#rich hero x poor villain

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Number 28

TW: Injury, angst, exhaustion, mention of suicidal ideation (not sure if that's the right way to describe it, but there's also a wish to never exist), poverty, smoking

Notes: This came out a bit different from my usual style, dialogue is introduced later, dk exactly how long this, read-more used just to be safe. Hope u enjoy, loves <3 < 3

The villain's life had never been particularly easy, nor pleasant in general, but today, it had taken a disgusting turn for the worse even they weren't used to. It wasn't just the fact that they were injured; the wound wasn't too deep, wasn't life-threatening, nor did it really put much of a damper on their ability to move. The criminal was also alone, which wasn't a new experience in any shape or form, but it just wasn't utterly convenient now. They'd always sneered at the idea of teamwork, especially in their line of work because there was no actual guarantee that your so-called partner(s) would not stab you in the back the second it suited them. But still, it's not like little to no reliance on anyone else never came with a price.

The trouble mainly resided in the fact that they had no idea exactly where they were, just that they didn't belong. A high-end neighbourhood without many houses, because each one was the size of a castle anyway, well-manicured lawns and ornate, steel gates. All of it was too much of a stark contrast to the dirty alleyway harbouring Villain's down-trodden one-room apartment. Most villains weren't dirt poor, but most of them hadn't spent most of their money on a college degree, thinking it would lead somewhere, then had all their job prospects ruined by cascading waterfalls of unfortunate circumstances. People who were meant to care for them simply didn't, leaving them to fend for themselves when keeping them around was no longer convenient. The criminal had known nothing but poverty, and sure, there was definitely many a noble way that would pull them out of the squalor they were used to, but the villain was much too spent to care.

Ironic that this was meant to be their "money-maker" mission, pathetically easy too. Just steal some precious artifact from a museum, replace it with a decoy and get away before anyone found out

. . .except all they'd ended up with was Vigilante's knife wedged in their abdomen and swiftly pulled out. They'd run as fast as their exhausted legs could take them, finding themselves here, honestly surprised that there was no one around to judge them, to sneer at how out of place they looked. They just needed a map, anything to find out how far they were from home, a way out, anything to use a makeshift bandage.

Help. They needed help.

And they hated it. Hated the fact that they weren't invincible and hated how they hadn't realised it even sooner. They wanted to scream their throat raw, to tear their hair out, to collapse on the ground and disappear into nothing, like they'd never been. If only the ink on the pages of a miserable story could be erased, could leave its everlasting paper prison. Beautiful, torturous fantasies; where monsters had a life outside of the cages where they belonged.

The all-too familiar smell of cigarette smoke should not have snatched the villain so abruptly out of their thoughts; some of the other inhabitants of their area could starve just to buy a pack, almost always reeking of it wherever they went. They blamed the close proximity for their sudden distraction. Their gaze flitted over to the figure next to them, almost towering above them. The criminal's breath caught in their throat, but the person next to them wouldn't be able to tell. They were just about to force their body into a fighting stance when the person next to them let out a soft chuckle.

"Don't recognise me?" they called out, the corner of their mouth curled upwards in a cheeky smirk.

They'd never seen Hero without a mask on, but they could tell that voice apart from thousands more. There was nothing peculiar about it per se, aside from its strange calmness, the way it was so hard to discern any emotions in their tone.

If the hero's smirk hadn't morphed into a slightly bigger smile, the villain would have forgotten to close their agape mouth. In all honesty, they hadn't expected the crime-stopper to be rich. They'd seen heroes with much fancier super-suits anyway. In a stark contrast to the them, the hero's clothes fit them perfectly; a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, left slightly open to expose their collarbones and a pair of slacks, both designer. An diamond-studded watch adorned their left hand, a cigarette clutched in their right, smoke trailing out of it in phantom shapes. They looked a bit younger than the criminal expected, a bit more carefree.

"Is the smoke irritating?' they asked, concerned, snapping the villain out of their thoughts once more.

It wasn't. The faux concern in the hero's tone was, though. Or that was how they saw it. Of course, like most of the elite, they were well-trained in the art of preserving their image with fake charms.

The villain merely shook their head, and at that, the hero gave them a small frown, one eyebrow raised up discontentedly. "You usually chew me out every time we fight. What's got you so quiet?"

The villain wanted to scream. Wasn't it obvious? What were they next to the crime-stopper in their goddamn territory, injured, exhausted and hungry, not having eaten a proper meal in days. They despised how immaculate the hero looked, with their freshly styled hair, their build that seemed to grow stronger as the villain's own simply diminished. "Shut up," they growled, voice dangerously low, "SHUT THE HELL UP, PLEASE!"

The hero's eyes widened, and they threw their practically dead cigarette into a trash can close to them, wanting to focus their full attention on the criminal in front of them. They'd never seen their feelings betray them like that before, as they bounced off of the hero with detached sarcasm. Something flashed in their emerald greens, an emotion the villain had almost never seen before. Not contempt or apathy, not even pity. Understanding. Raw, and if their weary mind wasn't playing any cruel tricks on them, more real than anything they'd ever seen.

"I'm just sick of it all," they breathed out, practically slouching against a tree.

"I know," the hero replied softly, gently laying a hand on the villain's wrist, and they were surprised at themselves for not pushing it away. Maybe it was because they didn't really remember an instance where a touch did not inflict pain.

And right before the villain could ask the hero incredulously just how they knew precisely what was wrong with their life, the crime-fighter was quick to answer. "I always do a bit of research on the people I fight. I have to admit, you're kind of a ghost, but I have my ways."

The villain knew their face had rapidly turned an embarrassed shade of scarlet at the hero's statements, subconsciously pulling her hand away from them.

"I want to help," they clarified, "I can help."

Villain let out a hoarse, empty laugh. "I don't need you to throw your cash at me. What's the point? For me to be indebted to you for the rest of my life? To be nothing and only have any value because of you and your money?" they hissed, nostrils flaring.

"Do you really think that someone offering you help makes you weak or worthless? No matter how high-achieving you are, some things are left to chance. Love it or hate it, you'll never hold totalitarian control over your life."

"That doesn't change anything!" Villain cried out incredulously, inching closer to Hero, practically in their face, their bated breath warm against their skin.

"I wasn't born rich," the hero attested, "I grew up on the streets. One thing they don't tell you about getting rich is that you also need to get lucky as hell. Hard work alone won't just cut it. I used to steal to eat, too. So stop being a bastard and let me help you."

"Please," they added hastily, laying their hands on the villain's shoulders their grip firm but gentle.

"Why?"

"Because you don't deserve this? Because I know how talented you are with a keyboard, but you can't even afford a goddamn laptop? Damn it, Villain, you let me live, that time you could have killed me, so now we're even."

They actually used to have a crappy, old machine, being a STEM major, but when they'd somehow become even more broke, they'd had to sell it to not starve to death. They had an under-the-radar hacker phase, if you will. And about letting the hero live, it had been an impulse. Killing the only human being they interacted with made no sense to them, no matter how solitary they claimed to be.

The villain's ego desperately wished for them to refuse, but then what were their options again? They didn't just have their dilapidated life to come back to, there was the wrath of their powerful, mysterious employer. Pride is simply a luxury when one has nothing in their life beyond struggling to survive.

Still, Villain wasn't impulsive. "Say I agree. What does your 'help' entail? How do you I know you won't screw me over?"

"Live with me, and I'll give you your own source of income. Put your skills with a computer to good use. And if I really want to 'screw you over', aren't there faster, easier ways to do it? Like not shutting Vigilante up with some hush money and a few, well-placed threats? Like kicking you in that injury they gave you?" the hero reasoned.

It terrified them, just how much the crime-fighter knew, all those goddamn tricks they had up their sleeve. And maybe it wasn't the 'purest' of comforting thoughts, but the villain knew that if the hero ever decided to stab them in the back, they could use those 'computer skills' to make sure they really payed, that is, if they didn't kill them first.

"Fine," they answered, and the hero smiled at them, an expression that was so incredibly soft, that the villain wondered how they were ever capable of any violence. They snaked an arm around their shoulders, and by God, they were so horribly tired that they didn't care they were practically leaning against the crime-fighter.

✨Time skip✨

The hero's hands were unbearably gentle with their wounds, attentive to the subtle ways in which they expressed pain; the tension in their jaw, the way their fingers tightened around the blanket. Maybe for once, they didn't hate the hero's gift of seeming to notice everything. The moments that went by were quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. They had to admit they appreciated what the silk sheets and the warm shower did for their body, and subconsciously, how they calmed their anxiety, if only by a fraction.

"Just get some rest, and whenever you wake up, I'll have someone make you something to eat downstairs. Up in your room even if you feel like it, just text me if you need anything," the crime-fighter said, setting down an older phone of theirs. Rich people don't need to sell their old stuff, probably. "I'll get you a new one, among other stuff tomorrow, okay?"

The villain nodded their agreement, sinking back into the pillows as the hero walked out. "You're a good person," they blurted out suddenly, shocked at voicing their own impulsive thoughts out loud. Maybe they didn't trust the hero blindly yet, but something completely unrelated to their usually rational approach to life, the same part of them that had let the crime-stopper live told them that they could at least trust them a bit more than they used to.

"I try to be," the hero replied, but they were smiling softly at them again before they closed the door.

Self-sufficiency is powerful, important to the life of anyone who wished for true freedom. But it is not to be confused with the stubborn ignorance of help, with fruitless attempts to be solitary. Refusing the hand that pulls you up from a raging ocean will not grant you any strength, only serving to leave you drowned. Even broken lives can get second chances, don't throw yours away.

✨End✨

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[hadesrise]

murder for you, baby !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ➾ a justifiable serial killer on the loose, and jason finds himself being enamoured by him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➾ jason todd x dbd!ghostface!male reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➾ nsfw content, serial killer themes, dead dove do not eat, sexual arousal in response to violence or torture, murder, blood, deaths, gore, foul language, bottom!jason, top!reader, reader’s physique is described as tall and broad ( the slasher build ), possessiveness, choking, praise kink, blood kink, knife play ( reader carving his initials on jason ), toxic!reader ( ? ), sorta toxic relationship but also not, unprotected sex, love-making, pet names, overstimulation, dumbification, degradation if you squint, lil’ bit of manipulation, creampie, doggy style, mating press, biting, marking, oral ( r. receiving ), voice kink ( ? )

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ➾ not me coming back with halloween themed fic after halloween days have passed lol. i’m alive, y’all !! hope you enjoy this one that took a fucking month to write 😭

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ; this post may contain disturbing contents that may not be suitable for every reader — a reader discretion is advised. MINORS DNI.

Gotham’s been terrorized by the worst people you could ever imagine, the kind that’ll stick with you forever and take residence to your nightmares if you were unfortunate enough. Many were hurt or even murdered as a result of the villains’ terrorization, with vigilantes running through the night to capture and send them to Arkham Asylum.

With the existence of a Psychopathic Clown, his equally psychopathic girlfriend with PHD’s that’s been wasted down the line, the Mother Nature freak, the ridiculously huge man with a gas mask on, the green coloured living question mark, and many others, no one would’ve ever thought anything could get any worse.

Until some criminals’ bodies turn up across the streets in such disturbing manner that haunts the witnesses to death.

One, a criminal who murdered young and homeless boys, gutted deeply to the point of their intestines hanging out. Another, a criminal known for kidnapping and selling people’s organs, mutilated with their torso torn back to expose the organs settled inside of them. Another one, a priest-turned-criminal who’s been violating women and children, crucified naked in his own church with his eyes gouged out, a Bible verse carved in his chest; ‘And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.’ Matthew 18:9; his penis cut off and body seemingly violated as well. Another more turns up, a governor-turned-criminal who’s been feeding into the rich despite their oath of generosity towards the poor, severely tortured with the skin on his back cut open, ribs severed from the spine and broken to the sides in order to create the illusion of wings, fluttering lungs pulled out from their chest cavity to resemble an eagle’s wings, with the word ‘traitor’ carved on his forehead.

The brutality and gruesome nature of the murders has set an alarming panic and fear across Gotham City that forced civilians into locking their doors at night. Criminals who were unidentified and not found by Gotham Police Department were also turning up in a form of miserable, tortured soul, along with the evidence and proofs of their crimes being carelessly laid beside their lifeless corpse.

The killer taunts those who are in charge of justice within their city each time the damned were unfortunate enough to be hunted down; pigs of failure written in the criminal’s blood right beside the drawing of a police’s logo.

However, despite how gruesome and disturbing the murders were, most people couldn’t deny that it was doing the city a favor. Justice System has failed more times than one could count to the extent of victims yearning to exact revenge themselves against their perpetrator, which causes most to react rather positively to the wrongful, unlikely hero who had seem to suddenly appear out of nowhere. The haunted finally getting the chance to slay the traumatic demons with the help of another psychopath on the loose.

Another justified monstrosity shouldn’t be the counter against one inhumane monstrosity that caused so much pain, trauma, and misery. But kindness could not vanquish one’s tainted blood. Forgiveness could not suddenly wash away the sins engraved deeply into one’s soul.

Imperfect, the victims muttered. An imperfect yet perfect way to save our burning souls wrongfully condemned by the criminals.

Red Hood has heard their murmurs.

Silent whispers of gratitude that fell on deaf ears, their previously dim soul brightening in relief and sanctuary with smiles on their faces as the Universe had finally took mercy on them and sent a Fallen Angel to slay the Demons away. He’s watched their spirit uplift, no longer chained down by the trauma and fear of the monsters that once ruined their lives, able to walk the streets carefree of tormentors. He’s watched their stiff posture visibly loosen, lively peacefulness settling itself at last within their haunted eyes. He’s watched them glow with happiness not feeling the presence of their perpetrator every couple of seconds, finally capable of living without needing to constantly look over their shoulders in paranoia and fear.

Ghostface is what the serial killer’s called, nickname born out of the mask that resembled a ghost always being left behind in crime scenes, each slightly different.

Jason has seen you. He didn’t mean to, really.

The temptation to get at least one look at you was great every-time he patrolled, wishing to just catch glimpse of an immoral hero who could make sacrifices no actual heroes could — who’s doing exactly what he wished before for Batman to do.

The Universe seems to have granted his wishes when his eyes catches the void of ghostface’s eyes, your mask tainted in splatters of blood from the dead criminal below you. Jason feels his world come to a stop as you slowly rise from crouching position and reveal your unnaturally tall height, broad shoulders visible under the black hooded leather. You hold silence and calmness despite being caught, tilting your head slightly to the side.

His heartbeat quickens yet he doesn’t feel fear. Jason idiotically steps closer as if he was in a trance, burning your existence within his eyes to engrave in his memory. Your bloody knife barely grazes his neck to stop him before using it to tilt his chin up, your figure looming and towering over him while seemingly staring into his eyes through his helmet.

A sense of peacefulness overcomes Jason being in your presence despite the absolute brutality and mercilessness that surrounded your entire being. You were deadly, silent, certainly creative with your work that it deems almost artistic, as if the criminals’ bodies were your own canvas to paint on — and Jason finds solace in you. A man he always needed, someone who’d be willing to cross the line and get rid of the actual evil for the sake of victims that’d be forever haunted if it continues to exist.

“I’ve heard things about you, Red Hood.”

Low, raspy, monotone voice speaks, sending shivers down his spine. It sounds cool and handsome regardless of the obvious use of voice changer, somehow littered with tiniest hint of flirtatiousness.

It takes him quite a while to answer, barely managing to let out a “yeah?” as he feels you drag the knife slightly closer to his pulse. His heartbeat quickens, but slows down when the cold metal was finally pulled away.

“Pleasant things,” You hummed, before your voice lowered a few octaves, “Can’t say the same about Batman.” Anger seems to seep through your tone that felt a little more than just sympathy for victims of villains Batman refused to put six feet under. Jason wondered if you’re also one of the victims his father failed.

“You… You know him that much?” Jason’s voice shakes from the nerve, your presence somehow greatly affecting him.

“I think everyone knows him enough,” You chuckled, but it sounded so empty that Jason can’t help but feel the goosebumps rise on his skin. It was quite chilling to meet someone who shows only a certain amount of emotion which could even be felt expressionless due to the monotonous pitch. The ghostface mask certainly did its job of making you seem more less human, the unmoving expression of ghost being horrified to death adding to the eeriness of your toneless mechanic voice.

Jason’s breath hitched when you took one step closer.

“But I know more about you. Your little past and the sufferings you’ve endured,” It’s spoken as if his life was one of your necessary investigation in your twisted justice. “It’s unfair, don’t you think? I would’ve gutted the Joker like a fish if it were to happen to my son.” There’s a condescending way in which you spoke, not directed at Jason but to Bruce.

“How—” Jason swallowed. “How did you—”

“I can make your dreams come true,” You interrupted him with a tempting offer, shutting him up effectively. Wide grin plastered your face despite not being seen behind your mask. “I can kill the Clown for you, Red Hood. If it means it’ll silence your troubled spirit. If it’ll bring you peace. I can hurt him on your behalf just like he deserves.”

It was like a whisper from the devil, slithering its way into Jason’s heart and mind to possess his soul, mirroring the one which whispered on Adam and Eve’s ears.

He’s been wanting — needing — to hear those words come out of Bruce. His suffering and death seemingly being brushed off as a cruel accident shattered him more than he’d ever admit, Bruce’s unhealthy coping mechanism and morality getting in the way of showing his love for Jason that left the younger man feel lesser than he was. Bruce was a complex person that’s sometimes difficult to understand, his impressive ways to stick to his morals being exactly his character, but Jason wanted for once, to actually feel how important he was to his father.

Was that too much to ask for, or was he just unworthy of the entirety of it?

“Why would you do that for me?” Confusion and subtle suspicion filled his tone as Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out your intention despite the rush of hope that shot throughout his chest. He forced himself to feel nothing when you leaned in closer.

“Because you were wronged, of course.” You simply stated. “You are a victim. Not more, not less. You deserve a little more than just empty justice. And I’m a man who got tired of vigilantes that are afraid to make sacrifices for the greater good.” Then, you tilt your head slightly to the side in a way that’s somehow alluring. “But I can also say I’m intrigued by you.”

Jason’s heartbeat quickens again when your big hand seems to wrap perfectly around his throat, fingers resting just above his pulse points. It makes such filthy thoughts flood themselves into his mind, your long and quite thick fingers falling victims to his tainted imagination, and he had to give everything in himself not to bare his throat more for you. You seem pleased of his lack of disobedience and bite, having expected him to shove your hand away or flinch back before you could touch him. You’ve seen Red Hood once and how his uncontrollable rage resulted in violence, heavy burdens and extreme trauma turning him into a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute with the wrong move. He was absolutely lethal, the bullets serving as the evidence of his wrath and resentment towards the underground scumbags. It’s amusing that you have the man of violence himself now somehow completely under your control, surprisingly quiet and shy and obedient. You wondered if this is how he was before he was ruined by the cruelty of the world.

“You want it, don’t you? For me to kill the Joker.”

Jason feels as if you know everything he wants. Is this what it feels like to be important?

It takes a little while for him to answer, but he eventually came up with a “You’ll do that?” which sounded vulnerable and weak for the first time in his second life. Your heart clenched at the doubt and seemingly child-like vulnerability in which he uttered the words, as if he was afraid to trust something after being betrayed countless of times, reminding you of the sole person you’ve even began doing all of this for. They were quite similar yet so different — your older brother and Jason.

You hadn’t meant to cross his boundaries and unknowingly step into the empty hole that made home in his heart. Unconsciously slithering in like a snake by touching the subject his heart was longing for, not realizing his childhood’s still remaining within his spirit.

All he wanted was love and to feel safe again. You didn’t know the Red Hood was so adorably pitiful. A smirk plastered your face.

“I will,” You reassured and leaned your face inches away from his, the hand on his throat lifting his helmet slightly.

Jason doesn’t retaliate, blinded by a meat of hope dangled in front of him. He doesn’t move as the lower half of his face was exposed, and you lifted your own mask the same using your other hand. Jason willingly, obediently closes his eyes before your lips attached to his — a kiss of death, tasting like blood and cruelty. Warm and soft despite your rough, cold-blooded, corrupted soul. A kiss from the devil.

When Jason opened his eyes, you had already disappeared into the darkness with blood stains on the ground you stood before, a single note left behind; Hell will reopen for the Clown.

After neatly tucking the note inside his jacket and making sure no evidence has been accidentally left on the crime scene, Red Hood smiles for the first time in a long while and reaches for the comms without a heavy heart.

“Batman, I found another body.”

Whatever happens, he’ll have no knowledge of the following misfortune that’ll befall on the Joker. It’s the righteous serial killer’s doing, after all.

What was used to be a maniacal laughter turned into screams of agony and pain. Strong stench of death and blood makes euphoria rush within your mind, the feeling of slicing through flesh with your knife bringing pleasure and ecstasy that made your pants tight. There’s a certain amount of satisfaction in the way your own actions cause serious harm and scarring to criminals who once deemed themselves powerful, being reduced into nothing but a powerless prey that could easily be gotten rid of.

You feel increasingly powerful the more you strip them of their dignity and arrogance as they shed blood on the holy ground. Your existence alone striking them with crippling fear and anxiety feeds into your ego, yet you never stray away from the sole purpose or reason for your murders — making them taste their own medicine.

From what you found on countless deep dive and research, Joker preyed on Red Hood when he was still a young child full of life and joy, having been under the name Robin at the time. Second Robin to be exact, considering he was a lot different from the first one. It actually surprisingly pained you when you’d seen how much of an adorable, dorky, nice kid he was before misfortune cut his life short. You would’ve never thought you would find a kid adorable in your entire life, the little menaces often being nothing more than a headache to be around with that caused a certain dislike to grow towards them within you, but Jason was everything a cute kid was. Just excited to be there, to be fighting alongside Batman, to be relevant.

Such a precious boy ruined for the sake of shits and giggles for the Clown. For the sake of getting under Batman’s skin. And the Bat couldn’t even make fucking amends to his flaws as a father and mentor.

Well, he didn’t need to anymore.

You’ll give Red Hood— Jason Todd —what he wants. Yearned for. Perhaps, even what the other civilians who have fallen victims to this vile criminal want. You would stop at nothing until every criminal is gurgling and choking on their own blood.

Joker’s scream shoots a jolt of electricity within your body as your knife pierce through his skinny thigh and to the ground, pinning his leg down. You had been doing an effective job of reducing the maniac into nothing but a screaming, cowering average victim by torture. Bruises, burns, gashes, and stab wounds littered his body that was done carefully enough to not be life-threatening. Fucker was laughing maniacally at first, of course. It irritated you so much that you might’ve went a little overboard.

Watching Joker heave and struggle to breathe from the pain, you tilted your head and roughly grabbed his throat. It catches him off guard and he grips your wrist, barely even having the strength to fight you off. You’re amused by the entirety of Joker’s nature, how he’s still just an average man that can easily be overpowered — nothing that makes him special enough to not be killed, becoming proof of Batman’s selfish willingness to let the victims suffer than bring them actual peace.

You’ve never uttered a word since you captured him and it unnerved Joker from the beginning, but then, words finally come out of your mouth in a form of monotonous, mechanical, emotionless, eerie voice as you lean over him; “Laugh it out, Joker. Why so serious?”

It sounded like a death sentence.

He’s right in a way, because another of your knife pierced the corner of his mouth soon as you uttered the words. Your other hand tightened on his arteries to choke him while you drag the knife to slit the side of his mouth into a grin, following the lines of his red lipstick. It was certainly not a clean cut, but an artist has their own creative ways to make their art. Tears mixed in with blood that gushes out of his face, complete horrors written across Joker’s eyes which boosts your satisfaction. You go on and do the same thing to the other side of his mouth, before finishing your art piece by carving ‘J’ on his painted cheek.

You resist the urge to moan at the sight of blood coating your fine piece, always finding it to be an amazing finishing touch.

From then on, Joker was brought to literal Hell.

Jason flinches when a playful knock sounded from his safe house’s window, cautiously approaching to see ghostface waving at him through the glass. His eyes widened and immediately opens the window to let you in, not wanting anyone to see you — your sudden appearance distracting him from the fact he’s never given anyone the location of his safe house.

He stops in track at the blood splatters across your mask, and just then had he noticed you seemed to be hiding something behind your back with one hand. It definitely strikes his curiosity, but he somehow didn’t feel like you were holding something that could harm him.

“You got something for me, ghostface?” Jason feels you grin under your mask.

“Got you a present,” Your raspy, rough voice enthusiastically quipped.

Jason’s breath hitches when you show what you were holding — the Joker’s decapitated head in a square glass container tainted by its blood. You obviously had planned to bring it barehand, but you considered the possibility of its blood dripping down on his safe house and becoming a false evidence to point him to the murder, which prompted you to put it inside the container. An unbelievably sweet gesture for a fucking psychopath like you.

Jason could feel his heart beat rapidly as he takes in the animal’s state, carved up grin and the letter J and the horrors seen in its lifeless eyes proving the absolute misery and suffering it went through before being put down. The monster was finally, finally slain and gone forever from his life. Nightmares detangles from his spirit and the past unwraps away from his soul, utter peace and relief spreading throughout his chest. Tears gathered in his eyes at the feeling of being free at last from the life long torment, breath shaking as his knees wobbled.

The child in himself, the innocent Robin that was killed unfairly, finally rests in peace.

Then he sees you, his hero, waving your seemingly new knife playfully in the air with your outfit splattered in blood without a care that you actually saved him, and Jason feels a sudden surge of arousal and will to submit. To give you everything, anything.

“Do you love it, Red Hood?”

Without answering you, Jason grabs the glass container with shaky hands and sets it aside on the counter before stepping back closer to you again, blood rushing to his veins from arousal. He removes his helmet with a thud on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, lustful and yearning emerald eyes looking up at you.

“Let me thank you, please.”

It makes you groan as your pants significantly tightens more.

You slide your knife back into the holster before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, and thank fucking Heavens there wasn’t any blood on it that would taint his face, because he’s a sight to behold. He’s truly a gem, something precious you had never seen before. “So beautiful,” You whispered, making Jason flush. “Baring yourself to me for such a simple present, doll?”

“Not a simple present,” Jason mumbled as he snuggles on the palm of your hands. “You saved me.”

You hum appreciatively, getting the itch to bare yourself to him as well. “You wanna thank me by what?”

Jason looks back at you, face flushed with a little hint of uncertainty and embarrassment, doubts. “I— uhm,” He stammers, but encouraged by your thumb’s gentle stroke on his cheek. “By… by becoming yours.”

Your cock throbs. Fuck, he’s so fucking adorable, you just wanna fuck his guts out. You’re usually tempted to gut people, not fuck their guts— which is funny to say the least— but you weren’t going to say no when the Red Hood’s so willing to offer himself up.

“You wanna take my mask off, doll?” He seems surprised by your question as if he hadn’t thought of it, making you chuckle. “If you wanna be mine, I gotta be yours too, don’t I?” It was dangerous to reveal your identity to him, but you couldn’t care less, especially when you could just fuck his brains out to shut him up. That’s the plan, first time that didn’t include butchering or cutting a body up.

Jason fucking Todd and his effects on you.

The emerald eyed male hesitantly grasped your mask when you led his hands to it, slowly lifting it over your head. He’s met with a fucking luscious feature to ever be adorned on a man and dark, lustfully murderous blood red eyes that makes a whimper slip past his lips. You merely widened your eyes at the sound he made before immediately grabbing his jaw and smashing your lips against his, swallowing Jason’s surprised gasp.

He reciprocates the insatiable hunger you displayed, tongue dancing along with yours and moaning into the kiss when your fingers lightly tugged on his hair. You pull him up in amidst of making out and squeeze his ass, encouraging him to wrap his legs around your hips. You detach your lips from his to trail kisses down his jaw and neck as you walked towards his bedroom, questionably knowing where it is, and Jason tilts his head back to give you more access with closed eyes. Letting him stimulate both of your restrained cocks by grinding down, you sat down on the bed and sucked on his throat as Jason moaned.

“Please, please…” He whimpers, uncontrollably moving his hips in a perfect rhythm yet he seemed to want something else.

You pulled away and traced his lips with your thumb, watching as he naturally took it in and sucked, giving you a desperate look. Swiftly turning off the voice changer attached to your neck in a form of choker, you chuckled when his hands fiddled with the belt on your hooded coat. “So needy, aren’t you?” Your real voice sends shivers down his spine.

An alluring, low, slightly rough pitch and somehow more emotionless than when you were using the voice changer. It makes his cock twitch and empty hole clench down on nothing, the need to be stuffed full of your cum swarming in his belly. You’re fucking bewitching, a man made up from every guy and girl’s fantasy, wet dream, and your attractiveness mirroring the Devil’s that would tempt and lure others to sin.

How the fuck were you real?

“Speak up, pretty bird.” You smirked, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Jason mutters, cheeks tinted in pink. “Wanna suck your cock and make you feel good.”

“Fuck…” You shifted in place, “You’ll do that f’me? Get my cock nice and wet to take you apart? To fuck your guts out?”

Jason shakily inhales and nods, climbing off your lap and kneeling on the floor. You lean back on your hands as he unstraps your belt and slide your zipper down, slightly raising your hips to help him get rid of the excess clothes. Your thick and lengthy cock smacks against your clothed stomach, making Jason’s mouth water. Thick veins throbbed on your big shaft, the tip angry and red from arousal leaking precum. It wasn’t just big, it was long, and Jason squeezes his thighs together to keep himself from just riding your cock all day.

His hand wraps around the base, starting to stroke it with a content rhythm. God, you were so fucking big. It’d definitely split him open if you shove it in so suddenly and fill him up nice. It’d make him scream his head off from the unbearable length and girth, almost too much, and Jason wants you to force him to take it. Pin him down and fuck him despite his pleas to stop.

Jason swipes his thumb over the slit, smearing precum, pumping it for a good amount before licking a stripe up the underside of your cock. You shudder, removing your gloves to slip your bare fingers through Jason’s hair, encouraging him to take you in. He obeys, relaxing his throat first before sliding your cock inside his warm mouth, and you groaned at the warmth that surrounded you. It almost didn’t fit from how big you were, but Jason braced himself and took it in further until he gagged as the tip touched the back of his throat. Wrapping his hand around your shaft that he couldn’t take in, stroking gently as if to apologize.

A moan slips past your lips when he starts bobbing his head, tongue brushing against the underside of your dick. “Fuck… Doin’ so good,” You roll your head back. “Such a pretty face to fuck, ain’t ya?”

Jason whines, tears gathered in his eyes as he sucks and fastens his rhythm. Curses, grunts leave your lips that left him feeling all hot and bothered, his other hand moving to skillfully pull his pants down and free his aching cock.

You see him touching himself and a smirk adorns your sinful face, gently scratching his scalp with your nails which earned you a whimper from him. “Go on, fuck yourself. We both know it wouldn’t fit that easily without proper prep,” Expression twisting into a cocky one, your grip on his hair tightened. “I’ll do as I please with your mouth until you’re done.”

Without waiting for his approval, you roughly shoved your cock deep down his throat and moaned loudly, throwing your head back. Jason gagged with a loud whimper as his eyes rolled back into his skull and cum shot out from his throbbing cock, hips jutting forward and twitching due to the sudden orgasm. You chuckle lowly, amusement and lust glinting in your bright red eyes, before you pull back and ram on his throat again.

Jason’s cries and moans were muffled as you ruthlessly use his throat to gain pleasure. His mind has already turned into mush from your assaults, white cum and precum staining the floor yet he doesn’t put up a fight. Taking it all like the good, obedient boy that he is. He’s reached behind him to insert two fingers in his awaiting hole, walls clamping down on the digits from the arousal of his throat being utterly wrecked.

Yesyesyes, please. He chanted in his mind. Use me, mark me, cum in my throat, make me yours.

The moment you fulfilled your promise and delivered him the head of his enemy, he was already yours. It’s all he ever wanted. Unquenchable thirst that always gnawed on his throat and hunger that left his stomach restless, his soul practically teared in half from being battered and beaten. He matters now — mattered enough to you, that you went ahead and killed the source of his misery. The love exploding in his chest was almost unbearable; he was already high on cloud nine from the moment he’s seen you present the head so cheerfully.

You see how he looks up at you, emerald eyes almost displaying hearts with how much he was melting. He’s taken your murderous act as an affection, and you couldn’t be more happy, because it’s what you intended.

“Shit, baby… Gonna cum soon,” You panted, thrusting vigorously. Jason hums and flexes his throat to provide you more pleasure, making you tighten the grip on his hair. “You want me to cum down your throat?”

You earned a desperate whine from him, closing his eyes to prove he was waiting for it. His fingers kept their own assault on his prostate, scissoring and stretching the squishy walls, muffled moans escaping him.

God, he looked so fucking gorgeous. He’d look even more gorgeous with your dick ramming inside him.

Jason feels your big cock throb in his mouth and his fingers move more aggressively to pleasure himself, wanting to reach his high at the same time as you. Stimulating your tip with the back of his throat a few times, you moaned loudly with a curse when Jason slightly flicks his tongue over your sensitive underside, forcing an orgasm out of your body. White, thick, warm seeds spurt out from your slit to his awaiting throat as Jason whimpered in delight and shot another layer of cum on the wet stained floor, hips thrusting in the air.

He greedily swallows every drop that spilled down his mouth despite the euphoria making him feel dizzy as his body slightly trembles.

You chuckled, breathing heavily, pleased expression spread across your face. “Good boy. That was such a good throat-fuck.”

The raspy, sultry tone of your voice makes electricity and chills run through Jason’s spine as his walls clench down on his fingers, yearning to be filled. Jason certainly doesn’t have a womb — it’s anatomically impossible — yet he couldn’t help but feel like it’s there, waiting and aching to be fucked and bred. He needs your cum to be pushed so far inside him. Need to be marked entirely as yours inside and out. Need you to rearrange his guts, fuck his brains out, breed him full, then fuck your cum further back into him.

Jason pulled his fingers out, whimpering at the loss of contact, before looking back up at you with begging eyes. “Can you-?” His voice cracks as he swallows, “Take me apart, please. Make me yours, fuck, I wanna be yours.”

You noticed tears gathering in his eyes, as if being rejected of his want to be your possession would be an ultimate heartbreak in his life; a life-threatening, gnawing thorn in his heart that’ll tear him apart piece by piece and shredding his soul. Jason thinks he can’t live without becoming yours, his savior’s. He can’t live without the source of his safety, the man that fulfilled his silly little dream and sacrificed his own sanity for it.

It absolutely amuses you that he’s become so attached just because you’ve driven him away from harm’s way. A little dumb, but he was your little dumb doll.

You gently caress his face and Jason leans into your touch, making your lips curl upwards into a smile. “Of course, doll.”

It leads to Jason being pressed face first on the mattress as you rail him from behind, sinful and alluring noises leaving his lips stained in drool. Your name escapes him like a chanted prayer, hands gripping the sheets, electricity sparking within his mind that left him dumb and unable to think coherently.

“Fuh-fuck! mgh, ah- yes, oh my god—!” He cries out when you pulled almost entirely back and rammed your cock roughly into him, almost seeing stars in his vision.

The roughness in which you handled him, the perfect angle of your hips allowing you to force pleasure out of his body every-time you thrust, the way you push his back down on the mattress to make him arch more into your merciless tactic, leaves Jason absolutely delirious. You didn’t just fuck him good; you fucked him with absolute vigor and violence, occasionally biting strongly on his shoulder to draw blood, showcasing your natural instincts as a serial killer. He feels your big fucking dick throb and gets impossibly bigger inside him each time his blood seeps out the broken skin, and Jason’s head spins at how much it drove arousal in his core.

“Good fuckin’ sex toy,” You grunted, roughly slamming your hips against his and causing a sharp moan to erupt from Jason.

“B-big—! s’too big- fuck!” Jason whines, tears spilling endlessly down his cheeks.

You smirk as you feel your ego skyrocket at being able to reduce a rather muscular man into nothing but a whining, blabbering bitch. “Yeah? I do split you open, don’t I? But you love it since you’re such a fuckin’ slut.”

“oh- aghn! y-yours— hnngh! Your s-slut! No one else’s-!” He chokes out, desperately reaching for you behind him.

“So fuckin’ adorable,” You chuckled and grabbed his hand, pinning it back to the mattress as you hover over him. You seem to fit against each other perfectly well, your large and tall body able to encage him that left Jason’s stomach fluttering. He’s taken a lot liking of the fact you’re bigger than him, considering he’s never been the smaller one when he was with others. It gives him a sense of shelter.

“p-please— pleaseplease- oh! cum— fuck… cum in me again!” Jason blabbered.

You can’t help but comply to his request, fastening your pace and drilling more into him. Incoherent sentences spill from his drooling mouth when he feels your cock pulse within his walls that signified your soon release. There’s a purpose in which you thrust your hips now — more sharp and angled yet a little sloppy, aimed to brush against his prostate and make him feel utterly good.

“Shit… Cummin’, doll.” You grunted right in his ear before shoving him on the mattress by the back of his nape and slamming all the way down on his already gaping hole.

Jason nearly screams, voice cracking, as his orgasm hits like a strong tide of wave at the same time you spilled thick layer of white semen into his fucked out guts. You ride out your orgasm by thrusting slowly a few times as Jason’s body violently shakes from the aftershock. He subconsciously whines in annoyance when some of your previous cum seems to overflow and replaced by your recent one, bucking his hips as if to use your big cock as a plug to keep them all in. His belly felt full from how much you’ve been filling him with your seed yet it still didn’t feel enough. Jason wanted more; he knew you weren’t going full on him yet.

You swiftly turned him around on his back without pulling out and kissed him roughly. Jason mewls into the kiss when the position makes you push more deeper into him, his hands immediately clasping at the back of his thick thighs to pull them up and make it easier for you to fuck.

“My cute little thing,” You murmured against his lips and bit the skin to draw blood, Jason’s hole squeezing down on you from both the pain and pet name. He greedily whimpers your name, holding onto you for life and yearning for more of you despite already receiving what he wants.

It was so fucking adorable and arousing to see him desperate for not just you, but your entire being as well, willing to welcome such darkness with open arms and tearful smile. You weren’t really a desirable person; so many people have thrown themselves at you for your conventionally attractive features and masculine body type that swoons hundreds yet cower away in fear and speak of you in disgrace when shown the demons living inside of you. No one could seem to look past your murderous, cold-blooded psychopathy — some have attempted to, which only resulted in your darkness growing bigger when they break their own promises. You weren’t meant to be loved. Your destiny was written in the stars and the Gods have cursed you with eternity of living in loneliness and madness without cure. You were meant to be feared, a lonely and violent soul that couldn’t be tamed, your sole purpose of existence being a destroyer; nothing more or less.

Jason, however, seems indifferent to your fate.

Instead of running away in disgust and fear at your acts of violence around the city, he was seeking for you. He’s seen what you’ve done, what you could do without feeling remorse, what monsters lie beneath your existence — and still, he graciously opens his heart (and legs) for you. There’s love and desire within his eyes where distaste should be, touch so soft and warm it baptizes your tainted skin. You’re soaked in blood yet Jason takes his time with you to clean them up. Born with thorns yet he willingly prickles his fingers on them.

You’re a danger everywhere you go, but to him, you were home.

It makes your heart clench; he’s broken the Gods curse and it costs him his freedom, because now he’s caught up in your webs. You wouldn’t let him go, like a snake that’s wrapped itself around its prey in a death grip.

Jason wanted to be yours. What better ways to fulfill his wish if not possessing his body, soul, and spirit?

“Sweet dumb thing,” You purred, hips thrusting slow and sensual, unable to forgive parts of his walls that weren’t touched by your cum. “Mine to fuck, ruin, or make love to. That’s right, yeah?”

Jason nods, moaning softly. Your hands now replaced where his were on the back of his thighs, bending him almost in half as you roll your hips to gently brush against every weak spot he has. The sudden shift in rhythm and atmosphere confuses Jason for a bit, his fogged mind unable to comprehend the situation at hand, but the intimacy strikes a further pleasure that was nearly mind-breaking. He’s been reduced to a moaning mess, blood, sweat, tears and cum coating his body.

“p-please,” Jason keened, like it felt agonizing to be loved ever so gently. “I— ah… I want- I want you,” He stuttered out between moans.

“You’re having me, aren’t you?” Replying, you nipped on his neck and sucked, leaving behind a purple bruise.

He nearly cries, shaking his head. A waterfall of tears streamed down his face, and you find yourself captivated by them. It was almost ethereal despite being one of human’s responses to most things imaginable; your victims always shed one or two accompanied by begs of mercy, but all you’ve ever thought of them was amusing. It’s been used as an escaping tactic from you before, which was never successful due to your lack of morality and sympathy towards your target. They were pathetic, but Jason was divine. Tears suited him— not tears of fear, but tears of pleasure and utopia.

Your focus snaps back on reality when Jason suddenly pulled you down by the nape and bit down hard on your shoulder. A pleasured groan leaves your lips at the pain, hips bucking, making him whimper.

“Jason—”

“Please,” He cuts you off and finally murmurs; “Wanna f-feel how… mhm-! how you actually love…”

It strikes something in your core. Despite your perfect skills of hiding your true nature and never being caught, Jason saw it right through you, how you were holding yourself back for his sake. Quite ironic to witness a cold-blooded killer care for someone enough to go soft, even though it looked like you were going rough on him, and it warmed Jason’s heart. But he was a greedy, fucked up human being who wanted all of you. It wouldn’t be enough until he knows he’s taken you fully.

An amused laughter erupts from your chest. Eyes darkening in lust, Jason feels one of your hands wrap around his throat warningly as the other pushed his torso flat down on the mattress. “You… You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, Todd.”

You pull all the way back before ramming in, making Jason let out a loud, choked up moan as his eyes rolled back into his head. Your thrusts relentless and powerful, slamming against Jason’s body with an intensity that made his head spin, your hand holding his throat as a leverage. Your name spills from his lips like a prayer, something that seems to ignite a possessive feeling within you. Jason can’t help but mewl when your grip tightened on his arteries, throwing his head back to let you gain fully control.

The way he’s so obedient and putty in your hands despite knowing you can kill him if you truly meant to makes you love him even more, fucking him and taking away his ability to breathe wasn’t enough. Greediness turning overboard with the darkness and psychopathy that lies within your existence; you almost wanted to cut him open and crawl inside his guts so you could truly claim Jason, inside and out. You wanted to be more closer to him, see how far you can go without Jason pushing you away or getting disturbed.

Jason’s eyes widened when a cold metallic silver touched his cheek, seeing you holding your signature knife through blurred vision from his tears. However, he doesn’t flinch away like you expected him to, instead his walls squeezes down on your cock and his own twitched against his stomach. The unexpected reaction pulls a loud groan out of you, your hips bucking.

“Shit, Jay… You lettin’ me kill you or somethin’? Good fucking cunt just tightened on me,” You rasped, thrusting your cock against his prostate.

Jason gasps, his hands grabbing the mattress and holding it in a tight grip. It’s so shameful how turned on he was at the danger that lurked around you, his usually sharp instincts relinquished to be replaced by naiveté and stupidity for love. He must’ve gone insane; getting killed was one of his triggers because of his past yet his soul yielded nothing in retaliation to the possibility of your blade slicing through him. All of him seems to have come to love and trust you too much just because you’ve decapitated the beast his entire existence feared, which a part of him found utterly ridiculous and idiotic, but not enough to stop.

He wouldn’t stop himself from loving you — not when you’ve given him the love he always yearned for.

You lean in and ghost your lips over his as you dragged the knife on his torso, lightly scraping him. Jason’s breath quickens, his pupils blown wide in lust and need, anticipation seemingly running through his body as his moans turned into desperate whines.

“p-please…!” He chokes out a whisper, rolling his head to the side and whimpering when you snapped your hips warningly on his. “feels— fuck! feels g-good—! c-carve me… hngh! carve me u-up-! shit… make me fuckin’ bleed…! please,” Jason nearly cries for you.

Groaning out a curse, you reflexively bite down hard on the crook of his neck and push more of your cock inside him, causing a loud keen to erupt from Jason as he squirms and cums on his own stomach at the addictive sense of pleasure and pain shooting through his body.

You licked the blood that seeped out from his skin, satisfied at the clear bite mark you’ve left visible before sensually grinding your hips. Jason whimpered quietly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“That’s it, doll. Let go, feel good. m’not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart. It’ll all feel good,” Whispering sweet words, you slowly press the tip of the knife just above the v line of his hip and drag it down. Jason hissed at the prickle of pain and tensed up, but the pleasure of your cock stimulating his sensitive walls was too great that forced him to relax. “It’s alright, doll. Jus’ carving you up with my name, so you’ll be mine forever. Isn’t that what you want? Be fuckin’ mine?”

Jason moaned softly, nodding his head. Series of pleasepleaseplease blabber out of him accompanied by heavenly noises he’s been making since you started taking him apart, his brain too fucked out that forcibly twisted pain into pleasure as all he could think about was becoming yours. You, his savior, his God, claiming him by marking him up with your name. Jason feels like he could fucking squirt from just that thought alone.

His blood seeping out from the letters of your name arouses you to no end, your cock throbbing inside him while you continue to move, the darkness within you being thoroughly fed of its bloodthirsty hunger. This is the first time it doesn’t gnaw at your skin to drive your knife deeper, pull the guts out, and splatter redness everywhere; instead, it wanted to be gentle, as if Jason was a significant existence too precious to hurt even for the Devil. A proof that Jason was always meant to be yours, the only one who the monster inside you would rather love than kill.

Carving the last letter, you laughed breathlessly in satisfaction and stabbed the knife on the headboard before slamming your lips against his, devouring his pleasurable noises. Jason whines, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you impossibly closer, arching his back when you switched into a much faster and rougher pace.

“Cummin’, fuck!” You grunted, to which Jason wrapped his legs around your hips to make sure it stays in.

“I-in— in me… fuck- oh my god— please… please, cum in me. Make me full again, p-please…” He begs, clenching his walls around you to push you over the edge, his own orgasm nearing.

Seeing him covered in his own tears, sweat, blood and drool fills you with nothing but pure ecstasy knowing it’s all because of you. The most appealing, ravishing man being a slutty mess right beneath you, begging to be bred and full of your cum, does feed too much into your ego. No one can do anything to take you away from him now, because you’re wrapped around his fingers as much as he is around yours.

“Anythin’ for ya, doll.” You chuckled, thrusting a couple more times before shoving your twitching cock deep into his guts with a moan and releasing your load. Jason mewls, his hole throbbing and squeezing down on you as he throws his head back, tainting his abdomen once more.

Riding out both of your highs, you let out a raspy groan and kissed his lips again, Jason weakly reciprocating due to the overstimulation. His body trembled hard, mind almost shutting down from the exhaustion and too much euphoria. “So good, doll. Took me like a good fuckin’ boy. Fuckin’ amazing.” You praised.

Jason could still see darkness in your eyes, the murderous devil, but there’s a hint of happiness he didn’t recognize before. Love and adoration filled your expression despite the violence engraved in your soul, and Jason finds himself smiling against your lips lightheadedly.

He whispers your name like a forbidden secret, then a curse that completely binds you to him; “I love you.”

You could get used to this, you suppose. There’s nothing more poetic than violence meeting love — two opposites can’t coexist with each other, but perhaps it’ll be forced to. After all, the Devil in you decided he was an untouchable divinity no one shall ever harm, not even yourself, despite its never-ending monstrosity towards humanity.

“I love you too, my Jason.”

When Joker’s decapitated head on a makeshift spear turned up that night, stacked upright in front of Arkham Asylum with blood splattered across the ground in words ‘True Justice for the Tortured Souls’ and a bloody ghostface mask laid aside for everyone else to see, Jason knew he was now in safe hands.

People say, never make a deal with the devil.

They never said he couldn’t love one, did they?

© all rights reserved to hadesrise. stealing, plagiarizing, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[artemis32]

Locksley

yandere Batfam x reader

yes, i do love them. yes, it is a problem. yes, i will make this my entire personality for the next two and a half months

also, necessary disclaimer, there’s a piece of dialogue in this that i took from a youtube asmr channel (bite me, they’re interesting and i’m starved of attention) - it’s jimち asmr, if you’re interested

word count - 4.8k

mbe masterlist

You wouldn’t call yourself a hero, not in any sense of the word. Likewise, you didn’t consider yourself a villain. You were something in between - you did bad things for good reasons, you did good things for bad reasons. 

Living in Gotham changed people. No matter how kind or well-intentioned, everyone ended up corrupt sooner or later. Some just fell further from grace than others. 

The people you helped would argue that you were a hero, someone who deserved recognition and respect for your actions. The people you stole from tended to disagree.

You didn’t care much about what you were. Heroes, villains… They were all the same in your eyes. They wrecked havoc and left people like you to deal with the aftermath - an ordinary citizen who had neither the means nor the aspirations to fix what they’d broken.

****

You started years ago, before you were even a teenager.

It was small things at first. Single fruits, a loaf of bread, a blanket, cough syrup. Things people wouldn’t usually notice. 

You realised pretty soon that you were good at stealing, good at getting away without people noticing. Very good.

Stealing felt justified in your young mind. You told yourself that it was okay. It was okay because you weren’t stealing for yourself. Never for yourself. Never committing a crime for personal benefit.

No, you stole to help others. You did what you could to help those that were too weak or scared to help themselves. 

In those early years, when you were still young and hopeful, you likened yourself to Robin Hood. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

Now, years later, the sentiment had faded. 

You still stole from the rich. You still gave everything you stole to the poor. 

Poverty in Gotham was a disease. The densely populated apartment blocks in the Narrows, where you lived, housed more people than it should have, and those people had become somewhat of a family to you. Or at least as close as you’d ever get. So you did what you could to keep them safe and alive. Stealing food to keep them fed, stealing clothes and blankets to keep them warm, stealing medicine to keep them healthy, stealing toys to keep the children hopeful.

That was your job, your purpose in life.

It made you feel as though you had a use. Seeing how people’s faces brightened, how happy they looked to see you when you bought a spare blanket or some extra food, or a toy a hopeful child had been eyeing for a while, it made you feel as though your life wasn’t completely meaningless.

Your life had a purpose. And that purpose was to help those who couldn’t help themselves. 

So you did.

And you never got caught. Not once. 

Until you did.

****

This uniform is so fucking uncomfortable. How do these people do this all day? You think, slipping your index finger beneath the buttoned collar of your shirt, tugging at it in a lacklustre attempt to catch a breath.

As much as recon was necessary, it was also an annoyance most of the time. It was times like these that you thanked the stars above that you weren’t born into a wealthy family. Stuffy galas and boring board meetings were never your thing.

The crowd of wealthy tycoons and aristocrats barely paid the waitstaff a second thought, primping and preening as they mingled amongst one another, trying to impress people who were too self centred to notice them. 

You would’ve rolled your eyes and gagged at the sight, had it not acted as the perfect cover for you. 

Stealing the name tag and uniform off of the service roster was simple enough, and sneaking in through the service entrance of the disgustingly lavish manor was a breeze. Now, as you flit through the crowd of supercilious pricks, you feel grateful for your own nondescript appearance.

Blending in with the average service worker was a blessing, one you took full advantage of as you scanned the large ballroom. There were several large windows, massive panes of glass bordered with ornately carved ebony wood frames. The doors were just as grand, two sets of double doors, and a smaller service door in the very corner of the room, all dark stained ebony to match the windows, were just as detailed and lavish.

It made you sick.

How could these people live so wastefully? How could they live so easily? Their biggest worry was keeping their faces youthful and their houses fancy. It didn’t make sense. Even now, after months, years of doing this, it still confused you - the fact that you lived such a jarringly different life, one that seemed so pathetic in comparison to the vapid crowd that surrounded you.

At the very least, it eased your conscience, and made your job easier. You felt no pity, no remorse for stealing from people like those gathered around you. Very few of them had actually worked for what they had in life. No, it was handed to them at birth. Life was funny like that. Those who work hard are left impoverished, and those who give in to gluttony and greed never have to work a day in their lives for what they have.

You discarded the now empty serving tray behind a potted plant, slipping out the large double doors and into the empty corridor beyond. The halls were silent and dark, moonlight casting large shadows over the walls.

The manor’s antiquated runner rug muffled the sound of your footsteps as you crept along the wall of the corridor, carefully taking note of each door, drawing up a mental map as you continued. 

Every corner you turned was more extravagant than the last. You could practically feel the wealth seeping out of the walls. It disgusted you. 

At least it was nice to look at.

Twenty minutes later, you’ve made it up to the East Wing, the furthest part of the manor from the ballroom. It seems to be the personal quarters of whoever the hell owns this abomination of a house. On the trek up several flights of stairs, you’d passed a collection of bedrooms, several smaller living rooms, and,to your great delight, a study. Though, ‘study’ feels like the wrong word to describe the room.

It looks more like a grotesque mix of a library and a maze, and if you were any more wet behind the ears, you might’ve been intimidated by the sheer size of it. In fact, if you’d stumbled upon a room like this a few years ago, you’d have been in awe. The value of a single item in this room would have you set for life. 

But you don’t allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, keeping steely focus as you move silently, swiftly between towering shelves. You don’t take anything. Not yet. The time for that would come later. Right now, you focus instead on gathering information. The layout of the manor, alarms, sensors, residents.

The last part was always the hardest, especially with people like the elite of Gotham city. People came and went as they pleased, and the odds of you running into someone was higher in extravagant homes like this, what with their abundance of butlers and maids. But you’d avoided them all up to this point, never once encountering anyone in more than a decade of prowling.

And this manor - the famous Wayne residence - never housed more than a dozen people on any given night. You knew the staff and groundskeepers all went home in the evening, leaving the property all but abandoned at night.

You reach the end of the room, pausing only to glance over at the large grandfather clock nestled between two shelves before you turn on your heel and stride back towards the door. You’d gotten what you came for. Now, it was time to take your leave, full mental map in tow. 

Getting out of the gala was a lot easier than getting in, and you took the time to register the smaller details of the manor. In this time, you confirmed one thing you knew for certain:

Wayne manor disgusted you in all its excessive wealth.

Bruce Wayne may have appeared as some kind of well meaning philanthropist or humanitarian, but you knew his pockets ran deep. Much of his wealth, generational and unearned, was hoarded while the rest of Gotham was left to rot in poverty. 

It was, in part, the reason that you didn’t feel bad about what you were doing. He, alongside the rest of Gotham’s elite, had done nothing to earn what they had. You were just levelling out the playing field, giving those in the Narrows a fair chance at life.

And if you had to dirty your hands to help them, then so be it.

****

The thick carpet muffles your landing, though you don’t really need it.

Over the years, you’d mastered your movements, learning how to move silently, without notice. It’d been born from necessity, rather than genuine desire. Growing up in the Narrows wasn’t good for much, but at least you learnt pretty quickly that it was easier to get by if you went unnoticed.

You gently close the window, pushing the polished wooden frame with your fingertips, wincing at the soft click of the lock. Any noise was too much.

The corridors are empty as you silently sweep through the manor, as expected. You aim for the lavish library you’d scoped out a week prior, mental checklist ready. 

Avoiding the cameras and alarms is easy enough, especially when the majority of them scoped the perimeter, rather than the interior. The lack of security, combined with the excessive luxury confirmed what you’d always thought.

Rich people were fucking dumb.

They really thought their money could protect them from everything. Well, there was one thing that no amount of money could save them from.

People like you. People with absolutely nothing to lose.

You had no family, no prized possessions, no desire or greed. And you sure as hell didn’t harbour any fear for people like them.

Eventually, you arrive in the East Wing, slowing your stride slightly. You strain your ears for any hint of movement, blending seamlessly into the shadows as you prowl the corridor. The ornately carved solid wood door opens with a silent swoosh, and you slip into the room a mere moment later.

Someone’s here.

You take note of it a moment too late, slipping between two towering shelves the instant you hear the soft murmurs of a conversation. The lighting is dim, shadows dancing across the room, sourced from the crackling fireplace at the back of the study.

Fuck.

It takes you a beat longer than usual to calm your now racing heart, and the instant you get it under control, you’re back to creeping along the shadows, hands darting out to grab at ornaments and books, shoving them silently into every pocket and gap in your suit and small backpack.

If you could, you’d have brought a bigger bag, but you needed to travel light - light enough to make a swift exit if needed. 

You manage to grab quite a few things without nearing the source of conversation, which you’ve now determined to be two men murmuring lowly near the fireplace. Relief settles heavy in your bones as you creep back towards the door, thankful for the numerous shelves hiding you from view.

Lady Luck was a fickle being, and it seemed she’d decided your time was up.

When you’re about ten steps away from the exit, senses on high alert, time seems to slow, the baroque handle dropping slowly as the door is pushed open. You’re back in the shadows before it fully opens, back pressed against the wall while you weigh your options.

The door is out of the question. There’s no way to slip out without being noticed. The window, maybe?

One glance at the tightly latched windows across the room dash that idea immediately.

Panic swirls up your spine, threatening to take over. If you got caught here, there’s no telling what would happen to you.

As you scramble to come up with a plan, the door swings open and a man steps into the room. He’s young, fresh-faced, perhaps a year or two younger than you. He’s handsome too, in the way aristocrats often were - light eyes, tanned skin, full lips. He was striking. 

And he turned to look right at you.

You’re up, on top of the nearest shelf seconds before his eyes slide towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut, sweat slicked palms pressed flat against the dusty wooden shelf underneath you.

Fuck.

He lingers for a moment, taking a step closer into the shadows, to the spot you’d stood in moments ago. 

There’s no way he knew. He couldn’t.

After several tense, painful seconds, his brow twitches and he turns on his heel, striding over to the other two men, his gait confident and swift. You let out a soft sigh, relaxing only a bit as you try to stop the nervous tremors in your hands.

Escape comes hours later, near three in the morning, when all three men eventually retire to their rooms. You couldn’t get out of that eerie, shadowed manor fast enough.

****

“You really should lock your door at night, especially in this area. You never know when some creep might think about inviting themselves in. Windows too, for that matter - or else B&E’s would just be… Well, E’s.” 

It was barely two in the morning. You’d crawled into bed, still fully clothed, less than an hour ago, exhausted from a long day of work in the hellscape that was hospitality. You hadn’t even had the energy to look over your next few potential hits, never mind take a shower or have dinner.

So it’s no surprise that you’re disoriented, thrown off guard when you wake up to a masked man leaning far too casually against your derelict old couch, slim katana resting comfortably in his hand while he twirls it around.

“Then again,” he continues, ignoring the wide eyed look you give him. You flinch back, the movement too slight to notice as he straightens and strides over to you. “You’ve made my job easier. So I should thank you.”

He stands, hovering over you, arms hanging casually at his sides beneath his cloak as he regards you. The mask he wears hides his eyes, and it feels as though you’re staring up into dark, never-ending pits rather than eyes.

“Hm. You look different than what I expected. Younger. How old are you?”

If you weren’t so terrified, you might’ve laughed. Here, in your cramped, dingy bedsit, stood someone who appeared more demon than man, and he was presumptuous enough to critique your appearance. Worse still is the fact that you might’ve answered him, had he not swiftly changed topics.

“It doesn’t matter. A criminal is a criminal. Blackgate has a cell with your name on it.”

The train rumbles by and shakes the thin walls of your apartment, casting an eerie half glow bright enough to just barely light up your apartment.

Your blood runs cold.

Robin.

You’re moving before he has time to register what’s happening, tossing your worn knit blanket at his head as you leap from your bed, the small single’s frame groaning beneath you at the abrupt movement. You’re across the room when he recovers, hand on the doorknob. Seconds later, a vaguely bird-shaped dagger embeds itself into the doorframe right beside your hand.

“Don’t move.”

For once, despite the alarm bells blaring in your head, you listen. You fight against your instincts and the burning in your limbs as he approaches, closer and closer with every taunting step until he’s right in front of you, another stupid bird-shaped dagger nicking the soft underside of your jaw.

“You’re coming with me. Peacefully.”

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his tone. It’s so condescending, as if he thinks he’s talking to a child. If this was anyone else, you might’ve fought back, but of the list of people you avoided, the Gotham vigilantes associated with Batman were top of the list. 

They were so irritatingly self-righteous, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d view you as a scum of the earth criminal, should they ever catch you. It was part of the reason you’d avoided them so religiously, and you’d done a great job of it up until this point. The only question on your mind right now, though, was-

“How?”

Robin tilts his head, mouth flat. “How what?”

You lift your chin a bit more as he raises his dagger, softly piercing the skin, as if in a warning.

“How did you find me?”

If you could see his eyes, you were sure they’d hold an incredulous look, as if to ask ‘are you stupid?’. But you weren’t. Not like this. You weren’t sloppy. And you sure as hell didn’t step on toes when you stole, especially not enough to gain the attention of a run of the mill vigilante. There was no reason for him to be standing here, in your apartment, all but pinning you to the door.

“How did you find me?” you insist, pushing forward despite the slight sting against your jaw. “What did you see?”

He sets his jaw, tilting his head down as he speaks through clenched teeth. 

“Stealing from Bruce Wayne of all people was a dumb move.”

Your blood chills in your veins.

So someone did see me then… That man. That boy. Fuck.

“It was especially dumb to stick around for four hours afterwards.”

At that moment, you weigh your options. 

If you go with him peacefully, all but turn yourself in, Blackgate would be the least of your worries. You stole from Bruce Wayne.

Wronging such an influential man would have its own set of unique consequences, and it wasn’t yourself you were worried about. Anyone you’d helped in the process would be incriminated. All those innocent people, the women and children, the elderly people who lived around you… 

No. You couldn’t go with him. 

Prison was one thing. Endangering those you swore to help was another entirely.

With your mind made up, everything else is easy.

You grab the wrought iron coat rack beside the door and swing it upwards, aiming for his head without a second thought. The moment he releases you and shoves you back, you’re out the door, sprinting down several flights of stairs.

Too slow. Faster. Move faster.

You hear him behind you, footsteps ringing out like a death knell. 

He wants you to hear him. You know he does. A vigilante like that, someone as skilled as him - you wouldn’t hear him unless he wanted you too.

Honestly, you were quite proud of yourself. You’d made it further than you’d expected. The uneven gravel stings against your bare feet as you sprint through the side alley, aiming for the main street.

It was pointless. You knew it was. Even if you could make it that far, it wouldn’t amount to anything. No one would help you. No one could help you.

Regardless, you still feel disappointed when he grabs you by the collar of your thin, old sleepshirt, yanking you back. The exit to the alley, a mere two metres away, seems to mock you.

In that moment, you think about what you’d done. You truly think, and realise that you didn’t regret a single thing. You didn’t care about what happened to you. Everything you’d taken had helped so many people, far more than it would have helped Bruce Wayne, gathering dust in his old study. 

Everyone had been so happy, so relieved at how much you’d managed to help them. The amount you’d received for the stolen goods had been enough to care for everyone in your building ten times over. 

So no, you didn’t regret your decision.

This time, Robin doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries, gripping the back of your neck tightly and knocking you out a moment later.

****

“Who is she?”

“Her name is-”

“I know what her damn name is. I mean, who is she?”

Tim pauses, eyeing Damian with a strange expression, clearing his throat and continuing after throwing a perplexed glance at Bruce.

“...well, uh, she lives in the Narrows, has for more than a decade. She went to Gotham public high school and received her high school diploma, with no further education. She’s… pretty unremarkable, to be honest. Works in a shitty diner in the East End, earns less than minimum wage...” he trails off for a moment and shrugs. “There’s not much else to say.”

Damian clenches his jaw, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Her address. What is it?”

Again, Tim throws Bruce a glance, sharper this time, choosing his words wisely.

“I… don’t think that’s necessary information. It’s not a big deal, she only took a few things. And it doesn’t seem like she kept any of it. Actually, I’m kind of impressed–”

He’s cut off in an instant, Damian’s glare sharp and filled with rage.

“It does matter. She stole from us. She–” 

The green-eyed youth sucks in a sharp breath, dropping his arms to his side, flexing his hands.

“...she was right there. She was inside the manor, ten steps away from me, and I didn’t fucking notice. It took us two weeks to notice she’d been here at all!”

His words are like venom, belying the real reason he’s so worked up, and Bruce watches him with a blank expression, stepping forward after he’s calmed down slightly, placing a heavy palm on his shoulder.

“I understand your frustrations, but you can’t allow them to cloud your judgement. Don’t allow your emotions to rule your actions. While I agree we should find her, I don’t think we need to be as… extreme as you’re suggesting. She’s just a civilian - albeit a very… efficient one. Take some time, calm down, and we’ll discuss what to do from there, okay?”

Damian shrugs the hand off his shoulder, stalking out of the Batcave with a few short, clipped words thrown over his shoulder.

“Yes, Father. Of course.”

****

A very frazzled looking man is the first thing you see when you come to, temple aching terribly where the angered Robin had decked you hours earlier. Presently, the man hovering over you sighs when he sees your eyes open, though it doesn’t seem to be a sound of relief. His mouth tugs down at the corners, brows pinching together.

“Don’t.”

He presses a palm to your shoulder, keeping you flat on your back when you try to sit up. His tone is stern, flat, accentuated by the dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders sag and he loosens his hold, fingers flexing against your shoulder.

“Just… stay there. Don’t move.”

The words seem more like a plea than a demand, but you listen regardless. Even if you wanted to move, the pain rippling through your skull makes you too dizzy to sit up, let alone stand.

“...do you remember anything?” he murmurs, bright blue eyes roaming your face worriedly.

Licking your dry, cracked lips, you avoid his gaze. Would it be better to lie, you wonder? Would he know? You had a feeling he might. And you had a feeling that somehow, being honest just this once would help you a lot more than lying ever could. 

You swallow thickly, glancing back at him before answering. 

“Yes.”

He rolls his eyes, head lolling forward as he mutters.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Before he can ask you another question, before you can say anything else, there’s a flurry of movement at the entrance to the room, several people storming in. The racket makes your head throb, and you feel faint and woozy as you lean back against the admittedly plump pillows.

You wonder distantly why you weren’t in a prison cell or a hospital. If you’d been in a better headspace and perhaps not concussed, you might’ve been concerned, but it was effort enough to focus on staying conscious at the moment.

“No, Damian! I have had enough! You explicitly went against my instructions– You kidnapped a civilian!”

Chancing a small peek at the arguing duo, you catch sight of little more than two blob-like shapes, the taller of the two yelling animatedly while the shorter stands stoically, staring off to the side, towards–

Towards you.

“She’s awake.”

That has the taller man falling silent for a moment. He sighs heavily, murmuring. 

“We’ll discuss this later. For now, I have to deal with your mess.”

With that, he turns and strides over to you, placing his hand on the shoulder of the young man at your bedside, a silent dismissal. He remains standing while the other two leave, staring down at you expressionlessly.

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

…I’m so dead.

You jolt up, wincing at the pounding in your head as you blurt out.

“Mr Wayne, I–” 

He holds up a palm, silencing you.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

There’s a pause, one in which he looks down at you before sitting down with a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“I don’t care that you stole from me. Usually, I'd just file a police report and go about my day, but my son… Well, you upset him.”

He leans back in his seat, unbuttoning his blazer.

“You see, he’s a prideful boy. It’s never caused problems before, at least, not like this. I mean, involving a civilian, that is. But you seem to have struck a nerve. He’s holding quite a bit of animosity towards you.”

Bruce leans forward again, elbows resting on his thighs as he regards you with a critical eye.

“And I’ll admit, you caught me too, to a degree. You broke into my home without my notice. You were right under my nose.” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, as if the very idea of you evading him was impossible. “It’s impressive, I won’t deny it.”

A strange flutter fills your chest, something that feels oddly akin to pride. Bruce Wayne of all people was complimenting you. Or, at least, it felt like a compliment. 

“Why is he so upset?” 

You regret the question the instant it leaves your mouth. His gaze, which had been slowly warming up, turns cold and flat at that.

“...because you slipped right by him. Do you understand what a feat that is? How much you’ve wounded his pride? For you, an untrained young woman from the slums of Gotham to have fooled him, a trained assassin. Robin. You understand, don’t you? He took it as a very personal offence.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Was this some kind of twisted punishment for stealing? Did this man, Bruce Wayne, really expect you to believe that his son, the sweetheart of Gotham’s high society, was the Robin? And an assassin to boot?

He huffs a silent laugh, brows raising as he regards the expression on your face.

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s shocking. Damian Wayne, Robin? You’ll get used to it.”

Your hands are shaking now, sweaty and white knuckled as you clutch the bedsheets, and you feel your blood pressure rising. If you weren’t careful, you’d pass out soon. Swallowing thickly, you ask the question urgently gnawing at the forefront of your mind.

“If he’s Robin, then…?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. He was handsome, in an older gentleman kind of way - tall, strong, sturdy build. Even the wrinkles and lines marring his face looked attractive. No wonder women fell over themselves in an attempt to catch his attention.

“Yes. You catch on quickly, don’t you? Well, that’s to be expected from Gotham’s own do-good Robin Hood, I suppose. Yes, I am Batman.”

A choked noise dies out in your chest. 

Of course I’d steal from Batman. Of everyone in Gotham, this is who I choose? God, why is my luck so shitty?

His admission sows a seed of unease in the pit of your stomach, and your eyes dart around the room for the first time since you’d arrived. It was large, larger than what you were used to, though the only furniture was the bed, a vanity, and a small couch near the window. The window that was locked tight, covered with solid iron burglar bars. Bars you had the sinking feeling were put there to keep you in.

You turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

He stands, posture straight and assertive as he eyes you callously. “Because, unfortunately, your actions, and my son’s impulsive decision have both pushed me to make a decision I have no choice in. It means that, until we decide what to do with you, you won’t be allowed to leave–”

Evidently, his admittance to essentially abducting you is what sends your blood pressure through the roof. You pass out before he finishes his sentence, praying with the last of your fading consciousness that this was all some twisted nightmare.

[corollaservant]

Retail Therapy // Dabi x f!reader x Shigaraki (18+)

Synopsis: Working as a sales assistant in a high end sneaker shop is boring. But you're about to be taught otherwise.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (idk about this one), degradation, humiliation, illegal recording, mentions of crimes, ableist remarks (not from reader), harassment, dumbification

A/N: kinda thought of the LoV as streamers (but not like gamers). thx anon in spam blog for encouraging this dumb idea, idk what this says about us:)

Another boring day at work. But honestly, what were you expecting? 

You didn’t know anyone who had fun working in retail. Not that this would be your job forever, as you planned on quitting and you know... try something else. Dropping out of college may have not been a smart move but you were confident that you’d find your path, somewhere, sometime. The store was never busy, the pricing and interior design repelling most passers-by and only attracting a couple influencer kids (you often laughed at the term) and their rich parents or a few unknown athletes in an effort to buy designer and make a better name for themselves. High end clients never showed up in person, they had no reason to, no one shopped at boutiques anymore—all the more sneaker ones. 

You would often kill time by watching stuff online (who didn’t), looking at the latest socialite news in various media outlets, the world was going downhill, you thought, as you absentmindedly sipped from your water bottle. Articles wrote about villains, social pariahs, as they’d branded them, parading power by killing innocent civilians ‘for the fun of it’. 

Two shadows at the door caused you to look up. Customers? No way. Your heart stopped for a second as both walked through the door. Was this some kind of a twisted game of fate? Who didn’t fucking know them, Dabi and his subordinate, the man he had on a leash, even though he was the supposed boss, Shigaraki Tomura. What the fuck where they doing here? 

The taller man, which you knew as Dabi, wore a dark blue jacket with the collars ripped while his patched purple skin stood out. Surgically attached staples (or where these piercings?) moved when he smiled. Despite the menacing appearance, you had to admit he looked quite... elegant? His shorter companion didn't fail to catch your eye either, a hood pulled low over his face and wearing a miserably plain outfit. Under other circumstances, you’d throw guys like them out the store—this wasn’t some charity but you quickly reconsidered, once you remembered their recent streaming. Shigaraki filmed Dabi burning up a whole forest just to kill some time as they laughed. Cool, yeah. Problem was they had accidentally murdered some poor people on a picnic, who they’d later find and film, joking about how ‘today was not the day for a picnic, guys’. The two villains would livestream the whole thing on various platforms, other times they’d upload it later on a channel, where perverse comments encouraged and gave them both views. They obviously had a clear immoral viewpoint on heroes (they despised the filth society had created on false pretense) and never failed to shout it even louder. 

‘’Hello, sweetheart.’’ Dabi greeted you, approaching the register. His loyal dog followed close, hands in his pockets and a sly smile. 

‘’Me and my...friend would like to check out a few shoes today, we’re feeling generous.’’ The friend didn't sound very friendly.

You regained composure and whispered a ‘’y-yes, sure!’’ as they looked at you. Dabi's eyes diverted to your work uniform, a blazer with exposed bust and a tight pencil skirt (yeah yeah, you knew this was a high end sneaker store but rules were rules and you had to attract the filthy rich somehow...manager's words, not yours)

‘’W-what would you guys like to see?’’ You stammered, their proximity not helping. 

‘’Sweetie got a speech impediment?’’ Shigaraki asked no one in particular before Dabi interrupted.

‘’Don’t listen to this asshole, he isn’t getting any so he’s always pissed off.’’ The first scowled but remained silent. 

Dabi seemed... kind? You thought as you looked at him and shyly moved to the display shelves. 

‘’S–so, could you guys tell me what you’re looking for exactly?’’ You couldn’t believe these two had to come to your place for fucking shoes—somehow the thought of villains having to buy clothes had never really crossed your mind. 

‘’We don’t fucking care, sweetheart.’’ Dabi said looking directly at your chest, eyeing your tits. Such a pervert, thinking you wouldn’t notice. 

The whole time Shigaraki was on his phone, which he held in a bizzare way, it was known his quirk involved his hands but you never bothered to care, both these guys were murderous and you possessed no ‘quirk’ whatsoever so it really wouldn’t matter if it came down to physical altercations. 

‘’We have t–these ones..’’ You lifted your arm up to show Dabi a new pair you got in last week as his eyes travelled to your bent ass, skirt accentuating the curves even more, as he smirked to himself. 

‘’T–they collaborated two brands for this.’’ You murmured, not sure he heard you. His presence made you anxious, you knew what he was capable of and definitely wanted to live another day. 

‘’Oh yeah?’’ Dabi said. ‘’How much do these cost? They’re fucking ugly.’’

You opened your mouth to retort but settled with a ‘’T–two grand.’’ It came off unsure and hesitant. 

‘’These are dead. Two grand for these abominations? Hey Shiggy, come look!’’ He told the man who had been too consumed with his phone to listen to the conversation.

‘’Look at that shit man, can you believe trash heroes buy that for two grand?’’ He questioned as the latter lifted his gaze.

‘’Yeah I really don’t give a fuck, buy your shit and go, I have content to upload.’’

‘’Please excuse him, baby, he’s just a weirdo who gets off on livestreaming the people he decays, don’t worry we won’t take long.’’ 

Decaying? Livestreams? And why did he call you baby? These guys had to be joking, they were openly talking about murdering people for fun and you suddenly felt sick, your stomach with its contents turned over.

You had been silent, looking at them in horror, while Dabi broke the silence.

‘’Awwh, c’mon now, I’ll be nice. I think I might like these.’’ He said and pointed to a pair of black plain sneakers, they’d suit him, you thought despite the predicament.

You must’ve not reacted at all so he spoke again.

‘’Are you slow, sweetheart? I said I want to try these on, in 15.’’ The tone made you immediately snap out of your thoughts and take a step back—he felt too close through your peripherals. 

‘’L–let me check in the b-back for you guys..’’ You apologized, you couldn’t even turn around but somehow got to the storage room. Fuck, of course he had to be wearing one of the largest freaking sizes, your store never brought these as no one ever bought them, what was he, a fucking giant? You were frantically searching through storage drawers and anything scattered you could find across the room but without success, the pair was sold out (was a basic choice) and the sizing available was 13 and below. Shit, you cursed, as you were about to exit, when you saw two figures at the door startling you. 

‘’What’s taking you so long? Lost in the hallway?’’ Dabi mocks, as Shigaraki snorts. 

‘’I- I– couldn’t f-find the ones you’re looking for.’’ You avert your eyes and Dabi’s smirk wavers.

‘’What does that mean, baby?’’ He furrows his brows. ‘’You should be grateful I even chose this shitty store in the first place. It’s not enough you charge poor customers two grand for shoes I can find in the dumpster, now you’re telling me you don’t have the one pair I actually liked?’’ He raises his tone as he has you practically pinned against the door. You could’ve sworn the other guy's laughing but the room’s spinning and you try to take a deep breath. 

‘’I- i’m sorry, guys, p-please let me try to find s-something else- for you, I–’’

‘’No, I think you can just shut the fuck up now. I don’t want excuses from that pretty mouth of yours.’’ His words hurt as you try blinking your tears away—it used to help but not when they’re flooding your eyes like a stream anyway. You feel like this could actually be your end and matter of fact, anyone would know soon enough, as you’d probably also get livestreamed while they’re at it.

‘’Soo.. let me get this straight, you can’t find a proper excuse, you don’t have my shoes, you make me and Tomura wait while you're blabbering some bullshit and you scam stupid cunts for money. Does your boss know he’s hired the dumbest whore on the planet or do you fuck him to keep your job? And for a shitty job like this? You reaally gotta be desperate.’’ He finishes and now the tears are well formed and fall from your eyes, as you sob—you literally sob, ashamed and hurt, these men didn't even know you and here they were throwing words around because of a pair of fucking shoes, you feel useless and embarrassed, as you choke out some ‘I'm sorry’s.

None of them seem to care about your tears or your stuffed nose, snots falling down your chest and staining the work blazer and Dabi continues in an amused tone.

‘’Stop crying, it's pathetic. Be of use instead, will you?’’ He sighs and looks at Shigaraki, who had been watching his phone intently the whole time.

‘’Tomura, how do you think bitches like her pay when they can’t satisfy my needs?’’ He asks the man, who contemplates for a second, kind of clueless and annoyed, interrupted from the live streaming of the rest of the LoV. 

‘’Ugh.. I don't know, kill her? Listen man, we don’t have much time, we have to go meet the rest, so whatever it is, make it quick. I want to show my face in Toga’s stream, she has too many hot bitches watching.’’

This man is out of his mind.

‘’Shiggy, you fucking incel, it’s not like you’re going to fuck any of them, so how about you put your scrambled, decayed brain to good use?’’ Dabi responds, all while you’re looking at the exchange horrified, where is this going?

‘’Well...since apparently I’m the smart one here, I’ll tell you both how this is gonna end up.’’ Dabi exhales, he sounds bored but his eyes gleam, he seems amused. ‘’You can’t offer me my shoes? You offer me your body, it’s not like you have anything else going on for you. I fuck you and your little cunt and you–’’ he turns his attention to Shigaraki, ‘’–you’re going to film the whole fucking thing. Should grant you enough pussy, once I let you participate.’’

-

You want to scream, you really do. But there’s no words coming out, the phone’s too far away, the storage room's hidden in plain sight and there’s two guys ganging up on you so what’s the only thing you do? Beg.

‘’P-please, Dabi, I can—I can help you find something else, we have-’’ You blabber but he cuts you off.

‘’Wow doll, surprised your dumb brain memorized the name. But I don’t blame you, I would too.’’ He’s inching closer to you, as you back off, each step he takes leads you towards the end of the room. The closet touches your back—you’re pinned under him, the shelves hit against your back.

‘’Got the camera on?’’ He tells Shigaraki, without turning to look at him, while the latter scoffs.

‘’Yeah, all set.’’ You can see him holding his phone and wait impatiently.

‘’Now..’’ Dabi says, ‘’take that nasty shirt off, God, who dresses whores like you up? Tits out and everything for the public to see.’’ He says as your shaking hands start unbuttoning the work blazer; you had no shirt under it, it was a hot day and you hadn’t bothered, it’s not like customers were frequent. 

He’s so close that your arms touch his shirt as you slowly unbutton it and the blazer falls down your shoulders, your bare tits in full display not just for him but for Shigaraki’s camera to film as well. His eyes rake you up and down, your cheeks stained with tears, your hair disheveled with strands that stick out in opposite directions as your tits quiver on your chest. It’s swift, but you notice how his turquoise eyes widen—not a lot, since they’re heavy lidded and half patched anyway.

‘’Fuck, these look nice..’’ He comments as he brings up both hands to grope them while you gasp. His hands are not as cold as you expected, they’re large, slender and painted black as he starts circling his wrists while still at a fair distance. You moan and he smirks, Shigaraki switching spots to get a better angle. 

Dabi closes the distance as his face is on yours, his breath on your mouth and you close your eyes when he laughs.

‘’Aw, did you think I’d kiss you?’’ He says as you whimper frustrated but he continues ‘’Whores like you don’t deserve kisses.’’ He grabs your skirt with both hands and aggressively lowers it as you stumble trying not to fall down.

His words cut deep and you fight the urge to let another stream of tears down your face; you’d been called names in the past, but the way he talked upset you way more than anyone before. Unbeknownst to him, your felt your panties smeared, his warm hands had turned you on—the thought of you being like this disgusted you. You really were pathetic and he’d soon find out.

His hands cupped your clothed cunt as you moaned ‘’D-dabi, please–’’ to which a voice from the back laughed. You had completely forgotten about Shigaraki, the fact that he was watching (and filming) making you want to vomit.

‘’Baby, please shut the fuck up.’’ Dabi says ‘’Tomura, are you getting this?’’ But at this point Tomura was not only getting it but holding the phone with one hand while the other rubbed a bulge on his pants.

Dabi moves your panties to the side, almost ripping them apart and pushes two fingers without warning in your cunt as you choke on a moan. His fingers feel good, too full in a way and he knows how to move them inside, working his way deeper, while they’re already long.

‘’Man, you’re not gonna believe how wet she is.’’ He tells Tomura, who hums and strokes his clothed cock, phone still in his hand. 

You’re being moved up and down the shelves, his fingers penetrate your cunt with force as you feel the pressure in your core build up, you think about fucking yourself on his fingers, grinding up and down—maybe cum and have them gone?, but he brings his other hand to your neck and chokes you with precision, blocking your airway immediately: ‘’Don’t think you get to decide when to cum.’’ He says and he removes his stained hands, your arousal is brought to your face as he turns around and proudly shows the camera. 

‘’Look at this retail cockwhore guys, pussy dripping from two men she couldn’t sell shoes to!’’ He brags and you crumble, embarrassed and desperate for an end.

‘’D-dabi, p–please don’t say that!’’ You mewl and he looks down at you with pity.

‘Say what? The fucking truth? Aren’t you a little cumslut, yes or no?’’

‘’I– I–am n-not—’’

‘’I said, are you or aren’t you my little cumslut, yes - or - no?’’ He orders as you notice something small and blue igniting from his fingertips and you freeze.

‘’Say it.’’

‘’I- i am.’’ You brokenly murmur, but he needs all the words. 

‘’You’re what?’’ 

‘’Y–your cumslut..’’

‘’I need the name too, camera's on you know’’. His patience wears thin, you can tell by his tone.

‘’I-i-am--Dabi’s cumslut.’’ You look at the camera and with that he finally snaps, turning you over and grabbing you by the waist, his fingers touch your bare back, as he spanks a heated palm on you and you flinch.

‘’Good, now let’s show everyone how cumsluts like you get fucked.’’ He unzips his pants and brings his cock in between your folds. 

The sensation is intoxicating, your heat and his pre in between you while your hands are stretched to touch a shelf you can’t reach. You don't even know what you're up against, fuck, you hadn't even seen—

‘’Make sure you’re getting this.’’ is all Dabi says before abruptly pushing his cock inside you as you let out a sharp cry, he’s too big and you can’t take him at once, a pain shoots up your belly as he starts thrusting at a steady pace. 

‘’P-please ‘s too much, s-slow d-down!’’ You yell behind you but he doesn’t seem to care, as he grabs your hips harshly and pushes himself deeper, your cunt stretching to accommodate whatever it can and you thank his fingers for the prior mess they made.

‘’Fuuck, feels too good.’’ He groans as he thrusts into you. You hear a sudden whimper and look around to see Shigaraki with his cock out, moving his fist up and down his length—eyes fixated on the spectacle. 

You don’t have time to beg him to stop filming because Dabi’s slender hands are toying with your clit, his cock rips apart your insides as pads of his fingers find the bundle of nerves with ease. He teases it—not harshly, as his cock does that for you, but in light strokes, like he’s trying to tickle you and you feel yourself tremble, your cunt twitches and he feels it too apparently, because he groans ‘’Shit, you’re tight, too? Who would’ve expected it, huh..’’ as Shigaraki is starting his commentary on camera.

‘’Take a look guys, this is probably the biggest cockwhore we’ve seen... look closer! getting her loose cunt all fucked like that.’’ Dabi huffs, skin slapping sounds reverberate across the storage, as he continues his pace, cock disappearing in between your folds.

‘’Man, shut the fuck up.’’ He tells the guy behind him, ‘’her pussy’s tight as shit..or maybe I just have a big cock.’’ You can tell he smirks and you moan, it's like he's harsher now, his cruel words while they shouldn't, are bringing you closer and you can’t deny the pleasure he’s giving you, each time he belittles you or Shigaraki for the matter.

You can't even see him, but you imagine him drinking in your pathetic state: desperate, arched back, lifted skirt and abused flesh—frustrated whines and miserable attempts to sink down his cock, even when you know damn well he’s the one setting the pace.

‘’Hey, Shiggy..’’ Dabi groans, ‘’want me to let the whore fuck herself on my cock? She seems soo eager.’’ He tells Tomura, who at this point is solely focused on your ass sinking on Dabi ahead.

‘’S-sure..’’ He breathes out, too horny to care. 

Dabi stops moving, cock hard and still inside you, stretching you out regardless, as you pant frustrated. You’d been so close and he stopped once again. Fuck it, you think, you need to get your release somehow. 

You take a deep breath and start tantalizing him, cock throbs in your walls while you move and grind your hips back and forth. Dabi hisses, his hands dig in your ass, a pain from a metal on your hips—you’d definitely have marks tomorrow but it feels too good and he lets you, which surprises you.

‘’D-dabi, is she good?’’ A voice calls from behind but Dabi doesn’t answer, he just lets you do your work as you increase your pace, your legs are about to fail you but you raise yourself up and grip whatever you can find in front of you; you can hardly breathe. You think you might make yourself cum and he must be on the verge too, because he grabs you by the hair and spears his cock so deep, you want to scream—but you can't because there's not enough air in your lungs to function. ‘’Enough.’’ He spits and starts drilling himself back at his own relentless pace.

You feel numb but a known sensation spirals under you, fuck, he feels good and you suddenly wish for his hands on your clit so you beg. Again. 

‘’D-dabi, please, agh t–touch me..there.’’ 

‘’Beggars can’t be choosers, baby.’’ He smirks and picks up the pace, if that's even possible, the motion perfect for your pussy to squeeze him in tighter and while he acts all tough, a hand is back on your clit. He wants you to come undone, wants to be the one bringing you to such despair. 

‘’D-dabi!, I-I'm-hmn.. g-gonna–’’

Hairs stick to your sweaty forehead, veins pop out your hands as you cum feeling a faint knot snap, you blabber a bunch of incoherent words and tremble, shutting your eyes in shame.

He’d been waiting for this, holding himself back but he wanted your mess, your pathetic orgasm so he can let himself go with a couple final thrusts. He groans, praising your ‘’good cunt– baby..’’ before shooting his load inside—shit, he came inside, you think, this is so wrong but the sensation is tingling, almost satisfying in a twisted way.

A voice interrupts the moment when both of you turn to look at Shigaraki, cock in between a fist and a frown on his face, he seems upset.

‘’Dabi, you idiot, I wanted her too.’’ He says and Dabi looks at you, fucked out and cum oozing from your hole. His cum. 

‘’Well,’’ Dabi looks at you, ‘’would my favorite cumslut help a friend in need?’’ he smirks, ‘’Just some head, we don’t have all the time in the world, alright?’’ He smiles as you lower your gaze—fuck fuck fuck, wasn't one enough? What's the point of arguing though, one look at both of them convinces you otherwise.

‘’C-could I please have some water?’’ You try to stall, throat dry and raspy from the sounds made earlier. 

‘’Water?’’ Dabi laughs, ‘’nah...it’s too far away. Here, have this instead.’’ He says as he approaches you and swiftly moves his hands up your cunt, gathering his load and your juices and bringing the mix to your mouth. ‘’Open up.’’ He orders and your eyes widen before you realize he sticks his fingers in your mouth, coating your tongue and continues ‘’now, you can suck the incel off.’’

Your mouth isn't dry anymore—it's disgustingly covered in his salty cum but Shigaraki's too impatient to retort and already has his cock poking at your opening. He’s smaller but has nonetheless notable girth. 

‘’Mhm..not gonna last, man.’’ He warns but Dabi seriously doesn't care. Indeed, once you're forced to take Tomura in your mouth under Dabi's glare and bob your head up and down a couple times, he pants and whines, cock jerks in your mouth, as a palm with the pinky lifted rests on your head pushing it down his groin. You gag as he stretches your mouth full, the flushed tip scratches down your throat, but soon enough he comes; you can tell by the way he frantically bucks his hips up, so you remove your mouth in tears, when he loses control, this feels horrible. His cum spurts all over the place, some lands on your hair and some on his shirt. 

‘’Fuck!’’ He groans, ‘’My shirt’s stained, you whore.’’ His voice is whiny as red eyes narrow. For the first time, he manages to inflict terror upon you, his hand’s about to touch you when Dabi interrupts.

‘’Enough, she’ll give you another one, I’m sure shitty store sells some lame shirts somewhere.’’

Tomura sighs and removes his shirt. He throws it to your face and hisses.

‘’Gross, you can keep it, cumslut’’. You feel tainted and humiliated, some fresh tears wipe semen off your face, when Dabi speaks up.

‘’Tomura–’’ There's still hope in your eyes, as you turn to him.

‘’She's about to put in on Depop, you know.’’

Dabi and Tomura smirk and you wordlessly get up, something plummets inside (your heart?), as you wipe tears inside your elbow, the only clean body part of yours.

-

It’s been hours since the shift ended and they left the store, blowing you a kiss but you’re curled up in bed as you anxiously scratch your knees. You feel dirty. Empty. You remember Dabi’s hands on you, Tomura’s shirt and load in your hair, which was later thoroughly washed to the point clumps fell off, when a message appears on your phone.

It’s a message request and it reads:

How’s my favorite cockwhore doing?

You suddenly feel very nauseous, how did they even find you? Your hands are shaking as you pick up your phone to unlock it, only for a new request from a different account to pop up: 

1 attachment sent.

You take a deep breath as you try to think rationally. Don’t cry. Crying doesn’t erase it. Don’t cry.

This could be worse, you finally convince yourself. This could’ve been livestreamed.

[onceuponastory]

wanted dead or alive - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: In a city ruled by the villainous and greedy Sheriff Zemo, a hero emerges - Bucky Barnes. Together with his band of merry men, they steal from the rich and give to the poor. After doing it for a while, he’s come to expect that doing so makes him less than popular with the nobles. But he never expected to meet someone like Lady Y/N. (Robin Hood!AU) Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Noble/Lady!Female!Reader Warnings:  Mentions of poverty and starvation, period typical sexism and classism, mentions of a potential arranged marriage, reader's parents are assholes, and Bucky and his Merry Men threatening reader at first. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know! Notes: I've had this idea in the works for a while, and finally got the motivation to finish it. Thank you so much to @mrsmischief209 for helping me work out this idea, for beta reading, and for helping me decide on the Nick Fowler look for Robin Hood!Bucky 👀

Once upon a time, in a city on the outskirts of a forest, Sheriff Zemo ruled with an iron fist, casting fear over the community. Selfish and cruel, he and his henchmen found a twisted pleasure in tormenting the people, whether by having his henchmen be deliberately rough with them, or by imprisoning those who dared to speak out against him. But what brought him the most joy was rising taxes and spending the money on himself and his lavish lifestyle. As the people starved, the Sheriff, his henchmen and the nobles flourished, untouched by his laws.

However, it wasn't long before a hero emerged from the shadows, filled with unwavering determination to aid the people and break free from the relentless grip of poverty. Bucky Barnes, witnessing the people's suffering under the Sheriff's rule, couldn’t bear it anymore, so decided to take action. 

It started small - he’d discreetly sneak a few pieces of bread and cheese to people whenever he could without being noticed. As time went on, he upped his skills, and stole more and more food. As time went on, he met various allies who wanted to help his cause: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and others. They formed their own band of rebels, aiming to help the people. Bucky’s Merry Men. As they continued to evade capture, Bucky's determination to dismantle the system grew stronger.

Because although it felt incredibly gratifying to help feed the people, that still wasn’t enough. Zemo's men were still freely attacking and tormenting the impoverished city and its people, with no fear of punishment, imprisoning anyone who spoke out. Bucky and his men knew there was still more to do.

So, they started stealing money from the wealthy and giving it back to the poor. And with each new theft, the nobles and higher-ups grew increasingly aware of their actions.

Especially Sheriff Zemo. First, he sent his henchmen out to get them, but each time, they just evaded his grasp, skilled at hiding in the dense trees surrounding the city, Bucky and his men’s archery skills serving them well. Consumed by anger, Zemo wasted no time in ordering their capture, declaring them as outlaws and placing tempting bounties on their heads to entice the impoverished population to betray them.

Of course, nobody did. So, Bucky and his Merry Men were free to help the people as they pleased, despite the Sheriff and his incredibly powerful friends breathing down their necks.

Yet, despite how gratifying it feels to help others less fortunate than them and enrage the Sheriff in the process… instead, Bucky feels lost. Despite his hatred for the Sheriff, Bucky finds the constant pursuit of him and his men for helping others infuriating, and it only serves to reinforce how insignificant the people are to those in power, and how much they need him. And the longer he observed the people's plight, with no action taken except by him and his Merry Men, the more disillusioned he became with the world.

But most of all, despite his gratitude towards the Merry Men, he secretly dreams of finding his own love and happiness, longing to escape the hardships of poverty. But how can he ever tell them that the heroic outlaw… doesn’t want to be one, at least, not forever?

~ * ~

“Did you see you’ve got a new wanted poster, Bucky?” Steve says to him one day, throwing one over as he and the others relax in the forest, counting the things recovered from their most recent haul. 

“He’s never going to give up, is he?” Bucky laughs. He peers down at the poster, laughing. “I have to admit though, I do look pretty good this time.” He smirks, striking a pose to match the one on the poster. 

“Mhm….” Steve rolls his eyes. “Glad we can see where your priorities lie. Show off.” He teases.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have a personalised one.” Bucky smirks. “I’m just in high demand, Steve.” Steve scoffs.

“Yeah, we’re so jealous that Sheriff Zemo isn’t actively encouraging people to hunt us down just for trying to help people.” 

“Technically, he is.” Bucky retorts with a smirk. Although he can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Although grateful for their help, this fight is his alone. He doesn't want them to be hurt because of him.

He can do this alone.

He’s used to being alone, after all. By now, he’s come to expect it.

“Don’t give us that look,” Sam chuckles. “We want to help you. We’re in this together. No arguments.”

“But-”

“But nothing.” Steve cuts him off, and the others nod. Bucky sighs, nodding. 

“Thanks, guys.” He smiles. “It means a lot, you helping me with this.”

“Oh, is the big and scary outlaw suddenly going all gushy and cute on us?” Sam laughs. Bucky rolls his eyes, but can’t deny a small pink hue forms on his cheeks.

“Shove off.” He groans. “Now, come on. Let’s get to work.”

Bucky and the others get started on their training, completely unaware of how their paths would intertwine with someone they could never have expected. Someone else also seeking an escape from their life, this time on the opposite end of the social spectrum. 

~ * ~ 

“Are you sure this is safe, my lady?” Lady Y/N’s maid Rose asks. Y/N chuckles. 

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a ride in the forest.” She smiles, smoothing down her dress. “And I told you already, you can just call me Y/N. Only my parents expect their full titles.” She groans. “I hate it. It feels so impersonal. You’re just the same as me, regardless of our upbringing.”

Despite her noble birth, her life of privilege and wealth, being taught and practically raised by maids and tutors, wearing fine silks and eating quality meals with fine wine to wash it down with…. Y/N hates every single part of it. She hates how people around them flaunt their wealth whilst others suffer, and how her family expects her to find a smug, rich husband of her own to continue the cycle. 

Unlike her parents and everyone else in their social circle, she empathises with the plight of the poor, and longs to help them whenever and wherever she could. She sees her maids as friends, rather than staff. Unfortunately for her, she can’t help as much as she wants to. Her chances of changing society and making something of herself are limited, especially as a woman.

“Remember, there’s that outlaw. He does a lot of good, but-”

“Bucky Barnes.” Y/N sighs dreamily, her eyes sparkling. “Isn’t he exciting?”

Luckily for Y/N, a respite soon appeared in Bucky Barnes and his Merry Men. After being dragged to so many fancy parties and dinners with her parents, Bucky Barnes became a hot topic amongst her parents and their social skills. Either he and his Merry Men robbed them, or they knew someone who had been targeted. Of course, Y/N pretends to be horrified by the news of Bucky and the Merry Men’s escapades, but deep down, the stories of their bravery and heroism excite her. Finally, someone who understood how she felt, someone who could challenge those in power and help others where she couldn’t. 

Bucky was a warning amongst her parents and their friends, a dangerous threat to society and to their social standing. But to Y/N, he was her saviour: someone who showed her that there was a life outside of stuffy dinners, a way to help others. She dreamt of meeting him one day, explaining her story and how she wanted to help. Of course, in her dreams, he always took her under his wing right away, helping her flourish into a member of his team.

He was her hero before she even met him. 

And of course, the fact his wanted posters make him look easy on the eyes isn’t so bad, either.

“Well, yes, but he dislikes nobles.”

“With good reason!” Y/N retorts.

“But you’re a noble.” Rose reminds her. Y/N chuckles, waving off her friend’s worries. “I’ll be fine. I won’t stray too far, I promise.” 

Before Rose can say anything else, Y/N has said goodbye and is heading downstairs. “Where do you think you’re going?” her father raises a brow, his voice booming down the hallway. 

“Just for a ride, father. Rose already knows.” She explains, trying to ignore the steady increase of her heart rate. Her father scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I do wish you would stop calling her that.”

“That is her name, father.” She reminds him. Asshole.

“Don’t backtalk me.” He snaps. “Regardless of whether that's her name or not, it's irrelevant.” He snaps. “I won't allow you to tarnish our family name with your wish for a happy ending and your equal rights nonsense.” He scoffs. “When will you learn they are lesser than us?” 

“Father, I was just being-” she insists, but he cuts her off, his expression twisting as his anger increases.

“I don’t care.” He huffs. “I suggest that you remember your place in this world. Sooner rather than later.”

With that, he storms into the dining room, slamming the door. The sound reverberates around the hallway, making her jump slightly. Her fists clench, both with anger and upset, and she has to grit her teeth practically to dust to stop herself from going after him and giving him a piece of her mind.

How dare he speak about her friend like that?

How dare he speak about anyone like that?

The quicker she gets out of this place, the better.

And with that, Y/N races to the stables and mounts her horse, riding towards the forest. The wind blows, her horse's mane flowing in the wind as her hooves pound the ground and the sun beats down, warming her skin. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the fresh spring air. She loves it here; the tranquillity is exactly what she needs after dealing with her parents and their horrible attitudes.

Yet as she rides deeper into the forest, she does not know she’s being watched.

“Think she’s a noble?” Sam smirks. Bucky raises a brow, staring at her dress as she rides by. The dress is quite simple (at least, by noble standards), but the expensive fabric and detailed embroidery gives her away. Bucky chuckles. 

“Oh yeah. This one should be easy enough.” He grins. “Come on.” He chuckles.

In the next clearing, Y/N lets her horse take a break, fetching some water from a nearby stream whilst she relaxes. “There’s a good girl.” She chuckles, stroking her horse’s mane. Her father’s words from earlier echo in her mind:

“I won't allow you to tarnish our family name with your wish for a happy ending and your equal rights nonsense.” He scoffs. “When will you learn they are lesser than us?” 

She groans, leaning against a tree. “I just wish he could see how I feel.” She sighs. “Realise the unfairness of having your life planned before you can decide what you want. I want to make my own decisions in life.”

Suddenly, a twig snaps behind her. Y/N frowns, raising a brow. “Hello? Is somebody there?”

No answer comes, adding to her confusion. “Maybe it’s just a wild animal.” She chuckles, trying to ignore the way her heartbeat is increasing. She turns back to her horse, ready to ride back…. But then, footsteps. Y/N turns back, seeing a figure approaching. His blue eyes focus on her, and he grins. Y/N’s eyes widen.

“You’re… Bucky Barnes.” She gasps. After longing for this moment for so long, she finally has it, as if given to her on a platter.

“Indeed, I am. I see my reputation precedes me.” Bucky chuckles. 

His wanted posters don’t do him any justice. He’s stunning.

“Oh, I’m Y/N.” She nods. Bucky nods, coming closer. 

“What is your business here?” He demands. Then, she notices other men are coming out of the trees now, circling her. They all stare at her, grinning. 

And then the penny drops. 

Oh. 

Oh, shit. 

After all, Rose was right. Everyone knows what Bucky Barnes and his Merry Men do to nobles. And despite her dress being one of the more simple ones she owns, she’s not exactly inconspicuous. “Take it easy…we’re not going to hurt you. We just want your money.” Bucky says. 

“I don’t have any.” She stammers, backing away once she notices the knives strapped to his waist and the bow and arrow on his back. Bucky is her idol, but she never imagined he would endanger her, even as a noble. “Bucky, listen, I-” she urges.

“Not good enough, sweetheart.” He smirks. “You nobles are always carrying wealth, or something expensive. You just can’t help yourselves, can you? You are always flaunting your wealth. So hand it over.” He orders, his blue eyes now focused on her in a glare.

“Excuse me? You know nothing about me.” She retorts angrily. Bucky chuckles harshly.

“I don’t want to know anything about you nobles.” He scoffs. “I already know your type. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” He’s even closer to her now, staring at her curiously, weighing up which things he can steal. “Well, it ends now.” He declares, his voice deep and husky. Y/N’s heart pounds, and she tries to remain calm, despite the men approaching her. 

She’s dreamt of meeting and helping Bucky for months. And now he’s in front of her… it’s not living up to her expectations, to put it mildly. Yet…with the way he’s sizing her up, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t still the slightest bit attracted to him.

“Bucky, please. I believe in your fight. Let me help you.” She insists. “I’m not like them.”

“Yeah, right.” Bucky scoffs. “You think you’re not the first noble to tell us this? To scream and beg that they didn’t mean to hoard all that wealth? You just couldn’t help it?” He rolls his eyes, clearly sceptical, only making her angrier. “I want to believe you, but you nobles do nothing to change it. You just sit there whilst the people suffer.”

“Because I can’t do anything!” She retorts. “What do you expect me to do? My parents don’t listen to me anyway, let alone other nobles.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. People are starving in the streets, but you and your rich friends live such pampered lives. This is only fair.” He scoffs, which infuriates her.

“For someone so keen to help others, you’re such a judgemental asshole.” She snaps. “Many things can be said about you.” She retorts. “You’re an outlaw, a filthy criminal.” She says. “Sure, you want to help people, but maybe you care more about how it boosts your image.” Bucky’s face falls, his firm resolve faltering. 

She briefly regrets upsetting him, aware of Bucky's dedication to his cause, but it fuels her determination to prove him wrong. “See, you know I’m wrong, that you can’t judge people by where they come from in life. Yet you do it to me. Being born noble does not mean I’m like them.” She says. “I despise the people around me, how greedy they are, and how willing they are to hurt others for their own gain. I try my best to help those in need wherever I can, even if it’s just treating my family’s servants with dignity.” She continues, impassioned.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like, listening to them boasting about all the money they’re making whilst the poor suffer? Being pressured to find a rich husband of my own to continue the cycle? Knowing I can’t do anything about it because I’m a woman, and nobody listens to me? I’m just expected to sit there and look pretty, because ‘I’m not smart enough for these discussions’?” 

“Well, no, but-” Bucky frowns. Of course, plenty of nobles have begged for their mercy before. It’s something he’s used to. But never like this before. This woman, she’s different, she has some fire in her.

And honestly, he likes it. 

“No. You don’t.” She snaps. “They’ve raised me to inherit a life I don’t want.” She tells them. “One full of misery. My parents want to pick out a husband for me, surely one as cruel and greedy as the other nobles.” She knows it’s not Bucky’s fault this is what her life is, but she’s using him as her escape, a way to unleash her anger. “I used to idolise you. I hear so many stories about you, about all of you,” she gestures to the Merry Men “and the good deeds you do. And whilst everyone else I know hates you, I admire you. I wanted so badly to join you. Because I understand your fight, Bucky. I want to help you. You were my escape from my life.” She admits. “But seeing you here, now? Judging me just like the way the nobles judge those lesser than them? And how they judge you? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” She scoffs. “So fine. Take my necklace and keep doing what you’re doing, believing we’re all horrible people.” 

Silence hangs in the air as she finishes up, with Bucky and the Merry Men all watching her intently. “That was…quite the speech.” Bucky chuckles, lost for words. Heat spreads across her cheeks. Now she’s definitely going to get it.

“I was just…” Bucky shakes his head, smiling.

“No, no, please.” He reassures her. “You may be right. Perhaps we have become too judgemental over the years.” He nods. “You really mean that? You want to help us?” He asks, his voice softer. Y/N smiles. 

“Yes, I do.” She agrees, and Bucky nods. 

“Excuse me for a moment.” He steps back from her, calling his Merry Men into a huddle. They murmur amongst themselves. Y/N raises a brow, trying to discern what they’re saying.

“Are you sure about this?” One asks incredulously. “She’s still a noble.”

“She’s right though.” Sam nods. “We can’t do what we do and judge her, too. We barely know her.”

“And she told us she empathises with our fight and told us to just take her jewellery! They never do that.”

“I don’t know. We can’t just take her word for it. What makes you think she’s so believable?” 

“I don’t know. I just have a feeling.” Bucky smiles at his words, and Steve chuckles.

“Oh. I see.” He grins. “Well, I’m in if you are, Bucky.”

“Me too.” Sam nods. Other Merry Men nod, and soon Bucky realises that most of the Merry Men want Y/N to help them. 

He has a good feeling about this.

~ * ~

Soon, Bucky walks back over to her. Y/N watches curiously, hoping he didn’t notice her staring.

“I was expecting you to make a break for it.” He admits, seeming genuinely surprised. “Most of them do.”

“I told you.” She chuckles, the sound a happy burst through the trees. “I’m not like most nobles.” Bucky smiles.

“I can see that,” he whispers. “you’re special, Lady Y/N.” 

“Oh no, please just call me Y/N.” She shakes her head. “My title sounds so formal. I hate it.” But she won’t deny how good it feels to have her title leaving Bucky’s lips. It even makes her stomach flutter.

“You’re really challenging my expectations.” He chuckles. “Anyway, my Merry Men and I were talking, and…”

“And?”

“If you’re serious about helping us… we’d like to take you up on your offer.”

“Really?” she gasps. 

“Consider it a test of sorts, to see your true character, and if you really mean what you say.” She nods. Whilst it still stings to know they don’t fully trust her, this is good. It’s a start, an opportunity to prove herself. And besides, even if she’s not enough for them, at least she’s helping others… and getting to see the incredibly cute outlaw as she does. “We were thinking you could spy for us. Go to your fancy parties, listen in to their conversations, and report back to us.”

“Perfect. I can do that.” She nods. The thought of going back to those unpleasant parties with older men makes her stomach churn, but at least there is some potential for good to come from it. Bucky holds his hand out, and she shakes it.

Despite being an outlaw, his hands are surprisingly soft.

“Well, Y/N.” He says, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome aboard. Let’s see what you’re capable of.” He chuckles, a glint in his eye.

~ * ~

Wanna see some more Robin Hood!Bucky? 👀

Please follow @onceuponastory-library and turn on notifications to be notified when I next post!

[exhaslo]

Kinktober Day 16- Miguel x Villian!Reader (Bondage)

*Requested by reader ;) *

        The age of heroes was long gone, therefore you thought it was safe to play the part of a villain. Not really a villain, per se, you were a thief. Upon reading about how glorious the past thieves and villains were, you wanted to give your life a new thrill. Taking upon the name of, 'Black Cat', you dedicated your nights to stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, or sometimes to your pockets. Which ever gave you more of a high.

"Ohhhhhh, look at those earrings she is wearing! I'm sure she won't notice if I take them~"

"I'm sure she will,"

"No she-Ah!"

        You yelped away from the window, wondering who was talking to you. To your surprise, it was a tall muscular man in a suit. This must have been the big scary Spiderman that everyone was talking about. Your eyes wandered from his head to his toe. He was much finer than the stories you heard. Ain't no way a man like that was single. You swore a lightbulb appeared above your head. There was something new to steal now.

"Don't believe we've officially met, I'm Black Cat, but you can call me Kitty." You said with a wink.

"Gatita? (kitty?)" He repeated. 

        You nearly gasped. He was Spanish too, one of your many weaknesses in a man! Holding your chest, you nearly stumbled. What would happen if you just surrounded yourself to him? Spiderman was a hero, perhaps you can taint him!

"Wow, that just rolls right off the tongue-ahem, anyway, there's no way such a big hero like yourself is here to stop lil ol' me from stealing some earrings, right?"

"No. Just patrolling and saw a shady figure looking to break in."

"I am not shady!" You said with a huff and approached him, "But, I'll be a good kitty tonight and go home. Maybe if we meet again, I can be good to you~" You purred, trailing your finger against his chest.

        You quickly left with a wide grin against your lips. Oh he was so toned! You casually glanced back, hoping that your flirting was good enough. It had been a while since you did something so bold. Well, the mask sure helped.

----------

        Miguel just stood there, wondering what had just happened. Normally he wouldn't let such petty thieves get away without teaching them a lesson, but then again, you didn't steal anything yet. That, and Miguel had not been flirted with in such a long time that he was in shock. Your casual touch against his skin made him tense. You called yourself a good kitty for him. That was something he was going to think about all night.

----------

        As luck would have it, you kept bumping into Spiderman. It was always whenever you were going to steal something petty or for yourself. Never when it was for others. It made you wonder if he was watching what you were stealing. If so, where would he draw the line? It felt like your flirting was working because Spiderman had started to flirt back! Oh, you nearly dropped on your knees the first time he said something so proactive! You nearly folded right then and there for him!

"Not yet, (y/n)! You need to think!"

"(Y/n)? What a pretty name," Spiderman said with a hum. You let out a whine as your cat claws stroked down the wall you were about to climb,

"You're so mean to me!" You teased, facing the tall man, "Are you going to look me up when you get home, huh Spidey?"

"Now why would I want to look up criminals?" He drew closer to you, "Unless you want me too?"

"Tsk, tsk, this kitty won't like that. This game has to be fair."

"I don't play games with thieves." Spiderman hummed lowly, his hand pressed against the wall as he hovered over you, "Now what were you trying to steal this time?" He asked.

        You gave him your best pout, trying to act innocent. Why was this man so attractive!? If only you can match a face with that sexy voice of his. You bit you lower lip as you took notice of the position you were in. This was straight out of a comic book! Argh, if only you weren't restricted by his mask. You would totally kiss him!

"Why don't I let you guess?" You placed a hand against his chest, "If you guess correctly, I'll reward you~"

"I don't play games with-"

"Boo! Perhaps next time you can play with this kitty. I'm flexible~" You whispered in his ear before dashing off.

-------------

        Miguel inhaled deeply as he watched you scurry off. He kept saying that he did not play games with criminals, yet here he was, letting you run off. Like a game of cat and mouse, only he was a Spider. Miguel groaned lowly as your last words repeated in his mind. Next time he might want that reward you were tempting him with. Next time, he might stop playing games and catch you...Just to see how flexible you really were. It all depends on how you were going to be and what you were going to steal.

-------------

        This was it! This was really going to test your flirting skills with Spiderman. You might be going too far, but hell, this was for your own amusement. You wanted to steal Spiderman for yourself. Such a fine man deserved to be yours. You could not go to bed without thinking of him being intimate with you. You wanted him! Chuckling to yourself, you stared at the adult store in front of your, waiting for Spiderman to appear.

"What are you doing, gatita?" Spiderman said with a hesitant sigh. You smirked towards him,

"What? Can't even steal myself some relief? I'm tired of being a good kitty~"

"Rel-" Miguel stopped himself, feeling that thin line slowly breaking, "You don't need that."

"Awe~ Why not?" You slowly approached Spiderman, "Remember that game last time? Guess what I'm going to steal and I'll reward you? Well, it will be an extra sweet reward~"

"Fuck," Oh, you weren't expecting that, "I'm done playing games."

        Before you can whine, you yelped as Spiderman fired his webbing towards you. You gasped as both of your hands were stuck to the building. Spiderman drew closer to you, webbing your hands more firmly so your claws couldn't break you free.

"You've been a bad, gatita. I'm going to have to punish you after all," His voice was low and raspy. Did you actually succeed?

"Oh? And how are you-ah~"

        You gasped once more as Spiderman started to rub his fingers against your cunt. The fabric causing a burning friction. You tried to close your legs, but Spiderman raised them and webbed them to the wall as well. This was an embarrassing position! You were completely caught in his web.

"Miguel," He whispered, trailing his fingers against the rip of your pants, "(Y/N), if you want relief so badly, then I'll give it to you."

        Shit, this was actually happening. You felt yourself grow wetter just by him telling you his name. At least now you had something to yell out. Muffling a moan, you whined as Miguel lowered your pants. The bottom half of his mask disappeared as he brought his tongue to your wet pussy. Your eyes widen as your saw fangs. So those rumors were true. Before you could ask him about them, you let out a loud moan as he licked your folds.

"M-Miguel!" You yelped in shock. Miguel just looked up at you thru his mask, licking your wet folds in the process,

"You can't lick yourself here, gatita, so I will." His voice vibrated throughout your body, causing you to shiver in delight.

        You tried to arch your back as he wiggled his tongue all over your pussy. A burning sensation traveling all over your body to your cunt. His hands stroking your legs, making you more sensitive. Miguel raised his head slightly, sucking against your clit. You cried out, feeling your growing pleasure. You felt his smirk as he slid his hand over your cunt, sliding two of his large digits inside of you. That was your final straw as you cam against his hand.

        You whined once more as Miguel kept fucking his fingers into your throbbing pussy, not giving you a chance to rest. His tongue still against your clit, eagerly sucking and licking. This was actually happening. Spiderman was fucking you. Trembling as Miguel curled his finger's inside you, you started to grind your hips against his hand. This was much better than whatever toy you were going to steal. Another gasp came out of you as Miguel started to pump his fingers faster. You wanted these webs off.

"C-Come on, Spidey, I-I'll be a good, ah, kitty, lemme g-go~" You begged, feeling another orgasm forming. Miguel looked at you, freeing your abused clit,

"Don't like it when you're trapped in my web?" He asked, bringing his fangs against your neck, "Gotta tie up criminals. Including bad gatitas." He whispered, sucking against your neck.

        Your whines got tuned out by your moans since Miguel pumped his fingers into your g-spot. Your vision blurred for a second as you cam once more. Miguel removed his fingers, giving them a lick as he freed his large cock. Pre-cum already dripping from his tip. You were brought back to your senses once you laid eyes on it. How was that going to fit? There was no way you could move either.

"Awe, is my gatita scared?" Miguel teased, pressing the tip of his cock against your soaked pussy, "Why don't I give you a reward for not stealing anything?"

"Mhm-Miguel...It's...too hn...b-big," You stuttered, trembling as he slowly slid his cock inside your gummy walls, "D-Does y-your training...including...d-dick growth?" 

"Hah," Miguel almost let out a rare laugh. 

        You wanted to say you were joking, but you weren't. Miguel was so big and thick. You were shaking as you felt your pussy stretch like never before. It hurt at first, but this position was making you adjust quickly. You were spread out like a damn butterfly. Thank god there were no cameras or nearby people. You flung your head back, moaning as you felt his tip hit your cervix. Who knew Spiderman had such a big dick. Who knew it would even fit inside you!

"Fuck, look at that. What a good gatita." Miguel groaned lowly.

        You whined softly as you felt your walls squeeze him. Miguel leaned in to kiss you before beginning his rough thrusts. Your eyes widen as you moaned into the kiss, surprised by his strength. You felt him fuck the breathe right out of your throat. With each thrust, Miguel bruised your cervix. He held your hips, climbing onto the wall to fuck you deeper. If only you could hold onto him. You felt so vulnerable in this position, unable to move. It was like you were just his fuck toy.

        You swore you saw stars as Miguel made you cum again. He grunted as his cock started to get a white ring from your juices. He quicken his pace, causing you to moan from overstimulation. How many more orgasms' was this man going to draw out of you. You started to feel dizzy, but you didn't want him to stop. Hearing another grunt, Miguel held your waist tighter, almost piercing it with his talons. He slammed his dick into you harshly, pouring his cum into your womb.

"That's right, good gatita's like their milk." Miguel panted softly. You just trembled,

"A-Ah~" You moaned lowly, feeling his hot load fill you.

        Miguel waited a moment before pulling out. He watched as a mixture of his cum and your juices rolled down your legs. He freed you from his webbing and fixed your suit. Glancing up at the building before you, he smirked under his mask,

"I'll let you steal just one thing from that store, but I'll have to punish you again." He whispered in your ear, holding your waist close to his. Your body leaned against his, unable to think straight,

"Do you like seeing this kitty all tied up?"

"I'd be lying if I said no."

"Then I'll reward my precious hero and grab more bondage...That doesn't involve sticky webs." You whined, still removing his webs from your suit. Miguel smirked, biting against your neck as he rubbed your pussy again,

"But you enjoy these sticky webs." He poked against your hole, causing you to melt under his touch,

"L-Lemme steal...mhm...something first."

"Yes, my good little gatita."

[anitalenia]

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙏𝙍𝙄𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙇𝙀 ⋆⭒˚｡⋆‎♡‧₊˚

꒰ঌ definition ໒꒱ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷   𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙. 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ below you will find sub genres under this category, as well as some useful pairings for this trope. for educational writing purposes <3

note: several of these can also be used in other tropes as well, just depends on how you write it and interpret it.

₊˚⊹.* ♡ good brother x reader x bad brother

₊˚⊹.* ♡ angel x reader x demon

₊˚⊹.* ♡ vampire x reader x werewolf

₊˚⊹.* ♡ killer x reader x detective

₊˚⊹.* ♡ popular jock x reader x outcast rebel

₊˚⊹.* ♡ roommate x reader x best friend

₊˚⊹.* ♡ husband x reader x old flame

₊˚⊹.* ♡ boyfriend x reader x boyfriends brother

₊˚⊹.* ♡ boyfriend x reader x boyfriends dad (so scandalous ROWR)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ ceo x reader x ceo’s rival

₊˚⊹.* ♡ good man with a promised future and loyalty x reader x bad boy in town full of excitement and spontaneity

₊˚⊹.* ♡ sweet reliable love interest x reader x exotic mysterious love interest

₊˚⊹.* ♡ reader who is battling their bisexuality / homosexuality — man x reader x woman

₊˚⊹.* ♡ fire x reader x ice

₊˚⊹.* ♡ friends of the same group loving the same girl

₊˚⊹.* ♡ a kind and noble prince x reader x handsome and charismatic rebel / outcast

₊˚⊹.* ♡ magical / supernatural love interest x reader x human / mundane love interest

₊˚⊹.* ♡ rich x reader x poor

₊˚⊹.* ♡ hero x reader x villain

₊˚⊹.* ♡ “good” king x reader x “wicked” king

₊˚⊹.* ♡ two yandere loving person A

₊˚⊹.* ♡ demon brothers rivaled against each other fighting for person A

₊˚⊹.* ♡ sun god x reader x moon god

₊˚⊹.* ♡ light x reader x darkness

₊˚⊹.* ♡ prince x princess x princesses knight

₊˚⊹.* ♡ king x queen x kings butler

₊˚⊹.* ♡ best friends brother x reader x brothers best friend

₊˚⊹.* ♡ childhood best friend x reader x new guy

₊˚⊹.* ♡ person A wants person B but person B and C are dating

₊˚⊹.* ♡ prince you’re set to marry x reader x princes brother

₊˚⊹.* ♡ boyfriend x reader x man she had an affair with

₊˚⊹.* ♡ mafia man x reader x rivaling mafia man

₊˚⊹.* ♡ loud and boisterous love interest x reader x stoic and calm love interest

₊˚⊹.* ♡ god x reader x rivaling god

₊˚⊹.* ♡ vampire x vamp!reader x vampire slayer

₊˚⊹.* ♡ dragon x reader x knight (dragon slayer)

₊˚⊹.* ♡supportive & goofy best friend x reader x childhood crush

₊˚⊹.* ♡ main crush x reader x readers rival (the rival and reader lowkey enemies to lovers, while main crush starts to notice reader)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ human!boy best friend x supernatural!reader x supernatural!love interest who “understands” her more (like Nicholas x Sabrina x Harvey from Chilling Adventures of Sabrina if ykyk)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ witch hunter x witch!reader x warlock

₊˚⊹.* ♡ detective partner x detective!reader x detective brought on to help with the case

₊˚⊹.* ♡ two best friends wanting person A

₊˚⊹.* ♡ boyfriend x reader x new boss

₊˚⊹.* ♡ sister reader is to marry x reader x sister reader is actually in love with

₊˚⊹.* ♡ fiancé x reader x ex boyfriend

₊˚⊹.* ♡ childhood love x reader x childhood loves best friend

₊˚⊹.* ♡ bodyguard x reader x man in charge of the operation

₊˚⊹.* ♡ reader is in love with her best friend who is set to marry someone else

₊˚⊹.* ♡ man reader actually wants x reader x man readers family approves of

₊˚⊹.* ♡ rich upper class man x upper class!reader x poor man

₊˚⊹.* ♡ pirate captain x duchess!reader x royal navy captain

₊˚⊹.* ♡ fiancé x reader x co worker reader has known for years and gradually fell in love with (pam and jim obvi)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ vampire boyfriend x reader x vampire boyfriends rival (angel x buffy x spike aka the best show ever)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ white queen (or king) x reader x queen (or king) of hearts

₊˚⊹.* ♡ omegaverse — alpha of pack A x reader x rivaling alpha of pack B

₊˚⊹.* ♡ best friend x reader x other best friend

₊˚⊹.* ♡ king x maid!reader x kings brother

₊˚⊹.* ♡ emperor x reader x emperors guard

₊˚⊹.* ♡ emperor x reader x emperors second in command (almost like a best friend but yk)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ teacher x student!reader x dean / principal

₊˚⊹.* ♡ biker of gang A x florist!reader x rivaling biker of gang B

₊˚⊹.* ♡ psychiatrist x patient!reader x other patient

₊˚⊹.* ♡ construction worker who comes in for coffee everyday x barista!reader x office man who comes in for coffee everyday

₊˚⊹.* ♡ cat person x reader x dog person

₊˚⊹.* ♡ water mage x reader (can be magical as well if you want) x fire mage

₊˚⊹.* ♡ elf king x reader x general of elf army

₊˚⊹.* ♡ friend whose crushing on you x reader x guy you have a crush on

₊˚⊹.* ♡ incubus x reader x succubus (they both want you)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ king of hell x reader x king of light (I don’t really wanna say king of heaven sooo)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ angel on your shoulder x reader x devil on your shoulder

₊˚⊹.* ♡ royal au — prince your sister is to marry that really likes you instead x Princess!reader x stable boy you’re infatuated with

₊˚⊹.* ♡ royal au — just like above except duke / prince from a neighboring land x princess!reader x stable boy you’re infatuated with

[chantsdemarins]

😅Real Villain Training [Tom Hiddleston circa 2012 X Fem.Reader]

Chapter three of Breath of the Æsir is almost here. I’m SO sorry for the wait! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a very brief Tom story...

Honestly, I pledged to myself, no more Tom stories just focus on Loki. But I think I just can't help it. Especially when slutty inspiration like this photo comes my way (@lokischambermaid and @lokisgoodgirl 😳)

I am humbled by this era of Tom. In 2024 he is a husband/father/seasoned iconic actor in perpetual good cheer, but in 2012, he was a bad boy. As always please reblog and comment if you feel inspired!

Summary: Tom is hanging out with some real jerks for a new role, and he runs into you, literally. Your depression has caused your life to turn a little black and white, could this handsome stranger possibly add some color back? (at least to your cheeks🥵).

Smut factor: I hope...HOT 🔥

(Authors note: I have no concrete proof he was in fact a bad boy so please don't take seriously my young Tom plot themes of drugs and sex, which once again appear here. I could be totally wrong about him. It's art! It's a fabrication! Also, this story does involve mental health!)

I also don't know who would want to be on a tag list for a Tom fic these days! These are a few people who might be interested?? @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokisgoodgirl @wheredafandomat @sailorholly @mrs-illyrian-baby @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2 @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbs @tbhiddlestan83 @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger @kikster606 @mjsthrillernp @hiroyukinasukawa

Los Angeles, 2012

That afternoon, the rooftop pool at the Saint Avalon was a pink swirl of bathing beauties in early spring. Tom tried to focus on his deadpan conversation with his agent, but polka dots and silly cocktails danced around him. He pushed his Ray-Bans back into place, his sweat—or perhaps nervousness—causing them to slowly slide off his nose.

"Serious British actor succumbs to being typecast as a Norse sociopath. That's where this is headed, Tom, if we don’t do something, get you something else.” “Do you really want to be known only for Marvel?” he repeated his plea. The words just weren’t sinking in.

Tom laughed and inadvertently tried to change the subject. "Have you been to the La Brea Tar Pits yet, John? It’s wild—10,000 years' worth of dire wolf bones.”

His stare remained galvanized by the poolside girls. They just didn't look like that in London. Number one, the sunshine. Number two, the tans. Number three, well, his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, rather—made it hard to look too long at anyone else. So had he ever found himself at a rooftop pool party, he wouldn't have had the chance he was having now.

“Tom, are you paying attention? This is important. You're only here for a week, and we need to move on this role. I need to know if you're a yes.” The truth was, Tom was suddenly filthy rich with his own money for the first time in his life. He really loved being a Norse sociopath and already had big ideas for Loki’s eventual character arc into becoming an anti-hero someday. He had filled three journals on his bedside stand with his ideas for Loki.

His agent tried again, “Just hang out with Giorgio. It’s less than a month. Then the movie should be a very easy shoot. You get to embed yourself with some real hedge fund cats.” Tom’s attention snapped back. “Wait, I like that.” “Right? It’s like if Loki worked on Wall Street.” “Well…” Tom hesitated. He didn’t think Loki would actually ever bore himself that way. Those guys were boring to Tom and to Loki.

His poor agent was right, though. He did need another role. Things had gone so well; filming for the next Avengers movie was starting this summer. If he could find another gig, a time filler, a totally different genre, it really would be the best for his career. “Then a play next,” the agent mused, taking a sip of his own cocktail. “Shakespeare, or something 70s.” “70s? As in the 1570s? Or the 1970s?” “Tom.” “How should I know?” Tom laughed to himself, eyes still canvassing the poolside display around him. His agent leaned across his lawn chair and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “So, you’ll do it?”

Two Weeks Later

Deep down, he knew he didn’t have the dissociation required for the job. He was too corporeal, too embodied. Years of being a long-distance runner and a trained athlete had fastened his mind, heart, and soul firmly into his muscles. He clearly wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings in his highly emotive, sensitive body. That was the first thing he noticed about the guys he was forced to hang out with for this role. They were covered up with their suits and sexist jokes. It was like they had Hadrian’s Wall around them. Which was, in fact, what exactly led to his sudden departure from the bar at Rue 23.

He had been embedded with short and loud Glen, buzz-cut Ellis, and the tall and lanky, just like him, Brad Nelson. There were a few others, but they were too milquetoast to be memorable. Role be damned. He left so fast the thick glass door almost hit a nice young couple as he bolted into the cold Los Angeles spring night.

He wasn’t dressed right; in his haste to leave London, he didn’t remember that California got into the 40s after the sun went down. He didn’t even pack a suit coat. Thank God he remembered to grab his leather pack from under the bar. It contained exactly five cigarettes, a finicky Zippo, his aftershave, a white t-shirt, and a travel toothbrush. There might also be a rolled-up Popular Mechanics magazine from the Burbank airport, something he never would be caught dead reading at Heathrow.

He also hadn’t done so much coke since he was in college. Why was LA always so incredibly cliché? He couldn’t blame Luke. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for this role. He said yes when he was distracted. He was in over his head. They had hired these real blokes to make sure Tom looked authentic when they started filming next month, and given his intense drive for perfection, he had agreed that it was “brilliant” of the casting director to force the eight of them to spend these weeks in Los Angeles and one week in Manhattan, in a true immersive centrifuge of shallow materiality.

The night spun around him, a neon ball of yarn, teasing open his pupils until his eyes were black and not at all blue. As he walked, he ran his large hands down the surface of his body, the material of his shirt feeling like a fancy pillowcase from a boutique hotel.

One finger lingered over his jawline, tracing it as he brought his hands back up to his face. Engrossed in the comfort of his form a moment too long, he was distracted once again. This part of LA seemed to always be full of clusters of locals and tourists, laughing and talking. He was unfortunately moving against the flow of the crowd, a wayward salmon when he almost ran straight into you.

“Watch where you're going!” you yelled, dropping your purse onto the dirty LA sidewalk. It opened enough for your things to tumble out. Tom immediately stopped and bent down to help you, but you batted his hands away. “What the hell? I can pick up my own damn Chapstick,” you scolded. “Ma’am, I am so sorry, I am obviously not from here, and I am a little overwhelmed,” he rattled off. “Why is that obvious?” “My accent, of course.” “I didn’t honestly notice,” you spoke as you inspected the tall man’s face with squinting eyes.

You, of course, did immediately notice the timbre of his voice, his height, and the buttons on his tight shirt which looked like they were in the process of unbuttoning themselves. “Would you believe I’ve been doing coke all night with a bunch of Wall Street assholes at the Rue 23, and I had to get the fuck out of there,” he continued, not sure if you were listening, but you were definitely looking at him, so he continued.

“So now I am wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, and I haven’t the foggiest how the rest of my night will go.” You shuffled your feet for a moment before speaking. You had been heading home after a long day at work. You felt genuinely unprepared for navigating a handsome foreigner in the right direction. Yet there was a certain appeal to a man suddenly without his ship or his crew, so to speak. So you didn’t immediately walk away.

He had been shuffled from the airport to the bar in a hired car, he tried to explain, and his sense of direction bordered on problematic. Further, his flip phone was really only good for texting, and that even took way too long most days. He really did seem high, overwhelmed, and a little lost. He also seemed the type unable to handle any silence in a conversation.

“Do you live far?” he said after suffering through 30 seconds of no discourse. “It’s LA, everything is far.” “Fair enough,” Tom muttered sheepishly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, which were still somehow unbuttoning themselves. He thought he had bought the right size shirt. Maybe not.

You realized that if you were to ask this too-high, too-hot British man back to your apartment, you would inevitably cave and end up sleeping with him just because he caught you in this particular moment of your life. It was an in-between time. You weren't quite your old self and your new self that you'd been working so hard on, hadn't emerged yet.

“Want to grab something to eat?” You finally offered a neutral segue. That seemed to be just what the man needed to hear. His demeanor calmed. “Oh sure, yes, I could go for a big American cheeseburger, honestly.” “Okay then, let’s go to Patty’s on Vine, we can walk,” you said as you pulled at his shirt to turn him toward the right direction. He bristled at the feeling of your touch.

His whole body was even more sensitive than usual. You looked like the queen of the ancient British Iceni to him. In truth, he didn’t much care for the California look. He loved that you appeared out of nowhere and you looked like Boudica, not like Gwyneth Paltrow. Even though he was sure he heard she was nice. RDJ seemed to really love her.

The diner where you were headed was the second-tier after-hours hang, so it wasn’t populated with the usual crowd, not yet at least. You had some time before you would be inundated, and perhaps before someone would recognize him, which you still did not. You could ask him, of course. Although, sometimes in Los Angeles, the worst part is knowing who someone is.

Although Tom being Tom was unable to resist personal questions. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, just a little,” he had to ask as the night air propelled him quickly down the sidewalk. You considered telling him about your job, but it was just how you paid the bills. Your passions were your passions and not for a stranger. So you decided to be a little goth. It couldn't hurt.

“I have something like anhedonia, I suppose,” you finally said. Tom seemed to know what you meant right away. “The inability to feel?” He spoke. “More classically refined, which results in numbness, making capturing interior somatic sensations nearly impossible,” you clarified. “Sounds like you are depressed,” Tom flattened out your creative retelling of your current state. “Maybe,” although you weren't sure of his simple label. "You think it will pass?" Tom continued, ever the optimist.

You considered one way to try and test if this state you'd been in could possibly change, would be to see if he could provoke feelings of passion or at least some kind of low-grade horniness. You’d been feeling functionally blank for a while now.

He was stunning, after all.

He seemed game for anything, his amphetamine grin taking up the majority of his handsome face. He looked so lovely under the hanging light in your dingy booth. You ate the two-egg special you ordered and watched him devour his American cheeseburger with genuine joy.

“So, you're here to practice for a new part?” You sincerely tried to keep the conversation flowing despite the growing desire to test your theory. “Yes, they want me to branch out. In my career, there’s the fear I am already 'type-casted,' I guess you could say.” “Type-casted? So early on?”

He looked young to you. Possibly younger than you actually. “Yes, I had a big role as a villain, it really blew up, but, he's like a mythological comic book one. I am misunderstood mostly. I mean my character, not me.” "Sure." You nodded in understanding and agreed even if you didn’t quite pick up what he was putting down. You wondered if he had ever seen 'The Last Starfighter.' A favorite movie of yours, you rarely shared with anyone else. Or had he been in that? Your mind wandered. You really didn't recognize him, but you also didn't want to offend him by this fact.

“So how would this role be redefining your abilities? If you are playing a heartless hedge fund dude, isn’t that also a kind of villain? Maybe that is why you got this part.” Tom pondered your insight. He again fell into overthinking and was only a text away from bailing on the entire endeavor. He was becoming that kind of guy, emotionally uneven under his elite veneer.

“I guess they feel like I don’t have the chops to be a 'real world' baddie.” “I needed more practice.” “You don’t?” you said very timidly, suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. You gently pushed your plate aside so you could focus.

You realized his bromance compadres would find him eventually. Another LA truth: it was hard to get truly lost for long. You had been studying his face during the conversation. His pale complexion was slowly becoming flushed in small increments. Was it shyness or a hidden boldness he was bursting to demonstrate, you couldn't tell.

You had worn your espadrilles today, maybe it wasn’t the right season yet, but they always went so well with your outfit-a flowery dress from H&M. Gently and playfully, you kicked one of them off your foot, making a soft thud. Tom dipped his eyes beneath the table for only a moment and brought them back to you, a new flash of crimson emerging. Why were you taking off your shoes? Maybe your feet hurt from the walk?

He picked up his water and chugged almost all of it.

Your right leg lifted up and found purchase exactly between his, landing on the soft seat. Tom chuckled nervously and grabbed your foot. “Just what are you doing?” “I thought you were in training to be a real villain. Or did I misunderstand that?” You teased. Tom’s sincerity and earnestness were effulgent. “Oh no, I am, I really want the part, I need this role.” Suddenly when the idea of something illicit going on beneath the table loomed, he was not reticent about this new role. “Then you better continue to practice.” You laughed, your own smile forming across your face. “How long do we have until they find you?” You inched your foot closer to his crotch.

Tom took a deep breath in and pulled out his flip phone eyes squinting, trying to see the rectangle text banner across the tiny screen. He held the phone up to you. “Can you read this at all?” You grabbed it from him, feeling his hand shaking a little. It was charming. He was nervous.

You read the tiny screen aloud, “Not really, something about where are you at…you wanker, we are about to call your agent." It did say exactly that, and you wondered if possibly Tom was throwing away this role. Were you watching him collapse his career before your eyes? “Are you one for self-sabotage Tom?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. Maybe no one had asked him so bluntly. “Maybe,” he said after a long minute of typing something on the seemingly minute phone with his long fingers and even larger hands. “Just like I am possibly depressed," you offered. He looked up and sat his phone down. “Yes, I think so. Just like that.”

Incoming

Just then the waitress came by filled your water glasses and gave you another quick refill of coffee. Your chosen sobriety was a strange foil to Tom’s imbibed stimulant cocktail which showed no sign of waning. “So, are we on?” He finally said after biting his bottom lip, for what seemed like a year, until it was slightly puffy.

“For what? A staring contest?” You offered, laughing nervously too, your foot still stationed between his thighs. You wondered what you could accomplish at this hour with the looming threat of an incursion at any moment.

The glimmer in his dilated orbs registered that Tom was now aligned in a mission of testing the perpetuity of your anhedonic state. Suddenly under the table, you felt his long legs spread yours apart, like opening a long-closed window that had been painted over.

You gasped but didn’t say anything. He laughed and widened his legs further. You moved your eyes to watch him under the table, his hand reaching down to adjust his cock, which was obviously becoming hard.

At that moment you wanted to jump over to his side of the booth, you wanted to concede and take him to your far away apartment in embarrassing Marina Del Rey.

Tom went silent and finally let go of your bare foot, he had been holding it so hard with his other hand, that you were sure it would be bruised. You immediately placed it on his now impossibly hard cock, tenting his pants obscenely. Honestly, you’d never given a “foot job” before and only seen something like this in a French film once. You had no idea what you were doing.

You slowly began to move your foot up and down his length, which was quite impressive and required more force than you had anticipated. You curled your toes around him to try and create more friction, dragging your heel just at the base.

You placed your hands on the edge of the diner seat so you could put some real weight into getting him off. That seemed to work, and Tom let out a guttural moan. He quickly grabbed your water glass and drank it in addition to his own.

“Should I stop?” You let yourself wonder out loud. “Are you crazy? No.” Was Tom’s quick reply. “Does this feel good?” “Fuck yes.” His voice was breathy, and he shifted in his seat, daring to look around at the customers, but none showed any sign of noticing anything other than themselves. “But this isn’t fair,” he spoke again softly, panting. “How so?” “Because I am um, I am receiving.” “Aren’t you supposed to be a selfish cold surface-level junior business asshole?” “Yes.” “Then this is what they do, they get foot jobs in diners, amongst other perks of course,” you laughed. “Shit, you’re right,” Tom barely squeaked out.

Just then the diner door opened, and you could see the dim faces of the guys he had been partying with. They finally found him. “Don’t look now but your Republican friends have arrived.” Tom’s flush became pale. “Should I stop?” You checked in again. “No.” His response was as clear as mid-day.

So, you increased your speed, you took a deep breath. You were so turned on at this point. You were positive there would be a wet spot on the cracked vinyl seat. You lifted your skirt up further. Tom noticed and peered beneath the table again. He saw your hand brush past your underwear and a finger curl inside the lace trim. You matched his erratic breathing to your motions as you fucked yourself intently. His eyes were glued to you, his fists almost punching into the flimsy placemats. You laughed to yourself about the chances of you both coming in public, surely, he wouldn’t, or you couldn’t.

You were about to mention that perhaps you should stop. When suddenly Tom let out a muffled cry. His breath hitched. You could feel moisture beneath the bottom of your toes as you brought your foot back to the tip of his generous cock once more. “Ah, I see,” you laughed. "Well looks like we are done here." There was no more time to discuss what just happened. The bros had spotted him and you and made their way to your back corner.

Tom closed his eyes in what looked like a silent prayer. He had just had one of the best orgasms of his life. The short blond one with cropped hair spoke up, “Hiddleston, where the fuck have you been, your agency was about to call the cops, which would have been lame.”

“Hiddleston,” you said his surname out loud. Realizing you never got his last name. Tom looked at you with both lust and remorse. Then turned back to the assholes. “You found me, good work,” he said assuredly. “Well we gotta go dick we have a strip club that closes at 3am and it’s in the contract that we take you there.”

Tom slowly got up and used one of his long fingers to expertly untuck that white button-down shirt to conceal the mess you had both made. He looked your way, the pale blue of his eyes returning.

You exchanged numbers for the pleasantry of it, as the assholes looked on impatiently, probably wondering why Tom was wasting his time on a girl who looked like Boudica, but that's just what assholes do you remembered. Although you really didn’t expect to hear from him again. To your surprise right before dawn, perhaps as he was leaving said strip club, a text came over your Blackberry.

“I hope you felt something, I know I did.” Shit.

You did feel something, a lot of things actually. Tom had brought something back to the solemnly plain bagel of your life. You quickly wrote back.

"Don't let the bros see you texting me Tom, you laughed knowing he was probably squinting and barely able to see your words. You picture all of them looking over his shoulder.

"They went home. Can I come over? I feel like we aren't done quite yet. My asshole-in-training self expires at sunrise and I turn back into the real me. Is that okay?" You blinked a few times just to make sure you saw that correctly. "So you're actually Cinderella," you laughed nervously.

You managed to type your address and push send before pulling your covers over your head and screaming quietly enough to not wake up your still-slumbering roommates. You then looked around your room in quiet delightful horror, you had about 30 minutes to hide all your dirty clothes from the past three months under your bed...

[leviathansshadycorner]

You’re spiderman?! Peter parker/ Spiderman x Venom! Reader 

A/n: bold is venom, words in bold are his opinions, bold in italics is you when you're ‘merged’ with venom, also toby peter was in mind when writing this but go ham on whichever peter you want it to be. Might write a part two lol.

Glass clinked against the metal stirring stick you were using to slosh around the blue liquid. You wanted to get the solution right on the first try. Not because you were an overachiever, but because you wanted to go home already. That and the little Alien that inhabited you was being annoying. It had been two months since agreeing to become Venom’s host. The first month was hell, in fact it’s the reason why you’re in your chemistry class after school. The chaos that came along with the symbiote was more than enough to help you fail your classes. The first few days with venom consisted of you destroying your bedroom, eating nasty old men, and wreaking havoc in the city. 

To make things worse, not only were the NYPD on your ass- but you also had a certain annoying neighborhood nuisance on your tail. In fact just last night you were tied onto a streetlamp by Spider-man, the nuisance himself, because it’s ‘not ethical’ to eat bad guys. You hated him. Sure he was a hero trying to rid the city of evil but so were you! Poor not-so-little Venom was so excited to become vigilantes, but his dreams got crushed after being categorized as a villain by the web-slinger. 

“WHEN DO WE GET TO GO HOME?” The Alien poked his small head out from your left boob. 

With urgency you shoved him back into your body. “Calm down!” 

Mrs. Nicholson and a few other students who were also making up some late work looked over at you, some confused others laughing at your sudden outburst. 

“Everything alright (Y/n)?” The tired chemistry teacher called over. 

A nervous laugh came out of your mouth, “Yeah sorry- just frustrated I guess.” 

“Frustrated? Do you need help?” She asked with concern. 

“N-no I’m fine.” You replied trying to look focused so she wouldn’t send over the student assistant. 

“Alright well Peter should be back from the bathroom if you need help, so just ask him for help ok?” Great. Just what you needed. 

See, it’s not that you hated Peter Parker, he was a pretty smart guy. He’s actually the only teacher’s assistant who isn’t a condescending smart ass that makes you feel bad about yourself for asking a question. He was helpful in these make-up labs  oftentimes being of more  use than the actual teacher. You never really spoke to him, you knew he had a rich hot friend and a crush on Mary Jane who you also never spoke to.  

“Back.” Speak of the devil.  The boy stepped into the classroom, his lab coat still on. Was that even considered sanitary? 

Immediately you felt Venom take over your eyes. Your (e/c) irises covered by a silky white lens film as he observed Peter. Now used to his antics- you shut your eyes tightly until you regained control of your eyes again. Taking the vial of stirred solution in your hands you carefully poured it into the main flask, once again hoping Mrs. Nicholson wouldn’t send Peter over. 

Unfortunately for you, the universe loved to see you suffer. “Peter, why don’t you go help (Y/n) over there?” She directed him to you. 

You mentally groaned when you saw Peter make his way over. You were sitting in the middle of the classroom just behind two students and in front of another. There were four of you in total, yet you were the only one who seemed to struggle. Surly chemistry was rigged against you or something right? 

“OOO YUM.” Venom growled as he tried to escape your body only to be pushed back in again before anyone could see him. 

“Did you say something?” Peter looked confused, his glasses moving upwards as he raised an eyebrow. 

“Huh? Oh no I was just saying that this solution looks yum…yummy.” The gross sludge in front of you did not look yummy, It looked like someone threw up a blue gatorade. “It’s not supposed to do that is it?” 

He shook his head, his blue eyes wide as he moved to prevent it from spilling. “No- it’s not. What did you put in here?” He carefully moved you out of the way and took over your station, cleaning up the mess you had made. “We might have to start over.” 

You would’ve felt bad about him having to fix your mess, but you were too caught up in the fact that you had to stay longer and redo the whole damn thing. 

“GAAAHHH!” Venom’s low voice fussed as he heard this news. Once again everybody’s eyes were on you. The heat rose to your face as you tried to play it off. 

“Sorry, guess I’m hungry.” 

Peter and you got to work. Since you had to redo the whole process the two of you were the last ones in the classroom, the other students leaving as soon as they finished. Mrs. Nicholson had even left, claiming that “Peter knows what he’s doing, You’re in good hands.” It wasn’t usual that Teacher’s left students alone in classrooms, especially in labs. However Peter was the exception. He was Midtown high’s resident nerd/teacher’s pet. Which was why he was always getting in trouble with Flash Thompson. The only thing keeping him from daily beatings being his friend Harry. 

“Alright, so now that it’s bubbling just compare the differences between this one and the one we put in cold water.” The boy said, moving his goggles to the side as he took them off. 

“That’s it? I’m done after that?” You eagerly asked, eyebrows high, astonished by the fact that you were the only one who could mess up a simple ass lab. 

“I mean we still gotta clean up, but yeah.” He offered a smile. 

“Sweet.” You got to writing. Venom had calmed down after you took a bathroom break to buy some chocolate from a vending machine, but occasionally he would pop out from behind your neck to sniff Peter. You just hoped Peter didn’t think of you as some weirdo pervert who was trying to smell him. 

The scribbles on the report were hardly legible since you just wanted to get out of there. Finishing off with signing your name, you turned the packet in to the front of the desk where Mrs. Nicholson had instructed you to before she had left. 

“Alright, thank you.” You told the boy who was staring at you intently. You hadn’t noticed it before but he was acting differently after you came back from your ‘bathroom break’. 

“Yeah no problem, need help cleaning up?” Regardless of your response, he was already emptying the flask and tubes that you had used, 

“I mean you’re already helping me.” Chuckling in a friendly manner you grabbed some paper towels and disinfectant, spraying it on the table and wiping it away. 

The two of you worked in awkward silence to clean up the lab, going as far as to clean up the messes that the other lab students forgot about. When you were done you took off your goggles and coat, hanging it back on the rack. Peter soon followed behind  you, his footsteps and yours the only sound in the room. 

“Alright well- bye, thank you again.” You rushed out of there, your backpack charms clinking as your legs moved down the hall. 

“YAY! FREEDOM!” Venom roared, his head poking out of your stomach, You didn’t shove him back this time, mainly because no one else was around to witness the monster you called your friend. 

A smile played on your face, “Fuck yeah! And we don’t ever have to stay after school anymore!” 

“WAIT THAT WAS THE LAST ONE?” Venom questioned, eager to hear the response. 

“Mhm!” You celebrated, still running out of the school. “Now we can do some more bad guy hunting!” Saying Venom was the only one who enjoyed the vigilante work would be a lie. After getting accustomed to the fear and relishing in the rush- you too had been looking forward to beating up the scum of the earth. Plus, a part of you secretly hoped to be tied up again by Spiderman. Though you hated him for leaving you with a hungry Venom, you had a thing for guys in masks. 

Venom took over your legs, the black-purple sludge covering your jeans as he sped up the pace. “DO WE GET TO EAT NOW?” 

“Maybe- I don’t know. It's still bright out.” The sun still hadn’t set. Checking your watch it read 5:30. 

“I’ll buy you some fries.” 

“YAY!” 

The two of you were at (favorite burger place), munching on some much needed food when it happened. A gross oversized bug flew at the restaurant's window, its guts splatter all over the place. 

“What the hell?” A few people got up to look at the commotion which only progressed as the sound of a crash and then car alarms went off. 

“What the fuck is that?” You commented to Venom as you finished your food, gathering up the trash to throw. 

“I DON’T KNOW, LET’S FIND OUT.”  His feet dragged you towards the exit, quickly you grabbed your backpack, swinging it on you as the Alien took control of your steps. His feet looked like some horror movie inspired shoes. 

He didn’t bother saying excuse me, his attention focused on the action outside. You murmured some apologies to the people who he bumped into. Eventually the two of you were far enough for him to take over your body, your (s/c) skin overrun with his dark goop. When you made it out of the alleyway people were quick to shriek at you. This was the first time in a while that Venom was fully out in broad daylight. 

“AHHHHHHHHH! Oh my god what is that?” A lady yelled. 

“Is that spiderman?!” Some guy yelled causing a cacophony of people accusing you of being spiderman. 

“IDIOTS!” Venom didn’t like that. 

As if on cue the actual spiderman came swinging in, stepping on your head to boost himself up. 

“Hey it's you!” His annoying voice called out a greeting, lifting himself up with a web. 

Venom growled at this, not appreciating the fact he was used as a step stool. “ GET BACK HERE YOU ASSHOLE!”

“Hey! Stop that! He’s already dealing with someone. Let’s take advantage of this while he’s distracted.” Trying to convince Venom to change his mind was a hard task, especially when he was throwing a temper tantrum. The two of you fought for autonomy over your body, venom winning since his hunger fueled him. 

“I thought you were all for saving the bees!” Spiderman’s voice echoed through the air as he threw some webs towards Swarm, the nuisance in question. 

Angered, theVillain shot some bees his way, “DIE SPIDERMAN!” 

Quickly the man in the red suit dodged the swarm of bees coming his way, using his webs as some sort of butterfly net as he caught some.  Infuriated by his quick thinking, the swarm makes the bees cut through the net, sending another mass of them at the spider. 

“Gross I don’t want to get stung.” You pulled away before Venom got too close, landing on a roof nearby. It was close enough to see the whole ordeal yet not get hurt. 

“(Y/N) COME ON! HE’S RIGHT THERE! IF WE GET RID OF HIM WE CAN HAVE ALL THE BRAINS IN THE WORLD!” The alien shouted though no amount of pleading would convince you to kill Spider man. 

‘’Yes, but if we kill him, who's gonna deal with these wackos?” 

“WE WILL DUH! STOP BEING SUCH A PUS-” A web came shooting at you heavy enough to drop you to the floor. 

“What the hell? Already?!“WE WEREN’T EVEN DOING ANYTHING!” 

“I TOLD YOU WE SHOULD’VE STRUCK!” He scolded you. 

“Sorry buddy, I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on you! Kinda busy at the moment, you can try me again on Tuesday.”  Spiderman walked onto the roof where you lay, shooting out a few more webs onto you. He finished his snarky little sentence just as he went to attack Swarm again. 

Letting out an animalistic growl, Venom burst through the webs- this time he was actually angry, and you tended to not have the best control over him when in a state like this. His claws gripped onto the buildings as he climbed upwards, making his way to the spider and Swarm. The villain looked horrified as he saw the two of you approaching him. Swarm let out a yell as Venom brought him to the ground, his fist endlessly punching away as the swarm slowly disappeared, the bees scurrying off to recover. 

“Gee thanks for the help buddy!” Spiderman landed behind you, his fists on his slutty little waist. “Glad I can count on ya!” He began to walk away. 

Venom leaped out, grabbing him in his hands. “Hey what the-!” Spiderman struggled as he tried to shimmy his way out of your grasps. 

“FINALLY!” Venom’s voice shook Spiderman’s core. 

“No~ NO! Venom no! I thought I told you that we weren’t going to kill him!” You fought with the symbiote, loosening your grip to allow the hero some room to escape. 

“SHUT UP (Y/N) I GOT THIS!” He spoke as he tightened his grip once again. 

If it weren’t for the mask you would've seen the confused expression on Peter’s face when he heard this giant monster thing say your name. Could it be? He thought, Could it be the girl from his school? 

“No it can’t be.” Spiderman shook his head. 

Venom lifted him up to his eye level, beginning to pluck off the mask from the hero. “Hey! Stop that! It’s not nice to take someone’s mask off without their permission!” He huffed trying to joke, though you could tell he was scared. A crowd was formed below the buildings, the sound of news helicopters surrounded you and you were sure they were broadcasting this live. 

“Venom- we gotta go.” You told your friend as you frantically moved your head to look at the helicopters that had now grown in number. “Come on let him go- we gotta leave before they start-” 

It was too late. A helicopter filled with what looked to be either a military or swat team had started shooting at you. The bullets hitting your body, cushioned by Venom’s goop before being released to the floor. Peter watched with wide eyes as the bullers fell to the ground, having not affected the beast at all. He however was shitting his pants- if he got shot he was done for. 

Shocked by the sudden fire and scared out of your mind, fear took over, causing your flight to kick in. You’d let go of Peter, and used your legs to leap off the building. Venom didn’t seem to be happy about it, but he also knew that if you got hurt he’d die as well. 

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?!” You shouted, feeling yourself begin to cry. 

“WE COULD’VE HAD  HIM!” Venom shouted, retracting into your body once you were in a safe alley way away from anyone. 

“I could have died!” You shouted.

“NUH UH! I WAS PROTECTING YOU!” He argued. 

“Not really! If you were protecting me we would’ve been out of that situation as soon as they started firing!” You were breathing heavily. You took your flannel off to examine your arms, reaching down to lift your pant legs to check on your leg. 

“THE BULLETS DIDN’T REACH YOU (Y/N), LIKE I SAID I WAS PROTECTING YOU.” He said again. 

It was your first brush with death and you didn’t feel good. 

As you were pacing around trying to get over the hysteria- two red boots plopped onto the floor. You froze, turning around, The figure was leaning over a trash bin, chest heaving notably as he tried to catch his breath. It was spiderman. You wondered if he had noticed you standing at the other end of the alley. Venom was still protruding out of you, his head in full display as the two of you looked at each other and then the hero. 

You raised a finger to your lips, signaling for venom to keep his mouth shut. Waving him into your body, you signaled for him to hide himself. The attempt however failed when a certain masked hero turned your way after a can had fallen from where you stood. Quickly Venom disappeared into you, but the hero had already seen it, leaving the two of you in an intense staring contest. 

“(Y/n)?” The hero asked,  a familiar voice taking the place of the hero’s usual deep voice. 

How did spiderman know your name? WAIT- THE SPIDER MAN KNEW YOUR NAME!

You stayed there frozen, hoping that if you just stayed frozen he’d eventually go away. The puzzle pieces seemed to connect when you noticed a familiar green backpack peeking from the top of the recycling bin. 

It couldn’t be. 

There was just no possible way. 

Out of everyone that could be spiderman it couldn’t be him. 

He was a nerd- a nobody- just some guy from school who happened to be a genius. 

He must’ve noticed his slip up because he quickly shot a web over the backpack, slowly approaching you. 

“NO. FUCKING. WAY.” Came out of your mouth as you stepped back, overwhelmed by the discovery. Venom kept himself in you, salty that you yelled at him, although when he  noticed the spider he began to take over your body, stopping when he felt your hand on his arm. 

“You’re venom?!” He asked, shocked, still in the mask. He had forgotten that spiderman wasn’t supposed to know who you were. Afterall how would a hero recognize some highschool senior? 

“Peter?” You asked, it had to be him, oh my god it had to! It all made sense now. 

He would always slip out of class, but most people including you thought he had some bowel problems. Whenever he would come back he’d be all sweaty and roughed up. He always defended Spiderman whenever Flash would shit talk the hero, and you remembered him lying about knowing him to Mary Jane- although now that you knew it was Peter - he technically wasn't lying. It also explained why he was so good in the gym. 

Your head was spinning with questions. After all, you had just worked with the kid not even two hours ago in the chemistry lab at school!

“N-no.” Came his lame reply. He forced a deep voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Venom.” You called out and immediately the alien covered your body. 

Peter suddenly remembered that you wanted to kill him for some reason. He then leapt on his feet, almost getting away. Venom reached out for him, capturing him by the collar of his suit. The alien then brought him close to him and growled, licking the spider’s masked face. 

“EW! NO STOP we are not licking our classmates' faces!” You scolded as your face protruded where Venom’s face once was. 

“What- I.. I am so confused right now.” He said defeated. 

Your arm went to lift his mask, his webs shooting out to stop you, “No- no- you really don’t have to do thaaaaat.” His fake voice nervously protested, but you ended up taking it off anyways. You gasped, both out of excitement and shock since you were right! 

He looked at you with those wide eyes of his. You never knew how pretty they were until now that you were up close and personal with him. He looked scared, almost shocked that you actually went through with it. 

“Peter?! You’re spiderman?” You yelled in surprise, only to get a web to the mouth. 

“Hey look- I don’t know what I did or why you’re trying to kill me but please..” He began and you realized you were still in Venom’s body. 

“Oh- sorry… right.” Venom collapsed back into you, dropping Peter as you shrank back to size. “Sorry!” You called out as you reached to pick him up. 

“(Y/n) what- what is that thing?” He questioned, trying to catch his breath. 

“Oh that-” “WE ARE VENOM.” His voice echoed from inside of you. “Right, we are venom.” That was the only answer you would give him. 

It made sense to him now why you were always causing a scene in class, why you would always be on the phone during school, or why you always had that constipated look in your eyes when your ‘stomach’ would growl during study hall. Now that he was thinking of it, that monster thing must have been what was triggering his spidey senses back at the chem lab. 

He then got back to business, the weight of your knowledge on his shoulders. “(Y/n)..” He held your shoulders, his face close to yours. Something about Peter Parker in a tight suit and messy hair, looking as if he just had a brush with death  seemed to appeal to you. He looked nothing like the dorky science wiz from school, yet he still sort of did and you just weren’t realizing it. 

“You can’t tell anybody about this.” He pleaded, the sincerity in his eyes too much for you. “I- I can’t let anyone find out that I’m spiderman you got that?” 

“Are you going to kill me? Because I’m pretty sure venom won’t..” He stopped you, shaking his head, “No no - I’m not gonna kill you, I don't do that. You just can’t tell anybody please. Please (y/n) I beg you..” His eyes were watery. “I’ll do anything, anything just don’t -” 

“Peter! Calm down.” You placed your own hands on his shoulders, your stomach twisting as you felt how toned he was. “I won’t. I swear. But in return you can’t tell anybody about my secret, ok?’  You looked him in the eyes, the both of you having some sort of relief once he nodded. 

“Yeah - yeah of course.” Peter said, dropping his hands from you much to his dismay. 

“One more question-” Peter began. 

“Yeah?” 

“So like why are you eating people’s brains?”

[rubbarband]

Long live Bronze-Age!

Closed rp with @psyknife

-

Pack Cerberus was their name, villainy was their game, stealing from the rich, and giving to the poor, killing awful people, fighting heroes, they did it all.

"COUGH COUGH COUGH!" A large man with grey hair, and tail sat in a bed, clutching a blanket while surrounded by a small group.

"Hey, old man, take it easy. Don't sit up..." the leader or these has bins helps his adoptive father in bed, Des looked over him, he knew it wouldn't be long till the old man croaked. But Des wasn't ready to lose the one connection he had in life, his only family.

Des kept himself up for ages with his crew looking into ways to keep him alive, Bronze age was a great villain, leader and asset- he was powerful- his power allowed him to transform into a Brachiosaurus- giving him grand strength and durability.

Des would move away with his group to talk. "Shadow, give me anything...did you find anything!?"

A man with black shades would perk up. "I did, the last person to get this was one of those X-men...we find her, we find a way."

Des didn't wait, he was already on his bike. "The hell are we waiting for? Let's ride pack!"

[meraki24601]

I’m once again coming back for an ask! 🥰 if you’d like the idea would you write more smt abt Poor Hero x Rich Villain? (Whump hurt/comfort).

Maybe a mistreated Poor Hero who has to steal since their company is not doing them justice and are punished for it and Villain is all there for them to find why Hero is out stealthy stealing from grocery stores while limping? Maybe Hero does it again, even tho they know the consequences (It could be for their own food or better for someone else or maybe their companion animal that they can’t let it starve).

Adapt it the way you want 🫶🏻 If it sounds boring don’t worry abt it~~~ always a fan of your writings 🫶🏻✨

Welcome back, Friend! Sorry for the delay, I already had a few other things lined up for Whumptober, but I thought your prompt fit well for day 22! Prompt: “Watch out!”

(Also this is actually my second go at this. I felt like this version fit your prompt better, but I'll probably post the other version later!)

Thief

-----------*-***-*-----------

Villain glared at the security camera footage. They had watched the hooded figure steal from their store over and over again. Something about them was so familiar. The way they held themselves was drenched in shame, but the determined set of their shoulders struck Villain in a way that held them captive to the screen. 

Beyond the familiarity of the thief, Villain was shocked at the skill with which they stole from the decently guarded store. Villain had opened three stores in town, and the one the thief had chosen was the oldest and least protected. They had taken advantage of every blind spot. There were only about ten seconds of footage of the person. They walked into an aisle and left the store with arms full of water, crackers, canned food, and a blanket.

The obvious answer was a homeless person trying to survive. That’s what the stolen items suggested. Yet, they had moved so efficiently and skillfully. It seemed almost as if they knew where the cameras were. Their face stayed hidden the entire time.

A phone call startled Villain from their thoughts. The manager assisting Villain with the footage answered, their eyes widening in shock. “The thief is back.” Villain was out the door before the manager had finished talking.

They found the Thief sneaking out of the pet aisle, arms wrapped tightly around a sleeping bag and a gallon of water. Villain watched as they moved through the store, taking notes of where they dodged out of sight of the cameras. Much to Villain’s surprise, the thief moved through the store quickly despite the limp that seemed even worse. Once again struck by the familiarity of the figure in front of them, Villain followed the figure out of the store and grabbed their arm before they could run as they had before. 

“You chose the wrong store.” Villain tightened their grip on the thief’s arm and dragged them around the side of the building. The hooded figure dropped the supplies in their arms to tear at Villain’s hand. The small gasps and whimpers seeping from the hood as their bad leg gave out made Villain flinch. They had heard that sound before. They knew who it was they held. 

“So the hero has become the thief.” Villain gripped the hood covering Hero’s face and ripped it back so hard it started to tear off the jacket. “This is where you’ve been for the past two months? Do you know what would happen if word got out you were stealing?”

“Let me go.” Hero’s voice was broken. Their words were strong, but they sounded so defeated. Villain had never seen them so low.

“You claim to be so righteous. Teaching people to fight despite the challenges. People look up to you. I look up to you. You fight against me and my team, but when all is said and done, you’re just like the rest of us.” Villain slammed Hero against the wall of the building. Their hand held them in place at the base of Hero’s throat. “How can you live with yourself? You’ve killed people for doing what you’ve just done. Twice! You’re lower than I could have ever imagined. Pathetic.”

“Let me go.” A tear fell onto Villain’s hand.

“Look at you. You can’t even walk right, can you? I thought you were different. I thought you were the one who would save everyone. Maybe even me.” Villain’s lip curled as they pressed harder.

“I said, get your hands off me!” This time, Hero pushed Villain back. “You don’t get to touch me. Not after what you’ve done to me. Not anymore.”

“What I’ve done? You just tried to rob me!” 

“I didn’t know this was your store, okay?”

“That’s not the point, Hero. That’s not what I want to know.”

“That’s all you need to know!” Hero’s chest heaved as they yelled loud enough to make Villain’s ears ring. “I didn’t know this was your store, or I wouldn’t have come here. Now, get out of my way.”

Fire bubbled in Villain’s belly. No one talked to them like that. Especially not Hero. They weren’t the kind of person to talk to anyone with such spite. Especially after all they had been through together. It was one of the parts of them that had grabbed Villain’s attention from the very beginning. Something was very wrong. “You will not steal from me or anyone else again.”

Hero laughed. It was a short, incredulous laugh tinged with pain as they limped back a couple steps toward the end of the alley, spreading their arms wide, “Yes, Master. I only live to follow your orders. What are you going to do about it? Call the cops? I’m a hero. I can do whatever I want.” Hero kept walking, their eyes glued on Villain.

Villain was livid. As Hero stumbled over a piece of trash littering the sidewalk, they couldn’t help but think of the person they knew before. The one who pulled their punches because they knew Villain was trying to change. The one who held Villain as they listened to Villain sob about the things Supervillain had done to them. The lover who had kissed their scars so carefully on those lonely nights when they had nothing but each other to make it worth living to tomorrow.

They couldn’t see that person anymore. As Villain looked into Hero’s eyes, all they could see was anger and fear. 

Fear. That… didn’t seem right. Even in their fiercest battles, when Hero was bloody and beaten, Villain had never seen Hero look at them with fear. As Hero continued blindly back out of the alley and into the road, their attention was locked on Villain. That was when Villain knew something was truly wrong. Hero didn’t notice anything else around them. Not even the car speeding toward them. 

“Watch out!” Villain cried, grabbing the front of Hero’s shirt and yanking them into their arms and out of danger. 

For a moment, Hero watched the car that didn’t even slow down drive off into the distance. With no warning, Hero collapsed into a sobbing heap in Villain’s arms. Through the tears, they begged, “I’m sorry. Please, just let me go. Don’t hurt me. Let me go, please, I can’t take any more.”

Scooping Hero into their arms, Villain slipped back into the alley. The sudden change in Hero was not a good sign. “Hush now, Hero. It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.” Villain was concerned about how little effort it took to carry Hero. And, now they were close enough to see, Hero’s hair was greasy, and their clothes were covered in specks of dirt and old dried blood. It confirmed everything they had suspected before. “You’re homeless, aren’t you?”

“They framed me.” Voice barely above a whisper, Hero buried their face in Villain’s neck. “Hero Agency set me up. They black-listed me at every apartment building, hiring job, and homeless shelter. I didn’t even know homeless shelters could deny people.”

Villain was horrified, “Your sister. What happened to your sister?”

“She’s on the streets with me. I finally got our Aunt to agree to take her in if I can get her there, but she won’t have me. No one will.” 

Setting Hero down on a wooden crate, Villain knelt at Hero’s feet. “Where is she now? Is she safe?”

“For now. Please, I’ve been gone far longer than I should have. Don’t turn me in. Let me go back to her. At least until I can get her to our Aunt’s.”

“You were limping before, and there’s blood on your clothes. Can I see your injuries?” 

“There’s no point.”

“Of course there is. I want to help you.”

“No one can help me. No one wants a worthless Hero. If I only learned one thing over the past two months, it's that.”

Villain rose on their knees and cupped Hero’s face in their hands. Slowly and clearly, making sure Hero’s eyes were on them, Villain sighed, “I want you, Hero. I will always want you.”

Hero jerked to their feet. They swayed as they limped a few steps away, leaning heavily against the wall. “Your lies are beautiful, but a lie is still a lie.” 

It was clear Hero was on the edge of running, so Villain stayed where they were. “It’s not a lie, Hero. I want you. Even when no one else will have you. I want to take care of you and your sister. Please, come sit down. Let me be your home, your safe place. Your lover and friend and protector.”

Hero didn’t make it back to the crate before their leg gave out again, but they came back. Villain caught their Hero and held them tight, unconcerned about the tears staining their shirt. As Hero tilted their head up to meet Villain in a hopeful kiss, Villain knew that everything would be alright.

Version 2

[gojosusedthong]

♱ Au/Character/Relationship Trope suggestions but they get more specific ♱ :

「 ✰ Red is my personal fav :- 」

Cocky Boxer x mature trainer

Tired sheriff x criminal who loves the chase

flower shop x tattoo shop

Dumb x dumber

Chubby (insecure about it) x finds it sexy

Hates touch x extreme ocd

Farmer x curious city boy

Too sober x too drunk

Reincarnated dude x lover from past life

Hot electrician x stay at home husband

Tall shy x small big daddy energy

Sylvia Plath girl x Albert Camus guy

Art school student x cocky engineering student

Rich modern artist x renaissance dick rider who hates them

Overly explains the history of ancient artifacts x "I know"

Sir you're not allowed to dress in a chicken mascot here x doesn't stop

Makes literature/book references x the only one who understands them

Avoids paying for meals in restaurants in creative ways x doesn't fall for any of their tricks

Breathes x JSVDJEJWMWNSN

Emo artist x bubbly scientist

Baker x single dad with 2 daughters

Arrogant celebrity x fan who pretends to not care about them (they're losing their mind)

Talkative coffee shop barista x grumpy insomniac who only drinks black coffee

Obnoxious x tolerant

Museum lover x hates museum

Poor asf x has money to burn

Electric guitarist x amateur guitarist

Bulky patient plumber x clumsy himbo

People only like them for their looks x blind

stalker x worse stalker who stalks the stalker

Apologist x why are you apologizing?

Angry villain asking 'who did this?' x hero who's severely injured by another villain

Bad first impression x doesn't let them forget about it

Rude asf x apologizes for them

Depressed x depressed but intellectually dramatic about it (reads Kafka)

Flirty x wants nothing to do with them but falls twice as hard at the end

Author who hangs out at graveyards x a really concerned passerby

lost man x letting lost man sleep in his house

Immortal x a really confused Grim Reaper

Prince who can't sleep x musician who can make them sleepy

Receptionist x highly annoying store repeater

Loves pottery x asks them to help with pottery

Underrated singer x is their Top listener

Librarian x guy who can't read but stays in the library anyway

Overworked student x student who always sleep but scores higher

Friendly gardener x cold businessman but has a soft spot for them

Visits abandoned buildings x coward (they're build like a tank)

"Wait...so you're not a girl?" x "I get that a lot"

Elementary school teacher x accountant who dislikes children (says they're annoying)

Demon who always visits earth x angel who has to drag them back to hell

world renown chef x harsh food critic who dislikes everything the chef cooks (the chef is determined to change this)

Hopeless romantic deity x the most stinky lazy bum to ever exist (the deity adores them)

Overly worried about what others think x fuck it we only live once + do it for the plot

'so there's this book I've been reading...' x 'tell me all about it'

Attention seeker x obsessed with fictional characters (attention seeker is jealous of this)

Loud neighbor hosting parties every week x annoyed neighbor crashing their parties in the most weird ways possible

Spoiled emperor who manipulates everyone with his power to intimidate them x too dense to understand threats

Lazy bum like a koala x nags a lot but finds them endearing

I can't shut up x the only one who can make them willingly shut up with just a glare

"At least I'm being brave about it" x "whatever you say"

Fakes headaches and always sleeps in the school infirmary x class monitor who won't let this slide

Fakes being perfect (really insecure) x knows the secret that they try to hide (they make a deal)

Popular as the Mr. Nice guy (actually two-faced and gets mad easily) x discovers their secret side and confronts them about it (Mr. Nice guy begs them to keep it a secret)

Beyond beautiful model x nerdy photographer

Scary on the outside (actually really soft) x nice on the outside (the one you should actually be scared about)

Soft spoken yoga instructor x easily flustered gym bro

Desperate Journalist x celebrity who loves pranks and disguises

Doctor in a small town x the same patient who keeps getting into trouble

"This particular detail symbolizes the emptiness residing within the frail human mind and the bleak nature of their demise. What do you think?" x "That's a triangle"

Small Streamer x CEO who watches their live streams and donates a lot

Ex-professional wrestler x idiot who challenges anyone to a fist fight at waffle house

Always arguing for some reason x tries to be nice but snaps and argues twice as much (they make out to make up)

Loves sweets x hates them but has a collection of sweets in case they want it

Childhood friend who remembers everything x pretends to not know them but has a deep crush

Dimension traveller who tries to change their lovers fate x their lover that is destined to die during Christmas Eve in every alternate universe

Rock collector x son of a billionaire who would shamelessly pick up rocks from random places to give it to them and gets articles written about his weird behavior

Coworker with no vehicle x coworker with a cool bike and is willing to give them a ride

Goes to the cinema every night, every day to watch horror movies x watches the same movie as they do every night and thinks they're a stalker (the other thinks they're a stalker too but they get along and discuss the movies they watch)

Do what you will with these ideas

🂱 If you write a fic inspired by them pls tell me the title on Ao3 or Wattpad so I could read it 🂱

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Good evening,

Just popping in to say hi and check in on how you are doing? I’m really enjoying the pieces you have put forth for your febuwhump! There are all so good and leaving me wanting more and imagining what would happen next. I’m also loving how each piece features a different character I.e Dean, Jensen , or Beau. And especially Beau since we got to see so little of him so I’m enjoying all fics that expand on his character.

Couple of questions.

When ideas spark for a new fic with no specific character in mind. You know you want your reader to be this and dealing with that and have X Y Z happen but it doesn’t matter who is the character, my question is how do you pick. As in how do you decided to make it a Dean, AU Dean, Sam, Soilder boy etc? Do you just choose your favorite or brainstorm the world you want it happen in and then think the idea would fit if better if it was in a world with powers or spn-verse? (I hope that made sense)

Also who is your favorite non Jensen character to write for?

Lastly do you ever go back and just read your own fics for fun or simply to dive back in the world or are you the type of person who doesn’t like to read your own stuff? I find myself personally doing it a lot lately and it makes sense cause I wrote it bc I wanted it and was curious if others did the same.

Hope you are doing well. Thanks for everything!

Hi there! Things have been a little hectic lately! Overall things are good but work's been a wee bit nuts to put it mildly. I've been working late most nights this year (and last) but my boss told me to leave early today which was a win!

The febuwhump drabbles have been fun to work on! They're definitely snapshots in time that could easily keep going. There's one in particular that's not out yet that I think could draw a lot of interest for more 👀 I'm glad I'm able to jump around with the characters! It makes things a little harder which is a good thing to me since it makes me think.

For your first question of how I pick characters for stories, I try to let the plot drive the decision. If it's set in the SPN world, in cannon where the boys are hunters, I generally go with Dean because he's my favorite but also because I feel like I can write him better than say Sam. Now say it was a story about a superhero. Well let's say I've got AU Dean, AU Jensen and Soldier Boy as my options. Do I want the hero to be dark? Vulgar? Sensitive? Rich? Poor? How do I want the relationship with the reader to develop? Short answer is I ask myself a lot of questions in a short amount of time and branch down whatever path I think makes most sense. Sometimes where it really could be anyone, if I'm leaning towards someone in particular I'll pick them, or if I haven't written for them lately it'll go to them. It's a complicated answer but it really does change depending on the story!

Favorite non-Jensen character in the fanfic world to write for is Benny and Michael (I'm going to consider him separate even though he's Michael!Dean). Benny's one of my favorite side characters to throw into AU's you might notice. He's easily a good fit for a best friend character but has a certain...roughness to him that compliments Dean if that makes sense. If they do more SPN, I demand more Benny lol. As for Michael, I think he's a truly complicated character that is capable of both good and evil. When I wrote Wicked Game that was a big risk since it's a story focused so much on Michael. A reader is absent for a significant part of it even. But I just find the concept of the villain having a soft side so much fun (and writing that dark side too).

I do read my own stuff! Generally I do this with series more than one shots or imagines but I have my favorites I revisit with those too. I think all writers should re-read their stuff for fun. There's so much that's freeing when you're not being critical of the work but just enjoying it and it really helps you understand why readers might love something you think is awful. One of my favorite things is to see someone like or reblog a fic in my activity feed and then I get reacquainted with a story I completely forgot about! You're definitely not alone in re-reading!

I hope you're doing good and have a great day!

[koopzilla]

9, 21, and 29 for the Munday q's!

9.) Did you have a muse you tried to play, but ended up dropping for various reasons? (The rpc wasn't active, you lost interest, etc.)

Tons, as we all do, I'm sure. My favorite lost muse is Banjo. Guhuh! But the poor bear falls deeper into the Microsoft coffin every year and there is no community.

and for Zelda, when I was really young, Toon Link (but I hate that name for him, so Wind Waker Link). The little runt inspired me with the whole - he's not really destined for greatness like the other heroes, but he gets it done anyway thing! Just the rags to riches story I needed when I was kiddo.

21.) What do you think of your muse's popular fandom ship?

That would be Bowser x Luigi. And I'm indifferent/perplexed by it. They have characteristics that work together, but I feel like they're the same ones that go into every ship King Koopa stars in?

I lay awake at night, staring at my ceiling, wondering where the ship came from like a person pondering the meaning of life.

And if someone has a good fic/comic for it, give it to me so I can understand what is happening.

29.) What are your honest thoughts about your muse's canon?

I mostly like where it is. Being a video game villain does regulate Bowser to lose a lot of fights I wouldn't think he should. But that comes with the territory of being a Saturday criminal and there have been several instances where he just wins so I don't think he's poorly represented.

I do like his story being a bit open-ended, especially his past. Opens him up to being interpreted in many ways.

Bowser is perfect character with perfect story. My insightful conclusion-

[hornygreaser]

we need to hear more abt ur helluva boss oc!!!! who r they!!!

ARRGGHH THANK YOU ANON!! I NEVER THOUGHT ANYONE WOULD CARE ENOUGH TO ASK!! Just finished her reference too, her name is Mars! 🦥

(LONG TEXT OF INFORMATION BELOW!)

Mars is a sloth-like sinner; she currently works in the Greed ring along with other imps and demons. She works for money, obviously since her home is all the way back in the sloth ring, but also because there's a special someone who is the ticket to getting closer to her main target. Although she despises her current job as a clown, she does have a much more important one at hand.

to kill lustful sinners.

''The Heartless Killer'' is a proud title that Mars keeps as a well-known killer in hell responsible for thousands upon thousands of murders of sinners who were indetified as rapists,pedophiles, necrophiles, or zoophiles.

Since her death in 2002, Mars has always felt a deep hatred towards the unfair treatment of these disgusting sinners in Hell, mostly towards the one sin behind all the lust,Asmodeus. Mars doesn't care about anything else but killing those creeps one by one until they are all gone, both from hell and earth. She doesn't mind how or what it takes. She wants them all gone. Mars victims can also range from succubus to past lovers; she is neither a hero nor a villain, and her own morality is fucked beyond comprehension.

A bit about the outfit:

-She owns an alternative pink that was slowly crafted by Mars herself. The main goal is not to just hide Mars true identity but also to create the illusion that a succubus is responsible for the killings.

- A few accessories under Mars clothing allow her to not worry about ever getting caught, such as the high socks that look like succubus skin, the boots that are crafted to look like succubus hooves, fake wings, and a special cover for the tip of her tail that isn't shown in the reference.

-Also, with the exposure about the demon executions on TV, Mars got the chance to steal an angel spear for herself, as she hid it carefully on top of her thighs. It is now her weapon of choice.

In all suprise, Mars manages to get on a specific imp for help, Striker. It reaches her ears that there's an undercover imp working for one of the Goetias. Mars quickly traveled over Wrath to find this individual, knowing full well that they would need a specific weapon to do their job since the Goetias were powerful, rich assholes who owned guns that could kill any type of demon.

Striker and Mars end up as partners in crime, their goals not so far from each other. One is moved by the injustice suffered by all the poor imps, and the other is moved by the injustice and suffering suffered by the unspoken victims of all the weirdos and creeps on earth.

This is going to be a canon x oc story, so I hope you guys like it because I have many doodles planned to explain better Mars and Striker's story.

Her reasoning for her hatred towards lust is yet still unknown..

Nude Ref version here(+18) 🔞

[capricornsicle]

So here's a comment I received on this post (I shared the promo picture of Amy Workman as Hikari Zhang for the Teen Wolf movie, as well as a behind-the-scenes of her that was posted on her official Instagram page).

(Image: Comment from Tumblr user @thyfggfy. It reads, "I don't see a problem as long as she looks the part. I mean isn't that the whole idea of acting? Pretending to be someone you are not. Should we also be mad that Stiles wasn't portrayed by a half Polish actor?")

My tags on this post, which thyfggfy responds to, are basically "hope they don't send her to the desert" and "there's a joke here about Hollywood assuming all East Asians are the same".

To take things one at a time, the first statement. I am assuming none of this is meant in malice, and is genuine, as I see no reason to assume otherwise.

"She looks the part." But does she? Amy Workman is a Chinese-American actor. Hikari Zhang is a Chinese-Japanese character. There's a similar situation with Arden Cho (Korean-American) as a Korean-Japanese character. Can you hire any East Asian to play another, or to play a mixed East Asian character when they are not mixed?

Well, yes. You can hire anyone to play anyone. But is it good? No. Because saying a Chinese actor looks enough like Japanese to play the character is like to say a Russian is basically Serbian or Bulgarian or Polish or Swedish. It's not the same, and people will get offended if you assume it is. Especially when there is race involved, because it's so common in the US (where the show/movie is made) to hear "all Asians look the same" or "all brown people look the same" or "all poc look the same", or so on. A close Chinese friend of mine is often asked to translate something from Japanese or Korean. I am often called Mexican (I am mixed Native American/Cree and Arab/Syrian). It's rude, and it's racism.

Not to mention, you can circumvent this problem easily. Either send a casting call for a Chinese-Japanese character, if one is needed, or change the character to be just Chinese when you hire a Chinese actor. I like the second, as Amy Workman is fantastic and I'm excited to see her in the movie. It's not like kitsune is specific to Japan. In Japan there's きつね/kitsune, in China there's 狐狸精/huili jing, in Korea there's 구미호/kumiho or gumiho, in Vietnamese there's 狐狸精/hồ ly tinh. All are fox spirits. So why keep the character mixed Japanese? I think because, to Hollywood, and especially to the Teen Wolf writers, it's close enough, right? But it's really not.

Next, "acting is pretending". You're right, it is. In grade school productions, I pretended to be Brutus in Julius Caesar, a forest fairy in Midsummer Night's Dream, a man with a broken hip in The Man Who Came to Dinner, and, in other plays, variously dead, grieving, injured, drunk, old, young, rich, poor, a traitor, a villain, a hero, a martyr, and so on. But I was pretending to be a kind of person having a certain experience. I wasn't pretending to be another race. Because that is a bad thing.

Lastly, "should we therefore insist Stiles is half Polish?". Well, first of all, he's not. What we know about Stiles' ancestry is this: he is named after his mother's father, his grandfather, who is Mieczysław, a Polish name. That's all we know. We don't know if his maternal grandfather is Polish or he was a first- or second- or x-generation immigrant or anything else. We don't even know if this person was Polish, or if it was another Slavic country. We certainly can't say that Stiles is half-Polish. We don't know that his maternal grandmother is, we don't know that his mother is. But it's fair to assume that Stiles is around 1/4 Polish and his grandfather is a first- or second-generation immigrant.

And because literally all we know about Stiles and being Polish is a name, we can't say that the character himself would identify as Polish, would speak the language, would practice Polish culture. We simply don't know. Fandom likes to assert that fanon and headcanon is basically canon, but headcanon does not make absolute truth, and it doesn't serve in place of canon. We can't assume a level of Polish heritage is absolute fact that may or may not exist.

That's not to say that you can't headcanon Stiles as being thoroughly Polish, because you can do whatever you want, and that's why there are such excellent fanworks as this one by KuriKuri (a fantastic Sciles fic that heavily involves Polish language, food, and overbearing grandmothers -- go read it!). I enjoy anything that expands upon the world characters live in.

But another important thing here is that Polish is not a race. It's a nationality. You can cast one white American guy to play another white American guy no problem, because you can't visually tell one white American from another. The only real differences are language -- there are dialects and accents in English that are harder to imitate and, depending on what kind of story you're telling, might have benefited from a different actor or a change to the character.

And if casting for a character who is European-American, you can often benefit from an actor who is the same, especially if the story involves them speaking the language a lot, but it doesn't necessarily mean you need an actor of the same heritage. For example, while Crystal Reed is a great actor, she did not make a very convincing French woman in 5x18 Maid of Gevaudan, and as a native French speaker I would have preferred if they had taken some measures to alleviate listening to a fake French accent that wasn't very good -- an American accent would have done less to take me out of the story, or if her lines had been dubbed over by a French speaker, or whatever. But it's not hurting anyone to have someone do an unconvincing French accent, because French is not a race which is often discriminated against and subject to racism. The same does not apply for Chinese, Japanese, and Korean actors and characters, because racism is always hurting people.

In fanwork, though, you can do whatever you want. Let me not be maliciously misquoted as saying anything but. You can write characters with how much or how little heritage you like, because you're not tracking ancestry, you're telling a story, through writing, through art, through audio, through any medium. But it is vitally important to recognize fanwork as just that. Fan-made work that appreciates some part of the source material, and fills in a gap that the source doesn't go into depth on -- or tears it down and rebuilds it, for fix-its and AUs and the like. Fanwork isn't canon, and you cannot treat it like canon. Everyone's interpretation of the source is valid and acceptable, because it is an individual, personal interpretation they have chosen to share. Biased? Often. Prejudiced? Unfortunately, also often. But acceptable? Always.

Though when it comes to Teen Wolf, well... A lot of the time people who headcanon Stiles as more Polish than he appears to be on the show also refuse to believe that Scott is Latino. His mother's maiden name is Delgado, both his parents are Latino, the actor is Mexican. And yet so often fandom will, on the one hand, call Stiles Polish and talk about his heritage and culture, refer to Derek's "Native American cheekbones" (I wish this was fake. I wish I did not read the post that talked about this. Sometimes I hate it here.) and assume based on a later-retracted tweet by Hoechlin that he was learning more about his ancestry and believed there was something Native American there (and I have a lot of posts about dubious Native American "ancestry") that Derek is therefore Native American (I love fanwork as much as the next person, but No.), or blah blah blah, and insist that Scott cannot be Latino.

And of course there is a lot of racism there, because there is a lot of racism in this fandom. I don't think the vast majority of people are doing it on purpose (although I can think of a few people who have all the resources to know better and remain obstinate about being a tool), but it's impossible not to notice when you look for it.

If fans want to talk about characters having interesting heritage to connect with, how about the Hispanic/Latino heritage of Scott McCall/his family (actor/mentioned in canon), Erica Reyes (by surname), Nolan Holloway (actor is Latino/Caxcan), Gabe Valet (actor is Brazilian), Josh Diaz (surname/actor is Brazilian), Theo Raeken (actor is Penobscot tribe -- like, actually a member), Tracy Stewart (actor is Chinese -- and while there's a lot to dislike about Kelsey Asbille her character remains interesting), Danny Mahealani (actor/character is Hawaiian), Corinne/The Desert Wolf (actor is Latina), Nathan Pierce (actor is Singaporean), the Calaveras (all Mexican), Hayden Romero (surname/actor is Latina), Jiang (actor is Chinese), Satomi Ito (Japanese), the Yukimuras (Korean and Japanese).

The reason no one seems to want to write about these characters, and Stiles is always the center of attention, even in posts like these where he was never even implied? Well, to paraphrase @princeescaluswords, I'm sure it has nothing to do with race.