#I wanna go to the store but it's raining!!

[crazydeershark]

Broken souls

Part 2.

AK!Jason Todd x Civilian!Fem reader

Summary: Your life at GCPD, uncovering Gotham’s criminals and darkest secrets. Jason coming back as Arkham knight.

Warnings: cat calling, violence.

A/n: This can be read as a stand alone, but I suggest reading Part 1.

Btw!! Its lightly based on the AK game but doesnt follow exact lore.

Arkham Knight. His name was everywhere. Gotham’s streets, the GCPD you worked at, the news, even your local convenience store.

And you despised it.

You despised not being able to do anything about it.

Your role wasn’t that big. You were just Officer Gordon’s assistant. Fresh new worker, untouched and incorruptible, unlike 50% of Gothams “police”. You payed close attention to conversations, sneaked in places you definitely shouldn’t have. A few months is what it took you to figure it all out. It made you feel foolish, for putting your trust in the police.

Gotham needed its justice. While most thought it was far beyond saving, you knew it still needed good people fighting for it. Like you and Gordon. Gordon was dedicated to fighting crime. You admired his commitment, but it was not sustainable, mentally especially.

You found out about his “friend” pretty soon too, or maybe Gordon just wanted you to know, about Batman. Their little check ins on the rooftop, every few evenings.

You couldn’t help yourself. So one night, when you saw your boss going up the stairs, you knew the drill. You followed him carefully. Maybe because you knew they were going to talk about Arkham Knight, or maybe you just needed to see Batman. To make sure he’s real. To make sure Robin was real.

You tried your best to stay hidden, and to hear their conversation through the heavy rain. The only words you could make out were “report” and “knight”, everything else sounded like gibberish.

When you heard heavy footsteps you ran back to your shared office. Pretending nothing happened.

You saw Gordon come in, files in his hand.

“Good evening, Officer Gordon.”

“As good as it gets, kid.” He scoffed out, clearly irritated. You decided not to question it. Old man, had a lot on his mind. What you did pay attention to, were the files and where he placed them.

You stepped out of your office,

“Done blowing the officer, huh?” One of the detectives made a crude gesture, hollowing his cheeks and mimicking a blow job, a few snickers came from the guys around him. You ignored them, nails digging in the flesh of your palm. Fighting back tears of anger.

Yes, being accused of sleeping with your older, married boss was one of the downsides of being a young woman who’s working in the Gotham police department.

You wanted to wipe those grins off their face, but you knew you couldn’t. Not alone at least, which, in this case, you were.

Officer was getting ready to leave from work, when you walked into the office.

“Don’t worry, I’ll close.” You pointed out to the keys in his hand, “still got a ton of papers to work on.” You felt guilty for lying.

You weren’t a bad person, right? You were just curious.

“Alright, don’t overwork yourself too much.” He nodded.

“Unless I wanna become like you?”

“You don’t, kid” He smirked, heading out.

You waited a bit, got up, closed the door.

The files. You gently got them out, eyes scanning over the words.

𝐆𝐂𝐏𝐃 𝐓𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭- 𝐀𝐫𝐤𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 & 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚.

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𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 - 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙂𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙨 𝙀𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙊𝙣𝙡𝙮

𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙞𝙩𝙡𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙊𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙨 & 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

𝙍𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩: 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙅𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙂𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙤𝙣

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𝙎𝙪𝙗𝙟𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙊𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬

𝘾𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙉𝙖𝙢𝙚: 𝙐𝙣𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣

𝘼𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝙈𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬

𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙇𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚

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𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 & 𝘾𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨

𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨: 𝙀𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝟮,𝟬𝟬𝟬+ 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢.

𝙑𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙨: 𝙈𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨, 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮-𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙨.

𝙒𝙚𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙨: 𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝-𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙝 𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙨, 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙮 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡��𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙪𝙣𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙧𝙨.

𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 (𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧),

𝙐𝙣𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 (𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩).

𝙇𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨: 𝙊𝙘𝙘𝙪𝙥𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙠𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢, 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜:

𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨’ 𝙄𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 – 𝙈𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩

𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙩 – |abandoned|

𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙣 – 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚

𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙩 – 𝙋𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩

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𝙍𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙮 & 𝘾𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙨

𝟬𝟮:𝟰𝟱 𝘼𝙈: 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙤𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡. 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙟𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙.

𝟬𝟯:𝟮𝟬 𝘼𝙈: 𝙀𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝘼𝘾𝙀 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙨. 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩.

𝟬𝟰:𝟬𝟬 𝘼𝙈: 𝙈𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙮𝙚𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘾𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙏𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧. 𝙋𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.

𝟬𝟱:𝟭𝟱 𝘼𝙈: 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡 𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙈𝙞𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙣𝙞 𝙄𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙. 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧.

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𝙏𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 – 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙩 𝙎𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙨:

𝘼𝙙𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜.

𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙛𝙖𝙧𝙚.

𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙣𝙞𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨 (𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙤��𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙣).

𝙋𝙨𝙮𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙚:

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.

𝘼𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬’𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙖𝙡𝙨.

𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢’𝙨 𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

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𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙮

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 & 𝙣𝙚𝙪𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧.

𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙪𝙥.

𝘿𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧-𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨.

𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙩 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧—𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝟮𝟰 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨.

𝘼𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙙 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. 𝙃𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚.

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𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢’𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮.

𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚, 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨.

𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙙𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙.

𝙀𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩.

You got your phone out as fast as you could, taking pictures of the papers.

There wasn’t a lot of useful information, not even pictures. You didn’t know what he looked like, you heard and read about his military style gear, his mask. That was it.

What you didn’t know about, was his “personal” fling with Batman. You thought he was crazy, well, not as far-gone as scarecrow, but at least similar intentions. Causing Gotham chaos.

You packed your bag, put your coat on and placed the report back neatly.

On your way home, you realized you shouldn’t have gotten so caught up back at the department. It was too late to be walking home alone. The alleys felt like hidden dangers lurking around the corner, like someone was constantly watching over you. Waiting for you to crack. You gripped your bag tightly, pepper spray in hand.

Like that would help you.

You thought back on the papers. You felt like you needed to do something. You needed to help. But how?

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw what seemed to look like a group of men, heading towards.. you. Speeding up as you were calculating your moves, panicking on the inside.

Walking in their direction was not a choice. If you turned around and started running? They’d be after you.

And you were anything but a good runner.

What other choice did you have?!

You took a deep breath, turned around, and ran as fast as you could. Not long after, you heard the group speed up, their steps echoing through the alley.

Fuck.

You were too deep into the alleys, you weren’t gonna make it to public space.

They were getting close. Too close.

Worst of all, you were running towards a dead end.

You turned around, what a bad choice that was.

Your foot got caught in an uneven crack in the pavement, you lost your balance. Colliding with the cold, hard concrete.

“Get up, sweetheart, let’s make this quick.” A nasty smelling man sneered, yanking you up. His grip so tight on your arm it bruised.

You trembled in fear.

“Make this quick? Look at her. She’s a piece of candy. Ain’t she?” Another man whistled, the other agreeing.

You were trapped, terror settled deep in your chest.

“That she is. Now be good for us, phone and wallet, and maybe we’ll let you go..”

You stayed silent, mind racing, your pepper spray was useless.

You reached your shaky hand in your purse, grabbing your phone and wallet, ready to hand them.

Suddenly, the air shifted, growing thick.

A figure appeared out of nowhere. It was like a blur of motion. He moved so fast you could barely process it, almost as if his movements were robotic, lacking humanity.

All you could hear were screams and grunts, pounces, thuds and bodies being slammed.

You and the figure were the only ones remaining.

Silence fell over you, along with a tension so thick you froze in place.

You stared at the figure, wide eyed.

He stood tall, intimidating. His presence was suffocating. Almost as if you forgot how to breathe. Body covered in dark, form fitting military armour, reflecting panels on his arms and chest barely catching the little light there was.

You squinted your eyes through the dark, trying to make out his helmet.

“Get out of here.”

You flinched when you heard his voice, distorted by what sounded like a voice modulator.

You took a deep breath, questioning if all of this was just a bad dream.

It wasn’t.

You speed up, passed the figure scared, and ran home. You didn’t have the guts to look up.

When you got home, you locked your doors, your windows, everything.

The only thing that was stuck on your mind was the figure.

You didn’t sleep that night, even with all of the pills you took.

Military gear, tall, intimidating.

No. You were paranoid. It couldn’t have been.

It couldn’t have been the Arkham Knight.

Right?

A/n: sorry guys you’re in for a wild ride cause I am notttt making this fast.😝Hope you enjoyed my loves!!

IMPORTANT: If there were any grammar mistakes or unclear phrases please let me know! English isn’t my first language!!

IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO MY TAG LIST PLEASE LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS🫶🏻🎀

Tag list: @koji-ibitsu @d1nne

[duckzydoodles]

ooooooookay! Spot 4 was claimed by aheeeem @iceeclaw (Darkwing Duck) ... And @silverthespikeyboi12 (Bill Cipher), I had to put two because Silvy wouldn't let it go that I filled the spot already 🙄 ohhh and I fixed the hair on EagleBones after receiving insistent backlash from Beanzy, Spot 1 and 6 are still open, any character at all 👀

[todayisafridaynight]

[clancyycat]

i am so tired

[ichigosoju]

🐮

[ankhlesbian]

Sighhhh will have to go to grocerbstire soon

[thestrawberrydino]

Getting groceries hungry does horrendous things to my wallet.

[nollele-irl]

tired day

[arolesbianism]

Alright boys pack it up no more rain world posting new oni dlc is coming out in less than a week

[yeyinde]

touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)

by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.

DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.

idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.

It's survival. 

At first.  

A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached. 

Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter. 

Nothing else, except—

He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling. 

He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—

Mesmerising. 

Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.  

(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)

He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—

Ever. 

And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have. 

Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along. 

Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars. 

(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”

and he—

he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—

he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid? 

slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella. 

in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness. 

you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”

and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest. 

“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”

his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)

And now—

Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.  

Protection, he calls it. 

("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.") 

You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is. 

Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—

It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him. 

Vile man. Awful. 

(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)

This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore. 

(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)

Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—

Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second. 

Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed. 

(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin��� the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)

Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat. 

It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl. 

You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape. 

You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums. 

“Need somethin', pet?” 

Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir—”

Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up. 

You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning. 

“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”

Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste. 

It's gross. Disgusting. 

It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—

He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—

(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)

You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony. 

Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary. 

“S–sir—?”

He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems. 

You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”

You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue. 

Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains. 

Uprooted, turned into something new—

His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable. 

(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)

“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”

You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it. 

“I need—I need you.”

Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”

He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”

Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him. 

Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins. 

Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—

He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—

just like he says. 

As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems. 

Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.

His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing. 

And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.  

You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee. 

Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting. 

There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—

Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him. 

He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.

“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting. 

There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand. 

He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.

Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—

“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”

It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—

He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much. 

you don't want him to stop. 

His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.

He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more

The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm. 

It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand. 

He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—

But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains. 

“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.” 

“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”

Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—

You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave. 

“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.” 

You burn, blister. “Please—”

“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?” 

Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves. 

“Simon—”

“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.” 

“No, no, no—! I'm—”

“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes. 

“Please, sir—”

“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”

The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart. 

He knows you. Every part—

“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—” 

It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it. 

He hides his need under a layer of derision. 

“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?” 

His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand. 

“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”

Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”

His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin. 

He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”

Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self. 

But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside. 

There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin. 

Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—

Full. 

Mangled. 

Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot. 

He's—

Pretty. 

Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—

You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—

You kiss him. 

Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—

Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally. 

And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.

Because you need him, don't you? 

Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—

(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)

—it’s all so divine. 

His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—

And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him. 

Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive. 

It coils around you. Thick, smothering. 

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—

He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour. 

But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—

“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”

“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”

The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric. 

“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide. 

Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.

His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.

You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort. 

After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out. 

His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast. 

He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette. 

“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”

You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore. 

Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor. 

“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”

Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.” 

You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest. 

His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”

“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”

“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”

There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—

Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china. 

Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.

This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—

“Gonna be my good little wife?”

Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—

His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—

“Not gonna run?”

Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing. 

How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad. 

Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”

And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss. 

His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his. 

It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep. 

It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in. 

Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.

It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—

Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.

When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—

Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”

—and you swallow it down with a moan. 

(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)

[startaegi]

CHAPTER 003 . . .

previous next masterlist playlist

The rain was heavy, battering loudly against the glass window panes. You sat in your bean bag chair wrapped in a blanket, eyes sadly watching the droplets fall against the windowsill. A light flickering in the house directly across caught your attention, you rested your chin against the windowsill looking directly into the now-brightened bedroom. You watched the boy take a comic from a brown bag and place it against his bookshelf, a little smile on his face. He caught sight of your not-so-subtle stalking and nodded in your direction, to which you quickly flung yourself under the blanket around your shoulders.

It had been four years since you first met on that summer's day. You had never had a friend like Namgyu before. You never knew what it was to call someone your best friend, had never experienced being someone's best friend - to always have someone to go to the happenings in the neighbourhood or the comic store, or just to talk at midnight when you should be sleeping. He was the best thing you had in your life.

You took your chances, hoping he'd be gone, and peeked over the window ledge again. Your eyes widened at the sight. Namgyu was directly in front of your window, the hood of his windbreaker covering his growing hair. He smiled, the cheeky smile he reserved only for you.

"What are you doing?" You asked, a smile growing on your face as you reached up to open the window. "You're gonna get sick" You added, noticing the rain bounce off his shoulders.

He smirked, leaning forward, "I didn't know I had a stalker," He said.

You felt the blush creeping onto your cheeks, "I was watching the rain" You replied, embarrassed.

Namgyu only continued smirking, "Mhm" He hummed. "I got the new Naruto today" He changed the conversation, continuing to be soaked by the rain despite the fact his body was halfway into your bedroom.

You quickly sat up straight, eyes widened. "You did?"

Namgyu nodded. "You wanna come over?" He questioned, pointing behind him. "Eomma made kimchi-jjigae, she told me to come and tell you."

You smiled brightly. Namgyu's mother had practically adopted you on the days your parents were working, making your favourite dishes and ensuring you’d never go hungry.

You quickly made your way downstairs, socks sliding against the hardwood floors. You flung on the nearest shoes and sweatshirt, opening the door to Namgyu's smiling face. He was holding an umbrella that usually sat in your doorway, ready for you to step outside.

It was like something shifted in the air, a sudden realisation dawning on you. You stood frozen, heart pounding in your chest. You looked at Namgyu again, his eyes soft and smiling in your direction. Is this what it felt like to have a crush?

His eyes on you now reminded you of that day. Only now all you felt was sadness and betrayal, and a little anger. He looked speechless, feet glued to the ground where he stood at the start line. He opened his mouth, to what you assumed was to call your name, but quickly closed it again. You turned from him, focusing on the giant doll at the end of the courtyard.

The next game was red light, green light, one you luckily played with Namgyu as a child. The crowd slowly formed around you, murmuring amongst themselves in anticipation.

You heard his voice call through the chatter, "Excuse me," You refused to turn, your teeth opening the healing scars on your lips. "Move" You heard him say again, this time louder and more aggressive. 

Before he could reach you, a male voice boomed across the yard. All players momentarily stopped, facing where the voice had come from. Player 456 pushed his way through the crowd, arms waving manically to gain attention. "Everyone," he shouted. "Everyone listen up, pay attention!"

You sensed Namgyu at your side, his stare burning a hole through your skin. You kept yourself face forward, as uninterested in him as possible.

"Listen carefully! This is not just a game, if you lose the game, you die!"

Laughter echoed through the crowd. "Hey," a woman's voice called. "What are you talking about? We're going to die playing red light green light?"

Of course, the rational part of your brain agreed. Death from losing at a game children know how to play? It sounded absurd. A small part of you however clung onto his every word. The situation you were in was already strange, who was to say he wasn't being truthful?

"Yes that's right," He said. "If they catch you moving, they will kill you. They will shoot you from somewhere! Stay on your toes, if you get caught you die. That doll's eyes are motion detectors" He pointed to the massive doll you had once been watching. "Stay on your toes" He repeated.

"What the hell are you talking about?" A man questioned.

"I think he's trying to scare us so he can win the prize money," The person beside him said confidently.

You watched as the crowd nodded in agreement. You weren't sure you believed he was doing it for the money, his fear seemed too real.

"Don't pull any tricks, asshole" Another man called out.

Player 456 desperately pleaded, "You have to believe me"

The doll behind slowly turned, the scraping sound sending chills down your arms. Player 456 cried out, terror in his voice "Don't be alarmed or panic. No matter what happens, don't panic and start running"

The same woman's voice from earlier in the day came through the speaker, "Let the game begin"

Namgyu's hand reached out for your arm, gently pulling you towards him, "Y/N" He said desperately.

You swallowed thickly, forcing the lump in your throat away. You pulled your arm from his grasp, "Don't touch me" You said through clenched teeth.

You didn't look to see his reaction but you imagined the hurt in his eyes. You’d seen it before.

A clock appeared on the wall directly above the doll. The minutes ticked down from five. A young girl's voice sang, "Red light, green light"

You moved carefully, one foot in front of the other, careful of where to place them in the need for stopping.

"Freeze!" 456 screamed.

The game continued as such for the next minute. Player 456 kept everyone in check, calling to freeze when they should. His chants rather than assuring made you uncomfortable - your body jolting every time his mouth opened. You could sense Namgyu at your side, his careful steps followed your every move.

A scream broke through the silence. You shifted your eyes to where the noise had come from. A younger girl was flailing her arms as she turned to face the player Namgyu had become friends with. The smile was quickly wiped from her face as a bullet entered the back of her head. Your heart stopped in your chest. The blood drained from your face. Your mouth dry. 456 hadn't been lying after all.

"Nobody move" He called, this time louder and more insistent than before. "You must not move!"

The woman's voice came through the speaker, "Player 196, eliminated"

Another scream and another gunshot sounded in the air, and like dominos the players went down one after the other, gunshots ricocheting through the air. You stood as still as your body allowed you. Your shaking hands, pinned at your side. 

"Red light, green light" The song sang again. No one moved this time.

456 raced to the front of the still crowd, arm covering his face, "You will also die if you don't make it there in time!" He said as loud as he could. "That doll is a motion detector but it can't detect motion that's not visible to it, get behind someone bigger than you like you're doing follow the leader" The clock ticked down, two minutes left. "We're running out of time! We've got to move"

The mix of adrenaline and fear soared through your body. You quickly shoved your shaking hands into the pockets of your zipper in hopes it'd be hidden from the motion detectors and moved your feet at the sound of the song. Namgyu's arms wrapped around your front, pushing you behind him. There was no time for arguments and so you accepted his protection, body concealed behind him.

You followed in line continuing the game. More players met their end, the gunshots now becoming few and far between. The finish line looked so close and yet so far. Your limbs shook in anticipation.

On the last call of red light, green light your white shoes touched the red-marked sand. You almost doubled over in an attempt to catch your breath when another shot, and then another, boomed behind you. You heard a man calling out, pleading to be saved but your mind was elsewhere. Hands firmly caressed your shoulders pulling you back to reality.

You looked to your right, Namgyu stared back, the same fear and anxiety on his face, "Please-" He started. You didn't have it in you to listen, shrugging his warm touch from your shaking figure.

"Please Namgyu," You replied breathlessly. "Not now"

An abrupt gunshot jolted your body once more, eyes flinching. Namgyu reached forward again and then quickly pulled away, unsure what to do with his own shaking hands. The roof of the courtyard suddenly drew shut, cascading the place into darkness. You gazed at Namgyu in confusion, his face matching yours, both wondering what kind of hell you’d signed up for.

previous next masterlist playlist

notes . . . eomma: mother. one use of y/n. this namgyu is probably gonna be very ooc but this is just my interpretation of him!

taglist . . . let me know if you wanna be added!

[bipanicoverthegravessiblings]

hello! that other anon’s idea gave me another idea! ashley and andrew x a younger sister/sibling reader instead who’s basically the opposite of the older sister reader! a quiet little sister who’s been desperate for any sort of attention from her siblings, even if it involves being a little silly and committing some crimes

i can already imagine ashley pretending to be a good big sister but mostly just using it as an excuse to manipulate her younger sister, while andrew struggles to be a good big brother and balance ashley’s neediness with their younger sister who is, well, less needy but definitely could use the attention

little sister reader is stuck between her unhinged older siblings, but can’t speak up because she’s afraid of being alone and has to go along with ashley and andrew’s antics! sorry if this was long, i just got hit with a bunch of ideas-

Don’t apologize, the longer ideas give me more to work off of!

Andrew and Ashley Graves x Younger Sister!Reader

The Graves Parents were neglectful, but with you it was a whole other level

At least with Andrew and Ashley they acknowledged their existence, you however…

You were just…there to them

You never acted out like Ashley did, nor were you independent like Andrew

You were just…there

Someone who was so easily overlooked

And to be honest, you didn’t really care about if they remembered that you existed

Because there were two people who never forgot you

Your older siblings

The bestest older siblings on the face of this earth!

When mom left you at grocery stores, it wasn’t her or dad who came back to get you- it was Andrew.

When you had to stay after school and catch up on schoolwork to up your grades, Ashley made sure she was staying there with you (normally through getting in trouble, but it was still sweet)

Point is, your siblings made you feel more loved than your parents have in your entire life

And you love them so much for it

Your legs kicked over the edge of the metal bench you’d been sitting on, the sound of rain pelting the awning above you having been droned out a while ago. The LED signs of the corner store illuminated the darkening skies. You should be heading home, but walking by yourself at night was dangerous.

This entire situation your mother carelessly left you in was dangerous to be honest.

Waiting inside the store with a bunch of grown ups you didn’t know, most of which already looked like caricatures from a Stranger Danger PSA, was dangerous.

Standing outside by yourself for any fast handed killer or creep or both to snatch was dangerous.

Walking home where you could be jumped or get lost was dangerous.

And even with being aware of these dangers, you were surprisingly calm.

Mainly because this isn’t the first time this has happened. And normally, your saviors always came to save you.

“Hey Y/N.”

Speak of them now.

You perked up, looking at the two slightly older kids standing just out of the awning. The boy carried an umbrella, his black hair swooping over his emerald eyes and his sweater barely clung to his shoulders. Hanging off of his arm was a girl, slightly younger, with similar black hair that was a mess of hair clips. She beamed looking at you, giving you a toothy grin as she waved.

“Found youuuuuu!”

She said it like it was a game of hide and seek. And perhaps her nonchalantness to these things rubbed off on you. You were becoming more like her every day.

Your older siblings. LeyLey and Andy Graves.

Andy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Just- get under here. Let’s go home before one of us gets sick.”

You nodded, rushing to huddle next to him under the dingy umbrella. The three of you began the trek back home. Three unsupervised children was no safer than one, but you knew they’d protect you.

LeyLey grinned at you from Andy’s other side, “Hey Y/N, did you snag us anything from the store?”

“LeyLey!” If Andy’s hands weren’t full, he would’ve smacked her.

“Whaaattttt, I just wanna know!” She clarified, “So- did ya? You know if you did you have to share! It’s the rules!”

“Since when?..” you tilted your head.

“Since now!”

“LeyLey she didn’t steal anything…” Andy gave you weary glance, “…Right?”

Looking right up at Andy, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a candy bar you stole when you started to get hungry. You didn’t eat it yet, in fear of mom showing up for once and getting mad at you for shoplifting. Andy groaned. LeyLey beamed.

“Sweet! Let’s split it!” She tugged on Andy’s arm, daring him to say no, “Come on Aaaannndddyyyy, you know you wanna!”

Andy simply gave his younger sister a tired expression before sighing, “Fine…but I get a piece too!”

You split the chocolate bar between you and your siblings, LeyLey demanding to swap with Andy since his piece looked bigger. They bickered, tussling with their halves while you ate yours- smiling happily.

You wished you could go back to when shoplifting was the worst of the crimes you committed with your siblings…

You all had been quarantined in your apartment, something about parasites in the water

And the wardens eventually stopped bringing you all food

Mom and dad left near the start

So it was just you, Ashley, and Andrew

Rotting away in your coffin of an apartment

Until some demon shenanigans happened and the neighbor croaked

“That’s a lot of meat…” Andrew muttered. You could practically see his mouth watering staring at the body. Ashley stood next to him, sizing your dead neighbor up. You had knelt down to check if he was still alive.

“You think we should?…” Ashley made a chopping motion with her hand, her pink eyes already telling you and Andrew that she’s made up her mind on eating the neighbor.

“Can we even?- I mean-“ Andrew was trying to rationalize the decision in his head, “Won’t we get in trouble?”

“What do you think Y/N?” Ashley looked down at you, your attention turning from the Cultist to your older sister.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your words were interrupted by your growling stomach. You clutched your abdomen, face twisting in discomfort. Ashley made an “awe” sound as she knelt down, cupping your cheek.

“You poor thing,” she cooed, “Andy just look at her! Our poor baby sister is starving and we’re not doing so hot either,” she stood up, “So, let’s do it! What’s the worse that could happen?”

“We could go to jail!” Andrew threw his hands up, eyes widening in frustration towards Ashley’s lack of realizing that fact.

Andrew’s face fell, though, as his eyes landed on you. He felt a pang course through his chest as how starved you looked. He was your older brother…he was supposed to protect you and…here you were rotting away in front of him. He turned his attention to the cultist’s body, debating with himself what to do before he sighed.

“…okay. We’ll do it..”

“Yes!” Ashley hugged Andrew’s arm, “I knew you’d do the right thing!”

Your older siblings planned this out, Andrew instructing Ashley to find him a cleaver and grab some plastic bags. All the while you stood back and watched silently.

You never got to tell them that the cultist still has a pulse…

[bouncybongfairy]

Recreatinal Fun

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: You work at the sporting good's store where you first meet Art. He casually flirts with you while buying a tenis racket. You close the store early to hook up with him in the back.

Word Count: 1.0k+

TW: Female Recieving Head, Sex At Work, Semi Public Sex, Cumshot On Belly.

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It was pretty slow today, a father and son duo coming in looking for cleats. An older woman looking for a swim cap for her water aerobics class. You were cleaning the register counter, trying to pass the time when Art walked in. He was wearing a hoodie and shorts, it was raining so his hair was wet and in his face. He came up to you with a smile, asking where the rackets were. You set your rag down to direct him to the display. 

“Normally I would recommend one but I don’t think I need to for a pro,” you said. 

“Well, this will only be for recreational fun. I can’t take my lucky one into the gym, it’ll be tainted with desperation,” he laughed, grabbing one of them. 

“Are you in town for the fundraiser tournament?” you asked. 

“I am, are you?” he asks. 

“No, I grew up here. I just graduated and I’m working here till I start college this spring,” you explain, playing with your necklace. 

“Hopefully I’ll see you there,” he said as the two of you walked towards the register. What a day to go commando you thought to yourself. The entire time you talked, you couldn’t stop staring at his lips. So pink; they were practically red. He handed you a credit card, his fingertips brushing against your hand as you grabbed it. Looking up at the T.V while you finished ringing him up, making his jaw line dangerously sharp. You handed the bag over, expecting that to be the end of it. 

“Do you mind if I look around for a while?” he asked. 

“Knock yourself out,” you laughed, going back to work and stalking the shelves. 

It was hard to keep your eyes off him, continuously catching each other in a glance before looking away. He would squeeze past you in a particularly small aisle. You were starting to feel like he was trying to get your attention. Constantly coming up and asking questions that he should know the answer to as a pro athlete. After playing this little game for a while you determined he was trying to get your attention.  Having enough, you decided to break the ice and approach him again. 

“Are you doing anything right now? Like, are you free for the next couple hours?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asked, setting down the merchandise he had in hand. 

“Do you wanna hook up in the back?” you asked, clasping your hands behind your back. 

His eyes widened and a smirk creeped onto his face. You walked over towards the front of the store; changing the open sign to closed and locking the door. Grabbing him by the index finger and leading him towards the back of the store. You opened the wooden door and led him to the small hallway where the inventory was. 

Turning around and gazing up at him, the look in his eye immediately making your sex feel warm and achy. He grabbed your face and pressed his bottom lip against yours; like he was feeling out the territory. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth. Swiping your tongue along his soft, warm lip.

He deepened the kiss, now becoming more comfortable and sloppy. Picking you up and setting you on the small table pressed against the wall. He got between your legs that were dangling, pressing his body against yours. Working your lips together while melting your body’s to each other. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, gently pulling him closer. Running your fingers through his soft hair as he tried his best to feel up every inch of your body. You reached down and started to unbutton your jeans, kicking off your shoes in the process. He pulled away and unexpectedly got on his knees. Grabbing your ankles and positioning your feet on the desk and holding them there. You have a feeling what’s coming next so you pull your panties to the side so he doesn’t have to. 

He buries his face in your folds, licking and lapping desperately. Your head falls back against the cement wall. Gasping every time his tongue flicked over your clit, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your entire body. His hands eventually moved from your ankles to your inner thighs; his thumbs caressing your flesh that was prickled with goosebumps. He couldn’t get enough of you, feeling how hot and swollen your sex was against his lip made him shudder with pleasure. 

You were pulling and yanking at his hair; drowning in pleasure while he ate you out. 

After a while of this, he stood up; chin dripping with drool and your wetness. Smashing his mouth against yours, sloppily working your lips together. His dick throbbed while he thought about how you were tasting yourself. Pulling back and leaving a trail of saliva that connected your lips. He brought his hand to his mouth and wiped the drool off, using it as lubricant to stroke himself easier. Lining himself up with your entrance and slowly pushing inside you. 

Your warmth envelops him completely in the most overwhelming way. Feeling his length pulse once he was fully bottomed out. He rested his forehead against yours as he slowly started pulling out and fucking back in. One arm wrapped around your waist and the other holding onto your ass. Pulling you into each of his thrusts. Hearing the wet noises along with the sound of skin slapping skin made your blood buzz. The slight sting paired with the pure pleasure every time his tip slid against your walls was a euphoric combination.

 He was letting out raspy breaths, thrust becoming harder. Like he was losing care about your pleasure; too focused on chasing his own high. You mewled as his tip started hitting your g-spot, racking your nails down his back. Letting your mind go empty as a wave of overwhelming pleasure ripped through your body.

He pressed his hips against you, burying himself as deep as possible for a couple seconds just before cumming. Wanting to enjoy your heat a little longer before pulling out and cumming on your belly. Rubbing his tip around in the mess before pulling away and getting dressed. You followed suit, after using a paper towel to clean up the mess. 

[giuseppe-yuki]

if you saw me reply to this ask with some unintelligible notes no you didn't (i accidentally pressed post instead of save, panicked, and deleted the ask 😀) luckily i saved a picture of it so crisis averted 🫡

anyways, this is such an adorable concept!

my take down below :)

picture credits from pinterest :)

franco colapinto x orange cat shapeshifter!reader

problem: rain- also known as a cat's biggest fear. as an orange cat!shapeshifter, it only made sense that the fear transferred to your human self too. big fat droplets of water coming from the sky that soaked your entire body, making you cold and miserable? appalling. the loud thundering of the droplets on the ground and the grumbling of thunder in your sensitive ears? overwhelming.

solution: just don't go outside! unfortunately, that just created another problem: as a formula 1 driver, it was kind of necessary that your boyfriend just had to go outside into the wet montreal weather. something about james vowles...media day...meeting...blah blah blah. it was all a bunch of mumbo jumbo in your head anyways.

so there you sat, unbudging, on the plush williams' blue couch of franco's driver room, bundled under at least three blankets while your boyfriend looked upon you, arms crossed.

"come on!" franco groans, trying to pull you off the couch with his extraordinarily strong arms. "let's go! i'm going to be late, and my pr manager is gonna be mad!"

you roll your eyes. did this boy not listen to your 20 minute rant prior about how you were gonna pass away if one single raindrop touched your skin?

"franco," you say pointedly, " like i said before, go without me! i am not about to be leaving this room to be miserable and wet in this canada weather."

"i'll get you an umbrella," franco offers helpfully.

you purse your lips. "wellll.... i already looked and couldn't find one in your driver's room."

that was kind of ridiculous honestly, because how williams managed to not store a single umbrella in the million dollar buildings in rainy montreal, no less, you would never understand. your boyfriend lets out an audible 'hmph' before throwing himself next to you on the couch and attempting to stick his cold feet into the warm bundle of blankets surrounding you. he looked unlikely to get up anytime soon. "what are you doing mister?" you question, trying pushing franco off the couch. "you gotta go!" scooting all the way to the other end of the couch so you can't reach him, he crosses his arms. "well, if you're not going, i'm not either." you let out a incredulous laugh. "baby, this is your literal job- if you don't do it you're gonna get fired!" to this, he just sniffs dismissively and turns his head away from you in a dismissive manner as if he was a little kid.

"no."

a minute of silence passes, with franco pouting on the one side of the couch, trying to ignore your eyes while you stare at your boyfriend with an eyebrow raised. you predict that he will give in the next 30 seconds, like he always does under your glare. the rain still thunders outside, a wet pitter-patter that promises only grief.

you can't ever predict what comes out of his mouth next, though.

"get in my shirt," your boyfriend demands.

your mouth drops open in disbelief.

"excuse me?" you ask slowly, enunciating each syllable. "you wanna repeat that for me?"

now, your boyfriend sometimes said some out-of-pocket stuff by this was a whole new weird.

franco's cheeks turn a dusty pink almost immediately, and he waves his arms in an effort to disperse the situation.

"no! i meant- not my shirt, my jacket- like i mean for you to get in-"

"franco, that's kind of freaky of you to say right now," you say quietly.

he slaps a hand over his rapidly reddening face and mutters, "imeantthatyoushouldturninyourcatformandgetinmyjacketsowecangotogether."

"ohhhh," you respond, realization dawning you. "you want me to climb into your jacket?"

franco nods quickly, relief evident on his features.

"yes, yes, yes, so you don't get wet and i can keep you nice and toasty," he supplies, looking at you for approval.

you squint your eyes at him, thinking, before slowly nodding.

"fine."

he practically beams at you before pushing himself off the couch. reaching up, he starts slowly unzips his jacket just a smidgen suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

god, this man was so unserious.

"franco," you snap, "hurry up and unzip your jacket so i can hop in! you're literally about to be half an hour late to wherever you're supposed to be going!"

your boyfriend huffs in annoyance before unzipping the rest of his jacket and thrusting his arms out for you to jump into.

you shift into your cat form and don't waste a second before leaping into his arms.

you can practically feel the raindrops on franco's raincoat as your boyfriend strolls through the paddock on the way to williams garage. admittedly, it feels quite calming curled up inside his coat, franco's body warmth and faint cologne just about lulling you to sleep. even the usual loud roar of the rain on the roofs of the buildings are muffled by the obstruction around you. your eyes are about to close when suddenly, somebody slaps franco on the back, jolting both him and you.

"franco!" a voice says with a tinge of amusement. "did you eat too much pizza at the hospitality or what?"

using your claws, you climb your way up franco's shirt from underneath his coat, and pop your head out of his collar. it leads to a few droplets of water sliding into your fluffy fur, but you dismiss it, more curious who was doing out in the rain as well.

none other than alex albon stands there, looking real dry under a large umbrella that is now held over franco's head as well. it is proudly labelled "williams racing" in blue lettering. his "pet" cockatiel sits proudly on his shoulder, bouncing up and down in hello when she sees you in franco's collar.

alex laughs when he spots you too.

"ah, i see, just your girlfriend in your coat!" he says, giving you wave.

you give him a loud meow and bare your canines in a smile.

alex smiles back at you kindly.

"so anyways, where ya'll going on this fine day in montreal, canada?" he asks, tilting his head, as if franco wasn't looking like a soggy biscuit with his drenched clothes and the weather didn't look like it was two seconds away from becoming a hurricane.

franco gestures vaguely towards the garages.

"the garages- didn't james tell us to go there like half an hour ago?"

alex laughs. "you're joking right? he didn't send anything out, cause how are you supposed to look at car performance in this weather?"

the both of you recognize the truth in alex's words at the same time. and when the flash of realization and embarassment crosses franco's face, you make sure take a deep breath, because if you don't, you are sure you would have mauled your boyfriend for bringing you all the way out in a storm for nothing.

note: largely unedited ;-;

[seokminfilm]

show me how | lee seokmin

pairing: lee seokmin x reader

warnings: non-idol au, fluff, kissing, domestic relationship, physical intimacy, lovey-dovey flirty!seokmin, after shower shenanigans, reader is implied to be naked (covered by a towel), seokmin showers reader w compliments, he blow dries her hair for her, they're sweet and in love your honor, reader uses nicknames to refer to seokmin, seokmin uses angel and baby to refer to reader

now playing: show me how, men i trust | requested by: @realmofclouds

Your shower had just finished a few minutes ago, and you were now wrapping yourself up in your warm, dry towel, finishing your skincare as the pleasant smell of lavender and lilies filled the bathroom. The bath scrub Seokmin had bought you last week on your quick date night felt good on your skin, and it left little sparkles in its wake, making you feel like a magical fairy of some sort.

Seokmin had given you money for no particular reason today before he left for work, and you went to the store and browsed some new shampoos, finally deciding on this one with both of your favorite scents.

You had been eager to try the shampoo out ever since you left the store, and after a long day of workouts and cleaning up around you and Seokmin's shared apartment, you finally stepped in the shower, ready to lather up and feel like a brand new person.

As you set up your hair drying station, the creaking of the door goes unnoticed by you, and you're doing your own thing until the sly slip of someone's arms around your waist makes you gasp.

"You smell so pretty, angel. What's this?" Seokmin's voice is soft yet deep, scratching your insides as his breath lightly taps your ear. His fingers run through your wet hair as he inhales the scent of you, his body melting against yours as he presses against you.

"What's what, Seokmin?" You ask, voice light and airy—whether you're too distracted by Seokmin's warm body pressed up against yours, or the fact that your towel is about to fall off, you're not sure, but you're in heaven with the way Seokmin's lips feel on your neck.

He kisses every spot, lightly peppering your ear and shoulder with the same amount of love and affection. He's muttering the words 'pretty' and 'so good' over and over, and you'd think he was drunk with the way he looked up at you with his dark brown, glassy eyes.

"Your shampoo, angel. It smells like someone brushed your head with the rain of heaven." Seokmin sighs, and you laugh at his quite dramatic analogy, hands brushing over Seokmin's bigger ones now resting on your stomach. "It's lavender and lily scented."

"Good god, you smell so pretty. I wanna love you forever and ever," Seokmin hums, and you laugh again, breath tickling his ear as you moan weakly "Stop, Seokmin. You're gonna get wet too."

"I don't care if I'm soaking wet by the time we're done," Seokmin says and you stare at him in the mirror, seeing his sharp eyes look up from your shoulder as he smiles against your wet skin. "I still want to kiss you."

Finally letting him run his course, you maneuver your way to being in front of Seokmin, towel now secure around your drying body as your lips meet his. Sparks fly through your body when he caresses your hip softly, and you feel as if you'd start crackling if he touched you with his fingertips.

When you pull away, you pull away breathlessly, and Seokmin smiles, hands still going to your wet hair as you lean into his touch. "Can I blow dry it for you? I'll take good care of you and your pretty hair, I promise."

The thought of Seokmin brushing your hair after blow-drying it with care made your heart swell, and you nod without a second thought, letting him take over and pamper you.

He spends every second making sure the temperature is warm and that you're comfortable, and the soft music that plays in the echoing bathroom is sweet to your ears as he brushes your hair and hums the lyrics for you.

Seokmin's voice is a soft honey vibrato now, a contrast from his usual high tone—it's reserved for times like these; times when he's loving you and taking care of you so well you feel like you're on top of the world.

Once he finishes with your hair, he takes a dry towel, putting it over your head as he gently scratches at your scalp. You nearly fall out of the chair with how good he is at it, and laugh when he starts to tease you a bit, drying your hair like someone would a dog. The smile that decorates his face when he watches you can only be described as love-filled, and it makes you warm as he turns off the hair dryer.

"So, what do we think, angel?" Seokmin puts his hands on your slightly bare arms, head dropping to the corner between your head and shoulder. You smile, leaning your head on top of his as you pat his hand. "I love it, Min. You did a great job."

Seokmin smiles like a proud child, pressing a kiss to your temple as he studies your face and body. "You look and smell amazing, baby. You're sparkling—quite literally," Seokmin laughs, fingertips covered with the body scrub's glitter.

You laugh, taking your finger and poking Seokmin's nose with it as he laughs. "And now, we're matching."

[applecherrytea]

“Under the Rain, Stuck in my room”

Request from @diced-sugar: Hello! I just came across your blog from scrolling through the twst tag, so sorry I don’t know much about your preferences for writing certain characters 😞 but, if you want a request, could we maybe get something to do with your fav twst character and the prefect being forced to stay together at ramshackle due to a rainy day? Could be cute!! Have a nice day!!

A/N: AAAAAAA I’m so happy! Finally! An excuse to write about my husband and children! Most of these will be romantic, but if you want a platonic version all you need to be is send in an ask! I’ll be happy to write one! Thanks again for sending me your request! I hope you’ll like this!

Character(s) Involved: Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

CW/TW: G/N!Reader for the most of it. Some strong language during Idia’s part

The downpour came on so suddenly, one moment the sky was sunny and bright, the next it started raining so bad that all classes were suspended! Luckily you and [Character] are together! It’s too bad he wouldn’t be able to go back to his dorm though…

The rain really came on as a surprise. You had asked him to come over, so he could help you out with baking and learning how to cook with the ingredients you were able to haggle at Mr. Sam’s shop. You still can’t believe that that place was more than a magic store. “Wow…it’s really raining out there..” You say as you lean yourself on the window sill, Trey behind you, cooking up what was left of the ingredients you bought. “I already called Riddle, he said I should stay here till the storm blows over.” he said as he plated the food, “You don’t mind, do you perfect?” you signal no with your head, moving away from the window to help Trey out with cleaning up so you both could eat.

Leona was already getting comfortable on your couch as you watched the rain from the guest room window. “This sucks!” Leona peeks open one eye, “I was really looking forward to those specialty lunches they were gonna serve at the cafeteria!” you stomped your way over to the couch, plopping yourself on the empty space Leona gracefully left for you. “You know,” the lion beastman mused, “if you want, I can just order it for you?” he says as he pulls you down to his chest. You look at him quizzically “You really?” he hummed in response, “I told you already, you can use my money on whatever you need. And if what you need is a specialty lunch then,” he offered his phone to you “knock yourself out” You gleaned as you stood up with his phone in your hand, ordering lunch for you three. “Thanks a lot, love!” you pecked his cheek as you stood up from the couch, picking up Grim in the process.

“THIS SUCKS ASS!!!” both you and Idia screamed as you watched the rain pour down. He slumps down to the ground, back facing the wall. “This is so not cool…it’s like watching your new game unload all its data for hours!” you sighed as you joined the complaining housewarden on the floor. “Tell me about it..” you both sat in silence for a while, fidgeting with nearby things as you awkwardly awaited for the rain to stop. “So…” Idia sat idly as he took out his phone, “wanna play while we wait this out?” you smirked as a response, “Is that even a question?” You and Idia spent the next hours playing around multiple games, so long that the weather had passed and Ortho had to come out and take Idia back to Ignihyde.

You knew that the rain was coming, props to the forecaster for reporting about it. You sat in your living room with Grim for a while, waiting for a special someone to come over for your usual nightly walks. “I wonder how long he’s gonna take? The rain looks so serious…” As you said those words, a knock came from the main door. You hurriedly get up from the couch you were lazing on, wearing your rain clothes as well as an umbrella as you open the doors. “Hornton! There you are, was wondering when you’d come over.” you opened the door widely for Malleus. He smiled as he entered your dorm. “Thank you, child of man. If you are ready, then shall we go and take a look at the gargoyles?” You nod happily as you head out with Malleus for a rainy adventure.