#i love how he could go unnoticed and get away with all the murders

[solar-wing]

⚣ Puppy Love: Sweet and Romantic, but also somehow Murderous ❤️‍🔥

⚣❤️‍🔥 A/N → something I started writing while finishing up Shadowing Nightwing. Is this what I imagine my relationship to be like with Jason on a regular basis...absolutely. Absolutely. Am I somewhat delusional and living in a fantasy world? Also, absolutely, but also, mind your fucking business. anyways...! This was inspired from multiple posts and authors, who I have tagged and hyperlinked. @allllium @maj-b-s Thank you for feeding my obsession—ahem—my therapist will be sending you a bill. tee hee... WARNINGS: 18 + MDNI | College Male Reader | Fluff & Humor | Minor Violence (Implied) | Swearing/Crude Language | Smut | Breathplay | Possessiveness/Jealousy | Everyone wants Y/N's man |

⚣❤️‍🔥 Summary → Meet Jason and Y/N: Gotham’s answer to the ultimate “relationship goals”—if your relationship goals involve an overly protective vigilante with a slight obsession for tearing apart his boyfriend’s scandalous wardrobe (and sometimes his coworkers). Their love story? Equal parts intense, adorable, and absolutely chaotic. Jason’s the growling, brooding protector who’d burn the world for Y/N, while Y/N is the sunshine with just enough sass to keep him in check… well, sometimes.

⚣❤️‍🔥 Word Count → 14.5K

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY ❤️‍🔥

If you asked anyone, they might hesitate to admit it outright, but the truth was hard to ignore: people envied Jason and Y/N’s relationship—and who could blame them? From the day those two started dating, they’d been like high-school sweethearts stuck in the honeymoon phase, but with ten times the intensity and none of the restraint. Not to sound bitter or envious—it was just a fact.

They were a painfully adorable couple. Jason was the doting, protective lover, almost to a fault. Sure, it’s a bit of a cliché, but he didn’t exactly help himself with the stark difference in how he treated others versus Y/N. Around everyone else, Jason looked permanently grouchy, as though every conversation he endured was a test of patience he barely passed. His eye-rolls, heavy sighs, and palpable disinterest didn’t go unnoticed; in fact, he made it pretty clear he couldn’t wait to walk away from anyone who wasn’t Y/N.

But the moment Y/N entered the room? Suddenly, Jason had nothing more important in the world. It was almost comical to watch this towering vigilante hang onto every word Y/N said like an overly attached puppy. Actually, that was the perfect way to describe their dynamic: Jason was a huge, lethal teddy bear with a soft spot, and Y/N was the unassuming boyfriend who had no clue how much sway he held over this giant who’d kill for him without hesitation.

Honestly, the best way to describe Y/N was as Jason’s polar opposite. He was social—well, social enough—and that sometimes got on his boyfriend’s nerves, who would’ve preferred to keep Y/N all to himself. It was partly jealousy, partly a possessive urge to monopolize his lover’s attention, but mostly it was Jason’s instinct to shield him from a world that had never been kind to the vigilante. Jason had been hardened by a lifetime of darkness, and he’d go to ridiculous lengths to keep Y/N’s light from dimming.

Not that Jason’s methods were exactly…practical.

“Jason, I get that you want to protect me, but you can’t shield me from everything,” Y/N said, finally sitting his boyfriend down for a much-needed conversation after yet another of Jason’s over-the-top protective stunts. “The only way you could do that would be to wrap me in bubble wrap and lock me away in a cave or something.”

“Trust me, I’ve considered it,” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Y/N blinked, raising a brow.

“Nothing.”

Despite Y/N’s more social nature, he was everything Jason felt he was missing in life. He was the humor, the hope, the optimism Jason rarely allowed himself. And sure, his optimism came with a sprinkle of sarcasm when he was annoyed, but Jason loved that too. In fact, he was so taken by Y/N that it was nearly an obsession—though, to be fair, obsession was kind of expected from someone like him.

Would a therapist call it codependency or maybe some kind of unhealthy dynamic? Probably. But good luck telling Jason that. He’d likely see it as a personal attack—and let’s just say that if you value your life, you might want to avoid bringing it up. You’ve been warned.

But back to the point: Y/N and Jason’s relationship quickly became the kind that made even Y/N’s friends—most of whom were floundering in the love department—wonder just how he’d managed to snag such a devoted and caring guy. It especially made Jason feel appreciated, loved, and genuinely important to someone the way Y/N would never miss a chance to gush about his vigilante boyfriend to anyone willing to listen, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he secretly loved every second of it.

Though, do exercise a bit (lot) of caution, because once the topic turns to Jason, everyone’s in for a long haul—Y/N could and would talk anyone’s ear off that was willing to listen about how amazing his boyfriend is. Just as Jason was obsessed with Y/N, Y/N was equally smitten with Jason, and honestly? Jason wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Alright, Y/N, spill it! I need every detail about how you landed this guy. Don’t hold out on me—give me the exact prayer, word-for-word, quickly!”

“I—uh—well, I—”

“Come on, Y/N! My pen is drying up, and I’m not getting any younger!” His friend slapped a notepad and pen down in front of him, staring him down like he was about to write out a love spell straight from a witch’s spellbook.

“Girl, I don’t even know. The guy just kinda showed up in my life one day and never left,” Y/N shrugged, half-joking, though it was pretty much the truth.

It had all been by chance—well, kind of. If you could call Jason keeping an eye on Y/N “chance.” In reality, he’d been sort of… lurking, for good reasons (or at least reasons he’d justified to himself). It started one night when Y/N was finishing up his work-study shift at Gotham University. Now, calling an Uber would’ve been the smart, safe choice, especially in a city like Gotham. But he lived just 15 minutes away, and spending money on a five-minute ride? Please. He had a budget to consider.

That was before he found himself cornered in a dark alley by three oversized thugs who smelled like the embodiment of an ashtray mixed with cheap beer, a scent so thick it made his eyes water. The kind of men Gotham bred like weeds—rough, desperate, dangerous. Y/N barely had time to process the situation before one of them shoved him against a cold, brick wall, a knife pressing against his throat. His backpack was snatched and dumped unceremoniously onto the wet alley floor, its contents spilling out for their inspection.

His mind raced, paralyzed with fear and regret. He could practically hear his parents' voices reminding him to be cautious, to make smart choices, to avoid walking alone at night in places like this. Irony stung almost as much as the cold steel against his neck—the “responsible” choice would have been to spend that $15 on an Uber, not gamble his safety for a free walk. 

And was the money he’d save really worth risking his life for? Probably not. But hey, that was Gotham for you—always teaching life lessons the hard way. He braced himself, feeling the icy dread of not knowing if he’d make it out alive. Stories like these didn’t usually end well on the news in this city.

But fate, or something like it, had other plans.

Out of nowhere, a low, gravelly voice sliced through the night. “I’d drop the knife if I were you.”

Y/N didn’t dare turn his head, but he felt the tension shift as the thugs looked up, startled. Standing at the mouth of the alley was a figure who seemed to materialize from the shadows—a tall, broad man clad in black and deep red, with a sleeveless hoodie that revealed muscular arms wrapped in red bandages. A mask and hood concealed majority of his face, glowing red eyes staring down the thugs with an intensity that froze them in place. Strapped across his back were two long katanas, and a utility belt around his waist held holsters that almost certainly contained a pair of guns, adding to his already intimidating presence.

Red Hood.

Y/N had heard of him, of course. Gotham’s resident anti-hero, rumored to have a thing for…creative violence. The vigilante’s imposing size was enough to make anyone feel small; he towered over Y/N, his form carved out of muscle and something darker, something hardened. Even the thugs looked ready to wet themselves, and Y/N could feel the goosebumps rise on his skin as he finally dared to look up.

In less time than it took him to blink, Red Hood had closed the distance, dispatching the thugs with an efficiency that would’ve been impressive if it weren’t so, well, terrifying. Knives clattered to the ground, grunts and thuds filled the air, and Y/N just stood there, frozen like a deer in headlights, half expecting to wake up from a weird stress-induced nightmare.

But this was very real, as proven when Red Hood finally turned to him, and Y/N felt his breath hitch. Up close, the vigilante was even more intimidating—a wall of muscle wrapped in dark red and black, those red eyes glowing with an intensity that made Y/N’s knees wobble. There was no denying it; the guy was terrifying. Yet, for some reason, there was a weird, traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispering, He’s kind of hot, though.

“You alright?” The voice was rough, like gravel scraping across metal, but there was an undertone of concern. Red Hood’s gaze softened just a fraction, almost imperceptible, yet Y/N caught it.

“I—I think so,” he managed, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes were wide, and he forced himself not to flinch as Red Hood stepped even closer, the hulking vigilante now looming over him. Up close, he could see the muscles tense beneath the suit, the power radiating off him like heat.

Red Hood’s head tilted slightly, as if assessing him, and Y/N swore he felt like he was being scanned. Which, honestly, was fair. He was some college kid wearing a sweatshirt that said “Gotham U” in block letters, and this guy looked like he wrestled criminals for fun. But instead of feeling like prey, he felt this strange pull, like something was drawing him toward the vigilante. It was probably just adrenaline… or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Red Hood gave a grunt, a sound that could have meant anything from “good to hear” to “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, punk.” But then he leaned down, his helmet casting an ominous shadow over Y/N’s face. “Next time, take the Uber.”

Y/N blinked, the absurdity of the situation hitting him all at once. “Noted,” he replied, deadpan, because honestly, what else could he say?

He should have been scared—terrified, even. But instead, he found himself lingering on every detail: the way Red Hood’s chest rose and fell, the glint of his weapons, the sense of barely restrained danger that rolled off him in waves. And underneath all of that, a strange, quiet thrill that he didn’t quite understand.

Satisfied, Red Hood gave him one last look before he started to turn away, blending back into the shadows. But in a flash of impulsiveness, Y/N called out, “Wait!”

Red Hood stopped, glancing over his shoulder, clearly not used to random civilians asking for an encore. Y/N hesitated, realizing how ridiculous he must have sounded, but the words were already out there, so he figured he might as well keep going.

“Uh… thanks. For, you know, saving me. And also for the life advice,” he added, his voice dripping with awkward humor.

There was a pause—a long, silent pause where Y/N briefly wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. But then, to his surprise, he thought he saw the faintest tilt of amusement in the way Red Hood shifted his stance. Was that… a chuckle? No, probably not. But he’d like to think so.

Red Hood nodded—a subtle acknowledgment—before disappearing into the night, leaving Y/N alone in the alley with nothing but his scattered belongings and a heart that felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. As he knelt down to gather his things, he couldn’t help but survey the carnage of his soggy notebooks and papers, along with his now-broken laptop and tangled, half-shattered headphones.

He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he picked up a notebook that was more mush than paper. “Well, this is fine,” he muttered, trying to keep his spirits up. “Just a little water damage. Adds character, right?”

Then he spotted his laptop, the screen shattered and a piece of it barely hanging on by a hinge. He laughed, a bitter chuckle that held more disbelief than humor. “Guess it’s one way to force an upgrade,” he murmured, stuffing it back in his backpack like a defeated soldier gathering his gear after a lost battle.

And the headphones? Well, they’d been cheap anyway, held together by more wishful thinking than actual quality. “You were too good for this world,” he whispered dramatically, dropping them into the bag with a resigned sigh.

Despite the state of his belongings, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just survived something surreal, something that would haunt his dreams and maybe even—dare he say it?��excite him a little.

Unbeknownst to him, from the shadows a few blocks away, Jason eyed him from his hiding spot, a curiosity nagging at him, as if he’d found something worth watching over. He could see Y/N still crouched on the grimy ground, gathering his belongings—soggy notebooks, torn papers, a laptop with a shattered screen. He’d felt a pang of guilt as he watched, a flicker of sympathy mingling with a less-than-pleasant feeling of familiarity knowing all too well what it was like to lose the few things you relied on—to feel like the world had kicked you when you were down.

And while he’d never admit it, maybe a part of him liked that the kid seemed more amused than scared. After all, it wasn’t every day that someone didn’t scream when they saw Red Hood.

Of course, now that they were dating, Y/N was not surprised by the vigilante’s actions after their encounter when he’d come out of his apartment a week later to find a large box sitting on his doorstep with a plain label reading simply, “For You.” 

Inside was an assortment of brand-new school supplies including pristine notebooks in varying colors, a handful of smooth, high-quality pens and highlighters, and even a sleek, expensive laptop that he definitely could not afford on a student budget. Nestled beside it was a pair of high-quality Bluetooth headphones—the kind he’d ogled online but never dreamed of buying. And to top it all off, there was a sturdy, stylish bag to carry everything in.

And while most other people would’ve been slightly concerned at the fact that a random vigilante just happened to know their address after only one meeting where they didn’t even give their name, Y/N on the other hand, was processing the contents of the box with a mix of gratitude, amusement, and a new crush.

And so, their love story began, marked by Jason’s continued (and slightly overprotective) habit of rescuing Y/N from Gotham’s mean streets—even if the college student didn’t always realize he needed saving. Hence the “stalking” mentioned earlier.

Of course, was it technically stalking if it was done out of love and devotion for some random stranger you’d developed a massive crush on but couldn’t quite work up the nerve to talk to directly? Well… yes. Experts would say it’s still stalking. But hey, if those experts ever found themselves in a tight spot, Jason would be conveniently “unavailable” to save them.

Naturally, Y/N couldn’t exactly share the full story of his and Jason’s introduction. For one, his friends would roast him to the ends of the earth for being dumb enough to walk home alone in Gotham at night. He could practically hear their voices now: “Really, Y/N? Alone? At night? In Gotham? Do you not value your own life?” And frankly, he wasn’t about to give them that much material.

Oh, and there was also the tiny detail of Red Hood’s whole secret vigilante identity thing.

So, he went with a slightly edited version of the story, painting Jason as a “helpful stranger” who just happened to show up when Y/N “got lost” and had his bag stolen. And when his friends inevitably asked about the shiny new gear—a nearly $500 bag, top-of-the-line laptop, high-quality headphones, the works—he explained it all as a result of some extra scholarship money and financial aid he’d “saved up.” Sure, splurging on luxury tech and accessories might seem a tad unrealistic, but he’d throw in a line about a “really good sale” and call it a day.

Because as much as Jason’s habit of going overboard with gifts could be a little, well, extra, Y/N wasn’t about to complain. The man was thoughtful in a way few would ever believe, though his affection tended to be wrapped in thick layers of leather, weaponry, and a no-nonsense glare.

Jason loved hard, though he wasn’t quick to show it to just anyone. The guy kept his feelings locked up tighter than a Gotham vault, hardened by a lifetime of broken trust and betrayal. He wasn’t exactly the “wear your heart on your sleeve” type. But every so often, with the right person, he’d crack that tough exterior. And Y/N? Somehow, he’d slipped right through, without even trying.

And okay, could Jason be a little intense? Sure (absolutely). But when a vigilante with a borderline obsessive streak decides he cares about you, well… let’s just say things are bound to get a little out of hand. That’s just the price of having Gotham’s resident anti-hero as your personal guard dog.

Not that Y/N thinks of him quite like that, but it’s kind of funny, considering Jason really does act like a lovesick puppy when it’s just the two of them, his tough exterior melting away—it gave the energy of a Golden Retriever, maybe, or a Siberian Husky with an attitude problem. But the moment anyone else entered the room, his whole vibe transformed. If Y/N was his safe haven, the rest of the world was an enemy camp. He’d switch from doting boyfriend to a blend of German Shepherd, Rottweiler, and Doberman with the attitude and aggressiveness of a Chihuahua on an espresso shot. It was a little terrifying for others but to Y/N? It was just… Jason.

Part of what made their dynamic so unique was how Jason let himself be vulnerable around Y/N, something few people ever got to see. Y/N was his safe space, the person he could trust to see the parts of him he usually kept hidden—the softness, the care, the insecurities he guarded as fiercely as he guarded Gotham’s streets.

Funny enough, Y/N quickly discovered just a few months into dating that Jason’s love language was, without a doubt, physical touch. Why was that funny—and possibly the most ironic thing he’d ever experienced? Because when they first started dating, Jason avoided touch like it was the plague.

It took Y/N a while to notice it, but once he did, it was painfully obvious. Jason had this way of keeping just enough distance, as if he’d drawn a line no one was allowed to cross. At first, Y/N thought it was just Jason’s natural intensity, but over time, he began to see the pattern. Jason was hyper-aware of any physical contact—quick to dodge, tense when someone brushed against him accidentally, even flinching at touches he saw coming. It was like he’d trained himself to see any sort of physical contact as a potential threat.

And it made sense, really, considering Jason’s past and the double life he led—something Y/N only found out about a few months after they started dating. Jason’s body told a story all on its own, each scar and faded bruise marking a chapter of battles fought and enemies conquered. The scars weren’t just skin-deep; they were reminders of a life filled with danger, betrayal, and loss. And Y/N began to understand why Jason had always kept his distance, why he seemed wary of even the gentlest touch. To Jason, vulnerability had always come with a price.

Also, talking about his family was a rare event, and when he did, there was a hesitance, a guarded tone. Y/N knew bits and pieces—enough to understand that while Jason loved his family, there were wounds there too, emotional scars that ran just as deep as the ones on his body. He avoided talking about them, save for the occasional mention of Alfred, the family’s butler. Alfred was the exception, the one person Jason spoke of with nothing but respect and a rare softness. In time, Y/N came to love and appreciate Alfred just as much, seeing how deeply he’d cared for Jason when others hadn’t.

But even with Alfred, Jason’s life had taught him that letting people in, letting people close, meant risking pain. So he’d built walls, high and impenetrable, where touch was a luxury and distance was safety. Yet again, somehow, Y/N had slipped through those walls. Slowly, patiently, he’d helped Jason find comfort in a gentle touch, a warm embrace, and the knowledge that here, with him, there was no danger. Just love.

At first, it was subtle—the occasional shoulder touch, the brief brush of his hand, like Jason was testing the waters. But as he grew more comfortable, his affection started to show in quiet, gentle ways: a hand resting at the small of Y/N’s back, an arm draped protectively around his shoulders, or the way he’d pull Y/N close, as if his presence alone could shield him from the world. Sure, his protectiveness sometimes bordered on overbearing, but Y/N didn’t mind one bit. He’d come to cherish those moments, knowing that each touch, each fierce little act of devotion, was Jason’s own way of saying, I love you.

And before Y/N even realized it, Jason had practically become his shadow, glued to his side like some overly affectionate—albeit slightly brooding—puppy. It was like a switch had flipped, and suddenly, Jason couldn’t go a full five minutes without reaching out to touch him, craving the comfort and reassurance of Y/N’s presence. Jason was always there, one way or another: a hand resting on his neck, fingers tracing along his arm, a warm weight on his thigh, or just… hovering in his orbit like a bodyguard who happened to look at him like he was the best thing in Gotham.

Rarely did a moment pass when they weren’t connected in some physical way. More often than not, Jason would find any excuse to pull Y/N into a full-on cuddle, whether they were on the couch or in bed, as if he was storing up warmth like a battery. And his favorite spot? Laying his head on Y/N’s chest, listening to his heartbeat with his eyes closed, completely at peace as Y/N’s hands ran gently through his hair. For Jason, it was the ultimate comfort, a reminder that he was loved and safe—a rare feeling in his life.

It was endearing, really. Jason might’ve been Gotham’s big bad vigilante, but to Y/N, he was a full-grown man with the energy of a giant, needy puppy, demanding his attention with that silent, intense stare of his. And honestly? Y/N wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of course, Y/N would be lying if he said he didn’t get a kick out of the way Jason would pout and glare at him whenever he stopped rubbing his head or, heaven forbid, dared to refuse his touch. Imagine this six-foot-plus tower of muscle—a guy who could make dudes on steroids look like scrawny sidekicks—staring down his boyfriend with an actual pout because he wasn’t getting his cuddle fix. It was a sight that never failed to make Y/N laugh (not that he’d do it out loud; he valued his life, after all).

Jason could—and would—throw his ire at just about anyone else, often for the smallest of reasons. Anyone not named Y/N was fair game for his mood swings, his infamous scowl, and even the occasional growl. But with Y/N? Well, let’s just say he was spared from the wrath of Gotham’s most intimidating vigilante… unless he denied Jason cuddles or the sacred privilege of his bodily embrace. That, apparently, was the one line Y/N couldn’t cross.

The “punishment” usually lasted, at most, ten minutes. Jason would start by sulking, grumbling under his breath like a child denied dessert, and shooting Y/N the kind of glare usually reserved for Gotham’s worst criminals. Y/N, of course, would hold out as long as he could, but eventually, one of two things would happen. Either he’d cave, sighing as he finally opened his arms to let Jason claim his cuddle rights, listening as Jason mumbled dramatically about how he “should never be denied cuddles” because it was his god-given right, or—if Y/N took too long—Jason would take matters into his own hands.

And by that, it meant Jason would simply scoop him up, plop himself down, and drape his entire, solid weight on top of Y/N like some overgrown cat claiming it's human. There was no escape—Jason’s big arms wrapped around him like an anaconda, pulling him close until Y/N was completely enveloped, pinned down with zero chance of getting away.

Y/N didn’t mind, though. Quite the opposite, actually—it was hot. Sue him.

"Y/N, don’t take this the wrong way but… is your man single?” one of his coworkers asked, giving him a sly grin.

OOP—

GIRL. For your own sake—and for the sake of anyone within a mile radius—tread carefully. That man is as jealous and territorial as his possessive ass vigilante boyfriend, who’s on a level that’s practically legendary. No, seriously; Jason’s jealousy was on a scale that was insane.

Case in point: family game night. Tim had everyone playing this game where you had to come up with a word for each category starting with a randomly chosen letter. Simple enough, right? Well, when “J” was the letter of the round, let’s just say Y/N’s answers weren’t exactly… satisfying to a certain overprotective vigilante.

“Y/N,” Jason hissed, narrowing his eyes, “you’ve got two seconds to explain to me who the hell Jackson is.”

“I had to think of something!” Y/N replied, holding up his hands defensively.

Jason crossed his arms, staring him down. “And what does my name start with, hmm?”

“I—okay, listen, I panicked! I was thinking about Percy Jackson!”

Jason didn’t see it as jealousy—he was just protective, okay? But if his definition of protective happened to mean glaring down anyone who so much as glanced at Y/N, then so be it.

Y/N on the other hand…

Funny enough, Jason actually started complaining because every time he and Y/N went out together, people would give him looks, like they thought Y/N was in mortal danger. And okay, Jason got it—he wasn’t exactly small, or subtle. With his build, his perpetual scowl, and the way he seemed ready to throw down at any given moment, he could understand slightly why people would think the way they’d think. Shit, he’d do the same. But still.

When it got to the point of the cops getting called because the neighbors heard loud noises, grunts, and what they thought were sounds of pain and struggle after seeing a large and intimidating man drag Y/N into his apartment—when, in reality, they were just doing the dirty tango against the kitchen wall—it gets a bit annoying.

But that wasn’t even the real issue Jason had been complaining about. No, what had actually gotten under his skin was how everyone always assumed he was the threat, when in reality, it was Y/N they should’ve been worried about. People just didn’t see it, but Y/N had a dangerous side all his own. Just ask the kid who was dumb enough to try and pull a fast one on Jason by touching and caressing him in public when Y/N had stepped away for a moment.

The moment the college student came back… well, let’s just say things got ugly. Legally, however, Jason couldn’t speak about it. Not because he didn’t want to—oh, he’d love to relive the whole glorious scene—but because Y/N had made him, and his brothers, sign an NDA afterward. Yep, Dick, Tim, Damian, and Jason had to put pen to paper, bound to secrecy about The Incident.

Y/N had handled it with a level of ruthless efficiency that left the whole Bat family in awe. He’d dealt with that poor, clueless kid in a way that was so subtly devastating that even Bruce raised an eyebrow when he found out. Although, truth be told, Bruce wasn’t exactly shocked; he just hadn’t expected someone as sweet as Y/N to be quite so… resourceful.

After that, the whole family understood that, sure, Jason might look like the scary one—but when it came to those he loved, especially when it involved Jason, Y/N was a force to be reckoned with.

Y/N glanced back at his coworker with a slightly distant look before letting out a laugh, shaking his head. “Girl, don’t play.”

Girl—seriously, don’t do it.

Thankfully, she chose common sense and life at that moment, laughing along with him. “You know I’m just kidding! But seriously, where did you find him? The things I’d do just to get a man who looks at me with even half the love as he does with you.”

It was in Y/N’s honest opinion that Jason had to be an angel or some divine gift sent to him from the heavens above. Or God, the Universe, Santa Claus, took mercy on him knowing that kind of unserious trouble he could get himself into. Seriously, it was like his life was written by some dude who strove to put him in the most unthinkable scenarios ever thought of by man.

…

Hold up.

…

Nah…unless?

“But seriously, where do you even find a man like that? ‘Cause the ones out here? Girl, they’re giving ‘bare minimum’ and vibes. God really needs to start restocking the good ones.”

“Where did I find him?” Y/N repeated, smirking as he wiped down the counter. “I don’t know. One day he just showed up, brooding and scary-looking, and now he refuses to leave.”

His coworker rolled her eyes, leaning closer like she was trying to decode some deep secret. “You’re dodging the question. Men like that don’t just show up. Spill the tea.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly? If I told you the real story, you wouldn’t believe me.”

And wasn’t that the truth? If he started explaining how Gotham’s most terrifying vigilante had saved him from a mugging, delivered new school supplies like some twisted fairy godmother, and then proceeded to burrow into his life like an oversized, territorial puppy, she’d probably think he was delusional. Or worse, that he was into some bizarre fanfiction-level nonsense. Which, fair.

Before Y/N could add anything else, his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and couldn’t stop the small smile that crept across his face.

Jason: Did you eat yet?

Y/N sighed, typing back a quick Yes, Dad, even though it was a blatant lie. He didn’t need Jason going full hover-boyfriend just because he skipped breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, though, Jason strolled into the shop like he owned the place, a brown paper bag in hand. Y/N barely had time to react before Jason plopped the bag on the counter, his expression hovering between annoyed and smug.

“Didn’t I just tell you I ate?” Y/N asked, arching an eyebrow.

Jason crossed his arms, his biceps straining his jacket in a way that made his coworker openly gape. “And I didn’t believe you. So here.” He gestured at the bag like it was some great offering, clearly unbothered by the audience they had. “You’re not skipping meals.”

Y/N sighed, opening the bag to find his favorite sandwich neatly packed alongside a container of fruit and—of course—a bottle of water. His coworker, meanwhile, was staring like she was witnessing a rom-com play out in real life.

“You know,” she whispered as Jason stepped back to lean casually against the counter, his watchful gaze flicking between Y/N and the shop’s door, “if you don’t marry this man, I will.”

Y/N snorted, shoving a grape in his mouth. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

In all honesty, Y/N knew the kind of love Jason offered wasn’t for the faint of heart. As previously mentioned, when that man loved, he loved hard—like all-in, no-holds-barred, borderline territorial levels of hard. And he wasn’t just protective—oh no, he was possessive with a capital P when it came to the things he cared about.

What did that mean?

Well...

Considering the kind of life Jason had lived—where the things he loved or that brought him joy were often ripped away in the most brutal, gut-wrenching ways imaginable—it wasn’t exactly a shocker. Jason had become fiercely devoted to guarding what was his, with a vigilance that often toed the line between endearing and slightly terrifying.

It was like an aggressive dog who decided one day that a random shoe was its favorite thing in the world. The kind of resource-guarding where even looking at the shoe too long earned you a deep, guttural growl of warning. Ignore the warning? Well, congratulations, you just donated a finger—or maybe two—to the cause.

If it’s not clear by now, Y/N was the shoe, and Jason was the dog. And when it came to Y/N, anything—or anyone—that so much as hinted at upsetting him, threatening him, or even mildly inconveniencing him would quickly find themselves on the wrong end of Jason’s wrath. It wasn’t a matter of if there’d be hell to pay, but how much. Spoiler: it was always a lot.

So, picture this: Y/N comes home after a long day of morning classes and an equally draining evening shift. On the surface, he looks fine. Totally normal. But what no one knows is that he spent the last twenty minutes sitting in his car, quietly sobbing into a handful of fast-food napkins.

He knew better than to bring those emotions into the apartment, though. Because while most boyfriends would give you a hug and let you vent, Jason would go full vigilante mode. If he even sensed that someone had made Y/N upset, it wouldn’t just be hell to pay—it’d be Gotham-wide carnage. And Y/N, being the thoughtful boyfriend he was, liked to minimize unnecessary casualties.

Armed with tissues, eyedrops, and a firm I’m fine, just tired mantra, Y/N stepped through the door, hoping to slide under Jason’s radar.

Nope. Not happening.

The moment Jason saw him, his expression shifted. Y/N had no clue what gave him away—was it the puffiness? His voice? The way he stood?—but Jason immediately clocked something.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, his voice calm, but laced with that dangerous edge that said he was already running through a mental list of suspects who might need a "visit."

Y/N froze, debating his options. He knew better than to lie. Jason would sniff it out in seconds. But he also knew that the moment he opened his mouth, Jason wouldn’t rest until he figured out who—or what—was responsible.

And honestly? That was the kind of energy Y/N both feared and loved about him.

“I just had a stressful day at work, Jason. I’ll be fine,” Y/N said, sidestepping as he tried to make his way past the towering vigilante and towards the bathroom.

But trying to get past Jason when he was in that mode? Easier said than done. It was like trying to walk through a solid brick wall—one that was armed, brooding, and ridiculously muscled. Jason was locked into full protective-boyfriend mode, which meant Y/N wasn’t going anywhere until Jason had the name, address, and probably the social security number of the person who dared to upset him.

Why he needed the social security number? Well, Bruce did teach him to be thorough when handling "cases." And in Jason’s mind, this was no different.

In one smooth move, Jason’s arm shot out, stopping Y/N’s attempt to breeze past him. With two quick steps, Y/N found himself backed against the wall—well, Jason’s chest first, and then the wall behind him. Jason leaned in, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible, his dark, piercing gaze locking onto Y/N’s like a laser. That intense look he gave—the one that said I have no problem keeping you right here until I get answers—made Y/N’s knees weak.

Not that he minded. Let’s be real: Jason’s body, his sheer presence, had always been Y/N’s favorite place to decompress, even if it came with the added pressure of being metaphorically (and sometimes literally) pinned to the hot seat. And honestly? Who could complain about being wrapped up in the arms of a man like Jason. If you wouldn’t feel the same, take your judgment elsewhere.

Jason tilted his head, his voice low and commanding as he leaned in closer. “Talk to me, baby. What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N muttered, looking away, though his traitorous heart betrayed him by picking up speed. He could feel Jason’s gaze on him, heavy and unwavering. “Just a bad day.”

“That’s not nothing,” Jason replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His arm caged Y/N in further, his body so close that Y/N could feel the heat radiating off him. “Bad days don’t make you cry in your car before coming home.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. Damn it. How does he always know?

Jason leaned even closer, his lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as he whispered, “I’ll ask again. Who made you cry?”

That commanding tone, combined with Jason’s overwhelming presence, had Y/N’s walls crumbling faster than he’d like to admit. “Jason, it’s nothing you need to get involved in. It’s my boss—he’s just been... making things harder than they need to be,” he said, his voice faltering as he tried to downplay the situation.

Jason’s jaw ticked, and his free hand gently cupped Y/N’s chin, tilting his head back so their eyes met. “Details. Now.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before the frustration, hurt, and exhaustion bubbled over. “He’s cutting my hours—again. And I need those hours, Jason. For rent, for groceries, for school. I’ve tried talking to him, emailing HR, even bringing in a neutral third party, but nothing changes. And today…” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “Today, he reduced my schedule to the point where I’ll barely be able to afford ramen next week. And then he called me into his office to give me some bullshit ‘coaching moment’ that was really just him tearing me down in front of everyone.”

Jason’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as Y/N’s words sank in. “What did he say?” His tone was dangerously calm, the kind of calm that meant bad things were about to happen to someone.

Y/N shook his head, his voice breaking as he tried to get the words out. “I—I don’t want to repeat it. It was nasty, Jason. Just nasty.”

Jason’s grip softened immediately, his hand moving to the back of Y/N’s neck as he pulled him into his chest. “Baby, come here,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. Y/N didn’t resist, letting himself melt into Jason’s arms as the tears he’d been holding back all day finally spilled over.

Jason held him tightly, his strong arms a fortress of safety and comfort as he whispered, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it out.”

They stayed like that for a while, Jason eventually guiding Y/N to the couch so they could sit down. He pulled Y/N into his lap, holding him as if to shield him from the world. Y/N buried his face in Jason’s chest, the warmth and strength of his boyfriend grounding him as Jason’s hand gently stroked his back.

After a while, Y/N’s voice broke the silence. “Promise me you won’t do anything rash, Jason. Please.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “I promise.”

The next day, Y/N found himself questioning that promise when Jason showed up at his workplace. The vigilante didn’t cause a scene—he didn’t need to. A quiet, private “conversation” with Y/N’s manager in the backroom was all it took. Whatever Jason said, it worked. By the time he left, Y/N’s hours had mysteriously been restored, and his manager couldn’t look him in the eye without stammering.

When Y/N confronted him later, Jason just smirked, pulling him into a kiss. “I didn’t do anything rash,” he said innocently. “I just... clarified some things.”

And honestly? Y/N didn’t even want to know what “clarified” meant.

It was that incident—the one where Jason paid a visit to Y/N’s workplace—when Y/N’s coworkers finally met the infamous boyfriend they’d only ever heard about in passing. Well, passing might’ve been an understatement, considering Y/N used any and every opportunity to talk about his man. At first, the constant mentions of “Jason this” and “Jason that” had been met with teasing eyerolls and mock groans. But after seeing Jason in action, shutting down their tyrant of a manager with one calm but devastating conversation, everyone got it. Completely.

Jason and Y/N quickly became what the group lovingly referred to as the “template” for relationship goals. Y/N didn’t mind the label; he liked that people saw the best parts of their dynamic. What they didn’t see—or couldn’t fully grasp—was the effort and balance behind it all. Jason wasn’t just the tall, brooding vigilante who swooped in to save the day, and Y/N wasn’t just the sweet, supportive boyfriend standing in his shadow. Their relationship was a partnership in every sense of the word, built on mutual protection and care for one another.

It was that incident—the one where Jason paid a visit to Y/N’s workplace—when Y/N’s coworkers finally met the infamous boyfriend they’d only ever heard about in passing. Well, passing might’ve been an understatement, considering Y/N used any and every opportunity to talk about his man. At first, the constant mentions of “Jason this” and “Jason that” had been met with teasing eyerolls and mock groans. But after seeing Jason in action, shutting down their tyrant of a manager with one calm but devastating conversation, everyone got it. Completely.

Jason and Y/N quickly became what the group lovingly referred to as the “template” for relationship goals. Y/N didn’t mind the label; he liked that people saw the best parts of their dynamic. What they didn’t see—or couldn’t fully grasp—was the effort and balance behind it all. Jason wasn’t just the tall, brooding vigilante who swooped in to save the day, and Y/N wasn’t just the sweet, supportive boyfriend standing in his shadow. Their relationship was a partnership in every sense of the word, built on mutual protection and care for one another.

“Y/N, how much is your rent for this place? It’s really nice, and I’m looking for something closer to campus,” his friend asked one day during a study session at his and Jason’s apartment. A few of their classmates had joined, and the group was sprawled out in the living room, surrounded by open textbooks, laptops, and half-empty mugs and cups.

Y/N was about to answer—he really was—but then paused, his face twisting into a look of genuine confusion as he stared off into the distance, like he was searching the recesses of his brain for an answer that just wasn’t there. “Uh… I think $1,100? Maybe? Don’t quote me on that, though. I’m not 100% sure.”

His friends all exchanged baffled looks. “Wait, what do you mean you’re not sure?” one of them asked, narrowing their eyes. “How do you not know your own rent?”

“I do! I just… forgot,” Y/N said with a shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Now they were all staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Y/N, literally what the fuck? How do you just forget how much you pay in rent? Who forgets that?”

“I don’t know, okay? I knew it when I signed the lease, but every time I try to pay it at the beginning of the month, Jason’s already paid it. Sometimes months in advance! And, I don’t know, after a while, it just stopped being something I thought about.” Y/N gestured vaguely, as if this explanation somehow made perfect sense.

That didn’t stop the dumbfounded stares—or the flicker of envy in more than a few pairs of eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait.” One of his friends held up a hand. “So your boyfriend just pays your rent for you every month—without even asking—and you just… let him?”

Y/N snorted, sitting back on the couch. “First of all, rude. It’s not like I just let him. Trust me, if you were in my shoes, you’d understand that trying to stop Jason from taking care of me is like… I don’t know, trying to explain to someone in a MAGA hat what a cult is and that they’re in one. You’re not winning that battle.”

Can the church get an amen?

Y/N wasn’t lying—not even a little—when he said that trying to stop Jason from taking care of him was an exercise in futility. If anyone dared to tell Jason he was “doing too much” for his boyfriend, congratulations, they’d now joined the prestigious ranks of those “experts” Jason would gladly let fend for themselves in a crisis. When it came to Y/N, Jason handled it all: physically, emotionally, financially—you name it, he was on it like white on rice. And no amount of protesting from Y/N could change that.

And oh, did Y/N protest.

“Jason, did you pay my rent again?” Y/N asked, stepping into the apartment with his wallet still in hand and a clearly exasperated look on his face. He’d just come back from the leasing office, only to find out his balance was already cleared with a sex month advance payment. Again.

His frustration hit a slight pause, though, as he spotted Jason lounging shirtless on the couch—pause for an aroused deep breath—engrossed in what appeared to be an intense game of Mario Kart on his Nintendo Switch. A book Jason had been reading earlier was tossed haphazardly to the side, forgotten in the heat of the Rainbow Road battle.

Jason didn’t even glance up as he responded, “Yeah, I did. Why?” His thumbs moved quickly over the buttons, his face set in that annoyingly sexy, hyper-focused expression that made Y/N momentarily forget why he was upset in the first place.

“Why?” Y/N snapped, pulling himself out of that temporary daze. “Because I told you not to! That’s why!” He stormed over, planting himself squarely in front of the couch, arms crossed and glare locked on his boyfriend. “Jason, we’ve talked about this. I can handle my own rent.”

Jason sighed, finally pausing his game. He leaned back against the couch with an air of deliberate calm, setting the joy-con controllers aside. “I know you can,” he said, his voice smooth and measured in a way that made Y/N’s resolve falter. Jason’s eyes flicked up to meet his, dark and steady, pinning Y/N in place. “But here’s the thing, babe—you don’t have to.”

“That’s not the point,” Y/N shot back, his voice wavering slightly as Jason stretched lazily, his arms going behind his head in a way that made the muscles in his chest and shoulders flex. Unfair. He was doing this on purpose.

“Isn’t it, though?” Jason’s lips curved into a slow, smug smirk. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Y/N’s breath hitched as the intensity of his gaze locked onto him. “Taking care of you isn’t optional for me. It’s my job. Whether it’s paying the rent, making sure you eat, or keeping your gorgeous ass out of trouble, that’s mine to handle.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned as he tried to maintain his glare, but it was a losing battle. “Jason,” he said firmly, though the quiver in his voice betrayed him, “you can’t just decide these things without asking me.”

Jason tilted his head, studying him in a way that felt equal parts tender and possessive. “Sure I can,” he said smoothly, reaching out to hook his fingers lightly around Y/N’s wrist, tugging him forward until he was standing between Jason’s knees. “You can handle yourself—I know that. But you don’t need to. Not when I’m here.”

Y/N opened his mouth to protest, but Jason tugged him down into his lap, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him close. His free hand slid to the back of Y/N’s neck, his thumb brushing against the skin there in a way that made Y/N’s heart race.

“Tell me,” Jason murmured, his voice low and commanding, “why should I let you stress over something I can fix? Hmm?”

Y/N bit his lip, trying to muster the strength to argue, but Jason’s tone, his touch, the sheer weight of his presence—it all left him scrambling for words. He hated how easily Jason could reduce him to this flustered mess, and he really hated how much he secretly loved it.

“You’re impossible,” he finally muttered, dropping his head against Jason’s shoulder, his voice soft and defeated.

“And you love me for it,” Jason murmured against his ear, his smirk practically audible.

Y/N groaned but didn’t pull away, his fingers curling against Jason’s chest. “This conversation isn’t over,” he mumbled, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Sure, babe. Whatever you say,” Jason replied, leaning back with Y/N still in his lap, his grip firm and unyielding. He reached for his Switch with his free hand, resuming his game like he hadn’t just completely derailed the argument and walked away victorious.

And as much as Y/N wanted to be mad, he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. Damn it. He really did love him for it. The student didn’t need to say how much he appreciated the weight of Jason’s steady presence; Jason didn’t need to hear it to know. And while Y/N would keep fighting to hold his own ground, there was a part of him—an unspoken, undeniable part—that found comfort in letting Jason hold the world at bay for him.

Their domestic life was a careful dance of their unspoken dynamic, with Jason ensuring their world was secure and steady, while Y/N kept their home—and Jason—centered and whole. Their roles played out naturally, shaped by who they were as individuals. Jason made sure the outside world couldn’t touch Y/N, taking care of the big things, the dangerous things that he’d never let his boyfriend come within a mile of. His presence was a shield, and his devotion ran so deep that sometimes it felt like he’d lay the world at Y/N’s feet if it meant seeing him happy.

Y/N swears there was one time he cracked a joke about wanting to live out his “soft boi” aesthetic—because, obviously, the ‘i’ made it edgier—and Jason, without missing a beat, ran with it without ever looking back.

But Y/N? He was the one who kept their world turning smoothly, the quiet, grounding presence that made sure Jason had a place to fall apart when life became too much. Whether it was stocking the kitchen with Jason’s favorite snacks or simply sitting with him on the couch after a rough patrol, Y/N created the kind of space Jason didn’t even realize he needed—safe, steady, and entirely his.

That balance extended to the little things too. Jason liked to cook when he had the time, his meals always hearty, protein-packed “fuel” designed to keep them going. Y/N, on the other hand, was the one who brought warmth to the table, sneaking in something sweet or comforting—even if it meant slipping vegetables into Jason’s plate, much to his dramatic protests.

“Because it’s pesto,” Y/N replied innocently, grinning as he leaned against the counter. “Don’t act like you’re too good for spinach.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath—something about how spinach was a lie—but ate every bite, proving once again that Y/N knew exactly how to play him.

And then there were the quieter moments—the ones that reminded them both why they worked so well together. Nights spent curled up on the couch, Jason sprawled out with his head resting in Y/N’s lap, his fingers absently tracing patterns along Y/N’s thigh. Y/N would run his fingers through Jason’s hair, the simple, soothing gesture melting away the tension that Jason carried like a second skin. Sometimes they’d talk—about Jason’s patrols, Y/N’s classes, or random nonsense that didn’t matter. Other times, they simply existed together, the quiet hum of their apartment a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the world outside.

But even Y/N, the softer half of their partnership, had his limits when it came to anyone crossing a line with Jason. Like the time a journalist ambushed Jason at a charity event, spouting thinly veiled accusations about his past. Jason had been moments away from snapping, his fists clenching at his sides, when Y/N calmly stepped in.

“If you don’t have something constructive to say,” Y/N said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “then I suggest you find someone else to bother.”

The journalist, thrown off by Y/N’s tone—gentle but edged like a blade—backed off almost immediately. Jason hadn’t said a word about it afterward, but later that night, when they were home, he’d kissed Y/N’s temple and murmured a quiet, “Thank you.”

Y/N was never afraid to step in for Jason when he needed him to, even if Jason wouldn’t—or couldn’t—outwardly ask for it. And the fact that Jason didn’t have to ask made it all the more meaningful for the vigilante. Y/N always seemed to know when to intervene, especially in moments when Jason couldn’t advocate for himself—particularly when it came to Bruce.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Jason had come home late that night, his steps heavy, his shoulders slumped in a way that told Y/N everything he needed to know before Jason even said a word. Gotham’s chaos could wear Jason down, but this kind of defeated air? That was Bruce’s handiwork.

Y/N didn’t push right away. He let Jason slip into the apartment, kick off his boots, and collapse onto the couch without a word. Jason sat there, his hands hanging limply between his knees, staring blankly at the floor like he was stuck in some internal tug-of-war. Y/N sat beside him, his hand lightly brushing Jason’s shoulder before resting on his thigh—a grounding touch.

“What happened?” Y/N asked softly.

Jason’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “It’s Bruce,” he said after a long pause, his voice raw. “We were handling this case—a trafficking ring. I had it handled, Y/N. I had it. But he pulled the plug on the whole thing because it didn’t fit his goddamn code.” His fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “There were kids involved, and he still chose the ‘moral high ground’ over what needed to be done. And then—” Jason’s voice broke, and he shook his head, his frustration giving way to something more fragile. “He looked at me like I was the problem. Like I was… too much again. Like I’m always too much.”

Y/N’s heart clenched as he took in the words, the quiet ache that laced Jason’s tone. It wasn’t just the case or Bruce’s stubbornness that hurt him—it was the way Bruce always seemed to find a way to make Jason feel like he’d never be enough, no matter what he did.

Y/N leaned in, his hand sliding up to the back of Jason’s neck, fingers gently massaging the tension there. “You’re not too much, Jay,” he murmured, his voice steady. “Not for me. Not for anyone who actually knows you.”

Jason didn’t respond, but the way he leaned into Y/N’s touch, his head bowing slightly, said more than words ever could.

An hour later, when a knock came at the door, Y/N didn’t need to guess who it was. He stood, sighing as Jason stayed where he was on the couch, visibly tensing at the sound. Y/N opened the door to find Bruce standing there, in some more casual wear (if you could ever call Bruce’s “old money” aesthetic casual), his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Y/N,” Bruce greeted, his tone clipped. “I need to speak with Jason.”

Y/N didn’t move, his hand braced casually against the doorframe. “No, you don’t.”

Bruce blinked, clearly unused to being told no—and even less accustomed to hearing it so decisively. “It’s important.”

“Is someone dead or currently dying?”

The blunt, and sarcastic tone of his words, while it didn’t visually throw the billionaire off, Y/N could see Bruce was surprised by his tone. He didn’t know how, but he clocked the shift in his demeanor. Maybe he was picking up some skills from his boyfriend after all.

“No, but–”

“Then, it can wait,” Y/N said, his tone edge with a finality that left no room for question or pushback.  “He just came home, and I don’t think he needs you piling on more stress right now. Whatever you’ve got to say can wait.”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This isn’t about stress. It’s about his actions tonight. He—”

“—did what he thought was right,” Y/N interrupted, his voice sharpening just slightly. “And from what he told me, he was right. You’re the one who undermined him and made him feel like he was a problem.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Y/N stepped out into the hallway, lowering his voice but not his resolve. “Look, Mr. Wayne, I get that you care about him in your own… specific way. But if you want to keep him in your life, maybe stop treating him like he’s the black sheep who’ll never measure up to your perfect little code. Because right now? You’re the only one who can make him feel like this, and that’s not the kind of impact someone who ‘cares’ should have.”

Bruce’s face didn’t betray much, but Y/N caught the faint flicker of something—guilt, maybe—in his eyes. Still, he didn’t budge. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“No,” Y/N said calmly, stepping back into the apartment and beginning to close the door. “But it is for tonight. Goodnight, Mr. Wayne.”

With that, he shut the door, turning back to see Jason watching him from the couch, his expression somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“Did you really just tell Bruce Wayne to go home?” Jason asked, his lips twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to smirk or shake his head.

“Damn right I did,” Y/N replied, crossing his arms with a small, satisfied huff. “And I’d do it again.”

Jason let out a low chuckle, his hand brushing through his hair as he leaned back against the couch. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that?”

“Please,” Y/N shot back with a roll of his eyes. “You act like it’s a big deal. Someone had to say it, and we both know you weren’t going to.” He paused, watching Jason closely, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And speaking of things you aren’t doing…”

Jason raised an eyebrow, his interest visibly piqued. “Oh? Do tell.”

Y/N leaned forward, tapping Jason’s knee with mock seriousness. “First, you’re going to get off this couch, because moping is not a good look for you. Then, you’re going to help me put away the laundry because I’ve been doing it all day while you were out being Mr. Broody Vigilante. And after that? You’re going to make us both something to eat, because I’m starving and I’m not lifting a finger tonight. You’ve got work to do, big guy.”

Jason blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise before his expression shifted into something darker, sharper. He cocked his head, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, really?” he drawled, his tone low and deliberate as he sat up straighter. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, but he held his ground, leveling Jason with his best faux-bossy glare. “That’s exactly how it’s gonna be. So, get moving, Todd.”

Jason was on his feet before Y/N could blink, towering over him with that quiet, commanding energy that always sent a thrill down his spine. He didn’t say a word at first, just leaned down slightly, his eyes locked on Y/N’s like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You think you’re in charge now?” Jason asked softly, his voice deceptively calm. His hand brushed against Y/N’s jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of his cheek with deliberate slowness. “That’s cute.”

Y/N swallowed hard, refusing to back down even as Jason’s presence enveloped him. “Not cute,” he retorted, his voice wavering just slightly. “Efficient.”

Jason’s smirk widened, and in one swift motion, he scooped Y/N up from the couch, earning a startled yelp that quickly turned into laughter. “Efficient, huh?” Jason murmured, his lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as he carried him toward the bedroom. “Let’s see how efficient you are at following orders, then. Because we both know who calls the shots here, don’t we?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, his breath hitching as Jason pinned him with that intense, unrelenting gaze. “Jason…” he started, but his boyfriend was already laying him down on the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore.

“You wanted me to focus on something else,” Jason murmured, leaning over him, his hands braced on either side of Y/N’s head. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You’ve got my full attention now.”

And just like that, Y/N’s carefully constructed plan to distract Jason had backfired spectacularly—not that he was complaining. If there was one thing Jason was good at, it was reminding him exactly who was in charge.

“Alright, Y/N. Truth or Dare,” his best friend asked, a mischievous glint in his eye as the group sat around in a circle during their weekly de-stresser game night. Of course, their version of game night had taken a more explicit turn—totally par for the course with this group.

“Um… truth,” Y/N said hesitantly, already sensing trouble.

“Oh, perfect,” Seth said, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. “Alright, Mr. L/N, the time has come for you to reveal your truth. Are you a bossy power bottom or a slutty, submissive one?”

The room erupted into a mix of laughter and gasps, with a couple of dramatic “oh my God” reactions thrown in for good measure. Y/N’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried to form words. Before he could even start to defend himself, someone else chimed in.

“Bro, seriously? What kind of question is that?”

Y/N immediately felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you—finally, someone gets it—”

But then came the follow-up.

“We all know there’s not a dominant bone in his body. If anything, it’s giving brat who likes to be put in his place.”

The room fell silent for half a beat before laughter exploded all around him, punctuated by a few dramatic “damn”s and someone nearly choking on their drink.

Y/N blinked, his brain short-circuiting as the betrayal sank in. “Excuse me?!” he finally managed, his voice high-pitched and offended as he pointed an accusing finger at the culprit.

“I dare you to try and tell me I’m lying,” His friend challenged him with a raised eyebrow. And when Y/N couldn’t formulate a defense for himself, his friend nodded his head knowingly, “Exactly as I thought.”

Because was he actually lying?

“I dare you to tell me I’m wrong,” his friend challenged, one eyebrow arched and a smug smirk tugging at their lips.

Y/N opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out—just the faintest stutter of indignation as his brain scrambled for a defense that simply didn’t exist.

His friend nodded knowingly, leaning back with a triumphant grin. “Exactly what I thought.”

Because, honestly… were they even wrong?

Frankly, if you looked at their relationship as a whole, was it really that surprising?

Jason, in a nutshell, was all rough edges and a protective streak that could rival Fort Knox, but with a kind of intimacy that Y/N never saw coming. It was whiplash in the best way possible. One minute, he was Gotham’s most intimidating vigilante, and the next, he was softly murmuring sweet nothings while holding Y/N like he was the most fragile, precious thing on the planet. Y/N had once joked that Jason was like a human light switch—rough and dominant one moment, soft and needy the next. Now? It was just something he accepted… and secretly loved.

Because the roughness Jason brought into their bed was never just about dominance—it was about claiming. There were nights when Jason would grip Y/N’s hips like he was staking his territory, growling low in his ear as he worked Y/N’s body to the point of trembling. If Jason was feeling particularly territorial—or, as Y/N liked to put it, “possessive alpha wolf mode”—restraints were almost a guarantee. Y/N would be left tied up, squirming and gasping as Jason moved with a kind of intensity that left no room for doubt about who was in control.

And then, like clockwork, came the switch.

Imagine this: a six-foot-something mass of pure muscle and testosterone, who’d just spent the last hour absolutely wrecking Y/N—legs shaking, throat raw from moans that could probably be heard two apartments over—suddenly curling up beside him like the world’s biggest teddy bear. Jason would go from rough, grunting dominance, a man on a mission to leave Y/N marked and molded for days, to nuzzling into Y/N’s neck with soft kisses and quietly demanding to be held like he was the one who’d been put through the wringer.

It was absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. And Y/N? He let it happen every single time. No wonder Jason was so spoiled in their relationship.

What else was he supposed to do when Jason left him in a post-fuck haze so blissed out he couldn’t even remember what year it was? By the time Jason would return from cleaning him up, soft praise slipping from his lips as he gently wiped Y/N down, the fight had already left him. And honestly? Who was Y/N kidding—he didn’t want to fight it. Not when Jason would tuck him against his broad chest like they hadn’t just committed sins the mattress might never recover from.

But here was the kicker: for all the dominance Jason brought into their dynamic, Y/N knew the man craved the quiet moments afterward just as much—if not more. Those moments when Y/N’s hands would slide up into Jason’s hair, gently massaging his scalp, or trace over the faded scars on his chest like they were the most fascinating pieces of art. Jason wouldn’t say much—he didn’t need to. The way he sighed into Y/N’s touch, letting himself completely relax, said everything.

It was a ridiculous dance of give and take: Jason would obliterate Y/N’s body with enough intensity to leave him rethinking all his life choices, only to turn into the world’s biggest cuddle bug immediately after, soaking up every ounce of affection Y/N could give him. And as much as Y/N liked to complain about the whiplash, the truth was that he wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

Because as much as Jason loved being the one in control, Y/N had him wrapped around his finger the moment his fingers slid into Jason’s hair, soothing away the world like only he could. It was a balance only they understood, and it worked in ways no one else could ever pull off.

But it wasn’t just in the bedroom where Jason’s attention shined. Y/N would often catch Jason’s gaze lingering at the most random moments, his blue-green eyes shamelessly raking over him like he was a five-course meal and Jason hadn’t eaten in weeks. Whether it was Y/N lounging around in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, running errands in shorts that rode up just a little too high, or even bundled up in the most unflattering hoodie he owned, Jason’s carnal desire never wavered. If anything, it intensified as their relationship deepened.

Jason didn’t even bother hiding it anymore. Y/N had long stopped being surprised by the firm smack on his ass whenever Jason walked by, followed by the satisfied grin his boyfriend would flash as if to say, Mine.

“Jason!” Y/N would shriek every time, a startled jump or yelp accompanying his protests. But the man never looked the least bit guilty. If anything, he’d double down, grabbing a handful and muttering something along the lines of, “Couldn’t help it,” or, “You’re teasing me.”

The truth? Jason had rules—categories, if you will—when it came to Y/N’s wardrobe. There were outfits Y/N could wear in public, outfits strictly for lounging at home, and then there were the "home only" outfits. And no, "home only" didn’t mean cute loungewear. It was a polite way of saying, for Jason’s eyes only.

“Babe, you’re not wearing that outside,” Jason had said once, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway as Y/N attempted to leave for the gym.

“It’s just a pair of shorts!” Y/N protested, gesturing down at the admittedly form-fitting gym wear that showcased his thighs just a little too well.

“Exactly,” Jason replied, his eyes narrowing. “Those are home shorts. You’re not walking into a gym full of thirsty people in that.”

“Jason, you’re being ridiculous,” Y/N huffed, crossing his arms.

“Maybe,” Jason said with a shrug, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Y/N’s waist. He leaned in, lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as he added in a low voice, “But that doesn’t change anything, now go change..”

And that was that. Jason had an uncanny ability to make his tone very rigid and unyielding, leaving no room for argument which would have Y/N’s protests dying on his lips every time.

Then, there were the outfits Y/N didn’t even get to leave the house in—because they didn’t survive Jason. It had become a running joke between them, the sheer number of shirts, pants, and underwear Jason had destroyed in fits of possessive frustration. If something hugged Y/N’s figure a little too well, Jason didn’t bother holding back. Many an innocent shirt had been ripped clean down the middle, casualties of Jason giving in to his urges.

“Do you have any idea how much you cost me in clothes?” Y/N had grumbled once as Jason stood over him, shirtless and smirking like the devil himself.

Jason had only shrugged, pulling Y/N into his lap. “Then stop wearing stuff that teases me,” he murmured, his lips trailing along Y/N’s neck. “Or don’t. Gives me an excuse to buy you more.”

And buy he did. But let’s be real—certain clothes never lasted long in their relationship. Case in point? The time Y/N ordered a pair of shorts he’d been eyeing for weeks, fully aware that Jason would raise an eyebrow so high it’d disappear into his hairline. Still, in a moment of fuck it impulse, Y/N clicked "add to cart," setting the stage for the chaos to follow.

When the package arrived, Y/N pushed the door open with a huff, struggling to balance the various bags and boxes in his arms as he shuffled into the apartment. “Jason, can you help me?” he called, his voice slightly muffled as he tried not to drop anything.

Jason, sprawled on the couch and scrolling through his phone, glanced up. His eyebrows rose at the sight of his boyfriend buried beneath a mountain of shopping bags. “More clothes?” he asked, standing up and strolling over with a teasing smirk.

“Yes, more clothes,” Y/N shot back, setting his haul down on the kitchen counter. “You know, since someone has a habit of destroying half my wardrobe.”

Jason shrugged, entirely unbothered. “What can I say? Some of them deserved it.”

Rolling his eyes, Y/N began unpacking his bags, pulling out folded shirts, joggers, and a few items that were more… adventurous. As Jason retreated back to the couch, Y/N grabbed one of his new purchases and headed to the bathroom to try it on.

A few minutes later, Y/N emerged, ready to test the waters. He stepped into the living room, his expression smug as he strolled in wearing a pair of black shorts that barely qualified as clothing. The sheer mesh fabric, paired with slits running up the sides, left little—if anything—to the imagination.

Jason glanced up, and his relaxed posture evaporated. His gaze sharpened, his smirk vanishing as his eyes darkened with a possessive glint. “Those,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “are not leaving this apartment.”

Y/N paused, glancing at Jason’s expression before looking down to examine the shorts. “What? These? Oh, come on, they’re gym shorts,” he said, smoothing the fabric over his thighs. “I can’t wait to test them out during leg day.”

Jason’s jaw ticked, his gaze locked on Y/N like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re not wearing those to the gym.”

“Jason, don’t start,” Y/N said, stepping closer to the couch—his first mistake. Paired with the loose, cropped tank he was wearing, the look was downright scandalous. He twirled around playfully, flashing a cheeky grin. “See? They’re nice. Functional.”

Jason didn’t reply. He just sat there, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing as Y/N paraded around, pushing the limits. The tension between them was palpable, thickening with every second that Jason didn’t speak. And when Y/N cocked a hip and teased, “What? Don’t like them?”—that was the final straw.

Jason moved so fast Y/N barely registered it. In one fluid motion, he reached out, grabbing the shorts by one of the side slits and yanking hard. The fabric tore with a sharp rip, leaving Y/N stumbling forward with a gasp.

“Jason!” Y/N yelped, his voice equal parts indignation and shock. But before he could gather himself, Jason leaned back on the couch, effortlessly pulling Y/N into his lap. His hands gripped Y/N’s waist, holding him firmly in place as his legs were spread across Jason’s thighs.

“These,” Jason growled, his hands sliding down to Y/N’s exposed skin, “are home-only shorts. Got it?”

Y/N squirmed, pressing his hands against Jason’s chest in a weak attempt to push away. “Jason, you can’t just—”

Another sharp rip interrupted him as Jason’s rough fingers tore at the other slit, leaving the shorts hanging on by mere threads. Y/N gasped, heat rushing to his face as Jason’s hands roamed possessively, smoothing over his bare thighs with deliberate, firm strokes.

“What did I say?” Jason questioned, his voice a dangerous whisper that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. “These are for my eyes only.”

Y/N’s protests dissolved into breathy whines as Jason’s hands tightened around his waist, pulling him closer. A sharp smack landed on Y/N’s rear, drawing a startled yelp, followed by another that left him gripping Jason’s shoulders for balance.

“Stop squirming,” Jason ordered, his tone firm and commanding as he leaned in, his face inches from Y/N’s. His dark gaze pinned Y/N in place as one hand slid to the back of his neck. “You know how this works, sweetheart. You push, I push back.”

Y/N bit his lip, his glare faltering under Jason’s intense stare. At some point, the defiance melted into submission, and their lips collided in a heated, desperate kiss. Jason’s hands never left Y/N’s body, gripping, claiming, and asserting dominance with every touch.

Before Y/N knew it, he was on his knees, Jason standing over him with his pants tugged low enough to reveal just how demanding he was. Y/N didn’t fight it—instead, he leaned into Jason’s command, eager to please the man who had thoroughly dismantled every ounce of his bravado.

By the end of it, Y/N was back on Jason’s lap, legs spread on either side as his body trembled with it being moved roughly up and down on the vigilante’s manhood, his own throbbing hardness rubbing against his boyfriend’s abs as Jason held him close. The only piece of clothing left between them were the shredded remains of the mesh shorts clinging to Y/N’s hips—barely.

Of course, Jason had to replace them with not one, but three new pairs after the fact. But he made it very clear they’d all meet the same fate if Y/N ever dared to wear them outside the apartment.

Did Y/N listen? Absolutely not. Because, let’s be real—he loved pissing Jason off. And honestly? Maybe the whole “brat who likes to be put in his place” thing wasn’t so far off after all.

And, of course, Jason wasn’t the only one who knew how to push buttons. He had his own arsenal of outfits that drove Y/N wild, and he wielded them with precision. Whether it was his compression gear that clung to his chest and arms in ways that made Y/N’s mouth go dry, or his Red Hood attire that practically screamed dominance, Jason loved to see the effect his clothing—or lack thereof—had on Y/N.

“You’re staring,” Jason had teased once, pulling his hoodie over his compression top in the middle of the gym.

Y/N, flustered and blatantly ogling, had tried to recover with a weak, “No, I wasn’t.”

Jason had chuckled, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You were. And I liked it.”

But the real chaos came in the bedroom. Jason, ever the tease, would sometimes refuse to take off his compression shirt or Red Hood pants during sex, fully aware of the primal side it brought out in Y/N.

“Stop, don’t take it off,” Y/N had panted once, his fingers gripping the slick, tight material as Jason tried to pull it over his head. “Leave it on.”

Jason had smirked, leaning down to kiss Y/N’s neck as he growled, “Anything you want, sweetheart.” He knew exactly what he was doing, letting Y/N’s hands wander over the material, the added friction driving him crazy in the best way.

Jason loved pulling that raw, uninhibited side out of Y/N. It was a side only he got to see, and he relished every second of it. Because while Jason loved being the one in control, he also loved seeing Y/N completely undone, lost in the moment with him.

It was, perhaps, a side effect of Jason’s deeply ingrained dominant nature—his unrelenting need to maintain a sense of control over his surroundings and the people within them. Did that mean he saw Y/N as something to control? Absolutely not. But Jason would be the first to admit that the urge to assert himself surfaced now and then. Fortunately, he had found a way to channel it into something far more productive, releasing it in moments of intimacy where it was not only welcomed but eagerly reciprocated.

And those moments of intimacy? They weren’t confined to the bedroom. Jason’s possessiveness bled into every aspect of their lives, a steady undercurrent to the way he loved. His need for control stemmed from a life filled with chaos, and Y/N understood that better than anyone. Whether it was the firm weight of Jason’s hand resting on the back of his neck during a particularly heated moment, or the low, growling reminders of exactly who Y/N belonged to, Jason’s message was always clear: he didn’t just love Y/N—he claimed him, body and soul.

Jason didn’t say much when Y/N walked into their apartment wearing the oversized hoodie. It was one of Jason’s, slightly frayed at the cuffs and just loose enough to drown Y/N’s smaller frame. The sight alone had Jason's lips twitching upward, his ego swelling with unspoken pride. There was something about Y/N wearing his clothes, especially in public, that hit Jason in a way he couldn’t describe. It wasn’t just the visual—it was the claim it represented, the quiet acknowledgment that Y/N was his, and he didn’t even need to say it out loud for the world to know.

“Isn’t this your hoodie?” Y/N asked casually, dropping his bag onto the floor as he walked past Jason toward the kitchen. He sounded innocent, completely unaware of the fire he’d just stoked. “I borrowed it to wear on campus today. It’s so comfy.”

Jason didn’t respond right away, his gaze trailing after Y/N like a predator tracking its prey. He could see how the fabric clung to Y/N’s shoulders and chest, the way the hem barely grazed the tops of his thighs. It was maddening. He let out a slow, measured breath, leaning back into the couch. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s mine,” Jason finally said, his voice low but even.

Y/N hummed a little as he rummaged through the fridge. “Well, don’t expect to see it for a while. I’m keeping it.”

Jason’s jaw ticked, his fingers tapping against the armrest of the couch. You’re keeping it, huh? The possessive part of his brain whispered promises of retribution, even as he outwardly played it cool. He waited, biding his time.

Later that night, Jason made his move.

Y/N barely had a chance to react before he found himself pinned beneath Jason on the mattress, the hoodie in question already shoved halfway up his torso. Jason’s massive frame hovered over him, his green-blue eyes blazing with a mix of heat and unrestrained hunger.

“You wore my hoodie,” Jason murmured, his voice husky and low, each word dripping with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

“Yeah,” Y/N managed to reply, his voice breathless as Jason’s hands slid beneath the fabric, rough palms grazing over his bare skin. “I… I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Jason smirked, leaning down until his lips brushed against Y/N’s ear. “I don’t mind, sweetheart,” he whispered. “In fact, I like it. But you should’ve known what that would do to me.”

Before Y/N could respond, Jason’s lips captured his in a searing kiss, stealing the air from his lungs. The hoodie bunched awkwardly around Y/N’s chest as Jason adjusted their positions, one hand pinning Y/N’s wrists above his head while the other roamed freely, kneading his thighs and gripping his waist.

Jason moved slowly at first, rocking his hips in a deliberate rhythm that had Y/N arching up into him. The friction of the hoodie’s fabric against their heated skin was intoxicating, Jason’s voice dropping into a growl as he murmured filthy words into Y/N’s ear.

“You wore this out in public,” Jason said, his voice dark and possessive as his hand slid up to gently grip Y/N’s throat. “Let everyone see you in my clothes. Do you know what that does to me? Huh? Knowing they all saw you like this, wearing something that smells like me?”

Y/N whimpered, his eyes glassy as he gazed up at Jason. His thighs trembled where they were pressed against Jason’s hips, every sharp thrust pulling more desperate sounds from his lips.

Jason tightened his grip slightly, just enough to send a jolt of adrenaline through Y/N without ever crossing the line. “Next time,” Jason growled, his pace rough and demanding now, “ask me first. Or better yet, let me put it on you myself. Because when you wear this, it’s not just a hoodie—it’s a mark. A reminder to everyone who you belong to.”

Y/N’s head lolled back against the pillow, his hands twisting beneath Jason’s unyielding grip. His voice was barely above a whisper as he replied, “Yours, Jason. I’m yours.”

That was all Jason needed. He buried himself deeper, his hand slipping from Y/N’s throat to cup his jaw as he captured his lips again. By the time they were both spent, the hoodie had become an even bigger mess—damp with sweat and stretched beyond repair. Jason lay beside Y/N, his chest rising and falling as he dragged a hand over the faint marks he’d left on Y/N’s neck.

“You’re not wearing this hoodie out again,” Jason murmured, his tone soft now, though no less firm.

Y/N let out a sleepy laugh, snuggling closer to Jason’s side. “Good thing you’ve got plenty more for me to borrow.”

Jason chuckled, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Y/N smirked, his eyes fluttering shut. “Not a chance.”

Jason let out a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around Y/N and pulling him closer. Because for all his possessiveness, all his need to dominate and claim, it was moments like this—holding Y/N close, feeling the steady beat of his heart—that reminded him what all of it was really for. Y/N couldn’t help but smile to, because no matter how overwhelming Jason’s love could be, it was also the safest place Y/N had ever known.

Yeah, their love really was like no other. Y/N could absolutely understand why people envied and praised their relationship—it was intense, chaotic, and tender all at once, the kind of connection that made rom-coms look bland by comparison. If he were in their shoes, he’d probably be gushing about it too. Hell, he already did, and he was living it.

But honestly? The next person who came up to him with the audacity to ask if Jason was single was about to catch hands. Y/N normally wasn’t the jealous one in their relationship as it’s been made clear—normally—but there were limits. And some people clearly didn’t know what those limits were.

Just ask that bitch, Xavion…

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[oldsoul007]

Shadows of the Sacred

father charlie mayhewxdetective reader

Summary: what begins as a case for y/n takes a turn to something far more difficult for y/n to resist

disclaimer: I’m not catholic and no disrespect to the religion at all just been wanting to write about him and the show. This is just a work of fiction. (Loosely follows the plot) I jus write for fun so I’m not giving it my all, be nice ;) and enjoy

Warnings: making out, blasphemy?, forbidden love, sexual themes, not proofread

masterlist

There's an undeniable allure to a man who is off-limits.

The office was noisy with the recent murders going on. Some psychopath was killing people and putting them into religious meaning. We have no clue who could be doing something like this. Lois was currently talking to some nun that came in here. She has a very weird vibe from her considering she’s a nun. I think Lois thinks so too considering how she’s looking at her.

I feel like I’m going insane lately. Considering I haven’t been able to sleep after seeing those things. Even in my dreams I can’t escape them. You think no matter how many years you’ve been working like this you’d be used to these things by now. I sat at my desk, the hum of the precinct filling the air as i sifted through a mountain of paperwork. The phone rang incessantly, and the chatter of my colleagues created a constant background noise.

Just as I was about to take a sip of my now lukewarm coffee, my boss, Lois, burst into the room. "Y/n, I need you on this one," Lois said, urgency in her voice. “Im gonna need you to follow that nun and the priest she was talking about to see what you can get off her” she says pointing at the nun walking out of the building. “What, you thinking she has something to do with the murders?” “No, at least not alone but I just there’s something about her.”

So here I was walking into a chapel for Sunday mass. Sunlight seeping in through the stain glass. Church bells ringing in my ears. The smell of old wood. Somewhere I haven’t been since I was 16 years old. I sit in the back behind an elderly couple hoping to go unnoticed. I noticed the priest sitting in his chair tapping his hand along to the choir. He’s wearing these dark red boots along with his priest attire seeming very serious. He looked very young for a priest, and was very attractive.

The choir stops and a light beams down on him. He stood up and started speaking to the congregation. I watched as Nun Megan looked up at him amazed. I zoned out until it was over. I watch as everyone flows out of the chapel stopping to speak to the priest first of course. I stand up to leave when I see the nun running around the corner. I seem to zone out on her suspicious whereabouts when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. “Shit you scared me” I turn around and meet face to face with the priest. “Oh forgive me father I-“

“It’s quite alright we all have our vices” he smiles. “I noticed you while I was speaking, I’ve never seen you before what made you want to come to our church? The blog?” He asks eagerly. “Um…I don’t know what blog you’re talking about? But no, I’m catholic I’ve just been inactive for a while and thought I should reconnect with the church.” “Oh well welcome back, we’re glad to have you.” “Me too…I’m y/n” I say reaching out my hand. He puts my hand in between both of his hands holding it. “Father Charlie Mayhew.” He smiles.

I notice movement to the right of me seeing sister Megan watching us. I drop my hand from his and act like I don’t notice her. “Well I better get going I enjoyed your sermon” I say backing away from him after noticing how close I was standing to him. He looked over noticing sister Megan too. I decided to leave so I wouldn’t draw too much attention. “Nice boots” I say as I proceed to walk out of the chapel.

I feel someone run up next to me, looking over to see sister Megan. “So what made you decide to come to our church?” She asked curiously. “That seems to be the question of the day” I say blankly. “Well it’s just we don’t get many new people joining the church lately” she says trying to keep up with me. “I just decided to come back after a while” I say grabbing my door nob to my car. “Bye now” I pull out a cigarette and start to drive back to the station.

I’ve been to many masses but nothing seems out of the norm so I decided I should talk to the preist more. He’s so intriguing. It always felt like he was staring at me but I think it’s just me being paranoid. After the service I lingered a bit waiting for everyone to leave so it was just me and him, with me sitting and him up at the altar putting out the candles. Me seeming to go unnoticed by him I carefully stand up and walk over to him.

“Father Charlie?” He turns around noticing it’s me he softly smiles. “It’s nice seeing you again y/n” "well, I really enjoyed your sermon today," i began. "It gave me a lot to think about." "Thank you, y/n," he replied, genuinely pleased. "I'm glad it resonated with you."

I took a breath, feeling a bit nervous but determined. "I was wondering if you'd like to have lunch with me sometime. There's a diner nearby that I've heard great things about. It would be nice to get to know you better outside of the chapel."

Father Charlie's face lit up with a smile. "That sounds wonderful, y/n. I'd love to join you for lunch. How about tomorrow?" "Perfect," she said, relieved and happy. "I'll see you then."

The door jingled as it opened and I spot Father Charlie settled into the booth at the rundown diner, the aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon wafting through the air.

"Good afternoon, y/n," he greeted warmly as I approached the table. "I hope you don't mind, I went ahead and ordered some coffee."

"Oh Not at all, Father Charlie," i replied with a smile, sliding into the seat across from him. "Coffee sounds perfect."

He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me better, almost drawn to me. "So, y/n," he began, his eyes twinkling with curiosity, "tell me more about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

I hesitated for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "I work in public service," I said, which was true enough. "It's a challenging job, but I find it very rewarding."

Father Charlie nodded, listening to me. "That sounds like a noble profession. It's always heartening to meet people who are dedicated to helping others.” “You know the more I talk to you the more I feel like I’ve met you before” I muttered. “Well I get that a lot” he chuckled. “Wait no, you went to pine valley high, it’s funny you said you always wanted to be a doctor” “and you said you always wanted to be a detective” I shuttered as he says almost suspiciously. “I mean look where we ended up” I laugh trying to change the subject.

“I always admired you in high school” he says eating a fry. “Really? I mean I always tried to go unnoticed” “I have no idea what you’re talking about you seemed so confident” “I mean that’s what I showed everyone” “I understand.” He said seeming to sense my uneasiness.

“I was wondering if you knew anything about the murders happening around town.” Father Charlie eagerly changing the subject. "…it’s been so unsettling lately," I said, trying to seem confused. "These strange murders have everyone on edge. It's hard to believe something like this could happen in our small town."

Father Charlie nodded, his expression serious. "I know. The community is shaken. People are scared, and it's understandable. The randomness of the attacks makes it even more terrifying."

I took a sip of my coffee, my mind racing with thoughts of the recent events. "this... it's different. There's no clear pattern, no obvious motive. It's like the killer is playing a twisted game."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Do you think there's anything we can do to help find the killer? Maybe there's something we've overlooked."

He pondered my question, unaware of my true role in the investigation. "We can pray for guidance and protection, and we can keep our eyes and ears open. Sometimes the smallest details can make the biggest difference."

I felt a pang of guilt for not being able to confide in him fully, but i knew my cover was crucial to solving the case. "You're right, Father.“

Father Charlie placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You should read the blog, Sister Megan has an interesting way of talking about the whole case" Father Charlie leaned forward, his eyes filled with passion. “You seem to know a lot about these events.” “What can I say I like true crime.” I joke.

As our lunch arrived, we delved into deeper topics, sharing stories and perspectives. An unspoken connection seemed to grow between each other. We found themselves sharing more than just professional interests; we talked about our hopes, our fears, and our dreams. The more we shared, the more we realized how much they had in common.

“Well I have to go now but I’d love to talk to you more. So I was wondering if you’d come by the monastery later tonight?” Father Charlie asked. “Uh is that allowed Father?” “I say so, I’ll see you later then” he said as he left money for food and walked out the diner.

I arrived at the chapel later that day as the sun began to set. I walk in and it’s completely silent. I walk around the corner to find steps trying to find Father Charlie.

“In here y/n” I heard him shout. "You know I really admire the work you do here, Father Charlie," i said. "It's inspiring to see someone so dedicated to their faith and their community." "Thank you, y/n. Your dedication to public service is equally admirable. It's rare to meet someone with such a strong sense of duty and compassion."

As I reach what I’m assuming is his room. The door in opened ajar so I gently knock trying not to push the door. “Come in.” I head him say. I push open the door to see him leaning against the wall in only a towel. “Oh sorry is this a bad time I can come back later” I try not to look down. “no, please stay. Would you mind closing the door?” He bops his head. I push the door closed with my back against it trying to resist getting close for him. His hair was wet which made him even more attractive, he was so toned and large.

“So um why’d you want me to meet you, here?” “Maybe I just like seeing your angelic face” he smiles, creeping toward me. "Y/n," he began, his voice tinged with regret, "I feel a connection between us, and I know that you feel it too, But I also know that there are boundaries we must respect. My commitment to the church and to my faith is something I hold dear." I nodded, "I understand, Father Charlie. I feel the same way. It's just... difficult to ignore what we feel."

We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of our unspoken emotions hanging in the air. Finally, Father Charlie spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. "Perhaps, I’ve been wanting a change in the church for a while, I mean it’s a new world”

“Father Charlie I- “Charlie please” he cut me off. I nodded. “Would you mind drying my back” he says reaching out a towel to me. I walk slowly toward him, taking the towel. He kneels on this wooden step stool thing and I proceed to walk over so I’ll be behind him. I hesitate and notice his back full of scratches and stitches. “Fa-Charlie?” I say as I gently start swiping the towel on his back. “Yes y/n” “what happen to your back?” I feel his shudder as I ran my finger gently over one scar.

He slowly stands up so we’re face to face with him towering over me. “We all have our vices” he says in a whisper, grabbing my chin with his hand gently. His eye piercing through mine. I could almost hear my heartbeat against his. “I should go” he grips my arm as I try and walk toward the door. I grab his bicep gently like he’s gripping my arm. “This isn’t right Charlie” “I know but if it’s wrong why does it feel so good” he mutters as he backs me up against the wall. His lips lingering over mine, his bare chest against mine, his breath against mine. He runs his lips done my neck leaving open mouths kisses along my collar bone.

I grab his face to look back up at me. “Fuck it” he says under his breath. He grabs my face kissing me harshly. I could tell he hasn’t kiss someone in a long time. I could feel his tongue against mine and running over my teeth. “oh y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.” He said in between kissing me. I let out a soft moan against his mouth, and that sound seemed to do it. He grabs me and lays me down on the bed.

He starts kissing me going lower down my body. Hot open mouth kisses. He pushes my skirt up kissing my upper thighs slowly. Sending shivers down my spine. I brush my fingers through his hair throwing my head back at the feeling.

And then I came back to reality. I push his shoulders to keep distance from him. “Wait, stop we can’t.” I say pushing my skirt back down. “Why?” He says brushing my calf. “Why? Charlie you have no idea how badly I want to but you’re…you’re a priest you took a vow. It’s a sin” “you’re not a sin”

…..

a/n: part || coming soon…

[yurinaa-world]

I see your requests are open so give me a chance!

Can you please do something like Jiaoqiu,Moze,Aventurine and Jing yuan with a Kyouka like (From bsd)reader?

Pls...

"𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒷𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Jiaoqiu, Moze, Aventurine & Jing yuan x Gender-neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader that's like Kyouka

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: I'll always give you a chance anon!

💫𝒥𝒾𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓊 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔"

He’s always chided you about those minor injuries you show up with, even if it may be a scratch on your skin, it can get worse, and he rather do anything in his power to make a simple scratch on your skin disappear, as if wasn’t there at all.

Now, no different than before, he even force feeds so you regain all your strength even when you decline his offer, he still won’t take no for it, not one single excuse either! Why must he love someone who so willing to throw theirlife away?! Very iconic...

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You don’t have to do this...” you say blankly, staring at the bowl of food he’s made for you. You’re grateful about everything, better than when he was freaking out over the copious amounts of blood on your body and clothes, most of which wasn’t even yours, to begin with, just minor scratches here and there (not even caused by anyone, just by your carelessness).

Forcing you into a shower immediately to get the scent of death off of your body with a nice hot shower, before fixing your injuries (just a couple of bandaids here and there, nothing big as he makes his reaction out to be). 

Now you can hear the emotion in his sigh as he makes something extra for you to eat. “It’s almost like you’re living to starve yourself,” He worried, stirring the pot gently, you can’t help but feel guilty about how he’s feeling, guilty and torn about how worried he is about you.

Take a large spoonful of food from the bowl to at least give a try to whatever he’s made for you and it’s truly not so bad, taking more and more spoonfuls as the flavour of the food gets better.“It’s really good” You smiled, making him so joyful, seeing you give the food a chance and like it. 

“Isn’t it better than starving yourself?”

💫𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

You both are quiet, silent love is what you both share. He can’t help but take your hand and kiss the top of your knuckles without any hesitation or fluster in his eyes as he gazes into your own. He has no fear of directly showing his love before leaving for the day.

He knows everything, even when you secretly glance at desserts displayed outside a bakery, maybe taking more of a glance—which never goes unnoticed by him, you have such a sweet tooth it’s obvious.

Every day he brings you that cake you’ve always been looking at, just seeing that happy expression on your face when you see the cake in his hands always makes him go soft for you. (It might just be his way to avoid you noticing his injuries).

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You can put the knife away.”

He held your wrist firmly, just so that knife in your hand wouldn’t stab him in the face from your reflexes—he really shouldn’t set your reflexes off with his silent footsteps—your ears were made to hear even the sound of pen dropping—he might just be asking for a death wish. 

Seeing your eyes go from murderous into soft ones as you sigh, realizing it’s him, prompts him to let go of your wrist, and watches you put down that dull kitchen knife.

“You should be more careful, I could’ve killed you.” You chided. No doubt that you could leave a deadly injury even when that dull knife is in your hands—even the dullest of objects you could make into the sharpest of weapons.

“I got you a gift.”

Revealing his other hand to a boxed-up cake from that new bakery that opened up in the Xianzhou Yaoqing you’ve been interested in—shocking he even noticed that quickly, you didn’t even mention it to him. Seeing your expression light up as if you were a kid receiving a huge gift, even holding the boxed-up cake like a kid.

“Thank you. Let me cut this properly so we eat this together” You smile brightly, ear to ear, watching you skip to the kitchen.

 He was glad you were happy with this gift, and he couldn’t allow your happiness to be ruined by a foolish injury of his—a worried expression if you had noticed his arm bleeding through his previous bandages—trying to quickly bandage a new wound on his arm before meeting you in the kitchen.

He can’t help but wrap his arms around you while you just get a spoon and eat right from the cake instead of cutting it—it looked too good!—“It’s so good,” You mutter, before taking another spoonful of that soft dessert.

“Thank you, Moze.”

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉"

Your little obsession with little trinkets, makes him laugh whenever you stop in your tracks in the middle of the sidewalk just to look at the little fragile trinket displayed behind a window. Your eyes light immediately, which prompts him to take you into the shop, so you can buy something (even if you refuse).

He could buy you the entire trinket shop if you truly wanted, yet it’s quite fun following you around while you stop to pick the little trinket in your hand, holding it in your palms like it were an animal.

Showing him the little thing and asking him what he thought of it, before quickly moving on to see a different part of the store like a needy child with a craze to see anything. 

─── ⋆⋅☆���⋆ ───

“I could just buy you the entire shop.”

His words just went one ear and out the other—you disliked too much of his spoiling, it made you lose yourself, in case you needed to protect him, one it enough for you—while you stayed crouched down looking at a little bunny trinket on the bottom shelf. Which just boosts his grin, watching you pop back up with the little thing in your palms as if it were alive.

“Doesn’t it look so cute?” A pretty smile accompanied by a happy tone of voice makes him weak for you—irresistible as always—and he just goes soft. “It does look cute, yet it seems like it's missing something,” he smiles before giving you a confused look, the thumb on his chin just puts the whole act together. 

“What’s missing?”

“Its lover, of course.” Saying like it's fact, which causes the light bulb in your head to shine brightly, before looking back at the shelf to look for another trinket that matches. He can’t help but to one out for you to match with, a little dolphin with a smiley face. 

“How about this one?” 

“It matches perfectly!” 

“But…” He seems to get more confused.

“But?” 

Forgive him for taking a little advantage of you, watching you lean in closer with your whole body. “Her friends are missing.” Was This his way of making you spend more, maybe? Not as if you're declining, so it’s a win-win in his books.

💫𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒞𝓁𝑜𝓊𝒹 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈"

He’s quite the lover, dozing off whenever he can, which just leaves you to gently wake him up and take him back to bed so he doesn’t catch a cold. 

When you drag him back to bed just to be faced with no pillows, ah…how could this have happened…(orchestrated by a certain general, of course)..there’s nothing you could find which just leads you to lay him on your lap so he doesn’t hurt his neck without having anything under his head.

It was an enjoyable feeling when he feels his head on your lap as he wakes up from his slumber, he might just dig his face more into your lap. A general abusing his knowledge to have you to himself, not the first or last.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Gently caressing his hair while a peaceful expression was spread upon his face, known to you, Jing Yuan was half awake just enjoying the amazing feeling—it was too good to let his tired body let go of—he forced himself to stay up, only to be caught by his selfish desire to want more before slumber gets to him.

“Is this comfortable for you?” You whisper, leaning down to caress his cheek with your hand, his lidded eyes staring back at you—as if it were a scene out of a romance novel. “More than comfortable.” He yawned, before digging the side of his face into your thigh as much as he could.

“Jing Yuan.”

A worrisome expression spreads on your face, prompts him to grab your hand and lean more into your touch—he’ll any type of physical affection he can get from you. “You shouldn’t be sleeping outside so leisurely, there might be assassins or spies who would take their chance.” You fretted, while he didn’t seem to take words only enjoying the feeling that he’s waited for.

“You worry too much, soon the hairs on your head might turn gray,” he hummed, such worrier you are, yet any man wishes to have such caring lovers as someone like you. He doesn’t want that worried look on your face to stay present for long, he gently moves your hand until your fingertips are on his lips, pressing a kiss on those precious hands of yours. 

“I'm only teasing, I’ll be fine.”

[writerseclipse1]

Mrs. Ghostface [simon r./ghost]

inspo: halloween is tmrw!!

summary: the 141 boys are out in a bar on the scariest night of the year--all hallows eve.

warnings: sfw, sexual innuendos, simon's lowkey a simp but we love him <3

word count: 1.3k, unedited (just a babe!)

a/n: the masterlist WILL come i promise 🙏

“What is it with all the costumes?” Said a grumpy Kyle as they all took a seat at the bar, their eyes wandering around amongst the crowd that looked like they gathered to play dress-up. Price could only chuckle at the sergeant who was chosen as their designated driver, watching the man eye their own drinks with envy.

“Tha’ my friend” Johnny chuckled, swirling his drink around in his glass before taking a long swig. “Is the beauty of Halloween. Drinks, candies, not to mention the pretty ladies.” He whistled, eyes trailing a blonde—undoubtedly dressed as Britney Spears—before Kyle smacked him on the back of the head.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, mate,” he rolled his eyes as Johnny protested, drops of his drink spilling on his lap. “That what the military teaches you?”

“‘M just lookin’, damn,” Johnny grumbled, rubbing the back of his head and trying to wipe the stain off his jeans but to no avail. “Aye, now look wha’ you done! Now they’ll think I went off to have a wee chug!”

“English, Mactavish.” Simon huffed as his eyes moved away from his drink to his sergeant while the mentioned couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Meant they might think I was wankin’ off an’ jizzed in my pants,” said Johnny lowly, downing his drink and asking the bartender for another. The man only nodded, swiping his glass from the countertop and walking away to fill it up.

Price, being somewhat of a mentor figure to the three, peered over to the other edge of the counter just as Simon had spoken, eyebrow raised like a curious father. “Tha’s the first word you’ve said since we got here. You alrigh’ there, Simon?”

The man could only offer a small grunt and a shrug expecting his captain to drop it as he adjusted his mask. For nights out like this, he opted only for his half-mask and his all but erased around-the-eye black paint. He wanted to let loose tonight, well, as much as he would allow himself anyway.

So it was certainly a surprise to him when he saw you, clad in a sexy little black dress that ended around the middle of your thighs, Ghostface mask pushed up to rest on top of your head. His eyes couldn’t help but widen, watching as you walked into the bar amongst the rest of your friends.

As if you sensed his gaze, a single glance from you made him freeze, holding his stare for a beat before he ultimately looked away. The jerk of his head did not go unnoticed, Johnny’s eyes drifting toward the group of girls before landing back on the masked man with a cheeky grin.

“Well, wha’ do we have ‘ere, eh? Seems that the dark and mysterious L.T. has got a wee crush on someone,” he laughed, patting Simon on the shoulder. “Gonna give it to you, though, you’re not exactly the ‘loverboy’ type.”

Simon’s eyebrow raised at this, moving so he slightly faced Johnny. “Care to elaborate, Johnny?”

After a good five minutes of Johnny teaching Simon how to be, as the Scot put it, “suave with the ladies,” Johnny nudged Simon as a familiar someone neared the bar. Simon watched from his peripherals as you eyed him carefully, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“What can I get you, little lady? Or should I say Ghostface?” The bartender teased and when he heard your laugh, Simon thought that maybe being murdered by Ghostface wasn’t so bad if it was you under the mask. 

“A Bloody Mary would be good, thanks,” you grinned as he winked, walking off to prepare your drink. You took the chance to sidle up to the chair beside Simon’s, perching yourself onto the worn-out but comfortable leather stool.

“So,” you drawled, leaning on your palm as Simon adjusted, his knees facing you now as he eyed you with what others would say a lingering interest, but you knew better. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Simon quirked an eyebrow, throwing his head back and downing the shot in one go before pulling his mask back down under his chin, putting the small glass onto the countertop. “I’m no’ into the whole Halloween bit, sweet’eart.”

His lips twitched under the mask as you rolled your eyes, moving closer to him so your bare knee touched his clothed one, making something else twitch in his pants. “Oh, come on, you look familiar with the whole…skeleton mask thing. Oh! Are you the kid from Coco, you know, Miguel? The one who—“

“‘ve seen the movie, love, but thank you for the description,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “But nah, that’s not me.”

“Well, who are you then?” Your cheeky smile was enough to send his mind into a frenzy, lips subconsciously licking his lips but before he could speak, the bartender beat him to it, sliding your requested glass of Bloody Mary across the counter, the small lemon slice and the white straw rustling against the ice.

“Bloody Mary for the pretty lady,” the bartender smirks, winking at you as you take a small sip, his forearms leaning onto the edges of the counter. As you dug into your purse, he shook his head “This one’s on the house. Don’t want Little Miss Ghostface to be mad at me now, do I?”

“Right, thank you Alfie,” you giggled, placing a hand atop Simon’s. “And by the looks of it, you should clear all their tabs as well.”

Alfie, despite knowing his regulars, gulped at the sight of Simon’s clenched fist and the feeling of the man’s burning gaze. “Right, consider it cleared.”

“And while you’re at it, Alfie,” Simon all but snarled and if it wasn’t for his slight familiarity with the bartender, the man’s teeth would've been knocked up his arse by now. “Stop flirting with my wife. I know that you know be’er than tha’.”

Alfie audibly gulped and nodded his head, hurriedly rushing off to serve a few customers. Simon heard your little giggle and his fist loosened, his large hand interlocking with yours when he felt your lips against his temple.

“My hero,” you teased, eyes shifting toward the shocked faces of his colleagues as their eyes darted from you, a dainty little thing compared to their lieutenant, all dark and imposing with shoulders for days. You felt Simon squeeze your hand and in return, you gave him a soft smile. “I’ll call a cab for us home, yeah? But give me a few minutes, gotta say bye to the girls first.”

“No, no, we ain’t leaving yet,” he murmured, eyes trailing from the hem of your dress up to your eyes, studying you closely. “You jus’ got here, go have some fun with the girls, and call me if someone bothers you, yeah? Or any of ‘em.”

He was pleased when he saw you nod, pulling down his mask just enough to capture your lips in a soft kiss, his hands cupping your neck before pulling back, lifting his mask back up and fixing the Ghostface mask that sat atop your pretty head.

“Damn L.T., never told us you were doll dizzy,” muttered Johnny, his eyes trailing over your form before Simon smacked the back of his head hard. “Wha’ is with all o’ ‘ye and the back o’ me head, eh?!”

Looking past him, you fixed your eyes on Johnny. “Hey. Johnny, right? If you’re still interested in the pretty blonde dressed as Britney, just tell me, yeah? She has a thing for mohawks,” you teased, standing up from the stool and putting a hand on Simon’s shoulder. Johnny’s eyebrows shot up, intrigued and stealing glances at the said blonde, your friend’s face a shade pinker than her dress. 

“I love you,” you whisper in Simon’s ear, seeing the crinkle in his eyes as he looks up at you, his thumb caressing your hip bone.

“I love ya too, Mrs. Ghostface.” He murmured cheekily, pressing a kiss to your cheek through the cloth of his mask.

[rowretro]

𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐩𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬, 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬, 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝.

✧IMAGES DO NOT BELONG TO ME✧

✧warnings:toxic/yandere themes, harassment, violence, stalking Blood,

✧synopsis: Serial killer Riki was a rich bratty son of an extremely rich CEO who got away with many murders. However, when his eyes set on her, his new drive was different, for he has fallen in love for the first time, and he wants it to last (I'll do more parts to this if uw<3)

Nishimura Riki would openly murder his victims in torturous manners, but no one would dare to ever take action on him. No one understood how such a handsome, quiet, talented boy ended up being a man almost everyone feared. Though people have started to notice, tiny changes in him. He started smiling...

A smile that rooted from a girl no one would ever believe Riki fell for. Yang Y/n. He notices how your high heels were between 5-7 inches, and yet you're so adorably short under him. He loved your different hairstyles, especially those space buns that match your smiley persona. Though you wasn't the smartest, you are extremely creative on paper, canvas, and on your face. He was observant of all the different makeup styles and glitters you used. Oh and that lip gloss stick. Pretty and perfect, making your lips look oh so kissable.

Riki never stopped killing though, heck he started killing more, there were more shades of blood than the pretty, red lipsticks you owned. How could he stop when so many boys always find a way to get your attention. Whether its slapping or groping you, as if you were just an object to them, or approaching you with flower bouquets. You found it suspicious how the boys who had something to do with you always drop dead the next day.

You spent a little extra time in school today as you had a detention. It was obvious. Mr Choi was definitely biased, he always called you out over stupid things and tries to get you in detention. Anyone could tell he wants you by the way his hands linger and How unprofessional he gets around you. This didn't go unnoticed by Riki either. As you stepped back into his class as you dropped your favourite red lipstick there, you gasped at the scene.

Red liquid splattered everywhere, a scene straight out of a violent horror film. So what if you lose one red lipstick? its better than losing your blood. "Oh princess... don't be scared" a voice called out from behind. You immediately turn around, your face hitting Riki's chest as you stumble back. Riki catches you, holding you tight against his body, a small bloody scar on the side of his face. "I had to teach that pedo a lesson for messing with my doll." he simply said.

"He won't be messing with you for a while hmm?" he chuckled as h forcefully pulled you into a loving, passionate kiss. It was both your and his first kiss, for him a dream come true but for you, a nightmare. He pulled away, his dark eyes staring into yours, seeing nothing but fear, your silence ticking him off. The man swiped blood off of his bleeding cut, and smeared it on your lips. "Hmm... red lipstick looks pretty on you baby..." he chuckled watching you wipe off the blood from your lips "my pretty baby." he darkly said.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

He’s mine || Billy the kid x oc!reader

Summary: Mrs Riley’s affection for Billy does not go unnoticed by you, or anyone for that matter. There was hardly competition because unlike her, you weren’t married and sworn to another man, but Mrs. Riley just needed a little push over the edge and she would be done for. What you didn't expect however, was that you would be there at the scene of her downfall.

Warnings: slightly dark oc! mention of blood, shooting, oc sorta manipulates Billy, possessiveness, guilt trapping, violence, mention of dead body

Wc: 4,712 this is a loooong one, longest one ive ever written lol.

A/n: Sofía does not back down when it comes to getting what she wants is all I gotta say 😃 also it's sorta long because I'm basically retelling some of the scenes from the btk episode but with sofia in it so..

Divider by @pommecita

In Mr. Murphy's sprawling house, the air buzzed with animated conversations, and the linger familiar scent of alcohol and smoke added to the vibrant atmosphere. You and Billy navigated the lively gathering, your hand on Billy's arm.

"There he is," A voice murmurs softy, pulling your attention away from Billy. "Billy! Come here." John Riley, Murphy's right hand man, beckoned him over for a chat. You could sense the hesitation within Billy but Mr. Riley persists. "I would like to introduce you to my wife," He rests his hand on the woman's waist. She looked no more than 3 years older than you, her hair elegantly arranged in a bun as she showcases her pearly white smile.

"Honey, this is the fella I was telling you about, this is Billy the Kid," Because of how tall Billy was compared to majority of the people here, Both Mr. and Mrs. Riley had to gaze up at him. "Billy belongs to The House now. This is Irene," John gestures to his wife.

Watching the entire ordeal by his side, you saw a glint of desire in Irene's eyes. "Howdy," Billy tips his hat nonchalantly, sporting a bored expression as Irene extends her hand out for a shake. Your gaze drifts around the room, noticing eyes already fixed on you as your hands delicately squeeze Billy's arm.

"So, you're a cowboy, are you?" She grins broadly, the smile stretching from ear to ear, her hand lingering on Billy's just a beat longer than deemed necessary for a married woman with high status like her. "Oh, he's an outlaw, baby," Mr. Riley corrects his wife with a sly smile. Leaning in, he murmurs into her ear, "This man's wanted for murder."

Irene subtly inches closer to Billy, her voice gentle and soft, "Well, it sure is nice to meet such a handsome outlaw." Her eyes carefully trace his features as Billy, feeing a tad bit awkward, manages a brief, but tentative smile, then glances towards Mr. Riley. "Billy," He bids him goodbye, tension already simmering, and he draws Irene along with him, her gaze remaining fixed on him.

"I don't like her," You assert boldly as Billy smiles, he loved it when you were up front with him. He turns to face you, his hand gently on your waist while the other finds its place at the base of your neck. "Me neither, sweetheart. She looks like trouble, and I don't want that," He reassures you, affirming his unwavering loyalty.

"Hey Billy," James Dolan interrupts his conversation with Jesse. "Uh, we've, uh, set up a little fun thing for you to do," he says, fixing an intense gaze on Billy. You set your glass down, and Jesse glances at you. "See, everyone here, they want to see what you can do with a gun, hmm?"

At the mere mention of guns, Billy's gaze shifts to the floor, and he leans back on the table behind him. "They've all heard the stories." Jesse uncomfortable shifts as you observe Dolan, "Murphy thinks it would be a great idea for you to give 'em all a little- you know- demonstration." He playfully slaps Billy's chest.

"Yeah? No." Billy says flatly, turning to leave before James firmly grips his arm "Okay, okay, Billy." He shakes head, his hands resting on his hips. You narrow your eyes at him, not liking him already. "I see you don't understand how the wicks. We're paying you a whole lot of money, so if we ask you to do something small for us in return," Billy's head drops, "we expect you to do it."

"Now, come this way," He gestures, anticipating Billy's compliance. Instead, Billy stands his ground, "I don't feel like doing that," You glance between Billy and James who kisses his teeth and beckons for a man named Jimmy.

Jesse turns around to face the table, pouring himself a glass of alcohol before extending the offer to you. A subtle shake of your head declines the offer, but Billy eagerly accepts, tossing his head back with a satisfied expression. James whispers into another man's ear, Jimmy you assume as he then continues to tell Billy how he should do this little, to show everyone how good he was.

"You can do that for us, yes?" Jimmy holds Billy's shoulder, his gaze on the floor once again. "And if you agree there, Billy, we got you a little gift, hmm?" James adds as he opens a wooden box revealing a gleaming double action revolver.

You weren't an expert on firearms but the subtle widening of Jesse's eyes before he averts his gaze signifies the weapon's quality "It's brand new. Very expensive. We think you're gonna like it," Jimmy adds as he and James stare at Billy.

Billy's gaze shifts from the gun to the two men standing before him. A momentary hush envelops the room before his eyes meet yours and Jesse's. A sigh escapes him as he sets his glass down.

Billy picks up the gun, inspecting it, before toying with it, eliciting gasps from those around the room. He then tucks it in his gun belt, pouring himself a reasonable amount of whiskey and downing it in one determined gulp. You approach Billy, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm as he wipes the corner of his lips.

"You sure you wanna do this?" You gently ask him, already knowing his reluctance. "What choice do I have, Sof?" He mutters before he's urged to move on.

"Ladies and gentleman, our friend Billy here's gonna demonstrate his gifts as a gunslinger and the reason why we hired him to protect all of our interest. Yeah?" Major Murphy's voice resonates with authority as Billy loads the gun barrel.

You stand alongside Jesse, a tantalizing sip of alcohol hovering at the edge of your lips as you observe the unfolding spectacle. Just a few feet away, Irene grips her satchel, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Come on, Billy!" Murphy exclaims, his applause echoed by the enthusiastic claps of those surrounding you.

Billy wipes his mouth, clearing his throat before fixing his gaze on the targets ahead. The initial shots are a breeze, a mere warm-up for someone of Billy's caliber. In a lightning-fast span of three seconds, all five glass bottles shatter, eliciting an eruption of applause from the captivated crowd.

You smile to yourself, you knew Billy was very skilled, this ordeal demonstrating it even further. He returns to the table where a range of guns were displayed. There's a palpable tension—anger, annoyance, perhaps both—etched across his features.

The stress of the last couple of days working for Murphy, threatening people out of their own homes, has left its mark on him. Night after night, Billy sought solace in you, pouring out his emotions as you offered him nothing but a listening ear and a comforting embrace.

In a swift motion, he removes his tie, choosing another revolver with a sense of purpose. The murmuring crowd hushes as Billy cocks the firearm, once again targeting cans on the ground—now more challenging to spot and precisely aim at, but not for Billy.

With each bullet making contact with the tin, a collective flinch ripples through the crowd, including Mrs. Riley. Unfazed, Billy seamlessly transitions to a rifle. He fires a few shots at a measured pace before seamlessly shifting into a rapid sequence of shooting, cocking, and repeating.

The tension in the crowd palpably escalated as Billy's anger became increasingly evident. The wooden backdrop itself caught fire amid his repeated shots, casting a fearful hush over the onlookers, the only audible sound being the ominous crackling of the flames.

You maintained a composed stance, your gaze unwaveringly fixed on Billy. He, too, remained motionless, likely processing the chaotic scene unfolding. A swift glance at Mrs. Riley revealed her frightened demeanor. Billy wiped his mouth, setting the rifle down, and approached you. Without a word, he took your hand, pulling you along as your eyes briefly connected with Irene, navigating through the subdued crowd.

"You okay, Billy?" You gently ask him knowing he was still fired up from before. He was sat on the bed, arms resting on his thighs with his legs open. You slot yourself in between them as your hands run through his hair, a tender attempt to soothe him.

He tilts his head back, his hands roaming around your back and down your . "You still seem stressed," You frown as he stares at you quietly, though the glint of mischief was still evident in his eyes. "I can fix that," You whisper against his lips before he kisses you aggressively, hungry, starving for more.

~

The saloon buzzed with the clinking of glasses and the shuffling of cards as Mrs. Riley sauntered in. Her eyes, keen with mischief, spotted Billy at the table, surrounded by others as he was deeply engrossed in the poker game, his attention fixed on the cards in his hands.

"Hey there Irene. Come to join in?" Sam says as Mrs. Riley smiles, "If you'll have me, Sam," As she approached, she ignored the way your hand rested on Billy's thigh as your eyes stay focused on the cards in his hands. Mrs. Riley couldn't help but cast a flirtatious glance his way, something that Billy doesn't catch on, but you do, and Charlie, who was seated on your other side.

"Good evening, gentleman," Her high pitched voice greets as you supress a subtle eye roll. True to their gentlemanly nature, they all reciprocated with polite greetings, Billy even taking his hat off as you remained silent. You silently threw daggers her way.

Your dislike towards the woman started from the second you caught her eyeing Billy when she sat beside her husband in the carriage. Even with Billy’s hands on your waist and the close proximity between the two of you that was more than platonic, it didn't seem to deter her away—drew her more in perhaps.

Undeterred, Mrs. Riley leaned in closer to Billy, her words tinged with flirtation. "My! It's Billy the Kid, isn't it?" She purred, a blatant expression of infatuation adorning her face, her smile captivating display aimed directly at him.

Billy's gaze finally shifts toward her for the first time since she stepped into the saloon. "Yes, ma'am," he responds politely, offering no more than a slight smile before his attention returns to the worn wooden table before him. You gently squeeze his thigh, and as his eyes meet yours, a silent understanding passes between you.

"Do not call me that," Irene interjects abruptbly. "It makes me feel old, and I am not old." She states, exhaling through her nose."I didn't mean to suggest you were," Billy quickly backs himself up.

Your gaze shifts to Charlie, and a subtle exchange of glances circulates the table. "I'm really so happy to see you, Billy," she utters, a faint smile playing on her lips, her voice lowering ever so slightly. The weight of her words hangs in the air, and Billy, in response, squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

You extend your hand gracefully above the space between you and Billy, a subtle bridge in the air. "Sofía Del Tobosco," you introduce yourself, your voice carrying the weight of confidence. Yet, she meets your greeting with a blank, unwavering stare, leaving the air between you tinged with an intriguing tension as the others on the table watch on.

"We haven't properly met, I'm Billy's-" "Aren't you Dulcinea's little sister?" With narrowed eyes, you retract your hand, an awkward silence settling over the table, "I'm good friends with her ya know," Mrs. Riley giggles, leaving you to decipher her intentions at the mention of your sister. A simple hum escapes your lips as you inhale sharply, shooting an annoyed look to Charlie, who quietly chuckles.

"Wanna start a new game?" Sam cuts through the silence. Irene gracefully declines the offer, "Oh, no. You go on. I'll watch," she smiles. "Good," you mutter under your breath, a quiet comment that only Billy and Charlie seem to catch.

Mrs. Riley gracefully raises a wine glass, "Here's to you, Billy," she toasts, her gaze unwavering as she lifts it to her lips. Billy's expression remains inscrutable as he watches. The corners of his lips hint at a subtle upward twitch before he speaks, "Well, we should get going."

You gladly agree with Billy as you get ready to leave, "Gentleman-" "Oh, no. Don't go," Irene cuts him off as Billy freezes, "Stay." Despite being on your feet, you cross your arms, fixing her with an irked expression. "Walk me home later?" She nervously proposes, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

Your lips part in astonishment at her words. There was no way she asking that from Billy when clearly, he has a girl by his side. Billy's eyes flicker towards you, a subtly nod indicating his loyalty. Mrs. Riley persisted, "Please, Billy?" Just as you open your mouth to respond, Sam beats you to it.

"I'll walk you home, Irene," Sam says, diffusing the tension in the air. The relief on Billy's face is palpable as you gently touch his bicep and he glances at you. He bids farewell to the table, and you follow suit, exiting the saloon with Billy. His hand extends behind him, finding yours as he pulls you along with a certain urgency, knowing what the rest of the night would entail.

~

Amidst the haze of smoke and the lingering scent of alcohol, Jesse and his gang sprawled across the room, resting a chaotic atmosphere. You were making small talk with the people around like the mannered young woman you were.

Your keen eyes wandered around the room before landing on Mrs. Riley, who was making her way to Billy. You narrow your eyes, “Has she learnt absolutely nothing?” Your words spat out with an unmistakable tone of annoyance. Charlie lets out a subdued chuckle, shaking his head as he swirled the glass of alcohol in his hand, a wry smile playing on his lips as he watches Billy and Irene.

"Hello there, Billy," Irene came up behind him, a huge grin plastered on her face. "Mrs. Riley," he politely greeted her, a trace of urgency in his tone, "I wanted to see you. I really—I want to talk to you. I need to." Her words were slurred. Sensing trouble, Billy discreetly scanned the surroundings, his eyes discreetly seeking you.

"Uh- maybe now is not a good time," He made a move once his gaze fixated on your silhouette. "Oh no, definitely now. I have something to say," Irene interjected, pulling Billy back with a subtle sigh escaping him. "Get me another drink, will ya?" Her request carried an undertone of desperation, a silent plea to retain his focus.

Billy surveyed her, noticing the telltale signs that she had indulged in one too many drinks. "Sure," he bobbed his head before moving to find a servant holding glasses full of alcohol. "Gracias,' Billy thanked the woman with a smile before he redirecting his attention back to Mrs. Riley.

She gracefully retrieved the glass from his hand, her fingers delicately lingering on his before she flashed a captivating grin, taking a sip. "What did you want to say?" Billy, with a subtle furrow of his eyebrows, gently steered her back to the purpose of their conversation.

Mrs. Riley gulped. "I want to tell you about my husband," she began, and Billy couldn't help but notice a subtle shimmer in her eyes, dulled by the influence of whiskey. "What about your husband?" Billy questioned, a hint of confusion coloring his expression, uncertain where the conversation was headed.

"I- I hate him," she confessed, punctuating her words with another gulp of whiskey. At the abrupt confession, Billy's gaze eagerly sought yours once again. "You can't even imagine," She shook her head, her voice trembling. "Maybe this isn't the place to talk about this," Billy pointed out as he nervously looked at the people around who could possibly be listening.

There was silence in the air as Billy's words manage to sink into Irene's head. "No," she utters softly, delicately placing her glass on a nearby table. "Light my cigarette, will ya?" She gazed up at Billy, who sighed but complies, retrieving a packet of matchsticks from his pocket and igniting the end of her cigarette.

From afar, you were silently raging inside as you watch the two interact. You knew Mrs. Riley's affection was more than friendly, oh it was more than that. "I feel like I'm going to be sick," You mutter with an eye roll, fishing out a cigarette from your purse.

You move the end of the joint to a nearby candle letting it ignite as you take a few deep drags, eyes glued on Billy and Irene. "Thank you," Irene said lowly, her eyes looking off to the side before she directs her gaze back at Billy. "You know, you're very good-looking, Billy,"

Billy wets his lips, casting his gaze downward, an air of discomfort lingering in the unusual tension between them. "Can we go somewhere? I like you," she murmured, drawing nearer with a drop in her voice.

Billy knew what she was trying to do and he wanted nothing of it. He locks eyes with you for a fleeting moment, your silhouette veiled in smoke, a clear sign of your annoyance. "I don't think that's a good idea," He firmly says as Irene's hopeful expression drops. "Please. Please, Billy," She pleaded. There was something uneasy about how she was begging him.

"I told you I hate him. I have to get away." Mrs. Riley persisted as Billy's eyes search hers. He ignored the unsettling feeling in his stomach, "No. I'm sorry, Mrs. Riley." She pursed her lips before she lightly shook her head, her eyes closing for a brief moment, an acknowledgement of his rejection.

"Never mind," She giggled softly to herself, "It's not your fault," Irene gave Billy a smile before it drops slowly as if something inside of her was sinking. The two of them stood there for a couple of seconds before Billy felt her lips on his.

"What is she doing-" You stub your cigarette on the table, ready to storm off in Billy and Irene's direction before Charlie subtly interjects, his arm forming a barrier in front of you. Your eyes were wide in shock after witnessing the unexpected kiss. "Did you see that? Tell me you saw that, Charlie," you exclaimed, shooting him a pleading look.

"Yes, yes I did. But causing a scene won't help, besides, I think someone else could do that," Charlie whispered in your ear, prompting you to give him a puzzled look as your nails dig into his arm.

Charlie cocks his head to where Mr. Riley was, a few feet away from the two, standing with a few other men. You smirk to yourself, imagining the havoc you would create when you redirect Mr. Riley's eyes to Billy and Irene kissing. Charlie removes his arm from in front of you as you straighten up.

Seizing the moment, you deliberately raised your voice, "Is that Mrs. Riley with Billy?" The words echoed through the room, catching the attention of those nearby.

Mrs. Riley's husband, mere feet away, overheard the commotion. Anger flashed in his eyes as he turned to witness the scene, realizing his wife's inappropriate proximity to Billy. Without a word, he stormed out, following Mrs. Riley into the night.

You push your purse into Charlie's chest, "Watch this for me, will ya?" You gave him no time to answer before you were already moving away from him. You made purposeful strides to follow Mr. and Mrs. Riley, leading you outside.

"Hey!" You hear John's voice yell loudly as you hastily conceal yourself around the corner. You peeped from the corner as your eyes widen; John had a firm grip on Irene who was whimpering. "You fucking, lousy fucking bitch." He seethed, his hold on his wife unwavering.

"What do you mean?" Irene fired back, "I saw you in there, with Billy," John lowered his head as Irene shut her eyes. "I know what you were doing, You was trying to get him to fuck you, because you're a little fucking whore!" He taunted her, violently shaking her slender frame.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Riley seemed the slightest bit drunk. Sensing the intensity, you quietly moved to another spot to hear them better, "I'm tired. I want to sleep," Irene pleaded helplessly, pulling away. Her once-neat bun now betrayed signs of disarray.

"I've had enough of you. Do you understand?" John forcefully pulled her back towards him, and Irene released a pained groan. "You're a fucking embarrassment. You're always out there in heat. It's fucking disgusting and I've had e-fucking-nough!" He yelled in her face.

Part of you wanted to go out there and confront him, but what would that do? Your gaze involuntarily fell on the revolver snug in his gun belt—John Riley, a man not hesitant to use it, especially if he discovered you eavesdropping on their private dispute.

"So have I!" Mrs. Riley yelled back, making you slightly jump at the suddenness of it. "I've had enough of you; I hate you!" She roughly shoved him off of her, stumbling as she walked away.

From where you were hiding, you could see what she was doing. What she was reaching for in her garter. A revolver. Swiftly turning, she cocked it and fired, the shot lacking precision. Her lack of aim resulted in wounding John's upper right arm, and you instinctively covered your mouth to stifle a gasp, your eyes widening in shock.

Meanwhile, Billy had been searching everywhere for you. His search for you led him out front of the house where the unmistakable sound of a gunshot pierced the air, prompting his head to whip in the direction of the noise.

Against the wall, you pressed yourself further, a silent witness to the unfolding chaos. In a single, fluid motion, Mr. Riley drew his gun, the metallic click resonating in the tense atmosphere before a decisive shot rang out. Her body dropped to the floor where you saw a clear view of the blood pooling around her body.

Your hands covered your mouth in both shock and horror. Trembling with fear, you couldn't tear your eyes away. At the echo of a second gunshot, Billy sprinted to the side of the house. The urgency became palpable – you needed to leave, immediately. Peeking cautiously around the corner, you saw John's back, hunched and vulnerable, as he clutched his wound.

You quickly slip out before you bump into a hard surface. Your eyes widen in shock as Billy stares down at you, his eyebrows knit in confusion yet his gaze reflecting genuine concern. Before he can question about your unexpected presence, his attention shifts behind you to where Irene's lifeless form lies sprawled on the ground.

His gaze then locks onto John, who winces in pain. "She's dead!" Billy instinctively pushes you to safety behind him; your breathing is quick and shallow, your chest heaving with rapid breaths. Billy's gaze remains fixed on Mrs. Riley.

"What did you do?" His voice turns cold, and the unmistakable sound of him cocking his gun follows. "Billy!" you whisper-yell, hand urgently tugging on his shirt. "She shot me! She tried to kill me!" John points to his bleeding wound, your fear lingering despite Billy's protective stance. "Now, get me some fucking help!"

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" James Dolan rushes in between the two, "what the hell is happening?" Billy's aim at John doesn't falter. "You're friend killed his wife." You flinch when John's yell rang through your ears, "She shot me! Look at me!"

"Okay, okay, just.... Billy," Dolan puts his hand on Billy's arm, lowering the gun, "Billy, put it down, all right?" Billy complies but hesitates when he puts his gun back in the safety of his belt. You clutch onto Billy's arm as pulls you into his chest, relief flooding through you as he holds you tightly.

"Hey, go fetch the doctor, huh?" You hear James yell. Unbeknownst to you, Billy's eyes stayed glued on Irene. His lip quivering slightly. There had been so much life in her just a couple minutes before, and now, he stared at her lifeless body, blood soaking into her dress.

As his hand moved to caress your hair, his eyes snap to James and John. James was ushering John to go back inside so that he could help him until Billy interjects. "We need a fucking sheriff!" He yelled, as you felt the vibration of his chest in your entire body as you clung to him even more.

"Billy, Billy please, take me out of here," You pull his face down in between your hands as he gazes at your desperate eyes. "Just, just get out of here!" James instructs the onlookers. Billy brushes the sweaty strands that framed your face back. "Sh, it's okay, 'm right here, sweetheart," He pulls you back into the warmth of his chest as you let out a choked sob.

~

“What were you doin' there?” The question, anticipated and inevitable, lingered in the air. Placing your cup on the kitchen counter, you turned to face Billy, his eyes fixed on you, awaiting your response. His expression, an enigma.

Exhaling through your nose, you crossed your arms, eyes drifting to the plant in the corner of the room. "I just wanted to check if she was okay, stumbling around the house drunk, Billy," you lied, leaving the part out where you saw them kissing and discreetly letting Mr. Riley know of the inappropriate behaviour his wife was partaking in.

Pushing off the counter, you approached Billy, your feet closing the distance. His legs, too long for the table, faced you, stretching out.

"Then Mr. Riley came, so I hid... And then it happened," you explained, shrugging. A sigh escaped your lips as you settled beside him, your hand offering a comforting squeeze to his thigh.

Billy scrutinized your features, finding sincerity in your eyes, yet sensing an underlying truth—you didn't truly care about Mrs. Riley's death. Your behaviour around her proved it.

"I just can’t stop thinking ‘bout it," Billy admitted, fingers toying with the mug handle before him. "Of course you can't, Billy-" You were cut off as Billy spoke, "She was even begging me! Fucking begged me to take her somewhere, away from him."

You bit your lip, containing your reaction to this new revelation. Irene begging him to take her away? Mr. Riley's accusatory words echoed in your mind, You were trying to get him to fuck you

"I-I should’ve done something. If I had taken her somewhere, she'd probably be alive right now," Billy stammered, and you moved to cradle his head, ushering him to stop. "Billy. Billy, stop." You spoke calmly, though turmoil brewed within.

He blamed himself for Irene's death, carrying the weight of responsibility for her demise, a fate she brought upon herself by flaunting more than friendliness—brazenly, in front of her husband.

"It is not your fault that Irene was murdered, okay?" you reassured him as he fell into silence. "Still, takin’ her somewhere could’ve helped-" "Stop!" You abruptly shouted, making Billy flinch in your grasp.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before releasing your hold on him, and Billy stared at you in shock. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just-" You halted, inhaling again to gain your composure.

“Do you really think nothing bad would’ve happened to either you or Irene if you did take her somewhere? Billy, Mr. Riley would not have taken it lightly if he found out you did take his wife somewhere,” you reason with him.

Billy nodded slowly. "Yeah, you’re right." You gave him a tight smile, patting his thigh. "I should probably get going, Jesse wants to meet up with me." Billy stood, adjusting his hat, and you rose from the seat.

"Okay, be safe." Approaching him, you smiled up, and he slipped his arm around your waist. "I love you." Leaning in, you replied, "I love you too," your lips meeting in a tender connection.

[gojossocks]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Genre: fluff, comedy

Summary: you’re watching the final episode of Attack on Titan. Fully captivated with the anime and clearly simping over your favorite fictional character, your boyfriend throws a silly tantrum.

WC: 1.3k

a/n: I hope jjk and aot fans' mental health is okay, here is a fic to make up for the shibuya arc and aot's final ep :")

Gojo Satoru has always been insufferable, it is a known fact to everyone in Jujutsu High. He had been more insufferable this past week, though. 

He had been complaining to his bestfriends about you and Suguru swears that he might shave his whole head or commit murder as a result of his insanity. Being the receiving end of Gojo’s relentless antics can make you go crazy like that. 

Suguru’s sitting on his best friend’s couch, doing the paper that both of them should be doing. Instead, Satoru has been whining endlessly about you, claiming that you aren’t giving him attention anymore since you got hyped for the last episode of your favorite anime show, Attack on Titan. 

“Satoru,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “It’s normal for our age to be obsessed over shows. She’s not cheating on you, stop being dramatic.” 

“I know but all she does is talk about it!” Satoru crosses his arms over his chest before huffing, glaring at your poor Levi plushie. “Especially that shorty over there.” 

“You’re right, Satoru. Maybe she does love Levi over you.” Suguru smirks at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes which earned a sharp look from his best friend. 

“OH shut the fuck up Sugu-” 

Satoru’s rant came to an abrupt halt when his door swung open. You rushed to him, pulling him in a tight embrace. Caught off guard, Satoru stiffened for a moment before tentatively wrapping his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. His eyes widened when you started to sob, staining his shirt with your tears.  

(Suguru pretends he is non-existent in Satoru’s apartment) 

He couldn’t understand anything you’re saying because you’re sobbing and your voice is muffled with his shirt so he pulls away and looks at you worriedly, concern etching his features.  “What’s wrong, babe? What happened?”

He gently scoops you into his arms, settling on the couch with you nestled on his lap. 

“It’s over, Eren’s dead.” you mumbled, your voice laden with the aftermath of the episode . He couldn’t help but burst into a fit of laughter  that quickly died down when he saw your puffy eyes and the glare you shot his way. He halted his amused look when he noticed you pulling away but his grip on you remained still, preventing you from escaping. 

He grins at you, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “It’s okay, Y/N. I’m here.” He assures you, his voice soothing. “Let’s get some ice cream and cuddle all day, yeah?” 

Satoru couldn’t help but to revel in the sensation of having your undivided attention, you just look so cute with your pout as you look at him with puppy eyes. The grip you have on him when he soothes you didn’t go unnoticed by him too. His eyes flickered to Suguru, who shook his head begrudgingly on the other side of the couch before returning to his work. 

“It’s such a shame, ‘Toru. I’m gonna miss Levi so much, my pretty pretty baby girl.”  you cooed, your eyes fixed on your phone. Satoru’s eyebrows shot up in confusion before your words registered in his brain.

“HA?!” He exclaimed and glanced over, only to find out that your lock screen wallpaper has been changed. No longer was it graced by Satoru’s cheeky grin as he stole a kiss from you, it had now been replaced by Levi ackerman. You constantly talking about your fictional ‘husband’ annoys your boyfriend but setting him as a wallpaper?! That is so low. You’ve done it now. 

Satoru looks at you in disbelief, his eyes wide in bewilderment. “Y/N! How could you betray your boyfriend like that?! It’s a show, he’s not real. He’s not your baby girl. I am!” 

A giggle escapes your lips as you look up at him“You’re my baby girl?” you teased. 

“That’s not the point.” He complains. “Why don’t you dote on your boyfriend instead?  I’m clearly more attractive and taller than Remy or whatever that guy’s name is.” 

“Satoru, you’ve read the manga. You know who Levi is.” Suguru chimed in, emitting a groan from your boyfriend. 

“Shut up Suguru! I thought you were on my side!” 

The next day, you were surprised when Satoru didn’t accompany you to school as usual. Throughout your shared class, he was uncharacteristically quiet. Not to mention that he styled and parted his hair differently, mirroring the look of your fictional crush. Suguru and Ieri couldn’t contain their laughter when they first caught sight of Satoru’s new look. 

Gone was his usual nosiness and his penchant for poking into other people’s business. Satoru, now wearing a stoic expression, glared at anyone who dared to look at him. It was clear that he was trying to also embody the persona of Levi Ackerman and you don’t know whether to feel concerned, annoyed, or amused. 

The breaking point came after your last class of the day. Back at Satoru's apartment, he continued with his newfound demeanor, and you'd had enough. Despite trying to hold back laughter at the absurdity of the situation, you found yourself missing the usual antics of your clingy and insufferable boyfriend.

When you requested for cuddles and he responded with a dismissive ‘tch.’ and that did it. You decided to take matters into your own hands so you straddled his lap and cornered him, smirking at the visible reaction you elicited from your boyfriend.

His eyes widened, cheeks flushing, as he looked at you in surprise. 

“Got you.” you grinned at him, your voice dripping with amusement. “I thought I was dating Satoru Gojo so why are you acting like Levi?”

He stammered for a moment, clearly caught off guard. "I-I thought you liked this... stoic stuff."

Rolling your eyes, you leaned in, your lips inches away from his ear. "I like my cute and energetic boyfriend way more," you whispered, the warmth of your breath causing a visible shiver to run down his spine.

“Well Satoru Gojo isn’t your wallpaper, is it?”  he grumbled, a hint of jealousy evident from his voice.  

"Come on, 'Toru, don't be jealous. Levi's just a fictional character. You're the real deal. I also changed back my wallpaper!" you opened your phone to reveal your lock screen, hoping to dispel his jealousy. You changed it back to his face. 

“But babe, you don’t love me anymore” he pouted, his lower lip jutting out a mockingly hurt manner, his expression resembling a wounded puppy. “I figured if I became a replica of him, you’d love me again.” 

You wanted to smack him but you decided against it. You know your boyfriend’s smart but you kinda doubted that once he made that conclusion.

“Satoru, it’s just a show. Of course, I love you!” you reassured, offering a warm smile to emphasize your sincerity. 

Satoru sighs in a deliberately exaggerated manner. A playful grin tugs at his lips as he looks at you.  "Fine, but I better get some extra attention tonight to make up for this betrayal," he demanded. 

You chuckled, and leaned in to plant a quick, affectionate kiss on his cheek. "Deal."

“Also, tell me you love me then.” He added, his hand squeezing your thigh. 

“I love you.” you reply sincerely, 

“Hm?” He leans his ear towards you. “What was that?” 

You decided to play along and plant a soft kiss on his lips, "I," another kiss, "love," followed by another, "you." and you conclude with a final, lingering kiss. 

"Happy?" you say, pulling back.

"Very much," Satoru grins at you victoriously. but then, he looks at you with a sly twinkle in his eyes. "Wait, no. Tell me you don't love Levi and that you'll throw your plushie away so I could cuddle you 24/7."

"No."

"BABE!" Satoru whines. 

You can't help but laugh at his theatrics and without a moment's hesitation, you shower him with even more affection and assurances. Needless to say, that day (and perhaps the entire week), you let him hog you to himself, indulging in countless cuddles and sweet gestures to nurse his ego back to full health.

wanna read more?

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day twenty-two: cunnilingus

>>> idk why i’m only here for yandere rough megumi sjdkfkffkg i mean he isn’t all the way yandere but it’s strongly implied, y’all enjoy!

>>> starring: megumi fushiguro x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: yandere-ish behavior, cunnilingus (f receiving) clearly, doggy, overstimulation, prone bone kinda, creampie, jealous megumi. >>> wc: 2.5k >>> event masterlist.

it really was his favorite place to be. being between your legs, face buried in your warm, wet and sweet-tasting cunt was so soothing and fulfilling to him he simply could not get enough. he wondered if he had an oral fixation specifically because of your pussy, almost concerned with how much he loves being on his knees wherever whenever just to get a taste of you. at the beginning of your relationship, megumi was a bit…nervous around you. it wasn’t like his mind wasn’t coursing with lewd thoughts about his pretty little curvy angelic goddess of a girlfriend, he just didn’t know how to tell you he craved your cunt on his face like normal men crave water. so yes, he had to come out of his sexual shell so to speak. but it seems this god forsaken get together at gojo’s was going to ease him out of it—and your cunt wouldn’t be his sweet release, it would be his sloppy playtoy by the end of the night.

not to say that megumi wasn’t pleasing you enough already, though, of course. he may be a bit routine about things, but he always took care of you. did you want him to be a little rougher from time to time? sure, but you’ve never been with someone so eager and passionate about eating you out either. that alone was worth his perhaps lack in kinkiness.

though your boyfriend has a bunch of his own ideas including a host of naughty things he wants to do to you as well as the ones spurring from his crippling jealousy. he’s not even quite sure where it comes from, gojo gave him everything he needed out of life and he never felt jealous of other kids growing up despite his unconventional upbringing. but when it came to you, he felt something sinister tug at him. maybe it was because you are so otherworldly beautiful that he can’t help but be on standby, waiting for someone to make a shitty comment about your body or stealing you away. maybe it’s because he knows he’s not doing enough to earn the pleasure of calling you his. but no one else could do any better than him, he knows that for sure.

so why is yuuta trying? he knows full well who you belong to—gojo’s famed favorite former pupil has you pulled aside, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your protective and sensitive boyfriend. it’s been years since you all had gojo-sensei’s class, but megumi still hated that yuuta okkotsu. his dad favored him as his successor over him, and even yuji took to him pretty quickly. those were reasons enough to hold a forever grudge, but watching the older man hold all your attention was driving him to murderous thoughts. having all the former sorcerers in one spot wasn’t a good idea—especially not when megumi had acquired an absolute babe in the time apart from his now young adult friends.

especially not when yuuta had you leaned against the wall, nervously chuckling to whatever he was saying, eyes darting around to look for your boyfriend. megumi was frozen in place, trying to settle the argument between the devil and angel on each shoulder. he could just approach yuuta and explain reasonably that you’re spoken for, and that he should keep it moving. but on the other hand, he thinks he should punch yuuta in the face because everyone knows you’re spoken for and that he’s your man. then he should drag you upstairs and fuck you sore and screaming until every person in attendance was uncomfortable. he can see you get increasingly anxious, so he makes the decision.

“c’mon okkotsu. you know that’s my girl.” you hear the ice drip from his tone. he’s not playing any games, and that’s clear by his unamused scowl and the way he folds his arms over his chest. you’re relieved to see him, smiling softly at the man you’ve always known to be your stoic and calm boyfriend. but the look in his eyes as he slides them over to look at you sends a shiver down your spine. yuuta chuckles nervously, blaming the alcohol and your cute dress for his lack of sense.

megumi growls at that, rearing his hand back to start a real problem. this was practically his house, he didn’t care about any potential repercussions—but your voice comes over him to invoke reason.

“hey hey, point made. he’s gone.” you know it’s true based off the shuffling of yuji and toge getting off the couch to ensure that yuuta and megumi are separated before it can come to blows. you lean into his chest, but his gaze only follows the group of boys as they shift upstairs.

his arms fall around your waist, and he wonders if he actually even heard what you said or if your voice alone was enough to make him hesitate. the rest of the party guests still watch the scene—wondering if it gets better or worse from here. some of them had experienced megumi’s temper before, some knew it was a horrific mix of nurture and nature, both his father and the man who raised him horrifically jealous beasts of nature. and the apple doesn’t fall far.

“go upstairs. find a room.” he snarls, daring anyone in attendance to speak up against him. your cheeks flush at his command. he’s only ever spoken to you with a gentle tone, with patience and understanding and all the warmth a man like himself can convey. but you’ve yearned for this other side—this gruffness in his voice and the unwavering dominance in his eyes. he doesn’t care that everyone’s watching—in fact, he wants them to. you nod eagerly, turning tail to find an unoccupied spare room in gojo’s giant house.

he only loiters behind long enough to let everyone watch you obey him—the prettiest woman in the universe, who could easily have anyone she ever wanted, caters to his every whim and order. he lags behind you just a bit, but you can feel his presence. it’s dark. he’s always been a distant, more guarded man. because of that, he’s always been regarded as cold. but his light never felt daunting until now. he never felt oppressive or controlling or possessive; you don’t have to look over your shoulder to know he’s close. it makes heat lick up your stomach walls and bubble down your legs as you wobble towards a room at the end of the hall that was sure to be vacant. you knock to be sure anyway, but megumi reaches around your waist to open the door anyway. his other hand grips your hip, pushing your forward with the pressure of his pelvis against your ass.

you gasp and stumble into the darkness, giggling a little in excitement as you find the bed. megumi’s fingers find the light switch, and you turn to look at his anger riddled features, something only jealousy could produce.

“yuuta okkotsu, huh?” he asks, pulling his shirt over his head. it messes up the spiky tendrils of his hair, but you don’t notice over the crazed look in his eyes. he’s pale and lean, dips along his slender abdomen indicating the strength hiding beneath. he fiddles with his belt next. “you have a voice. why didn’t you tell him to back off?”

you flush with embarrassment, anxiety rippling at your core to mix with the burning excitement. “i—i was try—“

“i—i” megumi mocked, licking his teeth. he walked closer to you, taking over that tiny little sundress you wore that was no doubt the only layer keeping him or anyone else away from your drooling cunt. it aggravates him. you look this beautiful out in public all the time—and it really didn’t matter if you were in this slutty dress or a goddamn burlap sack, anyone with eyes in their head could tell that you were an angel among mortal men. “you’re too nice for your own good. you almost got his ass kicked because you don’t know how to speak up for yourself.”

you bite your lip, nodding along to his scolding. you know you should apologize to him, but you can’t deny how much it turns you on to see him so angry. especially when he approaches you, pushing your sitting form in to a laying one so he could yank you by the hips to the bottom of the bed. he flips your sundress up, snarling again when he finds you bare—and soaking fucking wet.

“oh i see. you’re cute enough to parade around like this but can’t tell other boys you have a man?” he spits on your pussy, sliding it around your hood and lips with his middle and ring fingers. “i’ll help you find your voice.”

he shoves your thighs apart and keeps them like that, rolling his eyes as you squirm and writhe. it’s only in excitement, though. your hands find his hair to prove it as he dives toward your cunt, lapping at you eagerly. he can’t help but moan at your taste—no matter how many tried only he got to experience this moment, the way you look with his mouth suckling on your clit; brows draw up in ecstasy, lip already swollen and puffy from your teeth repeatedly gnawing into it. he couldn’t help but be obsessed with you, anyone would be—it was clear that pretty much everyone was.

but you remind him of your love when you clutch your thighs around his face, tugging his hair so hard he has no choice but to bury his face deeper, sucking and biting on your clit so roughly you whimper—big hands that always stay cool to the touch paw at the meat of your thighs to let you know just how much he enjoys being one that pleasures you. he needs to hear you scream his name—needs you to let everyone know who it is that’s got you seeing stars and arching off the mattress.

“meg—gonna cum, oh sh—“ your stomach burns, and you lurch and crumple to try to relieve it, but megumi holds you down. he grunts to egg you on, demanding your orgasm to come quicker as he nibbles on the very source of your pleasure, sending colorful orbs flashing across your vision as you wail his name. you’re getting there, but he knows you can get louder.

“don’t hold back now, do better.” he seems agitated as he hooks his arms around your thighs—pulling your cunt to his face without any means of escape. he slides his tongue back in your hole, intense jaded emerald eyes watching your contorted face of deliriousness. you were brainless already, chants of ‘megumi—megumi—megu—meg-megumi!’ roll past your lips as he slides his tongue along your entire slit, nose bumping against your swollen and oversensitive clit so hard he almost feels bad for all his old classmates and friends listening to your guttural cries. almost.

you’re weightless, suspended in space—floating in a river of unending bliss. it’s too much. you’re finally getting what you’ve always asked for and you can’t handle it—and his pants are still on. the only things tying you to the planet are: the feeling of his soft hair clenched tight in between your fingers, the tears stinging at the corners of your eyes from the sheer pressure of his mouth milking your pussy, and his delicious grunts of demand. you can’t deny him, and your hips clearly beg for more as they hump his face to push you towards your second edge in just a few minutes.

he hopes yuuta and all those other motherfuckers that have ever thought about toeing the line get the fucking message—you’re certainly being loud and clear. your vision darkens completely, mouth dropped in a permanent yell of his name. it’s perfect, and megumi lacks the patience to be gentle, for once. he shoves you back, lips glistening with your slick, cheeks red from his hard work and eyes flickering with a cold flame so hot your whole body burns for him.

he shrugs, shoving his pants down and tugging at the hand of his solid black briefs next. “face down, ass up.” you bite your lip in anticipation, rolling to your stomach in the pretty arch he requested. he nods at your obedience, getting up on the bed with you. his cool touch finds your hips at the same time his fat cockhead finds your entrance—and he’s pulling you down on him mercilessly. “don’t you dare quiet yourself. i want them to hear everything.”

his growl affects you almoat as much as his rough strokes, curved pale length stabbing through to your cervix without any breaks in between. megumi cursed under his breath, pulling your arms behind your back to ensure that you struggled to obey him. it was cute watching you turn your face in the covers so he—and everyone else—could hear your animalistic cries. he pins your wrists in one massive trap of his own hand, his other still leveraging a hold on your hip to keep you from escaping his brutal ruts.

it’s no wonder he’s a jealous fucking freak over you at all. your pussy was magical, soaking wet and beaten into the shape of him and him alone—you gripped him like his own personal mold. he couldn’t stomach anyone even thinking about having you in the way he has you right now. it messes with him that he can’t stop that—but maybe your gorgeous curses of his name will be enough to ward off such worries for a while. he fills you so perfectly you could never think about another man anyway—even if he was only soft and gentle and tender with you, a far cry from what he is right now, you’d never stray. but especially with this performance, with your brain jolting around in your head and nothing but fire and ice flooding your senses—you can only scream out your love for him just like he wants.

“that’s what i’m talking about. scream and cum, babe.” he encouraged, letting your hands go so he could yank on your hair. he tugs hard, and it sends electricity shooting down your spine. his voice is so raspy and needy as his cock twitches inside your walls—as unforgiving and tight as they were since you were fluttering close to your release. “i said cum.”

you gasp out, feeling him pinch your clit again, the final push you needed as you reach out for the headboard. he keeps you from crawling away by knocking you flat to the bed, hand sprawled across your back to make you take it. you’re a goner, only able to feel the ridges of his cock abusing your worn hole—scraping against the entrance to your womb from this angle. his speed dies down and warmth floods your cunt, making a dumb little smile spread across your face. he rolls his hips into your ass slower, riding out your high. he’s panting, running a hand through his sweaty hair before he leans over to kiss you. he’s still needy, eagerly finding your mouth and kissing you with a beautiful mix of passion and aggression.

it sinks in then just how rough he’s been with you, and his eyes flash with regret. his lips move to form an apology—but a knock on the door cuts him off.

“hey junior—you done? everyone’s traumatized. great work.” gojo snickers—clearly proud of his boy.

[ollieink]

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃!

childe x fem!reader ( wc 4.8k)

inspired by 'pretty poison' written by the very talented vent1k1n on ao3, literally so good. never thought strip russian roulette could be so smeggsy wtf.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | dead dove: do not eat, non-con, rough sex, size difference, bit of gunplay, spitting, forced orgasm, corruption, yandere undertones, threats of murder, childe is a menace, reader has a petite body, dash of angst, russian roulette, mafia alternate universe, betrayal, please don't read if you're not comfy with these themes.

"Tartaglia is heartless."

That's what papa's soldiers said after he asked for your hand in marriage. It was a way for both ruling families to finally come to terms. Some were against it, others hopeful. And you had to admit, Tartaglia was hypnotizing. You saw him from afar one time, two times, a couple of times—from across the bridge that separated papa’s territory from his. He was the ocean come alive, all the good and all the bad. When he crossed that bridge to meet you, everything people warned you about him burnt to the ground.

Your chest fluttered on the wedding night, but it wasn't what you thought or hoped it would be. Tartaglia merely wished you a good rest before departing to his room. Of course, this wasn't a marriage of love ( you'd gotten carried away in your fantasies ), but rather a strategic move on both mafia families. Even then, the painful sprout of thorns in your chest didn't go unnoticed. Maybe it did for him. Or perhaps he did notice and just didn't care.

Papa didn't want you seeing all the bad things he did, so violence was a thing that happened from a distance. It was the same with Tartaglia. He'd tell you to go to your room when his men came in for a meeting, reassure you everything was okay—that you didn't need to worry your pretty head off. Perhaps he truly cared about you ( even if it wasn't the starstruck love you hoped it to be ), and that fleeting period in your life was the happiest. That is until you peeked into the basement of his manor, and a pair of dead blue eyes looked back.

You’re not supposed to cry over a stupid boy.

The sky has given way for a thunderous storm. Loud cracks of thunder light up the city, matching your heart's ferocious churning as you think over and over again: why, why, why? It pours rain as you pound on various doors for refuge, but everyone knows better than to open them at this hour. Crossing the bridge is a death sentence; Tartaglia’s men are stationed there, and they'd surely capture you on sight.

Afraid that he’ll catch up, you run into the city’s emptiest corner—an unsuspecting alleyway where the city lights can't reach. There’s nothing but rubbish here: overflowing dumpsters, shattered alcohol bottles someone must've thrown in a drunk daze, vulgar graffiti on the walls. Buildings tower overhead, placed so close together only a few people can walk through at the same time. The path winds 'round and 'round. You aren't sure where you're going, as long as you get away from here.

More lightning cuts through the pouring sky, and amidst it, a sweet voice calls out for you.

“Darling~”

All the hairs on your body stand, and you run faster than ever before. He's still using that sickening term, as if you really do hold a special place in his heart. Even if it wasn't real, you were content being something he felt obligated to take care of—because you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered when his hand tightened over yours, how he looked standing bare feet in the ocean shoreline. And you were happy being just an afterthought to him. But this is too cruel for you.

"Come back to me, darling. I'm sorry if I scared you."

His footsteps are getting closer and closer.

The alley takes a quick turn, and what you see next crushes all hope of getting away. A wall.

No, no no no no.

There must be another way out, but everywhere you look is a dead end. When the heavy footsteps finally stop a few meters away, you turn around. With a violent crackle of thunder, light briefly fills the alley; it barely makes a dent in Ajax's dark blue eyes. The electric crashes through the sky reflect off the taut muscles—wet with rain—on his arms. His black shirt, soaked all the way through, clings tightly to indents of hard flesh on his torso. And a smile haunts his face, kind like you remember.

"Why are you running away from me?" Ajax takes a step closer and reaches out a tempting hand. It's his left one, and the two rings on it are evidence of your weak union. "Let's go home, my love." He beckons in that familiar, gentle tone he only used with you. It made you feel special, but now you know it's just a trick.

“Bastard!” You scream with all the broken pieces of your heart. “You were just using me! I saw what you did to my father’s men in your basement, what you said about killing me! It’s a low move, you know—to murder someone in their sleep.”

Your words stir a devilish grin from him, and all traces of sweet, sweet Ajax disappear in an instant. "Ah, so you heard that too." He steps closer again, and the cobblestone wall hits your back. "It's a shame, ya know. If you weren't so nosy, I would've let you alive for a bit longer. Maybe we could've had our first kiss on the lips too, hmm? Bet you would've liked that. I know I would—you were always so kind to me. A bit too kind."

"Get away from me! If papa finds out about this, he'll kill you!" you scowl, hoping to get some leverage over this situation. But Tartgalia is a proud man. He simply laughs, as if you're a child throwing a silly tantrum.

"Well, he isn't here right now is he? It's just you and me." As his hand lifts, a flash of lightning exposes a revolver nestled against his palm.

"Ajax. . . ?"

Even his name sounds unfamiliar. The remaining bits and pieces of your heart break, not instantly, but in a way that hurts much more—slow and agonizing, holding onto hope that you know doesn't exist.

Blue eyes sweep up your body, savoring your disheveled appearance under this stormy night. Your plush thighs look so squeezable, and oh, that teeny tiny waist that's just begging to be held down.

“Let’s play a little game. It'll be fun."

Despite his voice sounding playful, the cold smile twisting his mouth wrecks shivers through you. He opens the gun to reveal six bullets settled ominously inside. “Each piece of clothing you take off, I’ll get rid one bullet. You have ten minutes before I pull the trigger, darling. Let's see if you're alive then. And if you are, I'll let you go. Promise." He chuckles at the way your eyes widen fearfully; it’s just too adorable. “Go on, I’m waiting.”

There's no way you're going to listen to him. He already messed with you enough—from the wedding vows, the delicate cheek kisses, and late-night strolls along the beach. All of it was just a pretend game for him, and the thought boils your blood just as much as it hurts.

“That game's stupid. I’m not doing anything for you."

“So, you’re gonna play tough, eh?” Tartaglia hums, unbothered by your disobliging attitude. In fact, the smirk on his face gives you the impression that he enjoys it. He points the revolver aside, and with a spark, fires it. A shrill noise reverberates through the cramped alleyway, and you jolt as the bullet whizzes past your cheek. “I won’t miss next time.”

Angry tears sting the corner of your eyes. “You’re fucking disgusting."

"You have ten minutes, sweetie. Or would you rather just let me end it all for you right now? I promise it won't hurt." There's a slight pause, then Childe's grin widens even more. "Or perhaps you want to spend your last moments as husband and wife? I know we never got the chance to be really intimate."

He'll shoot you if you try to run. For a split second, you consider trying to reason with him. Maybe he really did feel something—even if it was the most empty-minded feeling that ever crossed his cold heart. But that hopeful thought quickly vanishes. Ajax doesn't exist. He never did.

Finally, with a long exhale, you hesitatingly begin to slip off one heel.

“Mmm, good girl.” He takes out one bullet, letting it clang against the floor and roll by your feet. His gaze feels sharp along, glued to every movement, every nook and cranny of your exposed skin. When you get the other heel off, Childe hums cheerfully and drops another bullet. Papa always told you to be brave, but you’re shaking uncontrollably under this heavy aura of death. Your fingers tremble as they loosen your dress, and when the ribbons slowly but surely come undone, all the silk cascades into a bundle of light pink. A slight sigh comes from Childe the moment your adorable, white undergarments are revealed—so untouched, so innocent. Your skin suddenly feels too uncomfortably tight under his heavily inspecting eyes.

Childe chuckles as you hug yourself ( to cover up and protect yourself from the stormy weather ). Seeing you like that—all vulnerable and small—it's just too cute. He lets go of another bullet, and it lands with a sharp ting.

"Come on, take it all off," he playfully orders.

It's a decision between pride or life—an easy option for most, but difficult when it ends up in your hands. "Go fuck yourself." When you make no effort to strip any more, merely scowling at him with dewy eyes, the blue-eyed man breaks into wild laughter.

“You’d rather die than let me see you naked? Ah, how cute, but. . .” He closes the metal cartridge, spins it, then lifts the gun back up to you. “I’d think twice if I were you.”

"If you lay a finger on me, papa won't let you get away!" you glare at him, but all it does is stir a snicker. Suddenly, Childe steps forward and kicks your knee out. You hit the floor coarse with wet dirt. “Hey—!” Tartaglia wastes no time listening to your protest. He carelessly turns you over with his shoe, then presses the underside of it onto your stomach—a sharp contrast to the way he always treated you like glass. It was that side of him you learned to love, not the heartless man everyone viewed him as. Perhaps if you'd been smarter, you would've seen right through him. How love is but a fool's game to him. And how it was always his plan to use you.

A flash of thunder lights up the sky behind him, and the rain falls harder.

Your face contorts with rage. “Fuck you!"

“Quite the dirty mouth for such a sweet girl," Childe coos, kneeling down to harshly grab your chin. "Haha, you look so cute when your cheeks are all pushed up like that."

He leans in, and suddenly, a pair of lips capture yours—sweet and creamy as if he just finished a glass of honey. His tongue breaks into the wet cavern of your mouth, exploring the darkest corners. You feel the metal of his piercing, how it presses against your tongue. Each groan he makes resonates deep within your chest. Determined to resist in any way you can, you bite down hard enough to split open his bottom lip.

Tartaglia jerks back with surprised laughter, dragging his pierced tongue over the blood. "I always expected you'd like it rough, darling. But it's fine—I like it too." As if taking your defiance as a challenge, he curls his hand into the back of your hair, and with a harsh tug, smashes your lips together in a desperate frenzy.

"Mmph!" The sheer force of his kiss muffles your voice. He forcefully pushes down your jaw, giving him enough room to shove his slithering tongue inside again. Saliva trickles down into your throat, and his mouth hums against yours; it urges you to amuse him more. You refuse at first, but as his disgusting saliva builds up from just how sloppy the kiss is, you're forced to take tiny gulps, and those gulps soon turn into hesitant swallows.

After a long moment, he finally pulls back. “That’s right. Drink it up, filthy little thing.” In a fit of rage, you spit on his face, and he recoils to wipe it off his cheek. Instead of seeing anger on his face, there's nothing but the flushed look of unhinged amusement. He suddenly jams his gun into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden intrusion. He hovers a finger over the trigger with a smirk on his face. “Wanna try that again?”

Tears blur your vision, but they're quickly blinked away. You won't let him win. You won't let this bastard get the better of you.

"That's what I thought." Childe moves the gun to the side of your head, showing exactly who's in charge. His other hand settles upon your pelvis; it nearly folds across the entire width. "So tiny. . ." You flinch as his touch moves lower, caressing all the subtle curves and dips of your flesh. "Ever been this intimate with anyone, darling?" He plays with the band of your panties, letting it smack against your hip after every tug. The ginger coos, as if your reaction was somehow an answer—the way you tremble, the way you glare at him with such lovely flushed cheeks. "Mmm, guess not. But that makes it more exciting, right?"

He suddenly turns you around, easily jerking your limbs until you're sitting on his lap. His hand falls from your neck, between the valley of your breasts, then to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Thorns sprout from the pit of your stomach. It's tingly, prickly, threatening to swallow you whole from the inside out.

"Don't touch there!"

Tartaglia lets out a low chuckle, pushing the barrel of the gun carelessly against your jaw. "Stupid girl, don't you see what position you're in? I'll show you what a man can do to someone so weak." The pads of his fingers are rough, so embarrassingly intimate as one traces your slit. "First, I'm gonna put my cock in here." He slips a gloved finger inside, and you keen at the unfamiliar disturbance. Tiny hands grip onto him tighter, desperately searching for purchase with each scarlet mark it leaves on his skin. You want to scream at him until your throat bled, but all you can muster are pathetic little whimpers.

His voice dips lower, husky with sweet poison. "Then, I'm gonna fuck you like this." His finger slowly drags in, out, in, and out. Each movement is earth-shattering, something you've never experienced before. It renders you completely useless. And despite how much you try to fight it off,fs you're losing yourself to him—body squirming, hips bucking disgracefully against his gloved hand.

"Think you can handle the real thing, sweetheart?" Childe's teasing remark reduces you to a mess of shame and boiling hot anger. You want to tell him to shut up, but your teeth are gritting together to prevent any more noises from coming out ( you don't want to feed his bloated ego any more than this ). However, as he curls his finger and hits a sensitive wall of flesh inside you, an embarrassing mewl chimes from your throat. "Heh, this wet already with just one of my fingers. Didn't realize my wife was so slutty."

"Ah!" You pitifully claw against his shirt, squeezing your legs together to make the electrifying feeling stop. But Childe doesn't give you time to rest. He holsters his gun and forcefully spreads your thighs—smeared with wet dirt, gravel, and slick—before shoving in another finger. The added friction makes you kick your feet in protest. "Nghhh! No, st-sthawp, Ajax!"

Childe's ears perk up at how his name sounds along your pretty tongue. It was something he shared with you after a night of heavy drinking. He never planned to reveal it, but the alcohol influenced him more than he thought. And perhaps it was also because of the way you looked while basked in silver moonlight.

"I hate you!" With an infuriated shriek, you pound against his chest, but that only seems to rile him up even more. His fingers hit even harder, deeper, faster. "Agh! Mmmf, n-no. . . I hate, nghh, h-hate you!"

Tartaglia lets out a snicker. "But you look like you're loving what I'm doing to you. It's not good to lie, you know that, right?" The repulsive, sopping noises of him toying with your cunt mortifies you. There's some pain, pleasure, and an exhausting sense of weakness as you're unable to do anything but lay there. "If you come on my hand, I'm gonna have to punish you for lying~"

Your stomach coils up into a wad of throbbing nerves. The lack of control is terrifying, but you still try to be defiant. "I'm not, ah, going to—!" After a harsh thrust of his fingers, with a loud cry, your body releases all that tension onto his glove. Everything goes blank for a second as your chest heaves up and down. It's so dizzy, the world is spinning.

"Mmm, looks like you need to be taught a lesson on how to be a good girl." His fingers pull out with a squelch, going to unbuckle his belt. There's a very noticeable bulge in his pants. And when he wrenches the restrictive garment down, releasing his hard, massive, swollen cock, new profound terror seeps into your guts. He's planning to put that disgusting thing in you; the thought is horrifying. You try to scurry away, only for his toned arms to push you back down. "Don't run from me." With a smirk, Childe turns your little body around to face him. His weight presses against you, slowly until you're both on the ground. The rain hits his back, droplets rolling down his sharp jaw and onto your face. "This might be a bit rough on your tiny body."

Before you can comprehend his warning, he pulls your soaking wet panties to the side and snaps his hips forward. The painful disturbance makes you wail, your cramped insides trying to resist Childe's member with all its might. It burns. White hot, like a metal rod dipped in lava. For a second, your body shuts down, vision blacking out before startling back awake.

"N-No, hurts. . . 'Jax!"

He jerks his hips, forcing his big cock deeper.

You're gonna die. He's going to kill you.

"Tight—" he hisses, then sucks in a breath that shifts into laughter. He's enjoying it; the cold sweat dripping down your face, how you kick, whimper, your sensitive insides gripping him so intensely. "Hahaha! I can't fuck you stupid if you're gonna keep clenching down me like that." He's smiling, like this is all some kind of joke. However, when you suddenly squeeze even tighter around him, that attitude breaks a little. Teeth gritting hard, Childe buries his head into the shallow dip of your shoulder. He's holding you so close with shivering arms—you can almost confuse it with love. The tender kind you prayed for, something that consumes you whole as if passing through a cloud heavy with rain.

After composing himself, he finally lifts himself back up to look you in the eyes. His face is contorted into a look of pleasure: red cheeks, eyes sharp with wicked amusement. "Ghh. . . W-What did I just say?"

You squeak as he rolls his hips, slipping in a few more inches you didn't realize existed ( it already feels so full ). When he makes a small pump to adjust to the wet heat, your eyes squeeze shut at the throbbing pain. It's too big—the tip feels like it's going to tear through your cervix. But just as you think it's pushed all the way to the hilt, your eyes go wide as he forces in a few more inches inside.

"Ahhh!" You glance down, horror flooding your veins at the sight of there being more to take in. His cock stretches past your limits, making your stomach protrude a little with its shape. The filthy sight burns hot shame throughout you. He's really inside. Not wanting to look at it anymore, your eyes wander elsewhere, but Childe isn't merciful enough to give you that salvation. He takes your chin and forces it forward.

"Look at me."

It's cold enough to see his heavy breaths come out as wisps.

The ginger flutters his eyes, taking a moment to savor the feeling before he fucks you loose. “Such a needy hole for me. So tight, and so fucking warm." When his member draws out slightly, the glossy sheen covering his hard, veiny skin makes you dizzy.

“Let go of me!” you command him, holding back the hot tears brewing in your eyes. In an attempt to relieve the pain, you lift your hips off the hideous thing, but a strong hand grips your waist and jerks you back onto it.

“Mm, now what did I say about not running away?”

Childe pulls himself out to the tip.

Knowing what's coming next, you shout, "W-Wait!" A screech claws out of your chest as he slams back inside with a heavy, wet squelch. Searing pain unfurls inside your weak body, the excruciating thrust of his thick cock too much to handle. You tremble as he withdraws again, agonizingly slow as if to see what other cute reactions you're capable of making. "No, stop—!" He doesn't listen, chuckling as you scratch the muscular jut of his shoulder blades.

“Haah, fffuckk, that’s good,” he admits, thrusting hard back inside with a grunt—so brutally you think for a moment that something split inside you. It’s his massive girth that stretches your insides uncomfortably, the way he’s so much bigger, how he didn’t bother being gentle. The tears you’ve been trying to hold back spill out, and you scream as he sets an unforgiving pace. His body is much bigger, stronger than yours. He easily rocks you back and forth—like you're just some fuckdoll for him to use whenever and however he pleased. All your cries and the way you slam your fists against him are ignored. “Aww, are you crying?” His voice drips with mockery.

You hate it. You hate it so much.

Your hands push against his chiseled stomach. "Get out of me!"

Tartaglia laughs in a way that makes your cheeks burn helplessly. "You're still fighting? Don't you see it's useless, stupid girl." He squeezes your wrists together and pins them above you. There's no way he can possibly hold you down with just one hand, so you struggle, and struggle, and struggle. But nothing budges him at all. His lips are back on yours: kissing hungrily, teeth biting, tongue not wasting any drop. The hot and slimy kisses trail to your collarbone, leaving thick trails of drool. It's like he's salivating at the thought, the feeling, the everything about you.

"I'm not your toy!" you scream at him.

The blue-eyed man lets out a stuttering breath, followed by a snicker. "But you're my wife, which means we're bonded together for the rest of eternity. Remember our vows? Until death do us part." He groans, shifting his weight back a little to get a full view of your adorable face—all red and tear-streaked. “Haaah, you’re so cute when you make that stupid face. That kind of expression would drive any man wild, so don't go showing anyone else." Childe lowers himself to whisper in your ear. "Or I'll get really mad.” He grabs the plush of your thigh, jerking it onto his shoulder to better fuck you into the concrete.

"Ah! Stop, Ajax!"

"That's right, say name name just like that. Go on, cry it all out," he grunts. The shameful wet noises of his hips pounding into your cunt—over and over—fill up the alley. You want to block it out and only listen to the crackles of thunder, the rain as it swallows you up in a bitter cold. But each thrust of his dick breaks your resolve little by little. You’re afraid of someone stumbling down this path and seeing you like this, but you also yearn to be saved.

"H-He. . . lp." It hurts to say anything; your throat is hoarse from all the screaming and pleas for him to stop. "Papa, help me. . ."

The moment you call out for your father, Childe's grip tightens into steel. A punishing thrust rips a cry from you, trembles wrecking through your lithe figure. "Pay attention to me." His voice comes out a low growl. Your vision that was starting to black out returns abruptly. "Who's fucking you right now? Who's making you their bitch? That's right, me. So just forget about everything else and only look. at. me."

There's something so harsh about his words and it confuses you. You've never him like this before—the way he's looking at you with those terrifying eyes.

He glances at the slick gathered between your hips. "We're making such a mess. Finally consummating our marriage after all this time, hm?" Childe takes your left hand, and in a surprising gesture of intimacy, kisses the rings on it. You watch in disbelief as he lifts your hand to his cheek, nuzzling against it—like your warmth is his only flame in the middle of a freezing winter. A strange look dawns his face; you can't pinpoint it no matter how hard you try.

You flinch from his touch despite how gentle it is. "N-No, stop. . . I can't do it anymore. I'm gonna die."

Something flickers across his face, but it's quickly covered up with a smirk.

"Mmmf, you're tightening up again," he heaves out. There's no smile on his face anymore, a concentrated expression taking its place. You feel every bit of his sweat on you, as well as the way your ribcage rattles with how resonating, deep and full his moans are. "I s-should've been, agh, doing this more often while I—ghh!—had the chance." Suddenly, his eyes narrow, cock quivering. "S-Shit, 'mm close. Gonna fill you up nice and good. You'd like that, yeah?"

When you shake your head frantically, he takes out the revolver again and aims it between your eyes, hand trembling slightly from the intense pressure wrapped around his cock. “I’ll blow your, nghhh, p-pretty brains out after I fill you up.” That dark promise widens your eyes in fear; the adorable reaction makes him bursts into wild laughter. But from the way he bites his lips soon after, eyes filled with desire, it's clear that he's struggling to keep himself composed. “Ah, that look on your face; it’s too good! There's still two bullets inside. I’ll do it, darling. I’ll really kill you.”

"Ajax," you plead with a cracking voice. The look on your face must've been priceless ( maybe it was the despair, the defeat, the betrayal, who knows ). His body suddenly shakes with hearty laughter.

"Ha, hahahah! You can be so, so, so cute when you want to be." Childe lets out a low groan. With one last violent thrust, he releases all his cum—in hot, sticky spurts that leave you shivering—deep deep into your womb.

Everything goes numb, the loud thunder and pouring sky becoming white noise.

You stare up at Childe as he spins the revolver's cylinder one more time. The bullets in their cartridge rotate with a clinking noise, metal on metal, beckoning death from its slumber. There's a chance you'll die, and a chance you may walk out of here alive. But your heart is broken, and no one can survive without a functioning heart.

Childe smiles; it isn't playful but rather weak. "Ha, don't look at me like that. It makes me feel kind of bad. But don't worry! If you survive this, I'll let you go like I promised earlier."

He presses the nozzle against your forehead slowly—perhaps to prolong your despair, or maybe it's because of something else. You think you see something change in his blue gaze, but those eyes are still dark—as heavy and cold as a thousand seas. Even then, you find yourself clinging to that tiny spark of light.

"I love you."

The words spill out from your mouth.

Tartaglia sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes widen, filling with some strange emotion you've never seen in them before. After a bit, he squeezes them shut, as if your words seared his flesh. "Don't say things like that either." He finally looks at you with an unclear expression, one that surely isn't warm but not cold either. "It makes me feel like I'm gonna do something I regret."

His finger moves to the trigger.

And you wait for what's to come.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

## 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 | thank you for reading! got sick and tired of proofreading, so you'll probably find grammatical errors or clunky sentences. but wow i actually managed to write something kek.

( 10.21.23 ) ( © ollieink | my box is always open ! )

[r0-boat]

Instinct

Male! Dragon! OC x AFAB!gn!reader

Feat: Yandere OC Silas

Cw: possessive behavior, yandere character, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, animalistic behavior, biting, claiming bite.

NSFW

Thank you @devotion-disorder for this lovely art piece I'm so glad I commissioned you!!

You smell good.

So good.

Your Skin;

So Soft to the touch,

smooth and unblemished,

just begging for a mate to pin you down and sink his fangs into. Your mere presence was tempting.

Silas knew full well that as the months got warmer and the snow melted, more primal desires started to call to him. An animalistic need that demanded satisfaction. However, a Duke dub Cedric from a neighboring kingdom invited him to a ball and offered he could not refuse even if he wanted to. The Duke was kind enough to Grant him a plus-one, and now, standing before you in an outfit that the maids and tailor specifically prepared for you, how the woven silk fabric hugged every part of your body, oh, how he wishes he could forget that stupid party and rip your outfit in two and ravish you right here in this carriage.

His hungry eyes did not go unnoticed by you. Even now, as elegant and princely as he looked, Silas looked like a caged, starving animal. His eyes were only on you the entire night, even as other more elegant women wine and flaunted their bodies to get his attention, only to clutch their pearls in frustration when the prince only had eyes for you.

Silently stalking behind you like your shadow glaring down upon you like a premium steak on his plate ready to devour you.

But Silas held back his urges for the sake of his reputation, as all Noble eyes were on him. He stopped following you around like a lost puppy and began mingling with Sir Cedric. Talks of trade business gossip from other kingdoms were a much-needed but small distraction from the burning in his core, but now and then, he would sneak a little glances at you. His pupils waning into slits as he watched the other attendants stare at you with the same hungry eyes he had been.

Veins rush with adrenaline when one of the Nobles who had been eyeing you gets the courage to approach you.

The conversation becomes background noise as he tries to concentrate on what that man is saying to you, glaring daggers at the noble, making you smile and chuckle. The dragon in him hissed and snarled, becoming more and more restless. To it, you are an unclaimed potential mate being pursued by a rival.

Silas feels his claws threatening to rip out of his gloves. He clutches his fist with images of the noble's blood painting the walls of the ballroom, Imagining the taste of his flesh on his tongue. He quickly storms out as the Duke is still talking to him.

You look over to see Silas approaching the both of you.

Eyes burning with fury, be prepared yourself for a gruesome site only for it to never come.

" Excuse me, gentlemen, my apologies for interrupting your conversation, but I believe I asked this lovely person to dance with me."

Silas said politely, eyes still burned with a jealous rage that you were all too familiar with. A small, gentle smile on his face, Which only made him more unsettling. And his hand ever so gently stroking your hip, has he pulled you closer to him.

The man, a kind soul, really, took the hint. If he were to stay within your presence any longer than he'd had, this Prince would make him disappear.

"Ah, Sorry, Your Highness, I hadn't realized they were taken already."

Yes, taken… They are mine

A shiver goes down your spine when your eyes meet his, giving off a slight draconic glow of violet piercing into your very soul.

As you danced with him, his hold around you was tight, and his touch was borderline sensual as he caressed your parts in ways along with notice. You flushed, knowing that you couldn't do anything while Silas was feeling your body in public. Even as you try to look away, he moves his head to keep your eyes on him.

"Don't look away from me." He whispered a husky, demanding tone, his thumb gently pressing against your bottom lip as he forced your head back to him. His thumbs wipes across your bottom lip. His fang sinks into his, Imagining the taste of your lips upon his

"Eyes on me, dear."

With the last of his self-control, he lasted from the dance the carriage ride home, letting out a low-throated purr, seeing your small body sat pretty in his lap, his large veiny hand underneath your clothes grasping at your bare thigh. He stayed eerily quiet even as you tried to talk to him. He'd only give one-word answers or hums, his mind thinking of only one thing. His gaze focused on your unblemished neck, shoulders, and collarbone. You feel his hand squeeze your plush thigh, fingers dipping dangerously close to your core. Silas's breath tickles your neck, gently pressing kisses up until he nibbles on your ear. Finally, he whispers.

" As soon as we get out of this carriage, you are coming into my bed tonight. Do you understand?" He smiles as he sees you nod obediently.

When the carriage finally does stop as at his Castle, he immediately has you in his arms, carrying you like a bride, to his chambers, throwing you onto his large bed, going back to the door to lock it.

When you sit up, you see him breathing heavily, his face flushed red, looking back at you with that familiar, hungry look. Silas slowly begins to peel off his clothing one by one as he makes his way closer to the bed to you.

"Do you know what you do to me?" A growl rips from his throat, now half naked, his fingers playing with his belt.

" all night, as I suffer, you sit pretty looking up at others with those big doe eyes.

He creeps closer, hands pressing against the mattress as he leans into your face.

" walking around and then gorgeous outfit men drooling over you like panting dogs. Unaware of who has already claimed you.

He caresses your cheek before his hand slides down, grabbing the collar of your outfit. Pulling you downward, your forehead rested against his.

"Strip."

Claws dug into the fabric. If this weren't off in five seconds, it would be torn off your body.

He watched you slowly shimming out of your outfit. With each delicious amount of skin exposed, he touched and caressed.

Your thighs, your hips, your stomach, your chest. The Prince couldn't keep his hands off you. He could barely hold back when he pressed you into the mattress, a hand secured firmly around your throat.

Fingers trail down your stomach, slipping beneath your undergarments. Thick fingers press. Play with your core. Pressing gently at your tight entrance, fondling your walls, listening to the sweet sounds of your insides as he stirs them. He releases your neck, caressing your cheek as he leans down to taste your lips. His breath shakes as he goes down for another. His tongue is sliding into your mouth as he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair pulling you deeper. He presses his entire naked body against you. You could feel how hard he was straining his pants.

"I want you."

His voice shakes in desperation

"I want to be the only man you look at.

"I want to claim you as mine, to make it so everyone knows who you belong to."

His hand slips to his belt, undoing it, while remaining eye contact.

" I need to be inside you,"

He keeps looking at your core, licking his lips.

" But first, it has been a while since I've tasted you. Let me make you feel good."

Grabbing your ass, he lifts your lower half with ease. He lets out a feral growl as he goes down onto your core, eating you like a starved beast. His eager tongue tastes all of you because he puts his whole mouth on your little body. Lewd noises of his lips slurping your wetness fill the room, which only turns him on more, his feral growls turning into whimpering moans, grinding his hips against nothing in particular. You clenched the bed sheets, wailing and trembling, your body trying its best to squirm away from the intense pleasure only for him to hold you tighter.

You were not getting away from him.

Silas needed to make you cum to taste your essence on his tongue. He needed to feel that satisfaction of knowing that no other man could make you feel the way he feels.

His eyes rolled back when your hand tangled in his hair, pulling on his long jet locks as you braced yourself for your own orgasm. He holds his mouth in place, drinking every last drop of you. Finally, finishing his meal, he drops you like a rag doll, wiping his mouth with his hand before licking his fingers. He was no longer a man at that point, with only one thing on his mind: he flips you over, a firm hand on the back of your neck, pressing you down. He slipped his cock out of his pants, his big hand manhandling your ass open. Your entrance is wet enough with the saliva, cum, and juices, even with his vast draconic cock. He forced himself inside with one motion, mounting you like an animal. You felt his breath already against your ear as he put his hand around your throat. His pace was rough and relentless, grinding his hips with each thrust, trying to drill as deep as he could.

"Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! All mine!"

He repeats like a mantra. You can feel the tip of his dick pressing against the sweet spot inside you, making you clench around his thick rigid shaft feeling every monstrous and inhuman ridge on his dragon cock. His cock felt hot, threatening to burn you out from the inside. You cum again on his cock. Silas is lost and in pleasure, mercilessly fucking you through your orgasm. He removes his hand from your throat, snaking it till around your mouth, muffling your sweet screams when you feel his teeth sink into your neck, his sharp, beastly fangs piercing, breaking your skin as the taste of your blood feels his mouth; he explodes inside you, his whole body is shaking the sheer pleasure making tears well up in his eyes. His hips still as he grinds every last drop deep inside you, claiming you for himself, claiming you in the most primal way any man can. You go limp into his arms, and he catches you, supporting your entire body in his arms. Silas, in a daze licking the new wound on the back of your neck, gently suckling the red liquid from the new mark; his cock throbbed deep inside you, still hard, and his body still felt hot.

"I need more."

[eldritch-nightmare]

slashers with hanahaki.

a/n: icb this took me like 2 months to finish omg anyways hanahaki is not a trope i personally enjoy but i like writing angst and i think it's an interesting concept and this is. honestly just an excuse to write amanda angst, actually. uhm. first post about slashers :thumbs up: might take time for me to get used to writing them tbh, so this might be short but!! i hope you enjoy it all nonetheless. ignore how long ethan's is. amanda comes with her own special bot so <3 enjoy tht if u use it.

includes: amanda young, quinn bailey, tiffany valentine, billy loomis, bo sinclair, and ethan landry.

warnings: gn!reader, angst, many mentions of vomit and coughing, blood, implied unrequited love (esp in bo's), randomly assigned flowers plucked out of my flower book.

AMANDA YOUNG

If there's one thing about Amanda that isn't hard to miss, it's the fact that she gets very jealous, very easily. It was obvious in the way she almost constantly glared at Lynn whenever the woman was in her line of sight, the way she held no kindness in her voice whenever the two were forced to speak to each other.

Well... it was obvious to John, at least. Even in the state that he was in, the man was nothing if not observant, and he certainly didn't miss the way Amanda's gaze would linger on you and Lynn. He didn't miss the way she would come up with random things for you to do, things that involved you keeping a distance from Lynn.

What John isn't aware of, however, is the fact that each time Amanda goes off alone, it's to cough and vomit up the flowers blooming inside of her. She loves you so much that she can't even be angry when she stares down at the bloodied petals of lavender in her hand as she gasps for breath.

This is her punishment, she thinks. It's her curse, one she'll keep to herself. She loves you, but she doesn't deserve you. If you get too close to her, if she shows that she cares for you, you'll die. They always do, and you're the one person she can't stand to lose.

So she'll keep this to herself. She'll diligently wash the blood off the petals in her hand and she'll put them with the rest, tucked away safely for no one but her to see. She'll let her love be a secret, even if her jealousy boils over.

QUINN BAILEY

Romance isn't something Quinn cares for. She's not interested in falling in love since it doesn't align with her goals of wanting to get revenge for her brother's murder. And you, the best friend of Samantha Carpenter, were meant to be another victim. The plan was to kill you in front of Sam, just to inflict a little extra trauma on her.

But that's not how things were turning out. The more time she spent with you, pretending to be friends with people she planned on killing, the more attached she was starting to become. It was small at first, something she could push aside at any given moment. But you just had to be nice to her.

With everything going on, everyone was always worrying over Sam or Tara, but during it all, you had pulled her to the side to ask how she was handling everything, asking if she was okay. And suddenly, it became harder to push those feelings aside, and camellia petals started forcing their way out of her throat whenever she coughed.

This didn't go unnoticed either, by her family or her 'friends', but she always brushed their concerns off. It's just a little cough, no big deal. But it wasn't. Your time to die was coming up, and Quinn was the one who was supposed to kill you. But now she's hesitating, her mind working a mile a minute to come up with a way for you to get out of this alive without risking everything else.

She loves you, as much as she loathes to admit it. She doesn't want to be in love, especially knowing you'll never love her back once you find out who she truly is.

TIFFANY VALENTINE

Pretty much everyone who knows Tiffany knows about her feelings for you. It's not something she bothers to hide, and even she's surprised that you aren't aware of the love that she has for you. Or maybe you're just pretending like you're oblivious? She certainly hopes not.

Either way, the first time she coughs a flower up, she feels... well... she wasn't upset. In her eyes, it was further proof of how much she truly adored you. The petals of pansies that she coughed up were always tucked away in a jar. She probably has like... 4-5 jars full of petals by this point.

She doesn't blame you for any of this either. It's not your fault that she fell in love with you! How could she not? You're you. Anyone could love you. She'd kill them if they did, of course, but her point still stands.

Of course, she's not an idiot. She knows what this means. The constant pain in her throat and the feeling of vomiting up blood and flowers is nothing compared to the pain of knowing you more than likely don't love her back. But it's a pain she's willing to bear if it means having you in her life.

And Tiffany is just... fairly confident that given enough time and patience, you'll love her back, one day. She could (and probably should) give up on you, she knows that, but she doesn't want to. Not yet.

BILLY LOOMIS

Love is not something that comes easily for Billy. He's damn good at faking it, but he tends to disappear the moment he starts feeling like he actually might be growing to love someone. But loving you? It was as easy as breathing, he didn't even notice he had fallen until the roses started falling from his lips. How cliché.

He's really... torn, to be honest, for many reasons. This little illness of flowers could potentially get in the way of his plans, first and foremost. It makes it a lot harder pretending to love Sydney when he starts hacking up stupid fucking rose petals whenever he thinks about you. And god forbid if he has a coughing fit when he's doing Ghostface business.

It's a pain to hide, but Billy is nothing if not determined. Not even Stu knows, that's how badly he wants to keep this a secret. It's not something he plans on hiding forever, of course. Once he's killed Sydney, he'll... probably get around to doing something about the roses piling up in a random shoebox in his room.

The thought of killing you certainly crossed his mind, don't get him wrong. It would probably be much easier having you dead than leaving you alive and dealing with this, but the moment he even processed the thought, he was falling out of bed from the sheer force of the coughing fit that hit him. It's the most roses he's ever thrown up at once, so. He threw that thought out almost immediately.

But he'll definitely play it off and act as if he isn't painfully pining for you if you ever find out about this little predicament. He's too prideful, too hesitant to ever fully commit to a person. The roses bloodied roses in the beat-up box are the closest he'll ever get to confessing his love to you.

BO SINCLAIR

Bo knew letting you live would bite him in the ass one of these days, he just wasn't expecting it to be like this. He knew he had a bit of a soft spot for you, though he loathed to admit it, even when his brothers give him knowing looks.

You just looked so damn perfect, all scared with tears streaming down your face. How could he not want to keep you around a little longer? He just didn't actually expect himself to grow attached. It was supposed to be a sadistic game, a way for him to torture you. Instead, he was the one being tortured.

Tortured by these damn flowers he keeps coughing up. He had to ask Lester what they were, though he obviously didn't mention why. Nobody was going to know about this, not Lester, not Vincent, and certainly not you. This was going to stay between him, and the bloodied petals of honeysuckle that he keeps hidden in the gas station.

He knew well enough that this little problem wasn't just going to go away so easily. Don't get him wrong, if he could kill you, he would. The thought alone is enough to keep him locked in a room, throwing up flowers until he sees dots in his vision. So clearly, he can't. He's undeniably stuck with you now, whether he likes it or not.

What's worse is he'll never have your love. Why would he? You'd be a fool to ever fall in love with him after everything he has put you through. He'll only ever have your fear.

ETHAN LANDRY

He wholeheartedly did not expect to fall in love, especially with someone inside Tara and Sam's friend group. What's worse is that it wasn't a 'normal' way of falling in love either. No, you stole his heart the moment you stabbed him while he was under the mask, growling out a threat so cruel, so gruesome, he was definitely going to steal it in the future.

The wild look in your eyes was a stark contrast to how you usually behaved, and that excited him. Honestly, how could he not fall in love with you after that? With Ghostface, you were aggressive, almost animalistic in the way you would fight for your life. With Ethan, you were concerned for his safety, even if you did eye him with suspicion like everyone else.

The flowers were annoying though, he can't lie. It's not fun coughing up tulips, especially when he's under the mask. It also makes it harder to hide his identity. Ethan honestly doesn't seem like he'd hide his coughing fits from you because he'd probably thrive under your concern. That means that if he slips up and has one when assuming the Ghostface persona, his identity is basically revealed and it ruins everything he and his family have been working for.

He'll make up excuses as to why you can't be killed. You're not even that close to Tara or Sam. Honestly, he wouldn't consider you to be part of the friend group, so your death wouldn't have any impact on them. You've unintentionally helped them with their plans by being Ethan's alibi whenever it wasn't him under the mask, so killing you just wouldn't make sense. He's not exactly the best at hiding his feelings for you.

And Ethan is well aware that given his second identity, he'll never have a chance with you. The moment the inevitable unmasking happens, he'll lose any kindness you may hold for him. That thought alone is enough to make the tulips force their way out of his throat, but he won't lie... it's exciting to think about how you might react once it's revealed that he's Ghostface.

[runawaymun]

I'm sure you'll get/have gotten other asks about this same thing, but I would love, love, love to know more about your ideas for a messy kidnap fam fic. :)

(also, accidently unfollowed when trying to hit the ask button. it's finally happened)

Ask me about my not-yet-written-fics from this list

The Messy Kidnap Fam Longfic

Under a cut for length

It all starts with Mae and Mags finding Elrond and Elros in Elwing's wardrobe post-oath-induced-rage fugue.

Elros and Elrond put up a hell of a fight to Not Get Taken and are absolutely convinced that a) Elwing has been murdered and b) they're also about to get murdered.

Maedhros gets bitten by Elros >:3

Mae and Mags have a debate about What To Do With them. I feel like maybe Mae initially is like "Put Those Back Where They Came From or So Help Me" at Mags, but the only idea they come up with is maybe leaving the twins at the edge of what's left of Sirion in the hopes that they'll be found (because if they tried to drop off the twins in person they'd get attacked on sight by Gil Galad and Cirdan). But Mae can't stop worrying that they'll die of exposure that way (he still feels awful about what happened to Elured and Elurin at Doriath).

They both realize at the exact same time that Elwing and Earendil Might Want Their Kids Back and Might Be Willing to Do A Lot to get them back, and so Elrond and Elros would be excellent hostages who could potentially be ransomed for a Silmaril.

So Elrond and Elros are very much hostages at this point. Mae and Mags do not really interact with them at all (save for Mags poking around in their minds to try and get some information out of them. Which Mae disapproves of but doesn't care enough about to stop him. He's in a bad way rn. Like his last other baby brother save Mags just died and he himself just participated in a massacre and he doesn't feel particularly good about it. They didn't even get a Silmaril and their own forces are fragmented post Sirion. My boy is barely keeping things together. They're together with duct tape and string at this point).

The twins are carted along the road back to Amon Ereb but kept under too heavy guard for them to be able to escape.

Also absolutely nobody in camp understands how to look after Peredhil. The twins do not get enough food to start with and they probably get sick from the elements, and this does go unnoticed for a WHILE.

They get back to Amon Ereb and are promptly put in a horrible little white room with a lock on the door. Again, Mae and Mags are not much interested with interacting with them at this point. Mags is a bit more interested but that's mostly because the twins remind him of Ambarussa and he's also emotionally unstable.

Mae sends ransom demands to Elwing, Earendil, and Gil-Galad, and they wait.

The twins are still hungry and sick, and convinced that they're gonna die. Also Mags keeps interacting with them and it's scary.

(They do get a window because keeping elves or elf adjacent beings away from view of the stars is unthinkably cruel, even for Mae and Mags. But they also still continue to be pretty neglected, and there is really nothing to do in that room. Elrond goes pretty catatonic at this point and Elros starts trying to tear holes through the drywall).

At some point it occurs to Mags and Mae that the twins are in poor condition and that's not really good when it comes to trying to ransom them.

They don't really know what to do though and so they consult some humans in their service, who are understandably like "uhhhhhhhhh they need more food and some medicine probably boss. Also it's kind of cold for them actually like sure it's fine for an elf but these are actual half-human babies).

Cue the twins finally getting some basic help. I have a vague idea that they bond with a human nurse that's sent in to look after them because Mae and Mags just cannot be bothered to Think About It.

Mae especially is pointedly staying away because it's too painful to be around the twins because a) they remind him of his brothers and b) they remind him of everything awful he's ever done and he can't handle that guilt.

Things continue to be Bad For A While.

Also I forgot to mention that Elrond and Elros have a poor grasp of Quenya at best, and so they really don't understand anything being said around them. They're picking it up fast though. Especially Elrond.

Finally a rejection of the ransom demands comes back.

What the fuck.

Mae absolutely goes into a rage over this because he literally does not know what else he can do. Because apparently Earendil and Elwing are on a boat somewhere with his father's Silmaril.

"What are we doing with the twins?"

Elrond and Elros are more convinced than ever that they're gonna get killed.

It's agreed that the twins should be dropped off somewhere to be found by Gil-Galad, and that trip begins. They likely send a letter to Gil-Galad announcing that they're returning the twins.

Gil-Galad has absolutely no reason to believe that the twins are alive and smells a trap. He does not come to pick up the twins.

Mae and Mags do watch (or have someone else watch) from a distance to make sure the twins are collected. The twins are not collected. The day wanes on into night. It gets really cold. The twins start bawling because they really think they're going to die now.

Mae really can't bear that and also at this point he's mad at everyone and everything.

They recollect the twins and decide that they're just going to have to look after them now until they're old enough to go back to Gil on their own.

Cue a very long tiptoe process of Mags getting attached to the twins and Mae refusing to (he's actually a big softie though so eventually he does).

I have way more ideas about later stages but this is already getting ridiculously long, sorry.

TLDR: (but I can elaborate more if people want me to): Mae and Mags finally start to get a grasp on Peredhil needs but wow is the damage done.

Elrond and Elros are veeeery slow to trust.

Super codependant relationship forms, with Elrond especially terrified of being left again because Mae and Mags are the only people who seem to want them now. Elrond starts emotionally regulating Mae and Mags just as much (if not more) than he used to for Elwing.

Mae and Mags get very attached to the twins and use them to cling to the last remnants of their personhood. This is not a good thing.

There's obviously more here I've thought this out very thoroughly.

Love grew between them but it was fucked from the start, essentially.

Also um something something the twins losing their Sindarin and not being raised in their Sindarin culture and essentially getting unintentionally completely colonized by Mae and Mags :/ icky and unavoidable.

[jqmalikhsgib]

quest

six

warning: mention of abuse, sexual assault, kidnapping, guns, knives, and mention of miscarriage, murder, sexual themed

darius was a troubled kid. you couldn’t really blame him. his father was an abusive alcoholic and his mother just took the punches like a ‘good house wife’ while darius watched it all unfold.

his troubled behavior started when he was in the first grade. he’d push other kids and make fun of them. darius father blamed his mother and she’d become a punching bag.

the older darius got, the worse he became. and watching his father only made him crave more destruction.

his first crime was as simple as stealing. he started off small. a pack of gum from a corner store would give him a small drive. but over time he needed more. so he started to steal more items. some chips, a soda, hell he even stole a box of tampons once.

he loved the rush! but it still wasn’t enough. he needed to go big! so he’d started to pickpocket. took him awhile to become smooth and unnoticed. it’s why he would steal from people in different neighborhoods as practice.

when he got better he went to the north side of the neighborhood. he’d steal from the rich preppy kids and get away with it each time. none of them noticing their wallets had been gone until they arrived home.

he couldn’t believe how much cash they’d have in their pockets. it was unbelievable how stupid they were by not having a card or carrying a smaller amount. but he was making money.

still, he felt something missing. he needed a bigger rush. he just didn’t know what exactly was missing. that all changed the night his father came into his room, drunk out of his mind, thinking he was his mother.

darius tried to push his father off of him. he tried to get through to him. but this only made him angrier.

“do we have to go over this again brenda?! you’re my wife! i can take it any time i wanna.” he slurred in his sons ear.

darius just gave in. letting his father do whatever he wanted as he cried from the pain. when his father was done he zipped up his pants and spit right on darius face.

“going out for nother beer.”

darius had no idea what his mother really went through with his father until then. but he promised she would never have to suffer like that ever again. that was his first awakening.

darius planned how he’d do it. he had to carefully make it look like a stupid drunken accident. he knew he could! his father had a record.

he knew he’d get away with it. took him months to finally come up with a carefully skilled plan. he made sure his mother wasn’t home and he sat right next to his dad. darius simply asked if he wanted a beer.

he’d get up, go to the kitchen, poison said beer, and handed it to him. darius would just wait. he’d watch as his father drinks his beer and watch the football game. he would ask for another, and another, and another. until eventually he’d finally get sick.

darius smirks as he watched his father die. he’d bend down as his father eyes watered and got blurry.

“you sick fuck! i hope you burn in hell.” darius would wait upstairs. when he heard his mom screamed he knew she had found his fathers lifeless body.

he’d rush downstairs and pretends to be shocked and broken. his mother called the police. after a few days of investigation they ruled it as alcohol poisoning.

that was his first kill.

darius and his mom moved on. they moved to texas, darius mom found a new lover, got married, and smiled way more than he’s ever seen her smile.

darius even graduated high school. he met the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and had to marry her.

she got pregnant with their first kid, tim y/l/n. darius loved being a father. but deep down he was missing something. his wife started to notice his change in demeanor.

he was distant. it was like he was a different person. so when she fell pregnant with their second child she became depressed. he was never around, never present. this caused her to lose the baby.

his wife was devastated. darius promised he’d change. he would go to therapy and figure out what was wrong.

but he never went. instead he did something he hasn’t in a long time. he stole. and it gave him that rush back. the happiness he was missing. it would work for a while. the rush of not being caught.

darius wife noticed his changes. she wanted to try again. and a few months later her and darius had their second baby boy, john y/l/n.

for two years darius was happy. he was content with just stealing. but he needed more. he knew what was missing. that rush of killing. he had never felt so much power in his life until he killed his dad. he needed more.

so darius would find his next victims. women who worked the streets. no one would miss them! they were perfect for his plan. he’d start with a woman who went unnoticed first.

he would stalk them and see who would get less customers. the one that hid in the shadows the most. when he finally found the one he’d wait patiently.

the night he picked her up he drove into a wooded area. he would park his car, be friendly, even allowed her to give him head. when she was done he’d caress her face.

darius would kiss her lovingly before wrapping his hand gently around her neck. he’d look her in the eyes as he choked her.

fighting for her life she scratch his arm. but he would only squeeze harder until she was lifeless.

darius smirks. he felt that rush again. this was exactly what he was missing.

when he finally came back to his senses he would get out of the car, walk to the passenger side, grab her lifeless body, and walk into the wooded area. darius had already dug a six foot grave hours ago. he would drop her lifeless body into the grave and bury her before going home to his wife and two children and pretending like nothing happened.

and this would last for five years.

five years after the first prostitute he killed, darius would have killed about fifty woman after that.

he couldn’t believe he got away with it for so long. no one suspected a thing. at least he thought.

his wife noticed a few things. it started when they found out they were having a girl. the way darius face would turn white. and when they had their daughter he treated her differently than the boys.

almost as if she didn’t exist. she would bring it up but darius would shrug her off. the years soon went by and darius would still ignore his daughter.

whenever abigale would climb on his lap he’d lift her up, sit her on the other couch, and go back to his chair.

he wouldn’t feed her, change her diaper, bath her. nothing! darius would only take care of the boys. his wife couldn’t stand that!

she had enough and yelled at him. this was the start of their rocky marriage. time went on, darius kept killing, the kids were getting older, and their marriage was practically over.

when the kids were teenagers, tim 17, john 15, and abigale 14, they’d noticed things.

how their father would be gone all hours of the night, their mother would cry herself to sleep, their father smelling like perfume, their mother not even being emotionally present. at that point they took care of themselves and each other.

one night they’d come home to their parents yelling. it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but it was louder than usual. the could nearly hear them a block away.

when they got inside their mother was holding a pair of panties and shoving it in their fathers face.

“who the fuck is she, darius!”

“i told you it’s nobody’s!”

“how the hell did it get in your car then?!”

their father would walk away.

“i don’t know! do you know how many people get into my car a day?! it could have been anybody.”

“oh, fuck you! that is the most lamest excuse ever. tell me who she is!”

they’d continue to fight. moving to their bedroom and closing the door. the three siblings would sigh before turning on the tv and trying to shut out the noise. that is until they heard silence.

they got nervous. not knowing what to do tim told his siblings to stay put as he walks over to his parents room.

he knocks on the door and waits for one of them to answer.

when his dad finally opened the door he gasped. he had blood on his hands and was holding a knife.

“i—i didn’t mean to. she just—all i saw was red and i—shit!”

tim didn’t know what to do. he didn’t know how to feel. but seeing his mom lifeless body he knew he had to protect his siblings. tim knew what could happen if the police found out about this. his siblings would be put into foster care, he would be sent but eventually kicked out when he turned eighteen, trying to find a home, only to most likely live on the streets or turn to a place of crime. that would just ruin them all. he knew he had to hide this.

his siblings unfortunately didn’t listen. they ran to him after he was gone awhile and cried when they saw their mom.

“listen! you two wanna stay together right?”

abigale and john both nod their heads.

“then we have to help dad hide moms body, okay? we have to protect dad so we can all be together.”

and that’s what they did. the helped darius grab her body, dug a hole in the backyard, and buried their own mother.

that was darius last murder. but it was far from his last crime.

a year went by. tim decided to stay with his siblings despite him being eighteen. he didn’t trust his father. he was currently in school.

after what happened last year he decided to study law. he needed to know what could happen to them if the truth came out. and he would do anything in his power to protect himself and his siblings.

they didn’t talk much to their dad. he was rarely home after killing their mother. they didn’t care to know where he was. he would leave them money for food and leave until they needed more.

they were better off without him around. but their dad had other plans. he missed his wife so much.

he never meant to hurt her. he lost it and killed the one woman he could ever love. he needed to find someone similar.

that’s when he spotted her, sarah. oh was she beautiful. she looked so much like his late wife. he had to have her.

unfortunately she was with this man. he didn’t like that. he had to get rid of him somehow.

darius had made many connections over the years. living the life of a criminal he had to. he found dirty cops, scammers, thieves, drug dealers, everyone and every department you could think of.

darius even had a buddy who had connections with the military. he called him up and explained his situation. two months later the man was shipped off.

that’s when he’d make his move. he needed to be very careful though. he drew up a plan to make her his forever.

but as the months went by, her belly got big. oh, she’s more perfect for him than before. she was carrying a child. his child!

after failing his other three children he thought this was a sign. they belonged together.

but he knew he couldn’t lie to his children at home. he had to tell them the truth. they had to know everything. he promised to never hurt them like he did a year ago, ever again.

so when he got his friend from the military to finally capture sarah, take her to his home, and threw her in the basement, he told them everything.

“she’s gonna be your new mom.”

they all thought he was sick. but they kept their mouths shut. knowing if they went to the police everything could have come forward.

and as the months went by, you were finally born. and your siblings, they wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt you. even if you weren’t biologically tied to them.

“and that’s the story. our father told us everything that night. from his parents, him pickpocketing, his murders. everything!”

“why’d you stay so long? after yn was born? she wasn’t tied to you in anyway? why did you wait until she was thirteen to leave?”

“despite her not being blood she was our sister!”

“she was a little girl who got caught up into our fathers twisted ways.”

“the moment she was born we fell in love with her. she was our sister! but ultimately we had to move on with our lives. we were all happily in relationships.”

“i wanted to start my career in law and start a family with my then girlfriend, current wife.”

“i had lived near by. a few yards away and got pregnant. i knew being near my dad and the body of my mother could cause me to lose my baby.”

“and i wanted to start school myself. we were too close to our father. all of us had homes near by but we just couldn’t do it anymore. we couldn’t live so close to a monster.”

“and we knew he’d never hurt her. he was capable of hurting her mom. but never her. to him this was his fresh start to do right. and he loved yn like his own. in his sick twisted mind she was his.”

“did your father ever tell you where the other bodies were? the sex workers he killed?”

“no, but,”

“he use to take us to this woodsy area when we were kids. there was a tire swing he built and he had a shed.”

“we believe he bought land there. it’s where we think he buried the bodies.”

“do you remember where it was?”

tim, john, and abigale nod.

“can you take us?”

“yes.”

the search was set. they had the dogs sniff around and already found thirteen bodies.

they wanted to wait to go to the house until they’ve found enough evidence against darius. currently they only had bodies. they needed proof he was responsible for this.

they knew just who to get it from. chief peterson. he had no idea he was being interrogated. thinking they were waiting for another potential unsub he sat at the table.

derek and rossi sitting right across from him.

“where is this unsub? who is it?”

“just be patient. they’re coming.” rossi states.

“i don’t have time for patience! i have to prove my goddaughter did not do this crime!”

“oh? so you know miss y/l/n? we didn’t know that.”

“yeah. im a family friend.”

“pretty close to the case? don’t you think you should have sat this one out?!”

“not when it comes to my family. i don’t care about the rules!”

“how long have you known the y/l/n family?”

“forty years. why?”

“no reason? it’s just interesting how you didn’t bring this up before.”

“i don’t have to answer to you!”

“you see, charles. may i call you charles?”

officer peterson gives them a look.

“we’re here to help you solve a murder! that girl, miss y/l/n, she was the perfect unsub! at the crime scene, finger prints on the knife, on the will. everything about her was perfect. yet she was held in a cell for majority of the forty eight hours you held her, never once did you interrogate her, hell, i don’t think she knew about her godfather being a cop. you had your men speak to her for, how long did they say rossi?”

“ten minutes.”

“ten minutes before putting her back into the cell and keeping yourself hidden. because you know if she would have saw you she’d be confused.”

“we talked to miss y/l/n and asked her if she knew you. she told us you’re her godfather. you and mister darius play golf every thursday and had the impression you worked at an auto shop.”

“now how would she get that impression, derek?”

“because you told her! in fact you bought an auto shop when she was fifteen, renamed it petersons auto repair store, and took her there to see. because you had to keep up with the charade. she was turning sixteen soon. which meant she was gonna learn how to drive, get a car, and cruise down the highway. and guess what? just in case something was wrong with her car,”

“her godfather had an auto repair company she could go to get get it fixed with a family discount.”

“kinda genius, right?”

at this point peterson knew he was caught. he knew they knew more and lying would only get him in more trouble.

“i always knew this day would come.”

“why don’t you tell us everything you know chief peterson. maybe we’d cut you a deal.”

and he did. he gave them all the evidence he had on darius. all the times he broke the law and he covered it up for him.

he even went as far as helping them catch darius red handed. getting him to confess to everything.

they arrested darius along with everyone that worked for him. no charges were pressed against you any longer.

the only thing that mattered was getting your mom help. she was gonna need to go to some form of therapy. reid helped you find a program fitting for her.

you had no idea how long she would have to stay. but you were glad she could get help. being help hostage for over thirty years could really break someone.

when you reunited with your children you hugged them tightly. thanking jj for taking care of them. your siblings were shocked to learn you had been married, divorced, and had triplets. but they already adored their nieces and their nephew.

aaron stayed behind and watched. you look at him and frowned. you knew what was coming next. but you couldn’t talk now. you just wanted to get some rest with your babies.

your sister nudged you.

“stare much?!”

you looked at her. “huh?”

“i get it. he’s cute. but no need to drool.” she smirks.

“oh.”

your sister looks at you suspiciously. she looks down at your kids and looks back at you with her eyes widened.

“holy, shit! that’s him isn’t it?!”

“who’s who?” your brothers walk over to you.

“that hot fbi guy! that’s the ex husband and baby daddy!”

“seriously?!”

“a cop sis?!”

you blushed. “shut up! yes, it’s him. can we not act like children?”

“how could you possibly leave that?! fuck! if my husband looked like that id never leave the bedroom.”

“gross! abby! i don’t wanna think about you in the bedroom. i especially don’t wanna think about our little sister in the bedroom.”

“he’s coming over. go away! all of you.”

they walk away with their nieces and their nephew to give you two privacy.

“hi.”

“im gonna be staying here for awhile. i think tomorrow we should meet up. ill have jj stay as well to keep the kids—”

“we can watch them.” abigale buts in.

“are you sure abby?”

“yeah! you can drop them off at mine. im sure they’d love to meet their cousins.”

“alright. um—sure. where—where do you wanna meet?”

“ill have emily send you the information. but i think its best you unblock me as well. ill see you in the morning. goodnight yn.” aaron states before walking away.

you bite your bottom lip. you were happy this was over with your dad. but you were not ready for this conversation with aaron.

“come on darlings. let get to bed.”

finally! darius is arrested and you aren’t going to prison

but now you have to deal with aaron.

you have no idea which is worse :/

if you wanna be added or unadded to the taglist let me know

taglist:

@ivebeenthearchersstuff @shergoretzxx @slut4ethan @rosiehale23

[literallylexa]

DEAN X READER:

FOREVER AFTER ALL

IMAGINE SMUT

Imagine: You die and your life flashes before your eyes, how you met Dean Winchester. You wait for Dean to finally arrive in heaven. CONTAINS SMUT

💜•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••💜

BEFORE:

Scenes of your past flash before your eyes as you lay dying. The first time you met Dean Winchester you had already fallen in love with him.

“Hello this is my partner Agent Smith and I am also Agent Smith..uh no correlation.” Dean smiles at you. “We are following up on a missing persons case. Your friend, or uh roommate?”

The night before you had come home to your friend slaughtered. Fingers chopped off and a slit neck. “Yes, how can I help you?” You ask, a sad tone in your voice.

“Did your friend have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt her?” Dean asks.

“No. She was a very friendly person. However…I don’t know you might think I’m crazy but the nights leading up to her..murder.” You choke, “She was saying that she saw her ex boyfriend. But he’s been dead for almost 2 months now.”

“What was the name of her ex?”

••

You’re stuck in a salt circle. The ghost trying to get through to kill you. You clutch onto Dean’s jacket tightly, legs shaking. Even though you’ve only known him for a day, you trusted him. He was strong, handsome, confident, and comforting. “I got you. Nothing will happen to you. Sammy should be done any moment now.” Dean looks down at you with a soft smile. His green eyes making contact with yours, making you blush. The next second, the ghost burns away into thin air. Everything was quiet. You hug Dean, standing on your tippy toes to reach his neck. His thick, muscular arms wrapping around your small frame, holding your waist.

Sam and Dean leave town after that. “So ghosts, vampires, and just monsters are real, huh?” You ask Dean.

“Unfortunately…But hey, here’s my number. In case you see or hear anything. Call me immediately.” Dean grabs your phone and puts his number in. You blush even harder. “You can’t stay for longer?” You ask Dean, hope gleaming in your eyes.

“I’m sorry sweetheart but no. We gotta hit the road. Take care of yourself okay?”

You grab Dean by his shirt and pull him down to your lips. He’s taken by surprise by your actions, but ultimately pulls you in closer, grabbing your hips and grinds against his. His lips are soft and wet, crashing against yours you feel out of breath. “For the road.” You say breaking apart, face hot and red. Dean bites his lips and says goodbye, getting into Baby and driving away.

••

After that encounter, you started to hunt on your own, mostly giving hunters tips of locations and the possible supernatural creatures. “Glad you could make it.” You say to Dean. “You called, I answered.” He chuckles. You guys hug, you take a deep breath. It feels like the whole in your heart was filled again. Excitement, love, and arousal filled your body. Dean was the sexiest man you’ve ever seen. Not to mention having an amazing personality too. If only he wasn’t a hunter, maybe you’d have a chance to actually be together. His eyes linger for a little bit too long on your lips and breasts. As you walk in front of him to your apartment you can feel him staring at your ass too. “You want a beer?” You ask opening the fridge. “Always.” Dean looks around your apartment, picking up old pictures of you and your deceased dog. The room is silent, however the sexual tension between you two did not go unnoticed.

“So!” You exclaim tapping the table top. “What have you been up to?”

Dean takes a gulp of his beer and sets it down. “Oh you know the same old stuff. Hunting.”

“Speaking of hunting. Thats why I called you here. I’m pretty sure a demon is possessing my neighbor.” You say quickly, trying not to make the conversation even more awkward than it already is.

“What?!” Dean yells, walking over to you. “Nah uh you’re not about to have a demon next door. Pack up your things, we are staying at a motel until we get this figured out.”

••

Unfortunately for the bed, but fortunately for you, the motel only had one bed- no couch. “We can just share the bed.” You say sheepishly. Dean smirks, “There’s a lot of things we can share on the bed.” You giggle and punch his shoulder. He’s not lying though. There’s many things that you’d like to share with him on that bed. Many things.

You and Dean end up exorcising the demon. Luckily the person was still alive, you call the ambulance to have them picked up. “Good job back there.” Dean says, looking at you up and down.

You know that things would never get that far with Dean, but it didn’t stop you from being so incredibly attracted to him. Maybe he felt the same way. Dean steps closer to you, lifting up your chin to look at him, brushing hair out of your face. He crashes his lips against yours, picking you up and setting you on the counter. With your legs wrapped around his waist, he grinds up against you. Dean groans from the friction, a bulge growing in his pants. His hands run up and down your body, caressing your curves. He finds his way under your shirt, massaging your breasts. You moan from his touch, oh very badly did you crave it. You unbutton your shirt and he grins, taking your bra off exposing your breasts, the coldness of the room hardening your nipples. Dean licks his lips and begins to take one nipple in his mouth, kissing, licking, and biting it while his hand twists and massages the other. You put a hand through his soft short hair, needing more of him. You tug at his flannel to take it off. He obliges, removing his flannel and shirt, leaving you both naked from the waist up. “You’re beautiful.” Dean says in between kisses.

“Want to take this to the bedroom?” You ask Dean. He picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. He lays you gently down on the bed, he kisses from your breasts down to your belly, stopping at the hem of your pants. He unbuttons them, lifting your legs up to take them off. “You’re already soaking wet for me baby.” Dean groans, seeing your wet panties. He takes them off greedily, drooling at the sight of your pussy. His stubble brushes across your inner thighs as he begins to lick at your folds. You gasp when he sticks his warm tongue inside you. “(Y/N) you taste so good.” Dean says. He continues to tongue fuck you until the point you can’t take it anymore. However, before you can orgasm he stops. He couldn’t handle anymore foreplay. He needs his cock to be inside of you. He begins to unbutton his pants and you wait in anticipation to see what he’s been hiding. His cock pops out from his boxes, already leaking pre cum from his long dick. You squirm, desperately needing him inside you. “Please Dean.” You cry. “Not yet. You need to get it wet first.” Dean manages to say. He helps you sit up facing his cock. He strokes it a couple times, massaging his balls in the process. You grab his cock and lick him from the base to the tip, swirling it around on your tongue. Then, slowly putting the tip in your mouth, down the shaft, to the base of his large cock, getting use to the length. Dean moans almost embarrassingly loud, twitching at your movements. You lick up and down his long cock, tasting every inch of him. His balls were hanging low, you get off the bed and onto your knees, you grab his balls and put them both in your mouth, his dick hitting your forehead has you do so. Dean grips your hair into a ponytail, moaning out your name. “Fuck (Y/N).” Dean groans, then throwing you onto the bed, your ass facing him. Before you both even have time to think about putting on a condom, his dick rubs against your pussy lips becoming slippery. “Please fuck me Dean!” You cry out, becoming sexually frustrated, you need him inside you.

He slowly slides his cock into your pussy, “Baby you’re so tight.” You feel every inch of Dean as he slides into you, taking his length in full. With your pussy already leaking wet, Dean starts off with a slow pace, grabbing you by the hips, getting a rhythm. He is already hitting all the sweet spots, something no other man could do for you. “Dean you feel so good inside me.” You moan out, clutching the blankets beneath you. Dean had already wanted to cum the second he went inside you, so nice and tight, so wet for him. He speeds up his rhythm, slamming his cock deep inside your pussy, making you cream all over his cock. Your moans, screams, skin slapping, and the wetness from your pussy fill the air as he ruthlessly fucks you.

Dean pushes your head down onto the bed, grabbing your ass and smacking it leaving red hand marks. Dean has never been this horny in his life before, you are just so irresistible to him. Dean was in a trance by hearing your moans for him, taking all of his dick inside your pussy. “You’re taking my cock so good baby.” Dean moans out, feeling like he’s going to cum soon. Dean stops and pulls out, turning you over on your back, legs up in the air resting on his shoulders. Once again he slams into you, filling you up whole. He leaves lingering kisses along your breasts and neck as you moan out his name. Dean didn’t want this to end, he could go all night with you, and you could do the same. “Fuck I’m about to cum!” Dean yells, pulling out and squirting his hot cum all over your pussy lips. You giggle looking down at his mess. You’re still horny, needing to cum. You start to play with your clit, massaging his hot cum all over your pussy lips. Dean gasps as he sees you doing so, gently sticking one finger inside you as you play with your clit. You moan out as he rubs your g-spot, adding in another finger as he continues. This was all too much for you to handle, after a couple minutes of doing so, you cream all over his fingers and he gladly licks it off his fingers.

The night continues of you and Dean not getting enough of each other, fucking and cumming until you fall asleep for the night.

••

After that night, Dean invited you to stay at the bunker with Sam and him. Sometimes Cas showed up. “I just want to keep you safe.” Dean admits. You’ve known each other for a couple years now, texting back and forth and exchanging phone calls and stories, occasionally seeing each other once a month or so. You pack up all your things and move into the bunker with the boys. You and Dean end up being official a couple weeks after that. You buy new furniture and decor for the boys room, “Trying to make it more homey.” You say.

Life seemed to be almost perfect. Until one faithful day.

💜•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••💜

NOW:

“Dean!” You scream out, the demon grabbing you by the neck, choking you.

“Let her go, now.” Dean spits, raising a gun.

The demon stabs your gut, letting you fall to the ground. “I let her go.” The demon snickers.

By the time Dean gets over to you and the demon, they vanish. Dean holds you as you lay dying. “No baby please stay with me.” Dean says in desperation.

“I love you, Dean.” You choke out, blood flowing down your face. Your eyes meet his for one last time, and then you see bright white.

••

“I can’t leave.” You say to the reaper, looking at Dean as he’s sobbing over your body. “It’s too early, we didn’t get to spend our life together. We didn’t get out the life, we didn’t have any children or animals together.” You cry, a pain in your heart, too unbearable to deal with anymore.

“You know what will happen if you stay.” The reaper puts a cold hand on your sunken shoulders. “All those angry spirits you hunt, you will become one.”

“Will I see him again, wherever I go?” You ask.

“I can’t tell you that.” The reaper smiles, “It’s okay to go.”

You leave Dean a cold kiss on his forehead, he looks up shocked. “(Y/N)?” He says, looking around. He could feel your presence.

“Goodbye, Dean.” You say as you walk through the light.

••

Heaven. On the other side it’s beautiful. Mountains covered with large pine trees. A river flows underneath a bridge. The echoing of birds chirping fill the air. A small house, perfect as you could ever imagined lives on the top of the hill, watching over the river. You enter it, pictures of your family, friends, and Dean hang on the walls. Tears fills your eyes, you miss Dean. A knock at the door brings you back to your senses. You open the door, revealing John and Mary Winchester. Both smiling as they hold housewarming gifts. You’ve never met either of them before, but they seemed to know who you were, as they were always watching over Dean.

“Dean will be here soon.” Mary comforts you, placing a gentle hand on your back.

••

You spend the next couple weeks doing the things you love the most. Cooking all your favorite foods, swimming in the always warm water, drinking your favorite liquor. Everyone’s heaven is together. Sometimes you’d go up to the Winchesters house and have dinner, sometimes you’d go fishing with Bobby. Ellen and Joe were there sometimes too; along with all the other hunters you’ve lost along the way.

One day, you were walking down to the lake as you always do. Towel and a book in hand. From afar you notice a tall figure, you immediately knew who it was. “Dean!” You scream out, dropping everything and run to him. He turns around in shock, running towards you also. He picks you up and twirls you around, pulling you in for a long kiss after. Tears flow down Dean’s face as he looks at you. “I love you too.” Dean cries, brushing your hair out of your face, finding it hard to be real that he’s able to see your beautiful self again. “I’ve been waiting for you.” You say, pressing your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. Your heart felt full again. You and Dean take hands and walk up the hill to the bridge, there sits Baby parked. Dean squeals in excitement, immediately jumping in the drivers seat. You laugh and get into the passengers seat. “Head up to that house over there. I have a surprise for you.” You say. Dean obliges.

You knock at the Winchesters door. Mary answers. “Mom?!” Dean cries, hugging her. John walks up too, pulling Dean into an embrace. “We are just waiting for Sam now.” You say to Dean. “Time will go by fast.”

Eventually Sam joins everyone in heaven. Everything was complete. You and Dean had your own house, and got married. Dean enjoys mowing the lawn while you tend to the garden. On the weekends you guys host BBQ’s with all of your friends and family in heaven.

Maybe somethings last forever after all.

💜•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••💜

“A cold beer's got twelve ounces

A good truck's got maybe three hundred thousand

You only get so much until it's gone

Duracells in a Maglite

A needle drop on a forty-five

Are the kinda things that only last so long

When the new wears off and they get to getting old

Sooner or later, time's gonna take its toll

They say nothing lasts forever

But they ain't seen us together

Or the way the moonlight dances in your eyes

Just a t-shirt in the kitchen

With no make-up and a million

Other things that I could look at my whole life

A love like that makes a man have second thoughts

Maybe some things last forever after all

FM station on the outskirts

Blue jeans after years of shift work

All fading out like I always knew they would

The strings on this guitar

The first love lost on a young heart

Those things are gonna break after the getting's good

'Cause the new wears off and they get to getting old

Yeah, sooner or later, time's gonna take its toll

They say nothing lasts forever

But they ain't seen us together

Or the way the moonlight dances in your eyes

Just a t-shirt in the kitchen

With no make-up and a million

Other things that I could look at my whole life

A love like that makes a man have second thoughts

Maybe some things last forever after all

They say nothing lasts forever

But they ain't seen us together

Or the way the moonlight dances in your eyes

And I know there'll be that moment

The good Lord calls one of us home and

One won't have the other by their side

But heaven knows that that won't last too long

Maybe some things last forever after all”

💜•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••💜

AUTHORS NOTE: I will never forgive SPN writers making that ending so rushed and short. I would have absolutely LOVED for Sam and Dean to see their parents again, Bobby, and just everyone that they’ve lost in heaven together. I wish they would have had an episode “feel good” episode of just everyone being happy in heaven, throwing parties and bbq’s, and just drinking until they’re too drunk. Let me know how you think SPN should have ended!

[yesiknowimshort]

this is how i imagine… TIM DRAKE

the bitch is back…. i mean me not tim, but tim is also a bitch.

thank you so much to my followers (i love each and everyone of you <3) for waiting so patiently for me to get myself together (still shaky, so again, posts might be scattered but i will be posting!!).

i wanna start a series where i do these long form character headcanons for the batboys (and maybe girls one day, i’ve just not thought about it aha) and so i obviously had to start with my favourite character of all tjme; tim drake.

obvisouly i’ve already done a suuuuper long analysis of his actual character which you can read here, but i want to do a more theoretical one that’s not necessarily wholly “canonical” but still in character.

a lot of this is also canon/inspired by canon - however, these are still my headcanons.

- to start off with: fuck the uwu-fication of tim drake. he’s a badass who happens to also appear soft sometimes but that does not equal wimp. you can have anxiety and depression and not be a an uwu baby.

- absolutely obsessed with star wars.

- has forced everyone to individually binge the series with him at least once.

- but also love island (he won’t watch the winter season tho) and the real housewives are definitely his guilty pleasures.

- overworks himself on such little sleep that his body giving up and him fainting is a scarily regular occurrence.

- but it’s not for want of trying. oh no. forgot to eat because he was distracted so his limbs are barley holding him up when he runs? ignores it. keeps going.

- he stands up too quickly, collapses, and gets right up and walks it off like he wasn’t just on the floor (p.e teachers would love him).

- absolutely insane martial artist -which people (like most things he can do/does) completely overlook or just don’t care about. this is also canon btw.

- my boy’s only scraping average height -he’s gotta have something to back him up that’s doesn’t rely on being massive n buff.

- he can easily knock anyone to the ground in a second, yet because of his small build and mmmm relatively unhealthy state, it goes unnoticed and sometimes unused -depending on the situation’s needs.

- people always overlook him because of his public persona (and in real life online it’s usually because of uwu tim), but he would be so cruel sometimes.

- seriously -please remember and use his pettiness!

- like he’d punch jason out cold for picking up his stuff and holding it over his head… put itching powder in dick’s boxers and bed for hiding the cases he was working on… roofy damian’s nightly hot chocolate so he’d miss family movie night because damian was pissing him off… true slytherin.

- but just like a lot of the things he does, it goes unnoticed/un-delt-with most of the time so he gets away with it. middle child tings.

- not to mention he literally stalked batman and would run around solving murders and dropping off the evidence to gordon before even being a robin.

- he was on the CIA’s watch list for crying out loud!

- doesn’t break the unassuming facade often, but if he went off the deep end, he’d be gone, and wouldn’t stop until he’s satisfied -or restrained (but that would be near impossible).

- scarily persuasive -some would say manipulative, i would say ambitious. i mean he did wiggle his way into the position of robin with sheer willpower.

- i think one of the reasons i love tim so much and am so fascinated by him is because of his capacity to be a villain so easily if he wanted.

- the guy has considered murder way too often.

- clint barton’s “i could do it!... no one would know!... but i won’t” quip about quicksilver is literally tim’s relationship with villiany.

- like if he decided one day to turn on everyone… in an instant he has control of a multimillion dollar company, can easily gain control the police, has dirt on every single person, and access to anything he decides he wants: and yet he chooses to do good.

- remember -he chose to be a hero. and he repeats this fact a lot.

- he could easily have the world on their knees, and yet people still decide to fuck with him because of their naivety.

- villain tim would be terrifying.

- his childhood and a openly loving and attentive family setting was stolen from him. he was always made out to be “mature for his age” and “quiet and sensible” when in reality he was just neglected and bored.

- being a gifted child always comes with its downfalls. like being so unstimulated by his schooling and classmates that he acts out a little bit out of boredom and a craving for attention from his parents; not to mention the social rejection because he’s too far past his peer's antics.

- he’d be super socially unaware for his age group as a child (kind of like damian i guess). being an only child surrounded by adults (yet forever alone and isolated) would’ve prevented him from ever connecting with fellow kids and their interests.

- (anyone else relate to not ever finding kiddy humour funny in primary school?)

- so now he likes doing a lot of random “childish” things like skating down the halls in the manor, having a gamer chair as his office chair, playing his nintendo switch in his wayne ent. office with his feet rested on the desk when he’s bored, having bento box lunches filled with sugary cereal and roll-ups, having a mini fridge in his office exclusively filled with yakults, iced coffee cartons and redbull, being fully versed in gen z lingo (which he uses correctly don’t worry) that he uses to talk to people he works with and interacts with at galas etc etc.

- likes to leave little notes in library books for the next person to find; often mildly threatening like “i know what you did”, for no other reason other than to have a little gremlin cackle to himself when he thinks about it.

- definitely has nearsightedness, though he hardly ever wears his glasses “because they’re impractical and contacts are torture devices” (bruce practically has to strap him down to get the camera contacts in for patrol).

- when he’s not drinking coffee, he’s chewing gum or mints to counteract the coffee.

- ambidextrous, but favours his left hand meaning his already inconceivably messy quick notes are also smudged by his hand.

- hands are always cold and numb (leading everyone to believe he probably has rayynaud’s syndrome).

- he gets really nervous and tries to avoid people being able to touch his hands, like when they’re handing something to him, or makes sure handshakes are firm and quick -but still respectful- etc (but he loves hand holding, he just worries no one would want to).

- really good at taking in information and his surroundings quickly.

- often points things out to people that would otherwise go unnoticed like “your eyes look really pretty today” or “your freckles have darkened from the sun” or “they ordered two sugars with their coffee… they always order three” etc.

- he doesn’t constantly say the things he’s thinking, but they come out a lot more when he’s losing his filter from fatigue.

- he’s always apologising offhandedly for pointing out things (more annoyed at himself than anything) bc he thinks they’ll think he’s weird or become uncomfortable.

- tim is allergic to almost all nuts except for almonds (wog runs through my veins, i refuse to believe he can’t eat almonds).

- he’s not like epipen allergic, all he needs is some cetirizine.

- bc of this “relatively low risk” (as he would say), if he accidentally eats a nut he’ll usually just not tell anyone while his throat is closing over and his mouth feels like it’s been attacked by mosquitoes.

- he’ll just silently slip away to buy some cetirizine or get some from his pocket/bag.

- this sweet old lady at a charity bake sale once offered tim to try a free slice of her baklava, which of course, has walnuts in it.

- and he was too anxious to refuse so he took it and finished the whole thing in front of her.

- it took him about 20 minutes and to the point where he was crying and his lips looked like they had fillers that he whispered to bruce he was having a reaction.

- bruce was hysterical.

- like- national news “funny internet clip report” hysterical.

- he always carries cetirizine on him now just in case tim does that again.

[shaunamilfman]

Ghostface!Shauna drabble

The hold that Ghostface had on Wiskayok was undeniable. The very mention of her name struck fear into everyone you knew. How could it not? Ghostface seemed to be unstoppable, and nothing the police did seemed to slow her down any. 

You weren't sure what to think about Ghostface yourself. You knew she had been the perpetrator of some of the most violent murders to ever grace the town of Wiskayok, but you had had some… Interesting interactions with her yourself. 

You'd nearly played victim to Ghostface in several different chases, but she always seemed to disappear just as he would have caught up with you. You knew you couldn't honestly out run her, no one could after all. Her immense speed is what made her such a dangerous killer; No one lived after she decided to kill them, no one but you. 

it didn't quite make sense to you, but you had an odd feeling that she was letting you escape. almost as if the pleasure was in chasing you and terrorizing you, and not in the act of killing you itself. you had gotten particularly brave, you'd admit, after several of these encounters. 

…

As she chases you through your house you finally have enough of it and turn to sock her right in the jaw, sending her sprawling out on the kitchen floor in a daze. You dive for the knife she dropped on the floor and just manage to get your fingers around it before she snaps himself out of it. She reaches for the knife but you knock her hand away and manage to straddle her as you hold the knife up to her throat. 

You slowly pull the mask over her head with your other hand only to be met by the sight of your sweet and doting girlfriend staring up at you in a mix of awe and hunger. 

“It was you?” You ask softly in disbelief, in a voice so quiet you might as well have just thought it. Louder you repeat, “You were the one that's been doing this to me this entire time?” You stare down at her with an undeniably hurt expression, the betrayal stinging harder than anything you've ever felt before. 

Shauna was your rock, she was your person. You dreamt of a quiet life spent married to her. She'd spent many a night comforting you as you sobbed over what she apparently had been doing to you all along. Your grip on the knife tightens as your mind runs wildly through your memories, trying to piece together these two sides of her. 

“Hey, hey. No no no no.” She says panickedly. She's using the same tone she uses when she realizes she's fucked up, like the time she'd forgotten your birthday and tried desperately to convince you otherwise. You stare down at her in utter disbelief; She wasn't even going to take this seriously? 

“I Love you. I would never hurt you” She promises. “Always stopped before I caught you, you know that.” You watch her silently, unsure how to even begin. You begin to hear the faint sounds of police sirens in the distance, obviously her little escapade hadn't gone entirely unnoticed by your neighbors. 

Your fingers tighten around the handle of the knife as you bring it closer to her neck, blood welling around the edge of it as you cut her shallowly. You bring the knife away and drop it next to her. “You should go.” You say finally. “Before they get here.”

She nods wildly with wide eyes and a manic grin. She grabs the knife and stands up in one fluid motion. She rushed forward to press a gentle kiss against your lips then slips the mask on as she vaults back out the window. You open the door for the police a few minutes later, no worse for wear. 

… 

You walk into school the next day with Lottie hanging off of your arm, listening carefully to your every word. She'd been your closest friend for years and you'd started leaning heavily on her for support since the whole thing started. You see Shauna standing by your locker waiting for you. The second she sees you she grins widely and shyly waves at you. Lottie watches the interaction carefully and turns to you. 

“Y/N,” She whispers. “Look at her jaw. You said you punched him in the jaw before you got away right? She has a bruise.” You look back at Shauna. She was, in fact, sporting quite a large bruise across her face. The corners of your lips quirk smugly, glad to have gotten her back for once. 

“No.” You murmur softly. “It was definitely the other side. Shauna probably just got into another fight.” Lottie nods slowly. 

“If you're sure.” She says finally, not sure if she believes you or not. 

You squeeze her hand in goodbye and separate to walk over to Shauna. “Hey,” She says softly, reaching a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face. “You look pretty today.”

“You look like someone beat the shit out of you.” You say bluntly. She gives you a wry grin, face twitching in pain as it pulls at her jaw. She still looks gorgeous, even like this. Especially like this, honestly. It wasn't fair. 

She leans against your shoulder and says quietly into your ear. “She did. I deserved it though.” You nod in agreement. “It was really hot though.” She adds as she pulls away. 

You reach forward to cup a hand under her chin. You press your thumb gently into the bruise on her face and she groans quietly in pain. “Okay.” You say, leaning in to kiss her. 

You pull back after a long moment. “I can work with this.” You say softly against her lips, causing her to grin in response. She puts her hands against your hips and pulls you closer against her.

…

You smile as you hear the sound of knuckles rapping against your window. You rush over to open it, pulling under Shauna's arms to get her in faster. She laughs up at you from the floor after you pull just a little too hard. She stands up quickly and rests her hands on the sides of your face as she pulls you in for a kiss. You groan exaggeratedly as she pulls back, holding her hand up between the two of you. 

You glance pointedly at her blood soaked hands, already imagining what they've done to your face. You sigh in exasperation as she grins proudly at you. “You look good covered in blood.” She says with a shrug.