#they deserve to kill him i kill him i think

[solacefish]

plagued with kitty trait sebastian again.

he who curls himself up so tight, rests a head on your leg when he wants a shred of your attention and is too embarrassed to say a word of it, too nervous to percieve and ask. who lets out the softest rumble from the pit of his chest when you bury a hand in his hair and ever so gently scratch his scalp.

he who readjusts himself, to be half over you, softly kneading at whatever skin his claws and pawpads can get ahold of. from slow blinking to barely ever opening his eyes - he's so tired, and you know it. he lets out little sound and has little twitches in his sleep, you can relax him so easily by reaching a hand and gently stroking him. just like mama.

you can't forget about the little sound he makes when it's time to wake up, obviously he mrrps. looking at you with the biggest glowing blue eyes known to man. he loves you enough.

[chococolte]

WAIT! ONE MORE REQUEST AND I'M DONE I PROMISE-

So how about Sagau Zhongli, Venti, and Childe be like when their god, who has been known to be a single pringle ever since they came into existence, is suddenly announcing they are finding a consort among their acolytes?

word count. 2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i had to go back and reread my childe fic to remember how i characterized him fuck my baka chungus life. anyway im sorry it's been a while but as it turns out if you sit down to write something you'll actually write, so here's this!!

zhongli

Despite himself, Zhongli is unable to quell the dim light of hope that swells in his chest.

It's one he's instantly ashamed of. Zhongli is, as one so aged and so familiar with you, intrinsically aware of how little he compares. Where you step, he follows; his mind beckons even if his body resists. To think of himself as somehow worthy of you would be his greatest folly.

Yet he does so anyway, no matter how desperately he tries to kill his arrogance.

The fear is overwhelming, but the acerbic aftertaste at the thought of you with anyone else is worse.

The shame at his own hubris gnaws away at him, but Zhongli can't find it in himself to entirely let it go, to better himself as he should. If bettering himself comes at the cost of losing the opportunity to be entirely yours, he would rather be consumed by his pride.

He knows he should be disgusted by himself. To want is a terrible sin. It's one thing to worship you, and another to see himself kissing your skin every time he closes his eyes.

When Zhongli is beside himself, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company, he wonders what it would be like to be yours. His mind supplies every possibility with no incentive. He aches, and wants, and feels so vividly and impudently that he thinks his thoughts must be some kind of punishment.

You're everything, he thinks. There is nothing in this world that is comparable to you.

What would it be like, to feel you? Would you give him that honor? Has he done enough to deserve it? Or do you torture him so, filling his mind with images— things he should never think, things he should never imagine— because he dares to think himself worthy of calling himself yours, in a manner no one else has before?

Zhongli's greatest failure is that he's unable to stop himself from wanting.

He's ached before. He ached for the thousands of years he spent without you. He ached when he saw you for the first time, enraptured, unable to understand how a form could be so perfect. He ached when he let his fingers linger on your skin for longer than he should at every opportunity, he ached when he wondered if you found his achievements worthy of praise, and he aches every time he has to leave your side.

This hurts more, somehow. To want for something he knows he could never receive. To want for something he knows he isn’t worthy of. But knowing doesn’t ease it, when he follows after you every day like an old, obedient dog; when your back is as familiar as the sky overhead, as commonplace a view; when he imagines what it must feel like to have your fingers run along his skin, touching and prodding, pressing long enough against his skin to leave imprints in their wake.

He wonders how heavenly it would be, to be yours. He imagines it so frequently it begins to become difficult to differentiate reality and fantasy. Your skin, his skin. His warmth, your warmth. Your touch, your touch, your touch.

You.

Zhongli doesn’t realize that he’s said anything at all until you’re staring at him, a certain look on your face that makes him stammer. It’s only the two of you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller than it is; every uniform pattern underfoot suddenly holding him still, the air suddenly dry, and his body suddenly tense and taut.

Zhongli wonders if this is fear. He wonders why it feels so cold. Why suddenly all he can see is you— why suddenly, nothing else matters.

His heart is tumultuous in his chest, aching and creaking and so, so loud. He can feel it in a way he’s never felt it before, and he wonders if this is how every mortal who’s ever knelt before him felt. Did they, too, feel their throat tighten by a phantasmal hand? Did they, too, feel so tiny and insignificant; like their lives were in the center of another’s palm, to be lauded or ignored?

Did they, too, wonder if they were enough?

You’re smiling, he realizes, but he doesn’t know if you’re smiling because you find it all amusing, or because you wish to comfort him.

Your smile is a thing of wonder. He finds it doesn’t matter if you’re doing so because you find him funny or pathetic; his fingers tremble either way.

“I was waiting for you,” you say, and you speak the words so softly he wonders if he misheard.

venti

Venti is aware he's too selfish for his own good.

He knows he shouldn't be as needy as he is. Ideally, he would rise at your call and simper at your demand; and he does, except he does it even when you haven't spoken a word.

Watching you with others feels like a brand on his skin. A strange, terrible emotion that he knows must be some sort of blasphemy. Venti washes it down with whiskey and wine and tries his best to mask it with mirth. You wouldn't like him if he was anything but the blithe bard who worships you.

He worships you. That's the problem, he thinks.

You don't even have to do anything specific for his skin to feel like it's not his own. You glanced away from him. You smiled at someone else. You laughed at something that wasn't him. You exchanged this look with someone else and it almost felt like there was something there in your eyes, something he could never have—

Venti stops the thoughts there. It's always been like this. He's demanding when he shouldn't be.

He's not ungrateful. He chokes on how intensely he loves you. It's so suffocating it hurts.

Venti wishes he could worship you properly.

He wishes he could have you all to himself. He wishes you'd never look at anyone else. He wishes he could have some sort of assurance that you love him past your words. He wishes he could stay by your side always, that he could stick himself to you, that he could intertwine your nerves and bodies until everything he is becomes all of you.

Selfish.

What you give him should be enough. But it's not.

You say you're looking for a consort. Venti's heart twists with a sickening flutter.

He imagines it so sweetly it's painful. He dreams of loving you purely. He writhes with restless agony every night. He wants to hold your hand and feel your warm palm against his. He wants to rest his head on your shoulder. He wants to touch you, delicately and softly, until he knows every part of you. He wants to know you, enough that it's a semblance of how much you know him.

That sort of intimacy is something he doesn't deserve. He wants it anyway.

Venti knows his thoughts are some sort of sacrilege. He doesn't care. All he wants is for you to hold him closer than you have before.

You'd be warm, he thinks, and his fingers twitch imagining it. He'd be safe with you.

He would be yours.

Selfish to want and arrogant to believe he has any place so close to you. Neither matter.

Venti lies his head on your lap, trying to appear as small as possible. Love me, he wants to whisper. Love me.

He doesn't. Instead, he says: "choose me."

Venti doesn't look at you. He tries to project confidence in his voice, but all that comes out is a weak tremble. It's still a plea, after all. He's still only begging you, even if he tries to paint it as something else.

You card your fingers through his hair, pinning his hair behind his ear. The softness hurts. It hurts more than the fact you haven't said anything yet.

He braces himself, hugging his arms to his chest.

"Okay," you say, voice warm and so, so soft.

Venti's chest heaves.

childe

Childe knows his thoughts are wrong.

His desires aren't what they should be. He should be happy you glanced at him at all, and for the brief, blissful moment where everything is you and you're all he knows, he is.

You look at him, and the world is right. The euphoria feels like it might break him each time, but he somehow manages to stay standing. A testament to his worship, he thinks, that he can hold on just long enough for you to look at him some more.

Then you look away, and suddenly it feels like you've just gouged out his heart and gutted him.

It's not your fault. You breathed life into his body, but you can't shoulder each of his mistakes.

A mistake, he tells himself. Something he needs to fix. You wouldn't like him if he showed you that part of himself.

It becomes harder to fix when you announce you're looking for a consort.

Suddenly, everyone looks more disgusting than they did before. They're not just people who are demented enough to believe they have any right to your time or attention. They're people who now believe they're worthy of you, and it's that thought that makes him sick.

There is nothing in this world that comes close to you. There is nobody in this world that could hope to be truly worthy of sitting by your side.

He feels his stomach twist because of the hope that dwells within it.

Childe remembers when you were all he had. Your whispers were his only company in the abyss. When he's with you, he's reminded of it, and every time you look away from him, he's reminded of how many times he called for you and was met with dead air.

People think he was saved when he was ripped from the abyss. Childe thinks anyone who believes that are fools. The day he was ripped from you felt more like a death than a miracle.

He doesn't blame you. You saved him and that should be enough. You look at him and that should be enough. You breathe in his presence and he should be euphoric to share your air. And he is, but so neatly tucked along the inseams of his soul are thoughts of how much better it would be if he didn't have to share you at all.

Childe tells himself the thoughts aren't his. The dreams aren't his. The will to make them into reality isn't his own. The urge and the turmoil aren't of his own making.

You're not his. Your gaze isn't his. Your attention doesn't belong to him. Your love is not uniquely his own. It can't be, he tells himself, but then you smile so sweetly in his direction, and he wonders if it could.

He knows he's pathetic and needy and sick. He knows the burning in the back of his eyelids every time he sees you with another is far from holy and far from what you deserve.

Childe's disgusted by the fervor and desperation of those around him. He's disgusted far more by his own desires. He's disgusted that he begins to lean into them as time goes on.

You smile, and he buzzes. You laugh, and his world tips. You look at him and he wonders if the affection he sees in your gaze could be anything more.

"Ajax," you murmur, petting his hair.

Childe kneels before you like a loyal hound. He doesn't move, hunching his shoulders. He wishes he could make himself smaller. Maybe he'd be more palatable. Maybe you'd like him more like that.

"Pick me," he says.

He doesn't realize he's spoken until your fingers stop threading through his hair.

Childe freezes, an apology on his lips, but he can't bring himself to speak. He can't bring himself to look up at you, either, his copper lashes trembling.

"I have," you say, your fingers resuming their ministrations as if you'd said the most obvious thing in the world.

Childe shivers, nestling closer, hiding his face so you don't see him break. You rub his trembling back despite it, shushing him gently as his tears wet your clothes.

[vintagerobin]

I think the critical misunderstanding here is that people have mistaken Bruce being sympathetic towards people who have killed - most notably his own Rogues gallery - for him accepting their actions.

Bruce is absolutely capable of extending friendship and kindness to murderers, but that comes with the understanding that he's going to do his utmost to get them to stop murdering. Probably the most notable examples are the times he's tried to talk the Joker down this way. Quite a few Joker centric comics break down this compulsive need Bruce has to understand and save people from themselves and just how extreme it is, because of course the fact that he's never going to accept and actively uses this trait against Bruce makes him a great foil. But obviously there are characters that this approach has worked on - Khoa, Harley and Two Face being some examples.

Bruce doesn't tolerate killing, but he'll forgive killers. Something that goes all the way back to Joe Chill, with one of the first codifying moments for his "no killing" rule being an early comic where he confronted his parents' murderer and decided that he didn't deserve to die. Later he's even been depicted comforting Joe as he dies.

(Batman: Three Jokers #3)

No Bruce is not "fine with being friends with people who kill all the time"

1) if you're referring to Diana she doesn't kill people all the time, she only kills in very extreme circumstances when she's forced to bc theres no other option, and it's only happened like three times total

2) Bruce very much is not fine with it when Diana kills. When she killed Maxwell Lord, it was written for the sole purpose of breaking up the Trinity for Infinity Crisis drama reasons, and Diana killing was chosen because Bruce (and Clark) would not be fine with it. At all

3) if you're referring to Ghostmaker, Bruce also isn't fine with him killing people and tries to stop him

4) if you're referring to Oliver Queen, they're not friends

5) if you're referring to Talia, Bruce also isn't fine with her killing people, and continuously has conflict with her about it

6) if you're referring to Helena, they're not friends and also Bruce treats her almost worse than Jason

7) if you're referring to Jim Gordon, Bruce still isn't fine with it, but also the copganda around him kinda makes consistent moral characterization a lost cause for Bruce in relation to him

8) I know you're not referring to Clark because nobody making this argument actually reads super comics let alone 80s super comics so none of you know about the Zod storyline, but Bruce didn't even know about that therefore its irrelevant

9) in case you might be referring to Harvey, Bruce also hasn't been friends with him since he became Two Face

10) I can't think of any others right now but whoever you're thinking of I can guarantee that if Bruce knows they killed someone and thinks its possible to influence them, there has been a storyline about him disapproving of them killing

11) if you're referring to Harley Quinn for some reason, they also are not friends

Like I dont get where you're coming from and also Bruce Wayne is very much not fine with his friends killing people

[captain-huggy-bear]

Congrats on 1k! It is so well deserved, I absolutely adore your writing <3

I’d love to request "What I'm trying to say is... I like you." + Quinn Hughes

Thank you <3

Ahh, thank you, lovely! I hope enjoy this one too <3 xx 1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing ���🎉 Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

Quinn has walked you to your front door after spending the day with you. A rare occurrence for Quinn mid-season, to have time to go out and about around Vancouver with you. You'd missed your friend as the season had gotten more and more intense. You understood of course, but it was nice to spend an entire day with him, not just passing minutes or an hour here or there.

"This was nice..." Quinn has his hands pressed into his pockets, beanie pulled over his curls that had started to grow out a little long. He's lingering, he knows he is, but he can't help it as he tries to say what he's thinking...without saying it.

"Yeah, it was nice." The smile you give him is oblivious, happy to have seen your friend as you unlock your front door and stand in the doorway.

"We should...we should do this again sometime?" God, he sucks at this, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck like he's a school kid asking you to the school dance. Except it's not as obvious is it? Who says 'we should do this again sometime?'? Who says that?

"Yeah, I'd like that. You know I like spending time with you, Quinn...you're just really busy, y'know?" You sigh a little and he knows he's kind of dropped off the radar. Sure, he phones and he texts and he tries to make time for coffee, but it's not the same when he has to run out of every meet up within 40 minutes and every phone call is cut short.

But he also knows he makes more of an effort for you than most people. He tries to still see you, talk to you because he can't imagine not. "Yeah, but for you I can make time." The smile he sends your way is sweet, it sets your stomach fluttering but you remind yourself this is Quinn. He's not interested in you, never has been...you're just friends. As much as you wish you were more.

"Awww, that's sweet, but you don't have to."

"You're not...you're not getting it, huh?" Quinn rubs his brow, sighing because fuck, is he being vague or are you just oblivious? He thinks he's been pretty obvious over the years about how he feels, you're the only constant woman in his life that isn't a colleague or family.

"Getting what?"

"What I'm trying to say is... I like you." There, he's said it, he thinks. It's off his chest. He likes you and if you don't like him back that's fine...he can handle that, but he's done it.

"I like you too." Except the way you smile at him is still oblivious, sweet and it's obvious that you don't get what he's putting down, not picking it up in the slightest.

Quinn lets out the loudest sigh yet, head dropping back as he wills himself to just rip the band aid off, to just be clear with you and stop this painful miscommunication that's actually going to kill him.

"No, fuck. Sweetheart...I'm in love with you."

The way you freeze does not fill him with joy, if anything he feels sick to the stomach. Your smile drops, not into a frown, just drops. The shock evident on your face as you blink at him like that'll help you process what he's just said to you.

"...What?" You take a step forward and that alone gives him some hope, some confidence to keep going.

"I'm in love with you and when I say we should spend time together, I mean I want to take you on a date. When I say I can make time for you, I mean I want to make time for you because I want you to be mine. You understand what I'm trying to say?" By the end he's red in the face, breathless because he barely took a breath the entire spiel...and you're looking at him in a new light, a little smile starting, glowing almost.

"Oh...yeah. I get what you're saying." Your smile becomes a grin and it's enough, it's enough to keep that little flame of hope alive, enough for him to put all his cards on the table and hope for the best.

"So, can I take you on a date?"

Quinn licks his bottom lip, an old nervous habit, as he waits. It's seconds but it feels like minutes until you respond.

"Yeah, you can take me on a date."

Neither of you know how to act. Just stood there grinning at each other like idiots, like two friends who like each other a whole lot more, who just admitted it but have no idea how you're supposed to behave in that scenario.

"Cool...cool, see you later?" His wave is awkward, ridiculous because usually he'd hug you goodbye, but you wave back just as awkward and that somehow makes him feel a little better. That he's not the only one unsure how to navigate this.

"See you later."

He waits until you're in your house, door closed, before he walks off. You immediately rush to your window to watch him as he leaves. You catch the way he fist pumps the air, how he jumps with a new sort of skip in his step that has you giggling, even more so when he turns to look back at your house and catches your eye, flushing bright red at being caught.

Yeah...neither of you know how to act and maybe it's weird right now, but you think maybe it'll be alright in the long run. Afterall, Quinn Hughes loves you.

[lucienweekofficial]

Lucien Week 2025: Announcing the Prompts!

🌲 It's time to put your Lucien Simp hats on, everyone: the official Lucien Week 2025 prompts are here! We're working diligently on delivering a fun-packed event for you, returning this November 2 — 8!

🌲 The full prompt guide is included under the cut! For more information about this year's prompts, make sure to check it out!

🌲 Remember, these prompts serve only as a guide and are purely optional: you can let your imagination run as wild and free as Lucien in the Prythian forests.

Art Credit: @laxibbeb

🌲🌲🌲

Lucien Week 2025: Prompt Guide

DAY 1 || Fireling

"Mind your own business, fireling."

There's no denying Lucien's got fire in his blood. With his blazing eyes and hair like molten metal, he is the very epitome of a flame come alive. Day 1 is all about exploring the depth of his raw power, whether it be in his appearance, combat, or... other activities 👀

DAY 2 || Scars

"Ignoring this"—he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face—"surely we're not so miserable to look at."

Lucien has suffered a lot throughout his long life, earning him scars both visible and hidden from the naked eye. On Day 2, bring out all the angst as we manifest a journey of healing and happiness for Lucien down the road.

DAY 3 || Brotherhood

"No," Lucien said, and Cassian marked the tightness of his shoulders beneath the dark grey jacket he wore, the taut silence emanating from every stone of the house." [...]

Without turning, Lucien said, "Eris is here."

Exiled from his home all those years ago, Lucien had been forced to forge bonds beyond his familial ties. But has he truly been forgotten by everyone in his family? Or perhaps, he has found new people to call a family of his own? We hope Day 3 will be full of found family theories, childhood memories, and Autumn Court headcanons as we take a look at Lucien as a brother and friend over the years.

DAY 4 | Warrior

"Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?"

There's no denying Lucien Vanserra is a silver-tongued diplomat, with centuries as a courtier and emissary to prove it. But what about his other side? Throughout the books, Lucien has been described as a highly skilled warrior and hunter, and though he often opts for the diplomatic route, he's been forced into more and more battles as his story progresses. Day 4 is the perfect opportunity to see a not-yet-explored side of the cunning Fox-Lord, and we cannot wait to see your interpretations of him.

DAY 5 || Glamours

"This eye..." Lucien gestured to the metal contraption. "It can see things that others... can't. Spells, glamours..."

Day 5 truly contains multitudes. With an ability to see through potent magic, are there any secrets Lucien does not yet wish to reveal? Or perhaps, as a wanderer across Prythian's Courts, you'd like to explore him as a male of many faces? Finally, maybe you'd like to take the word ✨ glamours ✨ literally — and dedicate Day 5 to Lucien being the fashion icon that he is. We can't wait to see what you come up with!

DAY 6 || Destiny

"Helion is Lucien's father."

"Holy burning hell."

Day 6 is the time to theorize about where Lucien's story will take him. Is his destiny a place? With an undiscovered heritage in the Day Court, and homes scattered around Prythian and Human Lands alike, the possibilities are endless. Or... perhaps the place doesn't truly matter, and Lucien's destiny is a person he will find his true home with?

DAY 7 || NSFW

"He nodded, retreating into the room to let me inside. Bare from the waist up, he'd managed to haul on a pair of pants before opening the door, and hastily buttoned them as I strode past."

Alright, alright, you caught us. We are a little feral for Lucien Titserra, uh, we mean, Lucien Thighserra, or um— OH WHATEVER. We want to see that man nakey. You agree. With the above prompts being optional, any day can be a Free Day. But a dedicated [Redacted] Lucien Day... yeah, that deserves a spotlight of its own.

—

Lucien Week 2025 is returning November 2 — 8, but don't worry, you'll be seeing a lot more of us in the months leading up to the event! Thank you for being here with us!

[jupitunes]

the whole discourse between people about snape being a hurt and bullied kid and james being an unreasonable bully make me realize how many people do not understand the social and cultural aspect of the wizarding world. yes, it was unfair of james to bully snape and humiliating him BUT james and snape were raised in a time where dark lord was slowly gaining more influence and blood supremacy was really strong.

james was raised in a family that was really opposed to those values and so james has been already fed stereotypes about slytherins who were mostly kids of the blood supremacists who hated muggles. and james being a kid, developed a crush on lily who was a muggleborn witch and james couldn’t comprehend how such a person would even consider being friends with a slytherin. it went against all his beliefs. so yes, he bullied snape but people must remember how it looked like from his perspective.

also snape wasn’t such an innocent kid you’re all making him out to be. he was also raised in the same environment that james did but he was on the other side of that were blood supremacy was the most important thing. his „friendship” with lily was a sort of childlish rebellion of his and maybe he did respect lily for who she was but you must remember that lily was the only muggleborn he tolerated at that time. he didn’t bat an eye when one of lily’s friends was being attacked by a slytherin. and he wouldn’t have changed sides if it weren’t for the fact that lily was killed. in my mind, a childhood infatuation turned into more of a obsession.

and when james died, snape lost his source of hatred so he channeled it into his way of teaching. while he hated the fact that james bullied him he didn’t consider his actions against students harmful in the same way. and when harry appeared in school his feeling were conflicted. on one side he saw a child of his obsession so he felt the need to protect him but he also saw his father in harry so that translated into his hatred towards harry.

you’re all preaching about complicated characters but fail to understand and analyze james’ character and only focus on that fact that „snape was in love with lily”

EDIT: Since I don’t want to keep responding to every single comment/reblog about this little thing, I’m gonna explain it here.

By environment I didn’t meant that Snape was raised in the SAME way as James. I do realize that Snape was raised in a poor neighborhood and was in very unprivileged situation compared to James. However, while James was raised in the environment where blood purity didn’t matter and was actually a terrible thing, Snape had a closer connection to the other side of that. (I already corrected myself multiple times that Snape wasn’t INTO blood supremacy as a kid but he got really exposed to it at school). But his parents relationship and his father attitude could have unknowingly contributed to his views on Muggles. My main argument that I was trying to make is that every person has biases and we don’t even realize that sometimes. The world we’re living in and the way our parents behave affect our later lives.

I DO think James was a bully and unreasonable one. And I DO think Snape didn’t deserve that and was in a less privileged position than James. In my post I was trying to explain OTHER things that could have affected that situation which is not negating the stuff that are clear as day.

[wendichester]

⋆˙⟡ refills & rides,

summary. tonight's clientele is too good to pass on. honest, you've never been happier to clock into work.

pairing. sam winchester x waitress!reader genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 717

notes / warnings. car sex, downright reckless.

Sam’s supposed to be researching.

That’s what Dean told him before vanishing off to “take care of something”—which probably meant hustling a local bar or flirting with someone’s mom.

So, he parks himself in the corner booth of this roadside diner, laptop open, books stacked, coffee going cold. He’s trying to focus. Really.

But then you walk by.

Tray balanced on your hip. Not a hair out of place. Uniform hugging you like it was made to be sinful—short skirt, fitted blouse, apron tied tight. You move like you own the room. Like you know damn well you’re being watched.

And Sam? He’s watching.

Can’t help it.

Every time you glance his way, his pulse stutters just a bit. Every time you flash that smile—sweet, a little teasing, like you’re in on a secret—he forgets what he’s even supposed to be reading.

You’re hypnotic.

And you definitely notice him.

Your steps slow when you pass. You lean in a little closer when you pour his refill, fingers brushing his. "Need anything else, sugar?" you ask, eyes warm and sparkling.

He swallows hard. “Uh. N-no. I’m good. Thanks.”

But he’s not good. He’s anything but good.

The Impala’s parked around the back, hidden from the road.

You find him there after your shift. You knock once on the driver’s side window, and when he rolls it down, you’re smirking. “Can I come in?”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

The second the door’s closed behind you, it’s like something snaps.

Sam leans in fast, grabs your face with both hands, kisses you so deep and desperate it knocks the breath out of you.

You melt into it—his lips, his hands, his body already pressing over yours. You climb into his lap without thinking, thighs straddling him, skirt already rucked up around your hips.

His mouth trails to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he groans, nipping lightly. “All night. All shift. The way you walk—how that uniform hugs you—fuck.”

You gasp as his hands slide up your thighs, slow and reverent. “I noticed you staring.”

“Yeah?” His voice is low, gravelly. “Then you know exactly what’s about to happen.”

Your fingers fumble with his belt. You don’t even bother with foreplay—not when you’ve been this turned on for hours.

He slips your panties to the side, groaning when he finds you already soaked. “Shit,” he growls. “You’re killing me.”

You grind against him, desperate and needy. “Then do something about it.”

And god, he does.

He sinks into you with one slow, deep thrust, the stretch making you cry out. You cling to his shoulders, bury your face in his neck, moaning shamelessly.

“Sam—fuck—you feel so good—”

He thrusts again. And again. His hands grip your hips tight, guiding your rhythm, matching every roll of your body.

The Impala rocks beneath you, fog creeping up the windows. Sam’s head falls back against the seat, lips parted, sweat shining on his throat.

You’re a mess. Desperate, moaning, panting against his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groans. “God—can’t believe you’re mine right now—”

You clench around him, crying out at how deep he hits. “Yours, Sam. Yours.”

That’s what undoes him.

His thrusts grow erratic, rougher, and your body is already so close. He slips a hand between you, thumb circling your clit in fast, tight strokes—

And you break.

Your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and wild and perfect, your whole body shaking as you cry out his name.

Sam follows a second later, groaning into your shoulder, his hips jerking as he spills into you, holding you tight like he never wants to let go.

Minutes pass in silence, both of you still tangled up, sweaty and flushed and breathless.

You finally pull back, your smile smug. “Think I deserve a good tip for that service.”

Sam chuckles, resting his forehead to yours. “Baby, that was a goddamn religious experience.”

You laugh, kissing him slow. “Guess you’re coming back for breakfast.”

He grins. “Only if you wear the uniform again.”

You wink. “Only if you promise not to last through your coffee this time.”

And in the fogged-up silence of that classic car, you swear you've never been looked like this before—like maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[exbotmallow]

one day i hope the others will realise that green actually has no leader, and tr!bad only plays into it because everyone else has already put him into that position. if everyone saw tr!pangi that way they'd probably send him, because green thinks they'll only respect whatever authority they perceive. and hopefully on that day they'll also realise that green really are individuals who only vow to understand each other, not that every effort they do is a joint effort.

[green + 99% bbh-centric, really, reallllyyy, like ridiculously long analysis post]

[now with added side commentary for the commentary im already making LMAO]

[no genuinely this is so long i just have so much to say and i just spew it here instead of making friends LMAO im so sorry]

[no like genuinely this is a warning its so long like 20 paragraphs its sad SKJDFHDJKS]

today was not green's moment — it was tr!owens.

that matters cause it was tr!owens attemt to cement his legacy. and yes, he had support in that through green, but it was just tr!owen's moment. yet, for some (mostly understandable from yellow's perspective) reason, everyone wants to kill tr!bad, cause tr!bad is "green leader" and these were the actions of "green faction" — despite the fact that tr!bad tried to make it clear he was warning tr!foolish (and was silently willing to step in, even if they didnt know that bit) — and "he" made this decision cause they percieved it that way.

green have blatantly said that they have no leader, and that all individuals support each other but are responsible for all their own actions individually, but yet have been met with nothing but sarcastic "okay's" and being told that they simply dont want to take accountability. tr!bad being told he is a cruel leader who manipulated people into being under him, and to the rest, they're told that they are working under someone cruel on purpose, refusing to see his evil or deciding to be evil on purpose. ¹

the reality is, first tr!pangi saw tr!bad all alone and did him that kindness of not letting him be alone, because even someone who is wrong or scary doesn't deserve isolation. the rest trickled in — all for their own reasons, whether it was because of tr!bad offering to help them grow strong and stable or because of previous experiences surrounding monarchy, or feeling supposed disingenuous feeling from yellow, or otherwise. even joining because they preferred chaos and saw comfort in a faction they wouldn't judge them for it and would even back them up if they wanted.

now, while green may have come together to support each other, they also are honest with esch other in a way that yellow doesn't understand. they are upfront about the fact that they won't support EVERYTHING they do, and are honest about being willing to not only refrain from supporting each other, but willing to lie, deceive, and even kill each other. yellow can't and likely never will understand this, because they all come from a place of favouring kindness above neutrality or even understanding a need for malice or safety from a place of fear. when everything can be nice and sunshine and rainbows if everyone works just a little harder for it, it's hard to understand why someone who perhaps is even peaceful might want to hide behind someone who is scary, or receive help from someone who might make you do something perhaps a little cruel. ²

green are united in knowing that they are inherently bad, scared, or willing to make a few bad decisions if it keeps them safe. they're united in being individuals and owning that. they are a faction in which everyone accepts that they will do different things and will not always agree. green are NOT united in all their decisions. they are simply united in understanding that they are stronger together.

it's also, perhaps, difficult to believe that they have no leader when tr!bad steps up for leader meetings, stands up as the scary back-up for the faction, strategizes with the faction, keeps everyone in the loop, and provides so many resources for the faction. that's very interesting when the leaders of the other factions are not doing anything remotely like it. they stand as a unifying figure, but they don't do all of these things (only some) for their factions like tr!bad does. not saying that he is a better leader — cause again, he's not their leader — but that hes simply a strong, smart member and the only reason they've dubbed him leader when they really have no governing body.

yeah, tr!bad is typically the one recruiting members, but not because he's the leader. he's actually typically the deal breaker — he will lie to you, he will make it obvious, he will be blunt that of the faction, he is the worst. and that he will be the unfortunate face of the faction. that's his kindness to the newbies. he'll let them know that the pacifist tr!lukey, or the pretty and silly walls of green base, or the materials so generously shared with others even outside the faction, are not what heads the factions image. that whatever tr!bad does, no matter the intentions, will be framed with the worst intent behind them the others can think of tr!bad doing.

—

and tr!bad providing is simply cause he has the most resources, more than he has any need for. he's willing to be helpful, to see others grow strong, and to be the fuel for the chaos or games around him. yeah, he sometimes asks something of people who aren't in his faction, but it's the price he's giving for what he's offering. it's often assumed that anything he gives anyone comes with a price, because it's his nature, and he's like that. but, as much as he might whine or complain about it, or try to use it to his advantage at some point, the only time he makes deals is when he expressly hears or says the word "deal." even a contract with the keepers isn't a deal. he just always can get resources easily and is willing to share when he feels like it. ³

tr!pangi is probably closer to a leader than tr!bad, in my opinion. i know that sounds crazy but hear me out. he's the one who checks in with each the members the most. he's also there strategising, planning out his cards to make the moves he wants to make. he always informs others of the moves he's gonna make, and he even got green allied with the new orange faction. okay, he's a bit busy with yaoi but tbh who isn't in this server — anyways — and he makes sure people who need things have them, even if everyone on green is basically self-sufficeint. tr!pangi has taught several of the skills he got from ls to the green members to help keep themselves safe, and is also willing to be scary back-up for whoever he can. he has the most positive relations outide the green faction than any other member, and also always makes sure to keep everyone in the loop when it concerns everyone.

tr!pangi has 20 evil exes BUT is well respected not only cause he's strong, but because he is civil and kind and people actually note this, even though he associates with and also engages in chaotic behavior just like, if more mellowed down than, tr!bad.

tr!lukey is present for everything he can be, but he's very much +9 charisma, -13 health. he's well-spoken, if not a bit sassy, in the heat of the moment, but otherwise isn't very strong or convincing. him being a little pitiful is actually quite charming to everyone, and that saves him a lot of trouble, but he isn't all innocent himself, with a history he can't remember and not-all-good intentions (though they usually stem from caring about his not-all-good teammates, or his loving friends even if the cost is a little steep). it's no surprise he's seen as expressly not tue leader, when he doesn't quite get seen as leader material in the first place. I feel he'd be good at high-stakes negotiations if he had all the info he needed, but again, green only sends one person for all the meeting cause they percieved that only one person will be seen that way by the rest of them: tr!bad.

tr!tubbo and tr!krow get away a bit more with their individuality because they don't really appear often or at the same time as tr!bad, but yellow certainly looks at them as an example of tr!bad being a "bad leader" cause he has little/no control over them. (again, hes not their leader, but honestly i don't even think they care that he's seen that way — if no one understands, they don't.) ⁴

tr!hannah is a woman. slaaayyyy. (im gonna be real she doesn't log on much, so theres not much i can say about her character, BUT from the little she's been on, i believe she'd stand with them — if maybe be a bit conflicted — but also have fun.)

over all, being individuals means a lot to green. they trust each other. theres not much they could do to break that because they know that are not only less than perfect, but actively straying away from it with every decision they make. they would rather count on each other than count their mistakes and strive for near perfection or to be as good as they can, because they know that almost nothing will break them apart besides choosing to leave of their own volition. and having that security means more to them than having a soft sort of family, cause its stronger.

in a way, green are a family, but instead of all living in the same house, eating the same food and drinking the same water, they live around the world like a network, and where one line cuts off, it's always attatched to another to keep working. yellow, from greens perspective, seems to be rooted in being yellow. the king, the royal architect, the archmage — of yellow. to green, it must seems that when all of it relies on being yellow, if you make a mistake to big, or go somewhere yellow dont want you to go... what do you have left after that?

tr!owen is the prime example in this — he said and did things yellow didn't agree with and lost everything, under the guise of being a spy. he technically, in the end, didn't get to be anything. not green, cause he was a spy for yellow, and not yellow cause they banished him with what they considered a pointless task that would keep him away. not even purple — the designation for people with no faction. at least green accepted a contract with him and he had support. cause green understands being the individual, having a goal, the need to do bad things, even if he wasn't one of green's.

im in no way expecting yellow to get it. they don't have to. that's the point! that's the whole reason they're yellow and not green. cause their customs work for them. they are amazing. a safe place for each other. a family. a shoulder to lean on. comfort and home. but on the off chance they get it one day, it would be amazing for them to all see how similar they are. how alike in nature everyone is. they're not denying that they're cruel because, honestly, they're not. its funny to say to rile people up and some of the ways they think can be questionable, but they have so many amazing similarities to green. they have a figure they can rely on for material needs, they have a figure they can rely on for political needs, they can all, at risk, seek out each other for emotional talks and chats if they so choose. they hang out for fun, they laugh and sing and dance together. they have quiet moment where knowing each other are present is all that matters.

and i'm not saying green has nothing to work on. they are all antagonistic or villains or making bad decisions. they have all done things they regret or didnt want to do knowing how they would feel about it. they've all sacrificed more than they've had for things that weren't worth it. but a little understanding goes a long way, and hopefully, something everybody has to fight against will bring then a little closer together, even if they don't always agree on everything.

¹ [thats probably one of the reasons they lack/lost respect from green, to be honest. they have a lot of perceptions, and they have to be right even when they're wrong, only cause they're a united front. of course, not all their perceptions are wrong, but in terms of a lot of facts about green, they are — so green, in turn, to make their perceptions, which is only fair to them.]

—

² [and frankly, this is why i love the separate factions, and i think they would've organically formed this way either way. either as teams or villages or whatever, all thats different is they have the distinct colors on their names tbh. it's seperate cultures naturally forming in a land that connected by nothing but dirt, rock, flora and fauna — in real life, over time they'd probably have separate languages in a few thousand years, if they didnt actively create one themselves]

—

³ [nothing to do with the realm but more so cc!bad himself: i would love to see him play a secondary, much kinder character besides !bad. cc!bad plays genuine kindness very well (with experience, of course xD) and when he puts softness into his character, even subtly, it always melts my heart. perhaps !halo, who is just a regular yet skilled guy trying his hardest. i would still like to see !halo suffer, but only for the angst, and so it feels better when he succeeds, like the way i love it when !bad succeeds cause i wanna see him suffer, hehe. (perhaps even just a time where he pretends to be someone else, but lets someone who knows him know its, to be silly >:3) extremely indulgent idea and won't happen, but would make a good premise for a one-off ir a fic, perhaps.]

—

⁴ [I CARE RAAAHHHH. my blog, grrrr. ROO ROO ROO BARK. LMAO]

[mechncheese]

Everyone's requesting Science AU headcanons, so lemme throw my hat in the ring and request some for Ratchet, because our resident cranky medic peepaw deserves some love too <3

(YES I'm calling him peepaw; he's the oldest 'bot on the Science team bar none, and I feel like that nickname has the same energy as TFP Wheeljack calling him "sunshine" in that one episode >:P)

Ratchet !! Let's give it up for our resident grump

Age wise, all the science bots are roughly the sameish age tbh ! Ratchet just acts old because his medic job wears him down and he’s the most experienced/worked in the field the longest compared to the rest of the team </3 Everyone still calls him a cranky old man for jokes tho.

He’s a bit of a celebrity among the Autobots for his medical skills and knowledge on all things Cybertronian anatomy. Many aspiring medics look up to him !

Despite Ratchet having a “grumpy” reputation, he tends to lighten up now and then. It takes him a minute to warm up to everyone. During game nights he starts out reluctant to play but he ends up the one most invested in the game by the end.

Ratchet and Wheeljack have known each other the longest on the team. He's always been a troublemaker for Ratchet. Wheeljack is a frequent medical bay visitor because of all the lab accidents he keeps causing </3 sometimes Ratchet thinks he does this on purpose.

Ratchet refused to train anyone for the longest time, mostly because he didn’t have the patience for it. That was until First Aid and Red Alert came along, both of them begged Ratchet to mentor them and in the end Ratchet gave in to their sopping optics and pleas. He loves those two, he loves all the medics tbh, he would probably kill for them. Throughout his time away from them, he still worries about them and has been trying to put in the effort to re-establish contact with them to no luck.

Ratchet is the only one who can get Brainstorm in line. Brainstorm has a tendency to fold easily when it comes to bots he's intimidated by and luckily for the science team, Ratchet is one of them. Who could blame him though, I wouldn't wanna piss my doctor off either.

[redvexillum]

THIS WAS A RIDE.

The way Alastor's heart cracks open even when he tries so desperately to keep his distance? UGH, my heart can't take it! 😭 The moment where he starts to question his own emotions because of you is just so raw. He’s this dark, heartless being who thinks he doesn’t deserve love, but here you are, pulling him out of the darkness bit by bit. I AM LIVING.

The pain Alastor feels, both physically and emotionally, is so beautifully written. And let’s talk about the scene with the sutures?! 😩 The way you take care of him, stitching up his wounds like it’s second nature, just kills me. THE CALLBACK. I CAN'T! AHHHHHHH!!!!

And then, when you share your soul with him? 🥺 Everything about that moment made me feel so much at once. The delicate yet intense act of giving a piece of yourself to Alastor, and him finally breaking down emotionally...

Every tiny detail of their dynamic is so perfectly messy—Alastor being his usual frustratingly selfish self while you love him even more for it?! Ugh. I’m obsessed. Can we also talk about how you steal the spotlight every time you share these touching, intimate moments, and then pull away just enough to keep him on his toes?

ALSO, the fact that you pulled that old ring out of your pocket????? I’m dead. //Sobs dramatically.

Partners in Death...and Life

Part 9: The Vow That Binds Me [Finale]

|Part 8:The Calm Before the Fall| |Part 10: After The Glimpse [Bonus]| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping . . . *checks notes* . . . the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Pairings: Alastor x wife!Reader Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Asexual! Alastor, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, dishes, being a simp for your partner, Asexual! Alastor, husband! Alastor. demon!Alastor Well, well, well. Three weeks later and here we are. The ending. Sorry it took so long gahaha. Here it is the ending. I hope you I delivered. Thank you everyone for reaching the ending with me. Uhhh… I’ll probably re-write some of the scenes here. There are some that I’m not exactly happy with and I know I can do better and you guys deserve my best. But for now I will sleep.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

One breath in.

One breath out.

One breath in.

One breath out . . .

It’s all you can do to stay sane. The mantra echoes across your head like a broken record. Crushing weight presses down on your chest. It forces shallow breaths out of your lungs—in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out.

Darkness surrounds you.

It’s almost mocking. Alastor’s darkness reaches out to you with only the softest of touches. His shadow loves to hover and place three small taps on the skin of your legs. Even when you drive Alastor to the edges of his patience an into the fiercest of fury, the darkest parts of him will play with the tips of your fingers.

One breath in.

One breath out.

How long must you endure this torture?

Well, that’s a ridiculous question! Alastor would certainly tell you so. His eyes would roll, and the base of his ears would flicker down with annoyance. Alastor would boop your nose or pinch your cheek. And that smile . . .ha. . .that smile.

A laugh escapes you. What a ridiculous question, indeed. You must endure for however long it must take.

The audacity of that man. How dare he turn you into a woman capable of such care . . . such affection. How dare Alastor make your living regret be that he never heard the words that’s inscribed in your soul. Now, it could also be your dying regret as well.

No . . . endure.

There are words Alastor needs to hear.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The tips of your fingers were right there. It was right in front of him. Close. Oh, so very close.

What happened? Where are you?

What happened? Where are you?

What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you? What happened? Where are you?

Alastor says your name, and it comes out like a whisper.

The echoes of his own voice answer him and your name reverberates around the once still air.

It’s the only thing Alastor can think to say. The words . . . they aren’t . . . .Why aren’t they working? His brain reverts back to the basics of instincts, and Alastor always seems to find you there. His most default instincts always seem to choose you. Because who else was there to choose?

It’s why Alastor married you twice—he dropped to his knees twice and asked for your hand twice. He would marry you across different lifetimes and realities.

Alastor says your name once more, letting it leave his lips like a prayer.

The crack of snapping bones answers him. Every physical sensation of snapping gives itself to you like an offering. They break to accommodate his growing body. Are his antlers growing? They are. They grow like mighty and proud tree branches for you.

The bones of his neck snap in three different places. His claws sharpen uncontrollably until they pierce the skin of his palm. Blood drips down and pools on the floor.

Where . . . are . . . you? Where is his wife?

The shadows grow around him, dimming the space further. His own shadow hisses around, and spreads the darkness further up the wall. It has a frown and an image of a single tear on its face. Alastor presses a hand on the ground for stability, and concrete crumbles underneath the force of his growing fury.

He crawls down the hole, lowering himself to wherever you landed. Dust settles around him and the air rings with a stillness, broken only by the fain static that emanates from him.

Alastor tries to say your name again in a desperate attempt to reach out. Radio screeches escape him instead. Control slips from his fingers like fine grains of sand. It’s unusual. Alastor isn’t bothered by this. If anyone were to bring him into this type of insanity, it would be you. The power you hold over him—it cannot be measured.

Tendril whips around him, and topples everything on sight. The space glows a harsh green. It’s the only light that illuminates against his darkness. Power thrums through his veins and flow out of him in waves.

It’s a slow but steady build, but dread eventually settles its icy grip on his throat. Something beats into his ears, and Alastor thinks it's his own heartbeat. That’s impossible. His heart is currently missing and buried under concrete.

Where are you? Please, where are you? Where is his wife?

Inky voodoo dolls crawl out his shadow. They stick their hand out the pools of darkness and pull themselves free. The dolls begin to work without a verbal order. These dolls respond to his soul, and his soul yearns for you. One grabs a rock while another slithers between the cracks of broken walls and crumpled floors. Each stone they turn, nothing pans out. Each nothing cracks him further.

Alastor’s fingers bleed as he continues to dig you out. It’s as if his life depended on it . . . and it does. You are his life.

Little domino effects cause you to storm your way into his story, and Alastor accepted it with open arms. You weaved yourself into the very essence of his being. How cruel of you to torture him like this now.

One of his shadow chirps. Its inky arms lift a rock and present an arm with a proud smile.

Alastor’s heart thumps as he stalks closer. Stray debris crushes under his weight. He finally found you. You’re here. He’ll take you and get you safe, properly this tim—

The shadows blaze higher.

That is not your arm. Alastor knows it’s not you. The arm being presented to him is shorter and sports the wrong shade. The proper arm—your arm— has a scar that’s faded and barely there. It’s one thin white line that no one would notice, but Alastor does. This arm doesn’t have your scar.

Radio static screeched out his lips.

Alastor crushes the shadow like a bug, reveling in the way its ink splats across the space, and drips down the walls. The other dolls shrink at his fury. One glance and their mission continues.

There’s a game Alastor used to play when he first died and arrived in a world without you. It’s a game he played when he left several years ago.

The rules were simple: List down everything he would sacrifice to see you.

A finger? Alastor would chop it off himself.

Money? Take every penny he owned and will ever own.

As the days without you kept growing, so did his list. His pride. His status as an Overlord. His image. His power. these all turn meaningless when compared to you. Not even their combined might can compare to a single stray feather on your head.

Everything that makes him the Radio Demon pales in comparison to even the smallest smile on your lips.

Why be the Radio Demon when he could simply be your husband?

How dare you, honestly.

How dare you turn him into a man who would set aside his pride…his power.

If Alastor needs to beg, then he would. It’s that simple. He would drop to his knees until they bruised, and offer everything for you. Who would he cook for? Whose ramblings would he listen to? Who would hold your heart with the gentlest of hands that are only reserved for you? Whose ring would match his?

Another shadow chirps. It’s holding a rock above its head, and the friend next to it points to a cluster of feathers.

It’s you. You’re here.

Alastor moves the wall, listening for any sounds that indicate discomfort. You look so small like this—chest pinned underneath some debris. The tips of his claw caress the skin of your cheek. He’s careful not to pierce you.

Alastor scoops you into his palms.

The form of your body perfectly fits into his hold. It’s as if his hands were sculpted to fit it. You shift to your back, glancing at him with a hazed look on your face. Alastor holds your gaze just as much as you hold his. One of your hands moves up and down and up and down as if to lazily pet his palm.

Every rise and fall of your chest prompt his form to get smaller and smaller.

Alastor wraps his arm around your knees, carrying you in his hold. The wound on his chest flares when he presses your head deeper into his chest. It doesn’t matter if it hurts. He has no plans of letting you go.

“Hi . . .,” You smile up at him even as your eyes droop and dried blood cakes your face. “I . . .I knew . . . I knew—”

“I know,” he tells you. “Save your strength. I’ll take care of everything. So, rest now, my love.”

One hand reaches out. It’s shaking.  He meets you halfway, placing his cheek into your hold. Your thumb swipes the skin of his cheek. “Alastor.”

“I’m right here,” he says, nuzzling further. “Go on. I found you.”

You lean into his chest, letting yourself close your eyes.

Alastor presses his cheek on the top of your feathers until his bones properly snap back into place. He listens to your small breaths and the beating of your heart. Relief pours into him like one of your calming holds. It scares him.

He never should have allowed Charlie to talk to you. How selfish of him to involve you in this war to keep you next to him. Alastor has done a myriad of acts that serve his own self gain. Somehow, this is the worst sin he’s ever committed.

The shadows pull on his leg, and teleport him and you outside the hotel.

Lucifer battles with Adam across the sky with Charlie in his arms. Angels fly all around them. Chaos burns all around him in a way that would make him laugh. Alastor couldn’t find himself to even force out a small chuckle, not when blood stains your feathers and pain scrunches your face.

Lys and Heme spot you in his arms. They rush towards him.

The taller one . . . Lys? She reaches out a hand to try and take you from him.

She’s trying to take you from him. She’s trying to take you from him. She’s trying to take you from him. She’s trying to take you from him. She’s trying to take you from him. She’s trying to take you from him. She’s trying to take you from him. She’s trying to take you from him.

It’s instinct.

A tendril shoots out his back. It wraps itself firmly around the skin of her neck and squeezes with the might of his ire. How dare she reach out her sully hands on you.

Alastor pulls you closer to him and radio static grips itself in the air until the second intern takes a step back.

Heme leans on a stray table, watching with an apathetic gaze as they cross their arms. “If you kill us, I hope you’re prepared to accept that you killed your own wife,” they say. “Aren’t you supposed to be her husband?”

The only thing tethering him to this reality are the small breaths you’re taking. Your face presses against his chest. The weight of your head pushes against his wound but Alastor endures the pain for you.

Alastor turns to them with a hash glare. Kill you? He should kill them for such audacity.

Heme presses closer to the table. “You kill us and then what?” they say, plain and simple. “There’s a hospital on the other side of the city…but angels are currently flying around. You don’t know what could happen during that time, or how long you’ll have to wait until someone takes a look at her.”

Lys claws on the tendril around her neck. “We can assess her right now… right here,” she says, coughing up her words. “Get out of our way or let her die—your choice.”

The tendril gives one last squeeze and Lys’ eyes roll back for a moment. He removes the tentacles’ grip on her.

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you,” he says and adjusts his hold on you. Feathers slide to your face. “Quite the pleasure! I would shake your hand, but my arms are rather occupied.”

Lys crumples to the ground, wheezing in some air. There are faint marks around her neck. “Just…Just place her on the cot.”

Alastor places you down, safeguarding your head. He brushes the feathers away from your face and thumbs the dirty spots on your face. The interns quickly move around you, and he watches them closely with a look only a wife wouldn’t be scared off. One wrong step and their blood would splatter across the city and their screams would be broadcasted to even the furthest rings of hell.

They work quickly and carefully. Alastor doesn’t understand everything they’re doing, but eventually they leave.

Alastor involved you in the Hazbin Hotel’s business. He brought you here. It was him who found a loophole around his deal. It was him who placed that loophole in his deal that made sure he could keep you next to him.

“It was the only way….,” Alastor whispers into your ear. Feathers brush his lips with each word he speaks. “It was the only way to keep myself next to you.”

It’s why he agreed to do the commercial the first time Charlie asked, and the second time with Vaggie as well. Alastor took a video camera and carefully edited the clips to add his voice.

That public display with the snake the first day he arrived, and the second time he humiliated the snake as well. It was all for you. He displayed his power and flaunted it with such overkill that there would be no doubt it was him and not some cheap copy-cat.

The taunts with Vox gave him the opportunity to be loud. It was an even bigger microphone that announced his presence to the whole city. That there would be zero doubt from anyone’s mind that the Radio Demon has returned, but maybe, to you…it would be an assurance that your husband was reaching out to you.

Alastor could only hope you were listening. He could only hope that you would care enough about him to seek him out once more, even after he was forced to leave you without a word.

And you did.

You stood in front of him, smiling as you fumed. The smile on your face was meant to conceal your frown. What a ridiculous thing to do. Did you not think that Alastor wouldn’t know what a true smile from you looked like? As if he hasn’t been spending decades hanging them on your lips.

A piece of him returned the very moment his eyes landed on you. It was as if time ticked once more and air could finally return in his lungs.

“Did you think about me?” Alastor brushes some feathers off your face. Dust and blood mix together to paint your skin. “Did you think I would rather be in this hotel instead of the home I built with you? It's a ridiculous notion…and also something you would do.”

One of your interns left a cloth and a bowl of clean water next to him. Alastor takes it, and dips the edges in the water. He gently swipes it across your face to clear any dirt that covers the face of his wife.

“How unfair of me to do this to you,” he says. “How unfair of you to do this to me as well.”

Alastor involved you in this war, brought you to the hotel under the pretext of business. It’s a careful loophole he exploited for the one who wears the ring that matches his.

Bringing you as a staff of the hotel meant Alastor could be by your side once more. It meant there would be someone to cook for again. It meant there would be someone to annoy once more. It meant there would be someone in the bed next to him, filling the room with soft breaths.

Were these past several years just as torturous for you? They were to him.

It broke him more than he cared to admit. Alastor knew where you’d be in every hour of the day, and it almost killed him not to go see you. It was the worst several years of his life. Worse than the time he first appeared in hell without you because at least then he didn’t know where you would be.

The deal he made chained him.

Alastor will make sure that bind him will never be stronger than the vows that bind him to you. He doesn’t like what that thought means for him. You are the remnants of his humanity that he cannot cut off.

He slips the second ring off his fingers, and places it back around you. Alastor’s done this twice already—married you twice because there was no one else he could marry.

Alastor has always been a selfish man, and it has finally ruined you.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The sky greets you. Sulfur clouds lazily flow across its red canvas.

The blanket around your shoulder pools down your lap as you sit up.

Air flows through your lungs with air as fresh as two-week eggs. Bustling catches your ears as Sinners move about. Only the honks of traffic or the steady swoosh of the wind reverberate in your ears instead of high-pitched ringing.

Lys notices you first.

Her eyes quirk as she smiles, walking towards you. “You’re awake!” she says. “The extermination ended hours ago, so you’re safe to stay here until you feel like moving.”

Heme takes a seat on the edge of the cot.

“Most got sent home,” they say, crossing their legs. “It’s just you here now.”

Light glints off the ring around your finger and oh…there’s a ring around your finger but no Alastor. Later. Think about that later. “How long was a few hours ago?”

Lys hums, a hand on her chin. “Just a little four hours.”

You point towards the building up the hill. The Hazbin Hotel stands proud but different. There’s a giant dragon statue by the entrance. “That’s a fully built building.”

“It looks great, right? I’m just glad they didn’t ask for our help to build the thing,” Lys tells you, glancing at the hotel. “Lucifer used magic to speed up the process. It was interesting to see, but I’m not really the physical labor type.”

Heme leans back on the cot, propping an arm to steady themselves. “He also used magic to heal everyone else,” they say. “Just a snap of his fingers and bam healed. Some even re-grew the appendages we carefully sliced off.”

“Magic?” Your nose scrunches. “That’s convenient.”

“Too convenient.”

Lys blows a raspberry. “Boo.”

The pads of your thumb swipes the cool metal of your ring until your questions could no longer be held back. “My husband?”

“Yeah… he was the one who brought you here.” Lys makes a face, scratching her neck. “He filtered off somewhere when he spotted Lucifer walking down the hill.”

That’s disappointing. More than a little disappointing.

You spring from the bed, far easier than it should take. “Woah…,” you say, stretching your limbs. “That’s really great magic—I don’t feel a single thing.”

Heme snorts at you. “That’s good, considering you split your head wide open,” Heme says, snorting at you. “Who knew the Radio Demon easily panicked at the sight of blood.”

Panic?  What a silly, silly, thought. Alastor doesn’t panic at blood.

Lys scowls. “Ugh, I never want to hear his name ever again”

The new doors of the hotel easily open.

There’s a tower on the side of the hotel that looks like it has Alastor’s name written on the walls. The decorations are still tacky, and it lacks the homier and used atmosphere. That’s a shame.

It’s cleaner as well. You pick up any feathers that drop to the floor as you search for some way to get to Alastor’s tower.

Thankfully, there are signs that direct you to your destination. You go up the elevator and find yourself in Alastor’s tower. The fact that he has a tower here means he’ll probably still be staying here. You would need to leave soon unless you decided to stay.

Only a door separates you and your husband now.

The shadow’s harsh grip on the room lightens when you place a single foot inside. The more steps you take, the more shadows retreat.

Alastor’s back faces you. It stands proud as he stares out the window with folded hands. His eyes barely slide towards you, but they look and they linger for more than a moment. Harsh lines outline his body. Everything's sharper. It’s quite the menacing sight, indeed.

A question strikes you.

Who stands before you—Alastor or the Radio Demon?

“Tell me if anything hurts,” Alastor says and you choose to believe it’s him, even as a thick radio filter glazes his voice. “I want the truth.”

“Not a single feather out of place.” There’s a small smile on your lips even as he barely looks at you. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

Alastor’s back relaxes at your words. It only lasts a second before they tense up once more. “Good.”

“Thank you for asking, my lov—”

“Go home.” Alastor turns to the window, his back facing you once more. “The job Charlie gave you ended the moment the extermination did, and you are neither one of our staff or a guest.”

“Indeed, I am not,” you say, closing the door behind you. “I am only your wife, afterall.”

“Leave if you have nothing else to say,” he tells you, the lines between Alastor and the Radio Demon blurring. “…Be careful on your way home.”

“I’m in the mood for a walk,” you say. “Come with me? We can go home together. I lost quite a number of items, and I want to replace them sooner rather than later.”

Alastor tightens the grip he has on his hands. “I’m still needed here.”

“I’m thinking of staying,” you say just because. “The trees seem to have grown on me. And you know how difficult it is for me to suddenly change my sleeping arrangements. We can…We can finally do that picnic…”

Alastor turns—No.

The Radio Demon turns towards you, a wide smile on his face. “You can’t stay here.”

Your face falls into a blank as you stare at him. The audacity of this man to look at you like you are some wayward Sinner who would cower in fear. “I’m confused,” you say, slowly. “Explain it to me.”

His smile widens until it reaches his ears. “There’s nothing to explain. I don’t want you here.”

You steel your heart from his words. Comfort comes in the shape of his shadow. It plays with your own, a happy little smile on its face. “And?”

“Listen to me very closely,” the Radio Demon snarls at you, taking a single step forward. His figure towers over you menacingly. “I don’t appreciate having to repeat myself—Go home. You’re not wanted here, not by me.”

“You are my home,” you say. It’s a desperate attempt, an olive branch to allow him to retract any statements.

The Radio Demon stays silent, but wisps of Alastor appear in his cracks.

It’s the silence that forces you to turn your back towards him, facing the door to compose yourself. Deep breaths—in and out and in and out. It’s all you can do to hold your own cracking pieces together.

The smile you show the Radio Demon is a controlled and gentle smile that only a fool would mistake for kindness. “No, I won’t do it.”

A wave of power shoots out of him. The lights flicker and dim in response.

The Radio Demon glares at you, his pupils morphing into radio dials. Symbols carve themselves into the air. They flicker around you. The shadows that dissipated the moment you stepped into the room grew once more. It spreads underneath him, painting the room darker.

Radio feedback mixes itself within his words. “G̷̛̼͓̮͍̮ǫ̵̦̝̜͚̿͛ ̵̜͇̞̼̽̊̑̇̂h̸̗͌͘ö̵̼̠͔̰̭́̍̒͛̔m̴̜͐͝ë̵̻̗̲͇́ͅ.”

A knock sounds on the door. Only you notice the hesitant but firm knock.

Your back turns towards the Radio Demon, even as waves of power flow out his skin. Amidst of all shadows and static, his hand reaches out when you grip the doorknob and step out the room.

Radio screeches escape his mouth, and underneath the layers of static, you think Alastor says your name.

The door closes with a click.

Husk stands before you, an irritated look on his face.

“Hello,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “What brings you by—lost in rock, paper, scissors?”

“Volunteered, actually,” Husk says, snorting. “Wasn’t actually going to knock like I said I would, but these lights just got installed…and Vaggie mentioned spotting you on your way here.”

Another wave of power flows out the door. It’s stronger this time. Shadows pool out the cracks until the whole hallway dims, illuminated only by the faint green glow of the Radio Demon’s magic.

“Come on,” Husk says, ears flickering for a moment. “I’ll pour us a drink.”

“I don’t think the lightbulbs will survive if I do,” you say and sigh when they begin to flicker sporadically. “And there seems to be quite a number of them.”

Husk shrugs a bit. “He can afford a new set.”

“It’s alright,” you say, shaking your head.

“Before you go back inside,” Husk says, placing his hands inside his pocket. “The old bar…the one that was downstairs.”

Your head tilts. “What about it?”

“The bones, yeah? The one that decorated the bar…It’s him who placed those there,” he says. “Late at night, I’d catch him cleaning it sometimes, a drink in his hand. He gets pissy whenever it gets damaged.”

A small chuckle escapes your lips. The heads of his enemies were a gift to you, and the bones were your gift back. “Thank you for telling me this.”

“Will you be alright?”

“Eventually,” you say, a soft smile on your lips as you glance at the door. “You know how marriage can be—it has its ups and its downs.”

The door opens easily, and the shadows spill out and consume all the light around.

Static builds in a way that stings your ears. Still, you lock the door behind you, trapping yourself with the Radio Demon.

There’s a shocked look on his face as he stares at you. He’s grown in size since you stepped out the door. Some of the shadows retreat back into himself.

Radio dials still stare into you. The symbols flare and dim in a never-ending cycle. Lights flicker around you once more. His ears are pressed down, almost flat.

“Alastor,” you call out for your husband, staring him down. “You forget yourself.”

One blink and one of his eyes revert. It takes a couple more blinks for the dials to disappear.

All darkness recedes back into him as he controls himself. The Radio Demon still stands before you, composed but menacing. It’s a far cry from your Alastor. It doesn’t really matter who stands before you, actually. The Radio Demon or Alastor. He’s still your husband, no matter what shade.

It’s him who still wears the ring that matches yours, and it’s that exact fact that had you lock the door behind.

“I won’t do what you aren’t asking me to do.” The words come out weaker than you expect. “I won’t leave, Alastor. Not you—not ever.”

“Go home…please,” he says, diffing his claws into the skin of his palm. “The job that allowed you to stay with me ended. There’s no reason for you to stay anymore. You are—“

“Who I am is your wife, and you are my husband,” you say, a bit colder than intended as you reach the end of your patience. “Alastor, whatever it is, we can work through it. Was it…Was it something I said?”

“Go home.”

“Stop.” You ran a hand over your feathers, smoothening the ones that stick out. “You are my home, and there’s nowhere else for me to go but to you.”

One hand reaches out, beckoning him closer.

His shoulders relax, uncoiling the tension. The smile on his face turns softer. Every step the Radio Demon takes turns him back to Alastor, and Alastor plays with the tips of your fingers before taking them on his own.

Alastor places your hand on his cheek, nuzzling himself into your palm.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be left behind.” Your thumb goes up and down his cheek. “It’s you who always leaves.”

Alastor takes another step towards you, leaning even closer. “Then this is your chance to leave me.”

“You cannot make me.”

“I don’t want to see you,” he growls. It’s funny how his words tell you to leave, but Alastor pulls you closer to him, pressing his head on your shoulders. “Why bother to stay when I don’t want you here with me.”

Why?

That’s the question, isn’t it? Such a simple question can be answered with such a simple response. It’s the most natural thing you’ve ever had to say to him. It’s not difficult at all, not when it’s inscribed on your very soul. The only problem was finding the courage to do so.

You take his face, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I love you.”

Alastor takes a step back, a step away from you. The grip you have on his coat tightens, keeping him close.

“Don’t run away from this,” you tell him, trying to show him a smile. “Please, Alastor… I beg you. It almost broke me when you died. My mornings and nights bled into a dullness when you did not return to me. I don’t think I’ll be able to repair it if you force me to leave.”

Alastor caresses your cheek, trailing the back of his fingers down. “You will find a way.”

You stare into him, the smile on your face falling. If your eyes could turn into radio dials, they would.

“I love you,” you repeat, clutching the lapels of his coat. “Damn you, Alastor. I love you in ways you cannot understand. I love you in ways I don’t know how to express because of how much it overflows.”

Alastor stares into your eyes. Thoughts run through his mind, but you cannot decipher a single one. It’s his silence that stings the most.

“You are a piece of my heart.” The words come out quickly… desperately. “No number of stitches will be able to repair me.  I will scar because of you.”

“Then leave.”

You crash your head into his chest, pulling yourself into his hold. Alastor snakes his arms around your waist, dropping into you.

There it is again. The words he says differ from the actions he takes.

“You have said a myriad of insults. I’ve heard you say that you don’t want me…that you don’t care for me … but not once have I heard you asked me to leave,” you say, clutching the fabric of his coat. “I will leave if you truly wish we gone, but first you have to ask me to do so.”

Once more, silence is the reply he cares to give you.

“Damn you, Alastor. Say something—Ask me to leave you!” you exclaim. There’s a part of you that wants to scream at him. Make him hurt until he gives you another expression besides that permanent smile of his. “Tell me to leave, and I will do so. I will vacate the home we built and return the ring you gave me.”

There’s a box inside your pocket. It’s not exactly your most precious item, but it’s what’s inside that matters to you the most. You take it, and slam it against his chest.

Alastor takes the box, opening it to take a look inside. His eyes widened as he stared at the item. The box only holds one item—the paper ring he used to propose to you. It’s a very, very, old piece of paper. The most precious piece of paper in your world.

“I will forge the vows you made and forgive the vows you are breaking,” you tell him. It’s been a long day, a too long day. You press your head on his chest, leaning into him. “Rip yourself from my very being, then and only then will I leave you.”

“This is yours.” Alastor closes the box around your fingers, gripping it tightly around his own. “Whether you want it or not—it’s yours.”

Your nails dig into the wood of the box. “Are you asking me to leave?”

“I don’t want you here,” he says, weakly. “How much cleared do I need to be to get it in your thick skull?”

Anger burns through your body. “Are you asking me to leave?”

Silence. That’s all he gives you. Alastor’s lips twist, even as a smile paints his face. The hand around your waist tightens.

“Answer the question, my love,” you say, almost mockingly. “Come on. This is it. Ask me to leave and I wil—”

Alastor grabs your shoulders, and another pulse of power flows out of him. “I cannot cut you out!”

“And you think I can?” you exclaim, gripping his coat. “Do you think that I could hurt you like that? That I would be willing to leave you?”

Alastor pulls himself away from your hold to walk across the room. Once more, his back faces towards you as he runs a hand across his hair. His hand trails down to his mouth, covering it as he takes one single deep breath.

You will him to find his voice.

(You hope he never does.)

Alastor reaches out for you.

A single step back. That’s all you take, but his ears droop lower. It forces you to look at everything except him. What expression is Alastor making now? Part of you never wants to know. “What do you want to ask me?”

A soft click of a dial and music fills the air.

Alastor tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him. There’s a smile on his face when he swipes his thumb across. “May I have this dance?”

Once more, he holds a hand out, and you find yourself accepting him.

Alastor plays with the tips of your fingers before taking it in his hold. A hand snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The music builds, and his grip on you tightens even more.

Alastor takes the lead on this dance. Foot forwards. Back. When was the last time you’ve done this? Every beat of the music has you dancing across the room. The pace of his movement picks up with the music. Alastor tightens his grip on your hand, swinging you backwards, dipping low, then soaring into the air. He doesn’t stop twirling you until you’re laughing in his arms, a wide smile painted on your lips.

Music flows into your body, replacing any hurt or anger. It doesn’t seem to matter. Not when Alastor presses you oh so close into him, dipping you forward and looking into your eyes. He’s here. You’re here. That’s all that matters.

Alastor grips your waist, lifting you into the air and lands you on one of the tables.

The firm grip around your waist lingers when he takes his spot between your legs. Alastor presses his head on your shoulders, leaning into you. Just a moment here. That’s all you need, and maybe that’s all he needs as well.

He takes both your hands, intertwining them with his own. The rings around your fingers press against each other. Alastor squeezes your hand. “Will you stay?”

You squeeze back. “Of course.”

He presses a kiss on the edge of your lips. “Even if I cannot give you what you deserve?”

“I don’t need you to give me anything,” you tell him, connecting your foreheads together. “I’m living the life I wish to live. Throughout the Earth…no, not just Earth, but in Heaven and Hell as well, there is nothing more perfect in this universe than when I am with you.”

You press a hand on his chest, steading yourself to place a kiss on his cheek.

Huh…that’s weird. It’s wet.

There’s a wet spot on his chest, and it seeps into your palm. You retract your hand even as Alastor tenses for a moment. Oh…there’s blood on your hand.

Blood?

Realization hits you with its cold, cold, grip.

You push him away, halting the moment. Alastor shakes his head, reaching out for you once more. Instead, you grab his coat and pull on it like a madwoman. The grip on him tightens when you sloppily claw his coat off his body.

The frenzy stops when it slips off his shoulders and away from his arms. It gets thrown away somewhere irrelevant to this very moment. You grip his dress-shirt, practically ripping off the buttons to expose his bare chest.

Jagged stitches run across a fresh and bleeding wound. Green threads sow his skin together. It’s sloppily stitched together.

One hand reaches out to touch him, but Alastor catches your wrist.

“Alastor…,” you say, and his name leaves your lips in a whisper. “What did you do to yourself?”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

There’s sadness painted across your face. It’s in the way your lips wobble, and it’s in the way your eyebrows furrowed together. 

There are times when Alastor believes himself to be heartless, incapable of emotions that don’t serve his own self-interest. Yet…here you are, proving him wrong once again.

A part of him screams and begs to turn away, because every wobble of your smile plunges a knife into a heart he obviously owns.

Alastor isn’t allowed to look away, not when it’s him who took a bloodied brush and painted a frown over your lips. It’s because of him that your shoulders are dropping with a sad, sad, expression on your face.

He smiles at you. “It’s only a few hours old.”

A small laugh spills out. Experience tells him it’s not because you find his joke humorous. “Don’t…” You shake your head, staring at him with a hollowness in your eyes. “Don’t talk to me right now.”

There really isn’t anything else to do but nod.

There’s a couch in this room. It’s one of the many new pieces of furniture in his radio tower. You grab his hand, pulling him towards the couch. Alastor follows each and every of your silent commands, and takes a seat when you push him down the cushions.

“I need scissors,” you tell him, plain and simple. The sadness locks away, replaced by a frozen gaze. “Scissors, Alastor.”

A snap of his fingers, and any tools you could ever need appear by your lap.

It’s simple work, really–almost automatic. You grab the suture scissors, and snap the first thread he forced deep into his skin. The wound flares open and Alastor bites down on the bottom of his lip. The sharpness of his teeth threaten to draw blood.  

Another snap of the sutures and Alastor digs his claws into his palm. The fire that surges from his chest mocks him with its pain, a reminder that embers of his humanity cannot be snuffed out.

There’s a finger that pokes his arm, grounding him away from the pain. It trails down his skin until it reaches where his claws dig into his palm. Three taps – one, two, three – and his fingers retract from his palm.

You insert your hand into his hold, intertwining your fingers between his own.

If snipping his sutures with one hand inconveniences the process, you make no complaint. But it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? A task done together, hands intertwined with only one usable hand. 

One suture after the other, you snip the threads Alastor forced into his skin. As each snip flares in pain, Alastor squeezes down on your hand. 

As each snip exposes his wound once more, you squeeze his hand back.

You grab the forceps next, and pick out the remaining sutures inserted between his skin. Still, your hand never tries to leave his grip. Part of Alastor wants to exist in this moment even after eternity ends. Even when the pain forces his teeth to grind, Alastor would rather stay here, and hold on to you without ever letting go.

You hover your palms above his chest.

Alastor pulls away from your hand, even if it pains him more than your snipping to do so, and snatches your wrist away from his injury. “Don’t…I know what you’re trying to do,” he tells you, and the base of his ears flatten on his head. “Don’t do it – not for me.”

“Let me do this one thing,” you say, voice low and barely a whisper. “Please…just let me do this one thing for you. That’s all I’m requesting as your wife, and I will do whatever it is you want me to do.”

“I will beg if that’s what you want me to do,” Alastor says, his grip still secure around your wrist.

“I love you, always,” you tell him, and the flutters in his heart blooms. It’s been blooming since you first said the words. “Even when you hide things from me, even when you died, even when you left for seven years, and even if you will leave for another seven years.”

Alastor doesn’t have the resolve to deny your request.

Decades of marriage. Decades of time together. Decades of living in a world where magic and sorcery are possible. It’s only natural you would know how to use the power that comes with your soul. And right now, Alastor regrets helping you cultivate this power, even if it’s serving his own benefit. Especially, when the cost comes in the form of you.

Flickers of your soul flow straight into his body, mending the jagged points of slashed tissues and muscles into one long scar. 

The joints of your knees buckle as you try to stand.

It’s instinct for Alastor’s hand to shoot out, catching your shoulders in his hold and steadying you until you’re seated next to him on the couch. There’s a soulless expression between your eyes, even as he runs his thumbs over your cheek.

Was it too much?  Did transfering even the smallest flickers of your soul take too much from you?  Or did Alsator do what he always does – he takes and he takes and he takes until there’s nothing left?

There it is again–his selfishness has damaged you.

Finally, you glance at him, and the flicker of your eyes pulls his heart above the water’s surface. 

One hand reaches out. It pulls his head on the soft plush of your lap. Your fingers thread through his hair, letting red strands flow through your fingers. The tips of your nails scratch the base of his ear, bringing Alastor into a slow lull. It’s a gentle touch that he doesn’t deserve.

It’s been a long day, and Alastor’s tired of trying to get you to leave. Can he stay here for the rest of eternity? The way your fingers thread through his hair prompts his eyes to dro–

The first tear lands on his cheek.

It doesn’t stop at one. Tears slip out the slits of your eyes, trailing down until they splatter on his face. There’s still that soulless look on your face, even as the tears flow.

Alastor springs from your lap, reaching out to wipe the tear away with the pads of his thumb. Oh…oh. He did this. Alastor made you cry. “Don’t cry for me.”

Another tear slips out. “Then stop making me cry.”

“I don’t deserve your tears,” Alastor tells you, catching the next tear that slips out.

Your eyes flutter to a close, accepting the fact that tears flow down your cheeks. “You’re the only person who deserves these.”

Alastor grabs your hand, squeezing them in his hold. It’s something you’ve never said out loud, but Alastor knows you hate showing him your tears. It’s such a ridiculous thing. He would never judge your tears. To anyone else, tears would be a sign of weakness. Not for you—tears mean you cared.

“What did you do to yourself?” you say, clutching his hand tightly. “Alastor, why would you do that to yourself? I would have helped you… Do I… Do I mean so little to you?”

Alastor grabs your face, swiping the tears. “No, not at all,” he says, quickly. “You are—”

“What. Tell me what.” Your lips twist. “What am I to you Alastor? The bane of your existence? Ridiculous?”

“Yes.” These are the first words that slip out his mouth.

You stare at him, gritting your teeth. “Yes?”

“No!”

“No?” you parrot back, pulling your hand off his hold. He tries to reach for it again, but you only pull it back further. “Alastor, which is it?”

“No,,” he says, weakly… desperately. “You are my very existence, and I cannot cut you off without cutting myself as well. It’s almost as if my lips were made to say your name.”

More tears slip out your eyes, and you use your wrist to wipe them away.

“I am a selfish man, and all I can ever want is you. I would give up everything for you,” Alastor tells you, taking your hand to press himself against it. He presses a kiss on the metal of your ring. “My status… My pride. They are meaningless in the face of you. I cannot drag you down any further than I already have all because there isn’t a corner in all of hell where I can hide from you.”

Alastor’s smile falters at your silence.

For once in his life, he can’t keep the smile on his face. He doesn’t deserve to smile. What would you think when you see him smiling at your pain. The pain he causes you.

It begins to droop, and you catch it with the tips of your fingers, pushing the edges of his lip up into a smile. “A frown doesn’t suit you, my love,” you say, even as tears drop down your cheeks. “Smile for me.”

Alastor laughs instead of smiling. 

This dance you’ve both been doing. Ridiculous and silly. That’s what it is.

He pulls you on top of him until the both of you are spread out of the couch. Alastor kisses every tear, pulling you tighter against him. “You are my everything,” he tells you. “And I never should have done anything to make you believe otherwise. Everything I do… I do it with you in my mind and in my heart.”

You curl into him, bringing your legs closer and Alastor places his chin on top of your head. “Then why did you leave me?”

“Do you really think I would have left you willingly?” he asks you, pressing a kiss on the crown of your feathers. “I need you to know that I am doing everything I can to stay by your side.”

“I don’t know what to think.” You trace circles on his skin.

“Listen to what I’m going to say next.”

“Why?” you say. “All so I can hear you call me ridiculous?”

“No, not at all… I love you,” Alastor says, and it comes out quickly. What do you see in those eyes of yours? “I love you.”

A small smile quirks into your lips as you stare into him with eyes that crinkle. That’s better.

“It’s not a lie,” he says, desperately. “You have to believe me when I say I love you. It’s nothing but the truth because it is—I love you.”

You place a hand on his face, the pads of your thumb going up and down. “Why would I think you were lying?”

Alastor pulls you into a kiss. Usually, they’re slow as he likes to take his time to write you poems that explain how happiness flows out of him in waves. It’s you who places this seed in him and it’s you who takes care of it with gentle hands.

Alastor writes you poems with his lips. Each kiss tells you about how the sun nor the moon nor the stars can compare to the light that shines in your eyes nor can it compare to the light you ignite in his. Each movement tells you how not even water or air can be as important as existing with you in every moment across space and time.

It’s him who pulls away first. Greedy. He becomes too greedy when it comes to you.

Your eyes are still shut. He runs his thumb over your eyes, nudging you with his nose until your eyes flutter open. Oh, how they shine brighter than the moon.

There’s a box in your pocket that he pulls out. The ring was so old. The paper stains yellow and obvious fold marks crease the edges. You took care of it, all these years together and you took care of the first ring he ever gave you.

“How do you still have this?”

“Because I loved you enough to be buried with it,” you say, and your eyes crinkle at you smile. “And I loved you even more to disturb my own grave.”

“You are the most ridiculous person to ever exist with… Say it again,” he tells you, practically begging you to do so again. “I want to hear it again.”

You steal a kiss from him and it takes every inch of his self-control not to pull you right back to it. “Only if you say it as well.”

“I love you,” Alastor says and only the truth spills out his mouth. “And I will tell you I love you for the rest of eternity and beyond that as well.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Every step Alastor takes, you take.

Every corner he rounds, you round.

It’s easy to follow him when he does nothing to conceal his presence. The Radio Demon struts around town, a hand on his back and a microphone slotted around his arm, without a care in this world. His back is broader in this body, and his waist slimmer. Still, his legs take long and fast strides.

A small giggle escapes your lips as you follow him down the street.

Alastor turns right, disappearing into an alley. You hop over some trash and step over some blood, and follow the Radio Demon into an alley.

The moment you step deeper into the shadows, tendrils snake up your leg, and around your waist and wrist. They hoist you into the air, tightening around you as they squeeze painfully. You try to pull away, but its grip on you tightens.

Alastor steps out of the shadows, a permanent smile on his lips.

You smile back at him, letting out a blissful sight. “Hi.”

“Hello,” he says and steps further into the light. Tuffs shoot out of his head, and part of your wonders if those were his ears. Dear god, there are itty-bitty antlers on his head. (They’re too cute.)

“Hello?” you parrot back, making a face. “Like a knife straight into the heart! You wound me, sweetheart.”

Alastor’s smile shifts until you see the yellow in his teeth. It’s a snarl. A barely noticeable one, but it’s there. It’s in the way his cheeks strain and in the way his chest puffs out further. The stitches on the side of his mouth flare as he smiles at you.

The tendrils tighten and you grit your teeth. “This is new,” you say, trying to keep your smile. “You should be careful with those. My husband gets oh so terribly jealous.”

Alastor leans on his microphone. “You’ve been following me all day.”

His bowtie is crooked. Even in hell, Alastor still wears a bowtie. You point towards it, even if the tendrils around your wrist limits movement. His eyes slide down to it, and he fixes it himself.

“Oh darling…I’ve been following you for the last three months,” you tell him, still trying to pull free from the bondages around you. “That’s alright. I always was better at following you. I even followed you all the way here. Ha!”

“Are you a fan?”

Your face scrunches and you recoil as if you’ve been shot. “A fan?” you exclaim, trying not to gag. “That’s twice you’ve managed to insult me.”

Something flickers through Alastor’s mind.  It’s a quick flash. Whatever he thought of has him laughing out loud. It’s breathy and light, and one of the best things you’ve ever heard. Oh, how you’ve longed for the sound of his laughter.

Alastor’s fingers tighten around his microphone as he forces himself to stop laughing. There’s a steely look on his face, as he digs his nail into his skin. It’s almost as if he’s surprised.

“How delightful!” he says and you doubt he actually believes that. “It seems I have been entertained. Shall we strike a deal? Tell me what you want and it shall be yours…for a price, of course.”

“I hope you don’t go around flirting like that with every lady you see—I get rather jealous as well.”

He glares at you.

You show him your most innocent smile.

There it is again. Something flickers in his mind. Alastor studies you for a moment, and the restraints loosen around you. His eyes widened. It’s barely noticeable—a quick lift of his eyelids in surprise.

After the initial shock, the tendrils tighten on your body, and you yelp, pushing away as it squeezes on you.

“Alastor, stop!” your cry out, leaning away to try and get even a semblance of space. It hurts…but… uh… in an exciting way. Part of you wonders if he still wears sleeve garters—you hope he does. (You need to keep it together.) “I’ll let you know that this hurts. You’re hurting me.”

“Good.”

“Ooooh, I do love it when you flirt with me.”

“If you value your life, I suggest you stop your game,” he hisses out. His smile wobbles for a second before they widen into a snarl as his eyes darken. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you. I’m losing interest by the second and I’m in need of a new voice for my radio.”

You cough a bit, trying to clear your throat. It’s quite warm today. “I think you would be interested in my name.”

Alastor snorts like you’ve said something funny, but his ears flicker a bit. There’s interest written all over his face, and only you can see it. Hmmm, maybe a little bit of hope as well? He taps his fingers on his microphone. “Why should I care for your name?”

“Because you made a vow.”

His teeth clench, and a muscle on his cheek tightens. The tendrils around your body lower you gently, only slithering away when your feet safely touch the ground. Still, they hover closely as you regain your balance. It’s as if they stay close just in case you fall over, ready to hoist you.

Red marks imprint your wrist from where the tendrils squeezed.

“Go on,” he says, and his eyes flicker to the marks on your skin. “You have one chance to keep my interest.”

You tell him your name.

Your first name, and the last name he shared with you. “…Pleasure to be meeting you!” One hand rests on your chest, and the other shoots to the air. It’s the bow you would do in high-school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow. “Quite a pleasure!”

Alastor stares at you for a moment. Those red eyes of his flicker to you, taking in… well, you. It takes a moment for him to respond. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Your smile remains constant, even as a small laugh escapes you. “And why would that be?”

You extend a hand out to Alastor, beckoning him closer.

 He takes a single step closer, and you mirror his movements. The more steps he takes, the more steps you take. It’s like a dance that only stops until you’re a breath away. Alastor inches even closer, studying the grooves of your new face.

He presses a hand on your face, and you lean into his touch. There it is again. Even in this new body, his thumb goes up and down the skin of your cheeks. And even in this new body, it still feels the same. It still feels like Alastor.

Your eyes close, letting yourself feel his touch.

Alastor says your name as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Yes?” you say.

Alastor’s hands trails down until it wraps around your wrist. You wince a little when you feel his fingers. “I shouldn’t have done this to you,” he says. He holds them gently, cradling them as he brings his lips on the inside of your wrist. “My dear.”

“Yes?” You pull your wrist from his hold, and press a small kiss on his cheeks. It’s a silent act.

“My love.”

Another kiss on the other side of his cheek. “I’m right here.”

“Dearest.”

A kiss on the edge of his mouth. You allow your lips to linger on him, brushing him with a soft reply. “Yes?”

“My, most, dear.” Alastor pulls you closer. His nose nudges you, poking you a little. “My, only, dear.”

“Yes?”

Alastor says your name again and again, and you respond again and again. He brushes some feathers away from your face, taking a long and good look at you.

His breath mixes with your as inches of space separates your lips. Just a moment…that’s all you need. Just a single moment to feel his presence before you could lose yourself into him.

Once, someone told you the moment before the kiss was more magical than the kiss itself. It’s in the fluttering eyes, the soft intakes of breath, and the feeling of hands tightening around your waist. Intoxicating. That’s the only word that could even come close to the way Alastor tortures you.

They would be correct, if they weren’t so wrong.

He takes half a step closer, and the distance disappears. It forces your eyes to shut, the feeling of his lips too overwhelming to keep it open. A new set of lips places kiss after kiss, but the movements are all the same. It still feels like your husband.

His thumb brushes your cheek. The other hand pulls you closer to press you into him, and you slot perfectly, as if you were made to fit him.

Alastor takes his time, kissing you softly as he writes you a poem with only the taste of his mouth.

He pulls away first, and for once in your life there isn’t an urge to pull him right back in. That’s alright. There will be an eternity of moments like this. Maybe your lifetime with him wasn’t with the living, but with the dead.

Alastor’s thumb brushes over your eyelids, a silent request to open them. There’s no other option but to flutter your eyes open because there’s no option to deny him, not when he holds your heart.

Red eyes stare into you. They’re no longer brown, but they still shine brighter than starlight.

“Hi,” you say once more.

Alastor smiles at you. “Hi.”

You pull him into a hug, and Alastor curls into your hold, resting his head on your chest. He’s taller in this body, so his back has to bend to fit your hold. His hands curl around the fabric of your blouse as he pulls himself closer.

The joints of your knees begin to buckle. Alastor tightens his already tight grip on you, keeping you steady. Home. He still feels like home.

Every breath he takes raises his chest up and down, and it grounds you to this world like a lifeline. Alastor… oh your precious Alastor. He’s here. You’re here. You and him. Him and you.

“You were wrong by the way,” you say, sinking into him.

Alastor looks up at you, catching your gaze because it was only ever his to catch. “What?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

So, we have reached the ending. Gosh I did not think we would ever reach here. This is like my first ever full fic and I hope you guys enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone who clicked on this story and gave me a change to share a story with all of you. So, we have reached the ending. Gosh I did not think we would ever reach here. This is like my first ever full fic and I hope you guys enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone who clicked on this story and gave me a change to share a story with all of you. Taglist: @mybrainsautocorrect @ray-rook @valentique @qardasngan @teavibesaf @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @reikamasama @slaggylemon @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @littledolly2345 @b-o-n-e-daddy @infinitefox @ayyyyyy-vase @kny-kween @thehiddenvase @stclen-sweethearts @obessivlyonline @inthemiddle0feverywhere

[tennessoui]

Sooo I know you have another essay to write buuuut when you have time, could you do #25? Please and thank you!!!

Good luck with getting your essay done!! 🥰

here you go!

[from this list of prompts]

[2. 'have you lost your damn mind?' - 5. 'are you jealous' - 13. 'kiss me.' - 14. 'hey, i'm with you, okay? always.' - 18. 'this is the stupidest plan you've ever had. of course i'm in.' - 19. 'the paint is supposed to go where?' - 22. 'i've seen the way you look at me when you think i don't notice' (LATEST) - 24. 'you're the only one i trust to do this' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 28. 'marry me?' - 29. 'i thought you were dead' - 32. 'i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified' - 37. 'wanna dance?' - 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 41. 'you did all of this for me?' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

25. 'i can't believe you talked me into this.'

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Barriss mutters under her breath, far too loudly for Ahsoka's comfort.

"If you keep grumbling, he's gonna hear us from parsecs away," Ahsoka snaps, pushing against her arm. "And I didn't talk you into anything. We're just bringing Master Kenobi a slice of honey cake for his Temple Day."

"You talked me into wearing this stupid hat," Barriss points out, gesturing up to the cone atop her head. "And waking up at 0500 to do this."

"It's not my fault he likes to wake early," Ahsoka sniffs and adjusts her own coned hat. She'd looked it up. It's a Stewjoni birthday tradition, and since Jedi don't really mark their birthdays, given that many birthdays aren't known or precisely documented, she thinks it's alright to mix traditions in the name of celebration.

It's Master Obi-Wan's Temple Day, which means that one hundred years ago--or, apparently, thirty-seven to be exactly--on this day, Master Kenobi was brought to the Temple and adopted by the Jedi.

"I don't even like Master Kenobi all that much," Barriss says, and Ahsoka elbows her.

Probably the first and most important lesson her master ever taught her is that everyone likes Master Kenobi. To suggest otherwise is highly dangerous if Master Skywalker's in hearing range.

"Shut up, yes you do," Ahsoka says and pushes the cake plate into her friend's hand so that she can study the lockpad outside Master Kenobi's door. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be bringing him cake at 0500 on his Temple Day. Now be quiet, I'm trying to remember what digits Skyguy uses to gain access."

It'd help the most if Skyguy had answered the twenty comms she'd sent him last night, when she'd thought up her surprise for Master Kenobi's Temple day. But he hadn't even opened them. If it weren't for their training bond, Ahsoka wouldn't even know he was alive. They've been on Coruscant for three days, and she hasn't seen him since de-boarding.

She thinks maybe he and Senator Amidala made up, though she's not supposed to know about that. Not about their fight, not about their relationship. Her master thinks she's too young to hear about any of it, even though she's still got eyes.

It'd surprise her if they did get back together, from what Ahsoka's pieced together, but nothing else explains Anakin's absence.

But anyway.

It would be so much easier if Anakin were with her, because Anakin knows the code to get into Master Kenobi's quarters like he knows everything else about Master Kenobi.

But part of the reason Ahsoka's gone to all the trouble of finding the coned hats and making the honey cake--from scratch!--and roping Barriss in to help her with the whole thing is that if Anakin has gotten back together with Padmé, he's liable to forget all about Master Kenobi's Temple day, and Master Kenobi is liable to get really sad about it.

So Ahsoka is here, just in case Anakin remains...indisposed. It's what Master Kenobi deserves. He's a great Grandmaster. Some would probably even say he takes on a lot of master-like duties when it comes to teaching Ahsoka, and Ahsoka wouldn't argue. It's sort of nice to have two masters who look after her and encourage her to become the best Jedi she can be, even though that also means she has two masters who enjoy nagging at her all the time.

"Oh!" she says as the lockpad beside the door flashes green and opens. "Huh. That's funny."

"What?" Barriss asks, holding the cake plate in front of her like it's a shield.

"Oh, the doorpad code is Anakin's Temple day," Ahsoka says as she steps through the door. "It's ironic is all, that--Skyguy?"

"Ahsoka!?" Her master is in the kitchen unit. In Master Obi-Wan's kitchen unit. At 0500 in the morning.

And...shirtless?

"Master, put on a shirt!" Ahsoka yelps, turning her face away and covering her eyes. Beside her, Barriss makes a noise of disgust. "What are you even doing here? Naked?"

"Me?" Anakin's voice is high-pitched and far too loud for what had been a quiet morning. His words are accompanied by the sounds of a scramble around the area. Ahsoka doesn't even want to know what her master is doing. "Me--what are you doing here? It's not even 0600!"

"It's Master Obi-Wan's Temple day!" Ahsoka cries back, risking a peek over her fingers. Anakin has found and clothed himself in a striped and frilly yellow apron, which--well, it'll have to be do. "But why are you standing naked in Master Obi-Wan's kitchen unit?"

Barriss coughs. "Ahsoka, I think--we should probably..."

Anakin's face is beet red, and it grows to a worrying shade of purple when there's a clatter from further in the quarters. "I'm...uh. I was making Obi-Wan breakfast," he says.

"There's no food out," Ahsoka points out.

"I spilled it on myself," Anakin snaps. "So obviously, I took off my shirt because it had food on it, and how do you know the code to Obi-Wan's quarters anyway, padawan?"

Ahsoka glares back at him. "Show me the shirt," she demands.

"Ahsoka, really, I think we should go," Barriss says right as Anakin begins to bluster about laundry chutes and steaming clothes or something.

"Anakin?" Master Obi-Wan's voice calls, sounding confused. "What's taking so long, darli--"

"Your grandpadawan's here!" Anakin sounds shrill. He looks--

Ahsoka peers closer at him now that the shock of his presence has begun to wear off. He looks relatively freshly mauled.

"With her friend!" Anakin adds. His eyes dart between Ahsoka, Barriss, the cake, and the door. "They wanted to surprise you!"

Five long moments pass before the door at the end of the hall opens and Master Obi-Wan emerges, sleep clothes clearly rumpled and robe thrown on in a hurry. There's a worrying flush on his cheeks as well, and Ahsoka has never seen his hair so mussed up. "Oh," he says, looking between Ahsoka and Barris, and Anakin and his...apron. "Well, I am. Ah. Very surprised, padawan. Thank you."

Ahsoka nods at Anakin: this is more the reaction she'd expected. "Happy Temple Day, Master Obi-Wan," she tells him and then blinks at him, as he comes further into the light. "You have a bruise on your neck, Master," she tells him. "Was it from a fight?"

Barriss makes a distressed sound at the same time that Anakin does.

"Oh," Master Obi-Wan says, hand flying unerringly to the spot and covering it with his fingers. "It must have been, yes. I was in the training salles yesterday. I'll apply bacta on it this morning."

"I didn't want to do this," Barriss informs them, thrusting the cake plate back into Ahsoka's hands. "And I apologize for being here."

"I'm sorry you're here too," Ahsoka thinks her master mutters.

"Nonsense," Master Obi-Wan says. "Cake, anyone? It looks lovely, Ahsoka."

[gaywineauntsstuff]

saw someone said dick should apologize to jason in the comics for having putting him in arkham

i am sorry i think the f*ck not 😭 like i love jason as much as the next guy dmw but come on guys

“Jason was in Arkham”

“Dick wanted to put Tim in Arkham”

I sincerely apologize to my whump friends but I fear yall don’t know Jason Todd’s game

First let’s not talk about the fact the only person Dick put in Arkham who was miserable was himself. We aren’t gonna talk about it. Or the Arkham reform thing he was doing a the time or the other 600 things that were going on

Hell I won’t even talk about what Jason did in blackgate (WHWRE HE WAS INITIALLY) b4 he killed a hundred people to end up in Arkham we don’t need to talk about it

I won’t talk about the menace that is the hottest version of red head Jason Todd okay we have, as a society moved past that.

But genuinely for a second can you imagine that conversation

Dick guilt ridden: Jason, I- I owe and apology

Jason cleaning his crowbar: ….

Dick: I never should’ve put you in Arkham I’m so sorry being near the joker-

Jason: was literally part of the whole plan? Why the hell do you think I TRIED to get into it

Dick: exactly! I shouldn’t have indulged your worst impulses, fuck I should’ve brought you home or kept you with a league member

Jason: I would’ve killed Tim and kidnapped Damian to use as a barter tool with Ra’s Al Ghul. You know this. I need you to tell me that you know this

Dick: fuck Jay you were nineteen! That’s basically a fucking child

Jason: I’m so sorry weren’t you ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED AT 19? Didn’t you run the league for a couple months at 18? Do you think you could do more than I could at 19 dickface.

Dick: No Jason you don’t understand-

Jason: oh perfect Grayson just because I chose to become a crime lord and YOU decided to do the cringe fail hero gig. Which was really. Cringe and fail since it’s so obvious you either wanted to be dead or a supervillain

Dick: wha-that’s not true!

Jason: sure sure go say hi to Donna Troy’s grave for me

Dick:…..

Jason: ANYWAY just because I spent my teenage years outside of spandex building a criminal empire DOESNT MAKE IT LESS IMPRESSIVE THAN YOUR STUPID TITANS GROUP R I C H A R D

Dick quietly: I’mstillsorry

Jason: well im not sorry for the fact i strung you and damain up nude to reveal your identities, im also not sorry for stealing your suit and killing people in it, while we’re on that topic im also not sorry for STEALING BRUCES SUIT, im not sorry for beating tim up that shit was funny as fuck and I’m also not sorry for laughing when bludhaven blew up.

Dick: ….

Jason: so shut your fucking ass up talking about ‘oh I’m so sorry Jason’ like we didn’t spend the past decade trying to ruin each others lives

Dick: I NEVER TRIED TO RUIN YOUR LIFE

Jason: MY LIFES DREAM WAS MURDER ERGO YOU NOT LETTING ME DO THAT RUINED IT.

Jason: we WERE assholes to each other past tense and I will 100% be taking advantage of your raging guilt complex to pretend those things are equivalent to each other and now that we are all happy family bygones will be bygones whatever I can fully abuse you to get out of league level shit.

Jason: anyway what are you gonna do next? apologize to Tim for Red Robin

Dick guiltily: he’s the next stop

Jason: omg your actually doing an apology tour

Dick: I FEEL BAD OKAY

Jason: dude you know what I’ll indulge you, go try and apologize to Tim but when he LAUGHS you out of the room for being a fucking dumbass I’ll be there with popcorn

Dick grumbling: Steph accepted my apology to HER

Jason: yeah because everyone in this family was a dick to Steph and she deserved better.

Dick: yeah she was a phenomenal batgirl i wish we worked together more now that she’s spoiler

Jason: did she really hit Tim in the face with a brick

Dick: yep

[websterss]

THE HAND THAT’S FORCED — ROBERT REYNOLDS

SUMMARY: You hadn't meant to get attached to Bob, much less fall in love with him. You hadn't meant for things to slip out right from underneath your grasp. Out of your control, much like Valentina holding your love for one another over your heads.

WARNING(S): angst, a slur, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death, a bit of a graphic depiction towards the end, Valentina being terrible

WORD COUNT: 2,739

PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader

A/N: Hope you guys like it.

MASTERLIST

"What is this, Bob?" Yelena was curious as they all watched a new illusion appear before them.

"M-My memories..."

"Whose the girl-"

"J-Just watch." Bob silenced John.

-

"Hi Bob, remember me?" You smile up from your chart.

"You're Y/n." Bob answers.

"Yes, that's me. Would it be alright if I could draw some blood from you today?"

"You're asking." Bob's head remains faced down. You're highly aware of the two former doctors he's turned into shadows right behind you. "The other's never asked..." His brows crease in wonder.

"Well, I...I think we all deserve to be shown some bedside manners. Some respect for our boundaries. You more so than others..." You trail off.

"Do you think you do?" Bob finally raises his head to look at you.

"Do I think I deserve to be shown respect?"

"Mhm."

"I would like to think so."

"Why's that?"

"I haven't given you any reason to believe otherwise. I'm not here to poke and prob you. I don't have ill intentions, Robert."

"Why should I believe you?"

"I like to think we're a bit alike, honestly."

"Alike...you think we're alike?" He releases a dark chuckle.

You nod. "We're both here against our own will." You place the chart beside him. "My reason, albeit in contrast to your own, I'm under contract to see that you succeed in our experiments. Though if I fail...to meet certain requirements." You inhale shakenly. You muster your best smile, though it's far from meeting your eyes. "My family gets killed. So I can't afford to mess up."

"I don't want to be pricked by anyone anymore..." Bob finally admitted.

"I can work around that." You nodded in reassurance. "Needles isn't the only way. There are cotton swabs we could try..."

"But blood is what you need, though, right?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Blood samples are more effective for the test we want to conduct."

"You got a knife anywhere or a scalpel?"

"What for?" You tense.

"So you can get your blood sample..."

"Oh, yeah, I do!" You scurry around the room in search of something sharp. You instead find a sewing needle, something you found similar to the needles he didn't want anymore. "There's a needle, but I can step out if you want the scalpel."

"That'll work." He gestures it over.

-

"Where are we going?" You peer over your shoulder as Bob guides you into a broom closet. You hold your breath as heavy boots hurry past the door he shoved you both in. You peer at him in curiosity, in wonder as he strains his ear. "Valetina will have my head if she finds us alone-" You gasp as he cups your face. His lips silenced your worries in a matter of seconds. You sigh into the kiss as he backs you up against the metal storage shelves. You raise your hands to rake them through his locks.

"Bob, we can't stay in here-" You push back slightly, only for him to chase the kiss again.

"Shh-"

"Bob, I'm serious we can't risk this-" Your whisper is muffled by another kiss. You go to protest only to see he was quieting you once more with precaution.

"What do you mean you can't find him? Well, where's Dr. Y/L/N? She was the last one to know about his whereabouts?" You both pull back in time to hear and see Valentina's shadow fall below the door. You hold your breath again. "Well, page her now!" You begin to panic as you reach for the device tucked into your scrubs. Before it could emit its alert tone, you feel Bob reach forward and crush it in his hand. "You're all useless!"

-

You had been a former member of the team of scientists that had run tests and experiments on Bob when the team was only at the beginning of their trial runs.

Heavily emphasized as former, when Valentina viewed your empathy towards the man, incompetent to her wretched morals. Your perspective on your team's ethics and your reluctance to keep sticking needles in his veins had guaranteed you your very own enemy. A target on your back if you didn't comply with her wishes.

Bob had grown fond of your sweet nature, having made a friend out of you during your time spent in the lab. That friendship, though, the closeness you garnered, had cost you, cost him your company.

Valentina proposed access to you if he did what was asked of him. He too fell victim to Valentina's manipulation. What small but significant leverage she dangled over your own heads like dogs. You were his demise, as much as he was yours. But you would ensure the safety of one another, go to certain lengths, of what was asked of you to see each other. Then and only then would she bring you up the tower to see him. And she did for what felt like a month's worth of waiting to see him. Though it wasn't like any of the other times she dragged your cuffed hands towards the top floor. Dragging felt like a misconception; she all but shoved you face down onto the ground before Bob's feet. He knelt, brushing the disheveled locks back behind your ears as your fear-stricken gaze met his bewildered one.

This wasn't like your regular visits.

"Your lip?" Bob pointed out. It was busted.

"Bob, don't listen to her-" He helped you onto your feet before the clock of a gun triggered his fight or flight.

You turned cautiously towards Valentina, who directed the end of her pistol right onto you. Bob shoved you behind him, his hands out before him as though to tame a wild beast, in your case, Valentina, who always felt like the devil incarnate.

"Here's what's gonna happen, you two...I'm gonna send some people your way, Bob, and you are gonna deal with them for me, cause I'm getting real tired of having to put up with them. If you don't comply. I'm gonna shoot her dead. Right here." Valentina grinned, thumping her forehead with the butt of her weapon for her example. "And you'll never see her again. Though to be honest, I should have shot her the second she got attached to you. I'd have shot you too, but this won't do shit I'm afraid." Valentina sighed, tired of over-explaining herself. "You just had to go and let your heart win." Valentina glanced at you over his shoulder. Your face was reminiscent of a lost child, scared. Fearing the unknown. Like, where did your future lie in her hands?

"You broke your contract, you little bitch. What was the one thing I asked of you?"

"To not get-"

"What was that?" Valentina turned her face, cupping a hand behind her ear to mock you. "Oh, that's right, to not get attached, to not make a connection. Now look at you." She feigned a gag of disgust towards you both. "I hope you've been smart enough to keep your legs shut. Otherwise, that's a whole other problem that I don't have time for." Though the faint dread that crossed your face had her paling at the sudden realization. "Oh...you didn't, please tell me you didn't? When would you two have even found the time?"

"What kind of people?" Bob tried to shift her attention to anything else besides you.

"No, now I'm mad. When the hell did that happen? God, you're not pregnant, are you?"

"N-No." You promised.

"Well, good. At least you weren't stupid enough to conceive a baby of destruction. The press would have a field day with this!"

"What people?" Bob asked again.

"You'll know when they come. Let's go!" Valentina gestured for you to come over with the gun.

"I don't get my hour with her?" Bob circled an arm around you to keep you behind him.

"No."

"I've done everything you've asked of me..." Bob pleaded.

"Your lover hasn't. Why don't you tell him what I found out today? It'll help explain your fault for ending up shoved against the ground. Let him in on why I decided to bust your lip open."

"Y/n?" Bob turned to face you, confusion written across his features. Hoping your truth wasn't some form of disloyalty towards him.

"I tried to..." Your gaze averts Valetina's, feeling the water works begin. "I tried outing her plans...to the public, what they've done to you. The public should know of her cruelty. I tried reaching out to a contact of mine, but he was struck down in the air last I heard, going through therapy and training, so I was on my own. V-Valentina broke into my house this morning."

That explained your pajamas. His gaze shifted to your slippers.

"And that is why we are here today. Maybe I will give you your hour, to remind you of the good I do to allow you both to be together, since both of you comply so well." Just as she said this, her phone rang. Her mood shifted into one of ease and joy. "Ah, I've got to take this. You get an hour." She waved you off. As soon as she entered the elevator and the door closed behind her. Bob broke the cuffs, freeing your trembling hands that now circled around his neck to hide yourself in the nape of his neck.

"Hey, hey, you're with me now. She's gone, we have an hour again." Bob hurried you off to his enclosed case that remained open now. The single mattress on the ground welcomed you. Bob pulled you down with him. His lips colliding with yours in a desperate rush. Valentina hadn't let him see you for a month. Sometimes a month expanding into three, and before he knew it, three months had turned into more if he acted out. That solemn year without you had set him off. He was on his best behavior now, desperate to even catch a glimpse of you if Valentina was in good spirits.

Your tears hadn't stopped even if Bob kept wiping them away. Whatever grief you were withholding had broken your resolve. He could feel it in the way you gently ran your hands through his locks. Foreign to your usual wanting grip.

He'd never coax it out of you like Valentina would. He'd wait, and he'd be patient with you-

"I-I'm pregnant." You choked back a sob amid another kiss.

Bob's breath hitched at the sudden confession. His gaze neutralized as he continued to caress your wet cheeks with his thumbs. His only response in the moment was to kiss you sweetly, then lift the hem of your shirt, just enough to place a faint whisper of a kiss against your stomach.

His words of comfort only being. "I don't want her to use it against me if she finds out."

"She won't find out..." Your eyes space out as Bob reaches up to push back your hair. His gaze settles over your cut on your lip before he cups your jaw as he begins his light descent of kisses.

"If she touches you again. I'll raise hell. No one would be safe."

"It should just be Valentina. What does anyone else have to do with it?"

"I don't think I'd be in the right mental capacity to determine whose good and whose bad. I'd be too angry to try to be coaxed out of seeing any good morals in anyone."

"All because Valentina touched me?" Your heart felt overwhelmed by how deeply he felt about your safety. It warmed you as much as it almost concerned you.

"Because she hurt you." Bob's soft gaze hardened.

-

“That’s Y/n. My love.” Bob tilted his head with a smile as he showed the thunderbolts another memory of you. “I haven’t seen her since this day. I’m lucky enough to get any time with her throughout the month. Y-You guys haven’t seen her, have you? Valentina said she would bring her by today, but she hasn’t come.”

Yelena felt like throwing up at his words. If your discarded self, which she saw in the broom closet, wasn’t enough evidence to indicate your demise, then she hated the idea of telling him where you really were even more.

Yelena turned her gaze to close her eyes. The heaviness weighed down with the guilt that tightened in her throat. You poor thing. You only wanted to be with him, nothing more than wanting to see him again and again. You were innocent, a helpless life that Valentina took.

"You don't think she's done something to her, right?" Yelena looks up this time to find his gaze has settled onto her.

Bob's gaze was solemn yet imploring as he searched Yelena's expression for reassurance. His hands clenched involuntarily, a visible sign of his anxiety and concern. Her silence only fueled his unease, making the air around them feel heavy with suspense.

"Valentina wouldn't. She wouldn't go that far, right?" Even as he asks, the lingering doubt in his voice exposes his inner turmoil.

Yelena knew the truth, and the weight of that knowledge pressed upon her conscience. The guilt churned within her, and she wrestled with the difficult task of finding a way to break the news to Bob.

"No..." Yelena finally replied, shaking her head as her voice was soft and filled with hesitation. "I hope not..."

You're a bad liar, you know? Bob’s voice appeared in her mind.

Yelena's heart sank as she heard him breakthrough her mental walls, the weight of her deception settling heavily on her conscience. She knew her lie had been detected, and the realization hit her with a pang of remorse.

I know. Yelena silently admitted, unable to meet his gaze. The weight of guilt threatened to overwhelm her, knowing she couldn't bring herself to reveal the truth to him. I don't know how long she's been there...

Bob's expression shifted, his eyebrows furrowing as he read the guilt in her eyes. He could sense the internal conflict that plagued her conscience, the secrets she was wrestling with. It made his heart ache to witness her torn by the burden of his ignorance.

"You…do you know where she is then?" His words cut through the tension like a knife, his voice a mixture of desperation and urgency.

"Know where who is?" John's confusion was evident in his voice as he looked to Bob for clarification. "No one's said anything?" John and the others looked over to Yelena, who kept looking down at her chipped nail paint.

"He just read my mind...Bob, I'm so sorry, but I found her body in a closet. By the looks of it, it could be the same one you dragged her inside of."

Bob's expression paled as Yelena's words hit him like a ton of bricks. His mind struggled to process the news, the weight of her revelation crashing upon him like a tidal wave.

"W-What...? You're not saying-" His voice trembled as he searched Yelena's face for any indication of falsehood.

"I do think Valentina would go that far, and she has."

Bob's emotions flared, a mixture of anger, despair, and disbelief swirling within him. The revelation that Valentina had gone to such extremes struck a chord deep within him.

"Damn it!" The outburst escaped his lips like a strangled cry, his fist clenched tightly as he struggled to come to terms with the harsh reality. "How?" He stopped to glare at her. "How'd she leave her?"

"Knowing won't change any-"

"Tell me!" Bob's voice rose. An echo of darkness mixed with grief, his emotions on the edge of uncontrollable. He was demanding answers, desperate for anything that could help him piece together your tragedy. “Just tell me.”

"T-There was bruising around her neck-" Yelena shook her head, not wanting to think about the state she found you in. "Her face was beaten..." Yelena's shoulders fell. She shook her head at Bob. "It looked intentional. Like it was done out of spite. If she fought back, I don’t think she stood a chance. I'm so sorry, Bob." Yelena's voice cracked.

Bob's world shattered around him as Yelena's words painted a haunting picture of your fate. He couldn't bear the thought of you gone. His anger flared, mixing with a profound heartache, as he processed the cruelty inflicted upon you.

"Out of spite…" He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. The thought of someone, particularly Valentina, intentionally causing you such pain made his blood boil.

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 21

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: medical procedures; mutual pining; angst: yelling; swearing;

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

The comms went off at 6:50 a.m.

Of course it did.

You were barely three steps into the ER, coffee still burning hot in your hand, when the call came through: MVC, mid-thirties female, unstable vitals, ETA six minutes. The room snapped into motion around you like muscle memory.

You didn’t have time to think. Not about what happened, not about the way Robby had looked at you like you’d fractured something sacred. Not about the fact that this was the first time you were seeing him since it all imploded.

You threw your sweater onto the nearest chair and got to work.

And then he walked in.

Black scrubs. Jaw set. Eyes stormy.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

You took opposite sides of the trauma room like it was instinct. You hadn’t worked a code together in three days, but your rhythm was the same—too practiced to falter. His hands moved fast and precise, intubating while you placed a central line. Orders flew. Nurses obeyed. You worked as if the silence wasn’t deafening.

But God, it was.

You could feel every inch of distance between you, and still, your bodies operated like puzzle pieces that knew exactly how to fit. That was the worst part—how easy it was still to do this with him, even when nothing else felt okay.

“She’s crashing,” Dr. Mohan said.

Robby barked for an epi. You reached across the gurney at the same time, your hands brushing.

He flinched like you’d burned him.

And that? That nearly unraveled you.

The patient stabilized, barely. When it was over, the patient was transferred up to the ICU, and the chaos ended. But the damage between you two hadn’t gone anywhere.

You peeled off your gown, then your gloves, tossing them into the biohazard bin with more force than necessary. Robby was already halfway out the door.

And that was it. You snapped. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The air on the rooftop was colder than it had any right to be.

You had only meant to take a moment—five minutes to breathe, to stop shaking. The chaos of the ER hadn’t let up all night, and neither had the pressure building in your chest. You needed open air. Space.

You weren’t expecting Robby to follow you.

But when you heard the metal door creak open behind you, you already knew it was him. You didn’t turn. Just stared out over the city, arms crossed tight, jaw locked.

The door slammed shut.

“Seriously?” His voice, low and sharp.

“You’re just gonna walk away and pretend that didn’t just fucking happen?” he said, voice low and tired but no less sharp.

You turned slowly. “What? Saving a life?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then say what you mean, Michael.”

You laughed once. Bitter. “You can’t even look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“No, you’re looking through me,” you snapped. “Like I’m just the new attending going after your job, right?”

“You lied to me, Y/N.”

You felt the sting before the words even settled in the air.

“I didn’t lie.”

“Oh come on, Y/N.”

His face was flushed, breath misting in the chill, eyes burning. The fury was real, but beneath it… the betrayal glinted like a blade.

“You didn’t think I deserved to know?” he asked. “You knew for how long and just decided to smile through shifts like nothing was happening?”

Her own temper snapped like a live wire. “I was trying to keep things from falling apart. I didn’t want any of this! I didn’t ask for this.”

“But you didn’t say no either.”

“I didn’t have a chance to—”

“No,” he cut in, laughing bitterly, “because Gloria made sure you’d take it before I even had time to realize I was being replaced.”

“You are not being replaced, Robby.”

“Oh, aren’t I?” he said, stepping forward. “Because it feels like I’m standing on the roof of a hospital where I’ve killed myself for years—built this ER to survive—and now they’re telling me my new ‘partner’ is the woman I’ve been training, who couldn’t be bothered to tell me any of this before it blew up in my face.”

“You’re twisting it,” you said, voice shaking. “I didn’t betray you—”

“You didn’t trust me.” His voice was quiet now. Hurt threading through each word. “That’s worse.”

You looked away, blinking fast. “You made it pretty clear you don’t trust people who work here. That you don’t want to get close.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, louder now. “Because this place eats you alive, and I didn’t want to be stupid enough to care about someone who might leave the second it got too hard.”

“Then why did you look at me like I mattered?” Your voice cracked. “Why did you talk to me at three in the morning like I was something more than just another colleague? Why the hell did you make me feel like—like there was something between us if you were never going to let it be real? Why did you almost kiss me?”

Robby’s jaw clenched.

“Because there is something between us, and I can’t breathe around it,” he hissed. “I don’t sleep. I barely function half the time when you’re not around. And now I find out you’ve been lying to me?”

“I wasn’t lying,” you snapped. “I was scared. And I thought maybe—maybe if I stayed professional, if I kept my distance—you’d see I wasn’t here to make a mess of your life. But it didn’t matter. Nothing I did was ever going to be good enough for you to choose me.”

The silence that followed was brutal.

Robby took a step back, fists trembling at his sides. “You think I didn’t choose you? I’ve been trying not to fall apart over you for months. And the one time I needed you to choose me, you didn’t.”

“You think I didn’t choose you?” you asked, voice shaking. “I’ve been trying to push my feelings down for months for you Robby. Trying not to want more because you made it clear there was no more to want.”

He didn’t answer.

And that hurt more than anything.

You shook your head, blinking back the sting in your eyes.

“I cared. I still do. But if you’re going to punish me for not reading your mind, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

He finally looked at you then. Really looked at you. And the ache in his expression nearly took your breath away.

“I didn’t know how to want you and keep my world intact,” he said.

And maybe that was the truest thing either of you had said all day.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore. You made sure of that.” You said coldly.

He didn’t know who walked away first.

But when the rooftop emptied, the sky felt heavier than before.

[notsodelirious]

Anon from that last ask here, yes king i am also down for goody two shoes hero reader 🫡🫡🫡

appreciate it 💀 here you go <3 (original ask here)

synopsis: Jason swoops in and fucks up your mission, and you deserve compensation

notes: NSFW MDNI, also no, I cannot explain why some of my Jason fics end up with a vague undertone of pet play I’m normal I swear (it’s mostly his muzzle mask)

tags: dubcon (but Jason is very much into it, mostly the illusion of lack of choice), restraints, anal, reader is pretty mean, bickering, rivals to lovers(?), male reader, roughly 2k words, no use of y/n

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

You’d been too late—you’d been trailing this group for weeks, tracking their movements, detailing their transactions, cross referencing every single background check, alibi, crumb of information.

For nothing.

To find the entire gang either dead or close to dying.

You only felt anger as your footsteps, dampened by the blood under your soles, squelched as you moved forward into the carnage. They were traffickers, human traffickers, some of the worst scum of the earth you had ever seen but even then you couldn’t bear to look down at the corpses lying at your feet.

“Fuck.”

“You like it?”

You already knew who it was—you didn’t need to turn around to see his smug grin or his lazy stride as he came up behind, leaning over your shoulder.

“Heard you were looking for ‘em, so I thought I’d do you a solid.”

“This isn’t doing me a solid.”

This was bleak, undeserved, morbid. Undeserved? Maybe not. But it was cruel.

“You can’t keep murdering them.”

“They can’t keep doing crime,” he shrugged as you heard him holster his guns and walk around you and finally came into view. You sighed as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“You still can’t kill them, Jason.”

He paused to look up at you—you couldn’t tell behind the muzzle but you knew he was smiling behind his mask.

“Oh, we’re on a first name basis now?”

“I think you’re changing the subject.”

“Oh, am I, Mr Goody Two shoes?”

He stalked back towards you—you always noticed when he squared his shoulders, trying to look so much bigger than you but you were both vigilantes. He was strong, yes, but you all were, you had to be.

Somewhere, his intimidation tactics started leaving you less scared—you didn’t want to think about what was left in its place.

“Fucking bite me.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Your hand shot out before you could think; grabbing his face and pulling down towards yours, the metal of his muzzle was unforgiving under your gloved fingers. So close he smelled of blood and smog, like a true Gothamite born and bred—only a lifetime of misery and spite could leave such a sour taste.

“Can’t even be muzzled properly, bitch.”

“You love hearing me call your name too much for that.”

You couldn’t even retaliate before you felt a blow to the kneecap, sending you sprawling to the ground with a grunt and he was off, climbing up into the rafters of the warehouse.

He gave you a cheeky wave before he disappeared out the window, leaving you to scramble after him.

You ran across shipping containers as he yelled asinine insults back at you—he knew he was getting under your skin. He loved it, riling you up, pushing you further and further in the hopes of seeing you snap.

You never had.

Not until now.

You didn’t know what random Gotham rooftop he had escaped to. It was the same depressing grey everywhere anyway.

The only things of note were the chain link fence that wrapped around the rooftop parapet and the hole you both climbed through to get where you were.

Jason had slowed during your chase—being chased upstream from the Gotham harbour up into Chinatown would do that to a person, even as trained as Jason. It was the only reason you had managed to grab him before he could fully climb over the fence and dragged him back down, almost smiling when he landed with a thud.

“You are such a pain in the ass,” you said through heavy breathing before you were dragged down to the ground alongside him. It was only through his will that you got him on his stomach, his arm in a lock, and he stayed still as you held him. You ignored how your dick pressed against his ass, or how you were practically straddling his thighs.

“You wish I was a pain in your ass,” you could hear the damn smirk in his grin again as you tugged his arm further, listening to him hiss. But he didn’t break away.

“Bold of you to assume I’d let you do that.”

“What, you? A fucking top? Give me a break,” he snorted.

You didn’t answer, not as you slipped the handcuffs out of your utility belt and around his wrists, swiftly passing the chain behind on the fence post.

You leaned forward, chest pressed along Jason’s back as you reached around to pull his mask off. His body was so warm against yours, still panting and sweaty, no doubt from the exertion—but maybe also from the sudden realisation of entrapment.

“You? A bottom? Because this is what it’s looking like.”

He blinked as he looked down at his wrists, at his very handcuffed wrists, before he tugged harshly, making the entire chain link fence rattle but the restraints didn’t budge.

“What the fuck?” he spat, looking over his shoulder to see you grinning down at him victoriously.

“What’s wrong, baby? Stuck?”

Your hands trailed down, gripping his waist softly—his shoulder-to-waist ratio was truly stupid and caused you to stare more than you probably should. You tugged at his shirt a little, revealing just a sliver of skin.

“You sly fucker, let me go-“

“Which one of these pockets has the lube, hmm? Is it this one?” You groped around his hips as you helped him up onto all fours before you went rifling through his utility belt. You brandished a pocket-sized bottle lube and a condom with a knowing smile.

“How naughty.”

“For fucking... sex ed, you dick.”

“Uh huh, that’s what we’re going with? Sex Ed?” You set both items to the side as you leaned over him again, pulling his hood down so you could see the nape of his neck, the small hairs that were raising along his skin. “You’re such a shit liar,” you whispered as you ran your hand through his hair, lightly scratching the back of his head with blunt nails.

His head dropped the slightest bit and the tension in his shoulders relaxed a little.

“That’s it… good boy.”

“Fuck off,” he groaned but didn’t raise his head. He tugged again at the handcuffs, softer this time, but they wouldn’t budge—the fence post was rusted and poorly cemented into the parapet so it would have probably budge if he’d just twisted his hands a little.

“Not so tough anymore?”

You rolled your hips against his ass as you gently cupped his bulge, only smiling brighter at the feeling of his dick tenting his trousers.

“Such a shit liar.”

“Get the fuck-“ he tried to buck you off but you only used the momentum to pull down his clothes, exposing his cock to the cold Gotham night air.

“Fuck!”

“There you are, gorgeous,” you stroked his cock kindly, watching him twitch and tense in his restraints as he tried to muffle his sounds—it only made your own dick strain uncomfortably in its confines.

You let go of his dick in favour of grabbing his ass, pulling his cheeks apart just to see his hole wink at you, clenching around nothing. You tugged a glove off with your teeth before dropping it.

“Stop fucking teasing.”

“Well which is it?” you asked as you picked up the lube, watching him shiver as you pour some onto his asshole, “Fuck off or stop teasing?” You cover your own fingers before you’re pushing into him, a single finger at first.

He winced as you pushed the second and third in—maybe a little prematurely but your heart leapt at the sound of his whimper as you stretched him open, petting his warm walls.

“Fucking dick,” he grumbled as he tensed around your fingers, acclimatising to the burn.

“Yes, that’s the goal.” You laughed as you held his hips down so he couldn’t kick you, just before curling your fingers into his prostate, watching him fall limp and moan loudly, as if you weren’t finger fucking him on an open rooftop.

You wiped your fingers on his thighs as you pulled out, when you deemed him stretched enough to take you, before reaching down for a condom and the lube again.

“Ready, baby?” you asked but didn’t really care for an answer as you pushed the tip of your cock into his tight warmth. “Oh fuck-“ you gripped his waist as you sat still for a minute, all in an attempt to not blow your load immediately.

You pushed into him slowly, inch by inch just watching as his ass swallowed you whole.

“Ah, ah, shit,” Jason groaned as he dropped his head.

“What’s that handsome?” you smiled before slamming yourself down to the hilt, just to hear him cry out. You grip the back of his hair as you start fucking into him, taking your time as you rut against him, tilting his head so you can see his face, cheeks flush and lips parted. “Aww, is somebody going to cry?”

“So much,” he mumbled as tears brimmed his eyes and yeah, being underprepped and having a fat cock shoved into your ass would make you feel that way.

You just cooed as you leaned down to kiss his cheek, still thrusting into his tight warmth, groaning softly when he’d clench around you.

“You fucking love it, don’t you?” you said as your hands found his balls, rolling them in your hands, watching his cock twitch and leak more pre-cum, dripping onto the concrete floor beneath you, “Keep fucking pushing my buttons—all to get me to fuck your dumb ass, huh?”

You let go of him, pushing your gloved fingers between parted lips instead, watching him gag and drool around the rough leather. His eyes rolled back as you tilted your hips, a punched out moan leaving his mouth as his entire frame trembled, chains jangling against the fence post.

“Did I find the spot?” you smiled as you slammed down again and again, bullying his prostate with your cock. You saw the tension in his jaw before he could bit down on your fingers—you pressed down on his tongue and pulled his mouth open, “No fucking biting.”

You could tell it was coming as he moaned as he laid helplessly beneath you—body tensed and you felt his balls draw up in your hands before he was shooting ropes of cum onto the floor beneath him, his walls tightening around your dick.

You fucked him through his orgasm before tumbling close behind, burying yourself into his ass, dumping your load into the rubber.

“Fuck,” you breathed, heart racing as you looked at the debauched sight beneath you—you pulled away from him completely, listening to him whine as his asshole clenched around nothing, face covered in drool and eyes hazy. “So fucking gorgeous.”

You pulled your condom off and wiped your fingers on his thighs one last time before you tucked yourself away. You unlocked his handcuffs, catching him before he could slump forward face first into the concrete.

“Okay, baby, it’s okay,” you said softly as you brushed his hair back, “You did good.”

“Fuck off,” it was barely more than a rasp but it made you chuckle softly anyway.

“You like me too much for that,” you said in the same soft tone as you tried to wipe down as much of your mess as possible with a tissue before eventually giving up and just shimmying him back into his clothes.

You snorted at the face he pulled.

“You can shower at mine,” you promised as you wiped his face with your sleeve.

“Yours?” he croaked.

“What you trust me to fuck you up the ass but not bring you back to mine?” you laughed as you carefully helped him stand, grin only widening as he winced, “Hate to tell you, mate, but the worst that could happen already happened.”

“You’re such an ass,” you opened your mouth but he just covered it, glaring a little more effectively, “Can it.”

You just raise your hand in surrender before you help him gather your stuff off the rooftop, leaving nothing more than a cum stain on the concrete before the two of you are off disappearing into the night again.

“So, round 2 in the shower?”

“No. My ass hurts.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

This was actually so much fun to write when I realised I could tweak that minor detail lol—I really love writing queer relationships

requests are open <3 yes I am ignoring my schoolwork to write these but it’s fine

[mintyys-blog]

I see that the request are closed but when they reopen you can make a "Variants x Dante reader" I LOVE YOUR FANFICS SO MUCH BTW I'M STARTING TO WRITE BECAUSE I ADMIRE YOU SO MUCH RAHH 😭😭😭🍨🍨

DANTE | variants x dante! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

Sinister Mark x Dante!Reader

• You don’t fear him, and that drives him insane. Everyone else bows. You crack a joke about his cape.

• “I could slice through a planet,” he growls.

“Cool story. Wanna see me juggle demon heads?”

• He tries intimidating you. You flirt. He threatens. You mock. He kisses you like he’s trying to conquer you—and you bite his lip just to prove you can’t be tamed.

• He respects your strength, but it’s your audacity that keeps him obsessed.

Mohawk Mark x Dante!Reader

• He’s impulsive and rough around the edges. You feed off the chaos.

• You both show up to fights late because you were busy gambling, drinking, or bickering over who gets to kill the boss demon.

• “This guy’s mine,” he says.

“Too slow, babe,” you reply, already mid-swing with Rebellion.

• After missions, he picks pieces of demon gunk off your coat with a twisted sort of affection. “You’re disgusting,” he says, but he’s grinning.

Viltrumite Mark x Dante!Reader

• He calls you reckless. You call him uptight. You both flirt through violence.

• Training turns into sparring turns into… let’s just say the battlefield gets heated.

• “You think you can stop me?”

“Stop you? I’m here to outdo you.”

• He may be faster and stronger, but your unpredictability keeps him on his toes—and lowkey in love.

Full Mask Mark x Dante!Reader

• He never speaks. You never shut up.

• You talk at him constantly. “So, do you brood for fun or is that mask hiding something sexy?”

• You thought he was a robot at first. Tried poking his mask with Ebony & Ivory. He didn’t flinch. You were impressed.

• He eventually gives you small gestures—tilted head, subtle nods, hand on your shoulder after a mission—and you start realizing there’s something kind behind the cold exterior.

• You tease, “You’re my silent protector, huh?” And he just shrugs…but stays close.

Maskless Mark x Dante!Reader

• He’s jaded, a bit broken, but you bring chaos that feels like freedom. You remind him there’s still something to fight for.

• You see the cracks in him and crack jokes instead of pity. That makes him respect you.

• He doesn’t stop you from charging head-first into danger, but he always has your back.

• You once sliced a demon in two just to make him laugh. He didn’t—but you felt the smile.

Prisoner Mark x Dante!Reader

• You visit him in his Viltrumite cell like it’s a date. “You miss me, handsome?” you grin, boots up on the forcefield.

• He’s got chains. You’ve got jokes and your sword.

• He doesn’t trust anyone—except you. Because you never ask for anything. You just are.

• When things break bad, he tells you to run. You reply, “I don’t run. I ride.”

• You break him out in a bloodbath, humming a rock song as you go. “Freedom looks good on you.”

No Goggles Mark x Dante!Reader

• He’s drawn to your confidence but worries about how easily you kill.

• “You enjoy it,” he says. You smirk. “Only when they deserve it.”

• He tries to pull you toward the light. You try to get him to dance in the dark.

• Your banter is endless. Your chemistry is electric. And the push-pull tension is delicious.

• Over time, you open up just enough. He learns that beneath the devil-may-care exterior is someone who does care. Just… in your own way.

Shiesty Mark x Dante!Reader

• He scams, steals, and slaughters. You style on your enemies with dramatic flair and love pissing off the powerful.

• You met during a hit gone wrong—he was there to rob a gang, you were there to kill a demon they summoned. Instant chaos, instant chemistry.

• “You kill for kicks,” he laughs.

“And you rob corpses. We’re a match made in hell.”

• You keep him on his toes with your unpredictability. He keeps you guessing with his lies.

• Dates are just heists with flirting. You blow up the vault while he shoots you finger guns. He might betray you someday—but you’d probably enjoy the fight.

Omni Mark x Dante!Reader

• He’s controlling, cold, and calculating. You’re wild, taunting, and walk into danger like it’s a party.

• He tries to lecture you. “You’re reckless and undisciplined.”

“You’re boring and constipated. Let’s fight about it.”

• You infuriate him. The fact you don’t fear him? That you laugh in his face? That you land hits in a spar? It kills him… and turns him on.

• He starts viewing you like a wildfire—dangerous, beautiful, untamable.

• Eventually, he stops trying to make you kneel—and starts wondering what it’d be like to burn beside you.