#it's a sign of deep trust that he doesn't force himself

[reginrokkr]

[COMFORT]: sender cups a distressed receiver's face in their hands and steadies them by resting their foreheads together. (from neuvi 🥺)

Moments of excruciating pain give rise to shadows of the heart to penetrate mind and soul with terrors to be suffered the most in the aftermath of their catalyst. Weary heart races against the ribcage, hundreds of thoughts made manifest into a whirlwind of despair when reality dawns upon the lunarescent seraph: he is late and there is naught he can do to save them— those whom should have never taken part in any of the disgrace fallen on the aurum kingdom. Flashbacks of horrors lived several centuries ago return to starry eyes as if he were part of that same scenario in the present.

Another injustice presents itself to sapphire eyes, nothing but remorse left in its wake out of powerlessness to do anything to prevent it. Fear that paralyzes him on the spot, even numbing all physical pain that would suffice to send anyone into an array of madness without hope of ever waking from.

You can't save them, you traitor. Before long they will fall by your blade, as many of us did.

But he did— he did save them. Under pressure, Dáinsleif did not wield to the unfairness playing before him: whom are they, but that which they seek to overthrow, in choosing for others against their will? Who are they to decide that they wish to be what they used to be, now that they have forgotten everything about that life and created one anew? Who are they to bereave them from their only moment of respite, to meet their end on their own terms?!

You are deceiving, just like us. What of Halfdan? You left him fade away thinking that Khaenri'ah didn't fall.

Halfdan...

A loud gasp breaks past roseate lips as Dáinsleif awakens from yet another bad dream —what is one more after dealing with thousands of them?—, his chest panting heavily and heart pounding like it did in the nightmare. Only upon noticing the chill sensation of the atmosphere does he realize that his cheeks are damp with trails of tears, too. Still distressed from the hurricane of emotions within, he fails to notice that Neuvillette is in the same room. Shaky hands reach out to embrace himself— it hurts. He's still hurting after the event that transpired in the depths of the Chasm, at the core of a destroyed ancient civilization.

Ere long, he feels a cool hand touch his cheek, then the other. The temperature difference between them is soothing at first, before augmented pain makes him feel like he will get frostbite. But he stays— he forces himself to stay still as quivering star-shaped pupils peer into his companion's mighty ones.

It's fine, I won't allow it to make me think that his touch hurts me. Because it's Neuvillette. It's safe... I am safe.

◜Neuvillette—◞ Otherwise deep and steady voice breaks at the call of his name in an involuntary sob, trembling roseate lips press in an even more quivering line as his eyes shut close tight. Ah, to feel vulnerable to the extent when not even he can conceal overflowing emotions. It is always that way— it always has with him. No matter if he chooses silence before speaking of his own grievances, Neuvillette always sees through him as if he could look into his soul and deduct the source of his sorrow. It is frightening, hardly posing a difference with the mysterious voice that sometimes plagues his mind— but at the same time, comforting. Because through unspoken words he can let go without fear to fall deeper into corruption. He wouldn't allow it, nor he would for himself. Albescent lashes flutter open to reveal glassy sapphires in time to feel the gentle press of their foreheads together, to see the sadness dancing in his beautiful eyes.

I beg you... don't make that face. Not for me.

◜So long as I breathe... Khaenri'ah will continue to live on, won't it? I didn't lie to him... right?◞ He's well cognizant of the fact that his blabbering makes no sense without previous context. He knows. But he also learned through the passage of centuries that no matter how hard he would try to conceal, he would know. For he's before none other than the maximum exponent of life— to hell what the Usurper-King and his lackeys may think of this. Slowly, his hands relax and unwind from his body to rise and wrap with trembling fingers the sovereign's wrists in a weak grip. ◜He departed with a smile on his face... he must know.◞ Roseate lips quiver to form a smile that long ago forgot its way to his lips. ◜He must know that... Khaenri'ah is no more.◞

@maquiscursed ✦

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY THREE: bondage with nanami.

kinktober masterlist

Nanami, your other half, is meticulous and an overbearing perfectionist on the best of days. You love it about him, love the way that when it comes to you, everything has to be perfect to no fault. You love his dedication to the simplest of things, his attention to detail, you love his patience.

You don't love it when he's using said perfectionism to prolong your time being tied up. You see it in his pretty eyes, that knowing look—he's not taking his time for the sake of perfection, he's taking the time to perv on those frustrated whines that you let out the longer he takes.

Your wrists are bound at your front, a soft shibari rope wrapped around your skin. He had picked it out himself, opted for a more expensive option as it was less likely to irritate your skin—after all, you're being bound to further enjoy yourself, not to decorate your skin with marks he'd much rather leave with his mouth.

Still, he works on the rope around your waist with no sign of eagerness or a rush towards completion. Instead, he continues to watch your body in what looks like a clinical examination, hands working gracefully as he knots the rope against your skin and builds a harness, no doubt good to hold onto so you can't start to shift away once thinks become overbearing. You sit on your shared bed, eyes heavy and stuck on his face as he works—calculated ministries become just a little quicker as you pout.

"Ken," you whine, subconsciously trying to pry your wrists apart to grab at your lover. Your fingers find nothing but air, your arms bound, rendering you useless.

"I'm almost done," he says calmly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. He finishes before any other complaints can leave your lips, though you suspect he could have been finished fifteen minutes ago if the sight of rope against your bare skin didn't send blood right down to his cock.

He stands back from where he's working with satisfaction, a pleased look in his eyes that makes you want to squirm, wanting to crawl into his lap and beg forgiveness for whatever you might have done wrong in your past life if it means he'll just fuck you already. But you keep your head up, eyes set on his.

Your legs are bound thigh-to-calf, your throbbing cunt forced onto display by your bindings—if Kento were a worse man he'd leave you like this, bound with a vibrator against your pretty clit for hours on end as he files some paperwork or catches up on the novel he's been reading.

And although the thought is enticing, turning your moans and drawling orgasms into ambient music for the house you share, he's a selfish man at heart and could never deprive himself of you—not when you're like this.

"I think you're beautiful, my love," he leans over you, brushing a cool knuckle over your warmed cheek. A flush spreads across your cheeks, warmth blooming in your belly. His touch doesn't last long, his hand trailing off your shoulder and dipping down to tug at the rope that twists around your torso.

"You're perfect, you know that?" He tries again, and pulls so hard on your rig that your back meets the mattress and, all of a sudden, your Kento is hovering over you, cock hard against his slacks. "And you know that I love you."

"I know," you nod.

His hands fumble for his belt, and he's hooking his cock out of his pants in the same breath—too eager to fully undress. "I appreciate your trust in me," he tugs at a rope around your thigh to get you just that little bit closer to him; you can feel the heavy weight of his length against your stomach—and he can see just how deep inside of you he will be soon enough, "Though I fear seeing you tied up like this… it makes it hard to be gentle with you, love."

You lean up to kiss his jaw, his lips, anything you and reach while bound so intently. "I don't need you to be gentle with me. I am at your disposal."

Something in your lilt breaks the band of resistance that holds your lover still—he groans as he presses forward, pushing into you without any preamble. You're beyond wet, he hardly feels bad for not prepping you on his tongue beforehand. He has plans of ruining you with his mouth once he's fucked you full of him. "How can I possibly deny you?"

As he bottoms out inside of you, Kento grabs the rope that binds your wrist and lifts them above your head, pressing them into the sheets and rendering you completely motionless. Try as you might, you can't move an inch—you're entirely at his lust-glossed mercy. "That's better, hm? Much easier now, yes?" He pushes deeper into you, grunting out as he fills you in. "You don't have to think, don't have to move, you don't have to anything but take me."

The words are familiar to you—you've heard them hundreds of times before. In the throes of ecstasy, they sound like a lullaby to you—though this time there's some truth to his words. A genuine lack of need to move, to speak, to try and keep your hips at pace with his. As Nanami pulls back, drags his aching cock out of you before rutting right back into your tight core, you're able to completely relinquish control.

And god is it narcotic. The ruthless pace that he sets, muscles that cord his arms keep you in place as he bullies his cock into you. His mean thrusts are occasionally broken up with an open-mouthed kiss to your waiting lips, though the world is spinning too fast for you to register much other than raw, undiluted pleasure. You barely have the voice to announce your orgasm, let alone ask for permission to cum, so when your orgasm wracks through you like tropical waves against a cliffside, your lover can't help but bite at your exposed neck in feigned disappointment.

"Oh, love," he coos, but doesn't slow the roll of his hips even slightly. "You know I don't like it when you don't use your words."

You can't, not with the way he's fucking a second orgasm into you before you've even recovered from your first. Not when you're bound so tight that you know you have no way out of his ministries, not that you want one. You haven't felt so blissed-out in a long time, and there is no place safer to lose your mind than in Kento's arms. Though there's a dangerous lilt to his voice when he leans own, thrusts sharp into your overstimulated pussy, and whispers against your ear. "You're going to wait, and you're going to cum alongside me, love."

It's all too much, your vision is near-white with hot pleasure and you worry that you'll never think a straight thought again if he keeps rendering you dumb like this. You try desperately to climb up the bed, away from his overwhelming size, but he's got an iron-wraught grip on your bindings. "Ah," he chides. "Don't run, take me- I know you can."

The moans that rip from your throat are made for porn, especially in conjuncture with his groans and bitten praises. It's not long before his ruthless pace starts to falter, and the slap of skin against bruising skin starts to stutter as your lover reaches climax.

"With me," he chokes, the hand that had held your wrists up finally falling down to rub relentless circles over your sensitive clit. You're overwhelmed, orgasm cresting almost painfully as your mind blanks and you come harder than you think you ever have before. Nanami releases inside of you, his free hand holding you as close as humanly possible through your bindings.

And once he's cum, stolen a few breaths to steady himself enough to lift himself up and look down at you, Kento Nanami fears he might be a bad man. Because with the way you look, tear stained cheeks and complete lack of freedom, he can't help the words that slip from his lips.

"You can handle another, can't you, love?"

tags: @medusamara5 @echodead @aliisinwonderland @curiositykilledthecatx3 @hirainne

@plinkuro @sooouth @megumiiiswife @nyxiswrites1200 @yveiscringe

@sharks31 @lenahathunger @aydene @dreamyokai @n0tviv

@chiiinglebells @timetoletmyimaginationfly @nayely45 @waffless-simp-blog

@zoozvie @gothicchildofthenight @repnights @flwerie @soundofraindropss

@ushijimas1simp @aliidarling @aeswin @peachygelic @silvermet

@rinadisapproves @theshxaverse @cipher00 @milkkteary @snackeyalleyjuice

@cvipped @toadtoru @keiette @satosugu4-ever

@sugurubabe @wickedpoison6 @simp-plague @tojis-ball-sack @ventila98

@xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @oikawasthirdleg @yogichi @theycallmesia

@kdrama-anna @vurelliex @anonnieghost @tadabzzzbee

@luvofbows @crywolfix @hhonaoin @gigiiiiislife @aviesnapkindoodles

@ninikrumbs @bijuu-naginata @baekhyunsbestie @grimmshold @dalnimmie

@domainexpansionmypants @5tarx @1depressedsimp @beachaddict48 @jadeis0nline

@sukunasbbygrl @luna-v-roiya @sukunaspillow @starsval @vamqyx

@laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @mermaid-jewels @sugusmonkeyy @sammywo @noyaskneepad

@astrideverstar @lordchula-thagrandrula @chuuminn @angel1of-death @flooftoof

@rumi-rants @dysphoricsanity @coolcephalopod @satoruslxt @xoxo1mira

@whosmarjj @kikosaidbye @iceddragonfruit @amisuh @lotties-ashwagandha

[satori-runa]

—In the warmth

Summary: You are genuinely wondering why your captain doesn't show more skin despite Natlans hot temperatures.

Words: 0,6k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Natlan was quite the opposite of your home nation. The heat assaulted your body, forcing you to strip off your coat and minimize your movements before a heat stroke could knock you out in the middle of the mission.

Your hand barely created a cold breeze, no matter how hard you tried to wave it in front of your face to generate even the tiniest bit of fresh air. You could swear the air wasn't even moving; it was just warm and stuffy, even out in nature.

The only one unaffected by the oppressive climate was the captain himself. He still wore that large black coat lined with fur and heavy chains. His stance showed no sign of discomfort, indicating that he wasn’t affected like you or the others. In fact, he maintained his usual behaviour. It really irritated you—he didn’t shed a single piece of armour, didn’t roll up his sleeves, and never took off that giant coat in front of the team. Whenever you approached him to ask if he wasn’t hot, he would simply say, no, he wasn’t.

"If you need a break in this weather, you can take it." his deep voice told you. He shifted the focus from your concern for him directly back to you, like a mirror. After all, he knew you weren’t truly worried about him suffering in the heat. You were just curious to see even a little bit of his skin.

"I'll manage, but I appreciate the offer, Captain. I can’t slack off while the others are working so hard to set up the rest of the camp."

There was a hint of disappointment beneath your layer of gratitude, but he chose not to address it.

Later that night, Capitano sat alone by the campfire, his gaze directed toward the ground. He had sensed you nearby a while ago but said nothing as you approached his tall form. The heat of the nation was even worse at night, especially in a place like this, which only added to your irritation upon seeing the Captain seated in front of a fire.

"You should at least take off your mask." you finally said, breaking the silence. A few seconds passed before he responded. "There is no need." Of course, he wouldn’t, if he had wanted to, he would have done so long ago, even without your prompting. "I’m curious." There it was, the sheer honesty you had tried to mask with concern before. It made him chuckle. He liked that side of you.

Capitano and you had known each other for years. You were a loyal member of his regular troupe, yet you didn’t know him well. And still, he chose to trust you. His hands slowly lifted, removing the helmet and the mask that covered his face.

There he was, illuminated by the warm fire. His eyes were like stars, shining and deep, staring right through you with an expression that could be described as curiosity. His raven hair fell perfectly into place, framing his face and accentuating his features. But what caught your attention most was the rotting dark part—it looked strange, inhuman, more like it was tainted by the Abyss. It exposed part of his teeth, and yet, oddly, it suited him.

"I know what you’re thinking." He huffed, moving to put the helmet back on, but your hand caught his wrist just in time to stop him.

"The air feels good without the extra layer, right, Capitano?" He glanced at you, and all he could see was your genuine smile, no fear, no disgust, just radiant joy that burned in his chest more than Natlan’s heat ever could.

"It does."

[eudaimaniacs]

quite an animal (logan howlett x female reader)

warning/s: dead dove do not eat, noncon, implied earlier noncon, mentions of kidnapping, etc. please proceed with caution.

You don't know how long you have been running away from him. Logan. The crazed man who took you a month ago, promising he would take care of you. If taking care means getting constantly hit by beer bottles, almost killed by his claws, and servicing him, then you're well taken care of.

You've had enough of Logan's abusive grip on you. So, you waited for the perfect time to escape this place you deemed hell. Logan would go out to buy some groceries by himself since he doesn't trust you going with him. You didn't attempt to escape before since you wanted to catch him off guard. You packed the little things Logan hadn't destroyed when he brought you to the cabin. You stole some money he had hidden and waited for your kidnapper to be far away.

The freedom you had wished for ever since greeted you when you opened the door. When you took your first step, you have never felt this happy. With your bag at the side, you began walking through the vast forest to escape this demented place.

After treading for about seven minutes, you finally saw the road. You smiled and thanked whatever divine being blessed you with this opportunity. You were free. You didn't have to suffer Logan's tight grip on you anymore. A few more miles and you could taste the sweet-

"Princess, what are you doing?"

Your body shook at the deep voice calling your attention. The universe had betrayed you, like a blunt knife getting sharp at the last minute and stabbing you in the heart. You didn't dare to face Logan. You didn't want to see his face or feel his presence.

"I asked you something, princess. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" The grumpy man continued to question and make you more vulnerable.

You don't know if it's instinct or the desire to escape Logan, but you start running. You felt your eyes building up water as the reality dawned on you. Logan was keeping you here no matter what. He's going to use every method to cage you here forever.

The forest seems enormous now that you're in a life-or-death situation. The trees were never-ending, and there was no sign that you would get out anytime soon. You heard the heavy footprints of Logan chasing you. You didn't look back and see the furious, animalistic look he had. He didn't scream your name or command you to do anything.

He was catching up to your slow, almost tired running. You didn't bother to hold a weapon near you since defeating Logan was nearly impossible. Your legs were burning from the endless running. You wanted to give up, but the price of your freedom relied on it.

Your curiosity kills you as you dare to look at Logan behind you. He was fuming. His claws were out, and he discarded the flannel he wore earlier. Logan was determined to get you back. He looked like a predator hungry for prey.

As you focus on the path before you, a large rock suddenly makes you lose balance. You yelped at the force tripping you to the ground. You tried getting back up but felt Logan's foot stomping your back. You cried at the reality of not escaping this hell hole anytime soon.

"L-Logan, please, I'm s-s-sorry!" You pleaded to the feral man above you. He growled and turned you to face him. You went wide-eyed as you heard him huffing and threatening you with his metal claws.

Logan grunted and scolded you, "You escaped, [Y/N]. I won't show you any mercy even when we're in the middle of the forest." Before you can beg for forgiveness again, his claws rip the sheer dress that offered you little protection. You cried out and tried stopping Logan from doing this to you.

He hungrily bit and kissed your neck as he unbuckled his pants. The angry penis aroused by your attempt to escape him. You shook your head and promised that you wouldn't do that again. Your endless whines annoyed Logan, so he grabbed your neck to shut you up.

Without warning, his large member entered you, making you scratch his arm to fight him with little effect. Your voice was weakening as you pleaded and begged him to stop. However, Logan was an animal and chased his pleasure at the expense of hurting you. Your body betrayed you more as you felt your pussy hugging him tighter.

"You can't deny me, princess. Your wet pussy is so fucking tight. It's a perfect match for me," Logan groaned as he quickened his pace. You close your eyes, hoping you'll wake up from this nightmare. A monster taking advantage of you in the forest he held you captive in. You prayed to the gods to rescue you from this hell.

You felt your stomach twisting, indicating that you were close. Logan smirked as he saw the imprint of his cock on your stomach. You let out a weak moan that you didn't bother to suppress. After all, Logan won over your body even if your mind tried to disagree.

His thrusts falter as your orgasm crashes over you. You want to sleep and try to forget everything when you wake up. You knew you were returning to the cabin where you would live with an animal for the rest of your life. Logan retracted his claws and stayed inside of you, making sure that every drop of his cum painted your walls.

Like a switch, Logan suddenly became warm and softly whispered, "I'm going to clean you up, princess. Let's cuddle and eat something at the cabin." He kissed your forehead and carried you. Like a predator bringing his prey back to his cave, you surrendered and embraced Logan's sweetness. You weakly hold his chest, seeking comfort at the man who had and will always violate you.

eudaimaniacs - 2024

[brainddeadd]

My request is Chan coming home to find his plus size s/o being insecure to wear a dress because it shows everything? I hope this request is okay I've been feeling abit....insecurity

Hi!!

I'm honoured you trust me to do this request for you. You didn't specify if you wanted smut or not, so I made it sugesstive and not smutty - I felt like this was more in tune with the vibes that Chan gives me in terms of the type of partner he'd be.

I am sorry to hear you are feeling insecure. Please know that no matter your size, you are beautiful.

So this is my first request, and I really hope I do it justice.

bang chan x plus sized!reader (requested)

angst, fluff, suggestive

Chan arrived at your apartment and let himself in, expecting to find you doing the finishing touches to your outfit for date night (which he didn't think you needed - you could wear a bin bag and he'd be in awe of you). Instead, he's greeted by the sound of you crying. Not a little whimper or a small noise, no, you were sobbing. He followed the sound, rushing to your room and finding you sitting on the floor, only in your bra and underwear, three dresses discarded on the bed and some more crumpled on the floor.

"Baby, what's happened?" He rushed over to you, dropping everything from his hands and kneeling before you, eyes scanning over your body for signs of physical injury. "Baby, where does it hurt?"

You pushed at his hands, trying to get him away from you, chest heaving, unable to suck in enough air to verbalise what's wrong.

"No no pretty." He gently moved your hands to the side and picked you up from the floor, hands cradling you gently, before depositing you on the bed. "Talk to me."

The words came out in incoherent babbles, hiccups taking over the spaces words were supposed to be, but he managed to get some words.

Insecure. Dress. Ugly. Fat.

And his face fell. He knew instantly what you were referring to. He knew all about your insecurities and you knew his.

"Y/N." His voice was so stern you looked up in shock, face falling and sobbing stopping for a second before your featured crumpled again, this time, because you feared you'd upset him.

"Baby, look at me."

You shake your head and go to stand up, which he helps you do.

"You can walk away, but I'm going with you." He's standing behind you, letting you move as you need, knowing better than to stop you.

You step out of range of his body heat. Take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry." He goes to speak but you turn to face him and he shuts up instantly. "I'm sorry I'm crying. I know we’ve spoken about this. I know we have. But, today was a bad day. None of my dresses fit, none of my skirts fit, jeans aren't good enough for our first date in weeks-"

He shuts you up by pulling you into a hug.

"Don’t you ever apologise to me for being insecure again." He's whispering, but you can hear the edge in his voice. "I love you. And I understand."

You step back and force smile at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"Let me fix my-"

"No." You look at him in confusion. "If you think we're going out in public while you feel insecure and before I get to tell you how much I love you, you're insane."

"But-"

"No buts." He moves you to the edge of the bed and pushes gently. "Sit."

You don't have much choice but to comply. He kneels in front of you.

"I wrote Youtiful for you." You've never seen this look in Chan's eyes before. "You are perfect in my eyes. You are one of a kind. You are a miracle. My miracle."

You're crying again, but this time it's from the love overwhelming you.

Chan leans forward and presses his lips to yours.

“You’re so pretty,” Chan kisses your cheek and your forehead. "I think you're pretty in your dresses and with your makeup on, and I think you're gorgeous when you're wearing ratty sweats, my hoodie, barefaced and your hair wild."

He moves your hair to the side and kisses your neck.

"I think you're pretty when you cry, although I much prefer it when you cry for.. other reasons." He smirks at the way your breath hitches.

"I think you're gorgeous when you're sitting on top of me," he moves so you're lying flat and he's hovering over you. "But you know when you're most gorgeous to me?"

"When?" You're breathless and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

"When you cum." He moves his hand to your clothed pussy. "Because you give yourself over to me completely. You let yourself go. You look so free, confident, sexy and nothing, nothing, is better than my baby looking and feeling good."

He applies some pressure to your clit through your underwear and you gasp.

"Chan-" He pulls his hand away and you whine.

"Now, baby, listen to me." You look up at him, knowing he's serious. "I'm not going to fuck you."

You're unable to contain the whine the leaves your chest.

"Shh, shh, baby, listen," he's smiling at you softly. "I'm going to get you dressed in something comfy, then I'm going to get us some food delivered, we're going to eat crappy food, watch bad tv and then, after that, if you want to, I'll make love to you."

You're pouting, even if that does sound nice, incredible even.

"I know baby, but you're vulnerable right now, and I'm not going to do anything until you have a clear head, full belly and are feeling better." He leans forward and kisses you again, before pulling you up and moving to the wardrobe to get you a hoodie (your favourite one to steal, that he rarely lets you).

"Get dressed pretty." He passes you on his way to pick up his discarded belongings, fishing out his phone. "Samgyeopsal?"

[sant-riley]

[Ghost with OFC!Reader who has a toxic family] [p1 of ?]

A/N: straight up this is self indulgent/me projecting (like all my work is) bc it's comforting for me to imagine that I have someone to protect me from life bc wow this shit sucks. Not tagging anyone due to this potentially being triggering.

CW: toxic family dynamics, swearing, mental illness, simping, age gaps, definitely not professional, Ghost punches someone (let me know if there's anything else)

~

Now I don't even have to say that Simon is extremely sensitive when it comes to family, especially since he himself grew up in a toxic environment. He knows the signs because they're the signs he saw in his day to day life.

He knew something was up when you never want to go home when breaks come, any young Rookie is usually bouncing off the walls to go see their loved ones but you? You almost look depressed at the thought. Ghost may tell people he has a cold heart, but not when it comes to you. You wormed your way into his chest next to that said cold heart and now he can't help but worry. You're too young to have probably been in a place on your own, so no choice but to go back to the family home. He was in your shoes once, he too had joined the military to find a way out.

Ghost doesn't speak to people off duty, never has but things have changed. You, Soap, Gaz, Price? You all are the closest thing he will ever have to a family again, so against his better and usual judgment, he asks you if you'd like to stay with him at one of his safe houses.

"Runt, do you....for fucks sake, do you want to come back with me? Stay with me until our next mission."

"Oh! No, I'm fine Ghost, I'm alright to go home."

A smile on your lips but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels his own turn down into a grimace.

"Teds, stop the shit for a second, yeah? I see that look on your face, you don't want to go back there."

He rests a skeleton glove covered hand on your shoulder, caressing the skin there with a thumb graze.

"I don't want to be a bother.'"

"You're never a bother sweetheart, c'mon then."

~

Staying with Ghost is, different to say the least. He takes you to his home in Manchester and goddamn the place is barely lived in, the only place that look used is his kitchen. He really lets you have free reign of the place, the only room not allowed is his bedroom. Not because he doesn't trust you rather it's just a personal thing.

Overtime the place filled with little traces of you, your hair ties liter the counters and tables, your laughter in the other room while you scroll on your phone. Hearing your footsteps run to area of the house so you can show him said video, the groceries you buy once you learn Ghost solely lives off of take out.

"Are you serious?"

"I work out to balance it."

"Ghost-"

It warms his chest to see you show so much concern over him, a man 6'4 who could easily snap your neck. He rustles your hair with a deep chuckle.

You try and not encroach on his space but he finds that he likes it. He likes seeing your shoes next to his at the doorway, he likes seeing you cook in his kitchen, he likes seeing you wake up groggy with crust in your eyes. He loves it all. Though he'd never admit it.

You make his house, now his home feel so much warmer and brighter. You insist on catching him up to the newest movies and shows, forcing him to sit down next to you to watch the newest Marvel movie while he pretends he hates it. He makes jokes in between that he could do better than that and that if he were there, he'd just put a bullet between the enemies eyes.

Seeing you fall asleep on his shoulder brings a peace to him, his arm around your shoulders as you nuzzle in closer. He doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve you. But he's gonna pretend he does, just for a little while longer.

~

Imagine his surprise when he meets your family for the first time. You had wanted to go home and get some things to bring back to his place so he came with you on a flight since he knows you don't care for air travel by yourself.

Ghost was used to his presence scaring people and warding people off. He knows how to keep people in line, its been his job for as long as he could care to remember. So he wasn't expecting them to treat you so horribly in front of him. Really, what'd they expect to happen. First mistake.

It's such a stark contrast you are in this place, from base, the field, to the woman in front of him. You curl into yourself, hands cracking in your hoodie pockets as you sit there and just take it, waiting for a break so you can speak. You're not looking at him or even making an attempt to talk back.

Ghost knows you're grown, he knows it's not his place but he feels his blood pressure get higher and higher as they scream and belittle you for things out of your control, your looks, your weight, telling to come back home, to leave the military, anything and everything under the sun. Second mistake. He can feel his knuckles turn a stark white under his gloves and it isn't until your sibling gets up in your face with a hand raised that he springs into action. Third mistake. Ghost is a big man, but he moves fast and unexpectedly.

Before he registered it, your sibling is on the floor clutching their stomach after being gut punched. He hears them heaving while trying to curse him out, looking up with him with hatred. Simon wants to take his heavy steel toed boot and kick the fuckers face. Hell, he wants to beat the ever living shit out of every single person in this fucking house. To think they can treat you like this? Over his dead body.

He hears your parents screaming about how dare he and that he's fucking insane but when he turns to look around at you, he sees you staring up at him with tear filled eyes and a whisper of thank you. In that moment he knows, he knows he'd do just about anything for you. He shoots a withering glare at your parents

"We're taking her shit and leaving." He barks out, his eyes burning a hole in their heads while they shakily nod and avoid looking at either of you.

Ghost grabs your hand and leads you towards your bedroom where he grabs anything he can bag and helps you stuff all your belongings into it, making sure you have everything until the room is completely cleared out.

Shuffling the bags on his arms, he holds your hand again and intertwines your fingers, gently pulling you out the house and towards the rental truck. Not taking one glance at the so called family watching you two.

"You're staying with me from now on, got it runt?"

The smile on your face is so bright when you say "Of course, L.T."

-

If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please comment under my rules that are pinned to my blog!

[tragedybunny]

Well since you are asking for asks, here's one! How about a Astarion one (shocking I know) where they are on their way to baulders gate to confront Cazador but Astarion is plagued by nightmares that he will lose Tav/reader to his former master and goes to them to ensure they are still there and its angsty with fluff. Please? Thank you!

My usual apologies for my work rate Anon. I hope you enjoy.

What Haunts His Nights - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion is plagued by nightmares on the road to Baldur's Gate.

Astarion didn't really sleep, Elvish meditation was usually enough, unless the vampire ended up injured or exhausted, then he'd fall into healing sleep like the rest of his kind. So how he managed to have nightmares any time he tried to rest seemed like some sort of immense joke of the universe. Which would fit with the rest of his existence. Ever since you'd ended things at Moonrise Towers and your path to the city was clear, the same subject haunted him. 

Cazador. Only this time it wasn't just him who suffered at those accursed hands. It was you, Cazador had somehow learned of your relationship and would use it to make you both suffer. Sometimes he killed you outright, other times he'd kidnap you and torture you until Astarion willingly returned to him. Worst of all were the visions of you made into another spawn, forced to serve the Vampire Lord.

For the most, he tried to hide it, much as he loved you, it wasn't in his nature to trust you with every fear and flaw. But they were getting worse, more haunting, even as his attachment to you grew. The more he loved you, the more afraid he became. Tonight though brought that fear to dizzying new heights, his siblings had found you, here at Wyrm's Crossing, meaning Cazador could find you all as well.  

Instincts had firstly led him to secure their cooperation in the ritual. It hadn't been a lie when he'd said it was to protect you too. Losing you would be the same as losing himself. But now, laying here next to you in the tent you'd been sharing, other thoughts had crept in, the reality crushing down on him, Cazador could take you if he wanted to. This was no home he had to be invited into, there was no protection here. 

Trying to push it from his mind, Astarion let himself fall into meditation, no deep sleep needed tonight. As soon as his mind quieted though, there was Cazador. "A willing substitute, a lamb to the slaughter." You knelt before him, bare from the waist up, the dagger in his hand carving the same Infernal words into your skin that Astarion himself bore. 

Weeping silently, you endure, until the foul work is finished. Then it is as though Cazador finally notices him. "If you would have just come home boy, she wouldn't have to suffer. But look what she does for love of you." 

A scream nearly tears itself from his throat, and the meditation breaks. Rolling on his side, he chokes and gasps, an impressive feat for someone who doesn't need to breathe. Squinching his eyes shut, he finds himself unable to turn and look at the place you were sleeping, knowing it would tear him apart to find you gone. "Just a nightmare, " he whispers, trying to convince himself. Gods, how unfair was this, he'd barely learned how to love, and now he had to worry he could lose it at any moment. 

You had to be there though, safe and undisturbed, he couldn't even fathom anything else. He rolled, dead heart aching, to find you where he'd left you, sweetly asleep in the little nest of blankets the two of you had made. Almost immediately his eyes began to sting and he swallowed a cry. Cazador didn't have you, and when Astarion ascended in his place, he could make sure nothing ever threatened the two of you again.

Arms enfold you as he snuggles tight against your back, calming as he concentrates on the rhythmic sound of your heartbeat, the motion of your chest as you breathe, the warmth of your skin, all the signs you're real and here with him. He must be holding you tighter then he thought because you stir. "Love, you alright," you murmur, half awake. 

There's a bit of guilt in waking you, but hearing your voice is a soothing balm he hadn't realised he needed. "Nothing to worry about my Sweet," he tries but his voice is shaky. 

"Another nightmare?" Now you're alert and he feels terrible. Even worse, he hasn’t been able to hide this all from you. 

"... Yes," he confesses, "Cazador." The name spills from his mouth like a curse. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Fingers lace with his where they rest over your stomach and squeeze. 

"Not really, I'm sorry." You're so kind to want to listen but he just wants to try to forget. The thoughts of Cazador have left him reeling and he worries he'll anger you by not talking, even if he can't remember a time you were actually angry at him. 

"Don't apologise, I'm here if you need me, but you don't have to tell me anything." Then miraculously, you take his hand, bring it to your lips, kiss it delicately, before cradling it with both of yours. "Love you," you whisper sweetly. 

In a completely undignified moment, he whimpers softly and holds you even tighter, kissing the back of your neck. "Love you too." He can't lose you, and soon he'll be strong enough to make sure that never happens. 

[blakeswritingimagines]

When You Fall Asleep On Their Shoulder

Thomas:

Finds it ridiculous that you even fell asleep on him but doesn't move while you continue to rest against him and if asked he'll simply say he was already busy and that it wasn't for you.

He's noticed that you start out with a little lean, your head resting on his shoulder. Soon that turns into a full-on nap. He finds it endearing and makes him feel like an old softy. He'll give you a little kiss on the forehead. He'll sit around thinking to himself, "Maybe there's more to life than violence" and that he could get used to this.

Doesn't let anyone wake you up and quietly threatens anyone who dares to make too much noise when your resting on him, will act like nothing happened when you wake up nor does he say anything as he sits down next to you the next time he sees how tired you are.

Arthur:

If you fell asleep on his shoulder, he would feel touched and humbled. It would remind him of the great trust you have in him, and he would be incredibly moved by the vulnerability and intimacy of the moment and would be careful not to disturb your sleep.

He feels like he can't describe it in detail because it's such an amazing feeling. If you're relaxed enough to fall asleep on his shoulder, that says that you feel safe with him and that's the best feeling in the world.

Will try to keep noises to a low volume but simply can't help it especially when someone starts messing with him which will cause him to get loud but will try to help you fall back to sleep if your still tired.

John:

He thinks you are nothing short of adorable but that does not save you from him messing with you as you fall asleep on his shoulder.

He'll poke at you, try to move you, make jokes to you even as you sleep, and makes fun of it when you are awake.

It is a moment of intense intimacy, a moment of deep connection which he values. It’s like you're showing him this softer side of yourself which he's only been honored to see a handful of times.

Ada:

She'll smile to herself once she realizes this and gives you a kiss on your head as she sits still so you stay comfortable.

Loves that you found comfort in her to do this and feels a protective need come over her.

Checks up on you afterward to make sure your doing okay and getting enough rest while making sure you don't feel too embarrassed.

Finn:

He would be smiling to himself, leaning his head closer to yours. And then try to sleep with you, but he would be in his head not able to fall asleep. He would kiss your forehead and pull you closer.

He loves it. There’s no better feeling in his world. He hopes you are comfortable and will lay his jacket over you. Thinking about how peaceful you look. So content. In love. All around him.

This has never happened before and he can't help but find it very cute and endearing, and he would be very comforted. He would feel so grateful for the trust that such an act would demonstrate, and he would be very inclined to protect and support his partner’s well-being.

Polly:

She would let you sleep. She would try to keep everything quiet so that you wouldn't wake up from those noises. This love would mean the world to her, and she wants to make sure you have the best sleep possible even if she does tease you a little after you wake up.

It's very sweet. It's like a sign of trust. It doesn't happen a lot, so, when it does she knows that you really trust her. She feels like she needs to protect you, and will force everyone to quiet down especially if they want her attention.

She will let you sleep as long as you need. She will make sure no one wakes you up, she will stay by your side and hold you closely. She will protect you from anything or anyone that tries to do you any harm. You are her world.

Micheal:

He would be thrilled. This would be a sign of great trust, and, as someone who craves intimacy with the people he loves, this would give him a great sense of contentment and safety.

He can get annoyed because it’s an inconvenience if he's busy or meant to go do something. First of all, this shouldn’t be happening because if you were tired you could've gone home. Secondly, now he has a dead weight on his shoulder and he can’t move but will try to gently move you so you can keep resting but would make anyone regret waking you up.

He would let you sleep peacefully. You both would have plenty of time to speak once you wake up. He would try to keep others quiet, but he would not be upset if they were not perfectly silent. His partner is sleeping and deserves to rest without being disturbed.

Isiah:

You’ll never believe this but it makes him happy. That you feel safe with him and comfortable enough to just drift off. It’s nice, and it means you need him in your life. He's never felt anything like it before in his life. It feels right to him.

He's feeling pretty lucky to have you and he thinks you're an absolute sweetheart. He knows that sounds cliche, but it's true. He does love it when you fall asleep on his shoulder because it's a sign that you feel safe and content with him. It's something he cherishes and values. And he also just finds it really, really cute.

He'll give you a hard time and tease you but does also flirts with you to show he enjoyed having you close for however long you slept for.

Bonnie:

Can't help but enjoy this tender moment with you and how innocent it all is or how warm he gets from getting to hold you while you rest, can't help it as his thoughts start to wander about what life with be like with you and does bring it up to you once you wake.

It’s like a little victory for him when you fall asleep on his shoulder. It’s the biggest compliment for him because then he knows he's been doing something right. He loves you so much and it always brings a big stupid smile to his face when you do this.

Adores this with you and thinks you are so cute when you do that. He loves the feeling and tries his best not to move so you won't wake up. He can stay in that position for hours, just looking at your beauty while you are sleeping and knowing that you feel safe with him. This might be his favorite moment in life.

Alfie:

Thought it was adorable. You were tucked into his shoulder all snug and he knew at that moment that you and him were gonna be all right.

He's an absolute sucker for the quiet, close intimacy - when you're sleeping on his shoulder he feels like he could be in this moment for an eternity.

Another absolute menace on the list, he'll be teasing and messing with you by blowing in your ear, tickling you, poking at you, giving you kisses. You're vulnerable and he's in control, the possibilities are endless.

[bandgie]

could you do a dark vampire yeonjun?? maybe a little kidnapping…

a/n: OHHH dude I had to read this shit like 3 times. I thought it said 'kid napping' not 'kidnapping' I was so thrown off. but yessss

warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, manipulation, implied kidnapping(obvi)/mind control, possessive Yeonjun, mind break mentions, overstimulation (f!), sex stuff ya know the usual

633 words

He's harsh with his thrusts, uncaring for how you beg him to slow down. His cock is deep inside you as if trying to mold it's shape into your pussy. He yanks on your hair to pull you upwards, your ass pressed harder against the front of his thighs.

Yeonjun loves the sight of you. How your back arches from being relentlessly pounded into, your quivering legs trying to keep you upright, the way your hands try to find purchase at the wall in front of you.

No matter how delicious you looked to eat, Yeonjun needed a taste of you like this. He craved to see you creaming on his dick, moaning uncontrollably at his violent strokes.

All you can feel is arousal, such overwhelming warmth you think you might get a fever. It feels heavenly to have Yeonjun's freezing body surround yours. You don't have any idea why you were so frightened of him in the first place.

This feeling is pure bliss and you pray it never ends.

Yeonjun snakes his hand down around your waist, pressing upwards to your stomach. The pressure makes you mewl, forcing you to feel his length inside much more. His other hand keeps steady at your hips to make you bounce on him.

The hand on your stomach travels further down, finding your swollen clit. Yeonjun's nimble fingers play with your pussy, drowning in the sounds of your wails and gasps.

"Too much! Yeonjun..it's too..." Your words turn into a series of moans.

Beg him all you want, cry until your throat is rubbed raw, but Yeonjun can't bring himself to stop. He won't. He's waited too long, put up with too many filthy humans just to be close with you in your work uniform.

He'll take you away from this life. This mundane style you live isn't what you need, it's not what you deserve. Yeonjun can't stand seeing you pretend to be happy where you are. You already trust him, even if he had to use some of his vampiric enchantments on you, the bond you've created is real.

It has to be real. Why else would you keep clenching on his cock eagerly? You want his cum, he thinks. You must need it with how deep your pussy opens for him.

Lost in his thoughts, Yeonjun doesn't catch how your sobs have increased. You've cum too many times much too quickly. It's making you break both physically and mentally. All you can think about is how sumptuously he's using you.

Maybe this is what you're good for, a warm cock sleeve for Yeonjun to take advantage of when he pleases.

After what seems like hours, Yeonjun begins showing signs of finishing. He's panting, clawing at your hips so roughly you know you'll have marks after. The fingers on your clit falter for a moment as he stills inside you.

His cock pulses repeatedly before he cums with a guttural moan. The warmth of his seed fills you up, and you feel what seems like your final orgasm crash down on you. Your legs nearly give out, cream leaking down your thighs.

Yeonjun places both of his hands on your waist to keep fucking yourself onto him, trying to milk out all the cum he has to give. It's not until you reach back and scratch at his hands that he lets up, releasing you.

Your knees buckle, and you fall to the hard ground of the alley. You're beyond spent, pussy throbbing in shattering pleasure that leaves you dumb.

There's no retaliation when Yeonjun picks you up easily, his strength unmatched to any mortal man.

This is the first of countless nights he'll have you, keep you. The human life you've been given will be forgotten.

Yeonjun knows where you belong.

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

V. curiosity killed the cat.

parts: previously / next plot: when else would you get a chance like this? pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, suggestive content, you're awfully nosy aren't you. words: 6.2k.

a/n: trying out something new with headers. also, hey! it's been three months! I did not realize! I am so sorry!

If you were to recall any other time you'd stood in the middle of your apartment, blindfolded, while a strange man you didn't know undressed for you, you'd come up a little bit empty. You were failing to accept that there was ever a time at all, let alone one happening right now.

But you can't look. You have to listen to the shuffle of clothing, the small grunts and heaves of breath, the maneuvering about your home that carries a breeze to your heated skin. Seconds pass where there is no movement at all, not even an exhale, and then, "C'mere."

You stumble forward and immediately bump your shin against your coffee table—the good shin, the one that isn't cut up in ribbons—earning a sharp "tsk" from your guest that has you flushing. You reach up to your makeshift blindfold and tug it off.

To say you were... probably not supposed to see this was an understatement. You're distracted by two trains of thought, the first being his upper body. Batman is half-sitting on the edge of your kitchen table while his under suit hangs from his waist. Every line and curve is sculpted like a meticulously maintained statue. You follow the deep divots of his collarbones, the swell of his chest, the soft yet defined skin of his torso with each ripple a sign of his strength. His cowl is still in place, and even his gloves remain.

And also, though you'd never tell him this, he looked pretty damn good.

The second thought is that he has more pressing concerns than an old gunshot wound. There are bruises littered all across his upper body, signs of fights that were too heavy-handed. You tried to imagine the force it would take to really, really hurt him under that armor. How a bullet had passed through what should be impenetrable.

The first time you'd had his skin exposed to you, it had barely been anything. A cut hole in his suit, just enough room to focus on the blood and the flesh. You hadn't even thought about it.

Now, beneath all the broken, mottled skin was the evidence of the last three years at work. Between the muscle and size of him, you were beginning to understand why he didn't take his health as seriously as you did.

Batman watches you, head tilted to the floor. One arm props him up on the table and his other hand rests over his knee. His upper armor lay discarded on the table behind him along with his utility belt. He doesn't blink as you approach, doesn't bother saying anything first. He has an intense look on him at all times and it's no different now. Even if he's trusted you enough to bare this part of himself to you, you could see the tension in him. He was prepared to fight if it came down to it.

You don't want that. You clasp your hands in front of you, shrinking yourself down like you were facing a fetterless beast because that's the best approach you've got, "Can I touch you?"

His eyes dilate. He hadn't been expecting you to ask that. You'd already touched him before without asking, had shared plenty of touch before. He moves the arm holding him up so that you can get a better look.

There is a small patch of raised skin on his side that you're delighted to find free of stitches, healing over. You press a finger to the area beneath the healing wound, feather-light. "It's looking a lot better," you begin, glancing up, "though I wish you'd keep it wrapped a little longer." You try not to let your fingers wander too much, regardless of the mind they had of their own, "How'd the bullet break the Kevlar? From what I've seen, that's pretty tough stuff from a distance."

Batman grunts when you press into a bruise on his rib cage, apparently the freshest of them all. You apologize, but he pays you no mind, "There wasn't any distance. They got close and kept shooting until it broke."

"Not to be morbid, but why didn't they just go for the head?"

Batman huffs again, though it sounds more like a laugh this time, "You don't think they tried?"

The image of him on the ground and a gangster with a gun towering over him, fighting to get in a lethal shot springs to your mind. You imagine his hands gripped around the barrel, forcing it from between the eyes, down and away until they just starts letting off every bullet in the mag until- "Oh."

He grunts again.

Despite the fact that he'd come close to death, he hardly looked bothered. You'd lived a life like that, and there wasn't a day that went by where you weren't baffled by the sheer stupidity of your youth. Maybe if you'd been smarter back then, had more self-preservation, you would have stopped much sooner.

Now look at you. A man with a gun threatens your life once and suddenly your whole world is thrown off kilter.

You're not actually looking at his bullet wound anymore. You're looking at his bruises. "You don't have doctors, right? So what happens when you... break a bone? How do you explain all this to an ER nurse?"

"I never said that."

"Well, no. You just brooded and ignored me. Which I took for an answer."

"I don't go to hospitals. If I can't fix it myself, I find someone who can."

You remember the other part of that conversation, when he'd mentioned someone looking at his wound, "That person that checked you out last time?" Batman hums. "Are they like me?"

"...No." You think that's all he'll say, having given you more information than perhaps he'd have liked to, but he surprises you, "Not a doctor, but knows what to do. From experience."

That doesn't narrow down the picture of Batman's Nightingale at all. After all, any number of people in Gotham had knowledge like that just from living here. You also figure if he's lasted this long, they must know what they're doing, "I guess you don't really need me fussing over you after all."

He doesn't need to dignify that with a response, and if he were to, you'd expect him to agree. Perhaps throw in an "I told you so" if he was feeling particularly jovial. You don't expect the sincere, "I think you have the right after saving my life."

You laugh, "By that logic, you should be up my ass about taking care of myself. Scratch that, the whole city's ass."

"I am. Or I would've taken your invitation."

"How many times do I have to say that was a stupid move before you let it go?"

"It's only been half an hour. It's not even cold yet."

"I'm sorry, okay? I can't help..." You falter. What could you say? Your feelings bigger than your vocabulary, if you tried to imprison them in words, you worried they might scare him. Might scare you. The truth was that you trusted him. And his insistence that you shouldn't didn't stop you. "I told you when we first met that I believe in what you do for Gotham, that I want you to keep doing it. I meant that. It's why I fuss and why I left the window open, why I keep hoping you're there and why I hoped you'd come save me that night. I believe in the Batman and I believe that even underneath that, you're a good person. Am I wrong?"

Batman keeps your gaze. You'd give anything to know what he's thinking at any given moment, but especially now. Your desire to be understood comes at the cost of being exposed. You realize that in this situation, he knows so much more about you than you may ever know about him.

That kind of realization is terrifying. You can't take it back now.

Your next realization is that your hand is touching his stomach, more comfortable in its place than it reasonably should be. It'd been hovering there since he'd started telling you about getting shot, warm from his warmth. You don't immediately pull away.

Your hand moves with him when he draws in a breath, "It's not something you can call yourself."

"You're a good person. There. I said it." You tip your chin up in defiance.

"You don't know me."

Then let me, you want to say. "Then prove me wrong."

A tick passes. Then, Batman stands to his full height. Your hand naturally falls away as he zips his suit back up to the neck, then his hand goes for the shirt you'd discarded. It shouldn't shock you the second time, but you shiver when he pulls it taut around your head once more, careful not to catch your hair in the knot.

You listen for the growing familiarity of his grunts, the heavy effort of pulling his armor back over his body, the click of his utility belt about his waist, and then you await the return of his cowl but the noise stops there. Your hands hover in front of you with nothing to do, too afraid to remove the blindfold early but too afraid to break the tense silence.

So you stand there, back to him, waiting for him to give you the okay. You can feel his eyes on your back (all over, really) and a trickle of humiliation works its way up your spine the longer it goes on.

You hear noise again a minute later, though it's not the sound of him putting his cowl back on. It's his boots. He's walking toward you.

You're anticipating something, a touch or a whispered final farewell. A sillier, nervous part of you is anticipating his breath on the nape of your neck. Bending his head down. The heat of his chest against your back. You imagine him dipping his mouth to the curve of your throat and the image sends a tingle up your spine. You're not expecting your hand taken hostage and something slipped into your palm. It feels small and round along the sides. When you allow your fingers to collapse around it, it feels flat. Batman doesn't release your hand until you're holding it properly.

Then you hear him put on his cowl. Then you hear him leave.

Yanking off the blindfold, you're shocked to find that there's a phone in your hand. A flip-phone. It's a prepaid, a simple one you'd find at any bodega up and down your street. You try to imagine Batman of all people, in civilian clothing, walking into one of your neighborhood's haunts and buying this for you.

You flip open the phone and find that in the contacts list, there is only one: "For emergencies only".

Huh. Batman just gave you his number.

You do not hear from Bruce Wayne for a week.

After the papers are signed, you're told rather abruptly that he'll be flying overseas. Business, Alfred had said, and that you'd be expected to be at Wayne Manor the morning of his return for a checkup if you weren't called to Verona before the week's end. If your head hadn't started swimming with the idea, you would have had the wherewithal to be excited about it.

But seven days come and go and you're eventually standing in the penthouse, poking and prodding the man of the hour while Alfred watches on from afar.

Bruce is an obedient patient, if not a little robotic. Every answer is a "yes", "no", "just a little bit". He's in perfect physical health from what you can tell, from what he allows you to see with all his clothes on. The most of note is his visible tan, and halfway through the examination, you can't stop yourself from commenting on it, "How was Italy?"

It's the first question that isn't about his appetite or sleep, so he's not as quick to answer, "Fine. Warm."

"Must be nice. Did you enjoy the beaches?"

Alfred snorts so loudly that it redirects the attention of both of you, but he has his nose deep in tax statements when your eyes find the butler. Bruce looks a little annoyed when he answers you, "I didn't go. I was in meetings most of the week."

You frown, "It's that sunny in Verona?"

"Any sliver of sunlight has him turning colors." Alfred no doubt knows from humiliating experience, and while Bruce doesn't look very pleased, you're just thankful the butler feels in good enough spirits to joke with you. Perhaps now that the contract had been signed, he'd resigned to his fate that you were here to stay. At least until Bruce's mysterious interest in you dulled his rose-colored glasses.

You try to picture Bruce basking in the sun—the kind of sun that didn't find itself on this side of the world—and all you see are scenes right out of Baywatch, so uncharacteristic that you shake your head just to get rid of them.

"Any concerns?" You ask, and then you're reminded to look down at his hands in his lap. You can't help yourself from asking, "What about those?"

Bruce follows your line of sight to the scarring over his knuckles, dimmed some due to the tan. You watch his face the entire way, hopeful to catch him in a lie. He turns over his palm, looks at you through his lashes, and says, "No, I... I fight. On purpose. It's a hobby."

That catches you off guard. You thought someone with his bank account would be into golfing.

Bruce nods over in Alfred's direction when you don't respond, "Mixed martial arts. Alfred will tell you. He's been teaching me since I was ten."

Sure enough, Alfred is watching the two of you over the rim of his glasses, "Just the basics." He confirms.

It adds up, though you can't help questioning it, "Isn't that kind of a violent hobby? Seems pretty dangerous for the future CEO of a major corporation."

"It was self-defense first, then a... hobby." Alfred spits the last word out like a rotten tooth. "Trust you aren't the first to mention it, and surely won't be the last."

You frown, "Just so you know, I'm a general surgeon. Brain damage isn't my forte."

Bruce doesn't answer. He doesn't get the chance. Dory barely has a chance to announce the arrival of guests before they're flooding the living room with balloons, streamers, flower arrangements, and more. You're taken aback by the sheer extravagance. Was it someone's birthday? You look at Bruce for an answer, but it's Alfred who shoots up to welcome them in. You hear him instructing a group of musicians to a corner of the room that you've only now realized has been cleared away of the antiques that once held space there.

A man rushes past you, carrying a folded banner in hand, and another immediately follows with a ladder that almost knocks your things off the end table. You catch your bag and hold it to your chest.

"I'm sorry, the crew for the party is here early." Bruce sounds almost disappointed.

"Party?"

"For the mayor. I'm hosting a celebration tonight for the mayor's new deal passing." Bruce rolls down his shirt sleeve once he unwraps the blood pressure monitor and hands it back to you, rolling his shoulder as you begin to pack up.

"That's awfully kind of you." You comment, glancing at the array of gold and purple being carried in. "I should get out of your hair then-"

"Would you like to come?"

There he is again.

He had such a nervous energy about him all of a sudden. Someone with his power and prestige should believe they have the world in the palm of their hand (because he does), but every time he locks eyes with you, it's like it all falls away. In your presence, he's just a man and you hold all the power.

"I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't. It's... supporters, donors, friends. Politicians and some press too but nothing too formal." Bruce must notice the way you shrivel because he's quick to add on, "There'll be wine. From Italy. And champagne. Not from Italy, but it adds variety."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he wanted you to come.

And it wasn't that you weren't intrigued. You admired the mayor, and being a part of something like this was a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Donors meant money-makers like Bruce who, if going off their politician of choice, would be looking for causes to fund. You could practically hear your boss's heart break at even the idea that you'd turn this down.

It wasn't lost on you that your new position with Bruce Wayne had made you, accidentally, a spokesperson for the hospital. Missing the opportunity to milk the pockets of a few more billionaires would be a waste.

And Bruce... really seemed like he wanted you to come.

"Mr. Wayne," Dory's frail voice calls from the top floor, peering over the railing, "I need to speak with you about precautions for tonight."

Precautions?

Dory hurries back down the hallway without another word, and Bruce grows distracted. You think that he's forgotten all about convincing you to come to the party, but he turns to you one for one last second, "It's at eight. If you'd like to come."

And another thing: you'd have a good reason to snoop around Bruce Wayne's house.

"Nothing too formal" your ass.

You'd had the good sense to spot a rich person lying out of their ass and had dressed as nicely as you could for the occasion, clearly a good decision.

The gathering of guests are all comfortable an hour into the party and a few drinks in, too. You immediately sneak yourself a glass the moment Dory lets you in the door. Bruce is knee-deep in conversation with who you recognize to be a councilwoman, and you catch Alfred observing the party from the edge of the room while hired servers tend to the guests. Mayor Reál is sat on a couch with a glass of champagne in one hand and her suit coat thrown over the back. She's got a line of guests leaning in to hear her recount some story about a diplomat from out of town. You wouldn't have a chance to speak to her tonight, you feared.

Somehow, you find yourself gradually floating in Alfred's direction.

He pays you no mind, not obviously anyway, but he does start speaking once you're in earshot, "Master Wayne invited you?"

Your lips purse. You try not to take his words as the insult they sound like, though his emotionless stare past your person doesn't help his case, "I debated coming. He seemed to want me here."

This gets him to look at you. Then, he turns away again, scanning the party for any signs of disorder. You noticed the tension in his shoulders almost immediately. Even if he didn't want to be friendly, that wouldn't stop you, "I can only imagine how nerve-wracking this must be."

Alfred furrows his brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Letting strangers handle your fine glasses. God forbid someone trips."

A few moments of silence pass between you and your throat threatens to close up thinking your joke didn't land, but eventually, Alfred huffs, "That would be Dory's concern. That woman is very serious about the dishware."

Dory didn't look it. Greeting everyone with bright smiles and instructing them into the main room, she was more relaxed than Alfred was. "Then what's yours?"

The butler looks down to the side at you, but doesn't bother turning his head in your direction. He clearly didn't want the chance to miss anything, but the guests were behaving. "Someone ending up where they don't belong."

Perhaps that was why he was guarding the staircase with his life. Upstairs, you imagined, was where Bruce slept. Perhaps it was where the late Mr. and Mrs. Wayne had slept once upon a time too. If anyone were to disturb their belongings, you imagined this would be the last time a party was held in the penthouse.

But that got you thinking, "Do you hold parties often?"

"No. Never. This was all Master Wayne's idea, though I can't say it wasn't sudden."

Never was a strong response. Emily knew his shut-in status more intimately than you, but from what you saw, he did just fine on TV. He's got that interview smile on right now, cordial and fair. He laughs at the right times and makes sure to nod often enough so that his conversation partners know he's listening. He looks completely normal when you're not around. Excruciatingly normal. A picture of a proper businessman, billionaire, and bachelor. A man who should have been hosting parties weekly like the Gatsby that was expected of him.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

The way he tip-toed around you was the only proof you had that all of this was just as weird as it felt, that he knew this setup was out of the ordinary. That there was more to this than he or anyone else was telling you. A near-death experience had ushered him into the light of day and had put you right next to him. Maybe this was his version of Eat, Pray, Love.

A crash is heard from some distant part of the house and you see Alfred visibly tense. He looks uneasy to abandon his post, but you set your glass on a windowsill and take a step up the stairs, "I can keep watch until you get back."

Alfred looks skeptical, though another crash is all that's needed to convince him. He holds out a hand to the upstairs, "No one is allowed on the second floor. Understood?"

You nod, just shy of standing to attention and saluting. He rushes off without further convincing.

Your eyes naturally find Bruce again.

He's now in conversation with Mayor Reál and three other politicians all vying for his attention, though it's only she who seems to actually hold it. It's painstakingly obvious that they've seen what his dollars can do, and getting an endorsement from the newly emerged billionaire would do their campaigns wonders, but Bruce doesn't seem convinced of them.

And, if you were honest, it was a good sign.

Despite how little you were yet to understand about him as a person, you did know these politicians. You'd seen their campaign ads and the thinly veiled attempts at distracting from their shady pasts. Many of them had been in office alongside Mayor Mitchell. Many of them had rebranded, denounced him entirely after the Riddler debacle, if only to save face. There was no doubt in your mind that most of them had known about it, if not had their fingers in the pie.

Batman had promised you he wasn't corrupt. You had to believe him. You had to take his word for it.

Reminded of the caped crusader, your hand falls to your pocket to feel for the phone nestled there. Ever since the Batman had given it to you, you'd kept it charged and on you at all times, anxiously waiting for a call or a text or something.

But you hadn't seen or heard from him in a few days. If he was out there, he at least wasn't getting hurt, and that should have overjoyed you. It should have. It just... could also mean something else.

You slip the phone out of your pocket and confirm your suspicions. No messages, no missed calls.

The phone should have put you at ease, reassured you, but all it did was make you restless. Waiting for it to ring, wondering if it had and you'd missed it. You force it back into your pocket before you can fuss over it anymore than usual, and that's when you catch the sound of metal clanging against metal. It's distinct. It's coming from the second floor hallway.

Shit.

You rush up the stairs none too carefully, cursing that you couldn't take them two by two, and when you finally get to the second floor, the banging only grows louder. A glance back at the party assures you no one else is following.

It takes a turn down another hallway before you see a drunken couple standing at an iron gate, one holding their heels and drink in hand and the other positioning a fire poker over the latch. As soon as you spot them, the one with the fire poker drives it into the padlock on the handle and snaps it right off.

"Hey!" You call, and the two of them look to you, giggling like school children. The one with the fire poker puts it to the side, flashing you with a too-straight smile that is meant to put you at ease. It does nothing of the sort. "You can't be up here."

"Sorry, we were trying-" She hiccups, giggling into her hand, "-we were trying to get to the roof, but this place is fucking huge."

The closer you get, you realize that the gate is sealing off an elevator shaft. There's only one button, however, and it points downward.

Sweeping the broken padlock off the floor, the couple shuffle out of your way. "Well, this isn't it, but I'm sure if you ask the nice British man downstairs how to get there, he'll tell you." And then, for good measure, "And don't tell him you were up here or you're never coming back."

The two of them look sober enough to understand, but they're still enjoying themselves as they make their way back downstairs. You watch them go the entire way. If they didn't heed your warning, you'd get the brunt of his anger over this.

You set the padlock down on a nearby table and pick up the fire poker, unsure where they would've snatched it from. You only hoped they hadn't sneaked into any of the rooms to get it.

And then, you wonder where the hell this leads to.

There's the elevator at the front door, the one that each and every one of you had arrived in, but when you pull back the iron gate and peek inside, there aren't any floor numbers. There's two buttons: one that goes up, and one that goes down.

The inside shakes when you step in. For a moment, you wonder if it had been locked because it was out of order, and your heart drops to your stomach thinking that it might drop down a height of sixty stories all at once, but it steadies eventually. It's clear it hasn't been changed, just one part of a fitting antique carved into the other world that is Wayne Tower.

There's a weak white light that buzzes overhead and those two buttons. Curiosity itches.

Whatever was down there, whatever this thing led to, the Waynes didn't want anyone to find it. The "precautions" Dory had mentioned came to mind.

But if they didn't want anyone to find it, why throw a party here where two stupid drunks could wander off and break into it?

You're sure Alfred didn't imagine anyone would come at it with a fucking fire poker, but it had been that easy.

Your eyes burn into the button. That'd be so easy, too.

If you gave into your desire, allowed yourself to push it and someone found you, you'd be fired. You could be stripped of your license for violation of patient privacy, enough HIPAA rules broken in the time it takes to satiate your curiosity. Wayne Enterprises would sue you into oblivion. Jersey would no longer be a question. Nothing would save you.

But there was something down there that you needed to see. You knew it. Felt it like claws burrowing into the wrinkles of your brain.

Your finger twitched at your side and you saw Bruce's face in your mind, all sad eyes and something hidden beneath his skin. He'd wanted you to come, wanted you to work for him—clearly against Alfred's better judgement—and he would trust you not to go any further. Even though he doesn't know you.

Some indignant part of you thinks that isn't your problem.

That same indignant part of you, the part that had convinced you to run with wolves as a teenager, gave in.

The elevator kicked up, so loud you worried everyone in the party could hear it, but then it began its descent with its steady whirring. You held on tight as it dropped floor after floor after floor after floor.

It must've been twenty years or maybe a minute and a half. The elevator comes to a shaky stop. A door outside the gate slides open, revealing... darkness. Absolute, all-consuming darkness.

The meager light above you does very little to light your way as your heart jumps into your throat, regret bubbling up in your chest. You can hear small chittering sounds from within the darkness and dripping like leaky pipes. You're hesitant to pull back the gate, more than eager to leave this a mystery unsolved. You're not entirely sure that if you were to step out into the abyss, you wouldn't fall into Hell's mouth.

But then, light fills up the darkness.

Giant, white stage lights flicker on one by one straight ahead and the first thing you see is a car covered by tarp, elevated on a platform at the heart of the room. There are tools laid haphazardly around the ramps, as if whoever had left them there had abandoned them in a hurry. You can't see much else from this angle except a grungy, muddy mountain bike with its helmet hanging off the handle.

A garage. The big, scary void was a garage. Your heart falls back into place with a dusting of shame crawling up your neck.

You're about to take yourself back to the penthouse when you startle at the sound of a voice—no, voices—echoing off the walls of the garage. None of it makes sense at first; the discussion starts up like you'd just walked into earshot, as if they'd been talking the entire time and you'd only just started paying attention.

You touch a hand to the gate and peek further into the room, pushing it back to let you out. You're cautious, eyes flitting to and fro to find the source of the voices, but all you see are tables and computer screens and a TV just a ways away from you, having flicked on with the power. Seconds later, you recognize the voices. Newscasters. News 7 WGOT to be exact.

What really captures your attention is the darkness that hadn't been chased away by the lights. There are sconces all along the walls that keep the main area lit, an area you realize looks an awful lot like a subway terminal, but they cease at the cutoff of the platform. The lights are bright enough to show some of what lies ahead: train tracks.

You step further into the room, examining the peculiarities: a car engine here, a microscope there, subwoofers packed on top of subwoofers, tables and desks and computer screens everywhere.

A desk near the center of the room catches your eyes next. There are radio transmitters, files, and lamps scattered about the surface. None of it resembles the pristine study upstairs, what you assumed was Bruce's personal base of operations. No, this desk looked lived in. The two or three empty mugs lined up by a table leg tells you as much.

What kind of business could a CEO get done down here? The place smelled of mildew and you could feel the vibrations of trains running above ground.

Your eyes flicker over a leather-bound journal and a handful of folders, your eyes catching on names that only sort of tickle your brain. Names you've heard recently. Names you've heard upstairs. Did he have files on everyone at the party? The level of detail wasn't surprising, not for someone with his kind of position. You doubted he would take a chance on anyone that he invited after last year.

You brush a thumb over one when you catch a name that you don't recognize as quickly. Ironic. It belongs to you.

You snatch the file without thinking, flipping open the cover to see your headshot scanned off your medical ID badge, but there are other photos. One of you and the rest of your department, another of you mid-handshake with the Dean of your alma mater. Publicly available stuff. Except for one you've never seen before. It's candid, though the heavy beating of your heart in your ears is making it hard to determine when it could've been taken. It looks recent. Somewhere outside of Gotham General. You were still in scrubs, completely unaware.

With these types, it wasn't unusual to hire a private investigator before hiring on a complete stranger, let alone one who managed your very life and well-being. You kept telling yourself that, swallowing down the rising unease in your gut, when you made the mistake of turning the page.

There was a picture there that no one should have access to. Your fingers shook as they ghosted over the black and white image, the shock in your eyes, the barely captured tremor in your jaw.

Every single feeling came rushing back to you all at once as if you were 16 again. Standing still in an alleyway. Watching her blood splatter the concrete. Staring down the barrel of the same gun as it turned on you, promised you would be next.

Some names were redacted, but you could tell from the first few lines of the police report beneath your mugshot that it was exactly what you feared it would be. He shouldn't have this.

Panic rises in your throat. You can't keep the nausea down, the growing urge to vomit up your last two drinks onto the paper. Maybe you'd ruin it completely and then... and then...

It still happened. You couldn't change that.

The entire terminal rattles and pulls you out of your shock. A train was passing right above you, sending bolts and screws clattering to the ground. You accidentally drop the file and one of the screens flickers on.

There were four different feeds—camera feeds. CCTV. One of the living room, one of the kitchen, one of the foyer, and one of the second floor. All four wink away, replaced by new angles, and you realize with a chill that one of them is pointed down the hallway leading to the elevator. If these were recording... if Bruce watched back the feed...

You tremble in place, waiting as the feeds are replaced with new ones. You wait for one that would confirm you had stepped into the elevator, had come down here. You wait for the killing blow.

But it doesn't come. There's one camera in that hallway, pointed at such an angle that, really, there's no way to tell if you got on or not. It's all you need to put your file back and rush out of there.

Your teeth are chattering as you climb back into the elevator, shut the gate, and let it take you back to the penthouse, but your mind isn't with you right now. It's back there, years ago. It's reeling. It's thinking he knows, he knows and this all must be a trick. He hired you and he knew. He knew and he let you in his house, let you find that couple, let you think you had a choice to get this far because he knew the truth and the truth was that you would take a chance like this because it took one night and her brains blown out of her head and Bruce would be waiting to arrest you because you never changed-

The elevator comes to a stop. Your name is called in that same moment, and you quickly hurry off the elevator and shut the gate just in time for Alfred to appear.

You probably look incriminating enough, all wild-eyed, but all Alfred does is release a deep, deep sigh. Then, he walks over to you and examines the broken padlock and the guilty weapon in your hand. You hadn't realized you still held it. You've turned the metal warm with how tightly you grip it. "No one got on, yes?" Is all he says.

You nod.

Alfred seems to think that's enough. He holds out a hand for the fire poker and you eagerly hand it over, "I met your friends a moment ago. They've been sent home. I'm afraid letting them onto the rooftop would've resulted in a lawsuit."

It takes you a second to register that he's joking, a second longer to laugh with him, however shaky, "They got as far as breaking the lock before I stopped them."

"Lucky as they were. This elevator's broken."

You blink, "Is it?"

"I'm afraid so. That's why we keep it locked. Who knows what could've happened if someone had stepped inside?"

You did.

"I believe Bruce was looking for you," Alfred offers, and you notice the slight edge to his voice. The forced smile on his face is all it takes for you to be certain, "It appears the mayor would like to hear about your work at Gotham General."

It's an out. You'd be stupid not to take it, "Right. Thanks. Good luck with the... door."

[itadore-you]

just for me

pairing: katsuki bakugo x gn!reader w/c: ~ 1k c/w + context: comfort fic. big ass panic attack. if this may trigger you, pls steer clear of this one!

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The violet void of the night has claimed you as a victim once again. It has invisible toothpicks for nails that pry open your eyelids for inspection, declaring you blind. 

"Are you scared yet?" It rasps.

You tremble, because you already know what it'll say next.

Nothing. It won't say a word.

Its silence prompts your subconscious to speak for itself, letting the undead scream. Once they're woken, there's no shutting them up. The voices don't come alone. Like a pretty Russian doll, there's always more. Hordes of images; so much that you have seen. They blot across your vision, so viscerally colourful against the dark of night. You're certain that you will die.

All of a sudden, the dark grows hands that hold onto yours - they're smooth, they're warm, and they … aren't to be trusted when you get like this. 

Your first instinct is to slap them away. Nothing is safe in the minefield of your mind.

"It's me," murmurs a low voice from beside you. "I'm right here."

"Kats- Katsuki?" 

You sound broken. It makes him grit his teeth, knowing what's happening to you. It doesn't happen often, but it happens often enough that he knows the signs. He knows how to help, but not how to fix, and it pains him. Quickly he illuminates the room with a light spark from one of his palms, the crackle emphasizing his presence.

"Yes," he continues to slowly reassure you. "Me. Katsuki. I'm right here."

He wishes he could promise it. He wishes that he could fight alongside you. Blow it all up, leaving those nocturnal demons charred and in pieces. He knows, that even by being here right now, it's not going to stop it on its own. He's reached a limit that he can't force himself through. 

He takes in a deep breath as he holds your hands a little tighter, and he continues. 

"Squeeze my hands back."

It takes several moments for you to manage the movement. These "attacks" often leave you fucking paralysed after all. But once you grip Katsuki's hands, you keep squeezing, tighter and tighter. 

He smiles a little at that, knowing that it's somewhat broken the trance. 

"Good. You can keep going." 

He doesn't mind it, no matter how hard it hurts, because he won't let you keep feeling so hurt, all alone. He still remembers seeing your first episode, the uselessness that weighed down his heart as he watched the person he loved whilst he did nothing, he couldn’t do anything. Never again. 

Never.

You hold onto him tighter over the next couple of minutes. Slowly he offers his arms, and eventually, you accept his embrace - he knows to not constrict you fully in his arms, but instead help you feel grounded. 

It takes time before the tempo of your breathing matches his, no longer shallow and rapid. Even in the dark, you can now find the fierce red of his eyes meeting yours. He knows to hold your gaze like this, to silently reassure you that you’re going to be OK. 

He whispers a couple of words, asking if you feel like you can stand. He doesn't let go of your hand as he gets you on your feet, motivating you to move with him as he ambles over to the side of your shared bedroom. 

It's nice, not to remain curled up beneath a duvet until you sweat buckets, and you can’t tell the difference between perspiration and tears. 

Katsuki notices the vacant look in your expression as you motionlessly stand next to him. He's got to be careful now, because that break of clarity is not always the ‘calm after the storm’. Sometimes it comes right back, striking fast like a viper. 

The click of your kettle sounds and an impending crescendo ensues as the water boils. The sound is like a pleasant white noise that fills the empty air, static that your brain can't be louder than. You could swear that you kept the kettle in the kitchen, not in here. Katsuki must have brought it, as well as the cup he grabs from seemingly nowhere, and the faint aroma of chamomile starts to arise in the room. 

Another click from the kettle, alerting you both that the water has finished boiling. As Katsuki pours the stream of water into the cup, the smell of chamomile grows stronger. You notice that your lungs seem to expand double the size from before, breathing in the calming scent. 

Bakugo lifts the steaming cup to you, watching as you take deep breaths. He knows you like the smell and taste of the tea. It's something so basic, so seemingly trivial, but it works. 

Out of all your five senses, he's the one that makes the most sense. Bakugo stands before you, untainted and real - more real than what was happening inside of your mind.

He stays with you like that for a while, waiting for the tea to cool down so you can drink it. In the meantime, he talks about a couple of things. He brings up some stupid banter from the conference room yesterday; still finding it stupid, but knowing that you'd find it funny. He mentions, on the side, that he wants to buy some poppy seeds for your garden. It sounds random, but each one of Katsuki's words is chosen with care to distract you from your thoughts.

All the while, he can see a spark start to come back in your eyes. They’re no longer as dull and dead as they were before. 

He's glad.

He’s not going to ask if you feel better.

He already knows.

[anyon-else]

— how they sleep w/ gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen, choso, toji fushiguro, nanami kento – main masterlist

— warnings: nsft! (minors dni), smut, fingering, cockwarming, oral (f receiving), riding

GOJO SATORU | the big spoon

he likes being the big spoon simply because he likes to use those lanky limbs to pull you as close as possible.

sometimes he'll just wrap his arms around you and hug you close, the epitome of the big spoon.

however, sometimes when he's feeling especially clingy, he'll throw a leg over you or hook his foot around your ankles to force your legs between his. he just likes being all tangled up with you, and he likes the feeling of your body fitting perfectly against his.

this position also gives him great access.

he loves when both of you wake up all sleepy and he can just reach down and play with your clit or stuff you full of his fingers. lazy morning sex is his jam, he can't get enough of it.

sometimes you try to move and face him so you can make him feel good too, but he'll just tighten his grip on you so that your back stays pressed tight to his chest, claiming that he likes having you this close while he feels you come around his fingers.

he also likes that he can whisper right into your ear, and it's always something like "mm, sound so pretty. gonna come just from this? i've barely even started." PLEASE i love him

SUKUNA RYOMEN | chest to chest

there's a couple of reasons for this. first, he likes that you're completely at his mercy while you sleep. you're pretty much trapped with the way his arms circle around you. deep down, he just likes being trusted so deeply.

he also likes that you know he could keep your safe. you don't need to have your arms free, and you don't need to be able to see your surroundings because he's there, and he can take care of anything that dares enter your home.

the main reason, though, is because he can relax at night with your warm walls wrapped around his cock.

cockwarming is his jam. if he's feeling generous, he'll rub your clit and suck dark bruises into your neck and chest until you come, but most nights he'll just make you sit there and take what he's willing to give.

CHOSO | the little spoon

choso loves the feeling of being hugged, and if he can have that feeling all night long? sign him up.

he honestly doesn't even need that much sleep, but he'll sleep as much as you do just so you can spoon him. he loves it when you run your fingers over his arms, chest, stomach, literally anywhere you can reach. just always be touching him and he's a happy man.

every now and then after you both wake up, he'll enjoy it if you stay in that position while you wrap a hand around his dick, slowly bringing him to his climax. choso is so soft and mushy for you in the morning, so if you say that you want to please him, he'll like press further back against you and guide your hand down.

most times though, he just wants to please you. if he dies between your thighs he can die happy.

sit on his face. he can't get enough of that shit. in the morning you're both pretty slow and languid with your movements, so he'll take his time with you. could spend hours beneath you if you didn't have to get out of bed and face the day.

TOJI FUSHIGURO | just lay directly on top of him

he loves it so much. he loves to just feel all of your body weight on him, you become like his own personal blanket. and he can squeeze your ass. it's perfect.

he's always liked sleeping on his back, but he also wants as much contact as possible, so the first time you slept together he literally man-handled you until you were completely on top of him, and then settled in looking like the happiest motherfucker in the world.

waking up to you on top of him is his favorite. loves loves loves when you ride him in the morning. he can just barely open his eyes, and he's still exhausted in the morning, but he forces himself to be alert enough that he can watch you fuck yourself on his cock.

literally just wake him up with a kiss and then surprise him with morning sex, you'll have him wrapped around you finger.

[intriq]

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Scabious

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

Theme: Angst

Character: Dick Grayson

Word Count: 855

scabious; unfortunate love

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎┍━━━━━»•» 🌺 «•«━┑

Dick had always been your close friend. Your close best friend. The best friend you fell in love with.

But he didn't feel the same. He loved someone else, not you. He loved Kory. Not you.

Even though he'd rejected you, made it known he only ever thought of you as a friend, you still loved him. Loved him so much that it made your lungs hurt and fill with flowers.

Which is how it lead to now.

Your both on patrol together, like always. Except the only difference being your waning strength as the flowers in your lungs greedily consume you, growing off that suffocating love you've got for Dick Grayson himself.

One particularly nasty cough makes Dick turn to you, worry evident all across that pretty face of his. "You sure you are in any condition to be on patrol tonight?"

"I'm fine, trust me." You reply in return, crumpling those bloody flower petals in the palm of your hand that you'd just coughed up moments before. "Just allergies kickin' my ass."

"C'mon, there's something you aren't telling me here." Dick's gaze locks on your own, even if your gaze is focused on the city below. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Dick. It's just a stupid cough from allergies, I'll be fine in a few weeks." You lie instantly, refusing to meet his gaze.

Dick is almost upset that you insist on lying to him. Did you really think he wouldn't notice the signs? The bloody flower petals that you've been coughing up?

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Dick's tone is enough to make you flinch. "You think I didn't notice those flowers you've been coughing up?"

"Nothing get's past you, huh?" You weakly laugh, a pained smile on your face before you begin to cough again, more flowers stained a deep red by your blood falling into your waiting palm.

"How long?"

"Few months now, I think."

"There's a way to fix this, right? There has to be. I can't lose you."

Your face scrunches up, contorted into pain. You barely had any time life, really. Very little of it. Sure, it was selfish to keep on loving Dick, even if he was begging for you to keep living. But in order to keep living, you had to get rid of your feelings for him. And you, in all honestly, didn't wish to do so.

Dick doesn't say anything. He can tell from that saddened look on your face that there isn't a whole lot that can be done, a whole lot left to do. That you don't have time to do anything else about it.

So perhaps it's the desperation over the fact he doesn't want to lose his best friend that makes him take your hand and pull you closer and kiss you.

He doesn't quite like you the same way you like him, but it'll do something, right? It has to. Dick doesn't want to accept any other answer for it. He needs it to account for something, to do something.

You pull away almost instantly, violently coughing up more flowers. Because Dick's desperate attempt to fix you, only worsens the problem. And when you can finally breath again after coughing more flowers into your own lap, speckled in crimson, you speak.

"Dick, please. Don't force yourself. Don't force yourself to pretend as if you feel the same way I do. Please."

"I may not love you, but god! You're my family, okay? I care about you. I don't want you to die, especially not because of me!" Dick pleads, holding your hand with both of his at this point. Voice shrill and desperate.

"I know it's selfish but.. God, I can't lose you. You've saved me more times than I can count. I can't lose you. I can't.. Please, please don't leave me alone."

Dick's voice is pitiful, pathetic. Selfish, but pathetic. Weak. And not only that, but he's crying. Sobbing, even. All because you're dying.

"Dick, please. Either way you'd wind up alone and without me. I love you. But not in the way you love me.”

Dick opens his mouth, as if to protest what is you’re saying, but he pauses when you continue to speak.

“You don't love me the way I wish you would. I love you. Not a friends kind of love. You don't love me the way I wish you would."

You're the one who should be crying. You're the one whose dying, after all. But yet here you are, hands reaching up to wipe away Dick's tears instead.

After a bit more back and forth, begging from Dick, your answer stays the same. You refuse to get the surgery, no matter how hard it makes Dick cry over this revelation.

But when weeks pass, and your final day is dawning upon you, Dick is there. Even if he can't stand to watch you die, you deserved someone by your side, at least.

So you die while Dick holds your hand with both of his. You grow cold and limp in his grasp as the final flower in your lungs bloom a beautifully macabre shade of deep, dark crimson.

A flower that blooms as a result of your pitiful and unfortunate affection.

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[loganwritesprobably]

Cross Guild Soulmates AU

When you turn 16, you begin being able to write to your soulmate by writing on your skin. Anything you write there will disappear, and reappear on the skin of your soulmate for some time. The words will appear on their skin, even if they're not yet 16.

The first time you touch your soulmate, an inky black mark appears in the shape of the contact that you made. This mark is permanent, and only happens the first time you touch. Think of it like a tattoo.

You also cannot lie to your soulmate, even if you don't know that they're your soulmate. You can avoid the truth, or hide things, but you cannot outright lie.

Crocodile believing himself to be unlovable. When he was young, he'd write to his soulmate(s) and get no response. They were not interested in him, and so when he lost his hand, his hand that he'd used to write, he took that as a sign to stop.

Buggy didn't care about who his soulmate was, he had been taught to forge his own path, and so he chose Shanks. They were going to sail the world together, and truly if they were meant for their soulmates then they'd find them on their journey.

Mihawk had goals and ambitions that didn't involve finding his soulmate. His parents had been soulmates and he couldn't bare the way his father had withered away after his mother died, and so he had no desire to find 'true love'.

Crocodile gained his mark after a warlord meeting. He had no clear way of knowing who it belonged to, as he'd brushed against various people, and in some way touched most of the warlords. Part of him knew deep down who created the mark, but he chose ignorance, because he could not be loved.

Buggy gained his marks after Marineford. At the end of the battle, surrounded by his large new crew, someone pointed out the marks to him to ask how he'd gotten them. Buggy wasn't sure. It had been chaotic, and he'd been struck so many times that there was no way to know who had touched him, even the shape of the marks.

Mihawk was so careful not to be touched, in fear of finding his soulmate, and so he didn't gain his marks until he was living on Karai Bari as a leader of the Cross Guild.

Cross Guild is filled with tension, and not just Buggy worrying about being killed.

The person to break the ice first is Crocodile. He decides that he's done being nervous, or shy, he and Mihawk are friends and if nothing else them being soulmates is a show of that. He waits until he's alone in his office to write on his arm.

"Hello Mihawk"

Mihawk has suspicions that he has two soulmates, but doesn't share that with Crocodile in the midst of their night of passion. For now, he's content to be selfish because Crocodile is one hell of a lover.

Just something so small and simple but it tells Mihawk everything he needs to know because he recognises that handwriting as clear as day.

Buggy doesn't question that he struggles to lie to Mihawk and Crocodile, he trusts that it is just his instincts telling him how best to survive the horrible life he'd landed himself in.

Until he feels the truth about his feelings for Shanks being forced from his mouth in response to a cruel attempt at humour from Crocodile. Buggy knows what it means immediately, and he feels a ghostly burning from one of his soulmate marks and he just begs that Crocodile didn't notice.

Crocodile did, and he retreats to find Mihawk to discuss exactly what had happened. They find themselves upset that Buggy is their soulmate, not because they don't want him but because of what they've done to him.

Crocodile's mother had waxed poetic about soulmates, encouraging Crocodile to find his before she died, because he deserved that. She never found hers, and look where she ended up.

Mihawk had witnessed how sickeningly in love his parents were, and how much their soulmate bond had meant to them. It'd meant so much to his father that he'd rather die than be without his soulmate.

The pair of them spent the evening in silent mourning because what would their parents think of them now, knowing they'd been ignoring their soulmate for so long, and hurting him too. Their soulmate.

They spent the next two weeks subtly spoiling the clown. They gave him less work, didn't lay a hand on him, were less cruel, presented secret gifts, with unsigned notes. They did everything that they could to convey affections before approaching him.

Buggy knew that something was wrong. He figured it was pity after what he'd said, and Buggy hated to be pitied. He confronted them both in the meeting room, and only when he lay his hands on Crocodile's chest to push him back did the clown realise his mistake. Hand print shaped marks bloomed over Crocodile's pectorals, disturbing the twin scars that rested there.

In a panic, Buggy attempted to flee but was prevented by Mihawk.

"He's mine, but he's also yours. I need to know if you are mine too."

Mihawk knew the truth, he did, he knew Buggy bore a mark on his shoulder that had come from him but he needed to see the mark creep onto his own skin.

So Buggy reached out and took Mihawk's hand, and watched in both fascination and horror as a mark coloured the skin he'd been touching.

It took some work, and some serious getting used to, but they learned. They were soulmates, they were destined to learn. They still did things wrong and made mistakes, sometimes they hurt each other but they always apologised.

Cross Guild, a powerful organisation, built on love of the truest kind. Davy Jones help anyone who wanted to come between them.

[malewifeharem]

YK I WAS TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT OM STOOD FOR.. ANYWAY CAN WE GET BELPHIE IN THE YAN ALPHABET HOUSE PLEASE :3 ☁️

yandere!belphegor alphabet

彡- ,, yandere om! belphegor alphabet (template from @dear-yandere eheheheh)

cw ⁞ OMSWD CHAPTER 16 SPOILERS, death threats, violence, manipulation, just general yandere behaviour??? not proofread.

an ⁞ lmk if there are any other warnings i should add!

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

he loves cuddling and napping with you. it may not seem like he loves you — the only sign of affection you receive, being cuddles and naps. but trust me, his love for you is INTENSE... he has slaughtered many people for you. past lovers, bullies, any and all who have wronged you.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

he's willing to eliminate anyone for you. it can get very messy... lucifer has had to call for help to clean up evidence before. although his older brother tries his best to clean up after him, word still got out about the youngest's aggressive tendencies — simply because he leaves too many crime scenes behind, it's almost impossible to clean them all in such a short time. he's probably thought of eradicating the whole of purgatory hall and diavolo's castle too.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

100%. you've heard him call you the meanest names before. he will always remind you of your place as a human —you'll always be inferior to him, like his little pet.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

putting you to sleep when and wherever he likes. arguing with him? go to sleep, maybe you'll start talking sense when you wake. out in public? he suddenly feels like you've spent too long outside, go to sleep, he'll take you home.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

he doesn't tell you much, other than reports of only some of his victims. he keeps most of his carnal, deranged thoughts to himself. you're still well aware of his mania through his actions but you'll never know how deep his violent rabbit hole goes.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

if he's in a good mood, he might play along, just don't take it too far. if he's not, he'll lazily warn you first. if that doesn't work, he'll threaten you — reminding you of what he's done, what he can always do. if you decide to continue being a 'brat', he won't hesitate to wring your neck — not too harshly, he still needs to keep you around.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

he thinks it's amusing. he forces you test his limits and wear skimpy clothes out and visit the dangerous places he's warned you about. he'll let you go out and 'have your fun' but he's stalking your every move — like you're his prey. he likes feeling jealous of the other people around you so he can 'reclaim' you back at home. (read N for what happens at home hehe)

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

you went too far with your 'teasing' one night and it ended in him strangling you with his tail again. you were seeing all black, your struggling limbs almost giving out on you. you genuinely thought you were going to succumb to the same demon again, but he eventually let go of you. it took you awhile to recover — laying on the floor, having a coughing fit and your vision still barely coming back. he stared down at you before letting out a satisfied "hmph." maybe you'll learn your lesson this time.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

believe it or not, he does imagine marriage with you. you, walking down the aisle in a beautiful wedding dress, towards him. he'll prepare a ring for you once you've settled down with him and stop fighting back. (he won't be doing any chores in the rs)

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

he stirs up his own feelings of jealousy so it's kind of his fault. he likes possessing you and claiming you as his. whether or not its by punishments or marking you physically. (should i make a nsfw continuation of this...?)

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

he loves the scent of you —stealing pieces of your clothing to smell and sleep with. he'll stick his nose as deep into your neck as he can to get the essence of you into his system. this is part of why he loves cuddling and napping with you too — holding you closely and wrapping his tail and limbs around you.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

he does get broody if you hang out around other people other than beel. anyone else from HoL, purgatory hall and especially diavolo and barbatos are completely off limits to you. before he started acted aggressively, he would defensively lurk around you to make sure no one got too affectionate with you. when you notice him, he has to clutch his shirt to stop his thumping heart from beating out of his chest. surely this means you appreciate his protection!

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

nope. he acts aggressively towards everyone but beel. everyone close to the brothers are aware of his hostility and have tried reasoning with him before but has basically given up. diavolo has tried restraining the youngest brother again but lucifer has promised to keep his violence at bay.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

oh... he's cruel. if he's lenient, he'll give you nightmares in your sleep. if you've been disobedient, good luck... he'll wrap his tail around your neck, giving it a tight squeeze — reminding you of your previous end. you never know if he'll actually take your life again — that's what's most scary. he knows how much it terrifies you but he's a demon baby, it's what they do.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

your health is constantly at risk after your body has had to endure multiple chokings but proper healthcare isn't available to you. the only medication you'll get is some ointment meant for demon burns.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

it depends on his mood. he's very unpredictable, with his patience levels fluctuating very often — making him all the more dangerous.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

he would be in a state of pure disbelief for months, hallucinating and dreaming versions of you. then, he'll move onto finding ways to bring you back or pray that you'll return back to him in hell. (we all goin to hell for even reading this bffr)

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

although he lets you roam around devildom somewhat freely, he'll never completely let go of you. you're his to keep and possess.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

being locked up in the attic created attachment issues in him. he finds a need to claim you and feel wanted by you. when you come running back to him, he feels euphoria — even if you're forced to.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

he feels uneasy, not knowing how to confront the situation directly so he uses the only method he knows. putting you to sleep is the easiest way for him to sedate you and calm you down. isolating yourself breaks his heart but he'll try his best to break your defensive stance and get you to come and cuddle to ease the tension away.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

(i'll skip this since i still dont't know the definition of a classic yandere TT)

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

if you could somehow find a way to possess a spell book, you could try finding a way to create a clone of you while the real you goes to find diavolo or barbatos. they have the authority and power to guard you from him and lock him back in that attic. lucifer will definitely be disappointed that he's failed to protect you again but you've had enough.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

yes. (read F and N)

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

he treasures whatever affection you spare him and he secretly worships the ground you walk on. he doesn't try to win you over because there is no one for him to compete for him the begin with! none of them can fight him if they're all six feet below ground.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

he could only stand watching you from afar for a few months before snapping. he couldn't go on any longer without you in his room, in his arms, under his control and claim.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

yes yes yes and yes. he doesn't care if you lose your mind, then you'll be even more susceptible to his manipulation. you'll be much more obedient and finally stop whining and struggling all the damn time!

[justanotherblogger]

Random Rambles And Theories About Alastor Go!

Ok, so right now I am on a high with all the recent Alastor lore we've been blessed with in Hazbin Hotel, and this little murderer has been occupying my mind 24/7. I really need to get all my theories and rambles out that I don't see a lot of people talking about.

(BTW, before my ramble, I have seen many places say he was mixed race as a human, but if I am wrong, please let me know, because this delves deep into that with his human life.)

(Also be warned for a bit of gore/violence and that this thing is kind of long)

Now let's begin!

I'll start with the most talked about theory with Alastor: his connections with Lilith and why he reacted the way he did with Lucifer

The show has given us what many people think are hints to this with both of them gone for 7 years, the slight eye twitch in the pilot when he looked at liliths portrait, Alastor showing up right after Charlie finished voicmailing her mom also in the pilot, how he knew about Charlie's Daddy Issues before she seemed to have told anyone, the leash comment from Husker, and how Alastor reacted to Lucifer.

Now, all of these could be chalked up to Alastor having some sort of nice relations to Lilith, but some of these are a bit too far stretched to just be because he has interacted nicely with Lilith in my eyes.

I have seen many people talk about how Alastor must have gotten a bad impression of Lucifer because either him and Lilith are besties and talk crap about him after the split, or he listened to her complaints about him and got an impression off of that to dislike him this much right off the bat in episode 5.

But I don't think that's it. We see how badly Alastor reacted to the leash comment by Husker, which definitely isn't a good sign that he would even trust the words of whoever is holding that 'leash' against him. He seemed pushed over the edge, vulnerable enough to lash out, which is unlike himself. Whatever deal he made for his soul, was most likely under threat, a life or death choice.

This is why I think he despises (most likely) Lilith or whoever has that 'leash' on him. He lashes out, sensitive about the subject. After gaining so much power over the overlords, he suddenly gets toppled over again by someone of (most likely) higher status, being forced into an unwilling contract, now just another pawn that this demon(?) can use for their own desires, and he doesn't want to be that, he needs to make his own decisions. But he doesn't have any say in the matter.

So I think why he was mocking and teasing Lucifer so much was because of his connection with Lilith. Everyone knew how deeply in love they were (before they split) and how they are both the most powerful demons in hell. I think Alastor took a chance to use his pent up anger on Lucifer, trying to get him to hurt as much as he can because of what Lilith did, all the while Lucifer cant do anything too serious leat he upset Charlie. We know he is extremely petty, after all. (we can also see him (most likely) letting off some steam when devouring the loan sharks, with him getting unnecessarily big and just letting loose on a couple of low-tier goons)

I saw another person talk about how Alastor has no power over Lucifer/Lilith, no political power, and he can't beat them in games of wits either. But the one thing that he does have the upper hand on, is their daughter, and I completely agree with that.

Alastor has been there since the beginning, has helped Charlie out and talked with her more than her own Parents had in the last couple of years probably. He's seen how attached the parents are to Charlie, and decided to use that info in full force. Just look at the Lucifer/Alastor duet.

Now that we have my theories of the life and death contract with Lilith, let's go deep into what I think is Alastors character right now:

Alastor, a mixed child in the early 1900's most likely had it really rough. With being treated as less than from both sides for being to dark/light to the violence that he most likely had to endure during his childhood.

This could have been where his anger/obsessive resentment started to simmer up in sporadic bursts over the years and years of belittlement, abuse, and racism.

Like I said before, he was probably treated as less than human for his mixed skin, and Alastor most likely started to hate it. His skin, the people, everything seemed so wrong. Why should the people who beat him and his mother see them so vulnerable and weak. He decided he didn't like that anymore.

So the radio show started. I got this idea from when he said his face was only made for radio. Over the radio, no one ever knew what you looked like. Just your voice would be broadcasted, and no one would ever see who was really behind the microphone unless they stepped out. This seemed like a barrier to Alastor. Letting himself go with no worries about letting people see him vulnerable behind his broadcast. (Maybe that's why he hates TV and modern tech so much; people can see everything about you)

And when his radio show became a hit and people wanted pictures and news? What would protect him then? Simple: his unwavering smile. Reactions are what people want when they crush others. They want to see them wallow and beg cry from what they have done. But Alastor won't let anyone do that to him ever again.

He stands his guard, not letting any comments get to him, keeping charming smile and unwavering voice all throughout his career as a radio host. Keep the smile up, dont have your voice crack, never show weakness. If you stop, those that wait will sink their teeth in and never let go of you. That's what I think a part of his mentality is and is maybe a part of why his smile is stitched on in his demonic form.

Now onto why I think he's a serial killer/cannibal. Remember when I said he had lots of unchecked anger and obsessive resentment? All this now simmering even more while being pushed down by his persona?

This is when he'll break loose.

He usually goes for the ones with the least amount of defense: drunkards/ bar frequenters. I though of this when Mimzy said he used to always come to the bar she was performing at and how he could drink like a sailor.

He might've drank with people to let their guard down in addition to his non-threatening charm, and he probably built a tolerance to be at least a bit sober when the others are full out drunk so he can easily transport and kill them.

He probably enjoys killing/eating his victims because a) it shows how he has power now. How he isn't a helpless victim anymore and he's finally in control of his life or b) where he likes seeing privileged people beaten and bruised for once, the gratification of seeing someone taste their own medicine by his own hand, like revenge, even if that person hadn't been necessarily bad towards him.

His death ro me is the same that everyone else thinks, where he's burying some victims body and gets mistaken for a deer, then shot straight between the eyes. What I do think a bit differently is that he was chased by hunting dogs first, which alerted the hunter for him to get shot, which then led to his fear of dogs.

Then he was finally free to do anything. Hell had no limits, he didn't have to hide his carnage anymore. But now that smile he wore was engraved into his face, almost making it impossible to frown. But that didn't matter. Not right now. Alastor has so many emotions bubbling up that he just wanted blood to be on his hands.

And then he slaughtered the overlords and took their souls within weeks ( maybe months, idk how quick he killed them, but ima go with weeks), broadcasting it over the radio to show everyone what he's been up to.

Alastor had kept this routine for a couple of decades, occasionally getting a guest star on his broadcast by those who he seems fit.

But maybe he had become too cocky with this power high, as he had been attacked by holy weaponry right before the extermination he dealth with most of them, but a shot did make it into his shoulder, causing him to collapse in pain, unable to move. (a bit simple, but I imagine him getting badly hurt by angels/angelic weaponry to lethal levels and Lilith decides to save him)

He fought hard when the angels arrived, of course, but he could only go so far in being this injured. So when he was about to get stabbed in the chest by a holy spear, he was already tired and almost accepted his fate, before being pulled somewhere by Lilith herself.

This is where Lilith offers a beat and broken Alastor a one time deal: become her servant or she'll throw him back to the exterminators herself. And in a situation like this, there's usually only one option you can really take.

And so he was a ghost, leaving everything he had behind. His power, his respect, his freedom...

Now Alastor had become a pawn again. A tool useful for the right situations, and just a toy to be played with by Lilith. This is exactly what he didn't want from his human life. The humility, the disregard, treating him as some sort of street animal, no matter what he did.

And now she orders him to guard her daughters hotel, giving him back a piece of his power to protect the hotel.

Alastor had hated Charlie for how she misused her amazing power for something like redemption.

Alastor hated Lucifer, for having all that power, being the strongest demon in hell, yet taking it for granted while mocking him about his choices.

And Alastor hated Lilith, for trapping him again, and renewing his endless cycle of suffering.

So those are my thoughts about Alastor. I think you can tell he's my favorite. I just love his powers and lore.