and curious hunger which instantly begs to be sated.

Art presses both hands to your lower back and shoves you forward onto his right knee, creating enough space between your bodies to access the elastic waistband of his crimson costume. His gloved hands move with grace and speed, easily freeing himself from the suffocating velvet prison. The consuming fire in your belly beckons you to turn and look at him and in doing so, you fan the flames into a raging inferno of desire.

A light sheen of sweat decorates the narrow sliver of skin that is visible between the disheveled halves of the rumpled Santa suit. Beads of cum still ooze from the tip of his length and evidence of his orgasm smears messily along the pale skin of a thick and still visibly hard cock. With lust-driven bravery, you reach for it, desperate to feel the solid heat of the turgid flesh against your palm and yearning to quench a lecherous thirst of your own.

The tacky streaks of Art’s release wet your skin as you grip his swollen dick and give him an experimental squeeze. You slide your fisted hand from the reddened, shiny tip all the way down the veiny shaft until your knuckles meet the cum-matted thatch of hair at the base. The engorged appendage throbs noticeably in your grasp and Art’s shoulders drop as he throws his head back. His white irises roll and disappear behind his hooded eyelids, his body thrashing with stilted, stuttered jolts as your fingers tighten and you take advantage of the glide of his slick spend to begin steadily jerking him off. 

When your thumb sweeps over the sensitive head, Art flinches at the stimulation and a milky rope of cum spills lazily from the slit. The warm strand of seed splashes across the back of your hand and in a flash, he’s rudely batting your sticky fingers away from his cock with a sharp slap. 

You’ve barely recovered from the harsh contact when his spindly fingers delve under your skirt and tear at your tights until the delicate threads come apart and allow him access to your panties which he yanks unceremoniously down your thighs, the garment tangling in the torn stockings still wrapped around your legs. Art’s hands dig claw-like into the flesh of your upper arms, brutishly twisting and turning you as he pleases; dragging you back into his lap so he can lift your hips high enough to notch the tumescent head of his cock at your center. 

A grating cry rips from your throat and echoes through the cavernous building when you’re violently yanked down and stretched with sudden force around Art’s erected cock. Though unprepared for the size of him, your cunt swallows the clown’s length with little trouble. As your lips part with an unbridled cry of ecstasy, your cheeks sting with shame at how the flood of moisture leaking from your core eases the harsh penetration, the momentum of you taking Art’s cock halted only on account of his considerable girth.

Finally managing to get your feet under you, you scramble to escape the dizzying pressure and overwhelming penetration so you can catch your breath, but Art refuses to allow you a single second of reprieve. He stands abruptly without ever pulling free of your relenting body, sinking his cock unbelievably deeper as he bends you over the curved front of the sleigh. Your elbows crash painfully into the hard surface when you attempt to catch yourself before your face makes contact. As you adjust your position, your hips drop in a way that forces the bulbous head of Art’s length to grind against you with blinding pleasure and your knees grow weak.

With your eyes pinched shut against the onslaught of sensations, you can’t see Art reaching towards the massive Christmas tree to unravel a length of perfectly-strewn ribbon. He yanks the metallic gold material free and gives it a dramatic twirl through the air before lashing it across your back the same way Santa whips his trusty team of reindeer, ushering you to continue writhing so willingly along his slippery cock.

Art quickly grows bored of that and instead takes the ribbon between two fists with a flourish while he continues to thrust leisurely; burying his cock to the root then slowly, tortuously, and teasingly dragging it back out until only the tip remains within your spongy walls. He reaches over your head with the ribbon, taking advantage of your parted mouth to wedge the scratchy material between your lips. It pulls taut and settles between your teeth, becoming the perfect means for Art to wrench your head back at an uncomfortable angle. His eyes widen comically when they meet yours upside down in a taunting stare, holding your gaze hostage as he starts to fuck you mercilessly.

Mounting you like a feral animal, Art becomes desperate with the need to wreck you wholly; driven by the desire to possess and consume you. His hips surge with unforgiving and powerful thrusts that have his heavy balls slapping your clit with each stroke.

You call out on every deep drive of his cock, the unsteady and unpredictable rhythm sending you into a tailspin of pleasure that robs you of the ability to breathe. Drool and tears spill down your face, the harried sounds he forces from you catching in your throat as you gasp for air. The hat crammed down on your head falls sideways, its cadenced jingling a derisive reminder of the depraved things the clown is inflicting on you.

Before long, the frenzied push and pull of his cock isn’t enough for Art and his lips split with a snarl, his teeth bared in a savage display of greed. Nothing but complete surrender will satisfy him and only total ruin could fulfill his recently unmasked libido. He wants to watch you fall apart and the evil motive shines brightly in his unsettling eyes.

Using your tongue, you force the spit-soaked material from your mouth so it falls around your neck. Art gathers it in one hand and pulls tight, fashioning the glittery ribbon into a sort of noose that begins to choke you out. While the position of your head is more comfortable, the lack of oxygen certainly isn’t.

Your grow light-headed both from the inability to breathe and the unrelenting grind of Art’s fat cock. With his unoccupied hand, he grabs your waist with bruising pressure and pins you in place so he can curl his towering frame over top of you. Blanketed beneath the heat and heft of the impassioned clown, your ribcage presses agonizingly against the edge of the sleigh and you can do nothing but accept Art’s brutal usage of your body.

Bending his knees, he leverages his height to fuck up into you with rapid and shallow thrusts before he cruelly buries every inch of himself inside you. Your slick walls spasm around the thick, veiny intrusion as an orgasm slams through you. Art cums with you as your pussy ripples and squeezes, but he has no intention of relenting. He ruts wildly against your ass, fucking you harder and faster until your juices spill around him and your combined fluids form a creamy ring around the throbbing base of his cock.

You bite back a scream when Art pulls out of you with a vindictively mimed laugh. The sudden termination of your pleasure sends you tumbling to the ground on unsteady legs that refuse to hold you up any longer. Twisting as you fall, you’re met with the sight of Art looming tall and ominous above your crumpled form. With his thickening cock in hand, he fists himself like a madman, crowding over you just in time to paint your face with yet another burst of cum. Ropes of opaque fluid splatter messily over your features.

The clown gives his length several harsh shakes, managing to flick a few more measly drops of his release onto your stained skin. Your face twinkles and sparkles in the light coming from overhead, appropriately looking like flecks of snow melted on your cheeks and lips. Clapping happily above you, Art offers you a rather proud thumbs-up of approval, deciding you fit in rather perfectly with the rest of the festive decor.

David Howard Thornton Masterlist || Writing Masterpost

[erosmutt]

　★　𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧　⨟　𝗗. 𝗩𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

👥﹐𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ﹒Darth Vader x apprentice!reader

����﹐𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 ﹒Breaking the rule of two is alright as long as it's his pretty little apprentice - she's the only one Vader will let see him out of his suit.

♰﹐𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ﹒standing sex, sex up against the bacta tank so not really wall sex but eh, Vader refers to reader as "little one" in an affectionate sense﹒

🎼﹐𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 ﹒Angel ⋆ Massive Attack

ਏਓ 𝒃𝒏𝒖𝒖𝒚'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 : unrealistic, he has his limbs in the bacta tank and he's managing without his suit for a bit . for @lacebird <3 // MY KO-FI

The stark grey corridors of the Death Star stretch on endlessly, the only color ever added being the occasional stormtrooper on patrol or an Imperial officer making his way to a meeting. It's sterile, oppressive, and you absolutely despise it. The Imperial Palace is where you would much rather reside, and you make a point to mention it every chance you get.

With a low hiss, the door to a chamber hardly entered opens and you step inside, your robes flowing. A massive, cylindrical tank rests on a raised platform - a bacta tank. The green liquid inside churns gently, illuminating the room with a dim, eerie, somewhat ethereal glow. Within is your Master, Darth Vader, his scarred body submerged in the healing fluid, the only time he ever seems somewhat at peace.

You take a moment to compose yourself as you step up to the bacta tank, your robes rustling softly with each step. Your eyes are fixed on him, filled with a mix of curiosity and deep concern. As you reach the tank, you press your soft hand against the glass, feeling the warmth of the healing liquid on the other side. Your heart races as you gaze upon his scarred body, the evidence of countless battles fought and pain endured etched into his very flesh. You've often found yourself wondering about the stories behind each mark, each wound, but Vader has always remained stoically silent when you've dared to ask.

A small sigh escapes your lips and your mouth trembles slightly as you begin to speak. "Master," you whisper, your eyes never leaving his form submerged in the bacta. "Is there anything I can do for you while you rest?" Your hand lingers on the glass, fingers tracing the outline of his form through the liquid, a small, sad smile playing on your lips. "You know you can always talk to me, Master," you add, your voice filled with gentle encouragement and unwavering devotion.

Suddenly, Vader's eyes open, piercing you with their intense gaze. The top of the tank hisses softly, lifting open. He rises from the tank, water cascading down his muscular body in rivulets. He removes the mask and takes a deep breath of fresh air, standing there nude and imposing. "What do you want, apprentice?" He asks, voice a deep, commanding rasp. He takes a step towards you, his presence beginning to overwhelm you in the small chamber. Your breath catches in your throat, equal parts fear and exhilaration coursing through your veins.

"I just wanted to check on you, Master," You murmur, hands coming to fold together in front of you. His eyes rake over your body, taking in every curve and swell, further committing them to memory. "And now?" He asks, closing the distance between you. He towers over you, heat radiating off his body, power emanating off him. Your heart pounds in your chest, your cheeks flushing as your Master leans down, still too tall to come eye to eye with you. "You want something else, yes?"

Vader's hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. As your hands find his biceps, you can feel the hard plane of his body, the strength in his muscles, the heat of his skin. Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that takes your breath away. His tongue delves into your mouth as his cybernetic hands roam your body, mapping every dip and curve like a starved man.

His cold hands gather your robes before sliding underneath them, kneading the soft flesh, thumbs brushing over your hardening nipples. You gasp as he pinches them, robes falling to the floor, leaving you bare and exposed to the cold air. His golden orbs take in your body, his right hand sliding down and dipping into your leggings and between your thighs, his fingers finding your slick heat. "Say my name," he murmurs against your lips.

"Master," you gasp as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he turns the both of you around and puts your back up against the bacta tank. Your eyes meet his, breath coming in short pants, body aching for him. "Master,"

With a swift motion, he tears your bottoms apart, leaving you exposed. A deep, rasping breath leaves his chest as he sheathes himself inside you in one smooth thrust, your tight cunt stretching around his thick shaft. "Maker!" You cry, nails raking across his shoulders and down his thick arms. He pauses, giving you a moment to adjust before he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, setting a harsh rhythm.

"Gods," he whispers, head dipping down to your neck, nose brushing against your soft skin. His hands move down to grip your ass, lifting you higher to change the angle, hitting that spot deep inside that makes you see stars. He pounds up into you with abandon, the bacta tank shaking with the force of his thrusts. A low, guttural moan rumbles from Vader's chest as he buries himself deeper, and he can feel your slick walls fluttering around him, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing in the small chamber.

His breathing grows heavier, the air in the room growing hotter. As you tighten around him, he can sense your impending orgasm and he redoubles his efforts, chasing his own high. The tank shakes and the bacta inside sloshes, some spilling over and splashing onto your skin. With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his warm seed into your waiting womb. he groans, long and low, body shuddering with the force of his release.

Vader holds you close as you both come down from your highs, his softening cock still inside of you. He nuzzles your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He pulls out of you slowly, the both of you watching as his cum begins to drip out of you. In a daring move, you reach down and gather a bit on your fingertips, bringing them up to your mouth and tasting him before reaching down again and gently stuffing his cum back in.

He sets you down on shaky legs, hands holding your hips to steady you. "Go and rest, little one." He murmurs, making a silent promise to come check on you later. "Yes Master," you respond, tugging your robes down over yourself. You lean up and press a soft kiss to his bicep before turning away and leaving, the door to the chamber hissing shut behind you.

@102hannah @addictedtohobi @literally-izzy @bimbo-baggins17 @brooklynb8by

@jameskellysgirl @lovebunanon @speaknow-sw @anakinstwinklebunny@vrby9

@zapernz @jediavengers @enchant5d @trippyhippywitch @valloos

@piastricentric @gallerygourmet @anakinsbbgirl @ilovekmchenzie @gabsskkk

@s1ck-skv1l @s1aywalker @t03soup @offthethirlwall @tfmerc

@starlmbed @slutforfinnickodair @geekforhorror @necromancerrrs @theladykassia

@thesassypadawan @cocobear18 @anisangeldust @fredswrite @byunnue

@d0llfilth @haydenslittlegirl @lunarnightt @espinathena-17 @fallout-girl219

@mugwump327 @stepdadjameskelly @anisluvrgirl @xhunnybeeex @radiantvader

@urmomsgirlfriend1 @hayden-christensen-verse @rssmary @dreamygirli3 @awhhayden

[apoptoses]

Armand, Haussmann, and Paris:

The thing about Paris that's not really discussed in the VC books themselves is the Haussmann project.

In 1853 Napoleon III commissioned Haussman to completely renovate Paris. The plan was to tear down all of the old structures and rebuild the city; reorganizing the streets and reshaping them to accommodate more green spaces, and replacing smaller buildings with taller apartment blocks in more uniform style.

The Paris Armand knew when he arrived as the coven master and which he came to know as the theater leader would have looked something like this:

Dark, winding streets leading off wide boulevards and short, leaning buildings.

The Haussman project would see all of these places systematically torn down, occupants removed to other areas of the city while new buildings were put in their place. In some areas workers were destroying and rebuilding things 24 hours a day.

At this time Armand would have been living at the theater on the boulevard du Temple, Paris's street of theaters:

This dagguerotype shows the boulevard in 1838. This painting, in 1862, looks much the same:

But by 1863 all but one theater on the street had been destroyed, and that was only because that theater was on the opposite side of the street shown in the painting. How and why it wasn't pulled down, I don't know- no information on it seems to exist, just like no explanation for the very small handful of other old structures that were left untouched.

That theater, the Théâtre Déjazet, still exists today. But it was established in 1770 by Comte de Artois, so while it could have been Anne's inspiration for Armand's theater it's not the 'rickety wooden rat trap' that seats 300 that Lestat describes in TVL.

Anyways, knowing all of this, I think it makes even more sense why Armand so quickly grabbed onto Louis and was ready to run away with him at any cost.

Armand, who'd been kidnapped from the monks, who'd had his palazzo torn out from under him, who'd established something of an existence under Les Innocents and was then ripped out of that world when the cemetery was destroyed. Who was watching the city he'd finally come to know get systematically torn apart. Everything that was familiar to him was being taken again.

So why not let Louis burn the theater? He arrived in Paris in 1870, just as Haussman was dismissed. But the work of destroying and rebuilding Paris was set to carry on. Chances were the Theatre de Vampires would be next, and if that were the case there's no way the crypts beneath the place would remain safe and undiscovered.

And if he'd stayed where would they go during the renovation? What would they do? What would the point be in continuing trying to run a coven he was bored of and a life he didn't care for in a new location?

Armand was going to have to begin again somewhere- better that be with Louis, out in the world, than roaming a now unfamiliar Paris. And even though he didn't burn the theater himself, allowing/instigating Louis to do it still gave him more control than letting a stranger come in at some unpredictable moment to demolish things all over again.

(And what of Lestat, what does he feel about these changes? He never could have shown Louis the Paris he knew and loved, which existed when Louis was still mortal- that Paris was largely gone)

Chances were Anne might not have known most of this at the time she wrote interview or even TVL. But I think it still makes a lot of sense and brings up a point about Armand and immortality that I don't see brought up much- that not only do vampires lose every mortal they've ever known, but with time they also see the destruction of every place they've ever known or loved.

(ps: I'm not an expert on this topic or anything, so if anyone does know why some buildings were unchanged or has any interesting historical info to add by all means please, reblog and add it on!)

[hourcat]

phoebe hourcat's favorite piarles fics of 2024 <3

hiiiii everyone! i was inspired by @delicate44's fic rec post in the piarles tag earlier and realized that i should do my part and shout about the fics i LOVED this year!!!

it was a pretty good year for piarles canon, but it wasn't a bad fic year by any means, either 😉 i did my very best to spread my recs evenly and as unbiased-ly as possible...but you know how it be sometimes.

so without further adieu, i present: my favorite fics from this year, in no particular order, that deserve All The Awards. 💖

"We could go," Pierre says. "To Lourdes, I mean."

here in procession by fromnowhere

Charles is even more beautiful than he was in the photo. He’s wearing a black coat - conservative, but nice. Designer if not a few seasons old, and he’s not wearing a hat or a scarf, but he does have on gloves when he extends a hand out to Pierre. Which Pierre takes, trying not to falter under the sheer beauty of him. “Hello,” Charles smiles, eyes crinkling up. “It’s so nice to meet you.” And without hesitation, he leans in and kisses Pierre on the cheek - once on the left and then on the right. It’s been so long since Pierre was greeted this way, it shocks him for just a moment. He’s beautiful and he smells like cologne and something fresh and he’s still not let go of Pierre’s hand - the cool leather underneath Pierre’s hand seems so…foreign. So flipped.

cause baby, I'd be satisfied forever by tiredtiredsharl (nsfw)

“You know,” Frédéric’s hands are crossed in front of him, fingertips tightening after every pause, “there is only one thing that brings stability to a Kingdom without it being a marriage.” Charles draws in a sharp breath—he knows, nodding almost imperceptibly once Frédéric falls into a hesitant silence. A courtship.

hearts in the byline by ilpredestinato

The one where Charles’ drink gets spiked with the omegaverse version of a fuck-or-die drug. (Pierre helps.)

you filling my cup (the sun coming up) by ohmygasly (nsfw, chussy)

Charles Leclerc, a brilliant young chef from the fine-dining world, is forced to return home to run his local family restaurant - Monaco's "Le Cheval Cabré" - after a heartbreaking death in the family. A world away from Michelin Stars and the realm of fine dining, Charles must confront the anguish of his past and find a place in the life he once thought he'd given up for good. All the while, Pierre, a ghost from his childhood and the only true friend he's ever had, remains firmly by his side and he doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon.

Le Cheval Cabré by m00nlightE

Pierre might be many things, but he’s not someone that takes his chances lightly.

taking your time by Anonymous (nsfw)

“I could hurt you,” Pierre says reproachfully to what he can see of Charles' blushing face. Most of it is buried sideways into his pillow. “Y’wdnnt,” Charles garbles into the fabric. “Pardon?” Charles’ whole body twitches then he finally lifts his head — green-gold eyes locking onto Pierre’s. “You would not,” Charles repeats, taking care to enunciate each word. “Oh?” Pierre asks, snide, because how dare Charles gamble so casually with his own health? “Taken a lot of Alpha cocks up the ass then, have you? A regular pro at it?”

Indomitable by Anonymous (nsfw, chussy)

Charles Leclerc was maybe one of the biggest pop stars in the world until he burned it all down. One year of sobriety means that the label wants their album - an album he can't write - and the answer might just reside inside his not quite ex-boyfriend that is a fantastic song writer and producer.

first bloom by tiredtiredsharl (nsfw)

charles wakes up in the middle of the night. he gets an idea, then gets twisted in knots about it. good thing pierre is always willing to try anything charles suggests.

wake up slow (we don't need to go outside) by Anonymous (nsfw, chussy)

“Five minutes. After five minutes.” Charles drags his tongue flat up the length of Pierre’s weeping cunt. “Or ten.” He tenses his tongue into a point. Dips inside. “Then we will sleep.”

sleep aid by Anonymous (nsfw, pierrussy)

Charles doesn’t plan to sleep with Pierre over the summer break, but it happens nonetheless.

worth it just to know by fiveandnocents (nsfw)

or… what if the world was suddenly plunged into omegaverse and everyone started presenting at once.

sudden changes by ginnydear (nsfw)

a letter, a proposition, a phone call.

you know i'm down seven days of the week by pipwrites (nsfw)

Pierre has dedicated his life to this singular thing and The Society is about to write his name next to the few other scientists who were patient like him - who were dedicated like him. The names of the people that inspired him, the stories of men who had been sailing or mountaineering. Who lived in tiny cabins like he did. Pierre will be one of them. “Come on, Leo.” He calls to Leo, trying to keep it from bursting out of his chest - the feeling of accomplishment - as he takes off in a jog for the treeline. “Let us make history.” Or, Charles falls and Pierre finds him.

if you'll be my star by tiredtiredsharl

Pierre loses a bet and has to shave, and it's odd, but Charles could live with that. Who seem to not be able to is their daughter, who doesn't recognise her favourite papa without a beard.

daddy's best friend by duquesademiel

Charles’ heat has been regular since the day he first presented. He has it systematically tracked and, other than Pierre, he would consider it the most dependable thing in his life. Sauber knows his cycle because Charles saw no point in hiding it from them and he knows that it is very likely that it has been shared with the FIA as well because races are scheduled neatly around the weekends that he is required to lock himself in his room and fuck himself on a fake knot until he passes out from exhaustion or dehydration or both. It is, ultimately, something that doesn’t affect his racing career at all. And then, well, Max Verstappen has his first heat.

consequences of assumption by fiveandnocents (nsfw)

THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR BEING GENIUSES THIS YEAR!!!! it has been a joy to read such incredible content xoxoxox

[adobe-outdesign]

Since all the future paradox mons have the same shiny concept, instead of asking you about each individual shiny you could explain which ones rock the unpainted look and which ones could use a better shiny

I know a lot of people don't like the future paradox shinies, but honestly, I'm okay with them. I think the unpainted look is a cool concept that works well conceptually, and the chrome look also fits the theme well. Granted, I do wish they were allowed to have more variation in their shinies instead of all being forced into the exact same template (swapping the remaining accent colors instead of just leaving them would've helped a lot with this), but overall they're neat.

The big make-or-break thing is just how different they look from the originals. The worst paradoxes are the ones where their base forms are already pretty silver in color, so the change isn't that noticeable, such as with these three:

Iron Treads: All they did was make the black areas silver, which isn't that noticeable as there wasn't a lot of black on it to begin with. The red areas also feel like they clash with the gray too much. If they had swapped the red for a blue or something and lightened the grey, there could've been something here.

Iron Moth: Once again, the gray's a bit too low-contrast here, and the body was mostly white to begin with, making the change only somewhat noticeable. Going for red wings could've helped spruce it up. Not terrible, but not great.

Iron Boulder: Same issue of just negating relatively minor black accents to gray when the body was already gray, resulting in a low-contrast design that's hard to tell apart from the originals. Also they left the hooves black for some reason and that bugs me more than it should.

Meanwhile, shinies for 'mons that aren't gray by default work a lot better. These include:

Iron Bundle: Because Iron Bundle is normally red and white with no gray whatsoever, the shiny really stands out. The gray gives it a bit of a colder, icier look, and the cyan accents really pop nicely.

Iron Leaves: Similar to Iron Bundle, the entire body is normally green, only this time with very minimal gray on the underside. This means that the shiny really stands out as being shiny, and the bright print accents look very nice. I do think it could've used a bit more black for contrast's sake, but that's not a big deal.

Iron Thorns: This one has a double concept going for it, as in addition to the unpainted thing it also looks even more like mechagodzilla now. The black accents give it a good amount of contrast, and the greens stand out all the more compared to the green-on-green look of the original.

Overall: Paradox shinies work decently overall, but it mostly depends on the base color. Changing more accent colors and allowing for a little more variation could've helped while still keeping the concept intact.

[brittle-doughie]

Ok I had this idea for while so listen: 

A little story before I get into this:

In an alternate timeline where Y/N joined the Grand Cookie Games, they almost lost their life too the three sisters (I don’t know if they have a group name).

The reason why I say almost was because at the last minute before Y/N died, Blood Orange found them and used something he swore to never use.

Green Tea Mousse: “for being such a strong cookie, you don’t really last longe you know.”

Salsa: “S-shut up… I’ll make sure you and your sisters will rot in the deepest parts of the dungeon.”

Pudding à la Mode: “how sweet of you to say. But I’m bored. And you’re no fun anymore. Time to-“

Choco Drizzle: “wait…who’s that?”

Choco Drizzle: “Is that…Y/N?”

Green Tea Mousse: “oh~ someone still wants to fight~ don’t worry, I’ll-…hold on.”

Green Tea Mouse: “…Those aren’t your eyes.”

Y/N?: “…I’ll kill you… I will kill all over you.”

Bloody Y/N: “I’ll make sure to send you to hell itself, you worthless pests.”

(Sorry for the shitty writing, I was never a good writer.)

Yeah so Blood Orange can “give up” his power(stand) to make it possess other creatures. He has full control over them if he does so 

With that out the way, meet:

(I’m not a fan of this drawing, looks like shit.)

Bloody Y/N

Class: support charger

What makes Blood Y/N so dangerous is not only is the powers of Blood Orange are transferred over but Y/N’s Original ability is changed to be stronger but changed so the buffs work only for Y/N and Y/N ONLY. 

(But the enraged state for remaining cookies still works, only stronger.)

Canon wise the possession ability is used ONLY if Y/N is about to die… That’s it.

Second wind, you’d like to see it.

[chibigrimmreaper]

now for dear rhaenyra here this is the list of outfit nicknames! i specifically tried to match them with alicent's, given they're the leading ladies for the fashion trends of their respective political factions

Yellow Childhood Friend Dress

Heir's Tourney Dress

Heir Dress

Rhaenyra's First Wedding

Rhaenyra's Second Wedding

the Black Queen

the Dragon Queen

All of Rhaenyra’s redesigns

One of the best parts of these redesigned series is the ability to look at the character's costume arc and compare it with their costume journey. Seeing the things that remain the same, the things that change in small ways over time, and things that take a specific style change. Things that the character has made a conscious decision to say with their personal style. If I have done my job right, you'll see what I see.

Also I love to hear your thoughts on the tv shows costumes, my redesigns, and what you think about season 2! <3 So share away!

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book available now \ („• ֊ •„) /

https://linktr.ee/ellen.artistic

[beggars-opera]

On the road leading into the center of Concord, Massachusetts, there sits a house.

It is a plain, colonial-style house, of which there are many along this road. It has sea green and buff paint, a historical plaque, and one of the most multi-layered stories I have ever encountered to showcase that history is continuous, complicated, and most importantly, fragmentary, unless you know where to look.

So, where to start? The plaque.

There's some usual information here: Benjamin Barron built the house in 1716, and years later it was a "witness house" to the start of the American Revolution. And then, something unusual: a note about an enslaved man named John Jack whose epitaph is "world famous."

Where is this epitaph? Right around the corner in the town center.

It reads:

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills; God’s will be done. Here lies the body of JOHN JACK a native of Africa who died March 1773 aged about 60 years Tho’ born in a land of slavery, He was born free. Tho’ he lived in a land of liberty, He lived a slave. Till by his honest, tho’ stolen labors, He acquired the source of slavery, Which gave him his freedom; Tho’ not long before Death, the grand tyrant Gave him his final emancipation, And set him on a footing with kings. Tho’ a slave to vice, He practised those virtues Without which kings are but slaves.

We don't know precisely when the man first known only as Jack was purchased by Benjamin Barron. We do know that he, along with an enslaved woman named Violet, were listed in Barron's estate upon his death in 1754. Assuming his gravestone is accurate, at that time Jack would have been about 40 and had apparently learned the shoemaking trade from his enslaver. With his "honest, though stolen labors" he was then able to earn enough money to eventually purchase his freedom from the remaining Barron family and change his name to John, keeping Jack as a last name rather than using his enslaver's.

John Jack died, poor but free, in 1773, just two years before the Revolutionary War started. Presumably as part of setting up his own estate, he became a client of local lawyer Daniel Bliss, brother-in-law to the minister, William Emerson. Bliss and Emerson were in a massive family feud that spilled into the rest of the town, as Bliss was notoriously loyal to the crown, eventually letting British soldiers stay in his home and giving them information about Patriot activities.

Daniel Bliss also had abolitionist leanings. And after hearing John's story, he was angry.

Here was a man who had been kidnapped from his home country, dragged across the ocean, and treated as an animal for decades. Countless others were being brutalized in the same way, in the same town that claimed to love liberty and freedom. Reverend Emerson railed against the British government from the pulpit, and he himself was an enslaver.

It wouldn't do. John Jack deserved so much more. So, when he died, Bliss personally paid for a large gravestone and wrote its epitaph to blast the town's hypocrisy from the top of Burial Hill. When the British soldiers trudged through the cemetery on April 19th, 1775, they were so struck that they wrote the words down and published them in the British newspapers, and that hypocrisy passed around Europe as well. And the stone is still there today.

You know whose stone doesn't survive in the burial ground?

Benjamin Barron's.

Or any of his family that I know of. Which is absolutely astonishing, because this story is about to get even more complicated.

Benjamin Barron was a middle-class shoemaker in a suburb that wouldn't become famous until decades after his death. He lived a simple life only made possible by chattel slavery, and he will never show up in a U.S. history textbook.

But he had a wife, and a family. His widow, Betty Barron, from whom John purchased his freedom, whose name does not appear on her home's plaque or anywhere else in town, does appear either by name or in passing in every single one of those textbooks.

Terrible colonial spelling of all names in their marriage record aside, you may have heard her maiden name before:

Betty Parris was born into a slaveholding family in 1683, in a time when it was fairly common for not only Black, but also Indigenous people to be enslaved. It was also a time of war, religious extremism, and severe paranoia in a pre-scientific frontier. And so it was that at the age of nine, Betty pointed a finger at the Arawak woman enslaved in her Salem home, named Titibe, and accused her of witchcraft.

Yes, that Betty Parris.

Her accusations may have started the Salem Witch trials, but unlike her peers, she did not stay in the action for long. As a minor, she was not allowed to testify at court, and as the minister's daughter, she was too high-profile to be allowed near the courtroom circus. Betty's parents sent her to live with relatives during the proceedings, at which point her "bewitchment" was cured, though we're still unsure if she had psychosomatic problems solved by being away from stress, if she stopped because the public stopped listening, or if she stopped because she no longer had adults prompting her.

Following the witch hysteria, the Parrises moved several times as her infamous father struggled to hold down a job and deal with his family's reputation. Eventually they landed in Concord, where Betty met Benjamin and married him at the age of 26, presumably having had no more encounters with Satan in the preceding seventeen years. She lived an undocumented life and died, obscure and forgotten, in 1760, just five years before the Stamp Act crisis plunged America into a revolution, a living bridge between the old world and the new.

I often wonder how much Betty's story followed her throughout her life. People must have talked. Did they whisper in the town square, "Do you know what she did when she was a girl?" Did John Jack hear the stories of how she had previously treated the enslaved people in her life? Did that hasten his desperation to get out? And what of Daniel Bliss; did he know this history as well, seeing the double indignity of it all? Did he stop and think about how much in the world had changed in less than a century since his neighbor was born?

We'll never know.

All that's left is a gravestone, and a house with an insufficient plaque.

[s0dium]

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑!!!

𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d find out that your crush, Geto Suguru, was just like you: a murderer. Not only that but you share the same passion; killing criminals and pedophiles! (Happy Kinktober) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: DARK CONTENT, gore, mutilation, murder, mentions of pedophiles (y/n kills them), serial killing, unprotected sex, breeding, choking, teasing, knife play, whipped Suguru 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k 𝐀/𝐧: This is based HEAVILY on the novel Butcher and Blackbird by Brynne Weaver. The original idea is credited to Brynne Weaver ONLY. This work is fan fiction and is not intended for commercial purposes or to infringe on the intellectual property rights of the original author.

Being a serial killer who kills other killers, pedophiles, and rapists is a great hobby.

Until you find yourself locked in a cage.

For three days.

No AC.

With a body you carved up.

You glare at the fly-riddled corpse whose legs are kneeling opposite of you in the locked cage you were both trapped in. The air is thick with the putrid stench of decay, a relentless assault on your senses. The body's skin is pallid, marred by the writhing mass of white maggots that feast mercilessly. Where eyes once held gaze, now only hollow sockets remain, tediously scooped out and vacant. The ears too have been sheared off, leaving clean edges that blend into the mottled, blood-stained flesh. Its chest has been cracked open; ribs pried apart in a macabre mimicry of an unhinged broken cocoon, revealing the dark, empty cavity where a heart once beat.

Then, of course, the piste de resistance of your work, the removed eyes, ears, and heart rest in the corpse's upturned palms—placed with ceremonial care amidst the chaos of mutilation.

So now, if anyone were to walk down the steps of Gary Green House's basement, they would not only find his mutilated body, but the person who did it, trapped in a cage together.

"Fuck." You curse at yourself for the millionth time since you've been trapped here for the last three days. The cold realization that you've fallen into Gary’s final trap gnaws at your mind as relentlessly as the maggots at the corpse across from you. The cage, a cruel relic of Gary’s twisted pleasures, had seemed the perfect place for your ritual—turning the hunter into the hunted in his own den of horrors. But in your fervor to see him pay, you overlooked one crucial detail: the cage's sinister design, which sealed shut the moment its door swung closed.

The remote control, now a mocking symbol of freedom, lies just beyond the bars, on a small, grimy table. You remember the sickening click of the lock, the finality of it echoing in the cramped space as you turned back from the grisly task of dismembering Gary—his last, silent victory.

Even the idiot police could deduce that this was all your doing, seeing as all your bloody tools were still with you in your backpack. With fingerprints. It was just a matter of time before they opened the basement door.

You could practically hear Gary’s voice from beyond the grave: "Hah! Serves you right, you stupid bitch! That's what you get for killing me!" The taunt echoes in your head like a song over and over again and you're seriously contemplating banging your head against the iron bars.

"FUCK FINE!" You yell into the darkness. "I renounce my wicked ways!"

"That's a shame. I bet I would like your wicked ways."

You jump at the sound of a man's deep, smooth voice, the cadence of slight raspiness warming every note. Your curses cut the humid air from the startlement of the man's presence. How the hell did he even get in here? You didn't hear the basement door open. You scurry out of reach of the man who saunters into the thin thread of light from the narrow window, the glass opaque with fly shit.

"You seem to be in a predicament." He says stepping into view. The thin light from the window partially illuminates him, allowing you to make out his face. Oh rather, what is on his face.

Holy shit.

A ghost mask stares back at you, its hollow eyes and elongated mouth frozen in a chilling scream. The stark white of the mask contrasts sharply with the surrounding shadows, and you watch with wide eyes as he tilts his head.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

In any other situation, you might be fan-girling. You know exactly who you're staring at: the infamous Crucifer, a killer, like you, but notorious for his crucifixion of criminals in rather, flamboyant displays. The few eyewitness accounts of the Crucifer all mention the ghost mask, leaving no doubt in your mind about his identity.

While your hunting grounds have been Osaka, his have typically been Tokyo, but despite the geographical difference, his reputation precedes him. In all honesty, you shouldn’t be surprised he’s here. Your victim, Gary Greenwich, is notorious even among the authorities. Despite his crimes, the lack of solid evidence has always allowed him to slip through the cracks of the justice system, leaving him free to continue his heinous activities. He was high on your kill list, and it’s no surprise he was high on Crucifers as well.

He takes a few steps closer toward the cage to stare down at the corpse, bending to take a closer look.

"Well what happened here?" He chuckles.

You are on day three of no food. No water. The gnawing hunger in your stomach feels like a relentless beast, clawing at your insides with increasing ferocity. You wonder if your body has started to eat its own organs at this point.

You can't deal with this shit.

"Self defense." You say.

The man chuckles. "I doubt that, you're not his type." Despite his mask you can feel his eyes shift from the corpse to linger on you.

"And how would you know that?"

"Well disregarding the state in which you "self defense" left him, you're not a 6 year old boy. And," he steps closer so now he is inches away from the bars and his whole body is illuminated. "I make it my business to know."

You don't answer. Instead you watch as he crouches down to meet your gaze. You try to hide behind your tangled hair and folded limbs, giving him only your eyes.

And of course, just your luck, he is stunning

Black hair flows behind his mask and down his shoulder. He's wearing a black compression shirt that hugs every muscle of his biceps and forearms, accentuating his athletic build. His broad shoulders enhance his imposing presence, giving him the aura of a seasoned athlete. Black cargo pants complete his ensemble, practical and intimidating, with a hunting knife sticking out of his pocket, probably what he would've used on Gary if you hadn't got to him first.

Something about him looks familiar, something you can't put your finger on.

"I guess you made it your business to know too." He pauses before moving even closer so his mask is practically pressed against the iron bars. "Hey, you look pretty familiar."

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. Instinctively, you brush a tangled lock of hair from your face, wincing as it catches on your dry lips. The man's shoulders tense as if he has been electrocuted.

"Y/n?" His voice cuts through the thick silence like a knife.

Oh, what the hell.

You jerk your head up from your hunched posture, eyes wide in shock, meeting the unsettling, hollow eyes of the ghost mask. Your heart races, pounding loudly in your chest.

"Wha-"

"Oh my god, it is you!" He exclaims, his loud deep voice echoing through the basement.

"I'm sorry, I don't-" you stammer, confusion and fear knotting in your stomach.

"It's me," he interrupts, and with a swift motion, he takes off his mask. The sight of his familiar face makes your breath catch in your throat. "Suguru Geto."

Suguru Geto. The name alone sent ripples through your thoughts, dragging along memories and emotions you had long buried. Suguru wasn’t just any ordinary guy; he was a micro-celebrity in Tokyo, renowned for his breathtaking tattoo artistry. His ink adorned the bodies of celebrities, flaunted in TikToks and Instagram posts that garnered thousands of likes. His reputation was impeccable, his designs sought after by the elite.

You had crossed paths with Suguru a few times at various parties, your social circles occasionally overlapping due to mutual friends. Each encounter left an indelible mark on you. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. It wasn’t just his talent that made him irresistible; it was everything about him. Those hawk-like eyes that seemed to pierce through to your very soul, the perfect curve of his lips that could shift from a smirk to a genuine smile in an instant, and those dimples that appeared whenever he graced you with that smile—each feature was a weapon, effortlessly disarming.

You, like many other girls, harbored a secret crush on Suguru Geto. It was impossible not to. That face alone could kill, and his charisma was the final blow.

And now, here he was, standing right in front of you, unmasked and undeniably real. The reality of it all hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and a little overwhelmed.

Suguru clears his throat, a small smirk playing on his lips from how obviously you are gawking at him.

"Shot in the dark here but are you the Mute Collector?"

You part your lips to say something but you can't seem to form the right words.

"I-"

Suguru's grin widens and a sharp laugh escapes his perfect mouth. "Oh my god. I knew it. I fucking knew they had it wrong about you with that bull shit profile they built. What was it, they said you were a 30 year old white man?" Suguru throws his head back and smiles at the ceiling. "And the Mute Collector? You? That's just awesome. I'm such a huge fan."

"Yeah..." You clear your throat and push your hair completely out of your face. He grins at you, as though awe struck, and if you weren't wearing 100 layers of grime on your skin you are sure he'd be able to see the blush flaming in your cheeks for a second.

"And you?" You nod toward the mask. "You are?" You don't know why you are feigning ignorance but something about humbling him seems tastier than actual food right now.

"Oh come on." Suguru's tone flattens and he brings the mask up next to his face.

"The Crucifer?"

You shake your head.

"The cross maker?"

You shake your head again. Lying through your teeth is fun.

"The Tokyo Butcher?" When you shake your head he sighs and stands up. "Well," he glances to Gary whose maggots have made their way to the empty eye sockets. "What do you say? We ditch this lousy scene and get something to eat. Maybe when you get food in your stomach you will remember some of my little nicknames."

Your eyes widen and your stomach growls loudly, reminding you of how long it's been since you last ate. You glance up at your Suguru, a mix of hope and suspicion in your gaze.

"Are you serious?" you ask, your voice hoarse from dehydration.

"Yeah, after we get you a shower, some clothes and burn the house down."

You gulp and stand to your feet. "Could we get burgers?"

Suguru grins before grabbing the remote and pointing it at the cage.

"Fine by me."

~

The Mute Collector.

Geto Suguru is sitting across from the fucking Mute Collector.

And god you are beautiful.

Not that he just realized it now. Like many others, he has always known how attractive you are; he just pushed it to the back of his mind. But now, knowing who you really are and what you do in your free time, your body has practically been encompassed in bright warm light and your head adorned with a halo. He watches as you down your 6th cup of water with a sigh and wipe your mouth with your sleeve.

The two of you sit in a cozy booth at a restaurant, the warm, smoky aroma filling the air. Suguru leans back with a beer in hand, watching you with a mix of amusement and caution. The waitress approaches, placing a large plate with a double cheeseburger and fries in front of you. Your eyes light up, and without wasting a second, you pick up the cheeseburger with your fingers and take a big bite, savoring the flavors.

Suguru chuckles, raising his beer in a mock toast. "You look like you've just found the Holy Grail."

He doesn't miss the way you stifle back a laugh, trying to speak through a mouthful of burger. "If the Holy Grail were covered in cheese and ketchup, then yeah, maybe."

He takes a sip of his beer, grinning. "I’ve never seen someone so excited about food. Maybe you should give up your little hobby and do food reviews."

"Well, that's what being trapped in a cage with the rotting corpse of a pedophile does to you I guess." You grumble, setting down the burger and taking another drink of water.

Suguru's eyes stay on you, and he takes the opportunity to really assess you. Your hair is damp, and the wetness seeps into the white Mickey Mouse shirt you're wearing, causing it to cling slightly to your skin and reveal the elegant lines of your collarbone. He bought that shirt and the shorts for you at a thrift store, and despite the fact that such clothes should look bad on anyone, you are rocking them effortlessly.

He can't help but notice that you didn't buy a bra, a fact that makes him smile to himself.

No bra.

"So tell me." Suguru sets his beer back on the table and leans in.

"The whole ears, eyes and heart thing." He waves his left hand in the air. "The police say it's satanic ritual stuff but I don't buy it."

You pause, a hint of a smile playing at your lips as you meet his gaze. "It's simple, really. Hear no evil, see no evil, fear no evil."

Suguru raises an eyebrow. "You have a way of making the macabre sound poetic."

You're about to reach for a fry, but he snatches it before your fingers could reach it.

"Why not the tongue?" He says. "You know, speak no evil."

You roll your eyes and snatch the fry out of his fingers. "Tongues are hard to cut, too slippery and make a mess."

He nods thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. "You know, most people would be horrified to hear you talk like that."

"Good thing you’re not most people," you reply with a smirk.

"Touché."

He watches as your lips wrap around the thick fry and your teeth rip off half of it into your mouth.

No bra.

"What about you Suguru?" You lock eyes with him. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I here?"

"You heard me. You swoop in all superman-like, save me from the dipshit’s pedo dungeon and take me out for a double cheeseburger. Why are you here?"

Suguru shrugs and averts his gaze from your unyielding stare. Shit, your piercing eyes are almost making him sweat.

"Same thing you already did. I was going to skin him alive and and display the fucking monkey Jesus style infront of his house. At least, something like that."

"Yeah but why him? I thought your hunting grounds were in Tokyo?"

Your eyes widen slightly as the words hang in the air, the weight of your mistake sinking in immediately. You feel a rush of heat to your cheeks, a telltale sign of your embarrassment. Your lips part as if to take back the words, but it's too late; they've already been spoken.

A sly smile spreads across Sugurus face as he watches your face fall.

"Oh you totally know who I am Y/n."

"Fucking hell."

"You do! You know that I like to hunt near my home, how long have you been a part of my fan club?"

You roll your eyes and fall back into your seat. You blink rapidly, trying to maintain your composure, but the subtle tension in your jaw and the furrowing of your brow betray your embarrassment.

"So which one was your favorite? The monkey I strung up next to the police station? Or the one I flayed inside the Tokyo Union Church?"

"Oh my god I can already tell you are going to be insufferable." You grumble, the heat of embarrassment slowly dissipating as you take a deep breath. Suguru leans back, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he swirls the beer in his hand, watching you with an almost predatory curiosity. As seconds pass, Suguru assesses your face, following how your eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape route, and Suguru’s playful expression falters for a split second. He realizes with a sudden jolt that you're trying to leave. He can't have that. He needs to see you again.

"Hey speaking of suffering," Suguru clears his throat. "Have you heard about the women killings in Kyoto?"

Your eyebrows raise, curiosity piqued. "Yeah, I've heard. Pretty gruesome stuff. Why do you ask?"

A playful smile tugs at his lips. "How about a friendly competition? The killer's already taken six lives so far."

You tilt your head, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to decipher his intentions. "What do you mean by a competition?"

Suguru leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's exactly what it sounds like. Who can hunt him down first?"

For a moment, you're taken aback, your eyes widening as you process his proposal. A mix of surprise and intrigue flickers across your face. "Are you serious?"

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. "As sin."

"And what do we get if we win?"

Suguru's eyes gleam with amusement and something else—admiration. "Bragging rights, of course. And maybe... another dinner like this one."

You throw your head back and let out a laugh. "Oh yeah? Who says I'll need you to get me another dinner?"

"Can't let you go hungry again. What do you say?”

~

You sit at your desk, the dim light of your laptop casting a pale glow on your face as you scroll through articles about the woman killer from Kyoto. The room is quiet, save for the occasional click of your mouse and the hum of the laptop. Your phone buzzes, and you glance at the screen to see Shoko’s name. With a smile, you answer the call.

"Hey Shoko, how’s your night shift?" you greet her with a teasing tone.

Shoko’s laugh crackles through the speaker. "Busy as always. Just patched up a guy who thought he could outsmart a bulletproof vest with sheer willpower. Spoiler: he couldn’t."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Sounds like my type of guy."

By day, Shoko is your best friend and a dedicated med student, excelling in her studies with a, albeit, half hearted, passion for helping others. But when the sun sets, she transforms into the notorious Dr. Reverse, the underground doctor every criminal and lowlife turns to in their time of need. Using her medical expertise, she serves those who cannot seek help through legal means, operating in the shadows and patching up criminals who live by a different set of rules. In addition to her medical skills, she also deals in poisons, further cementing her reputation in the underworld.

You first met Shoko in a moment of desperation. After cornering a serial rapist, you were attacked with a machete, almost severing your arm. With nowhere else to turn, you sought out Dr. Reverse. Shoko skillfully sewed you up and, in the process, deduced that you were the infamous Mute Collector. To your surprise, she didn't seem to care about your identity, and you, in turn, didn't question her underground business or her dealings with poison. This mutual understanding and acceptance laid the foundation for a strong bond, and you've been best friends ever since. 

Shoko laughed, a sound that always manages to lift your spirits. "Right? Anyway, what's up? I saw your SOS text."

You hesitate, glancing at the photo of Geto Suguru on your screen on a separate tab. His annoyingly white teeth glare back at you, and you try to resist staring at his six pack in an instagram photo someone took of him at a pool party.  His dark eyes seemed to stare right through you, as if mocking your indecision. "It's about Geto."

There was a brief pause before Shoko's voice came back, tinged with curiosity. "Geto? What about him?"

You take a deep breath, your fingers drumming nervously on the desk. "He's the Crucifier."

Shoko's reaction was immediate and loud. "Geto is what?" she practically yelled through the phone, causing you to wince.

"The Crucifier. I know." You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all. "Can you believe it?"

Shoko let out a low whistle. "Wow. I mean, he always seemed like a guy with secrets, but I never pegged him for a serial killer, I mean, someone like you."

"Yeah, well, here we are," You mutter, rubbing your temples. You focus your attention back on your computer screen. Suguru is squeaky clean, not even a bad review on his website. There was only his questionable taste in best friends: Gojo Satoru—the biggest playboy and the infamous heir to the Gojo Company, Japan's largest and most influential corporation. Gojo's notoriety was legendary, his exploits plastered across tabloids and whispered in gossip circles. You’ve met, and been hit on by the man a few times, and not once did you fall for any of his slimy cheap antics. No, Geto Suguru is who your eyes fell on. 

 "And now he’s proposed some sort of competition."

"A competition?" Shoko's voice was practically dripping with amusement. "Like a hunting competition?”

You let out a snort of air through your nose. “Basically.”

Are you gonna do it?"

"I don't know," You admit, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand. "I said I would, but I don't know. I barely know the guy. Well, I thought I did."

"Well, you should," Shoko said, her tone shifting to one of gentle teasing. "Besides, isn't this your chance to get closer to your crush?"

You feel your cheeks flush. "Shoko, seriously? Come on, that was ages ago."

"Hey, I'm just saying," she replies, laughter bubbling up again. "This could be your big break."

"You're impossible," you grumble, though you can't help but smile. "How's the side business, by the way?"

"Thriving," she says and you can practically see her small smile through the phone.. "You'd be amazed at how many people need a little untraceable something for their enemies."

"I don't doubt it," you say, shaking your head. "Just stay safe, okay?"

"You too, Mute Collector," Shoko says, her voice softening slightly. "And remember, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"Always," you reply, your smile growing wider. "Thanks, Shoko. Talk to you soon."

"Later," she says, and the line goes dead.

You lean back in your chair again, your thoughts drifting back to Geto Suguru and the strange, dangerous world you both inhabit. As much as you hate to admit it, Shoko is right. This is your chance, not just to catch some sick killer, but to uncover the secrets that lie hidden beneath Suguru’s enigmatic exterior.

With a sigh, you close your laptop and stand up, determination settling in your chest. The competition awaits, and you have a feeling it's going to be a game changer.

~

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the white hair man’s mocking tone and continues to stare at his phone. It's been 10 minutes. How long does it take for someone to respond to a text. Suguru lay sprawled on the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone. Across the room, Gojo was bustling about in the kitchen, the sound of utensils clinking and food sizzling filling the air.

"Is this about Y/n? The Mute Collector or whatever?" Gojo asked, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous grin.

Suguru didn't respond, his gaze unwavering from the screen. He could feel Gojo's eyes on him, the scrutiny almost tangible.

"I don't think I've seen you put this much effort into a woman since, like... ever," Gojo continued, his tone teasing. He turned back to his cooking, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Suguru's jaw tightened, but he kept his silence. Gojo, undeterred, pressed on. "Besides the fact that she's the Mute Collector, what do you even see in Y/n? Well, I guess she does have other assets," he chuckled.

"Keep her name out of your fucking mouth, you prick," Suguru snapped, his voice low and menacing.

Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh escaping his lips. "Alright, alright, no need to get all territorial."

Suguru continued to stare at his phone, his fingers hovering over the keys. "How long does it take for someone to respond to a fucking text" he mutters under his breath.

Gojo leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Maybe she's busy. Or maybe she's just messing with you. You know, playing hard to get."

Suguru finally looks up, his eyes narrowing. "She doesn't play games. And she's not hard to get—she's hard to keep."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by Suguru's reaction. “Touchy, touchy,” he mutters, returning to his culinary task.

Just then, Suguru's phone pings. His heart skips a beat as he sees your name flash on the screen. He quickly opens the message, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he reads your response.

Y/n: Fine, I'll do it. But what are the details?

Suguru: Oh, I'm thrilled

Y/n: Shut up.

Suguru: The rules are simple: whoever deduces the monkey’s identity first and guts the bastard wins.

Y/n: And how do I know you don’t already have a head start?

Suguru: I guess you'll just have to trust me. 

Y/n: Trust you? That’s rich coming from someone who literally stabs people in the back.

Suguru lets out a snort of air from your comment catching Gojo’s attention. “Ah, there it is. The smile of a man who's finally gotten what he wants.”

Suguru doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he focuses on your message, feeling a grin grow on his lips.

Suguru: You wound me, truly. But where’s the fun without a little challenge? Besides, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you

Y/n: Easy, huh? I suppose you think you’re quite the genius, then?

Suguru: Only compared to the average monkey. You, on the other hand, might actually make this interesting.

Y/n: Is that a compliment or are you just trying to butter me up?

Suguru: Can’t it be both? 

Y/n: Oh, don't worry. You’re not the only one who enjoys a good chase. But don’t cry when I beat you at your own game.

Suguru: Cry? Please. I’ll be too busy admiring you in action. It’s a win-win for me.

Y/n: Flattery will get you nowhere, Suguru.

Suguru: Really?

Suguru: Not even a little bit princess 🥺?

Y/n: *One attachment*

You send an image of your hand flipping him off. Your middle finger nail is painted black and he assumes so are all your other fingers. His heart thuds against his chest. God, how he would love to have those nails dragging down his back. His dick twitches just thinking about it. 

Gojo snickers as if he can read Suguru’s thoughts and Suguru considers throwing his phone at the smug white hair man when Gojo’s phone rings. Any humor falls off Gojo’s features like snow from a shaken tree branch. He glances at the caller ID, his eyes narrowing, and picks up the phone with a serious tone.

“This is Gojo.” He says. His voice is gruff as he responds to the caller with clipped “yes” and “no” answers, his timbre low. “I'll be there in 30 minutes.” 

When he sets down the phone, Suguru meets his blue eyes, Gojo’s brief smile is grim.

“Trouble?” Suguru asks.

“Trouble.” Gojo repeats.

On the exterior Gojo is Japan's most infamous playboy and philanthropist. But by night he is the devil's tool, the country's most lethal assassin for anyone from politicians to presidents.  What Suguru and you do for a hobby, Gojo Satoru does for his job.

Gojo dumps his hot food in a container, grabs his hunting knife coat and bag and heads for the door. Before he exits, he turns around to lock eyes with Suguru.

“Be safe. A woman killer is a deadly combo.” He says.

Suguru chuckles, and for a second he doesn't know if Gojo’s talking about you or the guy in Kyoto. “You to ass hat.”  

~

You can't believe you are doing this. 

You can't believe that you took up Suguru’s competition, spent 120 dollars on a train and hotel room at Kyoto and an extra 20 on room service. Moreover you can't believe that you are here, hiding in a forest of bamboo shoots at the dead of night, watching some man who may or may not be the Kyoto women killer.

It’s a warm summer night, and every time the wind blows, the bamboo shoots rustle against each other, creating a haunting melody that sets your nerves on edge. The air is thick with the scent of earth and foliage, and the occasional hoot of an owl punctuates the silence. You’re crouched low, your body tense, watching a man named Noaya Zenin who you followed out here. He seems to be wandering aimlessly, but you know better than to underestimate him. The Zenin clan's reach is long and shadowy, and their involvement in the Kyoto women killings is a tangled web you’ve been unraveling. All key witnesses were either paid off by the Zenin clan or had lawyers representing them from the Zenin clan. The pattern was too precise to be a coincidence.

Your heart thuds in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The thrill of the chase, the hunt, makes your senses sharper, every movement and sound more pronounced. You can feel the need creeping up on you, slowly reaching your brain until your skin itches with anticipation. 

Each minute feels like an eternity as you scrutinize Noaya’s every move. He stops occasionally, looking around as if sensing he’s being watched, and you hold your breath, pressing yourself closer to the ground. The moonlight filters through the dense bamboo, casting eerie shadows that dance with the wind. Your mind races, piecing together fragments of evidence and suspicion. If Noaya Zenin is indeed the killer, catching him here could be the breakthrough you need.

“Hiya.”

A scream almost rips through you when you feel someone's breath against your ear, but you quickly cover your mouth and whip around. Of course, you’re met face to face with the man you least wanted to see right now. Familiar hazel eyes gaze back at you, glinting with mischief and amusement. Suguru is crouched right next to you, his nose mere inches from yours, a sly smirk on his face. You didn’t even hear him approach.

“Suguru, what the fuck?” you hiss, keeping your voice low. Your first instinct is to grab your knife out of your pocket and press it against his throat but he holds both his hands up as if surrendering, stopping you.

“Woah woah princess, let's cool our engines.” He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Your pulse is still racing, but you force yourself to calm down. “You could have given me a heart attack. How did you even find me?” You seethe.

“I have my ways,” he replies cryptically, his smirk widening. “Besides, I couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I? So,” his eyes flicker to Noaya, who still seems to be staring at his phone. “Who are we looking at?”

“We?” You scoff and roll your eyes. “Are you kidding me? There is no we. This is a competition, remember? Go do your own research.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, come on. You know you love my company.”

Before you can retort, Noaya picks up his phone. You both strain to listen, and you catch his words clearly.

“Yeah, I’m at the bamboo forest. See you soon, babe.” He then hangs up the phone with a click and puts it back in his backpack. But just when you're about to turn back to Suguru and rip into the man, Noaya pulls something else out too. A hunting knife. A large one at that with serrated ends and a pointed tip that glints in the moon light. Just like the one used on the victims. And as if things couldn't get any more apparent, you watch as a wicked grin spreads across his face when he draws the blade diagonally through the air.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, eyes wide. “That’s definitely him. That’s like some comically evil villain shit right there.”

“Dibs,” Suguru whispers back, a glint of excitement in his eyes as he puts on his ghost mask. “I call fucking dibs.” He stands up, the crunch of leaves making Noaya whip around and stare right at the area you both hid in.

For a solid 5 seconds your two flabbergasted to even form words, you can only watch as Suguru steps out from the bamboo shoots and onto the trail, slowly walking toward Noaya like a lion cornering a gazelle. 

Or course, Noaya turns, screams like a little girl, and makes a hard right straight into the forest of bamboos.

“Oh hell no,” you mutter, leaping up and chasing after him. You sprint through the forest, the warm summer air thick and humid around you. Each footfall is muffled by the dense undergrowth, but the occasional snap of a twig or crunch of leaves marks your frenzied pace. Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly shadows that dance along the forest floor, creating an ever-shifting maze of light and dark.

Your breath comes in quick, controlled bursts, each inhale filling your lungs with the earthy scent of the forest. Adrenaline surges through your veins, sharpening your senses. The rhythmic pounding of your heart in your chest matches the rapid beat of your footsteps. Ahead, you can just make out the faint silhouette of Noaya, his panicked movements betraying his desperation.

Branches claw at your clothes and face, but you push through, eyes locked on your target. The thrill of the chase ignites every nerve, propelling you forward with a singular focus. Suguru’s presence is a constant just behind you, his footsteps a steady reminder of the competition driving you both. You can hear his breaths, steady and calculated, mirroring your own.

The path twists and turns, the bamboo growing thicker, creating a claustrophobic tunnel. You duck and weave, dodging low-hanging branches and vaulting over fallen logs. The forest floor is uneven, riddled with roots and hidden pitfalls, but your reflexes are sharp, your movements instinctual.

The thrill, the excitement, the danger—it all converges in this moment. You are a predator in your element, and your prey is within reach. The bamboo forest seems to blur around you, time stretching and contracting with each heartbeat. This is what you live for, the ultimate test of skill and nerve, the ultimate game of life and death.

Just as you’re about to close the distance, your fingertips brushing the fabric of Noaya’s shirt, he whirls around with surprising speed. The moonlight catches the gleam of his hunting knife as it arcs through the air. Instinct takes over, and you try to dodge, but the blade slices across your palm, leaving a hot, stinging line of red in its wake.

For a split second, time seems to slow. You see the wild desperation in Noaya’s eyes, the way his chest heaves with exertion and fear. But there’s no pain, only a white-hot fury that floods your veins, fueling your next move.

Your grip tightens around the hilt of your own knife, slick with blood but steady. The cut on your palm feels like a mere scratch compared to the surge of adrenaline that courses through you. With a fierce snarl, you lunge forward, using the momentum to drive Noaya back a step.

He stumbles, his confidence faltering as he realizes the severity of his mistake. You don’t give him a chance to recover. You move with a predatory grace, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. The forest around you fades into a blur of green and shadow, all your focus locked on the man in front of you.

Noaya swings wildly, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. You sidestep his attacks with practiced ease, your fury giving you a sharp, clear edge. The scent of blood mingles with the earthy aroma of the forest, and your pulse pounds in your ears like a war drum.

You close the distance again, this time with a calculated precision. Your free hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until the knife clatters to the ground. Noaya yelps in pain, his eyes widening in terror. The tables have turned, and he knows it.

Your injured hand, still bleeding, clamps down on his shoulder with a vice-like grip. You lean in close, your breath hot against his ear. “Nice try,” you hiss, the fury in your voice making him shudder. “But it’s over.”

With a swift, brutal motion, you plunge your knife into his chest. The blade sinks into flesh with a sickening thud, and Noaya's eyes widen in shock and agony. Blood spurts from the wound, hot and sticky, spraying across your face in a macabre mist. The initial strike is met with a gasp, a desperate, choking sound that fuels the savage fire within you.

A wicked grin spreads across your face, the thrill of dominance electrifying your senses. You pull the knife out, feeling the resistance of tissue and bone, and then plunge it in again, and again. Each thrust is accompanied by a wet, squelching sound, a symphony of carnage that drowns out the world around you. Blood flows freely, pooling at your feet and soaking into the earth.

Noaya’s body jerks and spasms with each stab, his strength fading with every violent assault. His once panicked eyes grow dull, the life draining from them as you continue your relentless attack. The coppery tang of blood fills the air, mingling with the scent of the forest, creating a heady mixture that makes your pulse race even faster.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the violence, the way your muscles strain and flex with each plunge of the knife. Blood splatters across your face and clothes, warm and viscous, painting you in the evidence of your victory. Your grin widens, a feral expression of triumph and fury.

Amidst your frenzied stabbings, Suguru places a hand on your shoulder. "I think—" he begins, but when you turn around to face him he immediately shuts up.

Your eyes are wide, pupils contracted like a deranged predator. Your hair flows wildly in the wind as you grab Suguru's throat with your bloody hand, smearing the crimson on his skin and pressing him against a tree. 

"This woman-killer fucker is mine." You seethe.

His dick strains against his cargo pants waistband. You look divine.

“ Of course, All yours baby.” He coos.

~

Geto Suguru would be lying if he said that watching you tear apart that woman-killer wasn't the hottest thing he had ever seen. 

To Suguru, you looked divine. The moonlight accentuated the sharp angles of your face, casting shadows that danced across your blood-splattered skin. Your eyes, wild with the remnants of fury, glowed with an unearthly intensity. The contrast of crimson against your complexion made you seem otherworldly, a dark goddess of vengeance. Suguru couldn’t tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the raw, primal beauty you exuded in that moment.

The walk back to your hotel was silent, but not because you were soaked in blood or because he felt awkward. More like it was because the only think he could think to say is “You are so fucking hot.”

Now here he is, twiddling his thumbs as he stands outside of your hotel door, trying to think of the right thing to say to you because god he needs to see your face one last time before he goes to bed.

He raises his hand to knock, but before he can, the door swings open. You stand there, your hair wet and smelling faintly of vanilla. You’ve clearly just come out of the shower. A tank top clings to your damp skin, and sports shorts hug your thighs. His eyes widen slightly, and he gulps, struggling to keep his composure. 

No bra.

The sight makes his mouth go dry.

"Just checking to see if everything is good," he says, nodding toward your bandaged hand.

You feel yourself fidget in your place and you try to flash a small smile but your emotions betray you. What if you freaked him out? What he saw back there, what you did back there, that was you, the raw you. Behind all the layers of kind smiles and pleasantries, in many ways, you were no different than an animal, consumed by your predatory instincts. You wouldn't blame him if he never contacted you again after this. Shit, did you just fuck up everything?

 His presence fills the doorway, and you’re acutely aware of the tension between you two.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reply, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks for asking.”

His eyes flicker down to your hand, then back up to meet yours. “How’s the hand?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

You hold it up and wiggle your fingers slightly. “It’ll heal. No big deal.”

Silence fills the void between you two and you clear your throat, searching for something to say to break the awkward silence, but he beats you to it.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans against the doorframe. “Or are you planning to keep all the fun out here in the hallway?”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Sure, come in. But I warn you, it’s a mess.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” he quips, stepping inside. His eyes scan the room, taking in the organized chaos. Bandages and clothes are scattered around the floor and he doesn't miss the splatter of blood on the white sheets of the hotel bed. After a moment, Suguru turns around and takes a step closer to you, like he’s examining you. 

You tilt your head slightly, letting a smirk play on your lips. "So, now that I’ve won the bet, what do I get?"

He chuckles, the sound low and smooth, as he takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. "I was wondering when you’d bring that up." 

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your composure despite the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. "Well? I’m waiting. What’s my prize?"

Suguru stops just inches from you. "I don’t know," he quips, "What do you want?"

You let out a short laugh, though it’s clear you’re testing him now. "That’s a big question."

Suguru's eyes darken slightly, his playful demeanor shifting into something more serious, more intense. He leans in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin. "Try me."

The tension between you two is palpable, electric. You’re the first to break the silence, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "I want," you pause, averting your gaze from Suguru’s hawkish one. “I want to know if I scared you.” The question slips out before you can stop it, your bravado faltering as doubt creeps in.

Suguru blinks, then a slow smile spreads across his face. "Scare me?" He repeats, as if the idea itself is laughable. He steps even closer, forcing you to take a step back until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. "Scare me?” He repeats again. “You didn’t scare me," he continues, his voice low and sincere. "You… captivated me. I have never, and I mean never, seen something so magnificent as what you did. And that's saying a lot because I've done a shit ton of magnificent things.”

You sit down on the bed, more out of necessity than choice, as he looms over you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel a mix of emotions—relief, curiosity, and something much more dangerous.

"What are you doing?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his hands resting on either side of you, trapping you in place.

He smiles, a slow, almost wicked grin that sends shivers down your spine. "Well, I thought I might kiss you now, you know, after telling you how magnificent you are.” He tilts his head. “Is that a bad idea?"

Your breath catches in your throat as the weight of his words sinks in. You forget to breathe.

You finally find your voice, though it’s a bit shakier than you’d like. "That depends…"

"On?" He asks, his face inching closer to yours, his gaze locked onto your lips.

"On how good you are at it," you murmur.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Suguru closes the remaining distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s as intense as it is tender. It’s a slow, deliberate connection, his hands moving to cradle your face as if you’re something precious, something worth savoring.

The kiss deepens, and all the tension that had been building between you two finally snaps, leaving nothing but raw desire in its wake. You respond in kind, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you can’t get enough.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, and the world seems to have shrunk down to just the two of you in this moment. Suguru’s forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, a real, genuine smile that you can feel in your bones.

"So," he says, his voice husky and low. "How was that?"

You laugh softly, still trying to catch your breath. "Not bad," you admit, your fingers running through his black hair. "Not bad at all."

"Good," he replies, his lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss. "Because I plan on doing it again."

Suguru’s lips are on yours again before you can even catch your breath, this time more insistent, more demanding. He’s not asking for permission anymore; he’s claiming what he wants, and it makes your head spin. The kiss deepens as his tongue slips past your lips, exploring your mouth with a slow, deliberate intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You can taste him—warm, intoxicating—and you find yourself leaning into his lips, craving more.

His hand, warm and firm, slides down your side, tracing the curve of your waist before coming to rest between your thighs. The touch is electrifying, sending a jolt of sensation through you, and you gasp against his mouth, your heart pounding in your chest.

But it’s too much, too fast. Your mind races, and you instinctively pull back, breaking the kiss. “Wait,” you murmur, your voice breathless, “I dont know if we should….” You avert your gaze and turn your head toward the wall but Suguru grabs your chin, forcing you to look right into his hazel eyes. Then, he dips his head to whisper in your ear.

“Aw come one Y/n” He grazes your earlobe with his teeth. “I’ve been on my best behavior, a good boy,” Suguru pauses to deliver a soft kiss to your temple. “I've been waiting, waiting ever since I met you in that cage to do this. Don't I deserve a reward for my patience?” 

You thickly gulp as he rubs the sides of your neck with his lips.

“I’ve been-” He kisses your jaw. “Such a-” he kisses his way up to your mouth. “Good boy.”

You cave. 

As his words sink in, you feel your resolve crumbling, the weight of his desire pressing down on you in the most intoxicating way. Before you can even process what’s happening, Suguru's strong arms wrap around you, lifting you off the bed with effortless ease. His grip is firm but gentle, as if he's afraid of breaking you, and you can't help but let out a soft gasp as he lifts you off the bed and up so your head rests on the plush hotel pillow. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with intent, and you feel your breath hitch as the world narrows down to just the two of you. The room is filled with the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, mingling with the quiet rustle of sheets as he leans over you.

“I know you have been thinking about this too.” He coos. Suguru’s hands move with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His fingers curl around the hem of your tank top, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to lift it. The cool air hits your skin as he pulls the fabric up and over your head, exposing you to his hungry gaze. But before you can feel self-conscious, his lips are on your newly exposed skin, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with awe and reverence. “Just so gorgeous.”

His hands are on your shorts next, tugging them down your hips with the same careful slowness, as if he’s unwrapping the most precious gift. As the fabric slips down your legs, he trails kisses along the newly exposed skin, his lips brushing against your thighs, your knees, your calves, until the shorts are discarded on the floor.

Now you’re lying before him in just your underwear, and the way he looks at you makes your heart pound. His eyes are dark and intense, filled with a hunger that makes your entire body flush with heat. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats, his voice thick with emotion. “Just so damn gorgeous.”

Suguru straightens up slightly, his hands moving to the hem of his own shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, revealing his bare chest. The sight of him makes your breath catch—his body is lean and athletic, muscles defined and sculpted from years of discipline and training. Tattoos cover his skin in an elaborate tapestry. He’s handsome, impossibly so, and the sight of him like this, just inches away, makes your pulse quicken.

He doesn’t stop there. His fingers move to the waistband of his sweatpants, and he slides them down, revealing more of his skin, his strong legs, until he’s kneeling before you in just his boxers. The fabric clings to him in a way that leaves little to the imagination, and you can’t help but stare, mesmerized by the sheer physicality of him.

Suguru catches your gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Something catches your eye princess?”

You nod, “Yes. You. All of you.” Your eyes tracing every line and curve of his body. He’s more than just handsome—he’s breathtaking, a perfect combination of strength and beauty that leaves you feeling weak in the best way possible.

He leans down again, his body hovering over yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Good, wouldn't want you to be disappointed.”

With that, he captures your lips in a heated kiss, his hands trailing down your sides, touching, feeling, exploring. 

You are too lost in the kiss not to notice his hands slipping under your underwear and making their way to your dripping cunt, and when they do, you jump at the feeling of his index finger tracing your slit.

"Gotta get you ready baby.?" Suguru hums and you shake you head vigorously.

"No please Sugu~, I can take it."

You don't have to tell him twice.

In one fluid motion Suguru tears off your underwear, lays you on your back and positions himself between your legs.

"Been waiting to do this for so long," he murmurs as he pulls down his boxers and whips out his dick. You thickly gulp at the sight, you could've guessed he was big not this big, could he even fit in you? A white bead of precum dribbled from his pretty pink tip and down his length and he uses the liquid to stroke himself in a few fluid motions.

You could hear your heart in your ears and adrenaline coursed through your veins at rocket fire speed. The need in between your legs was too much, it was clouding your head and twisting your stomach so tight you almost felt sick. You jolt when his fat tip bumps into your clit; collecting your juices before pressing against your quivering hole.

"Suguru please~" You whine and nearly miss the way his ears go bright red at your words

"I know baby, I know. Don't worry, lift your hips for me love?”

You oblige and immediately when you do so you're struck with the feeling of his length spreading you so helplessly wide and his tip smashing against something which must be your cervix you think. It’s painful, but in the pain is so much pleasure. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides into you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock. Instinctively, you're cunt squeezed around the foreign intrusion, trying to push it out, making Suguru let out a low groan of his own and pushing even deeper into you. 

“F-fuck I can feel you doing it to me,” he said hoarsely.

His fingers gently press into the skin of your hip, guiding and steadying you as he pulls back and thrusts into you. The sudden friction and collision with your G-spot knocks the wind out of your lungs. Ticklish pleasure courses through your veins and you immediately throw your head back against the wall as Suguru thrusts into you.

"Hnghh, s-so good~~" You whine. It was dizzying, the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up.

Simultaneously, his other hand sought yours, finding it with a purposeful tenderness. His fingers intertwined with yours, locking them together in a grip that was both a clasp and a caress.

You dont even realize that your eyes are closed until Suguru whispers into your ear.

“Come on baby, open those pretty eyes, look at me.”

You do as he says and when you do you feel your heart thud in your chest. Suguru’s eyes were fixated completely on you, how you were reacting, as his hips were continuously slamming into your body as if it were clockwork. The sight alone had your walls clamping down on him, earning a groan from the base of his chest. 

Suddenly, the hand that had been intertwined with yours released its grip and began to rummage through Suguru’s discarded pants. Your breath hitched, eyes glazed over as you watched him retrieve a knife from his pocket, unsheathing it effortlessly with a flick of his finger. The sharp glint of the blade caught your attention from beneath Suguru’s body, even as he continued thrusting into you, not missing a beat.

Your body reacted instinctively, clenching at the sight, drawing a low, dark chuckle from Suguru.

“Hah, I knew it,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing edge as he brought the cold steel to the base of your throat. “You’re just a slut for knives, aren’t you?”

A moan escaped your lips, the sound betraying any chance of denial. Suguru took it as an admission, pressing the blade firmly against the skin of your throat as he angled his hips to hit even deeper inside you. The cool metal at your throat was electrifying, but it was his other hand, strong and unyielding, that sent a euphoric thrill coursing through you. His fingers flexed, tightening around your neck, the pressure intensifying.

It wasn’t just the air being cut off—it was the dizzying, intoxicating pleasure that came with it. The way his grip constricted, pushing you to the edge of control, ignited something raw inside. Every squeeze of his hand made your body burn hotter, a perfect balance between pain and pleasure, leaving you gasping for more.

What a primal dirty sight you where, being choked with a blade against your throat while fucked brutaly. Even the devil would clutch his rosaries.  

"Were we doing it like this in your head baby?" Suguru grunts, his Adam apple bobs as he groans from the pleasure of how fucking heavenly your pussy feels. “Because we were doing it like this in mine.” Good? Try euphoric, how could he ever think his fist could substitute the wet squeeze of your cunt?

You can't even open your mouth to respond. The friction of his dick against your walls and the adrenaline from the knife is just too good and as his pace intensified, a dizzying warmth spread through you, filling every corner of your being with a euphoric haze. The sensation of being completely enveloped, utterly connected, sent electric flesh arrows of pleasure through your body, making your eyes flutter and roll back slightly in sheer bliss. Every motion Suguru makes, every time his fat tip collides with your cervix, leaves behind a trail of sparkling heat that seems to light you from within.

"Come on eyes on me when I fuck you baby~" Suguru releases his hold from your neck and snakes his fingers between your body , finding your clit and pressing down on the pearl back and forth with the pad of index finger. "Tell me how good you feel, tell me how badly you want to cum.

He doesn’t slow the ministrations on your clit for a second as he snaps his hips into you with primal vigor, your breasts bouncing from the brutality.

"So good Sugu!" You sob. You cant even open your eyes from the colors you're seeing behind your lids. Every time your pussy squeezes around him not only do bolts of pleasure shoot up your body but a ring of milky white cum forms around the base of his cock.

Suguru’s eyes are locked on how good you're taking him - the fat of his head has a hard time popping out with how greedy your cunny is being. He lets out a sharp moan at how wet you are on the inside.

"S-shit baby wanna feel you cum on me, been waiting so long." Suguru is not a whining man but here he is practically stumbling over his words. Fuck, he wants to keep himself inside you forever. He wants your kisses, your skin, your touch, your blood, your lips, to be his to claim until you die together. No one has seen, truly seen him, before you. You are what he thinks about when he wakes up, when he is eating, when he is plunging his knife into some worthless monkey. You are his goddess. 

The world beyond this intimate cocoon of warmth and breath seemed distant, irrelevant. His gaze was locked with yours, deep and unwavering, a silent communication that tethered you through the mind numbing ecstasy.

Then, he reels his hips back and slams into you in a new angle that has your body jerking.

“Found it didn't I?” He breathes through a smile and pummels into you with vigor. And your about to disagree with him, insist that the feeling is too new and foreign to feel good when all of a sudden your body begins to shake and your head starts to feel fuzzy

And suddenly—you feel it. What you’ve been craving for and what you have seen in porn.

Its like all your body's energy centers are activating at once and your left utterly helpless to the feeling of tingling ecstasy wrapping your brain and stomach.

You dont know how to tell him that something is happening, not when the pleasure is too immense your barely breathing full breaths. But he understands once again the words you tried desperately to communicate.

“Do it baby. Cum. I’ll fill you up, and if it spills I'll fuck it back into you"

So you do.

Release washed over you in an all-encompassing wave, radiating out from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes. It swept through you like a storm, leaving a trail of starbursts in its wake. Your body arched instinctively, clinging to Suguru as the wave crested, then gently, slowly, began to ebb.

“Ah, princess, please,” he moaned. “Be a good girl and take it all, yeah?” 

Your fingers trailed up his shoulder, only to drag them back down his spine, nails biting into his skin as he buried himself deep inside you, releasing with a powerful shudder. His movements grew erratic, hips pressing yours firmly into the mattress as his hot breath skimmed across your neck, ragged and heavy.

The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, lost in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the feel of his touch to guide you.

The warmth of his cum spreads through your body with a shiver, and you can feel the liquid expanding against your walls while he kept you plugged and full of him. As you both floated back down from the heights of bliss, your breaths came easier, softer, the lingering aftershocks of pleasure pulsing gently through you.

"You're mine ok?" Suguru coos, and all you can do is dumbly nod.

"I'll die for you, I'll kill a thousand monkeys for you, i'll hold them down so you can cut our their eyes. Just stay by my side."

[screampied]

squirting for the first time with jjk men?? 😫

❛ SLIPPERY WHEN WET! ❜

sukuna, toji, getō, gojo, namami, choso. jjk men and their reaction to making you squirt for the first time

total wc. 3.6k

warnings. fem!reader, degradation, squirting, overstim, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, p*ssydrunk men, dumbification, pussyspanking, toy usage, edging. MDNI

FUSHIGURO ☆ TOJI

“hm? ain’t no guy ever make ya squirt before?” he grunts. and you’re just absentmindedly being stuffed, both of your wrists gripped back with toji holding onto them, his strokes were mean and demanding. your head continued to thump and bounce against the soft silk pillow that rested underneath your head. all you could make out was a sweet pathetic ‘nuh-uh’ and toji raises his thin eyebrows in amusement. “no baby…? not even once?”

“no- don’t think i can, i tried myself but…”

he snickers. “silly girl. trust me, you can squirt,” you bit your lip, eyes nearly rolling back from his jagged thrusts, its so good you nearly feel drool start to run down the corners of your mouth, how embarrassing it was—yet you remained stupid from his dick, feeling the warmth of your pussy clench tight against him. “want me to test it out?”

“yeah,” you whine, your voice was a mere soft mewl, an almost mumble practically, and toji gifts your ass with a spank, eliciting a moan from your mouth. he grows cocky the minute a huh? leaves his mouth. so you correct yourself with a “y-yes.”

“….‘yeah’ what girl,” he groans, skimming his dark green eyes down to see how your body jerks underneath him. his weight lightly hovers against you, and he’s still got a firm grip with your wrists, having you pitifully tongue-tied. “taught you how to speak to me. so let’s try that again.”

arrogant bastard, what your thoughts originally said—making you purposely repeat yourself, but his cock always always made up for it.

“please,” you choke out, moaning from the way he deepens his thrusts just a tad bit, your mouth starts to water from the way your pussy twitches in content. “make me squirt toji. please. i wanna be messy for you.”

“aw that’s my girl,” he purrs, releasing his grip from your wrists, yet it remains still against your bare back, his thrusts snap against you to where a cute gasp leaves your lips. “but oh, you’ve been messy though, but there’s nothing wrong with that, princess,” he teases, such mockery escaping from his tone. “relax for me, yeah? you’ll feel it when it comes.”

“okay,” you moaned, your left cheek pressed up against the white sheets of the mattress. it was cute, your face being up against the bed as you’re being absolutely stuffed and pounded. you felt yourself tightening from the inside—a coil desperately awaiting to be snapped, a feeling you never knew you could feel, and you probably looked so dumb. “okay okay o-okay.”

you cutely kept sputtering, repeating and bracing yourself. toji brings a rough hand towards the back of your neck as he’s ramming his fat length from behind you, such thrusts has your body spasming and crying out for more, it feels like a orgasm being snatched away from you.

“give it to me, girl.” he grunts, giving your ass another mean spank. the immense build up. your legs judder continuously to where your mind goes blank like an empty canvas, empty..

“a-ah t-toji—!” you squeaked, and he’s so ruthless whenever it came to you, each time you try to sit up to turn around he shoved your head lightly back down, it’s so cute. “fuck, fuck. f-fuck, ‘s about to-” and a gasp interrupts your words the minute you squirt all down his shaft to his base, your sweet juices sheath and sheath all the way down and it’s so warm and hot.

the minute you end up squirting, your legs felt so weak, it just quavered and shook. “oh my g-god,” you sobbed, and he slows his sloppy thrusts against your cunt down—leaning up close to you, direct and personal. “there we go mama, my messy fuckin’ squirter,” he whispers, he’s pressed against your ass and wraps a few fingers around your neck. planting a kiss underneath your chin he murmurs. “you made such a mess. how’s it feel?”

“good. but feels w-wet toji.”

“eheh, well yeah girl, that’s kinda the point.” he snickers, playfully sinking his teeth into your neck, giving it a teasing nibble.

SUKUNA ☆ RYŌMEN

“hm? make you squirt huh? so greedy.. my fingering isn’t enough for you?” sukuna teases and you’re laid flat on your back with your legs lazily lifted up, more like he’s holding them up for you.

you moaned, feeling him slide a single digit in and out. he sneaks a wet kiss against your thigh before leaning in to press his lips against your pussy, tasting how sweet you were. “...kuna ‘m not greedy, just wanna see what it feels like, please..”

“you are greedy,” he grunts, giving your cunt a swift spank to make your legs twitch, “but sure thing.” he mutters, warm minty breath going against your clit. your head goes back and your mouth slightly opens and parts from the way he’s fingering you and eating you out. his lips latch and lock against your folds to make your eyes roll back. he was so filthy with his tongue let alone his fingers.

you sucked your teeth—feeling his two fingers push deep in and out, going past against that spot each time, instead of your eyes rolling you were practically crossed eyed.

“f-fuck, fuck, ‘s good ‘kuna...”

“i know. you keep saying that, dumb girl. quit talkin’ and start squirting.” and you lose count of how many mean slaps he gives your pussy. he’s so mean, yet found every few seconds to praise you and let you know how good you’re doing.

“h-hurry up and make me then.”

“little girl, watch it.” he grunts, gifting you a glare, his eyes pierce against yours before he sits up, spitting right on your pussy with a rough spat, he runs a single middle finger down your slit to snatch the tiny brat left in you. you meet eye contact and your slick was very much glistening his chin, being soaked with your sweetness.

your legs were so close, just the epitome of the word jittery with how it just shook, never once staying still. the stimulation he created with his tongue let alone his fingers, it had your mind boggled. “think ‘m getting close, f-fuck.”

“uh huh. fuckin’ bet you are.” he whistles in response—grabbing ahold of his dick and you let off a cute gasp at the way he swipes his throbbing leaky pre-swollen tip against your wetness. “look at that, princess.

so eager to jus’ swallow me up.” and he slowly makes his way inside your cunt, immediately your walls hug him as a response and you’re just at the very limit. “come on, let go for me. you dont gotta be shy around me, neither does this wet pussy.”

the minute you squirt…it’s embarrassing, sukuna only smacks about five deep thrusts against your cunt and you’re already making a mess all over his base. “s-so good.” you’d cry out, and he’s staring at you.

a grunt departs his lips before he leans in to kiss you, pulling out only to ghost his fingers against your clit.

“you’re such a nasty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, you moan—tasting your own slick that ran down his chin, the sharp edges of his teeth playfully nibbling down on your lip. his body heat against yours made you feel tingly and even more in such heat. “tell me you’re my nasty girl, baby.”

“i-i’m a nasty girl, ‘kuna.” you moaned.

he gives you a dead stare—and you whine once he slips two fingers inside your throbbing pussy.

“i’m your nasty girl, ‘kuna.” you rephrased, and a cocky grin forms on his lips.

“what a good obident girl. think i like you.”

NANAMI ☆ KENTO

“you sure sweetheart?” he asks in a soft mumble, he has a wand in hand. the ringing of the toy rings against your ears as your legs were sprawled apart for him. “you want me to make you…squirt?”

“yes p-please, kento.” you nod, the cuteness bestowed upon your lips was beyond words to describe. the way your lip quivered, it was barely up a few notches yet you throbbed and throbbed. despite it only being a good ten minutes. you’re just a whimpering mess.

eager to touch yourself, you reach down to play with your pussy before he grabs it, kissing the back of your hand.

he chuckles. “oh baby…baby, gotta keep those hands to yourself if you want me to make you messy. okay? no touching.”

“s-sorry kento.”

“aw, don’t be sorry. squirt, princess.” he teases, a hum underneath his tone he was so gentle with you, with his touch yet your legs felt like they were pretty much about to give out.

the stimulation made your teeth nearly chatter, toes clench and your back nearly arching. he finds you to be so pretty like this. flat on your chest, drool running down your mouth against the pillow with your mind empty.

you hold in a moan, teeth lightly piercing down on your lip to help silence yourself from the immense pleasure, the overstim from just releasing had your chin just hovering over your arm.

“o-one more level kento.”

“more? it’s gonna be on four, dunno if my cute whiney princess can handle that.”

“p-please, need it. i wanna-”

you moan at the swift sound of nanami swiping a thumb across the vibrating toy feeling the impulses throb against your sweet cunt, indeed it now being a level higher from three and it’s so good you can just taste the urge to let yourself go.

the sudden feeling of his sneaking fingers to brush and slither against your puffy folds was just enough to send you to burst—your mouth slightly went agape, and you’re just stupid. “n-nanami.”

“so dumbstruck you said nanami instead of kento, such a sweet thing,” and you end up squirting the minute he rubs the toy in a circular motion—maneuvering it against you along with fingers to ghost and run alongside your achy pussy. “easy, ‘s okay. lie down on your chest. jus’ let go for me baby, yeah.”

“such a gorgeous girl,” he whispers in awe, leaning down to kiss your clit which turns to countless smooches, mwah after mwah and your legs were practically mush by now. “let me clean you all up with my tongue, ‘m your husband, least i could do. so relax for me, my love.”

SUGURU ☆ GETO

“oh? i’ve made you squirt before, no?” he cackles, leaning back against the headrest of the couch.

“no,” you whined, still getting over your post-orgasm, his cock stood firm inside of you, such inches of his kept you warm with your hands pressed against his chest. geto stares at you with intrigued darkened eyes. having you sat on his lap, legs still barely recovered a few minutes ago. “don’t think you ever did...”

geto grips your waist, sliding a tongue across his lips before muttering in a sly coy tone. “mhm hmm,” and he’s so sassy, even having the audacity to roll his eyes at you. black specks of hair trickle down and paint the lower half of his body. geto’s happy trail was always appetizing to look at.

“this your little way of asking me to make you soak yourself on me, angel? how cute.” he grins.

“…sugu—” and you gasp at the way he grunts the minute the pads of his thumbs lightly press and pierce into your skin. he starts making you bounce against him and your mouth opens, such lewd whines exit your lips before you throw your arms around his neck.

“wanna squirt, do it yourself. fuck me baby. show me how bad you want it,” and he groans how he’s so stuffed. so full of cum still, hefty base pounding and thwacking back against your pussy. “you’re a big girl. do it y-yourself, mhm…shit.”

he was so teasingly sly, making you rut yourself against him, in the end you always had to do pretty much everything yourself whenever it came to geto.

“…okay,” you choked out, and he playfully leans back — tiny beads of sweat running down the side of his forehead as well as the very middle part of his chiseled v-line.”

it felt so good, you’re dumbly grating your teeth together, still so sensitive, the only cacophony that left your lips was cute whimpers of, “s-sugu,” “…want you s’bad,” and even, “you’re so mean.”

he chuckles at how dumb you grew out to be simply from being stuffed full of thick inches of his dick. “gotta be mean to deal with a pussy this wet.”

his girth had you running for your money, toes clinching as you started to rollick and jerk your hips against him, reaching a hand down to play with yourself before you whine. “f-feel it, suguru.”

“yeah? what are you waitin’ for then?” he purrs.

he chuckled at the sudden moments where you’d grow quiet — he knows how good he’s getting underneath your skin with his vexatious teasing.

his cock expanded in and out the more you moved your hips against him, your soft breaths getting caught in your throat before it comes, you squirt at the same time geto came and he’s caught off guard by the sticky messy feeling, he’s the one who slips off a whine. “s-shit..”

it came out a lot…

let alone with him soaking your cunt full of his own, you really felt stuffed and full to the very depths of it, it felt like a sharp coil within you snapped. geto starts panting, and he takes a moment to blink before grunting, staring away with a flustered face. “don’t look at me. finish fucking me, hmph.”

SATORU ☆ GOJO

“pretty please, ‘toru,” you’d whine out, and he was just straight up cocky and mean, teasing you with having you on all fours, impatient and desperately desperate. “i wanna…wanna squirt.”

“i know you do,” he laughs, playfulness ran all over his tone before he gives your ass a squeeze. that earned a needy moan out of you and you but down on your lip while staring at the fat sheets of the mattress underneath you. “are you asking me to make you squirt or are ya tellin’ me, pretty girl?”

he was so infuriating. even while being plugged in with so much of his thick inches, even just barely with the way he kept swiping his fat tip against your slit, awaiting you.

“….‘m asking, s-satoru.”

he whirrs a playful tone before flipping you over on your back to face him, and then he smiles. “okay. if that’s what you want,” and his voice was so low—a tad bit raspy with pompous smugness all over his sentences. “since i know how impatient ‘n horny you are all the damn time, i’ll make ya squirt in about one minute.”

a minute?

was that even possible—you always heard about how it would take at least longer than that but then you remembered who you were dealing with. gojo satoru and his long pretty fingers that never failed to stretch your pussy out. he was forever proud of that fact, he’d make you soaking wet from not only his dick, his mouth, but especially his fingers.

“it’s gonna get messy, ‘m warning you,” he teases, pulling you up a bit to place a towel down underneath your back. he leans in to pepper kisses underneath your chin before seconds later, he moves his length aside with a grip — before slowly stuffing a single long finger inside, which after a few milliseconds, turns into another. “now, i’m gonna need you to be a good wet girl and jus’ relax for me.”

his words were soothing. you could hardly comprehend anything so his sentences went straight towards your clit, throbbing and throbbing you wanted more. he finds it cute how you grip onto his wrist, babbling about how you don’t want him to stop. “o-okay, satoru. okay.”

you shudder at the feeling of him grazing a thumb down your slit and he moves his head down between your legs to blow softly against your pussy and you moan, feeling him create a good amount of pressure to where you bare down against his fingers easily as if it came natural.

“sweet girl,” he groans, giving your pussy a kittenish suck. your eyes went back in pleasure and you whined at the feeling of his two fingers just smacking in and out of you now. the noises, they were so loud you could hardly even believe it was coming out of you. “hear how wet this sloppy pussy is? yeah girl, that’s you.”

his words that went through your ear and out the other and it got you so wet. his degradation had you pulsing, you felt the inside of your tummy tighten, muscles clenching with you lying down on your back, bracing yourself. gojo was patient with you, occasionally bringing soft kisses towards your clit. you whined before he started to grow more feral, sucking and latching his tongue against your folds while still having two fingers stuffed inside your pussy.

your brain doesn’t even process you’re squirting before gojo lets off a, “oopsie,” the minute you squirt out on his fingers, the front tips of his fingers massage and toy and prod against that spot you always grew to know—and you moan at the way he easily stole a orgasm from you like that, within a single span of a minute.

“aw. you look like you just saw your life flash before your eyes, baby,” then he sits up to face you. both arms pressed around you before muttering in a teasing tone, “want a taste? open your mouth.”

and he gives you the most sloppiest kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat before grunting, you moan in his mouth. your legs wrapped around his slim waist before he squeezes a hand down on your pussy only to spank it roughly, breaking away for a bit before whispering, “good girl. now gimme one more. wanna see if i can do it within thirty seconds.”

CHOSO ☆ KAMO

“b-baby…you wanna do that?” choso mumbles, staring in awe as the both of you watched some random eight minute compilation of women squirting. he was staring intently, and then he only grew more flustered at picturing you like that. legs all spread, eyes rolled back and maybe your tongue stupidly lolled out. “um.. squirt?”

“yes…” you nodded, sitting on his lap. he throbbed behind you, still a bit tingly from his recent orgasm of fucking you.

you pressed against his back and his chin cutely rests against your shoulder. choso’s always been a bit inexperienced whenever it came to well, women. he’s had sex sure….but he doesn’t think he’s ever made a girl do this, this thing called squirting. not until you brought it up.

the more he watched it, the more he moaned to himself at imagining you being all messy like that.

“okay baby, i can do it,” he murmurs in a soft voice.

he brings a hand between your legs and pries it open just a bit, “lie back,” he moans, seeing your legs sprawl open slowly for him made him lick his lips, he was so hungry for you. you had the phone in your hand so he could watch, imitate the exact ways to make a woman squirt with ease and it was so cute how attentive he was. “s-stimulate the um…g-spot a little like this,” he mumbles to himself, and you moan once he slowly inserts two slender long fingers inside your pussy, you were so wet he lets off a cute, “o-oh….”

his eyes multitasked, turning its focus towards you and the screen that played the lewd video at the same time. “like that c-choso, please.”

“i’m doing a good job?” he says, and it’s almost into a form of a whine. all because he’s so desperate to hear your praise and approval, he feels his stomach flip in a good way at feeling you nod against his chest, affirming him to not stop. “okay, okay,” he mutters. “add a little um…p-pressure, consistent pressure until you feel a spongey like texture deep towards the clit.”

you moaned, his words matched his fingers, you tried to squeeze your thighs together but remembered you couldn’t because they were open.

your head rested back against his chest and with a right hand squeezing down onto his thigh, you felt your leg start to bounce. “m-more.”

“don’t wanna rush this baby,” he kisses the back of your forehead. a small pout going across your lips before he continues, pausing to hear the voice on the video that’s instructing speak.

he leans against your ear, strands of his hair poking against you before he murmurs. “bare against my fingers princess. squeeze down a little ‘n relax. can you do that?”

you choke out a moan once you obey his words, doing exactly what he says before you feel a sudden rush reaching out, you never felt this feeling before such a high you craved and chased you felt dizzy, a good kind of a dizzy.

“c-choso, ‘s coming, ‘s coming,” you moaned, your legs not able to hold themselves still. he has a perfect bowling ball grip with his fingers, stroking gently against you to where your mouth salivates with your own saliva.

“…fuck,” you sobbed, the warmth of him massaging his long fingers inside of you made you taste every number of tastebuds that resided on your tongue.

the moment you gush out and squirt, coating his fingers clean of your sheeny pretty slick, you flop back against his chest and you can ever hear a tiny gasp leave his lips. “w-wow,” he whispers in shock — with how much you squirted, he was so fascinated, growing more and more curious and it was adorable. “can you…can we do that again? please?”

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH1

12609 words, 71519 characters, 719 sentences, 224 paragraphs, 50.4 pages Next chapter

You can't recall exactly when or how you first came into contact with the billionaire and his sons, but if you could, you would go back in time and prevent that meeting from ever taking place. In a heartbeat.

Sitting obediently on a glass table tucked in the center of a crowded Wayne Enterprises boardroom, you find yourself ensnared as Bruce Wayne diligently delivers a familiar presentation, each sentence having been painstakingly practiced during the car ride over. Having overheard his repeated rehearsal with Alfred, you find yourself unconsciously mouthing along to every word. The tight black and green collar around your neck only worsening your discomfort, its stiffness constricting your movements and snagging on your freshly groomed fur.

The man continues on with his presentation, his polished demeanour and authoritative tone captivating the attention of the surrounding investors and executives. However, you find it difficult to focus on his words, the ridiculous knitted Nightwing sweater pressing against your back causing an uncomfortable itch. You shift slightly, wincing as your freshly combed coat brushes against the stiff fabric.

The weight of Bruce's unwavering gaze lands on you like a furnace, and you can almost picture that infuriatingly fond smile plastering his face. Just the thought of it made your stomach churn with disgust. Your tail swishing side to side in distaste.

He continues to drone on and on; and you find yourself struggling to stay still, the uncomfortable position, itchy sweater, and the heavy weight of Bruce's stare making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything he's saying. The only thing you want to do is scratch the infuriating itch, but the tight collar around your neck and Bruce's looming presence ensure that you remain obediently still. You know better than to cross them. How willing they are to punish you, so you stay still.

Your thoughts drift to a time when you were still unburdened by this enforced domestication. A pang of longing and bitterness settles in your chest as memories of your previous life come flooding back. You remember the simple freedom of being able to move about unmonitored, the comfort of lounging in the sun, unbothered by the Wayne families suffocating grasps.

Your paws effortlessly propel you across the icy rooftops, leaping and bounding with a careless grace. The cool night air brushes through your untamed, unhindered fur, the wind whistling past your ears. A bag is clenched between your sharp teeth, the fabric muffling your breathing slightly as you scale each building with purpose.

The city's neon glow stretches out beneath your paws, the distant lights casting a soft, surreal hue on the urban canvas. Free to go wherever you please. You could spend minutes, hours or even days just wandering under Gotham’s starry sky, with no one to tell you what to do or where to be.

You pause your journey and arrive at the edge of a dark alley, peering down at the scene below. A woman holds two teens hostage, a pistol pressed against their shivering frames. Your tail involuntarily fluffs up, matching the tension in your body as your slitted eyes dart to each potential escape route. A hiss escapes past your teeth, and you set the package down at your side before delicately pawing at a loose brick in the wall. You slide it from its position just enough to create a domino effect, the brick falling directly onto the woman's gun-holding hand.

A small, satisfied mewl leaves your throat as the woman wails in pain, her broken wrist cradled protectively in her grip. The two teens immediately seize the opportunity to make their escape, scrambling out of the alleyway. The gun slips from the woman's grasp, and she drops to her knees clutching her wounded hand. Your ears fold back and a low hiss escapes your lips at the sight, but you remain perched on the roof-top, unmoving. You slowly lower back down to take your package, then turn away. Your paws hitting the nearest rooftop with a small thump.

Your paws carry you further and further away from the robbery, the events replaying in your mind like a vivid, disjointed dream. You launch yourself from roof-to-roof in a series of quick dashes and leaps, your body seemingly on autopilot as you weave through the city's darkened backstreets. The silence of the rooftops envelops you like a comforting blanket, the city below finally at rest. A cool night breeze caresses your untamed fur, rustling its unkempt strands. Balancing the package carefully in your mouth, you bound toward your home’s familiarly cluttered balcony.

Your eyes scan over the cluttered balcony, taking in the random assortment of books, clothes, and trinkets strewn across the small space. Your padded paws land quietly on the rough wood, a subtle thump breaking the silence. Your muscles relax ever so slightly as the familiar surroundings wash over you. Without a second thought, you make your way to the edge of the balcony, lowering the package with your paws before curling up beside it, your ears folding back in an almost contented manner.

Your eyes had just shuttered closed as you basked in the soothing midnight breeze, when the sudden crash of metal yanks you from your reverie. Your ears perking up and pivoting towards the source of the disturbance. A low, frustrated huff escapes your snout. You stretch out your limbs, your tail flicking in annoyance as you lower yourself from the edge of the balcony and peer over the side.

Peering down from your perch on the balcony, your eyes widen in surprise. It’s...a boy? Wearing a skin-tight red and black bodysuit with a vibrant yellow cape. A flicker of familiarity sparks in your brain; you’ve seen this one before. Red Robin.

You observe him silently from your vantage point, tilting your head to the side as your eyes rove over his frame. He lets out an exaggerated groan, grappling awkwardly with an unfamiliar piece of gadgetry. A low, scoffing hum leaves your throat and your tail lightly thwaps against the wood, twitching in amusement. You had only seen him in pictures before, but damn, they didn’t lie. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

You lower yourself with a single, fluid motion onto the metal stairwell, feeling the rough surface scraping against your little paws. A small hiss of displeasure escapes your throat, but you brush it off and continue. You approach him curiously, taking a moment to inspect him. Your nose twitches as you sniff at his cape before finding a comfortable spot to sit and look up at him expectantly.

He doesn’t immediately notice your approach, his mind seemingly occupied by the malfunctioning gadget in his hands. You watch as he fiddles with the device for a few moments before his attention finally snaps to you. He visibly jumps, startled by your sudden proximity. He lets out a startled breath, eyes widening. You had gone to him.

You let out a snort of derision. Him, a vigilante? A detective? Unlikely. The thought of him trying to solve a case or outwit a criminal is absolutely absurd. You let your gaze wander over his costume once more, imagining how differently he would react if you were in your human form right now.

He slowly lowers the gadget, his eyes fixed upon you as you recline before him, behaving like an awaiting house cat. He observes you with quiet, analytical interest, his gaze roaming over your small form, taking in your twitching tail and reasonably-groomed fur. He seems to ponder the sight of you, weighing in on your not-quite stray, yet not-quite pampered appearance.

You gingerly shift closer, standing on your hind legs before pawing at his pants. A small indignant huff of disappointment escapes your lips as the material refuses to tear, the tightly-woven fabric holding firmly against your claws, unable to even tear the slightest thread, but you mask it with a small, almost cute "mew". Nevertheless, you are determined to make the most out of this situation. Planning on coaxing all the pets you possibly can out of this man.

He shoots you a curious look, tilting his head to the side. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. He then slowly reaches out a gloved hand, hovering it over your head hesitantly, waiting for your response.

The end of your tail gives a happy flick, betraying your eagerness for his touch. You press your cheek against his knuckles, enjoying the sensation of his fingers against your fur. Instinctively, your ears fold back, granting him better access to run his fingers further through your soft fur. Sucker.

A soft, delighted purring sound fills the air as your eyes flutter closed, your purrs becoming a constant, steady low rumble in your chest as he continues to gently stroke your head and down your neck. Oh, this is heavenly. Your tail swishes contentedly, and you lean into his touch, almost shamelessly seeking out more.

His gloved hand is much bigger than your entire head, the soft fabric of his suit brushing against your fur. Yet, his touch was gentle and deliberate, slowly tracing the outline of your ears and down your spine, causing a blissful shiver to run through your small body. Your eyelids droop further, nearly closing completely, your purring becoming louder as you relax into his touch. You don’t notice the pleased knowing grin that crosses his face.

The weight and warmth of his gloved hand was almost soothing, his fingers weaving between your fur with a sort of rhythmic motion. You let your body go limp, your head rolling back to further expose the underside of your chin, silently begging for more of those slow, careful caresses. Your eyes are almost completely closed now, a small rumble in your chest the only sound you remember how to make. God, you haven’t been pet in weeks.

His hand moves from your spine to the base of your tail, and a low sigh of pure contentment leaves your mouth. He seems to sense your delight and focuses his attention there, running his fingers through the base of your tail, causing you to involuntarily arch your body towards him, purring in approval.

He seems to know exactly what to do, his touch deliberate yet tender. A little too well. It's as if he's somehow mapped out each and every spot that you secretly adore and is now exploiting it to great effect. The constant caresses, pets, and scrabbles have worked you into a sort of euphoric, almost trancelike state, your mind becoming blissfully devoid of conscious thought. All you can focus on is the warm, firm touch of his gloved hand.

The moment is shattered, however, as deep voice from his comms shatters the sweet, blissful moment. Your little pointed ears perk up, instinctively responding to the sudden intrusion of sound. “Tim? Why does it say you’ve stood still?”

You pull yourself from your blissful state with a reluctant huff, the sound of the deep voice in his comm jarring you back to reality. Your ears flick back, annoyed at the interruption. Tim– Red Robin seems to tense up, his hand frozen in mid-pet. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, looking down at you. "Sorry, I got…distracted."

Your tail lazily swishes against the stairwell, silently expressing your irritation at having been interrupted. You can practically hear his sheepish, nervous chuckle, can practically sense the tension in his frame. "Distracted?" The voice in the comm questions, but you huff, tuning out the conversation.

You let out a small, frustrated huff before turning your focus back onto Tim's still form. Ignoring the man's comm conversation, you push your little, fluffy face against his leg, letting out a needy demanding mewl to regain his attention. You're not done yet, damn it.

His eyes flick back over to you, a mix of apology and amusement evident in his gaze. He resumes his prior motions, sliding his hand down your spine with a soft, comforting caress, tracing the same path he'd followed before. All the while, his other hand is fiddling with the comms device, probably replying to the man on the other end. Good. As long as his hands are still touching you, you don't particularly care what he's doing. “You found them?”

You sigh and let yourself relax once again, the soothing motions of his fingers against your fur quickly working you back into blissful indifference. You let your eyelids flutter closed, sinking back into the soothing rhythm of his touch. The only sounds you can focus on are his breathing, the soothing rasp of his glove against your fur, and the low hum of the comm conversation. This is nice.

He continues this motion for what feels like an eternity, the blissful sensation of being pet taking over your senses and dulling your brain into a euphoric, mindless state. You find yourself leaning heavily against his leg, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the low rumble of his voice against the comms acting as an oddly soothing background noise. Damn, you could get used to this....

Gradually, you become aware of him shifting, his hand leaving your spine. A low whine escapes your throat, your eyes opening to look up at him with a mixture of annoyance and pleading. Come back. You meow, demanding.

You let out a low grumble of complaint as he stands and picks up the device once more. Irritated at the interruption of your moment, you bat at his leg with your small paw, then quickly scamper away, leaping back onto the balcony from before. Now alone, you let out a sigh and circle the small space multiple times. The wood scraping against your claws sharply.

With a quick shift, you transform back into your human form, the small package clutched delicately in your hands. Turning, you slide open the door to the balcony and step through, the cool night air rustling against your clothes.

Tossing the small package onto the countertop, you drag yourself over to the couch. Your limbs ache with exhaustion as you collapse into the cushions with a thud. You bring the well worn blanket with you, wrapping your tired body in its familiar comfort. Your muscles are screaming out for rest. Which you happily oblige.

You're wrenched out of a fitful sleep, eyes fluttering open as the familiar, infuriating sound of construction greets you. Fuck. A loud, frustrated groan escapes your chapped lips. You pull a nearby couch pillow over your head, desperately trying to muffle the noise. With bleary eyes, you squint at the digital clock reading 5:42. You want to die.

The relentless hammering, banging, and drilling outside the thin walls of the apartment pierce your eardrums. You swear you can feel each blow of the hammer, every screech of the drill, deep in your bones. Make it stop. You press the pillow more firmly against your ears, trying in vain to block out the incessant din. You silently promise yourself that if you ever meet the city planner responsible for approving this construction, you'll kick him square in the nuts... Or right in the vagina– whatever. Now is not the time to debate over this.

With a groan of irritation and an abundance of hissing, you force your tired body into a sitting position as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You take a moment to rub your temples for some relief from the dull ache forming behind your eyes.

You open your red rimmed eyes and swing your legs over the side of the couch. The exhaustion from last night feels ten times worse now after being woken up prematurely by the construction racket. You mentally curse whoever’s in charge here, and their entire bloodline. Silently wishing for the noise to stop. Maybe you can sleep in the bathtub later...

You brace one hand against the side of the couch as you use it as support to rise to your feet. A series of satisfying cracks and pops resonate down your spine. By the sound of it you’re a chiropractors wet dream.

You let out a low sigh of relief as you straighten, your back now less taut than it was a few moments ago. Small mercies, right?

With your hands clamped tightly over your tender, sensitive ears, you stumble into the kitchen. You begin searching through each cabinet with a desperation that borders on violent. Your mission? Find the strongest headache pills you have.

After hastily flinging open each cupboard and shelf, you finally find what you’re looking for. A small, white bottle filled half way with little white tabs. With a quick twist, you pop the lid open and pour two pills out into your palm, before downing them dry.

You lean against the kitchen counter, eyes squeezed shut as you press the heels of your hands firmly into your temples. Come on. Work already..

You wait in silence, only the buzzing of the refrigerator and occasional hammering outside filling the air. You press your palms against your temples, as if physically willing the pills to work faster. The tension between your shoulders tight as piano wire.

You let out a frustrated groan, turning the tap on, lowering your head under the rushing water. You gulp down a few mouthfuls, letting the water run over, through, and past your lips. The noise of the tap muffling the sounds of the construction. The coolness of the water temporarily soothes the ache behind your eyes.

You let the water slide past your lips, closing them to savor the cool sensation. Your mind grows blank as you lose track of time, lost in tranquility despite the racket outside. Then, with a shaky hand, you turn off the tap, stepping back as you reach for a tea towel to dry your face and neck. The cloth rough against your tender skin, but the motion is calming, and your shoulders loosen the slightest bit.

You lean back against the counter, the cold marble seeping through your shirt, almost numbing any sensation on your skin. You take another moment to towel dry your hair, the rough material scraping against your scalp, and sending a pleasant shiver down your back. The small action temporarily distracting you from the pounding in your head.

You drop the towel, letting it fall onto the counter behind you. A long exhale escapes your mouth, your shoulders dropping as you relax. For a moment, the water seems to have worked. Unfortunately, the relief is short lived as the headache slowly creeps back in. A low growl escapes your lips. Ugh.

You scan over the bottle, reading the small print. Only twenty minutes before the damn things start to kick in. Shit. You shove the container back inside the cupboard, a frustrated huff leaving your lips. You drag your body over to your room, every step a tedious task.

You stumble into the room and collapse onto your bed, face first. You let out a low groan as your body lands on the soft, fluffy mattress. It welcomes you with open arms. You let yourself go limp, letting the comfort and softness of your bed lull you into a quiet state of half numbness. You can’t tell if it’s the lack of rest, or the pills finally starting to work, but you’re suddenly feeling incredibly woozy.

With a sluggish effort, you shift your head up, wincing at the sharp, persistent thrum in your skull. Despite the throbbing, you slowly extend your arm to reach for the pair of shorts laying on the edge of the bed.

With a weary sigh, you shuck off yesterday’s cargo pants and pull the new shorts up your legs. The simple motion feels like climbing a mountain. Deciding that the headache pounding through your mind was too much to change your shirt, you collapse back onto your bed. The sheets cool against your overheated skin.

You lay there for a moment, letting the comfort of your bed take hold. Despite the headache still pounding through your head, exhaustion slowly starts to take hold of you. Your eye lids flutter as sleep slowly creeps in. But just as you’re about to doze off, your stomach lets out an obnoxious gurgle, the sound piercing the silence. Great.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you shift up from the bed, grimacing as you do so. Your untamed hair sticking up in random directions. You rub your temple, as your stomach lets out another loud grumble. You let out an annoyed whine as the realisation sinks in. You’re out of groceries.

With a disgruntled huff, you haul yourself up for the second time. Reaching for your jacket as you quickly make your way towards the front door. This time choosing to forego the balcony and just walk like a normal person. You swing open the front door and step out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzz annoyingly overhead.

You step into the hallway, your shoes slapping softly against the tiled floor. The sound of the construction is no longer muffled, the endless banging and grinding now clear as day. You wince as the onslaught suddenly becomes unbearable. You quickly make your way to the staircase instead of the elevator. You can’t handle being jammed into that tiny space with the sounds of hell right now.

You take the steps of the staircase two at a time, just wanting to get out of this damn building as soon as possible. Each step echoes with a rhythmic thudding against the cold concrete as you make your way to the ground floor. The headache pills have finally started to work, but the pounding construction outside is slowly undoing their efforts.

You stride past the workers, shooting each of them a murderous glare. It’s not their fault they’re just doing their job. But goddamn it, the headache is worsening and it’s all you can do to not snap at them. Instead, you settle for shooting them a glare that could rival Batman himself.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the angry words building within you. Just keep walking. It’s fine. They’re not at fault here. It’s stupid to be angry at them. You repeat the mantra in your head like a broken record as your legs carry you further down the street. Further away from that blasted construction noise.

You keep walking, your shoes thumping against the concrete as you go. The further away you get from the construction, the more the headache starts to abate. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath of relief as you glance around at your surroundings. Barely anyone was out at this hour, the streets still mostly asleep.

After walking another ten minutes or so, you pause in the middle of the street and let out a string of quiet curses under your breath. The stores won’t be open for at least another four hours, and your stomach is starting to demand sustenance again.

Frustration builds inside of you, your teeth clenched tight together as you shuffle in place. You can’t go back to your apartment because of that goddamn noise, and all the stores that aren’t run by mobsters are closed.

You sigh, resting your tired body against the graffiti-filled wall behind you. There was another option you could try. But whether or not you were desperate enough to do it was something else.

You chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. You hadn't eaten much more than a small yogurt cup yesterday, and your stomach was protesting it's emptiness in a loud, gurgling complaint. You release a long sigh, doing a quick glance around to ensure no one was nearby before shifting into a cat.

The transformation is swift and graceful as you shift into the form of a sleek cat. Your body shrinks, limbs elongating and changing shape as soft multicoloured fur sprouts from your body. You stand on four paws, tail swaying languidly. You give yourself a quick shake, licking your little paws for good measure before looking around again.

You take a moment to get used to the new body you’ve assumed. Everything felt a tad bit more sensitive in this form. Your ears swivel around at minuscule sounds as you sniff the air with your sensitive nose, picking up on the various scents floating through the street.

You decide to try your hand at pity first, before resorting to thievery if your first plan fails. You slink down the street, your paws silent against the pavement beneath you as you search for some poor unsuspecting soul to assist you.

You stalk down the street, ears pricked and head tilted as you listen for the sounds of anyone making their way through the quiet street. You make yourself as adorable as possible: wide, begging eyes and sticking out your chest. A pitiful meow leaving your little cat mouth every so often, just for good measure.

You make your way through the city, heading towards the more upscale side of Gotham. You sway your tail idly behind you, the appendage brushing against the concrete and gathering the dirt that sticks to your fur. You make sure to rub up against some objects, gathering enough dirt and debris to make yourself appear slightly disheveled, but not enough to set off your instincts to want to groom yourself immediately.

You reach a neighbourhood of opulent high rises and well manicured lawns, plush houses and gated communities starting to become more frequent, a stark contrast to the graffiti-filled blocks you had passed before. Your fur is dusted with enough dirt to look untidy without feeling uncomfortable, and you let out a small meow as you glance down the street, scouting for a likely target.

You spot a man of considerable height, around 6 foot tall, with an intimidatingly built physique. His shirt clings just slightly too tightly against his chest, leaving little to the imagination. A scar mars the side of his face, making him look even more menacing. But you’ve seen far scarier looking men loitering at the end of your street. Saying that, doesn’t mean you’re any less scared of his imposing figure. So you quickly duck under the nearest parked car, attempting to conceal yourself beneath it.

You watch in trepidation as the man begins strutting towards the vehicle you’ve hidden yourself beneath. He kneels down in an unhurried, smooth motion, and peers right under the car. His gaze instantly locks onto you, your eyes widening in response to his intense stare. For the briefest of moments, you could have sworn there was a look of softness in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to see you.

“A cat?” The man lets out a small huff, shaking his head in what seemed like disbelief. His gaze drifts to your disheveled appearance, taking in the dirt that clings to your fur. He lets out a low hum, continuing to watch you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His muscles slowly relax. A smirk appearing on his face as he studies you closer.

Your tail sways behind you, your ears perking up at his relaxed gaze. A sly little grin of satisfaction threatens to rise to your face, but you hold it back, instead letting out a pitiful meow as you slowly shuffle closer to him. He doesn’t move away, watching your every movement with unwavering eyes.

You lower your head, slowly moving towards his boots. You let your body press against the soles of his shoes, a soft purring sound escaping your little feline mouth. The dirt from your fur slowly coats the previously clean material of his boots, but he doesn’t seem to mind the mess.

You continue to press your body against the hard leather of his boots, leaving behind a dusting of dirt. He crouches down, gently reaching out a big hand, careful not to scare you off. You can see the muscles in his arms flex with the action, the veins prominent on his knuckles. He gently runs a finger over your head, scratching just behind your ears.

The feel of his big hand against your head is gentle, his touch unexpectedly tender as he lightly scratches at the skin behind your ear. You let out a rumbling purr, unable to fight the comforting sensation that slowly starts to take over. Despite his intimidating appearance, he’s surprisingly sweet towards you.

He’s a hard-looking man, his appearance disheveled and weathered, a white streak through his jet black hair. His wide physique is almost intimidating, but you can see his heart already start to soften after a few moments. It seems even he isn’t immune to the charm of a pitiful stray cat begging for food and affection.

"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?" The man's deep, slightly grating voice calls out as he continues to gently scratch behind your ear. He's staring down at your small form with an odd expression of concern on his face, his eyes drifting over your disheveled fur.

Your ears perk up at the sound of his voice. Something suddenly seems terribly familiar about it. You tilt your head, glancing up to get a clearer look at the man’s face as you try and place where exactly you’ve heard his voice before.

You look closer at the man, studying his features with a furrowed brow. There’s no mistaking it now, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere before. You’re sure of it. But there’s no way you’d ever know anyone this big and intimidating before… right?

The man stands, gently scooping you up into his arms. He gives you a light pat on the head before he starts to move. “Come along then, I don’t need that little shit on my ass for leaving their little obsession stranded so far from home,” he mumbles, as if he’s talking to himself and not you.

You’re left blinking in surprise as you’re lifted from the ground, cradled in the man’s arms. You look up at him as he starts walking down the street with you, a bewildered look on your face. Obsession? Stranded? What the hell is this dude on?

The man continues walking, his stride even and unhurried. He glances down at you and scoffs, as if he’s amused by the sight of you. He mutters something under his breath as he walks, something that sounds like “God dammit, B.” He brings his hand up to give you a gentle scratch under your chin, the gesture almost affectionate.

Your stomach chooses the perfect moment to let out a loud grumble, the sound amplified by being so close to the man’s hand. You can feel his hand twitch against your belly slightly, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Hungry, huh?” The man drawls out. He stops his stride for a moment, pulling out his phone as he keeps you cradled in one arm. You can’t see anything from this angle, but you can hear the sound of him making a phone call.

It’s only a few rings before someone picks up on the other end. You can faintly hear a voice chatting softly on the other line, even though you can’t make out what they’re saying. The man lets out a small huff of annoyance before holding the phone up to his ear, shifting you in his arms to keep you comfortably balanced against his chest.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker, his voice gruff but surprisingly soft. “Yeah, I’m out on the east side. I found something.” There’s a pause as the person on the other line responds, and you can faintly hear them say something, although it’s muffled and indistinct. The man snorts, his eyes drifting down to you for a moment before he continues.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m bringing ‘em back. Relax,” The man responds to the person on the other side of the line, rolling his eyes. You watch the side of his face as he talks, your ears pricked, ears catching snippets of the conversation. Relax? What do they mean by that? Are they talking about me?

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” the man says, shifting you around again as he begins to resume walking. “I’ll be back in an hour.” The person on the other end says a few more words before there’s a beep signifying the call’s been cut. He shoves his phone back into his pocket before bringing his hand back to keep you cradled against his chest.

You huff softly, feeling a strange mix of irritation and intrigue swirling inside of you. In an attempt to distract yourself, you reach your small paw up, lightly tapping it against the man’s cheek.

It’s a small action, intended to be nothing more than a curious little jab. But against the rough, scarred skin of the man’s cheek, your tiny little paw seems almost affectionate. He glances down at you at the contact, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.

He studies you for a moment, a look of almost curiosity on his face. It’s a far cry from the gruff, hardened exterior he had been portraying up until now. He stops his stride for a moment, lifting you closer to his face to look at you more closely.

He seems almost… fascinated by you. His eyes rove over your soft fur and little face, taking in every detail. He lets out a low hum, slowly reaching out a hand and gently stroking your back. “The kid’s is gonna kill me for letting you get all dirty.”

The hand stroking gently down your back is surprisingly soft, despite the callouses and ridges of his fingertips. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, probably trying to deduce what to do. “You’re a mess,” he mutters, his gaze drifting over your disheveled coat.

You can feel the urge to roll your eyes at the man’s words, the comment practically begging for a sarcastic reaction. But you hold it back, reminding yourself of the delicious meal you’re hoping to get out of him. Better hold back on the sass, for now.

Instead, you let your tail flick idly, trying to appear as innocent and pitiful as possible. Come on, man. Have a heart. Feed me.

The dude glances down as your tail continues to flick against his arm, almost as if you’re trying to lure him into doing something for you. A light snort escapes his mouth, his fingers trailing down to give you a little scratch on the head. “You’re a sly little bastard, ain’t ya?”

His statement is more of an off-handed comment rather than an actual critique. He continues to scratch behind your ear, seemingly unable to resist giving you a little affection. His gaze drifts over your disheveled form, taking in the dirt-matted fur and slight exhaustion in your eyes.

He lets out a soft grunt, his touch gentle as he runs his hands through your fur. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, his eyes never leaving your disheveled appearance. “How long you been out here all alone, huh?” he mutters, his voice gruff but strangely sympathetic.

The man lets out a low huff, glancing down at you with an almost sympathetic look on his face. “It’s earlier than we planned,” the man mutters, a hint of regret coating his words. His hand still softly stroking through your fur. “But the renovations are nearly ready,” his eyes taking in your exhausted form. It’s hard to say if he’s talking to you or to himself, a note of assurance in his voice. “So soon, kid.”

You look up at him with a bewildered expression on your face, your little mind still trying to make sense of his words. What is he talking about? Renovations? Who’s he talking to? Who are the people he keeps mentioning? What is even happening right now? But you quickly cover it up and let out a tired-sounding meow, hoping he won’t notice the hint of confusion in your little feline face. He glances down at you, his hand slowly rubbing a soothing circle on your back.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he murmurs, his voice still gruff but the tone softer this time. “You’ll be safe soon enough.” He gives you a gentle pat on the head before resuming his stride. You can feel his arms cradling you against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat almost lulling you into a sense of security.

Even as your mind races with unanswered questions, the beat of the man’s heartbeat seems to soothe you, acting as a strange form of comfort. His warm arms keep you tucked against him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest steady and unhurried. It’s an almost reassuring presence.

The man carries you down the street, the rhythmic sound of his footsteps and steady rhythm of his heart slowly lulling you into a trance-like state. The exhaustion from the past few days is finally catching up to you, a small yawn escaping your little mouth before you can try to fight it.

You can feel your eyelids growing heavy, exhaustion taking over your small body. The steady rhythm of the man’s heart combined with the gentle rocking of his arms as he walks send a wave of fatigue through you. You try to fight back the overwhelming tiredness, but another small, squeaky yawn escapes your little mouth.

With a soft contented sigh, you stretch out your little paws, making yourself comfortable in his arms. The man lets out a low chuckle as he watches your little legs extend, giving you a gentle pat on the back.

It’s strangely comforting, being held in the man’s strong arms. The sound of his laughter rumbles through his chest, and you can almost hear a hint of affection in the gesture. You feel the weight of your fatigue start to increase, your eyes slowly blinking shut against your will.

You blearily blink your eyes open, suddenly finding yourself lying on a soft cushion. The fabric feels luxurious against your fur, the plush material enveloping you in a comfortable embrace. You dazedly look around, trying to recall how you ended up on this soft surface.

Your little ears fold back as you look around, slowly taking in your surroundings. A brief moment of confusion washes over you as you realize that you had fallen asleep in the man’s arms. But seeing him still here, you let out a relieved sigh, your entire fluffy body moving up and down in the process. Thank everything that he didn’t leave me on the side of the road.

He glances over at you, noticing that you’re now awake. “You finally back with the living?” he says gruffly, his voice tinged with amusement. You can see a hint of a smile on the man’s face, betraying his hard exterior.

You lift your chin up in a defiant huff, letting your tail flick against the soft cushion as an additional statement of irritation. The man lets out a snort, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at your small act of feigned irritation.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he mutters, his voice taking on a slightly amused tone. He reaches a hand out to give you a small pat on the head, his rough fingers gently stroking your fur.

Your chest lets out a soft rumble, purring at the feeling of his hand stroking through your fur. Your gaze drifts around the room, your nose twitching as you pick up on a delicious scent. Food, your stomach rumbles. Please, be food.

The aroma is tantalizing, making your little stomach grumble loudly in response. You wonder if it's your imagination, or if the man actually has food nearby. The man lets out another amused huff as he notices your nose twitching and your stomach rumbling. “Impatient little thing, eh?” he mutters, lifting his hand from your head to look at you with a slightly entertained expression. Your little paws twitch slightly, as if you’re preparing to go searching for where the wonderful scent is coming from.

He chuckles at your eagerness, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Calm down, bud,” he says gruffly. “Food’s coming in a minute. Ain’t gonna starve ya.’” He gives you another gentle pat on the head, his hand large enough to practically cover your entire body.

You let out a dissatisfied huff, your gaze still darting around to try and find the source of the delicious scent. You want to rush out and find the food immediately, but the man's large hand keeps you pressed firmly on the soft cushion. You squirm a little impatiently, your tail flicking idly against the fabric. Your cat instincts taking over.

He lets out an amused laugh at your squirming, your restlessness making it hard for him to keep you in place. “Hold still,” he says gruffly. “You're making it hard to keep you in one place.” He reaches his hands out again and gently holds you down, preventing you from moving around any further.

You’re not a fan of this guy keeping you down, your instincts flaring up in defiance. Despite the delicious promise of food in the air, you’re tempted to lash out and scratch him just for holding you in one spot. Release me, your inner self growls.

You pause in your struggle, your little ears perking up and your whiskers twitching as the clink of dishes and the soft sound of footsteps approaching comes from nearby. Your nose twitches with anticipation, the delicious smells in the air becoming more concentrated. Food.

You crane your head to get a better look at the approaching figure, your little body shifting slightly on the cushion. The man holding you down also looks up, watching as someone walks into the room carrying a tray of food. Your little mouth starts to salivate, the enticing scents wafting over to you and making your stomach rumble loudly.

The guy releases his grip once you stop squirming, letting you move freely again. You can feel your instincts taking over your little body, your tail curling around your side as you focus your attention on the tray of food being presented in front of you. “Here you are, Master Jason.”

Your eyes are almost glued to the tray, filled with the most tantalizing smells that you've come across. The man– Jason watches you quietly, amused by your little display. The person holding the tray sets the food down in front of you, the various dishes arranged in an almost tempting manner.

You want to purr in delight as you look at the food laid before you. Thank god there’s none of that dreadful cat food in sight. You've had your fair share of people trying to feed you that horrible kibble in the past, and you're definitely not a fan. This food smells a million times better than anything that ever came out of a can. Meat.

You shoot him a glance of appreciation before hopping onto the table, greedily pouncing on the food in front of you. You dive right in, devouring the food with gusto, your little tongue lapping at the meat hungrily.

You pay no mind to him as you feast on the delicious meal laid out in front of you. The smells, the texture, the taste; it’s all absolutely heavenly. You eat like you've never eaten before, your little body almost shaking with contentment. This might just be the best meal you’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.

Meanwhile, Jason watches your little display with a slight smirk on his face. He doesn’t say anything, just watching as you devour the food on the plate in front of you with relish. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, quickly taking a picture of you digging into the food to send to the family in case they ask how you're doing. He lets out a soft huff of amusement at your behavior, a hint of fondness in his eyes.

You're so lost in the food, you don't even notice the older man taking a picture of you. All your focus is singular, eating as much as you can before it’s taken away. The man watches you with a mix of amusement and something else that you can’t quite place. Too absorbed in your meal to notice his reaction.

Once you’ve practically licked the plate clean, you finally feel a sense of fullness, your little belly pleasantly satisfying. You give yourself a little shake, a little bit of food still stuck to your whiskers. Jason chuckles slightly, watching your little satisfied display. He breaks the silence as you finish cleaning yourself off.

“Had enough?” he asks in a gruff voice. His words are gruff and blunt, but you can sense the touch of amusement within them. You let out a little huff, feeling satisfied but also a little bit embarrassed at how fast you had eaten. Too much food, you think, your little stomach feeling a bit bloated.

The next thirty minutes pass by in a blur, your mind fuzzy and filled with the sensation of being inside Jason’s leather jacket as he mounts his bike. He doesn't have a bag or carrier to keep you secure, so you cling onto his shirt for dear life, your little claws digging tightly into the fabric. The wind whips through your fur as the bike roars to life, the force of the breeze making you instinctively cling even harder.

You had assumed that Jason was simply taking you back to the spot where he had found you under the car. After all, there was no chance in hell that you were going to poke your head out of the top of his jacket to check yourself. However, as he stops the bike and unzips the jacket, revealing your familiar surroundings, your tail begins to fluff up in surprise. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re at home, as in, right outside your apartment. The fur on your back bristles, ears folding back. You’re quick to jump off of the vehicle, backing away. What the fuck?

You scramble off Jason's lap and onto the sidewalk, your little paws almost slipping in your haste. The moment you land on the pavement, you take a few stumbling steps back, your tail puffed up and your fur standing on end. How could he possibly know where you live? You hadn’t given away any indication that you lived here, or anywhere for that matter. You had been so careful to stay out of sight, blending into the shadows. There was no way he could have known. And yet… here you are, outside your home. You take a tentative step back, your little feet moving instinctively. Your instincts are screaming at you to run, to get away from this guy who seemingly knew too much about you.

Your eyes dart from the man to the building behind you, your mind racing. Everything inside you is telling you to run, to flee and go hide. You were supposed to be so careful, so cautious about keeping your identity a secret. And now this man standing in front of you, this guy you barely knew, had just pulled up right outside your home. How the hell did he know where you lived? Run, your instincts yell. Run, run, run.

You take another jerky step back, your little paws almost slipping on the rough pavement. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You almost trip over your own feet, your mind flooded with a mix of fear and confusion. How does he know? How the fuck does he know!? You’ve been so careful, covering your tracks, making sure no one followed you home. But here he is, standing in front of you, looking all too calm and collected. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he knows where you live or how calm he seems about it.

You don't waste another second, your little feet moving as fast as they can. Your instincts are screaming at you to run and get away as fast as possible. So that's what you do. You take off like a shot, darting away from the bike, from the man, from everything. Your focus is on nothing except getting away, getting somewhere safe, somewhere away from this guy who apparently knew more than he should. You dart upstairs faster than you thought physically possible, breath coming out laboured as you panic, not bothering to check if anyone’s nearby as you shift back to human, unlocking your door and slamming it closed behind you.

Jason let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration as he watches you scamper off. "Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, watching as your small form quickly disappears from sight. "I didn’t think that through." He scowls, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected you to panic quite that much.

Your knees suddenly give way, and you collapse to the floor with a thump. Your hand instinctively moves to press against your chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. Your mind is racing, your body shaking from the adrenaline and panic of the situation. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing, your chest heaving as you gasp in sharp breaths.

You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making it feel like it’s about to explode. You can barely breathe, your gasps for air coming in quick, sharp pants. Your head is swimming, the world around you seeming to spin and tilt with each jerky movement. You can’t think straight, your mind filled with a swirling mix of panic and confusion. It feels like everything is closing in on you, the walls of your apartment suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

You try to focus on taking deep, calming breaths, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths come out ragged and uneven, each one feeling like a struggle. Your chest is heaving, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you’re starting to wonder if it’ll burst. You drop your head down, resting your forehead against your knees, trying to steady yourself. Your mind is racing, thoughts and questions and doubts swirling in a confusing mess.

You desperately try to calm down, to ease the frantic beating of your heart. But nothing seems to work, the panic and confusion making it nearly impossible to think straight. Your head spins as you struggle to take deep breaths, each one catching in your throat like a lump. You can feel your body trembling, your muscles tense and coiled like a spring about to snap. The thought of the man outside your door, the man that knew where you lived, makes your stomach twist in knots.

It feels like your privacy has been invaded, your safe sanctuary no longer feeling so safe. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a small, trapped animal. Your mind races, trying to come up with some kind of plan, some kind of solution to this messed up situation. But you’re too lost in your own head, too focused on calming your panicked breathing to come up with anything coherent.

You feel like you’re drowning, your body overwhelmed by the flood of emotions and the physical response. You need to get yourself under control, to get your thoughts sorted out and figure out what the hell to do. But it feels like your mind and your body are in a constant tug-of-war with each other, neither one willing to give in. It’s like being stuck in a nightmare that you can’t wake up from.

You’re suddenly aware of the silence in your apartment. It’s an eerie stillness that seems to echo the chaos in your mind. The only sound is the soft rush of your own breathing, the beat of your heart a steady drum in your ears. It’s too quiet, and yet it’s almost deafening at the same time. You stay slumped on the floor, your head still against your knees, too overwhelmed to even think about getting up. You can’t breathe.

Your lungs feel like they’re on fire, each breath a struggle against the tight feeling in your chest. Your body is shaking, the adrenaline and panic having physical effects that you’re powerless to stop. You try to focus on calming yourself down, to get your breathing under control, but it’s like trying to hold onto water. Your lungs seizing up with each gasping breath. You try to focus on your breathing, trying to steady the erratic rhythm. But it’s like your body won’t obey, each inhale sharp and uneven, each exhale ragged. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your temples, echoing the desperate rhythm of your heart. You need to get yourself together, to calm down. You need to calm down.

You try to mentally force yourself to calm, to slow down your breathing, but it’s like every part of your body is working against you. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, swirling around in your head like a storm. Your heart is still racing, the panic and fear making it almost impossible to concentrate. You try to focus on something, anything to try and control the chaotic mess that is your mind. But your thoughts keep slipping away, dancing just out of reach every time you try to grasp them. You can't think, you can't breathe, you can't move.

You’re trapped in your own mind, your own body. You feel so small, so helpless, so utterly alone. The silence in your apartment is deafening, adding to the feeling of isolation. You try to will yourself to move, but you’re stuck, paralyzed by your own fear and panic. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, the erratic beats echoing in your ears as you try to force your lungs to take slow, steady breaths. You need to calm down. You need to.

You force your shoulders to relax, your eyes fluttering open. Okay, okay… You can do this. You try to remember the steps you learned for managing panic attacks. Breathe in for four, hold for… You can’t think. Your brain is fuzzy, filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories. You try to remember the proper way to do it but your mind refuses to cooperate. Four or seven? Or was it nine? Exhale for eight. Fuck, I can’t think.

Your mind is a blur, your thoughts chaotic and tangled. You can’t remember the step-by-step process. Something about breathing in for a certain number of seconds, holding it, and exhaling for another number of seconds. But the details are a hazy mess, your panic making it impossible to remember clearly. You try your best, sucking in a shaky breath and holding it for what you think is the right amount of time. But your heart is still racing, your hands still trembling. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? Why the fuck isn’t it working?

Jason stands against his bike, his gaze fixed on the window of your apartment. He's on the phone with Bruce, his voice low and filled with frustration. "I know, I know…" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admits, grimacing at his own carelessness.

He listens as Bruce responds, his eyes never leaving the window. He can feel the weight of his mistake sitting heavily on his shoulders. He should have known that you'd react the way you did, and he should have stuck to the plan. But he didn’t. He just acted, without thinking. Just like always, his conscience needles him.

Jason sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as Bruce continues to speak. He knows Bruce is right, he always is. He’s good at saying the things that are hard to hear but desperately needed to be said. It’s part of what makes him great, but it also makes him irritating sometimes. Like right now.

"I know," Jason replies, his voice slightly sharp. "I get it. But what am I supposed to do now?"

There’s a pause as Bruce replies, his voice muffled over the phone. Jason’s face tightens, his jaw clenching as he listens. Yeah, yeah. Be patient. Easy for you to say.

"I know,” he repeats, his voice strained. "But the kid bolted before I could even get a word in. Now they’re probably scared shitless in there."

There's another pause. Jason can hear the steady timbre of Bruce’s voice on the other end, his words blending in a stream of low, soothing murmurs. He rolls his eyes, bristling at the older man's calm, steady tone. It always makes him feel like a kid being lectured, even though a part of him knows it’s not entirely untrue.

He lets out another sigh, his body sagging against his bike. "I’m trying," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up, alright? I’ll give ‘em time to cool off." He glances back at your apartment, a pang of something he can’t quite identify tugging at his chest.

He nods along to whatever Bruce is saying, his eyes flickering back to your apartment window. He wonders if you're watching him from behind those blinds, if you’re scared, angry, confused. Probably all three, his mind supplies.

He winces at the thought, his hand tightening around his phone. He hates the thought that he might have screwed this up before it even really started. Bruce is probably right, he should give you space. But the thought of just leaving you alone and confused chafes at him, makes him want to just go in there and fix things already. He knows Bruce can feel his tension, can sense the turmoil roiling beneath his stoic exterior. Damn Batman and his stupid emotional intuition.

"Yeah, I get it," he mutters into the phone, his voice tight. "I’ll back off, give them space. But I don’t like it." There's another pause as Bruce responds, his voice low and steady.

It soothes something in him, a part of him that still yearns for guidance and approval, even though he knows he’ll never admit it. It’s a part of him that he usually denies, pushes down, but moments like these have a way of bringing it to the surface.

He's silent for a moment, letting Bruce speak. The older man's voice is steady, a low, grounding murmur that somehow manages to both soothe and irritate him at the same time. He's always been good at that, somehow finding the exact words needed to either calm him down or piss him off even more.

Jason clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together in frustration. He’s torn. Part of him wants to just march up there, kick down the door and force you to talk to him. But he also knows that would just make things worse. He’s not good at the whole patience thing, but he knows that just charging in like a bull in a china shop is only going to make things more difficult. Damn it. He swings his leg over his bike, settling onto the seat. He takes one final look up at your window, his gaze lingering there for a moment. He can almost feel the weight of your fear and confusion from here, like a tangible thing. It makes his stomach twist into knots, his hands clenching on the grips.

But he knows he needs to let you be, to give you the space you clearly need. So, with a heavy sigh, he revs the engine and pulls away.

You wake up with a start, your body jerking out of a fitful sleep. Your body is covered in a cold sweat, your clothes sticking to your skin in an unpleasant way. You sit there in the darkness, your breathing heavy and your heart thumping hard in your chest.

Your room is still, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft sounds of the city outside your window.

Three long weeks have passed since you last saw Jason. The days have slipped by in a blur of routine and monotony. You go to work, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. It's like you're living your life on autopilot, your thoughts often drifting to the man who showed up at your door that night.

Since that night, you haven’t shifted. Something deep inside you, some instinctual feeling, tells you that it’s not safe to do so. So you stay human, your animal form buried deep within you, a constant low hum of unease. The feeling of something bad happening if you shift is a constant nagging in the back of your mind, a feeling you can’t shake despite your attempts to dismiss it as paranoia.

The longer you stay human, the stronger your instincts become. You catch yourself acting cat-like in subtle ways: tilting your head to the side when you're listening, twitching at sharp noises, even finding yourself kneading at your shirt when you’re frustrated. It’s a constant internal struggle, your instincts demanding to be let out while your rational mind tells you to keep them contained. You know it’s not healthy, not sustainable, but you can’t shake the feeling that shifting is just too risky right now.

You’re acutely aware of how unhealthy this is. You can feel the tension building within you, the constant battle between your human side and your animal side wearing you down mentally and emotionally. Your thoughts are constantly consumed with the need to shift, the need to be in your animal form, the need to let your instincts take over. But something inside you is holding you back, some primal fear that won’t let you let go. It’s a constant struggle you can’t escape, a constant mental strain that's slowly but surely eating away at your sanity.

You groggily stumble out of bed, the cool night air hitting your skin like a refreshing splash of water. It’s late, the digital clock on your bedside table reading 2:47 AM. You shiver slightly, your muscles tight and cramped from your restless sleep. Despite the chill in the air, you can’t help the feeling of relief as you step out onto your balcony. The city is quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of the day replaced with a soothing, almost eerie calm.

In a moment of clarity, you realize you’re being ridiculous. You’re tired, you’re frustrated, and damn it you’re tired of living in constant fear. You’ve been tormenting yourself for weeks over this, letting your instincts fester and your body ache from the strain. And for what? What's going to happen in the middle of the night on a Wednesday? Nothing, that’s what. And you’re not going to keep making yourself ill over some bastard stalker.

With a rush of determination, you finally give in. You let your instincts take over, your body shifting and contorting into your animal form. The relief is immediate, the tension in your body melting away as you shed your human skin. The cool night air is even more refreshing in this form, your senses heightened as you take in the night around you. Finally, you feel like you can breathe again, the weight of your human anxieties falling away like a heavy coat. You felt free.

The world looks different through your animal eyes, the details sharper and more defined. Your ears twitch, picking up sounds you'd never notice in your human form. Your muscles twitch as your animal instincts kick in, a low purring sound rumbling through your chest. It's been so long since you've let yourself be like this, since you've just been. It's exhilarating, freeing, like coming up for air after being stranded underwater for too long.

You pad over to the edge of the balcony, your paws making almost no sound on the wood. You look out at the city, the glittering lights and silent streets a stark contrast to the chaotic hum during the day. It’s quieter, calmer, a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in ages. You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs and making your fur stand on end. You feel more alive here, more yourself, than you have in weeks.

Your muscles ripple under your fur as you stretch, arching your back and tilting your head back. A low, rumbling purr vibrates in your chest, the contentment filling you almost overwhelming. You close your eyes, letting the sounds and smells of the city wash over you. You’ll deal with everything else in the morning. For now, you’re going to stay like this and enjoy the freedom.

You sit there for a while, enjoying the cool night air and the sensation of being so deeply in tune with your instincts. The city sounds become a soothing background noise, a comforting hum in the air. You roll onto your back, stretching out your body and letting your limbs go limp. Your tail swishes lazily back and forth.

You roll onto your stomach, your muscles coiling as you prepare to spring. With a powerful leap, you propel yourself onto the nearby roof. Your paws touch down silently, the soft pads muting any sound. Your heart is racing now, the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you break into a run. Running as an animal is different than running as a human. It’s more instinctual, more right. You can feel the ground underneath your paws, the muscles in your legs bunching and releasing with every step. You tear across the rooftops, feeling more alive than you have in weeks. The night air whistles in your ears, the city passing by in a blur.

Your stride is effortless, muscles straining as you push yourself faster, the wind ruffling your fur and making your tail fan out behind you. You leap effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, your body a blur of motion. You’re not even thinking about where you’re going, your only focus is on the sensation of speed, the feeling of freedom. Gotham flashes past you in a dizzying array of lights and shadows, your world narrowing down to your heartbeat and the rhythm of your paws hitting the roof.

Time seems to blur together as you run, the hours flying by like seconds. The city blurs past you in a wash of colors and sounds, the lights of Gotham like stars in a night sky. You don’t focus on how long you’ve been running, or how far you’ve gone, or even where you’re going. For once, none of that matters. All that matters is the wind in your fur and the feeling of freedom coursing through your veins. Your body is sore and your heart is racing, but you feel alive.

You're so focused on the run that you don't notice the black boots in your path until you're upon them. You slam on the brakes, your body slipping and sliding as you come to an undignified halt in front of a pair of long, outstretched legs. You hiss in surprise and frustration, your heart racing from the sudden stop. You glare up at the figure towering above you, tail lashing.

Nightwing chuckles, a soft, amused sound that you can hear clearly even over the pounding of your heart. He lowers his eskrima sticks, holding them loosely by his side as he kneels down to your level. The hero's eyes are sparkling with mirth, his smile slightly crooked.

"Well, hello there." he says, his voice smooth and rich.

He tilts his head to the side, studying you with a curious gaze. You're still panting from your run, your body tense and braced for a fight. Nightwing's smile widens at your reaction, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"You're pretty fast," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice. He extends his hand towards you, the black, latex covering his fingers gleaming in the low light. He stops just millimeters from your face, allowing you to sniff and inspect him for a moment. His scent is clean and crisp, a hint of something sweet mixed in.

After a few seconds, he starts gently petting you, his gloved hand scratching behind your ears in a soothing motion. “You’re even prettier in person, kitten.”

A wave of unexpected pleasure washes over you as he starts petting you. His touch is firm yet gentle, just the right amount of pressure to soothe the tension in your body. His hand moves from behind your ears to scratching behind your chin, the soft hiss of latex against your fur the only sound in the quiet night. The petting feels ten times better after not shifting after such a long time. You lean heavily into his palm.

“You’re a runner, huh?” Nightwing murmurs, his voice a soft rumble. “Bruce isn’t gonna like that.”

His words are casual, almost conversational, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness to them. He continues to pet you, his hand moving in a slow, soothing rhythm.

“Running around Gotham like this,” he continues, his tone dropping lower. “It’s dangerous. You should stick to the rooftops, little one. Makes it harder for the baddies to get to you.”

As your attention is occupied with looking up at Nightwing, you don’t recognise the second pair of boots that approach. You’re jolted out of your thoughts as another pair of warm hands suddenly scoop you up, grabbing your stomach and lifting you off the ground. The sensation is so sudden and unexpected that you don’t even have time to react. A startled yowl escapes you as you’re lifted off the roof and held against a broad chest.

Your body stiffens in surprise, a low hiss escaping your clenched teeth. Your instincts are screaming at you to flee, to lash out, to fight, but the hands have you in an unbreakable grip.

Nightwing straightens up, sliding his eskrima sticks into their holsters with a practiced flick of his wrists. He casts you a glance, his eyes softened with concern as he looks at your tense form in Robin’s arms.

"Careful, Little D," he says, a slight edge to his voice. "The kitty hasn’t been out in a long time."

Damian just scoffs in response, his grip on you tightening. His body is tense, his hands clenching in your fur, but there’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes that betrays his indifference. His voice is as haughty as ever, a touch of impatience in his tone. "I know that, Grayson. I'm not a child."

Nightwing hums at Robin’s attitude, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against a nearby AC unit with a slight sigh.

"Sure you're not,” he responds back to Robin with a playful tone of annoyance.

Damian just huffs, tightening his grip on you, causing you to let out a surprised, muffled meow in response. His eyes dart down to you, a slight flicker of fascination in his cold, calculated gaze. He loosens his hold subconsciously. Petting your head in a silent apology.

The younger boy doesn’t respond to Dick’s remark, motioning for him to hurry up already.

With a grin, Dick holds his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. He reaches into his utility belt and procures a small, emerald green and black collar. A symbol you can’t recognise embroidered onto the back where the latch is.

This isn't any average collar that you can find at a pet store. This is high-tech, bordering extravagant. There's a small, golden bell hanging from the front, jingling softly with every little movement made, and there’s a silver, gold-edged tag already attached with some information you can't see yet. But what catches your eye, and fills you with a sense of dread, is the blinking red light on the centre, where it latches onto your neck. With these hook-like latches all around the inside that look all too much like they’ll pierce into you.

Before you can even think to react, Nightwing's already moving. He's faster than you can even register, the collar snatching around your neck in the blink of an eye. It tightens automatically, locking into place with a soft click. You can feel the hooks pierce into your fur and you let out a strangled whine.

As the collar locks into place, the bell on the front gleams in the low light, a soft jingle sounding as you jerk your head back in surprise.

Nightwing steps back, taking in the sight of you in the collar with a critical eye. He reaches forward and gives the bell a couple of light taps, the sound chiming softly in the night air.

"Looks good," he comments, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "Tim did good."

Damian hums in agreeance with a slight nod, his grip on you still firm and unrelenting. He casts a scrutinising glance over your form, his eyes lingering on the collar for a moment before moving back to you. He brings his thumb to the latch, pushing into the embroidered symbol. “What was the cast?”

As Damian brings his thumb to the latch, pressing into the embroidered symbol, you hear a soft click, followed by a low chime. You feel the collar loosen around your neck, but it still stays in place. For a moment, you consider trying to tear it off, but a warning tug from the collar's hooks and a glare from Damian stop you short.

Dick grins. “It’s our kittens name, D.”

Damian scowls, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes studying your form intently. It's almost unnerving, the intensity of his gaze.

He presses his thumb against the seal harder, his voice a murmur as he utters your name. When you feel the collar tighten around your neck, you try to jerk your head back out of the way, but the collar holds fast, the hooks attaching themselves deeper into your fur. You try to resist, but the more you struggle, the more your mind grows fuzzy. An intense drowsiness rushes over you, your eyelids growing impossibly heavy. Your vision starts to swim, the world around you growing dark at the edges. As the collar locks into place, the hooks latching more snugly into you, you suddenly feel trapped. Your legs buckle underneath you, sending you sprawling into Damian's arms. The latch on the collar is gone, replaced by a solid, unbreakable ring. There is no way to take it off.

The collar appears deceptively normal, made of a thick dark green leather-like material with a simple golden buckle to secure it. The only thing that gives away its high-tech design is the absence of a latch to clip it open. Most people would overlook it, mistaking it for a regular, ordinary collar.

As you black out and lay heavily in Damian's arms, Dick coos softly, bringing a hand out to rub along your fur. His touch is gentle, his tone affectionate.

"Aren't they so cute asleep?" he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks at your unconscious form.

Damian nods silently in response, his embrace around you tightening just slightly, tugging you closer against his chest. He brings his face down, gently nuzzling his chin into your soft, multicoloured fur, hiding the hint of a smile on his lips.

Dick steps forward, a smile on his face as he watches his younger brother hold you close. He reaches out to ruffle Damian's hair affectionately, before speaking up.

"Let's go home."

Guess who spent three days working on this

Anyway, it’s finally out! Send a comment or msg if you would like to be @ in chapter two and for any anon answers that I do for the fic

I had milk and warm cookies while making this, like a child.

[bats-and-the-birds]

I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

[bunny-jpeg]

kink-o-ween - day two

max verstappen & charles leclerc - threesome

cw: smut/pwp, threesome, enthusiastic consent, breast play, fingering, doggy style, oral sex (charles receiving),

you didn't expect for this to happen. when you fell in love with charles leclerc, you didn't expect to end up in max verstappen's orbit. you knew that you'd be in the spotlight regardless. the prince of monaco, it would be impossible not to have your face in the tabloids.

while you were on charles' arm at events, smiling up at him with love in your chest, you could feel the heated gaze of max's blue eyes on you. your world became of green and blue, lingering gazes of your boyfriend and the rival he held dear. it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head. when you ended up in the sheets with the prince of monaco and the lion of the netherlands.

this was a position many would die for. in between two and three of the dutch grand prix, they both had their eyes on something different. while the trophies were nice, but they'd end up in storage and long forgotten. but you were fresh like summer fruit, perfect to put between their teeth.

"i see how you eye her, mate." charles said as he leaned against the back wall, a cigarette between his fingers, "i think you should be more subtle. or people will talk."

max took the cigarette from him and took a drag, "then stop dressing her in outfits that make the whole garage stop and stare.

"she dressed herself. she's been hoping to catch your eye. we've been thinking. a week away. you, me and her. something to keep us busy."

max took another drag and chuckled, hidden from the eyes of the press. he went over to charles and grabbed him by the chin, their gazes remained leveled with one another. he chuckled, "are you whoring out your girlfriend to me, mate?"

"it's not whoring out if we all want it."

it came about weeks later, a break in the season. not a long one like the full summer break. but enough that the two men could spend hours being in bed with you. it was in a hotel outside of austin. where you really felt the heat of the texan sun. it was a small place, a little shady, but you paid in cash and the bed with big. not too many questions were asked, they didn't even ask for your passport. they simply took the cash and handed you a key. and once the door to the room was closed, you felt hands coming from behind to unbutton your shirt.

you looked over your shoulder and saw max's gaze on you and when you looked back, you felt your boyfriend's front against you. charles was getting your jeans off. there really was no time like the present.

"insatiable." you sighed as you aided max getting your shirt off.

"we've waited long enough." charles said as he pulled your shorts down to your ankles. you moaned a little as he rubbed your cunt over your cotton panties. but the noises didn't last long as max captured your lips in his.

you aided them to get you naked and eventually ended up on the squeaky mattress. both men looked down at you and you swallowed a little. you tried to turn your body in a way to hide even an inch of skin. but charles stop you as he climbed into bed with you. he kicked his socks off as he pinned your wrists to the bed.

"no hiding for us, beautiful. you made a promise to be good for us." his voice was heat in your brain as you started to pull at his t-shirt, but max was close by helping him get it off. eventually the two men were stripped naked. expensive shirts were tossed to the ground. charles calvin klein's were over the edge of the bed. the covers were rough and unlike the soft bedding back in monaco. but this would have to do given the circumstances.

the three of you naked with each man on either side of you. their hands roamed your figure. max even went as far as to pinch the softness in your stomach before he pulled you in for a kiss. he tilted your head back to get access to your lips while charles' mouth was on your breasts. his tongue dragged across your nipples.

"she has the prettiest lips." max said as he held you throat gently.

"you should feel her breasts. she's perfectly soft, it's like heavy. she's flexible and is able to take cock like a champion." he chuckled. as he continued to silently worshiping your breasts. leaving wet kisses and small bites across the skin as max kissed you deeply. it all felt so good for you.

when they were done caressing you with kisses, you ended up on your hands and knees in front of charles' cock. your boyfriend was propped against the headboard.

charles grabbed a condom from a new box he kept in the nightstand and tossed it to max, "you're a good friend, max. but, i'm not letting you get that close to her."

max nodded before he put it on. he was on his heels and his cock in one hand while he got the condom over his length. your bare, wet cunt was enticing to him. he said, "it feels like i've lucked out quite a bit."

the other man replied, "yes you are. i don't get too angry about not getting podium sometimes because i know she'll let me do anything to make myself feel better."

max looked down at your bareback, "anything' huh?" that was curious to him.

charles' combed his fingers through your hair, you could feel his rings against your scalp as he looked at you with those dazzling green eyes. he said softly, "you're going to be good for our guest tonight? be good for our world champion." he chuckled before he pressed your mouth up against his cock.

you happily accepted it into your mouth and moaned loudly when max pushed his cock deep inside of you. max's eyes went wide for a moment of how sweet your pussy felt.

oh my god.

charles noticed and chuckled, "yeah. she feels good doesn't she." he looked down at you, "she's a real piece of work. i'm thankful that she is mine."

"except for tonight."

charles replied, "don't get too attached, max. you can have any woman you want." and looked down at you. he stroked your cheek, call it a little possessive but who would want to constantly share their slice of paradise. you continued to suck him off.

max started to work his hips against yours. he watched how you moved under him. the sight of his rival and you in front of him was painfully hot.

your sweet noises came from your lips and were muffled by charles' cock inside of you. the three of you moved together. you were getting it from all angles. letting these men have their way with you. it was all consensual, but it did feel dirty.

"do you like that?" charles asked as he gripped your hair.

you nodded rapidly and could feel your lover's cock in your throat. he was quite big, even after all the time together to take him in your mouth was a little bit of a struggle.

charles took your mouth off of him and jerked his cock rapdily, "use your words, my love. tell max and i how you feel."

you whined, "please, charles. max! it feels so good. like nothing else." you arched your back a little and moaned before your lover grabbed your by the back of your head and onto his cock once more.

the three of you moved in a steady pattern, the bed squeaked under you and the covers were rough against your knees and chest. this little motel in texas where no one asked questions was your little getaway for the night.

to run the course of your sexual fever as both men stayed inside of you. it felt so good. it made you drool in more ways than one as you felt max's cock nudge inside of your slick pussy and charles' cock up into your throat.

you held onto his strong thighs and moaned against his cock. max's cock in your pussy was making you feel a deep lust in your gut. he was similar size to charles, but his methods of fucking were much different. charles fucked like an inferno while max fucked with more methodical movements. regardless your head was spinning from it all.

to be between these two men, some of the toughest rivals in a long time. it made you hot all over, you loved charles but to spend a night with max as well added something that made you feel painfully turned on.

"she's beautiful. where did you find her?" max asked as his pace became a little more erratic. he was trying to chase the high of pleasure.

charles chuckled a little. his hand in your hair, "that's a secret, max." he rocked further up into your throat and could feel the heat seep into his blood.

max would give a lot for a woman like you, even outside of the bedroom he was captivated by you. how you giggled and smiled at the paddock, your knowledge of cars.

you whined a little bit and arched your back as you felt it all zip through your body. you felt alive between the two men and it made both of them very pleased. you were enjoying this despite working so hard to make them finish. you were a perfect woman.

max gave it a few more heavy thrusts before you came quickly around his cock which only made him push further into you. it was ticking all the boxes in his sexual depraved head. his chest against your back with your hips tilted to get the perfect angle for his heavy thrusts.

"please tell me where you got her, charles." max sputtered as he felt the draw of orgasm pull through him as he looked up at his longtime friend, "raya? snapchat? through a friend? does she have a sister?"

charles chuckled and patted his friend on the cheek, "that's a secret, max." he licked his lips, those green eyes gleamed with mischief. he wouldn't give away the secrets of how you met charles. it was too much of a funny story for the bedroom, plus charles may like it whe max is a little desperate.

max held onto you as tight as he could, almost bruising the skin. he finished inside of you and made the pleasure curl through both of your bodies. it was all so much for him but it felt good even while using a condom. it briefly made him wonder if he could ever try it bare with you. to get a better feeling of you sweet pussy.

"now help me out." charles said as you continued to suck him off. he almost felt the wind out of his gut as he felt max also lick his cock in the parts you couldn't reach without deep throating his cock too much. his choked out a groan before he came down your throat and you swallowed it eagerly.

charles looked down at the both of you and it excited him. to see his loving girlfriend and also his rival by his bare cock. he tried to shift off the bed to get settled for the night. but you held his hips to the bed.

you looked over at max and chuckled. you were still in a post-climax haze, "i think we should thank charles for tonight." then giggled at max.

max licked his lips and said, "of course. you take his cock, i'll take his mouth." which made heat rise to charles' cheeks as he was moved from the headboard.

everyone was going to get theirs tonight. charles only worry was, that he might have created a sexual monster out of you and max. and that tonight wouldn't be the last time this happened <3

[mommynott]

I see you have requests open 😈

May I please ask for a Theo Nott MASKED death eater fic/blurb/whever-you-want where he's morally grey, dommy, and dirty talks MC. Plz, Thank Youuuu 🫶🏼 Ily!

Hehehe

Anything for you Ashy 🖤

Hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Unmasked

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: You find yourself in a…sticky situation after Theo comes back from detention early. But those fantasies of yours surely become a reality.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, dom!theo, deatheater!theo, mask kink, rough sex, edging, degrading, dom+sub, masturbating, PIV, choking, slight slapping, it’s Theo Nott destroying you with a little ✨spice✨ A college AU, Chars 18+

As you waited for Theo to complete his detention, you idly played with the green tassels on his bedspread. Your gaze wandered over to the wall where his Death Eater mask hung. It seemed to be staring at you, menacing as ever, and it brought back memories of the chaos and pain caused by the war. But there was something else too…a strange attraction to the dark, mysterious object. You wondered what it would be like to see Theo wearing it again.

But this thought wasn’t a first, no, you’ve had many thoughts of Theo wearing that silver-painted mask. And those thoughts were definitely far from innocent. Your dainty hand ran through the tassels once more before slowly going to your breast. The little squeeze you gave yourself causing a moan to set free from your lips. Fuck, stop. He’s your friend. But you couldn’t, not when IT hung right beside you, your eyes gleaming up to the mask.

Trailing down further, your fingers traced to the inside of your plaid skirt, slowly creeping to your damp panties. With ease, you lifted the cloth material, finding your needy little clit immediately. It was as if the mask took control, guiding you to the filthiest depths of your mind, wanting you to reach that sweet release. Your gaze remained locked on it, the sounds of your wetness, along with your moans only getting progressively louder as time went on.

You were lost in a space of bliss, the visual of the mask, the scent of Theo’s cologne on his bedsheets. It was almost too easy to get turned on. You picked up the pace, swirling your fingers around your swollen bud. But just as you were nearing the climax you yearned for, the door swung open. Being stuck in this euphoric state, you had no idea Theo had walked in early from his detention.

Theodore’s jaw dropped at the sight of you masturbating in his bed. But your eyes were glued up to something. That damn mask. He followed your gaze along the wall and when he noticed what exactly you were staring at, a smirk twitched on his lips. This was something out of a damn porno film because if he was honest he had always wanted to destroy you. Explore you. Please you. “Are you…”

His voice was firm and assertive, waiting to get your full attention before continuing his sentence. You gasped, your wide eyes stuck on him in embarrassment. What the actual fuck? How do explain myself? Your lips parted but no words could come out. Lost in a tranced mix of arousal and shame, you couldn’t find the right thing to say. Theo took another stride toward his bed.

“-Are you touching yourself…? In my bed?”

Theodore asked, his voice dripping with seduction. Almost as if it was the honeyed venom of a snake, coaxing you to keep on going. Your fingers slowly worked at your clit, your blissful stare up on his. “I-…Yes…” Gods-what the fuck was happening? He’s my friend. Your thoughts. Your body. Everything seemed to be spiraling.

“You didn’t come yet…let me-“ He cut himself off with a shake of his head. The sly and sinister smirk only seemed to grow wider while he took another step closer to you. His darkened gaze focused on your drenched little slit. “You know…I could always get you off…” Yes fucking please. He barred his teeth, your gaze shifting back up to the mask but only momentarily. But Theodore noticed this, only finding it all too amusing. This would be a fun fucking night.

“You…you want to-fuck…you want to do this?” Through your little whimpers, your fingers seemed to move faster, not even realizing what you were doing. “I’ve wanted to do this….for a very…very long time, Tesoro.” The Italian rolled off of his tongue in a rugged manner. Hunger danced in his ocean eyes as he crawled onto his bed, one hand reaching up to grab the Death Eater mask. Wiggling it in front of you as if he was taunting you. But fuck, it was only fueling the feelings of arousal.

Theo slapped your pussy over your own hand, a yelp screeching from your mouth as you pulled your fingers away. “No…If you want to do this…we’re doing it my way.” He growled, nothing but dominance and assertiveness in his dilating pupils. “O-okay…understood.” You swallowed, watching his every move. Wanting to know what was next. Of course, you had heard the stories of Theodore in bed…but you were about to fucking experience it. First hand.

Setting the mask down on the bed, but only for a moment, Theo threw off his t-shirt, letting it fall beside the bed before grabbing the ominous mask. Slowly, he positioned it over his face, a loud huff coming from under it. He hadn’t put on this mask in ages. Not since the war. It was painted with terrible memories…but maybe…just maybe…this night could bring some light to it. A different perspective the slate object could see. Not just the bad but perhaps the good as well.

“Good fucking girl.” Theo was exhilarated already, his cock wanting to Burst through his grey sweatpants. He took his time, his hand trailing down your flesh. As he got further and further goosebumps pricked your skin. This was fucking it. Arriving at your pushed-over panties, he twirled them between his pointer finger and thumb before tearing them right off. The fantasy you always had of Theo wearing this mask as he had his way with you was finally becoming a reality.

The soaked lace was now a mangled bunch resting beside you. But you too were a fucking mess. Not just any mess…but tonight? Theo’s mess. His heavy hand slapped down across your wetness once more, causing your back to arch. “So fucking ready for me, hm?” He asked, his shadowy stare burning into you from under the mask. The metallics of it glowing under the dim lantern lamps. “Y-yes” you managed to choke out just as Theodore shoved two fingers inside of you.

“Gods…that little pussy is gripping my fingers-So fucking tight.” Theo spoke between his own groans while his fingers pumped in and out of you, doing a ‘come here’ motion. He was hitting places you never even knew existed, your nails clawing into his bed sheets as you took in this massive amount of pleasure he was providing you with. “I-…T-Theo...I’m so close.” A squeak came out followed by a sea of moans, squirming under his rough touch.

For a split second Theo thrusted his fingers faster, his lips curling into a dangerous grin before he removed his fingers out of you. “Not. Yet.” His tone was firm and assertive yet again, you bobbed your head while you caught your breath. But before you could utter a single word, he began again. “I told you…if you really want this…we’re doing it my way.” Your glossed-over eyes flickered up between his. The silver-painted mask seemed to darken with its own dominance. As if it was feeding off of Theodore’s energy.

“You finish when I say you can….Understood?”

You could see his gaze narrow down at you from beneath the mask, hearing his breaths turn into muffled growls. “U-understood.” You slowly whispered, Theo shuffled his grey sweatpants off. But when your eyes dropped to his cock, you had to bite your lower lip to hide the gasp that wanted to escape. Fuck, he’s huge. A prideful smirk painted his face while he stroked his length slowly, the slight wet sounds of his precum coating it whole.

“C’mere.” With that, he grabbed your thighs, spreading them further apart before pulling you closer to him. Theo threw one leg over his shoulder, propping himself with one hand as the other teased the tip of his dick right on your slippery entrance. “I’m going to fucking destroy you, Tesoro.” He growled just as he slammed himself deep inside of you, immediately hitting you with a fast speed. Your once moans turning into sobs of pleasure.

Theo took his now free hand and wrapped it around your throat. Providing just enough pressure to make your mind go fuzzy with ecstasy. “You’re fucking-fucking huge!” With a stuttered cry your doe-eyed gaze remained glued up to your friend wearing the death eater mask, fucking you like it was his last time ever having sex. Gods…I have never been fucked like this. Why is it so…fucking amazing?

“Yeah? You like taking my cock, bella? Feeling all nice and full, huh?”

Again with the taunting but fuck did you love it. Feeling yourself progressively getting closer with each thrust Theo gave you. Slowly feeling your eyes roll into the back of your head before a domineering tone took you out of that brink of bliss. “Not fucking yet” He grunted, pounding into you even harder than before. “Hold on just a little while longer. I know you can fucking do it.”

How in the fuck am I supposed to hold back an orgasm? His hand that was wrapped around your neck began to get tighter, almost like it was a warning shot from Theodore. You could have sworn your nails were tearing up his bedspread with how hard you were digging into them. Feeling your legs tremble as they wrapped around his lower back.

“I…I don’t know how much longer-Fuck! How much longer I can hold on” Tears were pricking your eyes as you struggled to not reach climax, the blurry view of the mask in front of you only teasing you more. And under it? Theo’s shit-eating grin was only growing by the second. Thriving off of your submissive energy. “C’mon, pretty girl…just a little bit more…don’t disappoint me. I know you can hold it.”

You weren’t even quite sure if you could hold it, how in the fuck was he so confident that you could? But you complied, like a good fucking sub. And boy did Theo fucking adore that. His fingers trickled up your neck, to your jaw, before grazing his pointer and middle finger at the crease of your lush lips. “Open.” He demanded, your lips parting as he slowly moved them in and out of your mouth. Somehow managing to hush your moans.

“-Mmm…Theo..” you whimpered over his thick fingers while he completely lost it, railing you with great force. He could feel his own orgasm coming on as he watched your mascara drip down your face. Watching you fight your climax. The way his mask turned you on. The way HE turned you on. “Release, Cara Mia…cum all over my cock.” In a low growl, he removed his fingers, his thrusts only seemed to accelerate, even when you thought it was nearly impossible for them to do so.

That was it. The burning approval you had been waiting for…Yearning for. You didn’t even need to think about it. At those words, you felt your body convulse in an orgasmic state. Your screams bounced off of the stone walls in Theodore’s dorm room. Your legs only gripping tighter around his lower back. Hitting one of the most intense and blissful orgasms of your entire life. “Theo, oh m-“ He instantly cut you off, giving a soft smack across your face before grabbing your cheeks between his hand.

“Shut up and do it again…I know you have it in you.” He demanded, seeing his once light blue stare now black, his pupils fully dilated with arousal. Usually, you couldn’t finish with anyone, let alone someone ordering it out of you. But Theo….Theo was different. “Fuck-I’m cumming!” You cried out, arching your neck against his now-warmed pillow. Feeling your juices flowing freely along Theodore’s giant length. Reaching your second orgasm within seconds. The power this man holds…that fucking mask…

Theo’s ego was only growing, two orgasms in such a short amount of time? Pride washed throughout him. But just seeing you in the immense amount of pleasure he was giving you, you couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m going to fill up that pretty cunt.” He grunted, sliding both of his hands to your hips and getting a good grasp while he mercilessly pounded into you. His head tilted back just as you heard a low groan escape from his throat. His seed spilling deep inside of you, feeling his cock throb around your clenched walls.

Pulling out of you, Theo kept the mask on while catching his breath. His gaze dropping to his cum dripping out of your swollen pussy. With one hand, he lifted the mask off for a better view of it. Finding his seed leaking out of you insanely sexy. Marking you with his own sperm. Fuck. His hair was a mess while he smirked down at you. “You alright, Cara Mia?” He asked as he threw his sweats back on, grabbing a towel to clean you up.

You were dumbfounded, not even able to believe what had just happened. The mask he threw beside you almost seemed to have a smirk of its own. “Y-yeah, I’m good.” You spewed out in a breathy manner, feeling the afterglow hitting you, the sense of relaxation. Theodore took this time to grab a t-shirt of his, helping you dress in it before laying down next to you, tossing an arm around you to pull you close to him. Both of your body heat radiating off of one another.

“Anything you need at all?” He asked as he glanced down at the mask. A deep chuckle escaped his lips while he shook his head. “No…just you.” Your sweet smile was evident to Theo that you were In a submissive state. Causing him to press a lingering kiss to the side of your head. “Well…You have me…and the mask.” Teasing you, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. A smirk tugging on the edge of your lips.

“I suppose I do…but I prefer you…unmasked.”

The mask, a hidden desire of course, but it didn’t compare to Theo. As much as you enjoyed the sight of getting destroyed by a masked man, you enjoyed seeing his handsome face, his tired eyes, and his lazy smile much more. And this night? It only started a new chapter for the both of you. Nothing could compare to Theodore Nott. Absolutely nothing.

Love you so much Ash🖤

Divider is tagged in my master list🌙

Asks are always open for requests my smut sluts💋

[deadsetobsessions]

Edit: thank you @tetranationaltortoise for pointing out that the Red Spot is on Jupiter instead of Saturn! Fixed it! You’re not nickpicking, you’re providing very appreciated constructive criticism (and a basic fact check I should have done lol) <3

Danny, as usual, hadn’t meant to become the local cryptid. Local being extremely relative, as his locality in this instance is… space.

He just wanted to have some relaxation time. He just wanted to do some homework, chill on Mars or something, and then call it a day.

This hero business was taxing and Danny took his breaks when he could. Take that, work-life balance! Just kidding, Danny had no work-life balance. His life is a mess and he's overworked.

What was it that Superman had said in that one interview?

“Evil never sleeps."

Apparently, that also meant Danny never slept either.

“Hrk!” Danny snorted awake, looking around wildly at the vast expanse of space to see what woke him.

….

Yeah, that’ll do it.

In front of him, merrily floating through space, is the battered remains of what used to be an asteroid and a mecha that’s a weird combination of Gotham’s vigilante hero, Batman, and Metropolis’ Golden Boy, Superman.

The vibrations of the collision had shaken Danny awake.

Danny got up, baffled as hell and half asleep still. He floated to the giant Bat insignia tumbling around, inching closer as he saw the- oh hell, that’s so cool, it’s a plane!- cockpit and the passed out hero inside of it. Danny clicked his tongue, the sound swallowed by the lack of air.

He shoved the plane closer to earth, passing it to a bewildered (and both beat up and stressed out) Superman, who did a double take at the glowing green boy chucking him the Toy-maker Batplane.

Danny had waved, blinked out of visibility, and had gone back to his nap.

After phasing inside the plane and nabbing a batarang from Batman’s pouch, that is. Danny will consider it payment for the clean up service he’d unwittingly signed himself up for.

And so went the first encounter.

——

The second time he met the so called Big Leagues, Danny had just come back from fighting Dan. He wanted a break, dammit, and if staring at Saturn’s gorgeous rings and gaseous formations helped him sleep better, then that’s what’s going to happen.

Then, a similarly green glowing Green Lantern “landed” to where he was floating curled up. Danny knew about Lanterns. Their council often tried to meddle in his court.

“Hello,” the Ring projected its Lantern’s words to Danny’s head. Danny tilted his head without looking at the Lantern. “I’m John Stewart. What are you doing out here, kid?”

Danny thought this guy had a nice, soothing voice. Powerful, as Latern tended to be, but infinitely kind.

Danny decided that this one wasn’t immediately on his shit list.

“Phantom.” He said, and the Lantern asked him to repeat it as the glow of his ring enveloped the halfa.

“Phantom. Are you lost, Phantom?”

“No, just dead.”

John Stewart paused. “…Dead?”

“I’m a ghost,” Danny raised his hands and phased it through the Lantern’s arm.

“Ah,” the man said, flustered. “Right. So… you’re just…”

“Hanging out.” As he talked to the Lantern, Danny had a rather amusing idea. He rotated himself- turned- towards Jupiter and pointed to the Red Spot. “That’s actually my grave.”

John Stewart paused. “I’m sorry…?”

“My grave. Don’t disturb it. It’s rude,” Danny lied through his sharp ghost teeth. “Your council disturbed my grave the last time they stopped by and it took ages to get it back right.”

The green Lantern shield enveloping Danny flickered as John Stewart went through the five stages of grief. To be fair, the council had last visited this solar system... a couple thousand years ago, so John was no doubt rapidly doing some mental math regarding Danny's age.

“The council disturbed your grave…?”

“Not that they knew it, those pretentious weirdos.” Danny pretended to be offended, just to see the struggle on John’s face as he debated defending the council or telling a dead child their grave didn’t matter. Because Stewart was a hero, he went with the latter.

“I see. I am sorry, on their behalf.”

“Eh, whatever. Just make sure they don’t do it again. So… what can that ring do?”

——

"Hi. Could you not litter in space, please?"

Wonder Woman whirled around, sword out and pointed at Danny.

"A... child? Who are you, child?"

"I'm not a child-! You know what, it doesn't even matter. See that?" Danny waved at the pieces of shattered meteor and smashed up alien tech floating outside of the watch tower. "Littering is not cool."

"How did you get in here?"

"I'm Phantom. This is kind of my neighborhood." Danny let his mouth run, sleep deprived and exhausted. "I'm dead, that's how I got in here. Could you not litter in my backyard, please?"

He had better things to do than cleaning after full grown adult heroes.

"Oh, you are the ghost child Lantern mentioned! I see! My apologies, the clean up will be starting in a bit." Wonder Woman slid her sword back into its sheath.

"Great. Nice meeting you. I'll stick around to make sure you young whipper snappers clean up properly."

With that, Danny sunk into the floor. After a moment's deliberation, he decided to take a nap in the floor vent.

——

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Danny jolted awake once more. Ancients, like mentor, like mentee. Robin stared at him, awkwardly wriggling through the floor vents.

"I'm taking a nap here," Danny grumbled. "What are you doing in the vents?"

"Me? What are you doing in the vents? I'm allowed in here!"

"Wonder Woman knows I'm here," Danny replied. She knows... probably? "I'm Phantom."

"Robin."

"So... what are you doing?"

"Knowledge is power," Robin intoned, clearly imitating the Bat.

Danny stared.

"... You're stalking the JL?"

"Information gathering!"

"Stalking," Danny concluded, ignoring Robin's grumble. "Yeah, okay. If you need help, let me know, I guess."

"I don't need help." Robin paused, tilting his head to the side like a particularly curious bird. "Unless you're up for some pranks? Green Lantern's been getting on my nerves lately."

Danny frowned at him. "I like John Stewart."

"You've met- no, not him, the other one."

"Oh. What do I get out of it?"

Robin reached into his belt pouch and pulled out... a bag of marshmallows? How the hell did that-? Ah, right, hammerspace.

"Oh, wait, can you eat this?"

"I'm dead, not tasteless. I love marshmallows, hand it over. I'll help out."

"Deal."

——

"I swear to god, Spooky, there's something in the walls. It's even creepier than you!"

Batman grunted. He'd stop Robin if he went too far and it started affecting Lantern's abilities on the field, but as far as the Dark Knight was concerned, the Green Lantern had it coming. Robins were vindictive on a good day. If Hal hadn't learned that from Dick, then Jason's retaliation was well deserved.

"Oh, maybe it's the ghost!" Hal said, looking around with his ring glowing.

"I thought John said he was a godling?" Diana polished her sword as she looked on in amusement.

"The boy." Batman grunted. "Not human, his pointed ears and green skin is proof of that. Did J'onn say anything?"

"Not yet."

"Whatever he is, he saved Batman. He's welcome in the Tower," Superman tilted back as his hearing picked up on Robin's and Phantom's snickering.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　SLEEPLESS NIGHT

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Where Spencer finally has a night to sleep at his apartment with his girlfriend, but the current case doesn't even let him close his eyes, leading him to study the files until ungodly hours. But who said that Y/N can sleep away from him?

WARNING: Slightly mention of age gap (reader is still in college), tooth rotting fluff.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Spencer hated bringing work home, and he had two very specific reasons for it. First, he loathed the idea of mixing his work life with his personal life. The BAU was a constant source of darkness; gruesome crimes, twisted minds, and the unrelenting pressure to solve the unsolvable.

His home was the opposite: a place of light and warmth, a refuge from the horrors that haunted him on a daily basis. But more importantly, home was where Y/N was. She was the one person who could pull him from the depths of his thoughts, her mere presence offering a calm that he couldn't find anywhere else. She was his life, his anchor, and his sanctuary.

Their time together was sacred, especially with the demands of his job taking him away so often. Whether he was chasing unsubs across the country or spending endless hours poring over case files at the BAU, being away from Y/N was the hardest part of his job. When he was home, he wanted to be fully present, to make up for the time he lost while he was away.

He cherished the quiet moments, the lazy evenings where they could simply exist together without the weight of the world bearing down on him. He wanted to give her every ounce of his attention, to make her feel just how much she meant to him.

But then, there were nights like tonight, when the case followed him home despite his best intentions, forcing him to divide his focus in a way that always left him feeling guilty.

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, filtered through the sheer curtains that hung over the windows. The clock on the nightstand read 2:37 AM, its gentle green glow a quiet reminder of how late it had become.

Spencer lay on his back, his eyes trained on the ceiling, though his mind was far from still. It raced, chasing the loose ends of the case, replaying details, searching for the missing link that could unravel everything. The unsub was smart, meticulous in his planning, calculating in his movements. It was unnerving, the way this case was so close to home, right here in Quantico.

Hotch had granted the team a rare night to return home and rest, knowing the work would pick up again with relentless intensity in the morning. Spencer knew he should be grateful for the chance to sleep in his own bed, to hold Y/N close, and let her warmth lull him into rest. But sleep felt impossible.

Beside him, Y/N slept soundly, her body curled against his. One arm rested across his chest, her hand fisting tightly the fabric of his white shirt and her hand tucked beneath his shoulder, as if even in sleep, she sought him out. Her breathing was soft and even, the slow rise and fall of her chest a soothing rhythm against his side.

Spencer turned his head slightly, watching her. She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on her lips, probably remains of a dream. His heart clenched with love, a wave of warmth and tenderness washing over him.

With a soft sigh, Spencer slid his right arm beneath her, his hand resting gently on her back, the warmth of her skin seeping through the fabric of the sweater she wore - his sweater. He brought his other hand down to her bare leg, carefully shifting her until her right one draped across his thighs, her body instinctively curling closer to him, almost laying fully above him.

His fingers trailed softly along her thigh, the smooth skin warm beneath his touch. The gesture was soothing, grounding him in the present moment, in the feel of her against him. His thumb stroked lazy circles on her flesh, his touch light and reverent, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of her - as if he already didn't had each part of her craved inside his head.

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment as he breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of her hair. It was a mixture of her shampoo and something uniquely hers, a scent that had always brought him comfort. His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her closed eyelids, another kiss pressed to her temple. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her hand tightening its grip on his shirt.

His right hand traveled across the fabric of his sweater, slipping below it, his fingertips sliding higher, brushing against the bare skin of her back. She was so warm, her skin so soft, and the feel of her made something inside him settle, if only for a moment. He continued to stroke her thigh with one hand, his other one gently massaging the muscles of her back, feeling the way her body relaxed further into him.

He stared at her for a long moment, his mind flickering between her and work. He didn’t want to leave her alone in bed, didn’t want to let it drag him away from her. Spencer knew Y/N deserved a good night's sleep more than anyone. She had been tirelessly studying for her college finals, always the most academically involved and dedicated in her class, which caused her to staying up late, buried in textbooks and research papers - just as he spent sleepless nights away on cases.

But even as he held her close, the details of the case gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

With a reluctant sigh, he carefully began to shift, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb her. His hand on her thigh slid away, and he gently eased her leg off his hips, tucking it back beneath the blankets. She mumbled softly in her sleep, her body instinctively moving toward his warmth even as he slipped out from under her.

Spencer sat up, pausing for a moment as he watched her stir. Her hand reached for him in her sleep, her face burrowing further into his pillow as if searching for his scent. The sight made his chest tighten with both affection and guilty.

With one last glance at Y/N, Spencer stood, moving with the quiet precision of someone who was used to slipping away in the dead of night. He padded silently out of the bedroom, the soft sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath his feet.

The apartment was shrouded in a heavy, comfortable darkness, the only sound breaking the quiet being the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Spencer moved with practiced silence, stepping lightly through the familiar space until he reached the small room they’d turned into a makeshift office. It was cluttered with his books, scattered papers, and, more recently, case files.

He flicked on the desk lamp, casting a soft, amber glow across the cluttered desk. His movements were slow, careful not to disturb the serene quiet that enveloped the apartment as he sank into his chair, rescuing his folded glasses from between all those papers.

In front of him lay the case file, the photographs of the victims staring back at him as if mocking his inability to piece it all together. He scanned the reports for what felt like the hundredth time, his brow creased in thought, eyes darting over the details.

Minutes bled into an hour, maybe more. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose as he leaned in closer to the desk, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the crime scene photos. His other hand tugged at the cuff of his pajama sleeve, lost in the rhythm of his restless thoughts.

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor reached his ears, the faint shuffling of bare feet snapping him out of his thoughts. He barely turned in his chair before he saw her; a sleepy, disheveled Y/N standing in the doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the hallway light. The sleeves of his sweater were falling over her hands, causing her shoulders to become exposed, and her eyes were heavy with the remnants of sleep.

"Spence..." She mumbled, her voice raspy and thick with drowsiness. The sight of her tugged at his heart in the most tender way.

Spencer’s face softened instantly, guilt creeping in at the edges of his thoughts. He’d woken her.

"Hey, sweetheart." He murmured, pushing the file aside and giving her his full attention. His voice was quiet, filled with concern. "What are you doing awake? You should be asleep."

Y/N blinked at him, the bleariness in her eyes making her seem even smaller and more vulnerable. She swayed slightly on her feet, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I woke up... and you weren’t there." She slurred softly, taking a small step toward him, her expression confused and sleepy.

His heart clenched at her words, a wave of guilt washing over him. He hated that he’d caused her to wake up, especially on a week that she spent too much time studying and having little to no rest. He adjusted his posture above the chair, motioning her closer with gentle hands, but Y/N was already moving on her own, shuffling across the room with slow, sleepy steps, her gaze never leaving him.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, dove." He whispered as she reached him. He reached out with his hands as she practically fell into his arms.

She pushed his arms open with little effort and maneuvered herself onto his lap, pressing against him as if seeking out the warmth she’d missed. Her legs straddled his thighs, her knees resting above the sides of the chair, her body curling around his like a koala hugging a tree. The weight of her felt perfect, grounding him as she nestled closer, her chest rising and falling softly against him.

"Spence, don’t apologize." She murmured, her breath tickling the skin of his neck as she shifted, her nose nuzzling into the curve of it, seeking his scent. She pressed her face against him, her lips brushing feather-light against the sensitive skin just below his ear as she planted a sleepy kiss. "You know I just can’t sleep well without you."

Spencer let out a shaky breath, the soft, familiar feeling of her lips against his neck sending warmth coursing through him. His left hand instinctively found her back, his fingers running to the hem of his sweater and lifting it slightly, making room for hand to enter under the fabric and meet her skin, spreading his fingers as he began tracing lazy circles along her spine, soothing her.

Y/N sighed in pleasure, her left hand gently crawling up to his face. Her fingers softly traced the rough stubble along his cheek before instinctively pushing his glasses back up to their proper place, her fingertips grazing the bridge of his nose in a familiar, soothing motion.

He smiled softly, his guilt still lingering but melting slightly under the comfort of her touch. She was so close, so vulnerable in her half-asleep state, and it made him feel even more protective of her.

"You should be in bed." He whispered, his voice low and affectionate, his hand continuing its gentle caress. "You have finals tomorrow... and this position’s going to make your back hurt in the morning." He tried to sound stern, but the amusement in his tone betrayed him. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly as Y/N shifted again, her hand leaving his face and meeting the other side of his neck, her right arm tightening around his torso in silent protest.

"I don’t care." She mumbled into his neck, her lips brushing against his skin as she spoke. "I love you. I want to be here."

His heart swelled at her words, an overwhelming wave of love flooding him. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the comforting scent of her.

"I love you more." He whispered back, his voice barely audible as he nuzzled his cheek against her hair. His hand never stopped its rhythmic movement along her back, his touch gentle and tender.

Y/N hummed in response, her breathing already slowing as the warmth of his embrace lulled her back toward sleep. Spencer could feel the way her body relaxed against his, her weight becoming heavier as she melted further into him. She was so peaceful, her soft breaths brushing against his skin in a steady rhythm.

Spencer's eyes drifted to the case file still resting on the desk, his mind unwilling to let go of the details he was trying to piece together. His hand continued to trail soothing patterns on her back, and he tilted his head down, pressing another kiss to her temple, noticing how her body was giving way to sleep again.

"Let me tuck you back into bed, sweetheart." He whispered against her skin, insisting. "You need the proper rest."

But Y/N shifted in his lap, shaking her head, clearly unwilling to move.

"No." She mumbled, her voice soft but convincing. "What I need is to be with you." She burrowed her face deeper into his neck, pressing her nose against his skin and nuzzling him like she was trying to become a part of him. "Let me stay here. Please."

Spencer sighed softly, feeling torn between the the case and the warmth of Y/N in his arms. He glanced back at Y/N, her soft breathing and her peaceful face pressed against his neck, shaking his head with how stubborn she could be.

Wrapping his arms fully around her, he held her close, one hand still caressing her back while the other pulled the case file closer to him again, reopening it and going back to the first page.