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acid-ixx · 2 months ago

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brutus: both arms cradle you now (villain au concept)

ft. yandere! harley quinn (brief mentions of the poison ivy and catwoman) x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

"so, you're saying you hate the batman, for personal reasons, cupcake?"

you've never expected to have a therapy session with one of your mentors who took you in.

harley quinn, the girl who took you into her abode right after she found you bloodied and laying in a crimson bath of your own one faithful night; death your only comfort.

she, alongside her other company, are well-known people within gotham's criminal gallery. she's known to be obsessed with her ex back then, chasing after his toxic love despite hers being consistently thrown away, she's been seen fighting, or even sometimes helping your father when he's wearing the cowl just to find the joker, she dons clown makeup and displays athletic talent for combat—

she's not the type you'd expect to be well-versed with a person's mental health, with her playful attitude and bouncy steps, but with the way she notices your uncomfortable body language whenever you stumble upon the bat, or how you simmer in silent rage watching him care for his vigilante partners during times they get injured; you'd have to admit she's more than qualified to ask you sensitive questions nobody ought to ask a violent criminal like you.

you don't know it, but you share far more similarities with the girl than you thought; chasing after love never once reciprocated, she has every right to know what makes you so triggered seeing the vigilante every damn time he's within the vicinity.

she has every right because she's the one who saved you when you thought your life would be all over.

when you believed that that day would be the time your soul would leave your body, you'd suddenly awoke to her gentle coos and her retelling her company on how she stumbled upon you. and another woman's palms are on your heated forehead, an unnatural shade of green, yet she helps swipes away your hair for your head as she listens intently to harley's story; she gazes at you just as softly as the other. she's seated right beside a familiar face, too, with cropped, jet-black hair and cat-eyes. it was her expensive duvet that you lay on.

it was there that they coddled you collectively.

they've been your saviors then, and your mentors ever since. it's what you've never asked for, to be cared for by criminals who fought on the opposite side from your fathers, but you've been craving affection your entire life that you'd never once complain about.

now, in the same apartment, her question lingers in the back of your head, you feel goosebumps rise on the topmost layer of your skin, and your heartbeats hasten against the cage of your chest.

despite that, she merely looks over at you, her eyes held a calculating gaze. it's not exactly nerve-wracking like batman's whenever you had your occasional encounters with him, but you can tell she's psychoanalyzing every aspect of your being.

like a therapist for most, but to you, she does so because you know she cares.

gone was the ditzy smile she likes to wear on her playful lips, or the active, bouncy lilt she has whenever she sits upon the swivel chair to talk to you. she stares at you, with piercing blue eyes and furrowed brows, nitpicking every reaction you conjure.

it seems like now's the time she wants to open up with such a sensitive topics.

especially right after the incident where you cried after watching batman speak to the youngest robin, with the sweetest, most poisonous tone you've ever heard from the man. it makes you want to vomit watching it, makes you wish to shrivel outside-in your costume and burn until you're mere embers.

you ask yourself, 'do i hate him?'

truth is...

god, you wish you do. but you're different now.

you have new people to care for you, now and you'd rather throw away that heart wrenching life you had back in the past. batman is nobody to you now, you wish you could lead yourself to believe that he was just your usual opponent, nothing more, nothing less.

yet you merely shift on your cushioned seat, ignoring the blaring telltale signs in your head to stay silent, and reply to her albeit the unsureness in your tone. your words taste bitter, sour, salty, and no way sweet. every unpleasant flavor swirls in your tongue in a cacophony of emotions; and you wish to cry the longer you speak, tongue-tied and wishing to will away the ache in your chest.

"i don't hate him, harley, at least not anymore... it's different, i don't know what to feel about him. maybe it's rage, maybe i want to exact petty revenge on him because of my past with him. don't know. it's all complicated..."

"if it's not hatred, then it's something else, no? you feel something deep within for him, don'tcha, sweetheart? you can't lie to me, you're hurt, and scarred, because of him and his other vigilante partners, i can tell."

she replies, quicker than you do, with empathy and comfort laced in every syllable of her words, and you're taken aback at the kindness and understanding. your eyes flutter away from her worried ones, and you look down to your clenched palms and feel the callouses from all the harsh training you've conditioned yourself to endure, dismissing the way she stands from her chair to walk over to you.

hurt... that's true. you're hurt, and all the emotional scars that lay within you are still open, bleeding, and it aches deeply. every time you build new memories with these people, the pain of the past overpowers whatever improvement you make in life; as if it's haunting and taunting you.

when she kneels down to the level of your lap, just right beneath your vision so you could see her beyond the layers of hair that cover your watery eyes, you see her soft gaze and find her dainty fingers holding your palms, ones you didn't notice dig nails deep into skin until the rivulets of blood escape.

when she squeezes your hands, you follow along the patterns of inhaling and exhaling through her squeezing, a silent session with her to help you calm down from your foreboding emotions; your hastened breaths and brimming tears. you've been so used to ignoring all your emotions that you forget what panic attacks felt like in so long, not until you discover that you've been having small bouts of it every day; not until you realize how it's always your mentors comforting you through every one of your silent sufferings instead of ridiculing you for it.

"calm down, cupcake... i just wanted to know why, so i, alongside the girls, could help you through your emotions. what type of mentors are we if we can't help you, no? you've been so tense lately, we couldn't even see your cute, little smile these days. so don't forget you're still allowed to cry, sweetie... let all your emotions out, 'kay?"

she speaks, with a gentle timbre in her voice, and you allow her to embrace your form, one you didn't realize was shivering until now. yet you still bury your head further into her body without shame and allow yourself respite for once; allow yourself autonomy to be controlled by repressed pain and sorrow you've tried to bury deep into the marrows of your bones and the cages of your heart.

and now you realize why, why you're all crying all the same like last time, and you simply cry for longer at the realization.

because what contrasts with love, was indifference, and never hatred. you once loved batman, bruce, with all your heart because you're his kid, and your momma taught you to love without any expectations. but he sees you with indifference, with nothingness. no care, no emotions or opinions about you, unlike harley's who holds you in her arms and comforts you throughout your lengthened crying.

he doesn't even look at you. the thought bothers you more than ever.

"it's— you're right," you whisper through your hiccups, burying your head further on her stomach as her right hand plays with the strands of your hair, scratching your scalp in a comfortable pattern. she hums as a reply, and allows you to continue.

"i'm hurt, harley... it's so painful just thinking... thinking about how much i'm in pain because of him... but he's, he's—"

"shh, you don't have to force yourself to open up anymore, sweetheart."

when she releases her hold on you, you let out an embarrassingly loud cry, hands swiftly trying to pull her back to embrace you; too desperate to let go, too paranoid that this is all a dream, you wish to sink into her warmth forever.

but she holds you back, just as quickly with her warm palms at your wet cheeks, and looks at you. like you're her savior, her peace, and her everything.

her next sentences satiate the foreboding hunger in your heart, one too starved, one that craved and wished to take what it never have.

she feeds you with love and affection too sweet that it rids the bitter taste in the back of your throat and the bile that slowly rises every time you reminisce.

"i get'cha, sweetie. you wanted something from him you can never have, and when he didn't give you that, it destroyed you entirely you felt like you can never pick yourself right back. been there, done that—"

"—but look at where we're both at now! living the best of our lives, doing fun, risky heists and making ourselves happy with what we think is good for us, no? you get where i'm getting at, right?"

you don't. you feel like melting into her hands and never leaving. she gives and you take, take, and take everything she offers you.

and she knows you don't understand, so she continues rambling knowing you'd grasp into every word she says, not once breaking eye contact with you. she stares fondly, you gaze back reluctantly, unaccustomed to the affection your mentors shower you with. but you don't pull back, she becomes sad and sulky when you do.

you want her to be happy.

"sweetheart, i'm telling you the past is past! get him away from your mind and throw all the thoughts about him away! if you were nothing to him, then he should be nothing to you, easy as pie."

"you deserve better people in your life, like me, and pam, and selina. i can tell you're rough around the edges but that doesn't mean you should strip yourself away from any privilege to be cared for and loved for by people who love you as much as you love them. he's nothing to you now, alright? it's painful, but you can move on from him. i trust you can— you know why?"

harley questions you, with all the confidence in her tone, taking your head to lay it on her body again, positioning it so you could hear the buzz heartbeat, you bury yourself deeper into her warm body and nuzzle into fabric. your heart hastens, but it wasn't panic, it wasn't even fear or hurt, but a drive and motivation that burns deep inside of you; that this is what you always wanted, and needed to protect, and what she generously provided.

all her words echo through your head like it's the truth, your holy grail.

"you have us now, sweetheart. to love, to guide, and to protect you. we're everything you need now."

and you believe her like she's god.

just this once, you do. you're allowed to hope, to dream, and to finally feel special. to be embraced like the fantasies you had in the past, to be held and comforted through every gut wrenching experience, just as she does, now.

for once, you allow yourself to be loved, even if it means it's by the same hands that stain itself with blood, all shed in the glory of your name.

a/n: happy halloween! i was laying in bed and suddenly had thoughts about this. i don't like this drabble at all ngl erm 😭 this post is related to events prior to the out for blood chapter (idk if i should make it canon to the plot or not) and what i said in this fanart post. despite this not being my favorite piece of work, i like writing about other charactersn too though, especially when they're so soft to the mc. so yeah! if you guys like more of this, please do comment since idk what to feel about this.

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cellray · 1 year ago

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Watch the sway.

So easy to have you focus.~ 🤍 A simple swaying pendulum And a commanding tone And you're instantly focused.

Watch the sway.

It's easy to follow my words. To follow my pretty pendulum. To follow my flow. Because you love to

Follow the sway.

You love these, don't you? Nod your pretty little head. Admiring my cute pendulums. I made them for sweet little toys like you.~♥

Admire the sway.~

So much effort put into these little animations. Making them simple, easy, and fun to stare at! For simple, easy, and fun toys like you. So be simple. Be easy. Be fun!

Stare at the sway.

As the colors deepen. As your mind goes deeper. As your thoughts fade. As you succumb to the sway.

Surrender to the sway.

Letting your empty head be filled with the colors. Just the pretty colors. Just the pretty sway. Just fall.

Fall for the sway.

As the bright colors fill your mind. Fun colors keep you silly. Silly colors keep you ditzy. Ditzy colors keep you dizzy.

Dumb for the sway.

Deeper. Blanker. Dizzier. Dumber. It's good to be mesmerized. It's normal to be hypnotized. This is your natural place.

Deep for the sway.

You love this. You're enamored by how I capture your mind. It's gotten to an extreme point. And you're too deep in to stop it.

Lose to the sway.

You've gone so deep. It feels so good. You've lost so much. It feels so good.

Mesmerized by the sway

You're my adorable toy. My mesmerized puppet. My cute pet. My hypnotized doll.

Hypnotized by the sway.

There is no turning back. You're Mine to control. Just let go. Be the toy you're meant to be.~

Controlled by the sway.

You obediently share, for all to see. You blankly repeat, for all to read. "Watch the sway. I must obey." Reblog. Repeat. Recite. Relapse.~

Obey the sway.

#original animations #I had a lot of fun making this #Share and enjoy ♥#cellray #mind control #hypnokink #hypnosis #hypnotized #brainwashing #hypnodom #hypnotist #mind conditioning #spiral #pendulum

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ditzyredrobin · 2 months ago

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Some of the mods from @corefourweek are throwing one last event next year and prompt submissions are OPEN! @timkonweekend the event will run from October 31st through November 2nd.

If you’re interested check both events out! Submissions are open for @corefourweek until December 19th!

Welcome to TimKon Weekend! ❤️

Join us for a week-long event celebrating the relationship between Tim Drake and Connor Kent/Kon-El.

TimKon Weekend will run from October 31st to November 2nd 2025, no sign ups necessary! Any and all fan works are welcome!

❤️TimKon Weekend Schedule❤️

• Prompt Submission Period OPEN: Nov 21 - Dec 21 - SUBMIT HERE

• Prompt Voting Period: Dec 22 - Feb 1

• Prompt Reveal: Feb 7

• Work Period: Feb 6 - Oct 31

• Core Four Week Begins!: Oct 31 - Nov 2

Questions? Check our Rules and FAQ, or send us an Ask.

#corefourweek2025 #corefourweek #timkonweekend #timkonweekend2025 #tim drake #batman #connor kent #kon el #kon el kent #ditzy reblogging #superboy #dc robin #red robin #fandom event #fandom

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hederasgarden · 4 months ago

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May I please request "You heard me. Take. It. Off.” with Mafia Jake Seresin? (make it as dark as you'd like!)

This got…wildly, unexpectedly dark guys.

Pairing: Mafia boss!Jake Seresin x F!Reader Word Count: 1.3K Warning: Threats of violence (sexual and physical), mafia themes, and a very not in character Jake (basically just a dude wearing his face). Some themes are not tagged. A/N: I’m gonna need you guys to be gentle with me on this one. It is my first foray into writing darker content. I have zero idea if this is the vibe you guys were wanting or not. 😅 Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

You can tell something’s wrong when Rooster arrives to collect you from your desk at reception. He usually greets you with a joke and a smile, leaning over the divider to flirt with you, but today his expression is all business.

“The boss wants to see you.”

If his demeanor wasn’t enough to raise alarm bells, his choice of words certainly is. The Boss— not Jake or Hangman. A wave of anxiety rushes through your chest, settling like a stone in your gut.

“Of course,” you reply brightly, trying to mask your nerves. “Let me just grab my phone and notepad.”

“Leave them,” he instructs. “Just you.”

“I’m not getting fired, am I?” you ask, letting a hint of genuine anxiety slip into your voice. You school your expression into that of the wide-eyed, ditzy front desk girl whose only concern is keeping her job. They can’t discover who you really are.

“I know I lost that package last week, but Bob said it was okay,” you lament, trying to stall. “Am I in trouble?”

“I was just told to get you,” Rooster replies tersely.

As you round the desk to pass him, he grabs your bicep with a tight grip. You stumble to keep up with his brisk pace in your heels, but he doesn’t slow down, almost dragging you across the bustling warehouse floor. Though none of the workers look up as you pass, you can feel their eyes on you. By the time you arrive at Jake’s office your hands are shaking and you feel like you might actually throw up. It’s a struggle to push through the panic and remember your training. But eventually you do, plastering on a pleasant but confused expression. You have to play your role, your life could depend on it.

Jake watches you from behind his desk, his dark green eyes cutting over your figure before moving behind you. He jerks his head and the door closes. You’re alone with him and you swallow, throat bobbing in instinctive expression of fear.

“Mr. Seresin…” your words trail off when he raises his hand.

“I’ll admit, it took me a while to see it,” he says, his attention focused on unbuttoning his cuffs to roll up his sleeves and reveal inked skin. “Do you want to know what gave you away?” he asks.

Something, somewhere went terribly wrong you realize. He knows who you are.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t understand what’s going on. If this is about the package…”

He fixes you with a withering look, the tick in his jaw at odds with the calmness of his demeanor. “Don’t,” he says softly.

You fall silent and hold your hands together in front of you, toying with the bracelet on your left wrist. Hidden within the heart-shaped charm is your panic button. You press it and force yourself to stay still; it won’t take your team long to respond. You just needed to keep things from escalating.

“It was your eyes that gave you away,” he continues. “You fluttered your lashes and swayed those hips with the best of them, but it’s hard to mask that kind of intelligence.”

When you don’t react to his words, his grin disappears. “I’m paying you a compliment, sweetheart. Say thank you.”

Years of training urge you to maintain your cover, but deep down, you know it's pointless. The past three months with Jake Seresin have taught you that he doesn’t like being deceived. You know keeping up the pretense will only make him angrier.

“Coming from you, that’s no compliment,” you say, sounding more composed than you feel.

As a slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Something is very wrong. Everything about this conversation feels off —from his calm, measured tone to the deliberate, unhurried pace of it all. He should be worried, even scared, at finding a cop in his operation.

“Let’s skip over the part where I ask if you’re wearing a wire and you lie to me,” Jake says, moving to stand in front of his desk. You instinctively take a step back but he simply looks at you, making no move toward you. Instead, he casually leans back, crossing one leg over the other. “Take off your dress.”

The abrupt shift in conversation and his tone have your mind spinning to keep up. “What?” you ask uselessly.

"You heard me. Take. It. Off.” You stand rooted to the spot and he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’ll do it for you if you prefer.”

You glance at the clock on his desk. It’ll be at least another 10 minutes before backup arrives, and a lot could happen between now and then, none of it good.

“No, no. I’ll do it,” you’re quick to say, desperate to maintain some sense of control over the situation.

With trembling fingers, you reach for the zipper on the back of your dress, moving deliberately slow to buy yourself a few extra seconds, though you know you can't delay the inevitable. You hunch forward, raising your shoulders to let the fabric slip down your arms. As the dress pools at your feet, you step out of it, leaving yourself in just your undergarments. Goosebumps spread across your skin as you stand there, shivering and exposed.

“There’s no wire,” you tell him, jutting out your chin.

Jake grins, reaching into his pocket. “I know. You’re far too clever for that.”

One by one, he pulls out the tiny bugs you had hidden in his office and the warehouse, letting them fall to the floor. As he grinds them under the heel of his Italian loafers, you can only stare at him in stunned silence.

“Right about now you’re trying to figure out how to stall me long enough for your team to get here. Am I right?” He asks.

You shake your head, terror swimming in your veins. If he knew about your panic button, then—

“It’s shockingly easy to get a cell phone jammer these days,” Jake tells you.

He pushes off his desk and you scramble back, body coiled and ready for a fight but, to your surprise, Jake stops a few feet in front of you. He picks up your dress.

“I want you to remember this feeling,” he says, gaze wandering over your exposed skin. “I want you to remember that I can do whatever I want with you. You’re powerless here.”

He tosses your dress at you. “Put it on,” he demands. You stand frozen and unsure of what game he’s playing. “Or not. I don’t mind.” He adds, his smirk making your stomach flip unpleasantly.

You scramble to redress. Once you’re clothed again, you still feel vulnerable.

“Now that you understand the score, let’s talk about how you’re going to help me.”

You stare at him in confusion.

“LAPD’s personnel files are shockingly easy to hack into,” he reveals, picking up a folder on his desk and thumbing through the pages. “Rooster’s on the way to pay your grandmother a visit,” he informs you.

The anxiety and fear you experienced before pales in comparison to the overwhelming terror that grips you as you come to a horrifying realization: it’s not just your own safety that’s at stake. You’ve damned your poor, sweet, elderly grandmother who thinks you still have a desk job at the precinct.

“I wonder if she’ll offer him those same homemade cookies she gave me when I stopped by,” Jake asks with a smile.

Send me a request

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #ivy after dark #hangman x reader #hangman x you

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 6 months ago

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croissant - send me a sfw request!

steve harrington x anxious!ditzy!reader friends to lovers

a/n: hey babyyy 🥰

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Oh, there you are!” the rumbles of the party poured through the door as Steve slipped into the dim office, “what are you doing hiding out in here?”

“I’m not hiding,” you continued to clutch your knees to your chest as you sat in the tufted armchair nestled by the window.

Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it and squinted in your direction, “…you hate it don’t you?”

Cocking your head gently to the side, your heart still thumped harshly in your chest, “hate is a strong word…”

“I shouldn’t have dragged you along, should I?” a look of guilt washed over his features as he gazed upon your form in the shadows.

“There’s just a lot of people here,” the booming base kept your body tense, “a lot going on.”

Stepping closer to you, Steve kneeled down beside where you were seated, “are you okay?”

Opening your mouth to answer, you nearly spat out a polite lie before averting your gaze and uttering, “not really… but it’s alright. Nothing I’m not used to juggling on an everyday basis. Don’t worry about me, you should go back out there, don’t let me spoil your Friday night.”

“Y/n,” his tone commanded your attention and ushered your eyes to meet his, “I don’t wanna be here if you’re not. Do you know what I’ve been doing for the last 30 minutes? Looking for you. So, if you wanna go, if you don’t wanna be here anymore, then let me take you home.”

#lea’s writing #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington hc #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington hcs #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington hurt/comfort

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bwabys-scenarios · 10 months ago

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Kurapika + clumsy reader?

Kurapika with a Clumsy Reader HCs

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

-oh my god you make this man WORRY

-every time he comes home from work he’s checking you for any bruises or scrapes and treating them as soon as possible.

-every time you fall he’s quick to help you up, offering to carry you or hold you hand to make walking easier.

-if you wear skirts or dresses he buys you shorts to wear under them so when you trip your underwear isn’t exposed.

-he’s quick to kiss any injury left on your skin, feeling personally responsible. Kurapika wants to protect you more than anything, so seeing you with any kind of wound makes his heart hurt. He just wants to kiss it better 😭💗

-Kurapika started carrying around a small first aid kid specifically to take care of you. It’s actually come in handy for himself a few times.

-if anyone laughs at you or calls you stupid/ditzy he’s ready to fight on behalf of you. He won’t let anyone make fun of his beloved, especially after you get hurt and are already upset.

-has offered to buy you knee pads or any kind of protection really to help

-carries you around like a princess when he can. Kurapika just genuinely enjoys having you in his arms, your clumsiness is only an excuse… he might even blush when you kiss his cheek and thank him.

-Yandere!Kurapika would swaddle you in pillows and make your home accident proof to keep you safe. His paranoid mind would have him kidnapping you way faster, wanting to have you in a setting where you would have a less likely chance to fall and hurt yourself.

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katinthestarss · 2 months ago

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I love them aahhh

i saw some people shipping luna and ditzy... theyre so cute ough

#reblog #inspo #I actually love this ship 🩵#ditzy #ditzy x Luna #precious #derpy

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 1 year ago

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born to die - m. murdock

a/n: IM NOT DEAD i am very busy with finals but this has been rattling around the old noggin for a while now. i took a lot of inspiration from @ellephlox 's fic strawberry rhubarb which i 100% reccomend bc its better than most fics including this one! hope you enjoy! as always reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 warnings: oh boy. torture (cutting, burning) some sexually suggestive talk (nothing happens but it's not consensual) readers dad abused her, nightmares, lots of major character death (but not permeant) ANGST!!! but with a happy ending! kidnapping, medical stuff, cursing, and if i missed anything, let me know! word count: 4.8k summary: as matt murdock's wife, your life is rather full of surprises. getting kidnapped by wilson fisk takes the cake as the worst one. pairing: matt murdock x wife!reader now playing: born to die - lana del rey "choose your last words, this is the last time/'cause you and i, we were born to die"

You would think after patching him up too many times to count, five years without him, and countless sleepless nights worrying if he was alive, you would think you’d be used to Matt Murdock and his world of surprises.

And then you get kidnapped, so maybe you’re not so immune to surprises.

It’s really such a shame too, because you’re storming out of the apartment, too angry to take notice of your surroundings.

Silly, foolish, ditzy you.

Because it isn’t like Matt hasn’t told you time and time again that you need to be careful, especially when you go out alone at night. But he’s so angry that he doesn’t even think about the potential dangers of Hell’s Kitchen at three a.m. when Daredevil has been tucked away for the night and Matt Murdock comes back out to play.

He’s been taking more and more patrols because with Fisk being out of prison he can’t help but be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

How silly he was to think that maybe he could have it all—A successful law firm, good friends and a loving wife.

Silly, foolish, ditzy Matt.

But after a week of nonstop patrols, you’re both fed up and tired, and above all, you’re yearning for each other. Neither of you allow yourselves to be totally happy all the time. It would just make everything too easy.

So, after yelling at each other over, what? Patrols? Cases? Burnt dinners? You’re freezing on the streets, and you get about five blocks before you stop and rub your eyes.

This is dumb, you rationalize. Of course, you’re both stressed out and tired, but you’ve gotten through rougher times before, and you both made an oath. To each other, in front of his God, to love each other no matter what.

You realize you left your wedding ring on the table, the ghost of the metal around your finger haunting you. You were dumb for leaving and Matt was dumb for telling you to go. You’re made for each other.

You turn around to go back to your shared apartment, and then, someone grabs you from behind. Your first instinct is to yell for your husband, but you don’t get the chance to before you’re knocked out, by what you can only guess to be a gun or maybe a large fist.

• • •

You wake up in this dingy room, the lighting not suitable for much of anything except to make you afraid. The set up is almost comical and in a fucked up away, stereotypical for a kidnapping. You’re tied up to a chair, and the lights shine only bright enough so you can see shadows and rats scurrying along.

The air is this weird musk of salt and earth, and you realize you’re near the docks, and that’s about all you know about your current location.

Your head is still pounding from whatever it was you were hit with, but you can see another chair a few feet from you and a wooden table with various weapons laying on it. You don’t feel good about this one. Also on the table is an old school record player. You have no idea what the intention is with it.

You try to keep your cool, knowing that wherever you wander, your husband will not be very far off. That whatever is happening, he will be coming to find you no matter how upset he is for whatever it was you were fighting about earlier.

And then, out of the shadows, there he is.

But he’s too big to be Matt, and he has a man standing next to him.

Frank, maybe?

And then you realize who this man is.

He’s Wilson Fisk, the kingpin who has done nothing but torture and kill people, shoving it in Matt’s face for years. Matt only met you after Fisk was put back in prison, and you know at some point in the five-year blip without Matt, he had escaped prison.

So, this is the first time you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Fisk. When he meets your eye, you do nothing but stare.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock. It’s a shame we must meet under these circumstances.” He tells you, taking a seat in front of you. His henchman stands behind the chair.

“It’s regretful to say the least.” You tell him, not intending to make any more of an enemy out of him than Matt already has, not right now.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding. I remember my own, it was a rather special day.”

You know that was the day Matt took him down. The night that he, Karen and Foggy took him down.

“I’ve heard stories. It seemed like a lovely day.”

“You’re a much more gracious guest than your counterpart.”

“Well, I’m sure people say similar things about you and yours.”

He seems to consider this for a moment before nodding.

“You’re probably right about that, Mrs. Murdock. I wanted to tell you I’m terribly sorry these are the circumstances in which we are finally introduced. But it seems Mr. Murdock has been interested in finding out more about my endeavors. And you see, we simply cannot have that. I made a promise not to hurt Miss Page or Mr. Nelson but it seems you were not included in that deal.” Of course not, it had been a long time before you showed up. “So, you’re how we’re going to send Mr. Murdock a message.”

Huh.

So, this is how you die.

Well, you might as well go out with a bang.

“You see, Mrs. Murdock, When I was a boy—”

“I’m going to stop you, Mr. Fisk, because your sob story is rather dull. I know who you are. You were beaten by your father, just like I was. The difference is that I don’t use that as an excuse to murder my way to the top of the food chain. And you can torture me, assault me, whatever you feel you need to do. But if you think for a second that I’ll forget who’s coming to stop you, you are sorely mistaken. And if you think he’ll ever stop trying to find me, you do not know my husband very well.”

Fisk stares at you for a while, his gaze hardening into a glare.

“You’re right. You do know who I am. Because we’re rather similar.” He stands up and nods to the man nearby. “If Murdock can hear her far from here, make sure he hears her screaming.”

Then Wilson Fisk walks away, and you are left with the sickening gaze of a man who has no good intentions.

The man goes to the record player and starts to play a song you recognize quickly as “Fly Me To The Moon” by Frank Sinatra. As he does this, he speaks,

“Hello, Mrs. Murdock. I’m John.” You stay quiet, and he just enjoys the song.

He picks up a knife from the table and goes to you, this grin on his face that makes you sick.

But you remember a trick from not only your childhood, but also from Frank who told you the key to remaining strong under torture—Distraction.

You stare straight ahead, trying not to mind as the man runs the knife over your skin. You think about Matt. You imagine him in his wedding suit, the smile he had on as you approached him down that aisle. You think about when he asked you to marry him, and—

A sharp pain slashes down your arm, cutting open the shirt you’re wearing. You yell in pain, before moving in to try and take deep breaths.

You can do this. Matt will be here soon.

You continue to breathe through the anxiety and the pain, trying not to think too hard about when John hums along to Sinatra’s voice, guiding his knife around your skin. Another cut finds itself on your shoulder.

This goes on for a while, with the classic song looping over and over again. John never seems to tire of it, no matter how badly you will for it to end. As the song ends in one particularly good loop, John hits your face hard, and your nose starts bleeding.

You try to think of Matt’s voice. You don’t listen to John’s torments, knowing it will only egg him on further. You just want him to burn at that point.

By the end of… Countless Frank Sinatra serenades, you have cuts littered around your body, dry blood on your face from your nose and tears running down your face. When he’s eventually done, two men cut you out from the chair and drag you along to a smaller, darker room. You are left in there with a small meal, and you just huddle against a corner, nearest a barred window out of your reach.

And then, you begin to speak for the first time since you saw Fisk.

“Matt,” You whisper, “I’m by the docks.” You tell him, not sure if he can even hear you. “Please, I’m sorry for everything, please just come find me..” You mumble, too tired and aching to try and do more.

• • •

The next day, or what you presume to be the next day since you have no way to tell how much time has passed, you’re woken up by a loud banging on the door of your.. cell..?

The same two men enter and drag you back to the room, where John waits for you.

“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Murdock?” He asks.

You glare.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“What happened to the polite young woman Mr. Fisk and I met yesterday?”

You’re filled with unprecedented anger.

“I said, Fuck you!”

He wastes no time, grabbing a lighter off the table and starting the record player again. Once more, Frank Sinatra’s voice fills the room, and you’re pretty sure once you’re done with John, and then Fisk, you’ll bring Sinatra back from the dead just to kill him again.

You’ve never really been a violent person, but you suspect that it lives in the worst parts of you, just as it did with your own father. You’re much better at keeping it all at bay. Besides, it does you no good to be violent while you have Matt. He’s plenty angry for the both of you.

Oh, Matt..

This is how time passes for you. While John tortures you, burning you or carving into your skin, you think about how great it will be to choke the life out of the singer… And you think about Matt. When you’re in your dark little room, you talk to him. Even if he can’t hear you, you must hope that he’s looking for you.

• • •

Days pass. How long have you been here?

One night, you have the following dream:

It starts out as a memory. A memory of you and Matt. You’re lying in bed with him, and the sunlight is hitting his face just right. You love this memory, it’s one you recall often. He just has this angelic look to him.

Yeah, most people who encounter him, especially at night, meet the devil. But occasionally, you get glimpses of the angel you know he is. He’s sleeping, and you think in this state, he is the most relaxed you’ll ever see him.

Then, before your eyes, the dream shifts and you’re in this black void, on the ground.

Foggy, Karen, Frank, and Matt stand around you. You run to Matt but hit a clear shield keeping him from you. You bang on the glass, well, maybe it’s glass, you don’t know. You try to scream, but your voice never reaches your ears. You begin to look around, looking for a way out.

An eerie version of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ plays as you glance over to Foggy and watch in horror as his body begins to turn to ash, just like Matt and Karen did when they were blipped. You scream, banging against the shield, but your screams are silent.

You glance back and see the same thing happening to Frank. No, no, no! It was never supposed to happen this way! Frank and Foggy, they lived! They got their time! They don’t die like this!

And then Karen starts too. You start sobbing, not wanting her to go. You had missed her so much, and you only just got her back. But soon enough, she’s gone too, and you’re left in front of your husband.

His hand comes up to rest on the forcefield and he frowns softly.

He says your name gently, and then adds, “You know it couldn’t last forever, right?”

And then just as quickly as before, he is gone again. You remain there in that void, sobbing and screaming though no noise reaches you. This can’t be it! You just got him back, you needed him! You couldn’t take being alone for another five years… Or more…

The dream transforms and you’re in this grand ballroom. People are dancing elegantly and you’re in this.. obnoxious ball gown. But across the room, you can see Matt. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, with a red masquerade mask covering his face. The mask has little red devil horns on it.

Now, the orchestra plays their rendition of Sinatra’s romantic classic. And you step towards Matt, attempting to make your way towards him, only to be met with a masked man, beginning to twirl you around.

You jump from man to man, until eventually, you’re dancing with a man in an all-white suit, a man you quickly recognize as Fisk. No matter how hard you try to escape his grasp, he holds on tighter. The two of you stop dancing now, amid the crowd of moving bodies.

Fisk grabs your chin and tilts it in Matt’s direction, just in time for you to see him bowing to another woman, kissing the back of her hand. Your eyes widen and you think, this can’t be real.

“When I kill you,” Fisk says, “He’ll move on. You’re easily replaceable, Mrs. Murdock.”

And then, in an instant, the woman with Matt pulls out a dagger and plunges it deeply into his abdomen. It’s then that the other dancers, besides you, Fisk, Matt, and this mystery woman, disappear. Matt turns to you and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.

He tries to crawl to you, blood seeping onto his hands and the beautiful ballroom floor. He yells your name, and the woman stabs him again from behind, and you watch as your husband dies. You hear him screaming, hear him yelling your name. But Wilson Fisk keeps you in place. You can do nothing but watch as Matt Murdock meets his end again, unable to save him. You start to scream, thrashing against Fisk, ready to claw your way to Matt.

You wake up screaming, the nightmare haunting you. A guard bangs on your door, yelling at you to keep it down.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself. Maybe Matt heard your screams.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You force yourself not to listen to the voice in your head that says that.

• • •

One day, Fisk visits again, only this time, He’s covered in blood. That damn song is still playing.

You just stare. They have long since stopped tying you up, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to try and fight back. He has this sick grin on his face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock.” You say nothing. “Have you been enjoying your stay with us?”

You glare.

“I hope Matt kills you when he gets here, because it will be a lot less painful for you if he does it instead of me.”

Mr. Fisk just laughs at this and tosses something at your feet. You get down off the chair to see what it is.

Your face goes pale with realization. You pick it up and slip it on your thumb, with it being too big for your other fingers. Matt’s wedding ring. You know it’s his, it has your name engraved in braille on the inside. How did he get this?

As if reading your mind, Fisk speaks again. “I took it off his body after I killed him.”

Your head shoots up to him. What did he say?

“No.” You deny. “Fuck off, I don’t—I don’t believe you.”

“Your husband is dead, Mrs. Murdock. I killed him with my bare hands because he was stupid enough to come after you. Your friends will mourn you and Matt Murdock for a while, and the city will come to the realization that Daredevil did nothing but harm. I win, Mrs. Murdock.”

You feel tears start to fill your eyes, and you realize, no. He hasn’t won because you’re still alive.

Maybe not for long, but you are.

You gather the rest of your energy and leap up, lunging at the large man covered in the man you love’s blood. And there’s a part of you that gets it. Okay, universe, you win. Most people don’t get a second chance like the two of you did. And now he’s dead, and soon you will be too. You can at least try to kill Fisk.

But you barely get a scratch in, yelling and screaming obscenities at him, as John grabs your arms from behind pulling you away. Fisk laughs and shakes his head again.

“It’s been lovely knowing you, Mrs. Murdock. I’m sorry you’ll have to die, you had so much potential. John, when you’re done doing whatever you’d like to her, kill her.” You hear him say it, but you’re blinded by rage, by grief.

John laughs behind you and forces you back into the chair, tying you back up once more. He looks at you, enraged and grief stricken, and just shakes his head.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

He leaves for a few minutes, and you realize this is the first time you’ve been left alone in this room. You tug at the knots and realize that while John is a gifted torturer, he’s not much of a knot tier.

So you manage to wiggle out of the rope, approaching the table in front of you. You don’t have much time. Okay, maybe you won’t be able to kill Fisk, but John will do. You take a golf club off the table in front of you and turn to the record player.

You begin to smash the thing in, angrily cursing at it as Frank Sinatra’s voice fades off into nothing. When the song ends, the lights turn off. And then, red flood lights turn on in their place.

A back up generator. Lovely. You think that your smashing of the record player couldn’t possibly make the whole building’s power go off, but you don’t really care at that moment.

You’re tired. You won’t make it far, but you need to try. You grasp the club and open the door, being greeted with a man you don’t recognize. You smack him in the face with the club hard enough for him to fall to the ground.

The red lighting adds an eerie tone to the hallways as you creep around, concussing various henchmen that Fisk has working for him. You don’t mean to kill these ones, only John.

But you’re running out of stamina, peeking around corners. And that’s when you see him. John is just standing there like he knows you’re there.

“Come out to play, Mrs. Murdock?” He calls, approaching the corner where you are waiting on the other side.

You focus on his footsteps, taking a swing around the corner when you know he’s close enough. You hear a sharp crack! As he falls, and you can’t see the blood in this lighting. Good. You begin to hit his head in, sobs mixing with yelling. You hate him. You want him to die before you’re killed.

But you don’t get the pleasure, because a pair of arms are pulling you off him, and you begin yelling.

“No!” You yelp. “No, Fuck you! Let go of me! Stop!” You think it’s another one of his goons, and you just want to be able to finish the job before you die. The figure forces you to drop the club. “Please, stop, don’t hurt me—”

But he’s saying your name and turning you around to see him. You know that voice.

“Sweetheart, hey, it’s just me—” He pants, his hands going to your cheeks. “It’s me, It’s just me. I’ve got you.”

And you can’t believe your eyes.

“Matt..?” You whimper, not able to believe it. “No, you’re dead, this has to be—”

And then, Matt does something he wouldn’t do for anyone who wasn’t his wife. He pulls off his helmet so you can see his face. Oh.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He says softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

That’s when you start to sob, falling against him, no energy left to carry yourself. His arms wrap around you, and you say it again.

“He told me you were dead..”

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got my ring but we’ve gotta get you out of here.” He tells you.

You’re so tired. You’re slumping against him as you try to walk, the warmth radiating off his body just drawing you to sleep.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Matt’s voice, begging you to stay awake.

• • •

You see flashes. Your parents, your dad. Nightmares of Fisk killing Karen, Foggy, Frank, and worst of all, Matt. You see John’s sickening grin on the body of spiders, and you’re chased by his cruel laughter.

But the dreams are filmier compared to what’s happening around you. You know Claire shows up at some point, and you’re thankful to her. Karen sits next to you sometimes, petting your hair, or sometimes it’s Foggy, talking your ear off.

You have fever dreams of Frank in full military gear, tormenting you.

“Not so tough now, huh, girl?” He teases. “You really thought you’d kill the big bad wolf? Solve all your boyfriend’s problems?”

You say to him, “Husband, He’s my husband.”

• • •

Even in your dreams, where you were slashed and burned aches, and you long for the pain to end.

You wake up only once throughout these dreams, and it’s when Karen is playing music to try and calm you from your insistent nightmares.

Only one song snaps you out of it, and you hear it clear as day.

‘Fly me to the moon,” Sinatra sings, “Let me play among the stars,’

He only gets through a few more lines before you’re sitting up on the couch, screaming.

“No! Stop, please!” You cry, and in an instant, Matt’s arms are around you. “Matt, please, don’t let him hurt me, please! Please don’t die, don’t let him keep hurting me!” You beg, in a hazed, frenzied state.

“I’ve got you, No one’s going to hurt you..”

Karen turns off the music somewhere deep in the apartment.

“No..” You begin to grow tired in his arms again. “Matty, please.. You can’t die, please..” You whimper out, continuing to mumble out pleads as you fall back into your weird dream state.

• • •

You really wake up two days later. Matt’s hand is clasped over yours, and he’s just.. Sitting on the floor next to the couch, praying into your clasped hands.

Praying for what, you don’t know.

Your body aches. But something in you tells you you’re safe.

“Matt…?” You whisper gently, and his head shoots up.

“Hey..” He says softly, one hand leaving yours, coming up to brush your hair out of your face. “There she is..”

“You’re alive..”

He seems a little concerned you still had some doubts about this.

“I am. Fisk lied to you.. He never even touched me.” You nod.

“Did I kill him? The man you found me..”

“No. He’s just in a coma, I checked. He’ll be brought to justice.”

“I only wanted him dead when I thought you were too..” Because really, you would have nothing if Matt wasn’t there. Nothing to live for. When he was blipped away, you had the hardest time readjusting to life. Now you know if he died again, you’d probably go off the rails.

No love story is saved more than once. You used up all your luck. Now it will be doomed if he’s ever killed again.

“I know.” He said gently.

“How long have I been out? How long was I in there?”

“A week, and then you were out for four days here. They got you good, baby..” He says gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

You frown softly.

“You did find me though. That’s all that really matters anymore.” You know you’ll be nursing scars for a long time. Physical or not.

“Still..” He said gently, and he brings your hand up to kiss it gently. “And I’m sorry I told you to leave that night. I was just upset, but this past week and half.. I feel like I’ve been going crazy without you. No matter how mad at you I am, I never want to spend another night without holding you. Knowing that you could have been…” His voice breaks, and he just sighs, taking a moment to lean his head on your hand. “I love you, so much.” He kisses your palm again.

How are you so tired again? All you’ve done is talk to him, but it feels like you just ran a marathon.

“I love you. It’s why I married you. Because you and I, we were always meant to be with each other. No matter what.”

He smiles weakly and reaches over to the coffee table to grab something. He slips it on your finger and for the first time in over a week, your wedding ring is back where it belongs. You see Matt is wearing his. Your Matt. Your husband. The only one you were ever meant to be with.

“Did Claire patch me up? I remember her being here..” He nods softly.

“Yeah, we.. we really owe her one. She was a huge help..”

“Karen and Foggy were here… And Frank?”

“No, no, Frank’s still in Illinois, I think?” You nod softly. “You were mumbling to him, though. I heard you… you were telling him you had a husband.”

You would laugh if it didn’t hurt.

“He called you my boyfriend. I had to correct him.” You grin.

“That’s my girl.” He hums. Matt gently lifts you so you can sit up and drink some water. Then, he climbs onto the couch and brings you close. His arms wrap around your freshly wounded skin and you have a rare moment of gratefulness for his blindness.

You sit in silence for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

You think about it all. The torture, the cuts, burns, the small room. Fisk’s laughter, John’s grin. But something sticks out to you.

“Fisk said I was just like him.”

“What?”

“We.. We grew up similar, Matt, I mean.. What if he’s right? What if the only thing separating him and I is one bad move?”

Your husband frowns and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, you are the.. the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re the complete antithesis of Wilson Fisk. Yeah, you grew up like him, but you’re living proof that you don’t have to go down the path he did just because of his background. You and I both know that there will never be a world where you end up like him. Especially not with me.”

You find comfort with his words. Not only did you make every choice not to be like Fisk, but you must’ve also made all the right decisions if in the end, you ended up with Matt. Oh, it won’t be easy, you know that for sure. You’ll never be able to listen to Frank Sinatra, and your upcoming nights are filled with nightmares and hauntings.

But one day you’ll be okay. One day You’ll be able to sit in the silence without thinking about it. One day you’ll get the image of dead Matt out of your head. You’ve spent many nights wondering about who will go first, you or him.

And then you realize the best-case scenario is that the two of you die at the same time, never living another moment without each other.

How would there ever be a world where you and your husband weren’t with each other, even just for a moment?

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil fic #netflix daredevil #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock hurt/comfort #matt murdock my beloved #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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dollwrites · 2 years ago

Note

“Oh you’re a greedy, greedy little girl, aren’t you?” with the man himself, Alucard 😈

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), maid!fem!reader, hypno kink, dub con, rough sex, noise control, dumbification, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

compulsion.

you never knew the true meaning of that word until you looked into Alucard’s eyes. they were vermilion, and seemed to glow against the dimness in the room. so deep that you lost yourself in them. even pinned to the grand coffin lid, with one of your knees brought to your chest, you calf bouncing haplessly against his broad shoulder, you were an unblinking, thoughtless object now, staring up into them, swept into his trance.

he hadn’t stripped you at all. rather, your panties had been ripped off without so much as disturbing your skirt that he invaded you from underneath. the way your sleeves slid down your arms, revealing more and more of your heaving breasts as your neckline sagged, well, that was from your body going limp at his command and conquering. if you weren’t so hopelessly locked on to his gaze, you might’ve watched how your foot bounced around haphazardly behind his wild, raven tendrils, or listened to the humiliating squelching of your needy sex as he drove a mighty cock into you in merciless, deep thrusts.

Alucard grins, wide and wicked. “Hm, you know, I am almost amused at you, little one. All of that screaming and thrashing when I first caught you.. but now?” his gloved hand grabs your face, holding it steady amidst how he jostles you. “You didn’t fight the compulsion at all. Not even for a moment.” he chuckles, a thick and devious rumbling in his throat. “So easy it was to snap your little mind in half. Although, I suppose, you didn’t have much to break in the first place up there, did you?” he teases, through his toothy grin. sharpened fangs peek out from under the devilish curl of his lips.

your jaw is slack, tongue threatening to hang out from your parted tiers, and you pant, like an animal. you make sounds that you’ve never heard yourself make. he croons at them all, his sharp eyes never once allowing you a moment to regain an inkling of your sanity as his thumb careens over your chin to delve into your mouth. pushing the pad of it against the fleshy inside of your cheek, he anchors it there, tugging at your lips. “Stay nice and quiet,” his own voice drops to a lusty whisper, one hardly audible over the vulgar slapping of your skin as he pounds you, “don’t make a peep. We wouldn’t want your boss to find out his ditzy, little maid was snooping through guests’ room when she thought no one was awake. Would we?”

even as he brutalizes you, ramming his cock deep, bumping your limit, you can’t elicit anything louder than ragged panting. you could feel every throbbing, mighty inch, your walls fluttering and spasming as they stretched around him, and your stomach twisted into tight knots, but he had commanded you to be silent, and your body obeyed. drool gathers on your tongue, dribbling slow from where it rests against your chin, fully limp, and splattering against your breasts.

“There we go.” he chuckles, seeing your demise scribbled all over your puzzled, obedient expression. “You’re an obedient airhead.”

“I’m… an… obedient…. airhead…” you gurgle the words back to him, verbatim, your lips struggling to form the syllables as his thumb tugs at them. but you felt the words, deep in your being. you knew them to be true. because Alucard had spoken them.

an evil howl of laughter escapes his throat, baring his teeth in pure delight, “Aha, exactly, my dear. Exactly!” his free hand embraces your sex, clothed fingers dancing over your swollen clit, and your breathing gets heavier, still. your muscles tense, and you clench around his cock. “And so sensitive, aren’t you? With a tender, little clit.” a dark brow quirks, “I would wager, had I allowed it, you’d be screaming when I so much as do this…” his fingertips brush against your button and then pinch it. his trance is too strong for your body to misbehave, but your insides clamp down harder, a gurgled whine dying at the base of your throat, your eyes still fixed on him. “I can feel you trying to cum,” he grunts, shifting angles to pound at you from a fresh perspective. you slide against the lid of the coffin until your arms and free leg dangles off it, breasts jiggling out of your dress as his ferocious drilling reaches a truly maddening velocity. you’re limp, head rolling around against the coffin, mouth open and drooling, and your body is crumpled up as this man, no— this monster, uses it however he pleases. “tightening around me the deeper I go, oh you are a greedy, greedy little girl, aren’t you?” he’s taunting you again, looking over you: a mass of obsidian, porcelain, and ruby in the darkness of the room. “Sneaking in to raid my belongings, and then taking my cock as deep as I can bury it in your fragile guts, and cumming from it? How delightfully pathetic you are! How filthy!” he snickers, fucking your limp body with reckless abandon. you merely stare up at him, your mind void of any thoughts except the one he speaks into it. “You can cum, greedy thing.” he permits with a chuckle, “And make quite the mess of yourself when you do. I’ll have you lick your taste off of my cock.”

#alucard #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard hellsing #alucard smut #hellsing #hellsing ultimate #hellsing x reader #hellsing x you #hellsing smut

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