#coming to terms with falling in love with your killer

[megsiepoo]

This story was inspired by @lammydrawsthings so go show them some love. They've done a lot of art featuring Leshy/Lamb and it's absolutely adorable. I initially viewed it as a crack ship, but now it lives rent free in my head.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy my silly story. Feedback appreciated as always!

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Desperation

When you disappear from the Arkham Knights base, he's intent on getting you back. ~1.1k words

If the Arkham Knight knew that you'd be so against releasing fear gas over the entire eastern seaboard, he wouldn't have let you have nearly as much freedom around his base as he did. He really didn't consider that your moral compass would keep you from staying with him.

He's frustrated, as he tears through the streets of Gotham searching for you. If you wanted him to change his plans, you only needed to ask. Sure, he might have lied about the details, but the two of you could have at least talked before you decided leaving him was for the best.

He doesn't understand how you've managed to evade him for this long. He's checked every one of The Bats safehouses he knows you know about and a few you didn't. So where the hell are you?

He slams his fist into the wall of another empty safehouse. This is ridiculous. You don't get to run from him, don't get to be anywhere he doesn't know. How is he supposed to know you're safe like this? Know you're not making a bad decision? Not doing something that'll end in you hurt– kidnapped– dead?

His throat tightens as he storms out of the room, mentally running through where you could have gone to hide from him. He has his men stationed at the port, at hotels, at the subway stations, the airport, the highways out of Gotham. There's no way you've gotten out of the city.

'Unless you escaped before he noticed you were gone,' his mind supplies unhelpfully. The Arkham Knight scowls, as if that was possible. He stalks across the rooftops, mind racing. The second he gets his hands on you, he's putting a tracer on you. He should have done it sooner. Never should have let this happen. You're not supposed to be away from him. He needs you with him, needs you close.

Where did you go? Where did you go?

"Boss," a voice cuts through his helmet.

"What?" He snaps, voice sharp and angry and dangerous.

"We had a sighting of them."

He almost lets out a sigh of relief, "Location?"

You cursed rapidly under your breath as you dart through the alleys of Gotham. Stupid- stupid to get spotted by one of Jason's payrolled men. You knew you were lucky to have recognized him, but The Arkham Knight must know where you are by now.

You debate chancing the sewers, Killer Croc is supposed to be in Arkham, and if you're careful you could avoid Grundy. You don't have a plan– didn't have a plan when you left. You just needed to get out, needed air and space and time to process, to really come to terms with the fact that Jason isn't your Jason anymore.

Everything seems to be flying by in a whirlwind as you move through the shadows. Your thoughts frazzled, you don't even know what you want. Do you want him to find you? Do you want to go back with him? Do you want to keep running?

You don't really get a say in the matter when the Arkham Knight drops down a mere five feet in front of you, blocking one of your two exits out of the alleyway.

You let out a strangled noise of surprise as he storms towards you. You stumble back, eyes wide, "Jason–"

"What are you doing out here? Do you know what time it is? How dangerous this is?" He grabs your arm, grip tight to keep you in place. You can hear the desperation in his tone even through the modulator.

"I just– I needed to think–" You stumble out, eyes darting over the neon blue glow of his helmet.

"You can think inside the base, where it's safe." He tells you firmly, already dragging you along the alley.

You dig your heels in, "No, Jason. I can't go back there."

He turns back to you, voice low and almost threatening, "Why not?"

"I'm scared."

He falls quiet. You both do. He lets go of you. "Of me?"

"No! No, Jason, not of– of course not of you. I'm scared of– I'm scared that I understand. That your plan makes sense and I– I understand. At least, why you need this. Bruce failed you. I failed you." You start to reach for him, for the boy you fell in love with, the one lost underneath the armor and guns and nightmares. You stop short, it's hard sometimes, to not blame yourself for what happened to him.

He meets you halfway, the man he is now, the one who you don't quite know how to love yet, grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest. "I don't blame you."

"You should," You protest, but don't remove your hand, "I'm guilty too. A part of you must know that."

He shakes his head, squeezes your hand, "I don't care."

"You should," You repeat, angry and bitter with yourself.

"It doesn't matter, even if I did," he sighs your name and tugs off his helmet, letting it drop to the ground, "You're coming back with me."

You frown a little, something you can't quite name flicks in your eyes. In another life, he would have said he needed you, that he wants you with him, that he can't bear to be apart from you. But that's not who he is anymore, it's not what Arkham turned him into.

You don't know how to say no, not when his eyes are hard and his jaw is set. His only sign of vulnerability is the slight acceleration of his heartbeat, the way his fingers twitch against yours. All you can offer is a nod.

The lines of his face soften just enough to make your heart flutter and he leans in to press a firm kiss to your mouth.

It's still unfamiliar, the way he kisses you now, but you can't help but want to learn. It feels impossible not to, not when you know what he really means with his actions. Not when he whispers that he can't lose you, that he still loves you into your skin when you're half asleep at night.

You just start to kiss him back, just start to lean into his touch when he pulls away, letting go of you to dip down and retrieve his helmet.

He pulls it on in one practiced motion, hiding anything that was readable on his face from you, "Let's get you back."

Your face falls a little as he turns and starts walking away, but you follow him. Of course you do. Your chest aches, your head still feels muddled with what you've learned, but when he silently reaches his hand back for yours, your steps no longer feel so heavy.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

That One Friend…

Twisted Wonderland: Trey Clover, Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Kalim Al Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Idia Shroud, Lilia Vanrouge, 

JJK: Suguru Geto, Megumi Fushigiro, Mei Mei

Demon Slayer: Douma, Shinobu Kocho, Giyuu Tomioka, Tanjiro Kamado

Obey Me: Satan, Asmodeus, Simeon, Solomon, Barbatos

Hunter X Hunter: Hisoka Morrow, Chrollo Lucilfer, Shalnark, Shaiapouf, 

OCs: Rhiana(Witch), Wille (Elite Serial Killer), Fantasy Villain

There’s always That One Friend who you pass by in the market across the street or at the cafe you frequent before work. This one friend is always sweet–a kind soul you can trust for some intelligent conversation or to sit in silence with. 

Whether you’re married with kids or dating your long-term partner something in you tends to wander. Your mind drifts to That One Friend who you know would have picked up on your silence. They would have reached over the table to hold your hand as they demanded you tell them what was wrong–letting their worried eyes never leave yours as they searched the troubled depths of your own. 

There’s just something about That One Friend who has you daydreaming about what it’d be like to be with them instead. A dark sliver of you that entertains the idea of straying from where you're trapped but you’ll shoot that down…eventually. While you’re certain you love That One Friend you do love your significant other even if they stopped saying ‘I love you.’ It would be wrong to betray them for That One Friend—who can verbally assure you that they care. Who makes an effort to tell you how much they care about you daily. Besides it’d be wrong to base a betrayal on only a side of That One Friend. 

For all you know, they could be just being a good friend–showing a side of themself that you need. Besides they have their business or another partner or their long distance relationship so even if you were brave enough to confess your little crush to that dear One Friend it would never work out. 

So when it’s finally decided that you’ll shut down these invasive feelings put more time in improving your current relationship. You’ll limit yourself from That One Friend if only to get it into your brain that they’re just not an option. Diving into work, trying with your partner, spending more time with your kids, or just visiting a different place for lunch. You’ll make an excuse when That One Friend starts catching on and hope that they don’t take offense. Finding a steady routine that no longer relies on That One Friend. 

But that all goes to shambles when something terrible happens to your significant other. A car crash, leaking gas pipe, or a mysterious drive-by shooting—they’re gone. Your world–as dysfunctional as it already was—comes crashing down. Since you can’t fall because of your kids or because you worry you’ll never begin to bring yourself up again you have no choice but to rely on That One Friend. 

That One Friend who is at your apartment the second they’ve learned what’s happened. That One Friend who comes along with you to the police station when you promise that there’s foul play. That One Friend who cooks and cleans when you just don’t feel like moving. That One Friend who will even invite you, your kids, or your pets into their home so they can look after you because they are just so worried.

That One Friend who licks their lips as they watch you curl into their bed wearing the hoodie they let you borrow. That One Friend who invites your kids to call them something closer than their first name. That One Friend who reminds you to eat while you obsess over your significant other’s case. That One Friend who encourages you to cuddle with them since you’ve been having so much trouble sleeping. 

That One Friend who has been waiting for the perfect opportunity to get them back on your market. That One Friend who is like a predator lying in wait as it becomes years before you start wanting to date again. That One Friend who will make sure they’re narrowly injured on a train accident so that their emergency contact–you comes running and kisses their forehead because you were so scared. That One Friend who knows it’ll be a matter of time before you accept or propose yourself. 

That One Friend who can’t help but relish in the way you’re attention and love belong to them. 

And That One Friend will do anything to make that happen.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Creepypasta/Marble Hornets X Reader with A Small/Flat Chested F!Reader

[Warnings: NSFT/smut, size kink mention, praise, body worship, breeding kink, MINORS DNI]

[AN: sometimes I find you guys out in the wild (and what’s crazier is I get recognized sometimes??) and I go :0 in a good way!! Anyways here’s this lol. Made it while drinking canned bubble tea. Enjoy, for all my small titty goddesses]

Reblogs are appreciated!!

Jeff the Killer

Gods he’s so feral about small tits. And I mean FERAL. He has no eyelids so of course he’s going to stare. Loves seeing your nipples, clothed or not. Prefers when you don’t wear a bra in colder weather just so he can gawk at you and how they perk up.

He’s always cupping and rubbing them. When he’s able, he’s sucking on them. The way he loved your tits is raunchy and wild. Always making lewd comments about how hot you are how he loves how well you fit in his hands, how your skin is so soft and you squish just right for him.

Jeff obviously loves all parts of you, but whenever he sees you wearing a top that’s a little too thin and a little too tight and he can see the outline of your breasts, he finds himself drooling. He can TRY to be professional but good luck, his gaze always gives it away.

His kind of love for you is aggressive and possessive. If you EVER show any doubts, he’ll take offense. “Who the fuck are you to question my good fucking taste?” He doesn’t like you doubting him because how dare you? He sees your beauty, both inside and out, so why can’t you?

He’s going to show you off every chance he gets. Comes with the territory of dating him lol. He loves when people look at you but can’t touch, because you belong to him and him alone. No one else, just his. He doesn’t want to treat you like an object! You aren’t, but gods you have a gifts in your life and one is your body, don’t be shy. All that said, he loves you, truly and genuinely. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Eyeless Jack

Size kink. Huge. Huge size kink. He loves that he’s so much bigger than you in every way possible, and something about your tits fitting into his large hands, engulfed by his clawed palm make him melt. He purrs whenever he sees you changing and you let him lovingly gaze upon your body.

I’ve always felt Jack is into art, and sketches a lot in his free time. His art is mostly based on his medical knowledge, studying anatomy and whatnot, but he draws your breasts any chance he can get. And it’s not always in a sexualized way, but a very artistic focus. You, slowly waking up and gazing out the window, a warm drink in your hands as the sheets cascade over your body… and you’re nude.

He loves you without clothes on. With clothes on, however? If you wear any necklaces or whatnot, he melts because he thinks they fall between your breasts so elegantly. Everything about you is perfect to him.

Jack goes through heats, of course, and when he goes through them, he spends special attention on your tits. Lots of bite marks, especially when he’s sucking on your perfect nipples.

He’s got a habit of sitting you down on his lap while he’s doing work and playing with your breasts like a stress toy. Or just,,, playing with them because he can. Your body is his and his alone. He says you’re perfect to him, so you better believe it. If not, don’t worry, Jack is surprisingly good at talking through more sensitive topics without overriding your feelings. He’ll always take care of you.

Tobias Rogers

He’s just like Jeff in terms of being raunchy. He prefers you to wear skimpier, form fitting clothes just to show your body off to the world. When he’s out in public with you, he likes you to be the candy on his arm. Thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous, and the way your tits sit on your chest contribute a great deal to that.

If you have nipple piercings? Lord help you, Toby can’t keep himself off of you. Not even when he tries, he’s just so into you. The moment you take your shirt off and show them to him, he’s drooling and fucking you into the floor, folding you like a lawn chair so he can watch your breasts bounce a bit as he drives you into the floor.

Toby doesn’t actually like the necklaces too much. Not the long ones. Not only do they get in the way of sex, but he likes chokers and shorter chains better. He’s kinda particular like that. Sometimes, he’ll playfully complain whenever you wear baggier clothes and hoodies (he never means it, he wants you to be comfortable).

Toby is also a huge fan of you not wearing a bra so he can gawk at you. But!! If you do fancy wearing bras, he’s especially into the cute ones that are clearly meant for adult activity. Seeing you in lingerie makes his caveman brain warp into hyperdrive.

He does understand the shadowy sides of you though. He’s dealt with body image issues himself, specifically his face. But, he’s grown confident in who he is. He won’t ever push toxic positivity on you, but he won’t let you say awful things about yourself. He says it hurts his feelings, because how could you talk so poorly about yourself when he loves you so deeply? It actually messes him up.

Masky/Tim Wright

Masky loves you so boldly. Your body really sparks some protective nature or something in his head. When he first saw your breasts once your clothes came off, all he could think about was how sweet you must taste and how soft you must be to squeeze. He wants you all to himself, your body is his to enjoy as much as he is yours to enjoy. It’s usually him somehow giving pep talks, but he’s an aggressive supporter. Loves you, refuses to let you speak like that about yourself.

Tim however, Tim is a little cuter about it. Make no mistake, he’s still a pervert but it’s sweeter, somehow. Tim loves to worship every bit of you, showing attention to your breasts because they’re his favorite part of you. He finds himself staring, blushes and tries to shake himself back into focus but can’t. Really, he can be such a nerd at times. Doesn’t mean to, but look at him. Look at him and tell me he isn’t.

There’s hickies all over your body when he’s done with you. Hickies all over your breasts and sometimes, he’ll form them in a heart because that’s cute. His large, calloused hands love how soft and small you are as he squeezes and cups. LOVES to fuck in positions that let him see your breasts, as that’s what he’s focused on outside of the way your eyes roll upwards when he pushes in extra deep.

He LOVES seeing you all dressed up but also really loves whenever you’re all comfortable. Either way, he’ll make cheesy jokes like “your clothes look better in my floor ;)” so be prepared for a lot of cheesy, horny jokes. Or if you say “my eyes are up here??” He’ll keep honing in on your tits. That’s just the kind of man he is.

Some of his favorite moments with you are the kinds where you’re all curled up in bed together, spooning and his hands are able to roam your body. He often falls asleep holding your breasts, hand spread out over them and squeezing you to his chest like you’re his squishy toy. He often falls asleep better this way! If you’re not in the mood to be bear hugged to sleep, he’ll still keep a hand resting on your chest or hips somehow.

Hoodie/Brian Thomas

Hoodie is a very silent, down to business kind of proxy. Deeply cocky and self assured, maybe a bit too hot headed. When it comes to you, he knows his taste and what he’d choose and he chose well. Whenever he sees you all dolled up, he’ll bend you over just to have his way with you before you have to go. Hoodie’s gloved hand squeeze at your tits every chance he gets before he pulls them off so his fingers can play with your nipples with no barrier in between.

Brian’s a southern gentleman. This does not apply to how he worships your body. He’s FERAL for your body and will try to get you pregnant any chance he can. There’s times you’ll come out of the shower and drop the towel, he sees your nipples, the curve of your breasts, and he’s on you, mating press, trying to get you pregnant. He can’t help himself when you look that sexy.

He’s also really fond of holding your breasts in any way he can. Makes him happy just to touch you. Cuddle? Grab titty. Doing anything on the computer? Grab titty. Has no restraint, and in the safety of your home? He doesn’t care (unless you’re overstimulated or don’t want to, of course). He’s HUGE on physical touch. Everything from your ass, your thighs, your arms, titties, everything.

Also really weak for lingerie. Wearing something sexy and lacy, maybe has his name on the waist band and he’ll fold for you. He’s really, really fond of the bras that let him have access to your nipples. He’ll squeeze your breasts as he bends your legs upwards, then press chest to chest with you to feel your heartbeat as your soft breasts bounce against him. He’s weak.

Maybe it’s just the vibe I get, but he somehow manages to make you feel really at peace with yourself, and if you aren’t, then he’s always there to let you vent and reassure you that he loves you and PREFERS YOU the way you are! Nothing about you needs to change or be bigger. He prefers your body the way you are now, and by the way he’s always staring? You’ve never a reason to doubt him.

Bonus Kate the Chaser!

She’s no better than a man with the way she stares at your tits. She’s pretty muscular and I write her as really tall now, so she LOVES how your titties fit in her hands. There are moments she will squeeze with her hands and then press her face into them, not caring if she suffocates. Kate stares so boldly. And then when she’s eating you out, her tongue buried deep in your pussy, all she can focus on is how beautiful you look. Your chest is rising and falling and your nipples are hard, and when you’re on your back she can see the little shivers. If you’re riding her face, she’s melting at the curve of your breasts, the gentle slopes that make them, and making little grabby hands to reach and play with them. When is she not playing with your breasts? Kate sometimes wears lipstick (a rarity) and covers your breasts in her kisses just to reaffirm to you how beautiful you are and how much she loves this part of your body. Make no mistake, she’s still lining your body with hickies and bite marks, but your neck, collar and titties especially. She can probably cum from just seeing you.

[harrywavycurly]

Bruised Knuckles and Baked Goods

Pairing: Killer!Harry x Wife!reader

Masterlist: Here

A/N: This is a little follow up to Lasagna Casserole, where your loving husband Harry is a serial killer and you have no clue, you can find that here if you haven’t read it but even if you don’t read that first you’ll be able to read this and not be missing anything. Just like the last one you won’t get any actual descriptions of Harry killing anyone, you’ll just get little glimpses of things he uses in the process✨

TW: Harry is a serial killer, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, language, slight controlling behavior.

Summary: You asked Harry to stop by the store on his way home because you need to start baking cookies for your neighborhood’s fall festival but you have no idea that he also made a pit stop somewhere else resulting in him coming home late and with some damage done to his hands✨

Harry feels himself instantly start to relax as he pulls into the driveway, the muscles in his shoulders and neck don’t seem to ache as much as they did just a few minutes ago when he catches a glimpse of the light from the lamp on the end table in living room peeking through the curtains letting him know you’re still awake. It’s as if he can finally let out the breath he feels like he’s been holding all night as he puts the car in park before shutting it off, he allows himself a moment to finally look at his hands as they grip the steering wheel.

He’s been avoiding actually looking at them the whole drive home because he hasn’t exactly come to terms with what he’s done quite yet. It’s not that he regrets it or anything but Harry normally isn’t one to do things without a well thought out plan and the help of his longtime partner in crime Mitch, who he knows won’t be happy when he finds out what Harry did and how he went about doing it.

His knuckles on his left hand are red and already starting to bruise while a few have minor cuts on them while his right hand seems to be the one with the most damage, being the one he favors when opting to use his fists as his weapon of choice. There’s a small gash that he managed to get to stop bleeding but he knows it’ll need to get cleaned and bandaged while the skin on his knuckles is red and raw, it’s more stiff and he can already tell it’s going to be a bit swollen and sore tomorrow but nothing he can’t handle. He lifts his hands from the steering wheel and flexes them a few times as a slight smirk fights to form on his face as his mind starts to replay a moment from the evening, but Harry quickly shakes his head not allowing himself to relive it, not yet at least.

Right now all he wants or really needs to do is grab the bag from the passenger seat and head inside so he can see you, the person who makes all the things he’s done during the day or the night in this case seem so unimportant the moment you smile at him because for Harry making you happy will always be the most important thing he ever does. Tonight that meant him stopping at the store on his way home for some eggs and a bag of sugar, does Harry know what you need these things for at eight at night? No, but you’re his wife and also the love of his life so he doesn’t really care about the reason, he just said okay and now here he is with a plastic bag in his hand as he walks through the front door.

“Baby?” He calls out as he drops his keys in the little bowl on the table by the door while he slips his boots off leaving them next to your heels he saw you put on to wear to work this morning. “Sweetheart?” He says as he looks in the living room but just finds an empty couch making him raise an eyebrow as he stands there and takes in just how silent the house sounds.

Harry heads towards the kitchen so he can place the eggs in the fridge and put the sugar on the counter before he continues his search for you. He places a hand on his hip as his other rests on top of the kitchen table, he stands there a moment and just listens, he smiles when he hears the faint sound of humming coming from down the hall. Harry now knows exactly where you’re at and when he looks at his watch on his wrist he can take a guess at what you’re doing, he heads down the hall and stops just a few steps away from the master bedroom where you have the door ajar letting him get the smallest glimpse of you from where he’s standing in the hallway. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed quietly singing to yourself and Harry knows by the way you’re rubbing your hands together that you’re in the middle of applying your lotion, a nightly routine that if he was home when he was suppose to be you’d let him help you with because he loves any excuse to get to touch you.

“Hey baby.” His voice is sweet and not too loud so that it doesn’t startle you as he opens the bedroom door and takes a step inside. He smiles at the grin that takes over your face when your eyes find his, before you can get off the bed Harry is crossing the room and gently placing a hand on the side of your face and giving you a sweet kiss on the lips.

“You’re late.” You mumble when Harry tries to pull away but you quickly reach up and grab onto his shirt pulling him back to you for another kiss.

“Sorry sweetheart.” He says between little pecks to your lips before you finally let him pull away enough so he can look at you, dropping his hand from the side of your face. “I got-”

“What happened?” Harry watches the smile fall from your face as he hears the immediate change in your voice, it’s no longer playful and flirty but now it’s laced with worry and confusion as you take his left hand in both of yours.

“Forgot my gloves at home.” It’s not a complete lie so Harry doesn’t feel as bad as he should when the words effortlessly slip out of his mouth while you tenderly run your soft fingers over the bruised knuckles of his hand.

“This is from the gym?” You question with a quirked brow because while you know your husband enjoys a good and often intense workout the damage to his hand seems a little extreme even for him.

“I had some issues I needed to work out.” He knows you won’t push for more details when he gives you his explanation, you know how he is and that sometimes Harry prefers to talk to a punching bag than to anyone else about what’s bothering him. Harry knows it’s wrong, to use this type of thing against you so he’ll make sure that later tonight when the two of you are in bed and he has you pulled tightly to his chest to tell you a little something that’s been bothering him, something that’ll make you feel as if he’s letting you in on why he felt the need to bust his knuckles up on a punching bag at the gym so that you’ll feel a bit better and not want to bring it up again.

“Let’s get you fixed up.” You say with a small smile as you look up at him and find he’s already looking at you with what can only be described as a look of pure love on his face.

“I don’t deserve you.” You playfully roll your eyes at his words and Harry has to act like he’s just being cute as he leans down and places a kiss to your forehead but he means it, he knows he doesn’t deserve you but he also knows he’s far too selfish to ever let you go. “I got your eggs and sugar by the way love. I put them in the kitchen.” He tells you as he takes a step back allowing you to stand up off the bed.

“Oh perfect I need to start making the cookies for the bake sale at the fall festival this weekend-did you remember to tell Mitch about it this time? You know he loves the pumpkin carving contest and he didn’t get to come last year because-”

“Because I got the dates mixed up.” He finishes your sentence for you with a chuckle as he follows you into the master bathroom, the real reason Mitch didn’t get to come last year was because he was busy digging two holes in the middle of the woods two hours away but you didn’t need to know that.

“So did you tell him? Is he going to come?” Harry adores how excited you get over things like the neighborhood’s fall festival, you have a certain sparkle in your eyes as you turn to look at him while you motion for him to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

“Baby…” Harry doesn’t miss the way you completely ignore him as you just turn around and head to grab the first aide kit under Harry’s sink, he knows there’s something you’re not telling him about why you’re so curious if his long haired bestfriend will be attending the festival or not.

“I’m thinking about making chocolate chip cookies for the bake sale but is that too boring?” You ask once you’re standing in front of Harry with the first aide kit placed next to his thigh on the edge of the tub. You gently take his right hand in yours and he watches the way you pout at the sight of the damage he’s done to himself. “Or maybe snickerdoodle? That’s a very fall sort of cookie isn’t it?” Harry gives you a smile when you look at him, he knows you want to say something about the gash and ask how could he have gotten that from a punching bag but instead you just keep going on about cookies.

“It looks worst than it actually is.” He whispers taking your mind off of cookies for a moment as you begin cleaning his knuckles with an alcohol wipe. You just give him a look that makes him let out a chuckle because it’s obvious you don’t believe him. “I think Mitch likes snickerdoodle cookies.” You smile at this bit of information making Harry happy that he’s able to slightly distract you from the fact he doesn’t even flinch when you begin applying some cream to his knuckles so the open gashes don’t get infected.

“Really? Oh that’ll be perfect because Niall-” You stop mid sentence when Harry’s hand slightly tenses as the name of your coworker tumbles out of your mouth. “I’m sorry honey I’m almost done.” Your voice matches the softness of your touches as you begin to bandage his hand, Harry is aware you think his tenseness is due to the pain in his hands but in reality it’s because he has put the pieces together of why you want Mitch to attend the festival this weekend.

“Niall will be there? He doesn’t even live in this neighborhood.” He watches your brows pinch together as you focus on where your hands are gently pressing over his knuckles making the bandages stick in place.

“Mitch doesn’t either.” You state matter of factly making Harry just raise a shoulder in a shrug as a smile creeps onto his face.

“Is my lovely wife trying to set my best mate up with the nosey bloke she shares a cubical with?” You shoot him a playful glare as you reach over and close the first aide kit after putting the left over bandages inside. “Because if she is then maybe she’d like to know that Mitch isn’t really looking for a relationship at the moment.” He adds as he looks over as you grab the kit to put it back under the sink but Harry just takes it from your hands and places it back down next to him so he can take your hands in his, he internally groans at how he can’t really feel how soft your hands are in his due to the way you wrapped his knuckles.

“You weren’t looking for anything serious when we met either remember?” You ask as you let Harry place your hands on his shoulders while his grab hold of your hips as you stand between his legs. “You didn’t even want to go on a date with me at first because you were so against being in a relationship.” You tease as Harry just looks up at you with a smile as you take one of your hands and brush some hair out of his face making him lean into your touch when you leave your hand holding the side of his face.

“You’ve got it all wrong baby.” You raise an eyebrow making Harry just turn his head so he can place a kiss to the inside of your hand that you have on his face. “It wasn’t that I was against being in a relationship. It was the fact I just knew the moment I went on one date with you I’d never want to be without you. So I was just really fucking nervous. I didn’t want to mess it all up.” He admits making your eyes go a bit glassy at his sweet words, something Harry’s always been good at is telling you exactly how he feels about you no matter how sappy or corny it makes him sound.

“I can’t imagine you being nervous because of me.” Harry just laughs as he pulls you closer to him while your hand goes from the side of his face back to his shoulder.

“You still make me nervous sweetheart.” His hands give your hips a little squeeze as you look down at him. “You don’t even know how often I just find myself staring at you wondering how the hell I ended up being the one you wanted to spend your life with.” Harry brings one of his hands up to gently cup your face, the bandages feeling a little rough against your skin but not uncomfortable. “But I’m so happy you picked me because I can’t imagine loving anyone else but you.” You blink a few times to try to hold back the tears that want to fall as Harry pulls your face down towards his making your lips to meet.

“You’re so rude.” You mumble as you pull away and Harry hears you sniffle as you bring your hands up and wipe under your eyes to catch the tears before they can make it down your cheeks. “Making me cry after I just bandaged your hands for you.” Harry rubs his thumb over your cheek as you let out a sigh.

“M’sorry baby.”

“It’s okay I still love you.”

“That’s good because I’d be a bit of a wreck if you didn’t.”

“But to make it up to me you can just make sure Mitch and Niall meet on Saturday-oh and be nice to Niall please. He’s a nice guy and the two of you have a lot in common.” Harry just nods making you give him a smile that makes the thought of having to play nice with your extremely talkative and slightly annoying coworker worth it but if Harry’s being honest with himself he knows he would do anything you ask of him if it would make you even the tiniest bit happy.

“Thank you. I’ll go heat up your dinner while you take a shower.” With that you lean down and place a kiss to Harry’s cheek as he slides his hand away from your face and places it in his lap, he gives your hip one last squeeze before he lets you go so you can turn around and head out of the bathroom.

“Mitch is going to be so thrilled.” He whispers to himself with a laugh once he knows you’re out of the bedroom and headed down the hall towards the kitchen as he runs a hand through his hair.

“She wants me to meet who?” Mitch asks with a raised brow as he looks at Harry who is currently digging around in his duffle bag for a roll of duct tape.

“Niall her cubical mate at work he’s going to be at the fall festival this Saturday and she figured that would be a good place to-”

“I don’t want to.” Mitch interjects as he adjusts the fit of the gloves on his hands, Harry roll his eyes at how whiny his bestfriend’s voice is over the subject of meeting someone new.

“That’s cool but I also didn’t ask if you wanted to or not.” Harry states as he finally finds the tape, he grabs it and hands it to Mitch before zipping his duffle bag closed. “It’s not like you have to date him just meet him and don’t be a dick about it.” He explains while closing his trunk so he can begin putting his gloves on.

“But I don’t want to meet-what the fuck happened to your hands?” Harry looks over at Mitch whose eyes are glued to the bandages on his knuckles. “Did you get into a fight?” He asks as he watches Harry put a glove on his right hand, slightly struggling to get the leather to fit properly over the bandages.

“No.” Mitch’s hands fall to his sides in a huff as he glares at Harry. “He never got the chance to hit me back.” He gives Mitch a quick glance to see his reaction and as he suspected he’s not happy because Harry has a feeling his friend knows exactly who it was that gave Harry the bruised knuckles.

“It was Todd wasn’t it? You beat the shit out of him by yourself? We had a plan Harry why didn’t you just-”

“I saw his car in the parking lot of a bar on the way home from the store and I just-I reacted in a way I shouldn’t have but I don’t regret it. I know we had a plan but now it’s dealt with and we can move on.” Mitch’s eyes go wide as the thoughts of how exactly Harry dealt with Todd begin to swirl around in his head. “Relax I didn’t kill him okay? I just maybe broke a bone or two.” He explains making Mitch let out a sigh as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“You beat him up in a bar parking lot and broke a few bones? Jesus man that’s not cool what if someone saw you?”

“No one saw me besides Todd and he won’t say anything.”

“He saw you? Like your face?”

“Yes but it’s fine.”

“Harry this is very far from fine. He could have you arrested for assault and you’re just walking around with the evidence on your hands Mr. Forensic Files.” Harry shoots Mitch a hard glare as he finishes putting his gloves on but Mitch just stands there and glares at him right back because this isn’t how the two of them go about doing things, they have plans for a reason and it’s to avoid possible issues like being seen and the fact Harry is so relaxed about the whole thing isn’t sitting right with Mitch at all.

“Todd knows it was me who broke his jaw and probably a few ribs last night and he knows why. Now I know you think he could go to the police and get me arrested but he won’t because when I pulled him out of his car he wasn’t alone and who he was with was someone you have to pay to get the privilege to hang out with if you get what I’m saying.” Harry takes a step towards Mitch as he explains why he’s not worried about Todd and places a hand on his shoulder so he can give it a not so gentle squeeze.

“You broke his jaw?” Mitch asks making Harry just shrug as he releases his hold on Mitch’s shoulder.

“Well yeah what else was I supposed to do? I wasn’t going to just cut out his tongue in a bar parking lot and get blood all over the place.” Mitch lets out a chuckle as Harry bends down to grab the backpack by Mitch’s feet. “Besides he also thinks we work with computers in some company’s basement for their I.T department and a guy like Todd isn’t about to let anyone think he got his shit rocked by a computer nerd.” He states with a smirk as he places a strap of the backpack over his shoulder, Mitch can’t help but just stare at Harry for a moment before he looks behind him at the house of the man they are about to go deal with.

“And this was all because he said your wife’s casserole was dry?” Harry ignores the teasing tone of Mitch’s voice as he asks the question while the two of them head up the driveway to the man’s house.

“Yeah so imagine what I’d do to you if you try to tell her no you’re not interested in meeting Niall or you don’t want to come to the festival this weekend.” Mitch rolls his eyes as the empty threat because he knows Harry wouldn’t ever lay a hand on him unless it was absolutely necessary. “She’s making snickerdoodle cookies for the bake sale but if you agree to meeting Niall I’ll have her give you some for free.” Harry knows that the long haired man standing behind him has very few weaknesses but one of them is baked goods especially ones you make.

“Fucking asshole.” Mitch mumbles as he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail right as they make it to the front door. “Better be at least a dozen and this Niall dude better not be a douche.”

“I hear he’s quite nice and uh what’s the word? Oh a bit chatty.”

“I hate you.”

“But you love her so you’ll eat your cookies and be nice.” Is all Harry says before he knocks on the door signaling that their conversation is over and they are about to start their work so they need to be focused on the task at hand, which just so happens to be ending the life of the man who is about the answer the door.

[shutupineedtothink]

More ep 7 thoughts, now that I’ve watched it twice and processed 🫠

Bookending the episode with Lilia’s fall but first it’s down and then it’s up - sick, twisted, beautiful, devastating, I’m crying

The soundtrack really goes hard in this ep

The wildest part about the “ex best friend” line is all of those things are equally insane - ex, ex best friend, or best friend. Like ma’am what hex were you living in

Babysitter is likely a reference to the comics, but interesting also in terms of WV because we saw Agatha babysit the twins only once I think. Does this mean she actually spent more time with them than we know?

Wow once again Kathryn Hahn is doing so much work in this first scene with Billy, she’s going from snarky to wary to calculating to hurt to i don’t even know. She’s doing a masterclass in face acting.

When they start to climb toward the castle, Agatha has her hands clasped behind her back and initially I was just like ma’am, why are you like this, but then I realized oh. Her hands are tied right now.

Waning moon for the Crone trial babyyyyyy called it

Fun and fast transition to get us into the trial, since we know the deal by now

She’s based on me you know — sooooo, tragic, misunderstood, secretly suffering her whole life, constantly judged by others, uh huh uh huh

Prove it - he really doesn’t believe a word she says! And she looks so hurt by it!

The way Agatha sits in the chair omg girl please chill

This is such like an Indiana Jones trap I love it

God I love Lilia’s visions, changing the perspective to hers, the blurring around the edges - sometimes you don’t need to do much, but it’s hella effective

Actually a lot of good camera tricks in this ep I’m not going to point them all out

It’s about limiting beliefs baybeee - once again the writers showing they know their psych

I’m sorry that tea leaves to the underground transition??? Spectacular

“Well tell me what more I should see when I look at you. No, I mean it” - hey nonviolent communication, how’s it going 🤌

God can you imagine how scary it would be to have these visions as a CHILD

Did you not see imminent impalement in your future?? Lol why did this get me

I get the fake nose on Agatha but idk maybe I could’ve done without it

Teenager his full name LOLOL underrated joke

Dory OMGGGGG

Jen being the ultimate Lilia champion this ep and I love it. Also seems to contradict her behavior even more in Agatha’s trial, but she’s still more snappy with Agatha here too

What are you wearing, I don’t wanna talk about it - bruh every line. EVERY LINE.

Did I mention the transitions are killer

Your task is not to control but to see. - I, I can’t keep writing down every line but

I love that as soon as Jen knows what’s going on, she’s totally on board, just asking Lilia for intel, like yep this is normal now

Ahhh the spell book. Interesting that Lilia finds it.

Ohp - I wish Lilia was here. Ask and you shall receive - see the Billy’s Road theory

She calls him baby again 😭

Is snappy dialogue one of my biggest joys on this earth? I think it is

Proper tarot takes time and care. And leads to large gaping wounds - …. You mean like internal wounds? Like trauma? Like you have to bring up the trauma to heal it? Uh huh uh huh cool cool cool cool you said it Agatha not me.

The Magician, the ability to turn all of your goals into reality - Agatha immediately side eyes him. Bruh.

I’m a forgotten woman. Then remember yourself. 🤌🤌🤌

I was falling. I will fall. - CAMERA. MOVEMENT.

What will you do with your remaining time 🤝 all we can do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us. Iykyk.

The subway baybeee get that House of R theory

God this tarot spread scene is so epic.

Ok Jen being the path ahead… I gotta come back to that

Agatha is the obstacle yep that makes sense (but the obstacle is the way)

Windfall - Billy, miraculous transformation uh yep ok

Destination - Death. Such a good reveal, even if I already knew it. Once again the power of good writing. In the end all roads lead to me. UGH WTF

NOT THE GREEN VINES SPELLING A BIG OL “R” WHEN THE DOORS OPEN

The original green witch…. Ok so she is in the coven… but also Billy’s in the coven? It’s a shared black heart? Or it means you can go one direction or the other… hm.

Ughghghghhh her just giving them each what they need before she sends them onward. She’s the GOAT.

Did I mention the music????

This whole scene is so EPIC. The tower upright fuck it up queen

Oh my God Lilia took her power back 😭

We didn’t see a body unlike Alice I’m holding onto that “see you at the end” lyric with all my might at this point

Time in a bottle was sick and twisted and beautiful I love it

I just… can’t believe this is something I got to witness. Like it’s so good I’m mad about it.

A few other quick thoughts:

Jen being the path ahead… if she was birth in the first trial (see my maiden mother crone trial theory), then maybe she’s also REbirth? It’s a circle sewn with fate… we’re going back to the beginning but emerging from the Road this time. Eh??

Patti…. PATTI!! Where’s her Emmy? Where’s the show’s Emmy???

Not only was this a better time travel plot than the rest of Marvel as I said in another post but it’s also better than time travel in Doctor Who for the last 10 years and that pisses me off low key.

Not to jump ahead but buckle up kids cuz if we’re following the loose structure of WandaVision then ep 8 is our flashback/reliving the trauma episode for Agatha and as much as I was destroyed by this ep I am so not ready for all of that.

Anyway. What a masterpiece. I’m DONE.

[larcenywrites]

how do creed/logan act if they find out their partner is expecting?

Tbh I think they would know even before their partner 😅 super senses and all, yk? So I went with that angle! It’s nothing special, but I could always do something more fleshed out for each one later on. Maybe like how I did my Tony Stark family stuff 🤔

Reactions to Pregnancy

Logan Howlett x Reader

Victor Creed x Reader

Warnings: pregnancy mentions obviously | like two sexual references but they’re more on the mild side

Logan

Terrified. He probably picks up on it before even you, or, at least, before you tell him, but tbh he might be the one to tell you 😅 that nose never lies, but pregnancy probably still doesn’t really cross his mind at first… it’s when he suddenly hears an extra heartbeat nearby, and a rapid one at that, that he actually has to connect the dots. And yet, he still won’t bring it up! He’s nervous, a little more tense than usual, but for now he’s probably choosing to, ah… not ignore it per se? Maybe he’s trying to come to terms with it himself before you find out… by ignoring it!

But he can’t ignore it anyway because now when hears you trying to sneak up on him from behind, it’s not just you anymore. It’s quite literally following him around and keeping him up at night, and maybe hearing a quick pulse naturally puts him on edge anyway. He’s probably damn near falling apart! Is he terrified? Yes. Anxious? Yes. Low key wondering how he could let this happen?? Kinda! But then again, he is the one who ditches the condom like once a month in favor of his little kink… He was already beating himself up a little about being a terrible choice for a father, but now he’s really cursing himself because he of all people should know actions have consequences!!!

Not to mention: What if he passes on his mutation?? Shit, there might be yet another genetically perfect killer on the loose soon!

With a sigh, he finds himself tapping a finger or two on your lower tummy in thought. He knows that, regardless, he’s doing everything he can to keep you- both of you- safe. And all this stress ain’t for nothing— in fact, it’s already made him a little attached to that unnamed heartbeat!

You’re probably not gonna notice too much difference in his usual behavior other than he seems more tense and unfocused lately. He always tends to be the big spoon, he usually ends a day with rubs and nuzzles, he’s always tuned in to what you’re doing— what will be different though is him being more reluctant to leave for missions (probably a little huffy about it even), and a whole lot more cuddlier than usual the night before! And in the case that you’re a fellow x-men, it’s not out of the ordinary for him to keep an eye on you, but it is definitely weird for him to challenge the set plan just to stay by your side, and the pot is finally boiling over when he starts telling you that you can’t come on missions altogether… which probably leads to everybody arguing! Hell, you may still not even know you’re pregnant at this point, but Logan has to say it because otherwise he’s really looking like the bad guy here!

Minus the fifty questions you probably have for him, he is relieved that this whole pregnancy thing isn’t just on his shoulders now. But now that you do know, he’s definitely relieved that he can be a little more affectionate without being questioned! At some point he definitely ended up nuzzling under your shirt and has decided to just lie there for probably the rest of the evening with his very tiny baby 🥰

And come on, Logan loves the students! Even if it is in his own grumpy way! He really shouldn’t be so worried about being dad material 😘

Victor

Again, he probably picks up on it before you do, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he knows what he’s sensing! But what he does know is that you smell delightful, and all he finds himself doing that night he first notices is rubbing against your shoulder and nuzzling into your neck. It’s easy to just laugh off his spontaneous cat-like affections, and even easier to succumb to the licking and nipping without much thought 😘

It’s rather late one night when he’s coming home, and while he always aware of each pulse that should normally be around, there’s definitely a new one… He probably thinks it’s a rat that got in the wall or something at first! Now on the hunt and prowling around, he’s a tad confused when he’s led to your sleeping form in the bed. Just as his nose never lies, neither does his hearing! He’s not dumb, he knew exactly what it meant as soon as he made it to the bed.

Eh, honestly he’s probably more surprised it hasn’t happened sooner 😅 He’s probably wildly inconsistent with protection, definitely has a breeding kink anyway, and has probably taken the condom off without you even noticing before… Even so, he still definitely didn’t plan it! Well- probably.

Still flopped over you with a big ol arm over your waist and nuzzling into your neck, he’s probably purring way more than you’ve ever heard him purr before. Enough to wake you up at 4 in the morning! You’ll have to lift his big ol head from your chest to get his attention, and he’ll just outright tell you! He’s one of the best trackers in the world, so there’s no reason to doubt him… that and it’s not every occasion that you’ll see him kneading happily at the blankets!

Ah- maybe he has done… questionable things, both when it comes to family and not-family… But, really, there's no need to worry! This hellcat is quite fond of kids, so while you may be a little anxious over the sudden news, Victor is unfazed enough for the both of you! Besides, he’s more than capable of keeping both you and a kid safe, and he’s had plenty of challenges in his 200+ years, surely he can handle raising a kid. Plus, he has a kid or two out there that he didn’t raise himself, so he’s probably pretty excited about this one ;3 But he does kinda hope he passes down his mutation…

The only downside as far as behavior goes is he’s now ultra protective and nosey (not that you could ever hide anything from him anyway), and now he’s dragging home tons of trinkets and jewelry and blankets and maybe even an entire turkey one time 😅

[neo-nomatrix]

Rule No. 19

never fall in love with the same person twice, the second time you’ll be falling in love with the memories not the person.

Miguel O’hara x reader

word count: 1056

synopsis: You were Miguel’s wife in another universe and he just can’t come to terms that you’re not his.

a/n: i know a lot of people are asking for part twos of my other stories but i just can’t think of anything 😭

Your death was a horrible day for Miguel. He easily blamed himself for what had happened to you. Shot twice by a random mugger off the side of the street. And he, Spiderman of all people, couldn't save you. How could he even call himself a hero after that? He held your lifeless body in his arms as he came to terms with the incident.

Miguel wouldn’t allow your killer to get away. Chasing him down the block, cornering him in an alley and slowly, almost torturing, beat the life out of him. Miguel tore at his skin with his claws, used all his strength to break his teeth, and practically ripped off the man’s hand from the wrist.

Miguel so desperately wanted him to feel pain he would do anything. But that wouldn’t bring you back, and he knew that.

Miguel had fallen in love with you for many reasons. You were beautiful, smart, funny, and the kindest person he had ever met. He knew that if you saw the person he was now you would not have fallen in love with him. When he looks at himself in the mirror he doesn’t see the man he once was, he doesn’t see the man you loved but a distorted ugly image of that man.

He knew he had changed for the worse but truthfully he didn’t care. If changing meant he got what he was after he didn’t care how it made him look.

The first time Miguel found you in another universe he was ecstatic. You had a family, a beautiful daughter and a life worth being a part of. “Your” Miguel had recently died and he thought he could replace him.

“Oh, I'm so glad you’re home. I was starting to get worried,” You kissed your husband as he walked through the door.

“Im here,” Miguel whispered as a response.

He didn’t know what to do. You were there, in front of him. Alive.

He pulled you in for the strongest kiss he had ever given you. You were slightly shocked but melted into the kiss with such love. Failing to see the tears building up in his eyes.

You were happy, so happy. Until the day it all came crashing down on him. Your world started to collapse within itself, Miguel felt like Atlas trying to hold up the universe on his shoulders. He didn’t know what to do, he was lost. Running from an inescapable situation with you and your daughter. You fell to your knees as you were running. You were glitching. Slowly, in the most painful way he could imagine both you and your daughter disappeared from his arms.

For the second time Miguel lost you, and it was his fault. From then on he vowed to only watch you from afar.

“She isn’t yours, Miguel,” Jess reminded him for what? the tenth time today?

“I know that Jess,” he practically rolled his eyes at her.

“Y’know it’s creepy. You’re basically stalking this girl who has no idea you exist. There are just some things you have to let go,” She offers her advice.

Miguel clenches his jaw at her words.

“I don’t need a therapist, alright? I’m fine dealing with this,” he says.

He’s had enough of Jess and her advice for today. Even though he won’t let himself interfere he can’t help but watch you from the rooftops. He agrees that it’s creepy but he can’t let anything else bad happen to you, he just can’t.

From everything telling him not to, he swings down to try and get closer to you. He enters the coffee shop you just went into. He doesn’t know why. He shouldn’t be here behind you in the long line. It’s not right. He’s about to turn before he’s greeted with your sweet voice. Your voice that sounds like honey and all the good things on this planet and the next.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering what you usually order? I’ve never been here before and I'm sort of lost,” you giggle. God, he could melt on the spot.

He knows you're lying, of course. He’s seen you in here more times than he can count. And you always get the same exact thing, every single time. In fact, you refuse to get anything different. He wants to believe you’re asking him as a way to flirt but he can’t get attached, not again.

“Oh uhm, i usually get their vienna latte,” His eyes flick up to the first thing on their menu, never having gone to this shop himself.

“And then their bear claw,” if there’s one thing he noticed about you it’s that in every universe you love a bear claw with your drink.

“Great! I’ll get that then!” You smile happily as the barista asks for the next person in line.

He didn’t realize how in love with you he really was until he spoke to you all these years later.

“Do you maybe want to sit down together? I know a park nearby,” You approach him after both of you have gotten your drinks.

“I’d…” he trails off remembering Jess’ words. He can’t, he shouldn’t, no matter how much he wants to. “I don’t think I can. I’m really sorry,” he feels horrible after seeing the look on your face. He wants to crumble up into a million pieces seeing you disappointed like that.

“No worries then. It’s okay,” you smile kindly at him. A clear tinge of sadness in your voice.

You walk off leaving him there unsure of his choice. Would one conversation really do anything? Would it tear the world apart like last time? Was he willing to risk it just to talk to you again?

The truth was yes, he was absolutely willing to risk everything for the chance to have you fall in love with him again. But he couldn’t do that to you. He stands there, heartbroken for a third time.

Even though he loves you he’s well aware you’re not his, not really. He knows that if he were to fall in love with this version of you it would be compensation for what he had lost. He would simply be trying to recreate something he couldn’t have.

Miguel loves you, but he can’t have you.

[jeewrites]

🌈 Sunshine & Rainbows 🌈

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader Equalizer 2 AU: What if Dave survives the fall from the watchtower?

WC: 10.1k (whoopsies) Rated: Explicit, minors do not interact

Content/Warnings: Dave is divorced from Carol (no kids), reference to previous smut, Dave gets a few nicknames, reader is also an assassin but sassy, reader has a nickname and hair that can be pulled, mention of traumatic injuries to Dave, medical jargon, discussion of physical therapy, stalking/murder/torture not described, please remember I had to google “How to preserve an eyeball” for this fic, is murder a love language?, arson, treadmill hate, use of daddy just once, no y/n

A/N: My first Dave fic and my first fic challenge! I got ‘amnesia’ to pair with Dave for @burntheedges's Roll-A-Trope Challenge! I had so much fun trying to wrap my head around Dave as someone who leans towards fluff and feels, so I hope you enjoy my take on our favorite murder daddy. Thank you to @bloviating-vy for being the best beta-reader and encouraging me to write fics in the first place. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Roll a Trope Masterlist

It’s the pain that wakes him. Every part of his body screams. The tight stretch of skin, itchy and hot. Bruises to the bone. Bones shattered. The sun shines too bright despite the curtains. The increasing beep of the monitor is too loud. How is it possible to hurt like this?

He hears the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of voices just above the screaming of his body before a shadowy figure appears. He can sense them to his left, but not see them. Is this how he dies? Drowsiness steamrolls him and he slips back to a blissful drug-induced unconsciousness.

It’s been 48 and a half hours and no check-in from Dave. You stare at the burner phone, willing it to beep or ring. Anything. But there is no text. No call. Just the flick and snap as you flip the phone open and close.

Dave has never, ever missed a check-in. Has he come close to the 48-hour deadline after an op? Sure. But never late. And never this late.

You’re not exactly in panic mode yet because it’s Dave, one of the most ruthless and effective killers you know. But you can’t help the anxiety starting to build in your belly and another feeling you can’t quite pin down. It’s not like you love him. But god isn’t he a good fuck, perfect for blowing off steam between covert ops. 

And he understands what you do. He understands you and you understand him. Plus, he was the only one who ever almost got a jump on you when a client hired both of you without telling one about the other. That was almost a clusterfuck that ended up being the best fuck of your life.

The burner phone stares back at you, silent. Fuck it. Now it’s time for you to do what you do best. Find people. Find Dave. 

The doctor keeps calling him John — as in John Doe. While he can’t for the life of him recall his name, he knows definitively, John is not his fucking name. He’s also tired of talking. He doesn’t have any answers, just more questions piling on top of the questions the doc, a psychiatrist, keeps lobbing at him. Everything still hurts, a dull, perpetual throb throughout his brain and body punctuated by acute pain if he happens to breathe wrong.

He’s in a different building since the last time he awoke in crippling pain. This place seems like a public-run long-term health care facility out in the boonies instead of the large hospital downtown he was in before. The doctors and other health care professionals seem harried and perpetually understaffed. While his room is relatively clean, the decor is dated, all the walls a sickly yellow or green. And everything smells strongly of disinfectant. It could be worse, he supposes, at least it’s clean here. 

The psychiatrist leans forward towards him, “Let’s call it a day and let you rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

He grunts in response.

Something in his gut tells him to be wary of this doctor, of sharing too much if he ever remembers a goddamn thing. He knows he can trust his gut when it comes to reading people. Watching a steady flow of doctors, nurses, aides, social workers, and janitorial staff in his room, he doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows when someone is trustworthy or a threat. He can read body language at the most minute level with startling clarity.

The head nurse Kathleen is no nonsense and won’t tolerate any bullshit. Nurse Sally does the bare minimum and has sticky fingers. Gotta keep an eye on that one. He likes the neurologist who doesn’t sugar coat things. He’s pretty sure his physical therapist, Ryan, is secretly a sadist.

The night nurse, Brian, is a steadying comfort, always checking on him, “Doing all right, boss?” in the quiet loneliness of the evening. Brian alleviates the pressing annoyance of not knowing his own name by constantly switching up nicknames for him. Calling him buddy, champ, or hot stuff much to his amusement. 

He also knows someone tried their damndest to kill him and make it hurt in the process. Gouged out left eye, stabbed between the ribs, sliced tendons, broken bones, internal bleeding, wrapped in a myriad of bruises and tossed from a significant height. He’s been told repeatedly what a miracle it is that he survived at all, washed up on the beach on the brink of death before being found.

For now he bides his time, giving his body the opportunity to heal and recover. He knows he won’t get far in the current condition he’s in after the multiple surgeries and months and months in the ICU. In physical therapy he can barely manage to walk a few steps without assistance, and he’s still adjusting to the eye patch and the use of his remaining eye. He’s relatively safe for now, he thinks, identity a mystery and off the beaten path. Although a small part of him wonders why no one has come to find him. Did he not have family, friends, or anyone who missed him? 

Dave doesn’t make it easy on you to find him. Of course he doesn’t. Before he went private, or over to the dark side he liked to say, he made sure to replace all of his biometrics in various government databases with false ones. You have to go old school and retrace his steps from the sparest details he did share with you. Brant Rock the text message had read.

You find Resnik, Ari, and Kovac in the local morgue shortly after the hurricane blew through. Kovac and Ari are identifiable easily enough, but Resnik takes a moment, having most of his face blown off. It’s a shame about Kovac and Ari, they were good enough guys and you didn’t mind working with them on occasion.

But that bastard Resnik had once joked, thinking you were out of earshot, what a good fuck you’d be and you were so vulnerable with only the four of them around for miles and miles. You had slid the safety off your weapon at the same time you heard Dave threaten to rip his balls off through his throat if Resnick dared to try anything with you. You were planning to do worse, but hey, it was the thought that counts, right? That was when you knew you could really trust Dave. Resnik, not so much. 

As you approach the next cold locker, for a moment you can’t breathe, suffocating in the thought that the next body you pull is going to be Dave. But to your immense relief, it’s not Dave. Dave isn’t in any of them. It’s not until you slip out of the morgue into your car a few blocks away that you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You allow yourself to sob, forehead against your steering wheel. Crying, such an unfamiliar sensation. Where was he?

It takes you nearly two weeks to find Dave. Listed as a John Doe at the big trauma center downtown, you disguise yourself as a nurse and sneak into his ICU hospital room late one night. Nothing prepared you for his condition. 

“Did Mac do this to you, Yorkie?” you whisper as you trace your fingertips along the ashen skin of his forearm. It seems like the only part of him that is uninjured. The only sound in the room is the hiss of the ventilator and soft beeping of the heart rate monitor reminding you he’s actually alive. Barely. He’s unnaturally still for a man always on the move. You gasp softly when you take in his face, his beautiful face marred with wounds and a patch covering his left eye. Your chest tightens as you turn away to collect yourself.

Refocusing, you pull up his chart. The more you scroll, the more your rage builds at Mac or whoever did this to Dave. Your Dave. Severed tendons and ligaments, shattered ribs, crushed vertebra, multiple stab wounds, ruptured spleen, so much internal bleeding it’s a miracle he’s even alive. What the fuck happened?

He is in no condition to be moved. No matter, you think. While he heals, you are going to hunt down who did this to him and exact revenge. Excruciating revenge. Before logging out of the system you program it to send you any alerts to changes in his condition or if he’s moved to another facility.

Before you leave, you take one last look at Dave, gently run your fingers through his soft brown hair, marveling at how peaceful he looks despite the myriad of tubes plugged into him. You almost make it out of the room without shedding a tear until you really see his nose. Broken, shattered, scarred. Even if you don’t love Dave, you love his beautiful, strong aquiline nose. The way he’d nuzzle it into your neck in rare, soft moments. Press it against your mound when he pulled pleasure from you over and over. The quiet moments after you were both sated and sleepy, and he’d let you trace his brow, the strong curve of his nose, his plush lips, as he anchored you against him.

You are going to fucking destroy whoever did this to him.

The doorbell footage at Dave’s apartment confirms that Mac is the culprit behind Dave’s injuries. 

The Robert McCall visit. The tense conversation outside with Dave and his guys and Robert. The false cheerfulness, the underlying tension bubbling underneath in the clench of Dave’s jaw, the threat from McCall to Dave and the guys, “The only disappointment in it for me is that I only get to kill you each once.” You bristle with barely contained rage at his words.

Good thing you know enough about the human body to resuscitate it. Looks like you’ll just have to give Mac a lesson on how to kill someone over and over. How unfortunate for him.

The most popular bets to his previous profession are linguistics professor or foreign service.

He discovered his fluency in Farsi when he overheard family members of another patient speaking it in the hallway outside of his room. It took him a moment to realize he understood what they were saying. Shortly after, he overheard several nurses conversing in Spanish and realized to his amazement he understood them too.

“Wonder what else you can speak, professor,” Brian the night nurse muses as he pulls out an assortment of chocolates in a gift tin. That’s a new nickname. “Here, have some French chocolate. Someone gifted them to me when they were discharged.”

He reaches for one gingerly, focusing on the pincer grip to pick a chocolate up. It has been a struggle learn how to use his entire body again once it healed enough to be subjected to OT, PT, talk therapy, and other forms of torture.

He frowns at the sweetness of the truffle as he takes a bite. 

“No good?” Bri asks.

“Too sweet,” he mumbles. “But thanks.”

Belgian is better, he thinks to himself before pausing. How does he know that?

Brian grins at him before setting down the tin and checking his chart, “That just means more for me, champ.”

Glancing at the tin, Dave stifles a sharp inhale when he realizes he can read the French printed across the lid.

Discovering or rediscovering who he is has been… interesting. Some of the discoveries raised his spirits, like discovering his impressive ability to guess who was walking into his room based on the sound of their gait or how much a person weighed within a few pounds. Some discoveries though left him questioning what kind of person he really was. An emotional rollercoaster he’s ready to get off of immediately. If only he could just fucking remember!

Aside from being able to read people insanely well, he’s put together that he’s a bit of a control freak and likes things neat and orderly. The bullseye tattoo on his left hand had one nurse guessing that he was an olympic sharpshooter, but no olympian in recent memory remotely looked like him. He knew he had been found in a camo pullover and cargo pants, or what remained of it. Another nurse guessed that perhaps he liked hunting for sport. After all the speculation around the bullseye tattoo, Brian started only referring to him as killer. Curiously, he didn’t seem to mind that nickname. The wedding band tanline made him wonder if he is recently divorced or actually married, but took his ring off for more nefarious reasons. Was he a cheater? Did he have kids? What kind of man was he? 

The strangest discovery came the first time orange slices appeared on his lunch tray. He found himself comforted by the smell of citrus as he ate them. Relaxed even, for the first time since he woke up. And also inexplicably aroused. His body had been so broken it had been months since he felt any tingle or whisp of desire, the feeling so unfamiliar it shocks him. What kind of kinky shit was he into?

That night he dreams of rain forests and citrus, relaxing in a familiar embrace he can not name. He wakes up the most refreshed he’s felt since he woke up in the ICU, body screaming in pain. And yet still he can’t explain why.

Sweat pours off of him as he grips the side rails of the treadmill. The PT room is absurdly bright and cheerful for the types of torture it routinely sees.

“You did great, man,” Ryan, his favorite physical therapist, praises. “Going to be running marathons in no time.”

He just grunts in response. He hates running. This he knows in his bones. Hates it. But he has come a long way from barely managing a step with assistance to walking on the treadmill for the first time. A stupid long painful way.

A sudden frustrated yell across the room jerks his attention to one of the newer patients across the room just as an exercise ball is flung in his direction. He reacts before can think, ducking and moving, assessing in a split second the source of the danger and prioritizing three different options in subduing the threat. He misjudges the distance of a table corner, bruising his hip as he dashes by. Damn his depth perception issues, he thinks. Just another thing to work on.

He surprises himself when he finds himself expertly pulling the patient off balance into a chokehold until security arrives. His body knows exactly how much pressure to put to neutralize the threat without killing him. Why does his body know this? Christ.

“Holy shit, man!” Ryan exclaims, helping to pull him up from the ground. “Where’d you learn to do that!”

“Can’t remember,” he groans as he feels his body protest the sudden intense movement. “Think I set myself back with that stunt.” He slumps over in a chair as sharp pain shoots up both his arms. He allows Ryan to fuss over him before one of the aides brings him back up to his room in a wheelchair. One step forward, three steps back it feels like.

It’s not until he’s settled into the privacy of his own room with a healthy dose of painkillers does he start to tally all of his mysterious abilities. He rubs the itchy scruff growing on his face with irritation. He hasn’t had a proper shave since he got here. And he probably won’t, at least not until his fine motor skills get better to do it himself. The staff are just too overworked here. He huffs to himself. He’s probably more of a danger to himself than anyone else right now. 

With all his language skills, keen sense of observation, and now apparently mad jiu jitsu skills, what did it add up to? Who the fuck was he?

In the weeks following your visit to see your Dave in the ICU, knowing he has a long road to recovery gives you the time and space to track and hunt Mac. In true Dave fashion, he didn’t give you much to work with, just one single conversation about Robert McCall, but that is all you need.

Shortly before Dave missed his check in, he let you wrap yourself around him as the big spoon after having his way with you. He was uncharacteristically spooked, he told you, after running into his former team leader while out on a run. Robert McCall, Mac, was presumed dead. Dave swore he saw him die that day over seven years ago, setting off a chain of events leading to Dave going private with his guys. The impact of Mac’s death, the grief and the disillusionment that followed after leaving the service. 

You knew about the job in Brussels—Susan—and the difficulty Dave was having tying up loose ends. Especially now with Mac resurrected from the dead and digging into Susan’s murder. He briefly mentioned Mac showing up at his apartment and confronting him and the guys a few days after the unexpected reunion. The doorbell footage you found confirmed this conversation.

You asked him if Mac was now a loose end.

Turning to face you, his eyes darkened with affirmation, “But I have a bad feeling about it, Sunshine.” 

Mentally you beat yourself up for not pressing Dave more about this bad feeling at the time because you were too busy preening at the pet name. It marked the first time Dave ever met you at your place, raising an eyebrow at your maximalist design choices. It’s like a rainbow and unicorn threw up in here, he had grumbled. Too bright, so sunshine-y. You’re just jealous your place looks like it was decorated by someone allergic to color, you had quipped before he hauled you over his shoulders into the bedroom with a growled I’ll show you jealous, Sunshine.

You tried to smooth the furrows between his eyes. “Can I help?” you whispered before pressing a kiss to the curve of his nose.

He tensed before pulling back to look at you, “No. Don’t want you anywhere near him, baby. Mac’s a killer. He — he taught me everything I know.”

You protested but the look he leveled you with ended the discussion even if you wanted to push back and insist. 

“You’re helping right now,” Dave consoled you, laying you back and slotting himself between your legs. “Reminding me I have this to come home to.”

The brief realization he had referred to you as home, quickly disintegrated at the pace he set, burying himself in you, sliding deep into the place only he could reach— the place you think of as his. He left early the next morning, pulling a black beanie over his head before kissing you goodbye. “See you in 48, Sunshine.” 

You believe Dave when he said Mac was a killer, the best he knew. So you are meticulous in your tracking. In rare form, you make sure your contingency plans have contingency plans, even if you prefer flying by the seat of your pants. You only allow yourself to feel the quiet thrill of the hunt in order to keep the raging fury that threatens to make you slip up at bay. You summon patience you didn’t know you possessed as you slowly lay your trap and draw Mac in. 

Robert McCall has a weakness for damsels in distress. And for extracting his own sense of justice in situations he came across, serving as sole judge, jury, and executioner. It rankles you to see him decide the fate of others, to right a wrong according to him and him alone. 

But who are you to judge him when you decided to be his judge, jury, and executioner? So you lure him in and give him exactly what he always looked for. In the end, he is just like any other man really. A talented man, a ruthless killer sure, but he could never match your cunning combined with your wrath, your fury at what he did to Dave. 

You keep the feelings at bay as you set the trap in motion until he is soundly in your snare. And even then, you don’t let the rage get out of control because you know your weakness in close combat. You won’t give him an opening to escape or kill you because you can’t stay cool and collected.

By the time you’d laid your trap for Mac, you got a ping from the hospital notifying you of Dave’s transfer to a long-term rehab facility. You pat yourself on the back for the perfect timing. Execute the target and then go check on Dave.

In the end, Mac isn’t that much different from any other kill you executed on the job. Just more satisfying in the end. You did it for Dave, afterall. Your Dave.

He decides that even if he doesn’t like the colorful scrubs the new nurse aide wears, she seems trustworthy enough, even if he struggles to get a more accurate read on her. It’s the first time he’s had trouble reading anyone since he woke up. So he sets aside the puzzlement as Brian introduces him to her. Maybe it’s because of how pretty she is, beautiful really, and how attracted he is to her, a pull that takes him off guard.

“Hey Killer, want to introduce you to our new nurse aide,” Brian says, gesturing to her as she stands a bit shyly next to him. “She’s gonna be helping me out so I don’t feel like a vampire all the time with these night shifts.”

“Killer?” she blurts out making an incomprehensible face before hiding behind a small smile.

“Gives me a reputation. I don’t mind.” He shrugs, smirking at the nickname. “At least until I figure out my real name, no one’s going mess with me. Nice to meet you…?”

The aide makes a funny noise in her throat as he extends his hand to shake hers. She recovers quickly as she takes his hand in hers. Something flickers behind her eyes, something warm, familiar before it fades away as she murmurs her name, Sunny, and tells him to let her know if he needs anything. The pull towards her strengthens as soon as his hands envelope hers, so soft and warm, that he doesn’t want to let go. Something feels so right at her touch. He murmurs her name before she pulls away to make the rounds with Brian.

You aren’t prepared to see Dave. You thought you were. You mentally talked yourself through it before you made your way up to his room with your new supervisor, Nurse Brian. You memorized everything from his chart, and know that he still has severe amnesia, still struggling with remembering anything at all, but nothing prepares you to be in the same room as him and not have a flicker of recognition across his face. His remaining deep brown eye levels a coolness at you that you haven’t seen since the first time you met and tried to kill each other. 

This is bad. After everything, the missed check-in, the frantic searching, the revenge-ing to avenge him, the utter lack of recognition across his beautiful face cracks something in you. You barely recover enough to shake his hand and leave his room upright, telling Brian you have to go to the restroom before meeting any other patients.

Tears prick your eyes and you try to calm your breathing, not wanting to face the tsunami of feelings crashing down on you. When did these feelings for Dave get so out of hand? 

You haven’t needed anyone since you cut off your abusive family and left home to find your way in the world. You learned to be alone, thrived at working alone in a corner you carved out for yourself. You filled your home with art and color and brightness after you realized you had the power to make your own sunshine. Who else would? Definitely not your shitty family. 

And plants. So many plants, your bedroom painted a shade of deep, lush green. Filled with plants. It was like your own personal rainforest. So what if you worked in the dark, creeping in the shadows, a killer for hire? It didn’t mean you had to make it your whole damn personality.

Oh, but Dave. He was the unexpected cherry on top, a force of nature who brought more exciting ops to your life, along with mind-numbing pleasure. Intermittently at first, then regularly. You liked the control you’d cede to him after months of dancing around each other, building trust, moving from fucking in seedy motels after ops to his place or yours. The way he could fuck your worries and stress straight out of your pretty head. Apparently something had shifted without you realizing. Pesky feelings.

Fuck. You care. More than you were willing to admit before Dave almost died. You were too full of rage to feel anything else. You convinced yourself that the revenge you sought when you hunted down Mac was exactly that. Revenge. But now that the rage and fury had ebbed, you face down the why behind your need for revenge, realizing you did what you did because you cared. About Dave. Maybe you lo — lov — Fuck. What if he never remembers what you had together? What exactly did you have with him before, anyway?

He looks good though, even with the patchy scruff and fading scars across his face. The slightly lost expression on his face. Even if you can sense his discomfort in his body, in the way he sits by the window pretending to read a book. He looks so different, skin warm and golden, so alive, from the last time you saw him in the ICU. And his nose, the nose you love healed after all, healing back into its original strong curve.

As much as you want to run back into his room, yelling his name and shaking him until he recognizes you, telling him everything, you know you have to steel yourself for this next part, to allow him to heal and remember at his own pace. Wasn’t that what the doctor had written in his chart? Pushing him too hard will have less-than-ideal outcomes. 

You sigh as you wash your face and take a deep breath. This part of the journey is going to be infinitely harder than finding Dave and killing Mac. But at least now he has you to help him jog his memory and watch his back. You lift your head up to walk out of the restroom, refusing to acknowledge the question prickling down your spine. What if he never remembers you’re his Sunshine?

It storms the first night of your shift, winds howling as you make your rounds and tend to the patients assigned to you. You do most of your menial work with one eye watching Dave, learning his routine and keeping tabs on him. It comforts you to know that he has a genuine rapport with nurse Brian, and has been making significant progress in his physical therapy. You get a sense he doesn’t trust the psych doc very much and has been frustrated at recovering his fine motor skills from the nerve damage in his arms. Must be why he doesn’t shave much, you think to yourself. The facility he’s in is fine for a publicly funded place, but you can tell the staff is overworked and underpaid. Your hourly wage is laughable. And everything is painted in this drab yellow that is an insult to the color. You’d read in his chart that the local precinct had put out feelers trying to identify the resident John Doe without much luck. You hope the luck holds out long enough for Dave to heal sufficiently so you can break him out of here before someone who shouldn’t find him does.

The bright flashes of lightning and roaring thunder keep you awake in the wee hours of your shift, strong winds whipping tree branches against the building, even as the patter of rain threatens to lull you to sleep. As you walk the sterile corridors, passing by Dave’s room you hear him yell out in panic, in fear.

It’s all you can do to stop yourself from sprinting into his room, ready to take out whoever is attacking him. You realize in the darkness of his room, illuminated only by a small night light, Dave is alone in his room, still asleep.

You realize he’s having a nightmare as you watch his eye work beneath his eyelid as he mutters, “Show yourself. Show — Show yourself Mac…” before trailing off. His face winces in pain as he jerks under the covers, panting to catch his breath before flinging his arms around like he’s trying to throw a punch.

For a moment you’re frozen, unsure of what to do as you realize he’s likely reliving his last encounter with Mac in real time. Careful not to use his real name, you put a firm hand on his arm to calm him, hey hey hey, to wake him up before he strangles himself in his sheets. As you make shushing noises he jerks the arm out from your grip, grabbing a hold of your throat before gasping awake, right eye wide in terror.

He apologizes profusely once he really wakes up and gets his bearings. It’s the same dream that haunts him every time it storms outside. Bubbling up from his subconscious every time it storms. He’s up high on a tower or lighthouse by some body of water. Rain whips across his face as the waves crash against the shore. He’s impatient, livid, but also… scared? Somehow he knows the before version of him would never admit the last thing.

He’s waiting for someone who is a danger, a threat. What’s taking so long? He remembers yelling, calling a name, Mac, — who is Mac?— before the dream shifts and he’s in indescribable pain. The most pain his body has ever felt slashes through him, punches into his ribs before he’s falling, falling, falling. It’s the icy cold that wakes him every time, shocking him back to consciousness. But this time he wakes up looking into the eyes of the pretty new aide with one of his hands clutched around her throat.

Well, this isn't the first time he’s had his hands around your throat. The dirty thought skitters across your mind, although that situation is preferable to this one. The thought amuses you, even as you start to feel the oxygen deprivation. It is a nice memory though, you think, being bent over your sink while Dave took you from behind. Arching you up with the tug of your hair to watch him in the mirror. It was after the one time you were almost late for a check-in and he was punishing you for it. For making him worry. If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late, Sunshine. Simpler times, you think. 

You inwardly sigh and try to figure out how to get out of his chokehold without hurting either one of you. You settle for anchoring one hand to the one on your throat and twisting out of his grip while leveraging his elbow as gently as you can manage to avoid setting him back in his recovery. 

He’s still gasping for breath as you try to soothe him with your voice, now scratchy from his grip. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” you comfort as you pat his back.

He starts apologizing immediately, a litany of shit, I’m so sorrys, until you level him with your best stare and quip, “I see where you get your nickname from, Killer.”

He stops long enough to bark out a laugh, before asking again if you really are okay. 

“I should be asking you that,” you respond. “Seems like a hell of a dream.” You see him retreat back into himself, at whatever horrors had surfaced in his mind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you venture, sliding a hand over his. It’s clammy and cold. You feel him start to pull away before stopping.

“I think it’s what happened… before,” he finally answers with a thick swallow, looking away. “No one needs to hear that shit.”

You squeeze his hand for encouragement. “Try me.”

To your surprise he does. After Dave recaps his nightmare as best he can, his hand still in yours, you begin to think that you let Mac off way too easily. Shoulda tortured him more before pulling the plug, you frown internally. Because holy shit, that man really put Dave through the ringer. 

“Thanks for — for listening, I think it helped,” Dave squeezes your hand and looks at you with a surprisingly soft expression. Soft Dave, you never thought you’d see the day.

“Of course, Killer,” you squeeze his hand back before offering to get him some water. He accepts and hesitates as if he wanted to ask you something else. You stand but linger by his bedside giving him a moment.

“Will you — will you stay? Just for a bit, until I fall asleep?” 

After you get him some water, you stay — your hand in his — until he drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

He decides he likes Sunny, not just because she’s pretty, but because she keeps him on his toes with her quick wit and dark sense of humor — to match his own he learns — that makes the days go by faster. Just another thing he learns about himself that just brings more questions than answers.

He can’t help smiling as she checks in with him for the day, wanting to know if he needs anything. “Brought you a present,” she smiles at him so brightly it leaves his brain stuttering to respond. “Your room is so boring, figured you could use a plant.”

She places it by the window before turning with a look to see if he approves. He does. He doesn’t know why but the little green thing feels familiar, a comfort like home. He scratches at the irritating scruff on his cheek before finding his words to thank her. 

“I have some extra time today, do you need a shave?” she asks, like she can read his mind. “Looks itchy.”

“Yes. Please.” The look of relief on his face must be palpable because she immediately leaves to grab a razor and shaving cream. 

The thought that she could read him so well, as if his mind is an open book screams to the front of his mind. His stomach twists at the thought. A creeping suspicion fills him as she approaches with the razor. What if she actually knows who he is, but he just doesn’t remember her? It would explain the inexplicable familiarity that came whenever she visited his room. What if the sunny personality is all an act and she’s actually a cold blooded killer sent to finish him off? Perhaps he should be more suspicious of her. He’d only known her for a week and she is the only person he couldn’t get an accurate read on. 

His chest constricts at the recurring fear that someone had wanted him to hurt badly before trying to kill him. It really was only a miracle he survived. And now he was willingly allowing this stranger into his personal space with a sharp object. Could you kill someone with a disposable razor? Not ideal, he thinks, but possible.

“Everything okay?” she asks him as she sets up the side table with shaving accessories. 

He hesitates, conflicted with his most recent revelations as she moves closer to him.

“Look, if I was going to sever your jugular a disposable razor wouldn’t be my first choice,” she dramatically rolls her eyes at him before looking at him for consent to start.

He lets out a nervous giggle, a sound he’s pretty sure he’s never made in his entire life.

“Not my second, third, or fourth choice either, okay?” she continues. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m not the one with the nickname ‘Killer.’” 

She has a point. And she did just bring him a plant. And comfort him after one of his ridiculous nightmares the very first night she was here. If there was a moment when he was most vulnerable, that was her chance. He pushes away the feelings of suspicion and nods, allowing her to get started.

He couldn’t help leaning into her touch as she gently washes his face and smoothes on the shaving cream. The way the fading light from the window caught the flecks of colors in her eyes as she focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t help but think how cute she looks with her furrowed brows, all her attention on him. He decides the odds are low she was there to kill him considering how careful and gentle she is. He closes his good eye and allows himself to enjoy himself. Who knew getting a shave was such an intimate experience? He could feel himself relaxing under the warmth of her touch and the delicate scent of her citrus-y shampoo wafting across his nose at this close proximity. Something tugs on his mind at the scent, but she interrupts the thought.

“So what do you think, Killer?” she asks.

As he cracks open his eye, he realizes she’s holding up a small mirror. Time slows down at the same time his heart rate speeds up as he takes in his clean-shaven reflection. It’s like he suddenly remembered why he walked into a room after forgetting all this time.

His name is Dave. Dave motherfucking York.

When he says his name out loud, you let out an audible gasp you tried to cover as true surprise.

“This is huge! Dave, do you — do you remember anything else? Last Name?” You blurt out. 

His lips briefly purse before his face flickers just for a moment, his tell, before he shakes his head no. 

Liar. You immediately know he’s lying to you. He fucking remembers. You can see the cogs whirring in his brain, assembling all of the new information he unlocked when he looked at his reflection.You busy yourself tidying up the shaving accessories, watching him from the corner of your eye, hoping that he recognizes you.

It’s coming back to him, you can just tell from the way he’s holding himself up now, even just sitting in the chair, his posture is different. The lost expression is gone. The calculated, commanding presence of the Dave York you know is emerging right before your eyes. 

Dave York is remembering.

He startles you when he speaks to you again, low and almost menacing, “Don’t tell anyone else. I’m not… ready to share yet.” His expression flashes dark at you.

Ah yes, the patented Dave I’m-telling-you-not-asking-you York.

“Of— of course. Take all the time you need,” you respond.

The next time you glance at him, he has that expression on his face where he’s assessing someone, assessing you, deciding if they are a threat or not. Great, the last thing you need is Dave trying to off you before he remembers who the fuck you are. 

“I promise. I’m not going to say a word,” you try and reassure him. 

He offers a nod, a dismissal really, before turning to look out the window, back to whatever memories may be emerging from the abyss of his mind.

You’d think that Dave remembering would be a good thing, but unfortunately the feds figure out who he is at the same time. You’re on shift, loitering by the nurses’ station when you see two nearly identical government looking guys turn the corner into the wing of the facility just after dinner. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, you think. And they reek of federal agents. FBI, specifically. Shit.

Dave has been more withdrawn since remembering his name. Brooding by the window. Typical Dave. You keep up your act, checking on him and chatting with him, hoping really for any glimpse of recognition, but still none so far. You can tell he’s still assessing you, trying to decide if you really are just a peppy aide or dangerous foe waiting to strike.

You busy yourself nearby as the feds chat with Brian, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Wait, that guy’s wanted for murder AND treason??” Brian exclaims. “But he’s so… docile.” You quietly snort to yourself at that word being used to describe Dave York.

“And a whole list of other things, but those are the big ‘uns,” one of the feds responds.

They continue to chat with Brian, trying to determine how much Dave remembers and what condition he’s in in order to transport him.

“Psych notes still say he doesn’t remember very much. But physically he’s actually almost ready for out-patient rehab,” Brian scans the electronic chart.

“Gotta put in the transfer ’n get him to our medical facility,” Tweedle Dee nods to Tweedle Dum. “We’re going to post someone on the floor to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“Well, as long as they’re discreet,” Brian warns. “Don’t want to disturb the other patients on the floor.”

“Roger that,” Tweedle Dum responds before pulling out his phone to make a call.

The agents nod at Brian before walking back down the hallway. You see them briefly stop outside of Dave’s room before continuing on their way. 

Well, it looks like you’re breaking Dave out of here whether he remembers you or not. This should be fun. Hopefully he doesn’t try to kill you in the process.

Dave senses something is off before he even sees the two feds walk by his room on the way to the nurses station. He knows they’re there for him. By their gait and posture, they don’t seem like they’re in a particular rush to storm his room, so he bides his time, even as he slips a scalpel up his sleeve. He can’t run. All he can manage is a quick walk with a limp. There’s no way he can run fast enough or long enough to evade two federal agents, even if they look like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Fuck, he thinks. He should have pushed harder in PT. 

He resumes sitting by the window, angling himself into a better position to attack if they decide to take him in today and waits. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. 

He holds his breath when the agents walk by his door again, pausing for just a moment. He makes sure to observe them so he’ll be able to identify them again if, when, they return. Fuck, he needs to come up with an escape plan. 

He lets out a sigh of relief as they walk away. What the fuck is he going to do? Where is he even going to go? He’s sure he doesn’t have much time, a day at most. Of everything that has returned to him, he still cannot remember any of the safe houses or stashes of money/fake IDs he’s sure he has… somewhere. 

Remembering has been… more bitter than sweet. His rough childhood and divorced parents both deceased, his own divorce from Carol, the stint in the military, black ops, the DIA, before going private. Then it all gets hazy. Were the dreams about Mac real? But how could they be if Mac was dead? Was Mac actually still alive? Remembering all of the heavy stuff was like grieving it all over again, all at once. It was fucking depressing.

As he shuffles to the bathroom to splash water on his face to help him think more clearly, he hears someone walk into his room. By the sound of the light stride, it’s the pretty aide that still talks to him even if he almost strangled her in his sleep. What if she’s making the move to kill him now, after all this time, because she saw the feds coming to take him away? As she rounds the corner, he moves out of instinct, pinning her against the wall with a forearm to her neck, scalpel out and ready. 

She lets out a squeak as he expects, before he cuts off her airway. What he doesn’t expect is her to roll her eyes at him as he presses a scalpel to her jugular.

You aren’t sure when Dave got a hold of a freaking scalpel, but it doesn’t surprise you in the least. Of course he found something sharp to play with.

“Why the fuck aren’t you scared?” he demands. “You got a death wish or something??” 

He eases his forearm off of your throat, but still holds you pinned against the wall. You inwardly sigh. In another time and place, this would just be foreplay, but right now the scalpel is still just a little too close to comfort. Probably shouldn’t push it with him, not too much anyway.

“That’s what you want to ask me, Yorkie?” you croak. You decide on no sudden movements though, in case it spooks his hand to twitch in the wrong direction.

He frowns at the pet name. Right, he never told you he remembered his last name. Oopsies. 

“You’d never hurt me,” you whisper. “At least, the Dave I remember wouldn’t. Not — not unless I liked it.”

Your eyes search his brown one, for anything, any recognition, but still none comes. Why are you tearing up? It’s not like he’s crushing your windpipe anymore. 

“How do I know you’re not the one trying to kill me?” he growls. Well, at least he sounds like the Dave you love. Love? Wait, what??

“Don’t you think if I wanted to kill you, I woulda done it the first night?” You roll your eyes again. You’re getting impatient now, if anything just to have the pointy blade removed from the vicinity of your neck. Maybe you could have done without the eye roll though.

His brows are still furrowed and you are so tempted to raise your hand and smooth the double crease away with your thumbs. You miss the way he’d melt under your touch, even if he’d never admit to liking it. He stares you down for a handful of breaths before you see the moment he makes a decision that reflects across his face. 

The moment he shifts the blade an inch away, you pounce, leveraging the blade away from him and reversing your positions. Shoving him up against the wall, you flinch when you hear his head smack the wall a little harder than you prefer, even if you know you’re not strong enough to hold him there very long. You press the dull side of the blade against his inner thigh, right at his femoral artery.

“This bring back any memories, Yorkie?”

He blinks hard a few times, as if he is surprised to find himself pinned against the wall by you. He glances down at where you have the scalpel pressed against his inner thigh before looking back up again and you brace yourself because you think he’s about to fight you off. Then you realize he’s looking at the plant you left on his window sill and then back at you, really looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

His eye widens as he softly inhaless, “Sunshine?”

The citrus bodywash, the plants, all the fucking plants, the too colorful scrubs. His Sunshine. Unlike all his other memories that came back gradually in waves, with you it was like a switch was flipped and he went from not knowing you to now remembering everything. He feels a surge of emotion — relief, excitement, desire — but the most prominent is trust. He has someone he can truly trust, who knows him, again. 

All it took was a scalpel to his femoral artery. Figures. How he met you is a core memory after all. 

He feels you lessen your hold on him, tucking the scalpel away, eyes wide as you pull away from him in disbelief. But he doesn’t want you to be further away from him, he wants to keep you close. And so he tugs you flush against him.

“Say my name again,” you ask, eyes still wide.

He brushes a thumb across your soft cheek and takes in your bright, discerning eyes. “My Sunshine.”

“You really remember,” you whisper, pressing your face into his chest for a deep inhale, before looking back up at him. “I missed you so much, Yorkie.”

He just looks at you, takes you in, tracing the outline of your lips before pressing his mouth to yours.

You and Dave don’t get much of a reunion, a single kiss, before you hear footsteps approaching. By the sound of the gait heavily favoring the right side, it’s your supervisor Nurse Brian. You immediately move, pretending to prop Dave up over one of your shoulders like you’re helping him to walk before Brian turns the corner.

“Everything okay here, Sunny?” Brian calls out as he approaches.

“Yep, all good. Just helping Killer here back from the bathroom. Looks like he… tweaked his knee pretty bad in PT,” you respond, trying to hide how breathless you are from one kiss. Dave gives you the most dubious expression before you elbow him in the side and give him a look that says just go with it okay?

Dave has never been a fan of improvisation like you, preferring his contingency plans having contingency plans, all neatly laid out in his cute little spreadsheets. Which… you can appreciate. You love a good spreadsheet, but sometimes flying by the seat of your pants is just so much more… fun and exciting. Maybe this is why the two of you make such a good team, a bit of intense control and structure and, well, a lot of whatever it is you feel like doing in the moment.

You can tell the moment Dave decides to play along when he drops a chunk of his weight on you and you nearly stumble trying to keep the both of you upright. You keep up a rambling monologue at Brian as you settle Dave back into his bed while Brian shuffles awkwardly around the room, obviously trying to herd you out of the room. Your spidey senses tingle — something is about to happen. Before you leave the room, you surreptitiously slip the scalpel back to Dave and give him the most reassuring look you can manage. 

Just outside Dave’s room Brian finally spills the news that the feds got approval to transfer him later tonight. Perfect, you think. Just enough time for a bit more improvisation to break Dave out of this place. And get you out of here too. If you have to give another sponge bath or assist with another bowel evacuation you might start killing people.

“Turns out Killer is actually a killer,” Brian whispers, shaking his head. “I’ll be damned. Just make sure you don’t go into his room by yourself anymore.”

Boy, do you have news for your supervisor. 

During your next break, you comb the facility looking for something to create a distraction. A big one. As you pass by the PT room, the small row of treadmills call to you and a burst of inspiration hits you. Yorkie will be so pleased. He hates running.

The fire is a lot bigger than you expected. Apparently all the foam roller things in the PT room are also highly, highly flammable. Piled together by the treadmills you rigged to spark, you didn’t expect it to make quite the towering inferno it did. But you know what? Mission accomplished. 

In the chaos of the fire alarm and subsequent evacuation, you sneak Dave off in a wheelchair (and the plant you brought him, gotta save the little guy too!) and into a car you had borrowed before you started your very brief career in healthcare. Parked in an alleyway cleared of cameras, you almost giggle at the getaway going so well. The only person you had to kill was the fed left to watch Dave’s floor. Yorkie, on the other hand, is still tense with apprehension apparently.

“We’re not clear yet,” he growls as you flip on the radio and peel out of the alleyway.  

“Don’t make me tranq you,” you threaten with a smile. “Raining on my brilliant plan.”

He grumbles something unintelligible while pinching the bridge of his nose, but keeps quiet as he looks out the window as Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car comes on over the radio. As the miles roll by, it occurs to you that it’s the first time he’s been outside of a hospital or facility in almost a year and the uncertainty of the future, now on the run, sobers you up a bit for the rest of the drive. 

It takes a subway, a bus, and a boat, and another borrowed car, before you make it back to your place. You didn’t want to give the feds a chance at tracking either of you, so you took the extra long, long way home. You’re both quiet most of the journey, only communicating when necessary when switching modes of transportation. 

The only time he asks you anything is when it starts to rain, water streaming along the wide windows of the bus. He whole body jerks when he remembers something he wanted to ask you, “Mac. Was he the one who… Is he — is he alive? Or dead?” You can hear the absolute terror in his whispered confusion.

You slide a hand over his to calm him, “He was alive. He didn’t die all those years ago.” You can feel his entire body tense even more. “He’s gone now though, Yorkie. Can’t come after you anymore.”

He stares at you, stiff as a corpse.

“I took care of him for you, baby.” You pat his hand, willing him to take a breath and relax. 

He continues to look at you, wanting an explanation, but you’re not about to confess to murder and torture on a bus, even if it is mostly empty. 

“Later, Yorkie,” you murmur as you snuggle up next to him, hoping he will finally relax. There’s still a way to go before you both get home.

He crashes immediately after getting to your place. You can tell he’s overexerted himself and is likely in more pain than he’s letting on. Still too wired from being on high alert and making sure Dave was okay on the long trek home, you curl up in an armchair by the bed and just watch him sleep. Perhaps you’re afraid if you take your eyes off of him for a moment, he’ll vanish again. 

There’s a warm shaft of light emanating from the bathroom, casting soft shadows around the room, highlighting the outline of his form, those broad fucking shoulders and soft brown hair. He’s so still you’d rush to check for a pulse save for the slow steady rise and fall of his chest.  

Even with all the progress he’d made in physical therapy, he still has a ways to go. You push aside the concern and anxieties of tomorrow to appreciate that he’s warm and safe in your bed right now. Your eyes trace his face, those plush lips you’ve only gotten to kiss once since he remembered you. Following the arch of that nose you love to the two deep furrows between his brows. How does someone look so grumpy even in their sleep? It delights you.

When you can’t take the distance, however short, from Dave, you slide into bed as slowly as you can. He’s usually such a light sleeper, but he doesn’t move an inch. You gently smooth a thumb between his brows until you feel him melt. You close your eyes and allow his steady breathing to lull you to sleep.

“You’re going to cook? Breakfast?” you almost fall out of bed as you try and untangle yourself from the sheets, still half asleep. Who is this man and what has he done with Dave York?

He grumbles something before raising his voice, “I miss real eggs. That place only ever made the powdered shit.”

You shrug and gesture at him to knock himself out, while you busy yourself with making coffee. Coffee always first. Then food. This is the correct order of things. As you hear the fridge door swing open, you feel Dave freeze, standing stock still while letting all the cold air out. Ugh, Dave.

“Sunshine…” he seems to be at a loss for words. “Why the fuck do you have an eyeball in your fridge?”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim. “It’s your welcome home present, Yorkie.” 

His head pokes out from behind the door and he frowns, “You know it can’t replace the eye I lost right?” 

“Oh, I know. It’s what’s left of Mac,” you explain as you slide by him to grab the oatmilk for your coffee. The eyeball stares down at you, suspended in formalin, from its clear jar on the top fridge shelf. “Eye for an eye right?” 

He just looks at you and then at the jarred eyeball in the fridge, and then back at you, speechless.

“Well, except he’s dead and you’re not.” You smile and shrug as you finish stirring the milk into your coffee and take the first blessed sip, extra pleased with yourself. “You’re welcome, Yorkie.”

“Fuck baby, sometimes you scare me you know that?” 

You just smile at him, looking so at home in your colorful kitchen with his tousled hair and grumpy expression before you go to sit on one of the kitchen island stools. “I think that’s exactly why you love me.”

He rounds the island counter and cages you in with his arms. You take in his handsome face, so handsome it’s sometimes hard to breathe, as he just takes you in. He finally rumbles, “Yeah, I guess that’s why I do.” 

“Yeah?” you look at the floor at the admission, swiveling back and forth on the stool, not quite ready to look at him again.

He tilts your chin up with one hand, “You really take care of Mac for me? All by yourself?”

You consider reminding him that you offered to help in the first place, but somehow an I told you so felt like it would ruin the moment. You just bite your lower lip instead.

“Mmh hmm.”

“Why, baby? I — I almost died,” he presses. “He coulda killed you! You didn’t know then if I was even going to make it or not.”

You frown at this. Did he not understand?

“And I’m still so — so broken. Never going to fully recover and be who I was. Not worth anything to anyone anymore.”

He definitely does not understand. And you haven’t had enough coffee for this conversation. You quell the urge to roll your eyes as you grasp the front of his shirt and pull his face down level with yours.

“Yorkie, that’s exactly why I killed him.” Your words are firm even if you feel yourself shaking at what you’re about to admit. “He doesn’t get to try to kill the person I love and get away with it.”

His eyebrows shoot up at your disclosure, that pesky L-word. Should it really be a surprise at this point though? After everything? Even if it terrifies you to admit out loud. You did all of this because you love him. Your Dave.

“After I — I saw you in the hospital, everything Mac did, there wasn’t another option,” you murmur. “You mean everything to me, Yorkie.”

Dave forgets about the stupid eggs as he drags you back to bed and reminds you exactly why you love his nose so much. Fuck, you missed this. 

You suppose from one assassin to another, there’s no declaration of love like getting all murder-y and revenge-y for them. It might as well have been a proposal of marriage. Even with so much uncertainty about your futures and how much rehab Dave still has to go, you figure as long as he doesn’t start trying to back seat assassinate, you’ll both be fine. You’ll take care of your Yorkie until he can be Murdah Daddy again.

[lyv-writes]

quick to break: frank castle x reader

words: 5,596

warnings: explicit smut, afab!reader, blowjobs, face-fucking, consensual vaginal sex, mild cock worship, manhandling, spanking, praise kink, strength kink, mating press, choking kink, use of the term “little girl” but not in a ddlg way, more in a patronizing way??? and only like 3 times, honestly pureee filth. i came back with a vengeance, aftercare, cuddling after sex (truly the biggest warning)

notes: had to come back with a bang…literally. horrible pun, i know. please enjoy and feel free drop an ask in my inbox! :D this was also cross-posted on ao3 <3

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡ ･ﾟﾟ･

Frank Castle.

Even the name was daunting, looming over you like a castle at the top of a hill. Walls impenetrable; no one got in that wasn’t wanted. He oozed control, of which Frank had a lot of.

Control over the scumbags of Hell’s Kitchen, causing even the most dangerous of men to move underneath his radar for fear of him catching wind of them. The images of the bodies he left scattered in his wake more than likely the first thing they think about when they wake up, and the last they think about when they lay their head on their pillow.

Control over himself, the patience on the vigilante running far deeper than anyone would expect with his gruff personality. It comes with the territory, spending hours staking out buildings, days following criminals, months jumping from goon to goon, working his way up to the big bosses. That was no easy task, oftentimes returning to his loft seething, having to remind himself that running in half-cocked would only get him killed before he accomplished his goals, before he fulfilled his purpose.

His favorite place to exert his control, however, was you. As of late, he finds his veins thrumming with a different kind of adrenaline—one that he can only find in taking you apart piece-by-piece, and putting you back together, not a thought in your head other than being good for him. He craves that control, in a way he only previously associated with the feeling of pulling the trigger of his gun with the barrel pressed against the head of some killer/smuggler/trafficker/piece of shit.

What made it so sweet was how willingly you gave it to him. He didn’t have to chase you down, didn’t have to break you to get you to bend for him.

He simply asked. Sometimes, demanded, if the mood called for it.

Even if he didn’t do either, you could tell what he needed with a look, and you were more than happy to help take some of that weight off of his shoulders.

It didn’t take much for you to realize Frank was holding back the first couple times you two slept together. The first time, you thought nothing of it, the moment being full of love, passion, truly an act of devotion between the two of you. It was sweet, it was perfect, it made you wish that your first time had been like that, with him. You finished together, kissing each other through it with wandering hands. Falling asleep in his arms that night, felt like a missing piece falling into place.

After a while of being together, and more than a few nights spent tangled with each other under sheets, it was a rare night where you and Frank could lose yourselves in each other's company, that you had ventured into new territory.

Driven by a night full of fleeting touches, ignoring the outside world for just a moment, the two of you stumbled into your apartment, lips reluctantly leaving each other only to shed your coats. You followed it up with your dress, and Frank impatiently unbuttoned his black dress shirt as you were already dropping to your knees, hands fumbling with his belt and unfastening his pants before he had even shed his shirt. You traced your lips over his clothed erection, nuzzling against his bulge before fixing your lips over his tip, lapping at him through his boxers.

His cock twitched at the feeling of your warm breath caressing him through the cloth and before he could say a word you had hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down to meet his pants in a heap around his ankles, his cock springing free from its confines. You looked up to see him looming over you, hard cock hovering over your face as he pulled up the white tank top he wore underneath his button-up, revealing his stomach, solid, yet soft enough to melt under the press of your finger. He stepped out of his bottoms and kicked them to the side, and stepped towards you again, pressing the underside of his cock against your tongue.

“Please, Frankie, fuck my throat,” You whimpered, hands resting on his thighs, still pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on the head of his cock and down his shaft. The only thing that had been on your mind all throughout dinner was treating Frank the way he deserved.

He did so much for you, for the city, you wanted him to be selfish for once, to take what he needed from you. You began stroking his length slowly, looking up at him through your lashes as you lapped at his slit, a groan coming from deep in his chest at your words coupled with your filthy actions. Your words came out slurred, lips still pressed to his cock and eyes glassy. “Wan’ you to, really, really do.”

Frank swallowed hard, gathering your hair together in a ponytail in his fist, his other hand coming down to caress your cheek softly. “You sure, baby?” He asked, voice tight with restraint. You had no idea how badly those words made him want to see you gag on his cock as he sinks into your throat, but you were so sweet, so soft.

The two of you hadn’t discussed making things a little more intense in the bedroom, too satisfied with being joined together so intimately. Frank knew that he could get a little lost in it sometimes, forgetting his own strength when wrapped up in the moment, but he made sure to take care with you.

Frank was all too happy to take things at your pace, just having you to himself being enough for him. “Wouldn’t wanna hurt that pretty throat a’yours.”

You shook your head, a dreamy smile on your face as you picked up the pace of your strokes. “You won’t hurt me, Frank. I trust you.”

He took a deep breath, feeling a bit selfish at giving into your request so easily, but he couldn’t deny that he desperately wanted to see if your throat could take his cock as good as your cunt did. And who was he to tell you no when you asked for it so sweetly. “Just tap my thigh if you need me ‘ta stop, okay?”

“Okay, Frankie,” you breathed, rubbing your thighs together in anticipation of feeling Frank use some of that strength you knew was hiding under his soft flesh against you.

Frank’s nighttime activities have never bothered you, in fact, quite the opposite. You found his sense of justice, the drive to do what needs to be done, admirable, irresistible. You couldn’t help but adore him—feel safe with him. You knew that if your friends and family knew who Frank really was, they would question your sanity. How in the world could you feel safe with someone who could be so violent, so bloodthirsty?

But you knew he would never hurt you.

You found comfort in how capable he was at keeping you safe. Knowing he would do anything to protect his own—you were convinced that if the world went to complete shit you would remain unaffected in Frank’s loft, shielded in your very own fortress, just the two of you.

The way you felt safe, cared for as his body hovered over yours on your bed, was something like you had never felt before. You knew you could only ever feel this safe with Frank.

Seeing the look of unadulterated adoration on your face, the way you so eagerly lapped at his cock as you waited for him to finally sink into your awaiting mouth, had him groaning, his cock twitching against your tongue at the sight. After a steadying breath, his grip tightened in your hair and he slowly entered your mouth, feeding you his dick until his tip was hitting the back of your throat with a moan at the sound of you gagging around his length.

“Relax, baby, lemme in,” he grunts, his face pinched in concentration as he focuses on not hurting you, no matter how badly he wants to shove you down on his cock. With short, steady thrusts he works open your throat, pulling back out till the tip was resting on your tongue before plunging back in just a little bit further. “That’s it, baby— shit.”

His sounds have you moaning lightly around his length, eyes glazed over and looking up at him as he takes such care in making sure you can take him without harm. You relax as much as you can for him, taking deep breaths through your nose as he sinks further into your throat. The taste of him is heady, causing arousal to coat your slit as you work your tongue against the underside of his cock.

“Atta girl,” he purrs, the last inch of his cock sliding down your throat. He groaned, pumping his hips shallowly as he tipped his head back and you whined at the sight of him, shirt pulled up to his chest, a sheen of sweat covering his chest and shoulders.

The light from the ceiling haloed around him, an angelic image towering above you. You could worship him forever, you realized, as you felt his thrusts pick up speed, pulling out from your throat and plunging back in. With that thought, the last of the tension that was strung tight in your body dissipated and you knew Frank could feel the difference with the moan that slipped from his throat.

He was seated to the hilt, your nose pressed tightly to the trimmed patch of hair at the base of his cock. You struggled to get a breath in through your nose as he relished in the way your throat fluttered around his cock. With your eyes rolling back slightly, the lack of oxygen had your head swimming, your heartbeat thumping in your clit at the feeling.

Frank opened his eyes, dropping his gaze to where you were kneeled before him, eyes rolled back at the feeling of him filling your throat and he picked up his speed again with a loud moan. His balls slapped against your chin as he used your throat like it was a fleshlight, and you snaked your hand down to the apex of your thighs, sliding past your panties to your soaked core.

The feeling of your fingers against your clit had you moaning loudly around his cock, the vibrations from your throat dislodging a loud moan from his throat. “Such a good fuckin’ slut f’me, gettin’ off from havin’ my cock in your throat.”

His words had you whining, not expecting the filth that dripped from his tongue. Frank was very vocal in bed—telling you how good you feel, moaning into your ear as he sinks into you. But he was so vulgar, it had you rutting against your fingers at the same pace he fucked into your throat.

No matter how badly you wanted to get him off with just your mouth, to feel him cum down your throat, you needed him inside you so desperately. Finally giving in, the war in your mind ceased as you tapped lightly on his thigh, signaling for him to stop.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Frank asked quickly, worry lacing his words as he gently pulled out of your throat. His eyes met yours and widened slightly in awe at you, seeing the dopey smile on your face and the way you nosed at the flesh of his tummy.

“Not at all, Frankie,” you assured, your voice a little raspy before pressing a kiss to the skin above his belly button. You continued to litter kisses all over the skin you could reach, pulling a soft chuckle from Frank as he carded his fingers through your hair softly. “S’good, so good, jus’ need you real bad.”

“Yeah, baby?” He asks, a teasing grin on his face. “Need my cock in that cute little cunt’a yours? Bet that’s why you were humpin’ your hand while suckin’ me off.”

Nodding quickly, you stand on wobbly legs. Frank steadied you as you swayed towards him with a giggle before you shimmied out of your panties, grinning up at him cheekily. Linking his fingers with yours, you drag him down the hall into your bedroom, yelping at the smack he lands on your ass as you're crawling onto the bed.

Situating yourself on your hands and knees, you wiggle your ass at Frank teasingly, shooting him a coy smile over your shoulder. “Please, Frankie…need’ta feel your big dick stretching out my pussy.”

With a wolfish grin, he pulls his tank top over his head, grin turning into a smirk at the way your eyes rake over his body, admiring his strong torso before your eyes settle on his cock. It stood proud, mushroom tip flushed a deep red, pre-cum beading at the tip.

Mounting the bed behind you, he presses a palm between your shoulders until your chest is flush with the bed, presenting your slick cunt for his eyes. His rough hands knead the plush flesh of your ass, groaning at how wet your tight hole is for him. You feel his hand leave you and then come back down, landing a hard smack! to your ass, forcing a moan from your throat.

Frank watches the way your ass jiggles with hungry eyes, chuckling lowly at the loud moan you released. “Does my girl like it when I slap her pretty ass, hm?”

His hand comes down again on your other cheek, the stinging pain morphing into pleasure that pooled in your core. You felt slick leak from your core, face flushing knowing that Frank has the perfect view of your sodden cunt. That thought is confirmed when his thumb drags from your entrance to your clit, rubbing your slick around the tender bud slowly. “You really like that, don’t’cha, angel?”

His thumb added more pressure to your clit, circling it faster before slowing down again. He sped up again, feeling the way you inched closer and closer to your climax before slowing down again.

“Never would’a thought my sweet girl liked bein’ roughed up so much,” he mused, his grin clear in his voice. His thumb was replaced with two fingers, circling your clit a couple more times before dipping down to your entrance, prodding against the tight hole. You clench around nothing at the feeling of Frank’s fingers ghosting against your entrance, drawing another breath of a laugh from him.

“That why you wanted me to fuck your pretty little throat?” Frank asked, burying two of his fingers inside you the knuckle, the feeling of your walls stretching around them making you whine. “My little girl like it when I push her around a bit? When I use her like the little toy she is?”

A moan left your lips as Frank crooks his fingers, searching for that soft spot inside you, and it sends you reeling when he finds it. It feels like the air has been punched from your lungs at the way he bullies the spot, fucking you open on his fingers with fervor. Frank’s fingers were twice the size of yours, and long enough to reach the most delicious spots inside you.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, the force of his fingers forcing moans and incoherent mumbles from your lips. A cry tore from your lips as his hand struck your ass again, immediately repeating the action on the other cheek.

The pain mixed with pleasure had you gushing around his fingers, the sound of them fucking into you, lewd and wet, had your ears turning red. Without warning, your climax swept you under, your body tensing and trembling as white spots clouded your vision. Frank fucked you through your high with his fingers, slowing down until he was still, buried to the knuckle as your cunt fluttered around him.

As your orgasm subsided, you felt yourself relax, slumping further against the bed as Frank gently pulled his fingers from your twitching hole.

“Did so fuckin’ good f’me, baby,” Frank praises, draping his body over yours to press kisses across your back and shoulders. His hands trail from your hips, up your sides and squeeze at the plush flesh of your waist before dragging them back down to your hips and repeating the process.

His cock is hot against your lower back, hard length rutting slowly against your ass as he continues to ghost kisses across your skin. “Such a good fuckin’ girl—my good fuckin’ girl.”

A content hum builds in the back of your throat and you roll over on your side just enough to look back at Frank, your chest tightening at the grin stretched across his face. Frank’s smile always had your heart screeching to a halt in your chest, and you were sure your eyes turned to hearts at the sight.

“‘M all yours, Frankie,” you say with a sigh, pursing your lips at him to ask for a kiss.

He wastes no time in fulfilling your request, pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss. You can feel his love pouring into you through the kiss, as if your souls were connected where your lips met. The kiss was broken all too soon by the smile that stretched across your lips. His smile soon mirrored yours until you were smiling fondly at each other, foreheads pressed together and breaths mingling in the close space.

“Are you okay to continue?” Frank asks, tone soft as he bumps his nose gently against yours. “We can stop here, baby. You’ve been so perfect.”

The tiredness that you feel is still tinged with an undercurrent of need, still craving to be so intimately connected with Frank. The feeling of his cock, hard and warm against your skin only solidified your thoughts. Pressing another soft kiss to his lips, you pull away just far enough to murmur, “Fuck me, Frankie.”

With a groan and a satisfied grin, Frank’s hand snaked down between the two of you, guiding his cock to glide along your slick folds. Your mingling breaths soon became shared moans as he pressed his dick flat against your cunt, lubing up his cock with your wetness. A whine hitched in your throat as his head nudged at your entrance until it gave way, allowing him to work his thick cock inside your tight hole.

Despite him getting you ready with his fingers, the feeling of him stretching you out in his cock had heat engulfing your body, your mouth opening in a silent moan at the never-ending feeling of him filling you. He finally met the end of you, pressing himself further just for good measure before pulling back till just the tip was seated in your cunt.

He leisurely plunged his cock back into you, allowing you to feel the way his dick carved a path inside you. You loved the way Frank always looked out for you, always put your needs before his own when it came to acts of intimacy. But right now you wanted—no, you needed him to take what he wanted.

“Frankie,” you whined, arching your back to press your ass against his hips, taking his cock completely. “Please, fuck me, Frank. Don’t hold back.”

A rough groan passes his lips, his hips pressing further against yours at your words. “Fuck, babydoll, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t, Frankie,” you urge, looking at him with your face pressed against the mattress. “I’m not quick to break—promise. Please, Frankie, fuck me hard.”

He could hear the desperation in your voice, the way your lip trembled and brows pinched together as you looked up at him. Surging down to grab your jaw with his hand, he held your face still to press his lips urgently to yours, tongue demanding entrance before he pulled away, string of spit connecting your tongues.

Frank pulled away enough to look you in your eyes, making sure there wasn’t a trace of hesitation. Instead he found lust, hunger, love, as you smiled up at him once more. His voice was firm, more firm than you had ever really heard him be with you. “You tell me to stop, I stop immediately, do you understand, babydoll?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded immediately, the honorific just sounding right in the context. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.”

His gaze darkened at the sound of the title you used for him and he nodded at your agreement, dropping a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good girl.”

His words washed over you like a warm breeze, sinking you further into the fuzzy headspace that you always felt bleeding at the edges of your vision when it came to being intimate with Frank.

You felt Frank straighten back up, his hands trailing your shoulders, softly down your sides to settle at your hips. Slowly, so slow it was agonizing, he pulled his cock from your wet channel, just the tip nestled into your heat. Despite the instinct to brace for the impact of his hips on yours, you forced yourself to relax, further melting into the mattress to show Frank just how much you wanted everything he had to give.

Frank stayed still, enjoying the visage of you so submissive for him. Presenting your sweet cunt so eagerly for him, like a bitch in heat begging to be bred. His cock pulsed where it sat snug in your entrance at the thought.

You started to get antsy, wanting to look over your shoulder to see what Frank was thinking, but wanting to stay still and be good for him. Just when you considered wiggling your hips, hoping to spur him on, he filled your weeping cunt in one fell stroke.

A cry was wrenched from your throat at the feeling of him filling you so completely, not sparing a second before he was pistoning his hips against yours. With your eyes rolling back in your head at the feeling of his tip bullying your cervix, you felt the curve of his dick brushing against that spongy spot inside you.

The pleasure was almost too much, your fingers tightening in their grip on the sheets and trying to drag yourself away from the feeling. With a grunt, Frank wrenched your hand out of the sheets, hand circling tightly around the bend of your elbow as he pulled you back towards him. His hips picked back up their rhythm, hand landing a thundering smack on your ass cheek as he fucked into you.

“Don’t try runnin’ now, little girl,” Frank grunted, landing another harsh smack against the raw flesh of your ass. “You asked for this.”

He was being borderline mean, his tone cold and detached as he used your body to chase his release, and his words had a loud moan breaking free from your throat. It only had you growing wetter, the squelching sounds of him railing your cunt increasing in volume, along with your moans.

You knew that if you wanted it to stop, you could say so, and you trusted Frank to keep his word. But it was so perfect, the pain burning in such a euphoric way, it was too much and not enough all at once.

“F-fuck, sir— unh! ” Words fell from your lips, incoherent babbles of his name mixing with your moans creating the most beautiful symphony in the silence of the room. “So good—so full, fuck.”

His hips came to a stop, pulling out so quickly you didn’t even realize until he was manhandling you onto your back. His eyes took you in from your face to the wet heat at the apex of your thighs, unconsciously licking his lips at the sight of you clenching around nothing.

“Kiss me, Frankie, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist and dragging your wet core against his cock.

He’s never been able to deny you anything, even now, his hard exterior dropping to press a languid kiss to your lips. You gasp against his mouth, his tongue taking advantage of the noise to slip in alongside yours. He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Bein’ such a good little toy for me, baby.”

His hips rut against you, grinding perfectly against your clit. His words send your mind floating off into the clouds, happy, sated knowing that you’re being good for him, that you’re taking all that he gives just how he wants you to.

You’re so lost in the kiss, the feeling of his chapped lips against yours, the warm weight of his hand caressing the side of your cheek, you don’t even notice him drag his cock down to your entrance. With a sharp thrust, he bottoms out once more, relishing in the way your eyes widen at the unexpected stretch, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Frank licks into your mouth one final time before pulling away, planting one hand on your hip and the other around your neck. He gives your neck a gentle squeeze, your eyes focusing on him and seeing the silent question in his eyes. You nod quickly, failing to form the words of encouragement he needed, but whatever he saw on your face was confirmation enough.

His grip on your throat tightened, blood rushing in your ears at the light feeling in your head. Frank cursed, hips stuttering against yours at the way you clenched around his cock, almost making it hard for him to pull out and press back in smoothly.

Frank can feel your walls fluttering around him, the signs of your climax approaching has him doubling his efforts. The hand that was on your hip leaves a trail of fire as he moves it to your mound, thumb ghosting over your clit and making your hips buck against his thumb at the feeling.

The sweet abyss of release was so close you could taste it, sweet on your tongue. You were desperate for it. Your hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging into the skin hard, dragging down in your pleasure fueled daze, leaving stinging, red marks in your wake.

“Please, please, please,” you mumbled, your brain melting underneath Frank’s weight as you felt his hands grab at your thighs, pressing your knees to your chest as he settled his weight over you. His cock pressed deeper into your core, the deepest anyone had ever been. “O-oh, God, Frankie—can feel you in my tummy, baby— ah! ”

Your voice was nothing more than a shrill whine, all the air punched out of your lungs at the change in position. His weight was comforting around you as he molded your cunt around his cock. You were sure you would never be the same after this, he had broken you down and rebuilt you in the same breath.

His fingers worked quick circles around your clit as he huffed, his pace slowing slightly, allowing him to hit deeper, harder. His hand is still loosely circling your throat, no longer squeezing but acting as something to ground you. Despite your previous orgasms, you know this will be intense. You can feel it building, but it feels slightly different, the pressure building more than usual.

“C’mon, little girl, you’re gonna give it t’me,” Frank grunts, angling his hips for that little spot that makes you feel like you could float away from your body. His hand tightens around your neck, your moan cut off into a ragged breath. “Cum around my dick so I can breed this tight little cunt, y’want that don’t you?”

“God, yes!”

In a flash, flames envelop your body, toes curling as your vision goes spotty at the force of your orgasm, leaving you cumming with a cry. Frank’s hand releases your throat, the oxygen rushing back through your veins making the sensations more intense. You’re so fucked out, you didn’t notice the way you soaked the lower half of Frank’s body, your arousal dripping down his hips and drenching the sheets.

Frank’s hips collide with yours, once, twice, before stilling, painting your sensitive walls with his thick spend. The feeling of him filling you with his seed, grinding his hips against yours and stimulating your tender bud, has you moaning softly as an aftershock rolls through you.

The air around you is still, thick with the scent of sweat and sex. Frank gently lowers your legs, pressing featherlight kisses to your face at the sight of you wincing in discomfort. Tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, you drag his mouth over yours, pressing a deep, unhurried kiss to your lover’s lips.

Frank’s softened cock is still wrapped in your velvet heat, both of you enjoying the feeling of being so close, feeling like you are one entity instead of two individuals. You had never understood the appeal of cockwarming until now, pressed to the bed with the weight of Frank’s body laid atop yours, joined in the most intimate way.

Finally parting for breath, Frank presses his forehead against yours, eyes closed as he melts under your nails scratching lightly at his scalp. His words are slurred in contentment. “Wasn’t too rough, was I?”

Shaking your head softly against his, you smile softly at his serene face. You only ever see Frank this at ease when he’s asleep, the only time the man indulged in being vulnerable. “Not at all, Frank.”

Pulling back far enough to meet his gaze, your hand falls to cup his cheeks. “It was perfect. You’re perfect, Frankie.”

It never fails to amaze him how you’re able to quiet the voices in his head, the ones that nag at him, nasty, cruel voices that spit venomous words. His whole being is still. Right now, intertwined with you in the closest way possible, he’s never been happier.

His lips pull into a sheepish grin, shaking his head at you. “That’s all you, angel. My good little girl.”

His praise makes your face flush, despite all you had just done, all he had just done to you, he still managed to fluster you. He presses a kiss to your pouting lips, chuckling into the kiss as you try to resist before melting against him.

Nuzzling your nose with his, he softly pulls out from your sensitive core, pressing a kiss to your nose as you wrinkled it at the sensation of his release dripping out of you. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get you to the bathroom while I change the sheets.”

Standing up before you, Frank scoops you up in his arms, smirking at the tiny yelp you let out at the unexpected action. You smack his chest with a giggle before burying your face in his neck. Frank always looked at you a little weird when you sniffed at him like this, but you just couldn’t help it—he always smelt so good. If his natural scent was some top-shelf designer cologne, you would spend hundreds on it.

After placing you on the toilet, he grabs a washcloth, wetting it under warm water before kneeling in front of you and wiping down your sensitive areas with a gentle hand. Once he was done with that, he deposited the cloth in the hamper, before returning to the bathroom.

“I’m going to change the sheets and get you some water,” Frank says, pressing a lasting kiss on the top of your head. “You finish up in here, I’ll be done by the time you are.”

With a final smile, Frank leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You quickly use the restroom before wiping off the rest of your ruined makeup with a makeup remover wipe. By the time you’ve finished brushing your teeth and exited the bathroom, Frank is setting the glass of water on your side of the bed.

He smiles softly when he sees you exit the bathroom, his eyes taking in your bare figure with a look that wasn’t of hunger, or lust, but adoration, reverence. You had never felt so beautiful with just one look before you met Frank—he was unlike anyone you’d ever known.

He pulls back the duvet, sliding in against the fresh sheets and patting the spot next to him for you to join him. With a bright smile, you cross the room in a flash, burying yourself into his side as he tucks the comforter in around the two of you so none of the cold air could get into your little cocoon

You pressed your cold toes to Frank’s warm legs, giggling at the hiss he let out at the feeling. He glared playfully at you, kicking around at the blankets until he had wrapped them around your feet. Tucking his arm under your head, he draped his other arm over your waist and pulled you closer to him, your chilled nose brushing against the warm skin of his neck.

With a sigh you wrap your arm around Frank’s torso, hand splayed out on the muscles of his back and ribs. “Y’so warm, Frankie,” you mumble, the sound muffled from your place in his neck.

He laughs softly, his fingers drawing delicate shapes on the soft skin of your back. “You’re just cold, baby. But don’t worry, I got’cha.”

“I know,” you hum, trying to press yourself closer to him. “I love you, Frankie.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP1: Kant & Bison's Desire for Agency

I recently wrote a post around Kant being the vehicle for Bison's freedom, but I'm spotting a bigger theme that these two lovebirds share in common. Both feel stripped of their agency, their ability to dictate their lives freely on their own terms and by their own ideals and desires.

For that reason, they're respectively struggling with where they are versus where they want to be, as factors beyond their control currently inhibit that from being attainable.

"I've cleared my name of car theft. My hands are so damn clean now." Kant is keen to put his past behind him, however Captain Chris has him cornered under the threat of re-opening his previous felonies and possible jail time, dangling custody of his brother as a bargaining chip. "If you get this done for me, not only will your criminal record be swept away, I'll wipe it clean." "If you go to jail, who'd take care of your brother?" Leaving Kant with no choice but to begrudgingly concede.

Bison feels similarly trapped by a life he didn't choose, clearly eager at any opportunity to 'clock off'. "I do what I have to do. Now I want to do what I want to. Can't I just live a little?" "If being hitmen makes it so hard to live, shouldn't we just quit?" "I don't want to kill people for a living my whole life... I just want to live my life." He just wants to enjoy a normal life - to have fun, to be frivolous, to embrace being an ordinary 24 year old.

TOGETHER WE BREAK FREE

Their relationship serves as temporary relief or escape from the situations they both find themselves in. Bison finds Kant's company a break from routine and monotony, a welcome distraction in between killing and working at the burger bar (neither of which he chose for himself). Dating Kant is an insight into the joys of life he fears missing out on. 'When I'm with you, I'm not a killer, I'm just a boy'.

By some poetic irony, Kant's mission to instrument Bison's capture would grant him access to the freedom he is seeking - allowing him and his brother to truly start afresh. There will absolutely be more backstory to come as to why Kant wants this so badly, that he’s willing to throw so much in. Dating Bison may begin as a means to an end, but Kant does find himself falling in love - despite his objective.

Once everything is out in the open, I do think they'll aid one another in acquiring the agency they each so desperately desire. No one can better understand how it feels to be trapped than someone who is also fighting against the bars of their own cage.

OVERCOMING YOUR RESTRAINTS

On their first date, Kant shares the following with Bison: “Would you believe me if I told you that I'm afraid of the ocean? Something happened when I was a kid. I almost drowned. Now I'm still afraid of it." One could argue that we don't know if Kant's admission is true, but I don't see any reason for him to lie about this specifically.

This promptly takes me back to this moment from the trailer, which has prominently stuck in my mind. I still get the impression that they are working together here when Kant jumps in. If Bison was on the offensive, I don't think he'd be as stationary or calm. Maybe he's performing under someone's watchful eye, or his gun is aimed at something out of shot, or they're practicing for a specific stunt.

Whatever the context, this scene now has considerably more weight. The fact that Kant jumps in whilst his hands are bound, when he has a fear of drowning is an indication of putting his complete trust in Bison (who is adept at swimming), to rescue him if needs be. The implication here being that Bison may quite literally, mentally and symbolically free Kant from his restraints, helping him to overcome what he’s most afraid of.

BDSM: THE PLEASURE OF CONTROL

Funnily enough, this duo's exploration of BDSM even aligns with their shared desire for agency. From the few snippets we’ve been shown, Bison likes being the one in control. Your partner consents to be at your mercy, affording you the power to enact pleasure and/or pain. And there’s a heady thrill in being handed such control. (It's also worth noting the inherent power play in taking a life, but whether Bison derives any pleasure from this, I'm not 100% sure. Kant also knows Bison is capable of killing, so letting him dominate actually says a tonne). During their one night stand, Bison even quips, "you're not doing this solo, you know," which teases that he's no passive participant. This seems to be Bison's philosophy on life overall (and the root of his dissatisfaction), that he's not one to sit back and watch his life pass him by.

Kant seems happy to indulge Bison in taking the reins. Having his agency taken away during acts of passion, but on his terms is noticeably different to feeling forcibly pushed - because you've chosen how and who you forfeit that agency to. This is partly why I suspect Kant actually gives Bison permission to tie him up in that boat scene (above), for the greater purposes of a mission or task they have agreed to help each other achieve.

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating in real time as the show airs.

[c1nna1nmyr0ll]

Zhongli x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: reader calls him rex lapis for this, god!zhongli, contract fulfillment, kinda ooc zhongli, dub!con, zhongli makes a sex contract with the reader, pet names (my dear and cumdump), virgin killer!rex lapis, arrogant!rex lapis, some biting, nipple play, nipple sucking, begging, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, masturbation mention, some praise kink, vaginal sex, creampie, and no aftercare

You know that it was a Hail Mary idea. You know it probably will not work. Just because you pray for it does not mean he will love you back. When he told you he was engaged to her, it crushed you. You have been in love with him since you were young.

The only reason you’re even doing this is because a friend of a friend said that your wishes come true when you pray to Rex Lapis at his statue. She prayed to the statue, and Rex Lapis came to her and fulfilled her wish. While you don’t really think it’s true, you are willing to try anything.

So, with your prayer offerings in hand and your faith, you find yourself at the foot of the Rex Lapis statue. The statue looks intimidating as the hooded man sits on his throne. A shiver of embarrassment runs through your body as you think about how ridiculous this all is. However, there is no use giving up now, right?

You lay down your food offerings and Cor Lapis, hoping it will be enough. You’ve never prayed to Rex Lapis before because you’ve never felt the need to. Maybe this prayer is being a bit selfish. After setting up, you bow down and put your hands together in prayer.

“Please, Lord Rex Lapis,” you begin. “Please let him fall in love with me.”

You repeat this prayer several more times before opening your eyes and looking up at the statue. Nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe a bit more will do better.

“Please, Lord Rex Lapis,” you start. “I will do whatever I need to do to fulfill my wish. Just give me a sign.”

A massive gush of wind whips behind you, and you turn to see him. Not the man you love and were hoping to win the heart of but him. Rex Lapis himself.

“Lord Rex Lapis?” you ask, your eyes massive. His hood is still over his head, with his dark hair circling his face. His gold eyes shine under the hood, and you notice he isn’t wearing a shirt. His bare chest is just displayed for you.

“Are you suggesting we draw up a contract, Y/N?” he asks.

“Huh?” you reply. You are practically dazed.

“You said you would do anything for your wish,” Rex Lapis says. “So, why don’t we create a contract?”

“I…” you can’t seem to muster words.

“You do something for me, and in return, I fulfill your wish,” he explains. “This is the foundation of the contract.”

“A contract?” you ask. “That is what is required?”

“Exactly,” he replies. “A simple contract is what I have in mind.”

“Really?” you didn’t think it would be this easy. You are quite lucky.

“Why yes,” Rex Lapis says. “What you give me is simple.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, ready to give whatever it is. He chuckles darkly, and his gold eyes flash down at you.

“Well, I was thinking you would give your…” he leans close to your ear before continuing. “Virginity.” You’re taken aback.

“What?” you jump back from your God.

“Simple isn’t it?” he asks. “I made things easy for you.”

Easy?? Easy?? Does he think this is easy?

“So, what do you say?” he asks. “If you give this small detail of yourself, I will gladly help you with your love.” You consider this. Will he really help you? Is this really the way to go? Will this really work? You huff out.

“This will really grant my wish?” you ask.

“Of course,” he tells you. “A contract is a contract.” You take some more time to consider everything. You huff out a sigh.

“Alright, I agree to your terms, Rex Lapis,” you say, almost not believing it yourself. His gold eyes glow, and he raises his hand towards you, indicating that you should shake it. You slowly take it and shake his hand.

“Good choice,” Rex Lapis almost mocks. “The contract is now in place, my dear.”

“Yes, it is, so let’s get it over with,” you reply.

“Over with?” he repeats, his eyebrow raises. “I will treat you better than this love of yours ever will. I can promise you that.”

“Huh?” your face grows hot. He grabs you into his strong arms, and it makes your chests press together lewdly.

“You heard me,” he whispers now that he’s close to you. “I will fuck you so well that this man of yours will pale in comparison every time.” You are speechless. Your sudden shyness intrigues him more. “How about I show you, hmm?”

Rex Lapis captures your lips in a kiss. It catches you off guard, but you don’t reject it either. He leaves your lips to instead kiss and nip at your neck with his sharp dragon teeth. You gasp at the feeling of his teeth on your skin. Something he seems to enjoy hearing. He moves his hands to grip your waist and helps lead you down to the soft grass underneath you. He detaches his mouth from you to admire how you look below him, entirely at his mercy.

“Are you ready to be fucked?” he asks lewdly. However, you do not respond. “I thought you would be.”

He grabs at your breasts and kneads them with his hands. His squeezes are harsh, much like his words. You whine at the feeling it gives you, but he ignores your whining. Rex Lapis tears your shirt off your body, leaving you half-naked under him. The breeze hits you, causing your body to erupt in goosebumps and your nipples to become erect and sensitive. Rex Lapis begins kissing down your neck again and goes to one of your breasts. He puts one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking hard and swirling his tongue around it. His hand comes up and twists your other nipple. You arch your back, feeling his tongue. It feels way too good.

You grab his dark hair and shove his face harder into your chest, making him take more of you into his mouth. His strength does, however, overpower you as he switches his mouth and hand over. He sucks the other nipple just as hard as the first one. You need some kind of satisfaction between your thighs as there is becoming wet from all this attention. You rub your thighs together, trying to get something, anything.

Rex Lapis lifts his head from your chest to speak.

“Looks like you’re already quite fucked out,” he tells you.

“N-No,” you try to say boldly, but it comes out cracked. He chuckles at you.

“No? Well, that’s good because we are just getting started,” he replies. He begins kissing you again, and one of his hands leads down to your clothed pussy and lightly rubs it. You hum a moan into his lips when you feel his fingertips grace your clit. “Do you want me to touch you more there?” Is that even a question? you think to yourself.

“Yes, please, Lord Rex Lapis,” you beg. “Please keep going.”

“Well, I guess if you are begging me so nicely,” he says. He moves his fingers so they go under your shorts and panties to move right to your pussy. His fingers dance around your folds, feeling just how wet you are.

“You are so wet from just all this?” he asks bemused. “That’s quite something indeed.” His fingertips lightly touch your clit, and you gasp under him. He kisses you again, quieting you. He rubs your clit slowly, and you are not sure if you want him to keep this pace or go faster. Your hips mindlessly grind against his fingers to help you reach your high quicker. He loves seeing you like this so very much.

“Have you ever done this before? Even with your own fingers?” he asks. You shake your head.

“Not really,” you reply, being truthful. His eyebrows perk up.

“Really?” is all he can say to that. You nod your head.

“Yes, really,” you say, and he continues rubbing your clit slowly. He notices you become accustomed to the pace, so he speeds up his fingers against the bundle of nerves. “Ah~ Rex Lapis,” you moan and grab at his hair and shoulders. He kisses you, and his lips drown your moans. You feel your body tingly and feel you need to let something go.

“Cum from my fingers,” he commands. You grip tighter and release whatever was held up inside you. You feel a flush of something release below where his fingers are. Rex Lapis stops rubbing your clit and checks below to feel your cum staining your clothes. “Looks like your garments are wet. Maybe we should remove them.” You have the heat of embarrassment on your face from what has just transpired. No one has ever made you do that. Not even yourself.

“Aww, do not be embarrassed, my dear,” he tells you. “You looked lovely as you came.” You give such a cute, innocent look as if to ask, ‘really? I did?’ He squeezes your breast once more as he kisses with his free hand. His other hand moves to the rest of your clothing and begins to remove it from your body slowly.

“Please take me, my Lord,” you beg once more. God, he loves hearing you beg.

“As you wish,” he replies and quickly removes your clothing, leaving your body naked against the grass. He removes his dark pants, and you finally get to see him naked. Something you never thought a mortal like you could witness. He grabs his cock, the tip burning a dark pink as if he has been waiting for this moment to occur. “You are so wet I can just slide right in.”

With those words, he takes that exact opportunity to slide his cock inside your pussy. The feeling is so full, and you can hardly stand it. It hurts, but you do not seem to mind either.

“My dear,” he breathes. “You are so tight around my cock.” Rex Lapis does not waste more time for himself and begins to slide in and out of your pussy. He holds your hips down harshly, his nails digging into your soft skin. He thrusts in and out slowly to help get somewhat used to this new feeling.

“R-Rex Lapis,” you moan either out of pleasure or pain. Rex Lapis moves his hands to your thighs and spreads them out, exposing you even more to him. He has no regard for you now and has begun to focus on his pleasure. His cock feels like it is getting slightly bigger inside you, something you never thought could happen.

“You’ve been teasing me unintentionally, my dear,” he tells you. “With just a few fast thrusts, and I am already ready to give you my cum.”

“N-No,” you reply shallowly.

“No? That’s cute,” he says and thrusts even harder into you, causing your body to twitch under him with each thrust. “You will take whatever I give you.” His claws dig into your thighs, and his cock reaches deep inside you as you hear him groan above you. He is nearing his high. He does not stop even when you clutch the grass around you, squeezing it so hard that it rips from the earth. His teeth clench, and the slams of his dick make you begin to cry your moans. You feel yourself gush around him even more than before. Each of your orgasms causes a ring of fluid to form at the base of Rex Lapis’ cock.

“You keep cumming so much, my dear,” he says. “I knew you would end up like this.”

“Wh-What do y-you mean?” you ask, fucked out of your mind.

“Ending up as my cumdump,” he says. He thrusts harder and shoots his load into your tight pussy. He chuckles darkly, seeing your hair stuck to your forehead and your chest heaving with heavy breaths. You look ethereal. “Such a beautiful innocent little cumdump.” He drags his cock out of you and watches his cum slowly trail out of you. The lines of it creeping out. He looks down at the ring of your cum at the base of his cock.

“Re-Rex Lapis,” you reach out to him, but he ignores your reach.

“Our contract is fulfilled, my dear,” he tells you instead. “What you wished for is now yours. So, I will take my leave.” He fixes himself as he stands. He transforms into a dragon with wings and flaps away from your still-naked body. Just leaving you cold and full of cum. What you wished for is now yours, his words repeat in your head. Did you get what you wished for? Or do you now have new desires?

© c1nna1nmyr0ll 2024, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, use for ai, copy, translate, or repost my content on any platform. comments, reblogs, and likes are loved

[actuallysaiyan]

No Other Heart(Executioner!Kenpachi Zaraki x Fem!Princess!Reader)

warnings: smut, mentions of violence/executions, Fantasy AU!, canon divergent, loss of virginity, oral sex(Fem!Receiving), use of pet names(little dove, princess), reader has pubic hair, slight tummy bulge kink, use of Sir, Kenpachi is an executioner, creampie finish/unprotected sex word count: 3k!!! pairings: Executioner!Kenpachi Zaraki x Fem!Princess!Reader a/n: this is for the lovely Vero(@yeowangies) who's helped me so much with this idea! <<_<< Knight Renji might be the next instalment in this kind of Fantasy series!

Sometimes you feel like a bird trapped in a cage. The princess who’s never allowed to leave the castle. They say it’s for your own good, but you never really know about that. Hiding you away in the castle seemed to only hinder you. For hours, you’d stare outside your window and wish for freedom.

The only thing that seemed to brighten your days was your bodyguard, Sir Kenpachi. Everyone else was terrified of the large and intimidating man, but you always found comfort in him. He kept you safe whenever you were allowed to leave the castle. He accompanied you anywhere you needed him to. And whenever he wasn’t your bodyguard, he was the royal executioner.

You remember when you were a child, you had seen him once splattered in blood and gore. It scared you so deeply, and you had cried in your sleep that night. It had only gotten worse when he was assigned as your bodyguard. You shuddered at his scary face and threatening demeanor. He was such a horror to be seen, such a terrifying image that was burned into your mind. The more you witnessed him after the job he did, the more you found yourself so terrified of this man.

As time went on, you became intrigued by the big man who’s in charge of keeping you safe. You even began to enjoy seeing him covered in blood. Knowing that he’s the man who would kill anyone to keep you safe, it made your heart race like nothing else. This man was the only one who could keep you safe. And slowly but surely, you realized you were enamored by him. He was the only person who could truly keep you safe. The only man you could trust outside of your own father.

The rumors about him being a virgin killer only confused and aroused you even more. You were pure yourself, knowing you’d be pure until your wedding night. But Sir Kenpachi was known as someone who sleeps almost exclusively with virgins. And you shuddered whenever you thought about the second meaning to that term. Maybe he was someone who also found himself having to kill the pure and the innocent.

You knew that as time would go on, you’d be too invested and attracted to the man who was in charge of killing others. The man who’s kept you safe since you were a young woman until this very day. And now that you’re older, you’re finding yourself so interested and intrigued by the idea of having sex and falling in love. 

It was never going to happen on its own, and not in a natural way. You were always going to be married off to some prince from a faraway land, and you were always going to have someone watching to make sure the consummation of your marriage was legitimate.

But it all happened so fast one night…

There had been a very large riot in the city, and your father had been assassinated. Your mother was taken away from the kingdom by her own bodyguard, leaving you to be in the care of Sir Kenpachi. You struggled against his tight hold, begging and pleading.

“No please! Let me go!” You whined, trying to break free of his hold.

He shakes his head, “No, I can’t.”

He’s rough as he places you on horseback, getting on behind you. You’re crying and begging to turn back, but he knows there’s no way he can bring you back to your castle. Everything has changed within one night, and even if you were to come back, it would be much too dangerous. 

“Listen to me, little dove.” He says to you, “You’re not going to be safe unless you stay with me.”

And his words ring true. The deeper into the forest you ride, the more you realize you’d never be able to deal with all of this on your own. He has a tight hold on you, while the other hand holds onto the reins. Kenpachi steers the horse through thick forest and deep swamp, all while keeping you safe from unwanted bandits popping up out of nowhere and wild beasts ready to swipe at you.

At last, you two reach a small safe haven; a cottage nestled in the brush. It’s not what you’d call home, but it’s going to be the place you’ll be staying for the next little while. He helps you off the horse, and he opens the door. You’re surprised to find it outfitted with the amenities you’d need for the next little while. As you sit on a chair in the kitchen, Sir Kenpachi works on getting a fire going. It’s cozy here, especially when he lights a few lanterns to make it even brighter. You begin to feel a bit more at ease.

“There’s a bath in the other room,” Kenpachi grunts. “If you want to get cleaned up. I can heat up water for you.”

You smile softly, “That would be nice.”

You’ve never seen him be this soft and domestic before. This is the man you’ve seen murder people countless times for the greater good of the kingdom. This is the same man you’ve heard threaten outsiders if they looked at you the wrong way. Your heart melts at the thought of him taking such good care of you.

With the fire roaring, he begins to boil some water for your bath. You begin inspecting the rest of the cottage. There’s a living area with lots of books and a comfy sofa. You find the materials to knit, sew and crochet as well. Then you head towards the bathroom, which has indoor plumbing other than the bath. You’re impressed that Sir Kenpachi knew to bring you here.

But when it comes to the bedroom, this is when you panic. There’s only one bedroom, and only one bed. This means he’s either going to have to sleep on the sofa, which won’t be comfy at all for him and his big frame, or he’s going to have to sleep with you in the bed. You wonder if you’ll manage to keep your urges to yourself.

“Your bath water is ready, little dove.” Kenpachi whispers gruffly in your ear. You gasp, turning around to look at him.

He can see the panic written all over your face. He knows that you must be wondering if he’ll sleep with you in the same bed. He’s watched you blossom from a young woman to the dainty beautiful princess you are now. You’ve always been so beautiful in his eyes, but he’s never wanted to sully you with his dirty hands. He’s got the blood of thousands of criminals, unwanted and bandits on his hands. How would you even want to be touched by someone like him?

He brings you into the bathroom. Kenpachi turns towards the door, but you softly take his hand in yours. You smile up at him, it’s a sincere and genuine smile.

“Please,” you plead. “Sir Kenpachi, I need help undoing the corset.”

You turn your back towards him, and he swallows hard. Now he thinks you’re just toying with him. He knows better than to refuse an order from the princess like this. So with his large hands, he undoes the laces to your corseted dress. As the fabric opens up to show your lithe skin, he’s growing hard beneath his pants. You turn just a little to smile at him again, causing his heart to race.

“For a big executioner,” you simper, “you’ve got soft hands.”

His eyes widened, unsure of how to even answer that. He stares at you for a few moments, and you appreciate the dusting of pink on his cheeks. He looks so human like this, so much softer than you’ve ever seen him before, He’s sweeter than you’ve ever experienced him.

He leaves you to bathe in peace, and he begins to pace. How could you say something like that to him? Everyone fears him, everyone is petrified when they see him. Kenpachi makes babies cry just by looking at them. Women shield the eyes of their children as he walks by. Mothers make sure to tell their daughters never to fall in love with such filth as him.

And yet, here you are, the princess of the nation…and you’re flirting with him.

It causes him to have such conflicting emotions. He couldn’t just deflower you. You were a princess, even if your country and kingdom were in turmoil. One day, you’d be marrying a prince and having a love of your own. He’d have to let you go that day, which is a thought that terrifies him like nothing at all.

He looks up from his spot on the bed when you tiptoe your way into the room. A fluffy towel is wrapped around your body, hiding the beauty that lies underneath. 

“O-oh! I’m sorry, Sir Kenpachi. I had nothing to wear.”

He comes over to you, his eyes dark with something you’ve never seen before. It’s almost like he’s ready to execute someone, but it’s not quite the same. It’s a different look that you’ve never seen in his eyes before.

You can’t even think properly when he shoves you onto the bed. He thought he’d take it slow, but Kenpachi has been waiting for you for years. He’s been wanting this for so long, his cock is just aching. You moan as he presses his lips onto yours roughly.

“You’ve teased me for too long, little dove.” He grunts as he presses himself against you. You can feel his hardened member throbbing against you. “I need to have you.”

Your eyes widen and you try to protest, telling him that you’re pure and you intend to be pure on your wedding night. But nothing seems to faze him. Nothing seems to be clicking. Despite your feeble attempts at trying to get him off of you, you know you couldn’t deny him even if you wanted to.

“I’ve spent my life keeping you safe, my little dove. Do you really believe I’d stop now just because you are to be married off to some dumb prince who doesn’t know how to use his cock?”

The words excite you like nothing before. Your heart races in your chest; like a hummingbird’s wings flapping in the wind. You wrap your arms around his big frame, pulling him closer again. This time, you know you’re ready for a kiss.

“Teach me,” you beg him. “Teach me how to make love.”

He doesn’t need much more persuasion than that. He lays you down properly on the eiderdown bed and presses his lips to yours once more. This time it’s deeper and more sensual. When he slips his tongue into your mouth, he realizes just how inexperienced you are.  Your kissing is sloppy and messy, but it only serves to turn him on even more.

His large hands, that would so easily crush your skull, gently cup your face. Kenpachi takes the lead, showing you how to kiss in a passionate way. You learn quickly, but he finds you so eager. Even when you slip up and become sloppy, it turns him on,

“That’s a good girl,” his praise goes straight between your thighs. 

He then pulls off the fluffy towel, revealing your pretty body to him. Nobody has ever seen your body in this way before. Your perky nipples are begging to be sucked on. Your cute little cunt is concealed by a little patch of pubic hair. Kenpachi isn’t even sure where he wants to begin.

He starts with cupping your breasts, making you moan just for him. His thumbs brush against your nipples, and you shudder with each time they do that. He loves the sounds you make whenever he’s teasing you like this. When he dips down to capture one of your perky nubs between his lips, you feel your body growing warmer. It’s almost too much to just have him sucking on your nipples.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against your skin. “Like roses…vanilla…”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. He takes his time, suckling and nipping at the swell of your breasts and your nipples. Then he begins to press sloppy kisses down your body before spreading your legs. Just the sight of your glistening cunt surrounded by the cute little patch of pubic hair really is driving him crazy. The executioner thinks he should take it slow, but the minute his tongue presses against your folds, he’s hooked.

With strong hands, he pulls you even closer. You squirm and thrash under him as he laps and slurps you up like you’re his last meal. Saliva and arousal smears all over the bottom half of his face. He’s grunting and growling as he devours you. 

“S-Sir! Oh I…” but you can barely say anything as all that falls from your pretty lips are moans and pleas.

Kenpachi looks up at you, and when your gazes lock, you swear you’ve never seen such a lewd sight before. Your body shudders as you feel something deep in your tummy. It’s like a pressure that keeps building. You don’t know what it is, but you feel like you’re almost chasing that sensation.

“That’s it, little dove. Let go for me,”

You aren’t even quite sure what he means, but you continue to chase the new feeling deep inside you. He wraps his lips around your swollen clit, suckling on it like it’s his favorite sweet. Suddenly, the coil in your stomach snaps and you’re crying out. Begging and pleading tumble from you like a desperate prayer. Kenpachi continues to suckle and lap at you, prolonging the pleasure even more.

Slowly, he crawls back on top of you. His clothing is shed without much care, thrown around the room. Then he spreads your thighs even more as you get a good look at his dick. It’s a lot bigger than you’d ever imagined. The tip is red and oozing precum, and you feel your mouth water as you look at it. You want to taste him, but it would seem he’s got other plans.

“Let me be the one to show you true pleasure,” he says as he lets the tip of his cock nestle against your entrance. “Let me be the one who knows you the most.”

You’re so touched by his sweet words. You don’t even know what to say. Tears sting your eyes, and Kenpachi smiles softly. He kisses you; this kiss is much more loving than the previous ones. Then he looks into your eyes once more.

“Please, be mine.” You finally mutter.

Very carefully, Kenpachi begins slipping into you. A surprised gasp is ripped from you as you feel your cunt being stretched. He hushes you with sweet kisses and words of praise. One of his hands comes down to begin rubbing your clit.

“Taking me so good, little dove. You’re doing well, you just need to relax, okay?”

You nod your head, unable to say proper words. You can barely think as his cock splits you in half. More and more of him goes into you, making you feel all these new sensations. You’ve never known pleasure like this before, and you can tell you could easily become addicted to this.

“Just like that, sweetheart.” Kenpachi breathes against your neck. He’s almost all the way in.

His eyes roll back as he feels the way your walls are already milking him. How could it be this good? He’s the virgin killer after all, he’s fucked all kinds of women. But you were the one who felt the best. You feel like heaven to him. Maybe it’s because he’s cared for you for so long.

“Sir Kenpachi—” he interrupts you.

“Just Kenpachi, sweetheart.”

You hiccup as your hand reaches down to your lower tummy. His eyes widen when he realizes what you’re doing. You're feeling the bulge that his cock is making as he slides into you fully. He bottoms out and his hand meets yours. A warmth passes over the both of you, and soon you’re both more aroused than before.

“That’s it,” Kenpachi praises as he begins thrusting into you. “You can feel me that deep.”

You have no words. You just begin mewling and panting like all the virgins do. Whenever Kenpachi fucks them stupid, he enjoys watching them become so corrupted by the pleasure. You wrap your legs around him, desperate to feel him even deeper. Kenpachi quickens his pace, his hands gripping your hips to pull you in closer with each thrust.

“You’re mine now,” he tells you before kissing you so deeply. “Nobody can touch you.”

Your heart swells with love. You find yourself clinging to him, begging him for even more. He happily responds to your demands with fucking you harder and faster, his thumb coming down to rub your clit. He knows you’ll fall off the edge quickly because he gave you an orgasm before this. He’s just not sure how much longer he can hold on when you feel this fucking good.

“T-that feeling again…” you pant out,

Kenpachi smirks, “Yeah? Don’t worry, just go with that feeling.”

You listen to his advice. The more he thrusts into you, the closer you get to that same feeling as earlier. Kenpachi growls as his pace gets even quicker and rougher. The headboard of the bed begins to slam against the wall as he fucks into you like an animal in heat.

“Cum for me!” He grunts loudly. “Let go for me, princess.”

The dam breaks, the coil snaps. You cry out loudly, your nails digging into his back as your orgasm hits you so hard. Your silky walls begin to clench and pulse around his big cock, making his balls draw up. He’s grunting like an animal as he chases his own high, and soon his hips stutter.

“Take it all,” he grunts. “Take my seed.”

His cock throbs within you as shots of his hot, potent cum fill up your waiting womb. He’s fucking it into you, slowing down the rocking of his hips as his high washes over him. Then he looks at you, noticing the look on your face. You’re just fucked out now.

“Perfect,” he praises before kissing you. “You’ll do well to be my wife now.”

[helplesslypurple77]

AU Week: Detective AU(Dazai/Reader)

Summary:

“Remember Dazai.” You hiss in his ear, as the servant by the door rings the knocker for you. “As of now, I'm your wife.” “I know darling.” He says, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. Your stomach whirls to life, butterflies, leaping and bounding inside you. You don't know if you’ll survive the night, truly

Warnings: Smut~

Notes: I grew up with Nancy Drew, can you blame me? Also at some point the word count got away from me and i had to gloss over the actual mystery bits to get to the smut

then i also simplify the smut a little at the end but it got wayyyyyy to long

...

Even after so many years, the sight of dead bodies still made your stomach curl. You supposed it would never change, that disgusting stench of death, the quiet reverence that permeated the air as you stood before the body, the mangled body of a young woman, life cut much too short. And even though you loved your job, this was most definitely your least favorite part.

The grimy streets of London were as they usually were, dark and unpleasant. The streetlights scattered every ten feet did their best to cut through the blanket of fog that fell at dusk, hiding the surroundings from even the keenest eye. The rain fell in a mist, having been caught in the tail end of its fall. It always rained in London. You didn't mind, you actually liked the dreary atmosphere, as long as you weren't actually in the rain. You preferred to look upon it from inside a warm house. 

“How tragic.” Dazai, your investigation partner says, reaching for another chip. He's holding a large bag of them, and as you eye them distastefully he crumples up the empty bag, tossing it into the garbage can. You take a deep, deep breath, letting it out through your nose in one big gust of air. Every day you come one step closer to simply ending it all. 

Dazai Osamu is brilliant, that's obvious. Able to solve impossible cases with the barest bits of evidence, to track down serial killers and trick them into confessing. He’s so brilliant, you don't know why he even needs you to be his investigative partner, but he keeps you around, for some reason. You’ve never asked. Perhaps to field the questions he doesn't care to deal with. Or to foil his dumb antics. Or for comic relief. 

“Let us investigate, my partner.” Dazai says, grandly swiping a magnifying glass out of his pocket. You take a deep, deep breath. 

“Dazai, you shouldn't bring snacks to a crime scene.” You say, mostly for the benefit of the confused police officer standing in the back of the room. 

“But that's so boring.” Dazai says loudly, attracting a few angry stares from the police officers scattered across the sight. You send them all small apologetic glances. It's smart to remain on good terms with these officers, because as soon as your small detective Agency loses the trust of the police, you lose cases, and when you lose cases, you can't pay rent. 

The body is more gruesome up close, mangled in a totally unnecessary way. Her face is untouched, preserved perfectly in death, but her body is a mess. Her stomach is completely opened up, organs spilling onto the wet sidewalk, blood mixing with the pools of rainwater that run down the street, small red rivers, dashing away downtown. Why does it always rain, you’ll never know. But it always rains in London, that you could count on. 

She’s dressed well, in a fine evening gown and sparkling jewels. Her handbag is lying a few feet away, strangely untouched. Dazai leans down, carefully inspecting her rain soaked face. 

“Her jewelry is still on her.” You notice, probably stating the obvious. “You’d think the perp would have stolen it. Those are fine jewels.” 

Dazai rolls his eyes in your direction. “Obviously, this was a crime of passion.” Dazai says, poking the dead woman's cheek curiously. He says the words like you should already know, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Dazai can grate on the nerves, his assumption that everyone is as smart as him is egregiously wrong. You try not to let his tone affect you in any way. 

“Is she wearing makeup?” Dazai directs this at you, and you lean down, carefully inspecting her face. This is one area that Dazai lacks, women's makeup and fashion. 

“Yes, she’s obviously dressed for a social engagement. A date or a fancy dinner.” You say, stomach turning as you try your best to avoid the more disturbing area’s, like the stomach. You dislike this part immensely, looking at the dead bodies of people who were just like you once. It makes your thoughts turn dark, scary, and entirely unnecessary. You sigh. 

“Wasn't there a ball this evening? A sponsored event I think.” You say, directing this at the police officers standing behind you. It's raining, and yet they stand there, scarily still. Their uniforms were wet with rain. 

“A charity ball, sponsored by the Stonewall Corp, Ma’am.” The officer on the right, a handsome young man with a sad-looking face says. You shoot him a thankful smile, and watch as his cheeks flush a little. He’s cute, thin and pale with small eye bags under his gray blue eyes. If you weren't on a murder investigation and bogged down with unrequited feelings of love for your dumb(at least when it came to emotions) partner, you would flirt a little, maybe find the time to sneak off for some ‘fun time’ but alas that's highly inappropriate. Dazai coughs from next to you, still crouching near the body. 

“Flirting at a murder scene is in bad taste.” He says, as if he was not just eating an entire bag of chips, in front of a dead body. You take a deep, deep breath, inhaling the smell of the wet london streets, and holding onto your patients with all your might. Dazai is a brilliant man, intelligent and kind but he was also tactless, rude, and a terrible flirt. And maybe it was because of your ill fated crush on him, but every time he criticizes you, every time you felt unwanted and useless, a deep well of sadness opened up in your heart, sucking at your soul and wringing out every ounce of self worth you possessed. It was tragic and pathetic and your patience was running thin. You had been feeling especially emotional and broken lately, and Dazai’s carefree attitude was grating at your nerves. 

“Tell me oh so amazing detective, have you finished.” You say, tapping your foot insistently against the wet pavement. “Because I'm cold and wet and I want to go home.” You sound bratty and childish, but you can't bring yourself to care, not right now.

“Geez, cool your jets partner.” Dazai says, giving the body one last ounce over. “Fine, we can go. Hey you there.” He directs this part at the police officer standing behind him, an older gentleman who looks very, very tired. 

“Send us an investigation into this woman.” Dazai continues. You shoot both police officers apologetic winces as Dazai pulls his brown coat closer around him, meandering away from the crime scene. You move to follow him.

“Wait Miss, let me walk you home.” It's the police officer from before, the handsome one with the gray eyes. He pulls out an umbrella, holding it over your head. You shoot him a grateful smile. It feels nice to be admired for ounce. He blushes, scratching the back of his head to hide it. 

“It's dangerous this late at night.” He says, voice trailing off towards the end. 

“No need.” Dazai jumps in, suddenly reappearing in between you and the cute officer rather rudely. The officer jumps back skittishly, giving a defeated little sigh as he tries to protest. 

“At least take my umbrella Miss, it looks like it's going to rain.” He says, pressing the umbrella into your grateful hands. And with one last tip of his cap, he's gone. 

“It always rains, it's london,” Dazai says, once again heading along the back street. You follow him, your heels clicking on the soaked pavement. The clicks echo about the empty street, accompanied by Dazai’s loud humming and truly unnecessary comments. You roll your eyes in Dazai’s direction. 

“Would it kill you to be a little nicer? The police do their best, you know that.” You say, opening the umbrella with a click. The rain begins to come down in earnest, and Dazai ducks under the umbrella as well, crowding into you. 

The two of you turn a corner, entering the shopping district. It's late, and most shops have already closed their doors. The only light comes from the street lights, casting rings of light onto the soaked pavement. 

Dazai grumbles faintly, something you can't quite hear. You sigh. 

“So, any ideas?” You say, extending a little bit of an olive branch. You really do appreciate your partner, and you love him as well, even though he can be childish and annoying. You value his time and intelligence greatly. 

Dazai sighs out a great breath, as you turn the corner onto the street that houses your little detective office. 

“Just a few things, we don't even know who she is yet.” He sounds tired, and a little depressed, and as the rain starts coming down harder than before the two of you sprint towards the office. 

You lock the door behind you with a decisive click, you're not taking any chances. The office is dark, but you can make out the familiar shape of the secretaries desk, and the darkened typewriter. You make your way up the back stairs, Dazai on your heels and open the door to your warm apartment. You share it, to cut rent costs. It's also conveniently placed right above the office. There are two people already in the room, sitting by the fire. 

Dr Yosano, one of the people you share the apartment with, is a very old friend of Dazai’s, and a great person to have around when one of you stumbled home, potentially very badly injured. She works as a doctor by day, and sometimes disappears at night. You don't ask her where she goes, she honestly scares you a little. But she’s a very kind woman, who’s known you for years now. She’s sitting across from the fireplace, a book in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.

Atsushi is curled up in an armchair, textbooks and handwritten notes scattered out on the coffee table in front of him, little sighs gusting from his half parted lips. Atsushi is only eighteen, and studying to become a professor of literature one day. A good childhood friend of yours for many years, you considered him a little brother of sorts. You smile in Yosano’s direction, leaning down to press a kiss to Atsushi’s sleeping forehead gently. The poor boy overworks himself, always trying his best to keep up with some of the weirdos who go to his school. He’s a kind boy, good natured and handsome, and a bit oblivious. There's always a bunch of innocent college girls coming up to you, asking after him, yet he never notices. 

“So, how was it?” Yosano says, her voice pitched low so as to not wake Atsushi. You sink onto the couch beside her, your skirts brushing against your tights. You're wearing darker colors, a dark navy blue and black striped walking suite. You love this particular outfit, and the dark colors match the dark weather. Your skirts rustle around your feet as you lean down, pulling off your black kitten heels. You take off your hat, placing it gently on the coffee table away from Atsushi’s notes. 

“Gruesome. The body was mangled. Unnecessarily I might add.” You say, sinking back into the couch cushions with a sigh. Dazai hums behind you, hanging his brown coat on the rack. 

“Obvious crime of passion. None of her jewelry was stolen. And her face was completely intact.” Dazai sighs, sinking into the armchair opposite Atsushi’s sleeping form. “She was coming from some sort of charity ball? High society and the like.” He scoffs, his opinion on the upper class as clear as ever. You close your eyes as you let your body sink back into the soft fabric of the couch. It's late, and you can feel sleep tugging at you, pulling at your limbs and urging you to fall deep under, into a quiet, peaceful, sleep. You wish to obey. 

“Dazai? ‘M going to bed.” You murmur, taking a deep breath and slowly getting to your feet. You arch your back with a crack, and trudge towards the room you share with Yosano. He hums noncommittal in your direction, and Yosano sends you a small, tired goodnight. 

☂☂☂

The next few days are filled with boring, boring interviews. Interviews with relatives of the poor girl, interviews with her slimy brother, and interviews with her weepy rich boyfriend. But you get a few good things out of it. One, Dazai solves the case. And two, you get a free vacation.

“She was going to attend this mansion party.” The boyfriend of the dead woman tells you, swiping at his nonstop tears with a soaking wet handkerchief. “At the digression of a billionaire.” 

Her boyfriend is a rather ugly man, portly and balding but kind and sensitive. He hands you a small envelope sealed with a red wax seal. 

“I just know she would have wanted you to have it. I'm entrusting it to you.” He says, bowing his head in thanks and standing up to leave. 

The whole thing was a wash, a confusing mess of emotions and hidden words that you don't want to sort through, but as you and Dazai sit there, in the front office with that envelope in your hand. 

“You know.” You start, sitting back against the hard wooden back of your chair, “I wonder if this is what it feels like to strike gold.” 

Dazai spares you a small chuckle, before he stands up, stretching with a yawn. “Better get packing, partner.” He says, shooting you a smile. “We're going on a trip. And it looks like we're getting married.”

☂☂☂

“This place is huge.” You whisper in Dazai’s ear, gloved hand hooked in his elbow. You whisper the words, almost smacking him with the brim of your hat. You're wearing another walking suit, because it's raining, again, and you don't want to ruin your nicer dresses for this farce. 

The dress is a pretty brown, trimmed in black lace and ribbon, and matches Dazai’s brown and white suit well, in a way that says ‘we’re married and get our clothes tailored by the same person’. Because as of now, as you step through the threshold of the massive ivy-covered mansion, you are married. 

“Remember Dazai.” You hiss in his ear, as the servant by the door rings the knocker for you. “As of now, I'm your wife.” 

“I know darling.” He says, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. Your stomach whirls to life, butterflies, leaping and bounding inside you. You don't know if you’ll survive the night, truly.

The door opens with a crack, an older man with hair as silver as a coin peeks out. His eyes are beady, suspicious and angry as he looks the two of you up and down. You try not to fidget, standing straight and tall like you’re supposed to be there.

“Mr and Ms Osamu Dazai? Your invitation.” The butler says, eyeing you suspiciously. You try not to fidget with your wedding ring, hidden under the pair of brown leather gloves you wear.

“Yes, here.” Dazai says, passing the invitation over. “I guess you were informed of the change?” He sounds as careless as ever, but in this situation, it actually works in his favor. He sounds just like a rich newlywed husband, taking his new wife on a fine vacation to the countryside. You clutch his arm tighter, nodding at the butler dismissively. 

“I just really wanted to go, you know, and my darling Osamu managed to get an invite for me.” You giggle, playing up the young and in love. “Oh, you’re such a dear.” You simper, planting a lipstick kiss boldly on his cheek. His chest puffs up and he grins at you, sending the caretaker a side eye.

“Can you hurry it along? My wife is offly tired from the road.” Dazai says, and his voice portrays the air of someone who finds it very annoying to be doing something as tedious as checking identities. You reach up, adjusting the top hat that sits upon his head. The caretaker fixes the two of you with an unimpressed stare, but steps aside. 

“Very well, i’ll show you to your room then.” He says, ushering the two of you inside. The door shuts with a slam behind you, and you're suddenly surrounded by eerie silence. The large hallway is empty, and cold with portraits lining the walls. Their grand portraits, of stern looking men and women, positioned so they are looking down upon each person that steps foot inside the mansion. You dislike each of them immediately, but a stern looking woman dressed in an unpleasant blue dress stands out to you. She seems to be watching you specifically, and you clutch Dazai’s arm tighter, turning away from the unpleasant painting. 

The grand hall is big, arched ceilings support a large crystal chandelier that throws beams of light across every surface, be it the wooden paneled floor or the green wallpaper that lines the walls. The entire room is quiet, although faintly in the distance you can hear the sounds of a piano. You lean close to Dazai, whispering directly in his ear. 

“This place is so spooky babe.” You stage whisper, eyeing the butler out of the corner of your eye. 

“Don't be impolite darling.” Dazai stage whispers back. “Not everyone can have your suburb taste.” 

“Welcome to the Crowley Estate, Mr and Ms Dazai. You’re our last guests to arrive.” The Butler says, leading you up a large twisting staircase, wrought iron handling and wooden steps. Your heels make loud noises in the mostly abandoned room. Every now and then you can catch the faint glimpse of a maid, dashing back and forth and then disappearing into one of the doors on the landing. 

The Butler leads you down a hall, your footsteps vanishing into the carpeted floor. The doorknobs are silver, the many colored doors at odds with the green wallpaper. You eye them, taking note of any strange details. 

“You guys are in room seven. Dinner is in thirty minutes. Do not be late.” The Butler says. And then he turns on his heel and leaves. You sigh. 

“What a lovely man.” You say, turning the knob to room seven and stepping inside the room. 

☂☂☂

The maid leads you and Dazai to the dining room twenty minutes later. You're still attached at the hip, and as you open the large doors with a creek, the panicked chatter in the room dies. There's a small circle of people in the room, gathered around something, obscuring it from your view. And because you’ve seen this exact scene go down a few to many times, you have a bad feeling you know exactly what happened.

Arm still hooked in Dazai’s, you walk forward, half dreading the sight you know you’ll see when you arrive. The half circle of eccentrically dressed people part like the red sea, and what you see in the middle makes you cringe. 

The body of the butler, laying face down in the carpet with an axe buried deep in his back. You take a deep breath, and start your theatrics.

“Oh Hubby.” You say, turning dramatically and throwing yourself in your ‘husbands’ waiting arms. “It's a dead body baby. Oh that's so scary!” You say, your voice whiny and annoying even to your own ears. 

Dazai pats you on the back reassuringly. “What is going on here? Can't you see, my wife is deeply disturbed by this?” He says, as you cry fakely into his jacket. “She has a very delicate constitution.” He informs the crowd of confused people that watch your theatrics. You clutch his shoulders, forcing real tears to ruin your makeup. 

“Oh ‘Samu, our vacation is absolutely ruined!” You say, pulling away from his coat to stair beseechingly into his eyes. “And I was so looking forward to it. Whatever shall we do?” 

Dazai puts on an admittedly convincing look, eyes suddenly glued to your lips. Your heart is in your throat, beating an unsteady rhythm as the two of you stand chest to chest, your matching wedding rings flashing in the lowlight. All you can see is his eyes, the strange expression that sits on his face, all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears, all you can feel is him. 

“Well.” Dazai starts, his voice all breathy and low. “I guess we’ll just have to make our own fun then darling.” 

The world around you is gone. The other people in the room are simply gone. The dead body lying on the floor in a pool of blood is gone. All you can see is Dazai. His eyes lidded, locked on your lips. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, chewing it lightly and he takes a breath in. And suddenly he’s moving closer. His eyes are still locked on your lips, and you feel your own eyes fall closed, your fingers notting in the fabric of his jacket and then—

Someone coughs, and you open your eyes, suddenly remembering that there is a dead body and six confused strangers in the room with you. You move away, flustered. 

“Is this really the time?” A woman says. She's an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, dressed finely in a periwinkle blue dress and a silver animal fur of some kind. She hides her annoyed expression well, but you can still see it in her eyes. The other occupants of the room nod.

They are an odd group, all dressed in finery and dripping with money. Their wealth drips off them, and if you weren't busy throwing a kind of fit, you would cringe away from them. They give off the air of people who think they are very important, far more important than those ‘commoners’. But right now, you are those people.  You take a deep breath, and continue on with the theatrics. 

☂☂☂

“What a waste of time.” You say, closing the door behind the two of you. The minute the door shuts you sink down into a chair, the exhaustion clear in your body language. 

Dazai chuckles to himself, hanging his brown coat on the coat hanger by the door. 

“They're all annoying, but none of them are murderers.” He says, placing his hat on the coffee table and checking his watch. 

You spent the rest of the evening in the room, deftly feilding the flying accusations that spun around the room, and doing your best to convince them that you’re a young and in love couple. 

“You think they believed us?” You ask, turning your eyes on Dazai. He sinks down next to you, shooting you a wink.

“You were very convincing.” He says, siding closer to you on the couch. You tamp down the butterflies in your stomach, outwardly rolling your eyes. As much as you wish his flirting was only for you, you know that's to the contrary. Although for some reason, lately he’s really stopped his flirting. Maybe he finally got tired of being rejected. And it wasn't flirting, it was double suicide invitations. Somehow, even though the man annoys you to no end, the butterflies still whirl around your stomach, your palms become sweaty and your heart beats double time. You hate him, just because of what he’s reduced you to. But you know you love him.

Dazai stands with a groan, stretching his arms above his head. “Well my Darling wife.” He says, shooting you an exaggerated wink. “I'm off to bathe. Won't be long.” He says, yanking one of the fluffy towels that the maid had left and soldering off to the bathroom. You give a noncommittal hum in return, and when the door slams behind him you start the process of getting ready for bed. 

First the outer jacket is taken off, folded and carefully placed in the dresser. Usually you would have a maid help you undress, but you were very suspicious of everyone in this house, be it staff or guests, and although it was hard you would rather just do it yourself. The outer skirt is taken off, then the thin layer of petticoats and the shaping pads and the pretty lace trimmed corset until you're left in just your silk and lace chemise. It was a pretty one, one of your favorites and unusually short, reaching about mid thigh. It was trimmed in layers of lace and the edges brushed your skin as you carefully picked up your pile of clothes, carrying them into the walk in closet. You're carefully placing them away when you hear the voices, people chattering just outside your room. You still, listening. 

“Do you think those two are actually married?” someone, a man, speaks first. You freez, not making a sound as they continue their conversation. They can't see you, but they might be able to hear you. 

“You think they are faking?” It's Margaret, the older woman from earlier, her haughty pompous voice full of disdain. She continues. “Then are they the perpetrators?”

The man coughs lightly before he speaks again. “I don't know, but I do know that when my wife and I were newlyweds we simply could not keep our hands off each other if you know what I mean.” You blush, still hiding in the closet. 

“I suppose you're right.” Margaret says, and you hear something hitting the outside wall. She might be leaning against it. “Well it seems like the husband is taking a bath. Maybe they don't get along that well after all.”

They continue their chatting, walking down the hallway and soon Margarets door slams, and you can hear their conversation through the wall. They think you can hear them, you suppose. A plan forming in your head, you carefully finish putting the clothes away. The walls are thin, very thin. Earlier you heard Margaret through the right walls, loudly complaining to the maid for the thousandth time. It would be so easy to fake it, to moan just loud enough that she can hear, and so can your other neighbors. You smile to yourself, trying to calm your racing heart and the embarrassment lighting your face. Just in time, you hear the sound of the bathroom door opening. 

You exit the closet in a rush, and turn on Dazai, advancing on him much like a predator. He smiles at you, with not a clue. 

“I was waiting for you.” You say, purposely pitching your voice a little higher than the purr you would usually use to seduce men. You need the snoopers on the other side of the wall to hear you. Or hear you enough that their suspicions are eased and they leave the room in a hurry. Dazai eyes you, confused. You're upon him now, and you slip your bare hand into his, trying your best to caress the skin, to seduce him with touch. Still gripping his hand, you pull him towards the bed. He stumbles after you, his face still pulled into one of confusion. 

“What are you doing?” Dazai asks you, a strange light in his eyes as you stop before the large bed. His eyes are locked on you, his hair still damp from the bath, droplets dripping down his neck and soaking the fabric of his complimentary bathrobe. The air in the room has changed, it's charged with electricity as he looks at you, his eyes jumping from the low lace collar of your chemise to your exposed thighs, to your lips. You smile, small and seductive. Maybe you're doing too much, it's not like the people on the other side of the wall can see you, but you can't help the faint hope that maybe he wants you, that maybe he loves you. You banish any thoughts like that from your mind and gently push him onto the bed. 

His back hits the fabric with a sound, a soft sound that you know the snoopers on the other side of the wall can't hear. He props himself up, still watching you. You hear a creak near the door, and you sigh. More suspicions are flying it seems. Time to up your act a little. 

“What are you…” Dazai tries, trailing off as you climb onto the bed, crawling forward on all fours, doing your best to employ all the seduction techniques you know. You don't stop until you're on top of his prone form, and then as you sit down, plopping yourself directly on his lap. He hisses, gripping your waist with a question on his lips and arousal in his eyes. 

“Name, what are you doing?” He hisses, his voice urgent but low. You ignore him, slowly grinding down on his lap, and the hardness you find there. His protests die on his lips as you move, back and forth along the length you can feel beneath the fabric. Dazai grips your hips in a slight protest, hands trembling against your skin as you lift your chemise over your head. His eyes run to your boobs, his dick twitching against your bare pussy. You whimper a little as you grind harder, the stimulation ruining your sanity. But you must hold on, this is only an act. 

“Why are you protesting babe?” You say, a little too loudly for the benefit of the watchers. “Are you too tired?” You grind down a little harder, and Dazai bites his lip. Hard. 

You lean down, pretending to kiss his neck as you speak. Your voice is a whisper, a caress, your body still singing with arousal. “They're suspicious. They're watching.” You whisper, moving your hips back and forth, back and forth. It's all the words it takes. It seems Dazai’s brain isn't completely fried by arousal, because understanding flashes through his brain, followed by something you can't quite place. It almost looks like disappointment. You banish the thoughts, for it's impossible and only going to upset you later. 

“You're quite needy today darling.” Dazai says, his voice heavy and deep. You do have to give him credit, it sounds oftly realistic and makes more heat pool in your gut. You bite back a whimper, fingers tracing the line of his bathrobe against his chest.

“I don't want that nasty body to ruin our vacation.” You pout, trying to conceal the obvious arousal in your voice. But you can't conceal your body's reaction, the wetness that spreads on his bathrobe. But, based on the hardness pressed against you, he can't control that either. It feels good to have at least this on him, it proves he's attracted to you in some way. It's a small consolation, but a consolation indeed. He chuckles beneath you, as you grip the ties of his bathrobe, pulling them undone and running your hands over the soft skin of his chest. He’s surprisingly built, with a faint abbs and a v-line running below the only part of his body still covered in soft white bathrobe. You giggle, running your hands along his body.

“You’ve been working out huh, baby.” You smirk. Dazai nods, hands tangled in the sheet as you grind down lightly, pussy leaving streaks behind on the fabric. 

“Wanted to impress you.” He gets out, his voice sounding surprisingly wrecked. His face looks almost open, losing some of the guards he usually has in place around people, and if you didn't know he was making this up, you would totally be fooled. You have to congratulate him. 

You grip his wrist, pulling his hand away from the sheet and bringing to you boob, giving him a permission of sorts to touch you. You want him to, in this case now and normally, and you wish he would take, take you however he wanted. You whimper as the rough pads of his finger come in contact with your sensitive nipple. If you strain your ears, you can faintly hear a commotion next door, what sounds like hushed conversation and the sound of footsteps, but the horny haze that surrounds your brain makes it hard to compute. You just need to control yourself until you hear them leaving, then you can go masturbate in the bath or something. 

Dazai’s hand moves from your boob, once again gripping your hips and moving you, to simulate sex. You just close your eyes and let him, letting your moans leak out of your mouth and into the open air. You hope he thinks they're fake. You can hear faint little pants and grunts from him, and every so often he bites his lip red, his eyes locked on you and you grind. The expression on his face is something you don't think you’ll ever forget. Eyes locked on your face, dark with arousal and something that looks like amazement or disbelief, flushed cheeks and bitten lips, parted slightly with little pants into the already stuffy air of the bedroom. You know you don't look much better, face flushed, lips releasing moans into the air. You don't know if you will be able to hold on much longer. 

And then, the sound you're waiting for. The next door slams loudly. “Oh, I must go downstairs.” Margaret exclaims loudly, and the sound of three sets of footsteps hurrying away is prelude to the end of this charade. You stop moving, still panting and quivering above him.

“They're gone.” You say, voice still full of arousal. Dazai staring at you. All this time, his eyes have never left you, your body, your eyes, your mouth. Their such a deep brown, the pupils dilated to almost black. There's a light in them, a light of disappointment, a light of desire. You don't know what to do from here.

Neither of you move, just frozen on the bed, you on top of him. It feels as if a spell might be broken, as if you are Cinderella and the moment you make a move to get up, the spell will break and the status quo will be back. The normal everyday you, and the Dazai that doesn't love you. You take a deep, deep breath, and prepare to move. 

Dazai’s hands anchor you in place, his eyes narrowing slightly as you try to move off him. You frown. He grips your thighs, big hands anchoring you in place. 

“Dazai…” You say, the word still full of arousal but tinged in confusion. He seems to be making a decision, weighing the pros and cons and as you sense his hands loosening around your waist you fall backwards. You spread your legs, fingers playing with your boobs and decide to take a leap of faith. 

“Dazai.” You start, your voice certain. “I want you too fuck me.”

The effect is immediate. The emotions at war in Dazai’s dark eyes vanish, and suddenly he's upon you, gripping your waist and pulling you toward him, toward his dick. The bathrobe falls off, landing without a sound on the blanket and all you see is skin, pale skin, and dark eyes. They dont leave you as he lines up his hard dick inside you, pushing the head past your walls. The effect is immediate, you arch off the bed with a moan. Dazai smirks.

“You look so pretty like this.” He says, hands still slowly pulling you down on his cock. “You feel what you’ve done to me baby?” 

His voice is rough as he slowly pushes in, hands gripping you so tight you're sure they’ll bruise. You whimper, hands gripping into the fabric beneath you as he bottoms out and starts to move. Your back arches off the bed with a moan, and as he sets a pace, fast and rough and oh so delicious, you grip his shoulders. 

“Oh god Osamu.” You practically shriek the words, nails scratching his back. “Oh god i love you.” 

You almost regret the words, but as he sucks possessive little marks into your neck, he murmurs the words into your skin. 

“I love you too.” Dazai says, the words to tender and full of sincerity you nearly break. And then, he hits that spot inside you and you come with a scream. 

☂☂☂

The atmosphere when you and Dazai enter the dining room the next morning, Dazai glowing and you limping and covered in hickeys, is one of many different emotions.

The maids are giggling, and even the butlers and some of the people at the large table are muffling laughter behind hands and napkins. Margaret sticks her nose in the air, as haughty as before.

And even though you have your work cut out for you, dealing with all these people and finding the killer, you find you are starting to anticipate the prospect. Dazai’s hand is still wrapped around your waist, supporting you as you walk around the table and you know he’ll be able to support you like this for a long time. It feels nice. 

“What are you thinking about?” Dazai says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You giggle. 

“Oh nothing.” you say, taking a seat beside him. “Nothing at all.”

...

End Notes: been dealing with a nasty headache lately. Annoying as fuck. Btw i also did a little bit of research on the clothes but i am by NO means a fashion history expert. I just have google and sometimes that's wrong. Tried my best though.

on a totally unrelated note…Junko posing is coming back on tik tok and im terrified.

its lowkey fun though…

[whore-ibly-hot]

💚👻Yan!Harold Biddle Hc's💚👻

"Viewer beware, you're in for a scare."

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Yandere themes, dark behavior, possession, general spooks, serial killer, bullying, angst teen ghost boy?

AN: Requested by an Anon, this man has me down so bad, and I hope this inspires others to write for him. I love both old and new goosebumps media, and how our reader meets Harold is VERY similar to the goosebumps TV show episode 'The Phantom of the Opera'. Enjoy and happy belated Halloween! Go watch Goosebumps on Disney ➕️. Never done an HC before...

👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚

💚In a situation for Harold to grow truly attached to someone, you would have to be from out of town, or visiting a family member, perhaps. Harold is filled with such hatred for his former classmates and there spawn, that even those who didn't kill him, he knows stood idly by and ignored him in school. Because of this, he probably wouldn't want the son or daughter of a former classmate.

👻Maybe you moved to Port Lawrence with your family, whether for work or a fresh start, or maybe your a distant cousin of one of the people in town. As long as you aren't a direct descendant, Harold will have an easier time coming to terms with these feelings.

💚Being new in town was hard for you, nerve wracking even. Everyone at this school seemed to have a clique or group, and even the loners had their own things going on. Luckily, you caught wind through overhearing some classmates that a party was being held on Halloween night. Hoping to make some real friends, you donned a costume and set out.

👻The address had been kind of hard to find, some old, blocked off road with a creepy mansion at the end. Still, the party was in full swing, teens dancing and drinking, strobe lights and shitty music filled the main room of the house. You asked one of your classmates, Lucas, about the house.

"Oh, yeah. Some kid died here like, a hundred years ago or something. Big explosions, a fire..." A skinnier boy in a cat costume cut him off. "Don't listen to Lucas, it wasn't a hundred years ago, dude. It was like, the 90s." He rolls his eyes.

💚A little uneasy about sneaking into a house, much more the site of a gruesome death, you tried to enjoy the party. After a few drinks, Dr. Pepper, you weren't trying to call your parents to take you home, you went looking for a bathroom.

This would prove pretty difficult. That same boy from earlier, Lucas, ate worms, and was puking in bathroom number one. The second bathroom was locked, and from the groaning and smacking inside, you could tell you didn't want to know what was going on inside.

👻This had left you with not choice but to go to the bathroom in the basement. Standing at the edge of the stairs and looking down the dark hallway, floored with rickety wooden steps, you had gathered your courage and descended.

💚Biddle had expected company, but unlike the mask he coerced Isabella into taking, or the camera he snuck in Isaac's bag, you didn't take anything. He waited for another, foolish teen to take something. He had a few items set out for specific peoples... but, he wasn't against another thief falling victim to his cursed items.

👻However, you surprised him. Just looked for the bathroom door, went, and then headed right back up to the party. When Mr. Bratt came home, the teens scattered, to cars and into the woods. Harold used this time to torment Allison, his burned, ghostly form shrieking at her. She had screamed in terror, and Isaiah soon found her.

💚You were driving home, but took pity and stopped to help a few of your classmates whose rides had fled. After several hours of dropping people off, you were finally able to get back home. A pair of pale ghostly eyes watched you from the window of your room. No one else had stopped to help their friends, much less strangers. How nice you were...

💚As days went by, and mysterious terrors afflicted the teens of Port Lawrence, you grew close to some of them. A busy body named Margot, a cheer leader named Allison, and a jock named Isaiah. All shared and English class with the new teacher (and owner of the Biddle house), Mr. Bratt. Mr. Bratt was odder at sometimes than others, almost like he was fighting with himself. He was always tired and dark eyed.

👻From deep inside, viewing the world through Mr. Bratt, Harold would observe the teens. It was just as he remembered it, the gossip, the catty looks and the fake smiles. But nothing sickened him more than watching you interact with the others, so sweet and kind, but only friends with the filth in this town.

👻On your end, you really liked Mr. Bratt. He was a funny teacher, always cracking jokes and saying something odd. He always gave you perfect grades, which was odd because you noticed you had gotten a few questions wrong when you would compare projects and assignments to classmates. Still, he was a great teacher.

💚Harold wasn't a fool. He had always been smart when he was alive, and his evil intentions had made him no less cunning. He knows he can't pursue you romantically as long as he's possessing a teacher. He'd rather not get his possession vessel arrested and sent to jail. He doesn't want his house empty, not right now.

👻When he heard you had taken up the role of a tech member for the drama department, he formed a plan. The old elevator platform to the schools abandoned basement was 'accidentally' left open, a gaping hole in the dark of the stage.

💚You unfortunately weren't aware of this, and had stayed late to finish some lighting set up. As you close up and turn out the overhead lights, the floor had felt as those it disappeared beneath you. As you plummet, you let out a pitch scream. It wasn't a long fall, not even that deep, but it hurt. Your hips and ankle were aching, throbbing, and red hot tears had begun to stream from your cheeks. You felt to scared to stand or move, but it was late. How were you supposed to get out of here?

👻As you whimpered, you heard a sound in the silence. Just then, a sound from the side. It sounded like a creaking floor panel.

"H-hello? Is someone there?" You called out fearfully. A boy, haired curly and tall looms over you. His eyes have dark circles, his face almost blends into the shadows of the basement, but... you chalk it up to blurry vision and bad lighting.

💚"Aw... how'd you end up down here?" He asked, voice low and slow as he had tilted his head. "I'm on tech crew, I fell. I think my ankle is... twisted or something. Could you help me?" She asks.

"Of course..." he drawled. His eyes darkened and a grin tugged at his cheeks as he said the next statement. "What kind of sick, sick monster would leave someone to die in a basement, all alone?" He said. You gulp and chuckle awkwardly. "Well, it's just my ankle. Don't think I'm dying." You joked.

👻"Course not. Come on." He had extended his hand to you, and hoisted you up against him with surprising strength. Despite the soft flannel shirt he was wearing, his skin felt frigid to the touch, yet oddly warm, an icey burning sensation could be felt where his hand was still on your arm.

"Should be a lever... right over-" he looks around, the snaps his fingers and points. "Right there." You had both hopped on the platform. "How'd you know how to get out of the basement, I heard it's been blocked off like, forever." She asks.

💚"I guess I just, know more than other people." He shrugs. Once he had helped you out of the school, you had gone to your car. Fidgeting with your keys, you faced away from him as you unlocked your car. "What did you say your name was?" You ask.

👻"Doesn't matter. Just a friend." When you turn to him with a confused look, he's gone. You looked around, but tired, you drove from the lot.

💚Back at the Biddle Manor, while Mr. Bratt tried to get a peaceful night of sleep without being possessed for once, Harold is in the basement, playing with the Polaroid camera Isaiah had tried so hard to destroy. He wonders, can it just take normal photos if he wills it too? He has other things to attend too, he can't always watch you, but he'd love a few pictures of you.

👻Even if the camera could only take pictures of your fate, maybe it wouldn't bother him too much. What would the future hold? Would you be with him? He hoped so, but the idea of what he could see that would displease him swayed him away from that path. No, he'll stick to watching you through Bratt, when he can, or through your windows on those precious nights you leave a curtain open.

💚As he sits in the room of his demise, he looks at his hands, black char marks occasionally appearing. For once, he doesn't focus on the burning rage and actual burning feeling that courses through his body. No, this warmth is softer. The warmth from when you touched him and he touched you. Contact, from someone who cared. Someone who he saw every private moment of, just to ensure that you had only pure intentions with everyone you met. Would you betray him if you knew, what he was like, who he was? He shakes his head. No. He holds all the cards now. He won't be weak ever again, he won't let you slip away.

👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚👻💚

General bonus hc's:

💚Harold only wears what teens at Port Lawrence high now think of as 'grunge'. Oversized sweatshirt, flannels, loose pants. He has never once brushed his hair, even when he was alive. He doesn't hate that grunge is popular now though. He enjoy leaving a flannel or a Jean jacket in your closet, hoping you'll assume one of your parents gifted it to you.

👻You can always tell when his ghost in nearby, even if he's not visible there are tells, even if you don't realize what they are pointing too. You might feel a stinging if he passes by, a side effect of the pain from his burns. The smell of smoke and dark room chemicals fills the air if he's around, and you feel like your being watched.

💚He'd like to kiss you, or hold you, but he's not ready to even attempt that, much less a real introduction. He's got a lot going on right now. For now, you'll only see him around town, at night when your alone. At a bus stop? Oh, that mysterious boy from the other night us passing by. Buying a snack? He's got some spare cash. Walking home alone at night? Good thing his lanky silhouette can be seen leaning out from under a streetlight. Don't worry, he'll walk you home. You wouldn't believe the sort of monsters that live in this town, that lurk. It's enough to give you goosebumps...

You wonder why you always forget to ask his name...

[rius-cave]

There's this Sir Peatious angst theory that after you get redeemed or reborn you don't remember what your life was like before you got reborn, in Sir Peatious's case he wouldn't remember his egg boys or the hotel or cherry bomb (you can see how that would make for some killer angst), but what if this happens with sinner Adam? He would probably still hate Lucifer for everything that happened in the garden and still think of himself as the “Dickmaster” but he wouldn't remember Lute, or the extermination, and even what happened to Vaggie, do you think he would view the sinners or even hell itself differently now? Would he hate Lucifer even more? How would he view Charlie's goal of recommendation for sinners in a more positive light? I would love to know your thoughts :)

P.S. Sorry for the long ask btw you don't have to answer all or any of my questions but I would really appreciate your input

I've seen art of this! Ooohhoho it hurts soooo good, this fandom loves angst so much

And don't worry about long asks, I've gotten some novels here lmao

I gotta say, this is definitely a great adamsapple scenario! Okay so, my personal headcanon is that Adam died being an *actual* good person. If Sir Pentious getting redeemed is anything to go by, I think whoever is doing "divine judgement" is actually judging fairly.

So when Adam died, he was actually a pretty decent guy all things considered. What really made him as rotten as he is today was seeing humanity fall deeper and deeper with every year and, of course, being coddled and spoiled in heaven, with everyone constantly telling him how special and amazing he was. In Heaven, there were no longer consequences, so every time he fucked up (which he did a lot of as a human) there were no repercussions, he just got praise after praise! Eventually, this enabled worse and worse behaviors because none of it was getting corrected.

That means that if Adam loses all his memories from Heaven, he'd actually be a decent human being again. However, his resentment towards Lucifer is much older than that lol, and in fact, having only suffered in Earth, and without 10000 years to mellow out his anger, that means that his resentment would be FRESHER and more bitter.

Finding out he's in hell and, above everything, all the DEBAUCHERY and CHAOS that hell has, it would give him a mix of anger, disappointment and depression. He has no genocidal tendencies yet, so I'd imagine he'd feel all of his hope leave him. He'd think, "what was all my effort for, then?" All his effort raising his children, teaching them what's good and wrong, only to realize that it was all for nothing.

The difference between coming to terms with this reality across 10000 years versus being hit with it ALL AT ONCE is abysmal. It sends him spiraling down even worse than his own fall, or the time skip. It destroys his soul.

He'd hate Lucifer more, but above all, he'd hate himself with a fiery passion.