#with the two of them falling in detested love while trying to play the part of being on opposite sides

[icycoldninja]

The submition about reader and V loving eachother then turning back into Vergil was a story request. Sorry for being unclear. "Let's say reader and V falls in love with eachother but they both know that eventually V will have to become Vergil eventually, reader is worried that when that happens, Vergil will not feel the way he used to about them while he was V. Do you think Vergil would still love reader or would he not? How would the story play out? "

Hey, don't worry, glad we cleared this up. Enjoy!

He loved you (V/Vergil x Reader)

You and V were inseparable from the moment you met. No matter what the others did or said, you two refused to leave each other's side, even if it was dangerous.

Yes, your emotions consumed you both, but you were happy, truly happy. You'd never met anyone like V before, and V, being a part of Vergil, had never felt such warmth and love since Eva died. He was crazy about you, and you about him. You were so sure that V was the one, the love of your life who would top all others, the only man you would ever love from this point forward.

But of course, such beautiful things never last. V was eventually ripped away from you, forced by his shambling body to return to his original self, a man named Vergil who was both nothing like V and everything like V all at the same time. He was serious, focused, with a heart and body of steel. You felt both intimidated and at ease in his presence. Even if he didn't remember you, at least he was strong enough to defeat any demons that might come your way--assuming he wouldn't kill you first. See how this is an emotional conundrum?

Thankfully for you, Vergil seemed to carry with him a small remnant of V's personality and memories, and with that tiny bit of your lover's identity came a portion of V's love. Vergil kept this love buried deep inside, but it was still there.

Vergil hated these unusual feelings that he wasn't used to, and sought desperately to find a way to quell such foolish emotions. However, to do that, he first had to discern the cause of it all. After a while of thinking, the half devil realized that this must be because of V, as well as you, the newcomer he tried so hard not to like. It seemed his human half had gone and fallen in love during his time on earth, and now Vergil had to deal with the aftermath.

Try as he might to deny his feelings, Vergil still found himself repeatedly visiting you, if not for the sake of a mission or something else equally important, than just for the sake of visiting you. He absolutely detested admitting this, even if it was only to himself while he lay in bed, staring aimlessly at thr ceiling, but he loved you. He really did.

Someday, he will have to admit his feelings because they will simply be too strong to hide any longer, and then, you will rejoice, because even though he's physically no longer with you, V still cares for you; he's working to keep you safe, from behind the scenes.

[size0forhollywood]

Metafiction

Pt 8

Content Warning: 21+, murder, drugging, fluff, smut, nsfw. Love making.

A/N: had to listen to the Bridgerton ost to get the vibes going for the end of this chapter...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mhmm, that’s right. A girl and a hunter.”

The motel owner was talking on the phone, mindlessly flipping a gold coin between her fingers and chewing on her gum.

Her face twists, “ not my fault you sent men incapable of catching them. I did my part.”

A black feather falls in front of the motel owner.

“Fuc-!” She’s flung back against the wall behind her, black and red mist pinning her.

“Sylus!” She strains.

A black tendril picks up her phone from the ground and put its in Sylus’ hand. The caller has hung up already.

His red eyes are like lasers on the motel owner, watching her struggle.

“Where’s the girl?” His deep voiced boomed.

The motel owner starts writhing in pain, as the black and red mist starts to constrict her.

“I-I don’t know! They left without checking out!” She cries in pain.

“Who did you sell her out to?” He snarled.

“I didn’t!” She protested.

A black tendril wraps around her head and starts constricting. Her eyes going wide, looking like they’re about to burst from her skull.

“You all still think you can lie to me.”

The motel owner lets out a strained laugh.

“For the first time in years we have hope. You’ve been so distracted by this girl that you haven’t noticed what’s going on here anymore.”

Blood starts leaking out from her eyes and ears.

“The Woman is playing chess while you’re still stuck on checkers.” She laughs hysterically.

Her laugh turns into a scream as her head suddenly implodes. Fragments of skull, brain matter and blood spray on the wall.

“Boss, we’ve searched the surrounding area. You should come see this.” Kieran’s voice comes through on the earpiece.

“Checking out love.” He says to the decapitated motel owner’s body.

He catches up with Luke and Kieran who are standing just off the road in the dirt. Signs of a wanderer attack littered the ground and dead trees.

“Two sets of footprints in that direction but then they disappear once they’re back on the road.” Luke informs Sylus.

“Mephisto.”

Mephisto just caws and takes off into the sky, already knowing Sylus’ request.

You were within reach, he could feel it.

~

The sound of footsteps drag along the ground. Yours.

Xavier had one arm wrapped around you as you walk through the N109 Zone. You don’t know how long you two have been walking for.

Your mind was blank, broken from the mind games the wanderer tortured you with.

He didn’t say anything after your kiss. He just hugged you for a moment, letting you cry out the remainder of your emotions. Now you’ve got nothing left in you.

No fight. No will. Nothing.

Xavier’s tenderness to you over the last 48 hours has shown you just how messed up your life has been for the last few months with Sylus. And you detest yourself as one part of your heart still wants to go back. To run out of Xavier’s arms and find Sylus.

Xavier’s hand rubs up and down your shoulder. He could feel you tensing up.

“It’s okay.” He whispers.

Your body starts to tremble even more.

“I can’t go to Linkon with you..”

Xavier stops walking, his blue eyes searching your face. Trying to understand why you’re still so resistant.

“How many more things have to happen before you realise Linkon City is the safest place for you?”

You shake your head. “I need to find Sylus. He’s trying to help me get home.”

Xavier grazes the back of his fingers down your cheek.

“He’s manipulated you so much that you can’t see what he’s actually doing…” he frowns a little. “Sylus is a monster who does things for his own personal gain.”

You try to pull away but Xavier’s grip on you is too strong.

“No, it’s not like that. He’s not like that with me.” You keep trying to wriggle yourself free.

“Please Xavier, don’t take me to Linkon.” A dry sob escapes you.

Xavier looks at you with glassy eyes. “Forgive me.” He whispers.

“No. No, Xavier ?”

You feel a slight sting in the side of your neck. Your eyes glued to Xavier’s in shock before everything starts getting blurry. Your mind begins to turn off.

You slump in Xavier’s arms as the tranquilliser fully takes root. He pats the back of your head.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers to your unconscious body.

~ we’re getting knocked out a lot aren’t we y/n?

When you start to come to, something feels different. It’s as if your surroundings are bright while your eyes are still closed and you screw your eyes for a moment to go back to the familiar darkness.

Your head and body are laying on something soft and warm and it’s a struggle to want to open yours eyes but that damn light is forcing you to.

You still feel a bit woozy but you open your eyes taking in your surroundings, another bedroom. But it was so light and airy. A window which led to the balcony was open to let in a cool draft and natural light. You can hear the soft sounds of the city.

Once your head starts to feel like it isn’t spinning again you sit up in the bed. You can hear the sounds of someone rummaging around.

“Xavier?”

You hear footsteps from down the hall get louder.

Xavier appears with a glass of water in hand. He’s wearing jeans and a white hoodie.

He sits down next to you on the edge of the bed and holds the water out to you.

“Why?” Your voice hitched in your throat and you try to stop yourself from crying again.

“It was the only way.. I’m sorry.”

You bring your knees up to your chest and hug them. You look away from Xavier. Refusing his glass of water.

Xavier sighs and places the glass of water on the bed side table.

“Please try to drink it. It’ll make you feel better.” He stands up and starts making his way down the hall again, disappearing around the corner.

You stare out the open window, watching the curtains gracefully flap in the breeze. A little yellow and white bird perches itself on the balcony rail, tweeting a little song before flying off again.

What were you going to do now? How were you going to get word to Sylus that you’re in Linkon? Did you still want to let Sylus know? Was this truly the best place for you?

You feel a pain in your chest. If Xavier was going to help you he needs to know everything Sylus knows. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, a little wobbly on your feet but once you start walking you find your balance.

Xavier is sitting on his couch reading a comic book. An open packet of mini cookies in his lap. He’s so engrossed in the comic he doesn’t notice you standing in the living room.

You clear your throat. Xavier finally looks up. He gives you a soft smile and holds the packet of mini cookies up to you.

“Want some?”

You feel a small smile tug at your lips but you shake your head. “No I’m okay.”

“Okay.” He puts the packet on the coffee table and moves over to one side of the couch.

“Do you want to sit down with me?”

You nod and sit down next to Xavier on his couch. Trying not to encroach too much into his personal space. Xavier puts the comic down and looks at you.

“I want to tell you everything.” You whisper.

Xavier doesn’t say anything he just nods.

“I think you know I’m not from here. I’m from a world where none of this is real.” You shift a little.

“I mean all of this. Linkon, the N109 Zone, you, Sylus… in my world it’s all fiction. You’re mobile video game characters..” your cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. “For a dating game…”

You avoid Xavier’s gaze feeling too embarrassed to look at him but you continue talking.

“One day I found an injured baby crow outside my house. I patched him up and nursed him. When I was changing his bandages his eyes.. they started glowing.”

You bite your lip.

“Next thing I know a wormhole appears above me and I get sucked in. When I fell out of it I appeared inside of Sylus’ base.”

You finally get the courage to look at Xavier.

“So, the unknown protocores at this other wormhole site, I honestly have no idea. I don’t know why they’re there or what they have to do with me. Please believe me Xavier.”

Xavier looks away from your gaze his hand rubbing the back of his neck. Face flushed.

“So that’s how you know my name…”

“I.. it’s not as weird as it sounds I promise.”

Xavier glances back at you.

“I didn’t say that..”

A silence falls between you two as you stare each other red faced.

Xavier finally looks away.

“Is it okay, if I report this to my Captain?”

Honestly you’re shocked he’s even asking you. You assumed he’d tell her anyways but him asking for your consent.. it was actually kind of sexy.

Xavier served as a pretty good distraction to your mind over the next couple of weeks. You two had a nice routine going at his apartment. You cooked dinner and kept the apartment clean when he was at work.

He tried to add your fingerprint to his door lock but your finger print couldn’t be recognised. So, He went out of his way to change the locks and gave you a key.

Xavier let you sleep in his bed and he would sleep on the couch. You told him he shouldn’t have to do that but he insisted that he could sleep anywhere and get a good rest.

He even bought you a whole range of clothes and other personal hygiene necessities.

You could feel you two were getting closer, emotionally. Through gentle touches, if he was home early while you were making dinner he’d come up behind you and give you a back hug, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Sometimes you’d snuggle up to each other on the couch while watching a movie.

It was amazing. It really was.

But your heart still ached for Sylus.

Every day you’d go to that field with the cherry blossom trees. The one Sylus, despite it weakening him, laid down with you soaking up the sunlight.

You sit down in the field. Praying to yourself that Sylus will just know to come here and take you away with him.

But every day you’re there he doesn’t show up and the ache in your heart deepens. Did he forget about you? Were you no longer his problem?

You wipe a singular tear from your cheek and head to the shops to buy some snacks for Xavier.

When you get back to the apartment the smell of smoke tickles your nose, you rush to unlock the door worried you left something on.

You rush to the kitchen to see Xavier frantically moving around.

“Xavier? What are you doing?”

He put a pan that was smoking in his sink and ran cold water over it.

“I got home early and wanted to cook you something..” he looked at you embarrassed “but I fell asleep.”

You can’t help but burst out laughing. You walk up to Xavier and hold his face in your hands.

“You really don’t have to do anything like that, I’m your guest here, I need to earn my keep.” Your smile was wide.

He placed a hand on your hip as he held your gaze, that familiar pink glow across his cheeks. The small touch making your heart beat faster.

“Um..we better open the windows to let the smoke out..” you whisper.

Xavier nods and you go to all the windows and open them. Letting the cool breeze drift through out the house and clear out the burnt smell.

“Well lucky I bought some snacks.” You joked. “Do you wanna watch a movie while we’re eating them?”

“I’d love that.”

You move some pillows around on the couch, Xavier peeps into the shopping bags.

“These are my favourite..” he barely whispered.

“What was that Xav- huh?”

Xavier came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you, he nestled his face against the nape of your neck.

“Uh… Xavier?”

“You smell nice…”

You feel a knot in your stomach. What was with the sudden affection? Just when you think your cheeks couldn’t get any redder they do.

“Xavier… what are you..”

His grip loosens around you, “nothing.” He whispers, his breath against your neck sending tingles down your whole spine.

Xavier lets you go and flops himself onto the couch, holding an arm out.

“Gonna join me?”

You smile and cuddle up next to him. His arm around your shoulder holding you close to him.

He picks a movie but you don’t seem to be able to concentrate on it. In fact you’re more aware of how Xavier’s hand had slowly moved from your arm to your waist through out the movie.

How his fingers were drawing circles and lines going from your hip back to your waist.

How every time he chuckled whenever there was a funny part in the movie and eventually you found yourself looking away from the tv and just focusing on his beautiful face.

The way he licks his lips after eating a snack. You feel your own lips part slightly at the sight of it, a desire building in you to taste his lips.

You shake your head and force yourself to focus back on the movie.

The movie finishes and you untangle yourself from Xavier’s grip sitting up and stretching your arms.

“Did you not like the movie? You didn’t laugh once.”

You freeze, arms up in the air refusing to look back at him.

“Oh I guess I just had a few things on my mind.”

Xavier moves to the edge of the couch till his thighs are touching yours.

“Are you okay?” His palm rests on your lower back and the other hand rests on your thigh.

You pull your arms down and turn your head to look at him.

He has a look in his eyes, something you think you know but there’s no way right?

“I guess I’m just a bit tired..”

Your breath quickens as Xavier leans in closer to your face. His hand giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

“Xavier…” you feel yourself leaning closer too, lips almost touching.

“I think I should go to bed..” you whisper.

Neither one of you move, Xavier swallows before gently nodding.

“Okay..” he whispers back. He stops touching you and sits back on the couch. “Thank you for the snacks.” He smiles at you but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“.. no problem.”

You quickly head to the bathroom, feeling like you need to have a nice cold shower.

You let the water fall down your body, head resting against the tiles. What are you doing? You can’t let yourself go there with Xavier, right? You two have a good thing going. Don’t ruin it! You tell yourself.

Once you’re dressed in your nightie you open the door and Xavier is standing outside the bathroom shirtless holding a towel.

“Oh sorry..”

“No, I’m sorry..” Xavier steps aside so you can pass.

You turn back to face him, holding your hands together in front you.

“Goodnight Xavier.”

He leans against the door to the bathroom and smiles. “Goodnight… darling.”

You blush at the pet name and hurriedly walk to the bedroom. Xavier’s eyes watching you the entire time.

You were lying in bed for hours, watching the shadows dance across the roof. Unable to sleep. Your mind only thinking about one thing. Xavier.

What’s the harm of giving into one kiss? You’ve shared one with him before and nothing happened.

You feel an ache that you can’t ignore growing inside…and in between your legs. Tossing and turning. You sit up in bed and stare down the hallway.

Okay, you’re going to do it.

You get out of bed and make your way to the living room. Just before you reach the end of the hall Xavier appears. His expression mirroring yours, his cheeks red.

You both close the distance between you and he wraps his arms around you lifting you up and kissing you. Your arms resting on his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair as you deepen the kiss.

His lips felt so soft against yours, your whole body felt warm from his touch. As if stars were bursting inside you.

You pull away, foreheads pressed together.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night.” Xavier admits, he playfully nudges his nose against yours.

“Xavier… I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

Xavier smiles and starts walking to the bedroom. He moves so effortlessly and gracefully while carrying you.

Once he gets to the bed he lays you down gently, a finger caressing your cheek for a moment. He looked beautiful in the soft glow of the moonlight.

He lays down next to you, on his side looking up and down your body. You turn over to face him.

Taking him in, his soft smile, his naked torso. His boxers sitting dangerously low on his hips.

You make eye contact with him again, your face flushed but so was he. You both having the same thoughts about each other.

“Xavier.” You whisper as you bring a hand to his face. Gently palming his cheek.

Xavier leans into your touch, his pink cheeks and nose making his eyes seem more blue somehow. He was gorgeous.

Xavier has already healed your mind… maybe he could heal your heart too?

He rests his hand on your hip giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I like having you here with me. You make me look forward to coming home." Xavier whispers.

"I like waiting for you." You admit.

Something flickers in Xavier's eyes, he leans over, gently forcing you to lay on your back again and presses himself on top of you now. You can feel his erection pressing up against your inner thigh and it makes your mouth go dry.

He kisses you again, a bit more aggressively than before. Both of your desires rising to the surface. Wanting to be set free.

You slip your tongue out and prod at his lip, he opens his mouth and accepts your tongue. Both of you fighting for dominance. His hands start exploring your body, wanting to feel every inch of you and commit it to his memory. Xavier starts leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Nibbling and sucking in various spots, leaving his mark on you.

Tiny moans escape your mouth. His lips feel so good against your skin. Xavier pulls his head up for a moment to look at you.

"Are you sure?"

You nod your head. "Yes, so sure."

Xavier smiles as he sits back, pulling you up with him. His hands pull at the hem of your nightie and start lifting it up. You lift your arms up so it can slide easily off you. Xavier leans down and starts kissing your chest, working his way to take the fullness of your breasts in his mouth. His hand playing with the other breast, massaging, gently squeezing. His lips lock around your nipple, sucking, nibbling, swirling his tongue around to taste as much as possible.

Your hands tangle themselves in his hair, his soft blonde locks sending extra sensations through your fingers.

"Mm that feels good Xav..."

Your moan and compliment seems to spur him on as he starts to get more aggressive. His desire burning for you. He pushes you back down onto your back. The sudden movement sending a wave of excitement through you. His fingers hooks the waist band of your panties and he starts to shimmy them off you. You lift your hips off the bed to make it easier for him.

"You're so beautiful darling." He says as he starts kissing your hip.

You can feel the anticipation building in your stomach as he slowly inches closer to your center. Where its aching and just begging to be touched. You bite your lower lip, supressing your sounds of pleasure.

Xavier is hovering over your cunt, you can feel his breath on your mounds. "Don't hide that beautiful voice. I want to hear everything."

He drags his tongue in between your folds, getting the taste of you for the first time. It was intoxicating for him. You let out a moan as he goes back again, getting his tongue as deep as he can go inside your cunt. Wanting to feel your heat on his tongue, to taste your arousal. “Nng. Xavier..” you gasp out. He loves the way your body starts moving under him, wanting to grind up to his face, telling him that you want more. He starts to give your clit attention, which earns him more moans and more thrusting to his face. But he doesn’t give you more yet. No, he’s enjoying making you squirm, making you chase that friction that you’re so desperate for. Your legs start to tremble as you feel such an overwhelming stimulation on your clit and you haven’t even orgasmed yet.

“Xav.. please..” you beg.

You need to feel something inside you. To take the intensity away from your clit. His tongue was like magic. Xavier groans when he hears you begging and he almost wants to give in. He doubles down moving his whole face with his tongue. Adding a lot of pressure then taking it away.

You start to whimper, a pressure is building in your lower belly. Tears sting your eyes. You’re bucking your hips up a bit harder into his face now, so absolutely desperate to feel something other than the welcome assault of his tongue on your clit.

“Xavier.. please… fuck me.” Your whimper and moan.

God any resolve he had left was gone. He pulled away licking his lips. Xavier removed his boxers swiftly, his erection free at last. Precum leaking from the tip.

He lines himself up with your soaking wet pussy. Pressing the head in between your dripping folds. You bite your lip. Xavier lifts one of your legs to rest on his hip. His hand gripping just above your knee tightly. His blue eyes land on yours as he slowly inserts himself, his cheeks red. You don’t break eye contact with him as he slides in deeper, until he buries himself to the hilt.

“You feel incredible..” he gasps. Yours hands are on his shoulders, bringing him closer to you. Xavier rests his forehead against yours as he starts to slowly thrust. Getting used to the feeling of you around him.

Once he feels you relaxing he starts to go faster, bringing his cock almost all the way out and then slamming it back in. Your fingers nails are digging into his skin, but the pain just sends Xavier hungry for more. You’re moaning against his lips as he gets faster and harder, his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust.

“M-more Xav..” you moan out. “Oh.. fuck darling…” Xavier responds.

He pauses to throw your legs over his shoulders and then resumes fucking into you. Your hands now gripping the bed sheets, knuckles turning white.

“Mm Xav… that feels good!” He brings a hand back to your clit, massaging it with his fingers while he jackhammers into you. You throw your head back in so much pleasure as you feel an orgasm approaching.

“Xavier.. I’m gonna..”

“Ah I know darling… you’re getting so.. tight..” His finds your sweet spot with his cock and drives into you. Until your moans are uncontrollable. Your hot, wet, plush walls squeeze around Xavier’s cock. And he struggles to hold on.

But then he feels you vibrate around him as you orgasm. The spasm driving him crazy and pushing him over the edge. You both cum together. Your combined groans and moans like music to his ears. Once he feels you relax he starts to pull out his spent cock. Shuddering as he does.

He puts your legs down and then collapses next to you. His chest rising and falling. Sweat glistens his face and body. His fringe stuck to his forehead. He turns his head to look at you and smiles seeing your satisfaction.

Xavier pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead. “I could do this with you forever..”

within minutes he’s asleep. You chuckle to yourself as you get comfortable in his arms. Listening to the sound of his breathing. Letting it act as a lullaby to help you fall asleep.

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[cagcdlxve]

⋆˙⟡ Writing a Headcanon ⋆˙⟡ Not Accepting

@yendarxenk asked:

☾☙ (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

☾ : My muse and sleep

Lilith generally speaking is a pretty light sleeper. She can easily be awoken by sounds and can struggle to fall asleep at all. Some part of her mind isn't contented with her surroundings as much, or she simply expects to be woken up at some point by something so just doesn't fall asleep at all.

One thing she struggles with a lot is a fear of the dark. She is okay with nighttime and adores moonlight and stars, but when it is a moonless night, she cannot fall asleep at all.

She would light a candle and fall asleep that way, but she is worried something may catch on fire if she were to do that, so she does not.

One of her favorite dreams she has, is of her as a little girl, running through fields of flowers with two boys. Both of them are nearly as young as she is, and all of them are happily playing together in the field without a care in the world.

At some point in this dream, it may become a nightmare where both of the boys are taken away, while she is held down by arms of pure white light, covering her mouth. The dream ends when one of the hands covers her eyes and she is left in pure numbing darkness.

Her visions are often varying degrees of detail, however, one consistent vision is that of a white wolf, that she follows deeper and deeper into dark woods. Before her eyes, the pure innocent creature turns into a monster and bites on her throat. She doesn't believe this is a vision, as much as a fear of hers.

☙ : My muse’s favorite food

Lilith absolutely adores anything that is sweet! That being said, she actually cannot handle an overload of sugar. Most of the food she had growing up was very plain and simple, so she was only allowed things with sugar on rare or special occasions.

If she chose a single favorite food, it would be a cinnamon roll. She also enjoys items with floral flavors and LOVES tea ( lavender is her favorite, among other floral and herbal flavors )

She cannot handle spicy food whatsoever, and she detests bitter foods. However, she enjoys the sensations of sour foods and finds salty foods enjoyable enough.

Lilith is someone who will always try everything at least once and comes across as a picky eater, but mostly because she has limited experience in most foods, so will often choose what is familiar over what is new. She eats very little in general, and can frequently forget to eat, or will prioritize others eating before herself.

✧ : My muse and art

Lilith enjoys arts like painting, embroidery, sewing and sometimes sketching. However, the one art she is the most practiced and fluent in, is music.

She was trained on the violin and in voice. Her violin skills are very excellent, being able to perform most advanced songs without a hitch. Her voice is most comfortable in the soprano range, being able to hit very high notes, and almost has an angelic cadence.

She loves to hum to herself and practice music, however, she is not good at coming up with her own notes or lyrics. In a similar fashion, she has attempted poetry but has had very little success in it.

Despite this, she loves to learn new songs to sing or to play and can generally learn new pieces fairly quickly given enough time and practice for it.

She is however very shy about her violin and voice, preferring to perform alone or in a choir, unless she is being taught of course.

[romulanfucker]

its 1:45 am post unhinged and extremely convoluted garashir spies au I thought of in the shower and will probably never write bc it's too complicated

[yandere--stuck]

Opinions on Joker Jr? (Search for him on YouTube if you don't know but slight warning for a joker death and slightly graphic Robin torture, it's from one of the cartoon movies so it couldn't show THAT much but still)

!!!! I loved the Batman Beyond movie!! In fact the main reason I watched it was because I heard J played a big role in it!

The Joker Jr. Scenes were so fucked up and sad aaaaa especially the "home movies". Poor Tim D': Having to go through all that, having to fight for control so he doesn't kill his dad, the guilt of revealing all of his loved ones secrets, and the weight of having taken someone's life - even if it's someone awful as The Joker, half of the pair of criminals that took advantage of his willingness to help so they could kidnap and torture him... And all just a way to hit Batman where it hurts. His heart. His family.

And as much as I love the original cut, I lovvveee the implications of the edited version. In the edited version, Joker holds Batman up and tells Tim to make Batman "one of us", which implies that whatever the gun is loaded with will have the same effect on Bruce that it did Tim.

Which makes me think of an au where Joker is genuinely trying to make a family. Lure the Bat in by starting off with one of the kiddos. Nightwing was too old and experienced to fall for one of their traps... The new Robin, however, not so much. It really did hurt him and Harley to be so rough with Tim- er, JJ. But, sometimes, you gotta give your kids tough love to mold them and help them grow.

Joker could have NEVER seen the secret identities coming! Bruce Wayne and his adopted sons?! Oh, part of Joker absolutely detested the fact that his Batsy was rich... But, nobody was perfect, after all! Its not like Bruce could help the family he was born into. And out of all the old money families in Gotham, the Waynes always seemed to try to use their wealth to improve conditions rather than further destroy it. And not to mention - Batgirl as the commissioner's daughter?! Ha! He never would've saw it coming! Oh well, Poor ol' Gordy won't miss his daughter for long, once he and Harley put a bullet between his eyes.

During the nights of Tim's captivity, Joker and Harley would curl up in the bed, giggling over how, soon, they'd have Bruce in their bed, too. How their family would soon be complete.

A loving mama and two very proud papa's, causing chaos with their little clown-batlings. Oh, it'd be perfect!

While Joker keeps Batman still for Tim to take the shot, Harley deals with Barbara - after all, once Bruce was given a dose of their venom, Barbara would be next up!

Joker couldn't wait to hear manic giggles bubbling out of Bruce as he convulsed on the floor in pain. It'd hurt at first, sure, but once he gave in, it'd get much easier. Joker would tell him that he knew he was scared, that he's always been scared, hasn't he? Just like that night so many years ago, in that alleyway. It was like he was still there, wasn't he? All these years still hanging onto that fear. But, it was okay, now. He didn't have to be scared, anymore. Didn't have to worry. Didn't have to be strong. Joker and Harley had him now, and they loved him so much. They'd be strong for him now.

He still had his family - and now it was finally complete. Now, Bruce could finally be happy. Could truly feel safe. And they'd all live happily ever after, as they make Gotham burn to the ground.

[rhas-writes]

How an Alchemist Feels - Albedo x Reader

Another addition to my Fallen Archon Reader! (I like this title better) thoughts. However, can still be read as a standalone.

Spoiler's! for Albedo's lore.

Content? Fluff, falling in love, strangers to friends to something. Format? Bulleted headcanons/imagines. Pronouns? You/Your.

Synopsis: Little scenarios of Albedo's overall relationship with you.

Extra: Reader is a fallen archon in this, but it kinda? doesn't matter.

- - -

There's an uncanny sense of familiarity when Albedo first meets you. It's like he already knows you beyond your moniker of Mondstat's Eastern Breeze. But that's impossible, he's never met you before. Surely he would remember someone as striking as you.

How curious. He questions himself for days on end, wondering if he truly did see a knowing smirk on your face. Did your eyes dance with amusement upon seeing his visage? Did your chest swell with pride upon hearing his unknown past from other members of the Knights of Favonius? Did any of this really happen? Or was he just overanalyzing his interaction with you?

What a challenge it is to impress the Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius in his field of study, but oh you do it without trying. Your splash potions are a marvel - concoctions of pure elemental energy that make up for your lack of a Vision.

Albedo never thought he'd have ease in conversing with someone but you happily ruin his theory. You just understand. Be it alchemy, history, or just a mundane topic, a conversation with you is always comfortable.

Surprising himself and his students, Albedo allows you to help with many of his experiments. Typically, he detests any possible distractions. But that's just it. You're not a distraction. You keep him focused, determined. Experiments that go for days on end and yield no result aren't a waste if it's time spent with you.

Over many nights spent together in his beloved lab, Albedo learns more about you. In turn, you learn more about him. Both of you jot down information about each other in your respective notebooks. Perhaps it's a bond between researchers, but there is an innate trust between you and him. Neither of you really keep the truths about yourselves a secret from each other.

For the first time since his master abandoned him, Albedo feels like he truly belongs. A creation and a creator camouflaging among humans. The two of you are a pair of outsiders in a nation that welcomes all.

Although you fear Albedo only grows closer to you out of his attachment to your friend, Rhinedottir, he reassures you this is not the case. Sure, there is comfort in knowing you once spent time with his mother but he seeks your presence for you alone.

Albedo does not think much on his friendship with you until you're gone for a three month-long expedition. He waits for a response to his rambling only to turn to an empty stool placed next to his desk. While knee-deep in an experiment, he wordlessly reaches a hand out. His brows furrow as Sucrose awkwardly asks what he needs. It's only after he blinks a few times does he remember you're not the one assisting him. The scent of decay fills his lab before he remembers to change out your flower bouquets. He should be annoyed another task has been added onto his long to-do list, but he misses you less after doing part of your usual routine.

As the weeks drag on, he finds himself doing more things that remind him of you. He finally reads those light novels you suggested and enjoys them. He practices cooking your favorite dish as a surprise for your return. He visits your favorite places regularly, even the ones not on Dragonspine. He plays with Klee more often knowing she's missing you too. He writes about his day in a journal, just in case you both need something to talk about (which is doubtful but he's prepared nonetheless).

When news of your return reaches Albedo, he is pacing in his neglected office in the Knights of Favonius' headquarters. You were three days late and he was preparing to go on an expedition to look for you. He runs to Angel's Share where your welcome party is being held, caring not of the odd stares he receives.

Seeing your tired but smiling face brings an overwhelming relief he's never felt before. You're here. You're safe. His stomach flips and his breath hitches when you look at him. Although he's not one for social anything, he takes a seat in the tavern. He doesn't contribute much to conversations, he just wants to be near you again.

At the end of the night, when most have gone home or are too drunk to listen, Albedo takes your hands and locks eyes with you. "Please refrain from going on such a long expedition again. If you must, allow me to accompany you. Two minds are better than one, no?"

It's odd. Albedo knows of the many feelings humans are capable of having, but is he experiencing them as well? His symptoms cannot be sickness - he's not even sure he can get sick, he should really test that one of these days. Increased heart rate, dry mouth, sweaty palms, all are indicative of many emotions. Perhaps, the most likely emotions is love??

Love...Love? Love?! Does he love you? He's unsure. He doesn't have enough data. What would loving you even mean for him? Love isn't an automatic gateway to a relationship. Does it matter if he loves you? Testing. More tests need to be done. But...how does he test if he's in love?

All Albedo is certain of is he cares for you. The way his shoulders tense hearing you've been injured, the soft smile curling his lips watching you play with Klee, the accidental sketches of you on research papers, the longing for that brief warmth of your hand brushing against his - all of it and more tells him he cares. To what extent? Well, only time will tell.

- - -

Published: 24 May 2022

[twilightau]

A Reason to Hate, A Feeling to Love; L.HS

main characters; prince!fiancé!heeseung x princess!fiancée!fem!reader

side character(s); prince!jay (mentionend) 

genre; enemies-to-lovers(??) au, royalty au

warnings; heeseung and you are not on the good terms, mention of murder, implied minor character death, insults (or really bad flirting, you ask them)

word count; 1.5k

summary; in which you dance with your betrothed, and you absolutely detest him.

author’s note; part one of The Dancing Princes.

It’s the day of your best friend's coronation. You are happy that he was able to find his one love while maintaining the heavy competition for the crown. His beaming smile makes the edges of your mouth perk up.

You weren’t one for royal gatherings; they exhaust you. You have always preferred being on the field, practicing swordsmanship, archery, or fencing. After all, you have not given up yet on your battle.

An all too familiar presence behind you makes you still your movement and turn around to face the creature that exhausts you the most: Lee Heeseung.

“Ah, if that isn’t my lovely fiancée. Good evening, princess y/n.” he speaks to you in a mocking tone, taking your hand that you are oh so tempted to snatch away immediately.

“I see you have decided to ruin my night early today, prince Heeseung.” you lace his name with venom, your eyes burning with a wave of passionate anger, fueled by the devilish grin on his rosy lips.

Before commenting on his stupid face, the music starts to play. And as much as you despite everything about the customs of the royalty, this is your friend’s coronation. So, therefore, you decided to stay civil, of some sorts at least.

The betrothed prince grabs your hand the moment you try to escape to find a partner.

“My dear princess, I think it’s only proper for me to be your first partner, isn’t it?” he arches his brow, making you roll your eyes.

“I am not improper, prince Heeseung. But playing pretend is my only option to prevent certain situations from happening,” you say pointedly, giving up on finding someone else as the two of you get enclosed by dancing pairs.

“Such as falling in love with me? Don’t be afraid, my princess. It is a great temptation, I am aware.” he says, followed by soft laughter, barely enough to hide his little squeaky sounds.

“More like committing murder, which is probably the greater temptation.” you bite back, letting your dress flow gracefully while you make a spin guided by the future king of your kingdom.

As the song changes as your fiancé and you dance intense silence. His eyes and yours tell each other more than enough.

It was a grand day for Heeseung; today was his fencing tournament.

Heeseung’s desire for the throne faded quickly with an already perfect brother. Nevertheless, he acknowledges his brother’s competence to fulfill the duty.

But because of that very competence of his brother, his father never blinked twice in Heeseung’s direction.

That was until Heeseung was old enough to take up fencing. 

Fencing has somehow been a sport the king has been passionate about for many years, making it Heeseung’s goal to excel in fencing.

Today was a perfect day to prove it, and after several rounds, Heeseung was still as energized as at the start, adrenaline surging through his veins.

He was in the final round, opting to go against any volunteer. A grin was slowly growing on the handsome prince’s face, but it quickly changed into a confused smile when a stranger walked up to him.

The stranger was already wearing his helmet, making it hard for the prince to guess who this man was. Finally, the man extended his hand, a sign for Heeseung to shake it as an acceptance and start for the match.

Heeseung smiled kindly, not knowing if the stranger caught it since the man took a fighting stance right after their hands retreated.

“Eager, I see.” he felt amused, predicting an exciting match.

And interesting it was when the match ended within three minutes, both opponents breathing heavily, but the winner was evident the moment Heeseung felt the tip digging slightly into his neck.

Heeseung looked up at the king, who was only looking at the stranger.

“Unknown fencer, show me your face!” the king told him, and the fencer did, slowly taking off the only mask hiding his identity. 

Only to reveal that it was not him at all.

Gasps were heard all over the place, but Heeseung’s focus was zeroed on you.

“Princess y/n? What a surprise to see you here,” the king greeted you with half-shock and half-amusement.

“Good day, King Lee. I was to arrive at the castle, but the fencing tournament intrigued me to bits. My apologies for not notifying you, your highness,” you spoke with a calm voice, trying to minimize the impact of beating the king’s son on the day of your arrival.

“Not at all, princess y/n. I am glad you could entertain yourself with that boy’s fencing abilities,” the king joked, which you returned with a polite smile.

Heeseung has pretty much left the scene right away.

His father didn’t even call Heeseung by name.

You refreshed yourself after the tough sparring session with the prince.

Although you felt terrible for winning his tournament, this was the only way to be reasonably late for the arrival ceremony while your sister tried to score points with the queen.

You see, your younger sister has done a lot to become an acknowledgeable woman in the eyes of aristocrats. People outside think she is trying too hard to compete for the throne, but the insiders know much more.

You did not wish to become queen.

Ever since you were little, you wished to become the general, just like your uncle.

Brave, adventurous and selfless was the man, your actual role model. Since the day he gave his life in the name of your kingdom, you have never thought of anything to be more heroic.

So you trained hard in any fighting sports, trying to prove to your father that you can make a worthy general.

He was almost convinced, but there was one crucial thing between you and your dream; the need for a queen for your kingdom.

Your father was a lone king, for who it was too late and too painful to marry another woman. But he had two lovely daughters; you and your sister.

One of you had to take the crown, and luckily enough, your sister was more than willing.

Your father gave the two of you one condition: marry the second son of King Lee.

It would strengthen the alliance between your kingdoms but not force a merger.

And that’s how you ended up apologizing to the queen for arriving late, stating how an interesting tournament had taken your interest a little too much, causing you to lose track of time. The queen waved you off with a warm smile.

“Don’t worry, my dear. Something amazing happened because of that”, the queen beamed. You send a smile into your sister’s direction but face a sour expression.

“And what may that be, queen Lee?” you asked, trying to find out why your sister was being so cold towards you.

“The king’s approval! He was amazed by your abilities and believes it is only fit for a princess to be able to fight for herself and her country”, she exclaimed happily.

You bow out of gratitude. “Thank you—“

“Which is why he chose you to marry my son!” she finished. You stop halfway through your sentence, too struck by surprise to even react.

“Ma’am, I must—” you were interrupted as the queen continued.

“At first, I was quite hesitant since I have always wished for my son to marry a woman he loves...” she trails off. You learned not to interrupt.

“But it seems he is very pleased with this approval! Since Heeseung was the one suggesting it in the first place!”

Your sister never spoke to you ever again.

“Watch out, big feet,” you snarl at the handsome prince, trying to keep up with the fast-paced song.

“It is you who has to keep the tempo, little turtle,” he teases, that stupid smirk almost permanently stuck on his face.

“Enough, you are the worst,” you mumble just for the prince to hear.

“Then why not change partners? No one forces you to dance with me,” he muses, but you were quick to retort. “You have not let go of my hand yet, and there is no man who would interrupt an engaged man to dance with his fiancée.”

“So now I am a man? I thought I was the worst?” he gives the small of your back a small squeeze while bringing you closer, you grit your teeth at the sound of him mimicing your tone.

“Please, shut up,” you stress each word, hoping he understands you have had enough. But, if he did, he does not seem to intend to stop his behavior.

“I see prince Jay is having a rather lonely night; why haven’t you chosen him after the first song?”

“I was not aware of his attendance, but if this is your invitation to escape from you,” you say, already planning the quickest route to Jay. “I will gladly take it.”

“Oh dear, you even missed the presence of your friend, too immersed in me?” he continues to tick you off. Your body temperature rises as he presses you even closer against him.

The distance between your face and his is a barely-there existence. His breath fans your skin. And that feeling rekindles in your chest.

“No matter how much you distract yourself from me, I will always be the one ruling your mind,” he mumbles, the ending note of the song sounds through the ballroom.

The momentarily applause echos, and your fiancé detaches himself from you, disappearing into the crowd with his signature smirk.

He leaves you to softly catch the breath you were not aware you even held.

[peachysamu]

Draken lifts up a plush penguin and brings it eye level so that he may stare it down with a distasteful glower. Mouth downturned, he glares at the perky penguin with a cute scarf and blushed cheeks before averting the urge to wring its neck (and avoiding a scolding from you because you adamantly insist he’s innocent) by pinching it’s nose.

“You are the bane of my existence.” Draken tells it as he sets it on the corner of your coffee table. Then he takes a glance around his home, eyes landing on each detested item that the two of you have had to arrange this morning. The amount of penguin decor is absolutely disgusting. Two custom embroidered penguin stockings hang on the wall, one with your name and the other with his. There’s a kitchen mat with three penguins playing in the snow, a nutcracker with the red hat and all, mugs and rubber spatulas adorned by those yellow beaks in the front row for display, and of course the retro wooden figurine that had been gifted last year of two penguins, one being overwhelmingly taller than the other.

“That one’s you, Ken-chin,” Mikey pointed to the larger of the birds, “Don’t you think it matches you two?”

And before Draken could lose his cool, you gripped his elbow and butted in with gratitude. “Yes! I definitely see the resemblance. Thank you Mikey!”

He has no idea what prompted Mikey to continue this theme of gift-giving. In all honesty, he’d rather receive no present at all than to deal with another Santa hat-wearing, tuxedo-looking home decor. The first gift, the plush that Draken now wants to turn into a chew toy, was a housewarming one, to make your place a little livelier, Mikey had said. It was well-received and had its own perch on a shelf for quite a while. But now it seems Mikey cannot walk through the threshold of your home without another penguin accessory and if not all decor items are properly displayed when he visits, Mikey takes it as an affront to his character.

With a fake tremble in his lips, he’d clutch his chest and go, “Why have you forsaken me, Ken-chin?” And every single fucking time, you’d fall for the pity party and take it out on him instead. 

So a routine has been formed for whenever Mikey decides to visit. Draken and you have to pull out a large box hidden in the guest room closet and spend one hour preparing your house for his arrival.

“I think that’s all of them,” You say to your boyfriend with a tired sigh as you step into place next to him and admire the atrocity. Mikey himself is tiring, but this? Exhausting.

Draken clutches the back of your head and pulls you into his side as he lets out another sigh, grateful that the hard part is now over. “Thank fuck.”

“It’s not too bad, really.” Draken snorts at your poor attempt to lighten the mood.

“Our house looks like the inside of a fucking Sea World gift shop. Why do we even do this?”

You giggle a bit as you turn on the fairy lights you set up a week ago trying to literally brighten your dreary exteriors. Draken’s eyes sparkle, even just for a moment at the change of ambience. “Because we love him.”

He expels another breath, possibly the hundredth one today. “I do.” But his hand searches for yours as he whisks you back into his embrace. Cheery he finally feels as he watches your expectant expression turn into a slight scowl when you realize he’s stopped himself only millimeters away from your lips. “And because I love you and I know you’d force me to sleep on the couch with all these damn birds watching if I didn’t.”

“Oh yeah?” And you pucker your lips as you aim for his. Too bad he’s a little too fast for you. His smile brightens into a full blown chuckle and though you’re irritated, his happiness has always been infectious. “Then why won’t you kiss me?”

“Because you look cute like that. Come on.” Draken beckons you with his hand mockingly as he stands up straight, “Come up here and give me a kiss.”

“That’s not fair.” Those luscious lips of yours form a pout, but you give it your best shot anyways. Grabbing him by the shirt, you do your best to tug him down, even letting yourself go limp so that gravity may do the work for you, but he doesn’t budge.

Draken shakes his head, amused, “No, that’s not how this works. You need to come up here.”

But just as he says that, a ring alerts you that someone, Mikey, is at your door. Panic in your eyes, you turn back with a desperation that Draken mimics.

“Please, for the hate of all penguins, kiss me now so that we can survive this day.”

You’re not even done with your sentence before he grapples you into a feverish kiss, molding your body against his as he wraps his two arms around you.

You’re panting when he lets go, but now there’s grit in his stare that builds courage in your own.

“Okay.” You nod.

He repeats with a puffer chest, “Okay.”

“We can do this.”

The doorbell rings one more time. Draken grabs your hand.

“Let’s fucking do this.”

[yesimwriting]

Hello! Your Nikolai fic tranquility is so beautiful! Can you write more for Nikolai? Maybe the opposite with reader having a nightmare? Or whatever you want just please give me more! If you have a tagging list I'd love to be included btw :)

A/n hii!! first off,, thank you! i was a little nervous about writing him for the first time,, but i love him so much (even though i love a good villain/morally grey character in love i think nikolai would probably make the least toxic bf in the grishaverse lol)

you gave me a little too much freedom here lol bc i have so many ideas for him!! lowkey might need to give him a longer fic/series soon when i catch up with requests!! WOW THIS FIC IS SO LONG AND FOR WHAT

Summary: Reader is a handmaid who has grown up assisting Nikolai. Through the years, the two have developed a special relationship that most definitely breaks royal protocol--they’re best friends and rivals on a good day, and dangerously close to being something more the second either of them is remotely upset or extremely happy. Learning about the fact that Nikolai was almost engaged to Alina (a good friend of yours) and being reminded of the fact that as royalty Nikolai has many prospects (both serious women worthy of his title and women only suitable for trysts meant to relieve tension) has you both realizing something you should have years ago.

Word count: 31210

Warnings: disclaimer--may not be the most cannon thing ever,, but i wanted the ‘child of the help competes and falls in love with the child of royalty’ energy okay?? Lol

I could do a whole blurb series with this dynamic nikolai x reader,, like just stories of them growing up together and randomly realizing they might like each other romantically?? I probably shouldn’t rn but i ADORE this trope.

--

The perfection of the room is disappointing. Idle hands, idle thoughts--so I work to smooth out a perfect duvet. Still, the thoughts come--aggressive and unavoidable. It’s silly, maybe even sad, to feel possessive over something that’s never been yours, something that could never be yours, but the harder I fight off the feeling the stronger it grows. Jealousy is a weed growing quickly in my chest, vile roots planted firmly in my heart.

Normally my favorite part of the day would be waiting for Nikolai to return to his room in the palace after dinner and his evening duties. He’s always a bit softer in the evenings, during my last check-in of the day. I’m normally thrilled to be done organizing his room early because that means the second he arrives there will be no distraction. Most evenings, he’ll find me perched in the seat by his bed, reading. He’ll mock-scold me for daring to defy his orders and reading ahead from the book we both take turns reading aloud from each night. He then warns me that I better react exactly the way I did when I first read it or else. That threat is always followed by a gentle laugh.

Tonight I’m in no mood for our nightly banter or even our nightly reading. My mother had warned me of the dangers of getting too comfortable with the royal family. I should have heeded that warning when she first gave it to me, the morning she found Nikolai and I fast asleep on a couch in the library as children. The palace likes to bring up the children of the staff by training them to attend to the next generation of royals. It makes the staff more efficient, a lifetime of knowing what someone wants makes you better for them. It also creates some level of connection, making betrayal a little less likely. Nikolai and I might have taken it farther than most. But now I want a reminder of the way we’re supposed to be--maybe if I detach now the bleeding of my heart won’t kill me. That has to remain secret, because if I explain it to Nikolai something in me will break. The one line between us will be crossed.

This will be the sixth secret I’ve kept from Nikolai in my entire life.

--

The secrets:

I don’t know why I was picked for Nikolai. I wasn’t particularly skilled, but still, the day came when my mother was told that I now worked directly for the Lantsov boy. It’s an honor, a true one, but my mother had been a little nervous. To whom much is given, much is expected--and I detested Nikolai. Not for being a prince, but for being a prince who thought girls couldn’t race or fight.

The day my mother came looking for me because I never showed up for dinner and she found Nikolai and I attempting to fight in the way only a ten-year-old girl and eleven-year-old boy would, she had looked truly mortified. Nikolai had only laughed, either oblivious to my mother’s embarrassment or uncaring about it. He had then hugged me--an expression of care that had left me reeling. I saw him more as a rival than someone to tend to, but in that moment I saw him as a friend. Even more so when he told me he didn’t want me to go yet and that he was upset that so much of the day had been wasted by studies that kept him with boring people and away from me. And then he invited me to his lessons--my mother was quick to attempt to decline politely, but the desires of a prince at any age outweigh that of a mother.

After that, everyone kind of just stopped trying to remind us of our propriety. The tutor at first was concerned about my presence, but Nikolai remained stubborn. I wasn’t a big enough deal to cause an argument, so I began to attend lessons with him almost every day, only staying away when my mother needed aid with laundry or cleaning. His parents must have been somewhat aware of our friendship, but they must have been oblivious to our closeness because it was never mentioned.

My mother’s worry began to ease, she’d even started to take some pride when I’d come to our room proudly proclaiming that I scored two marks higher than Nikolai. She did, however, warn that it might be more tactful to let him score higher.

The comment was casual, just a suggestion, but it left me feeling wrong. It was the first time since we met that I had thought about our different statuses. I didn’t tell him--and that was the first secret I ever kept from him.

As we grew, we traded physical competition for academic rivalry, trying to best each other in both lessons and games of strategy like chess and cards. But with growing comes responsibility. Nikolai started to have obligations that were meant to be private. I couldn’t follow him at all times. But he’d always come back from locked door meetings grinning like he carried schoolyard gossip instead of government secrets. He shared everything with me, even when I playfully warned against it.

He’d always step closer when I teased that perhaps he shouldn’t tell me everything. And then he’d say, “If I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone--and I don’t want to live in a world like that.” Often, he’d give my hand a light squeeze before moving on like he had not said anything intimate.

On a day in which Nikolai was in one of those meetings, I became a woman. When I first saw the blood, I had been horrified--but my mother was quick to explain that it was natural. She said that I was now a woman, a wonderful thing, really--but a thing that came with obligations. She told me that I could no longer have the impromptu ‘sleepovers’ with Nikolai unless he ordered it. I told her he’s never ordered me to do anything for him.

She didn’t ease, something in her had started to become nervous again. My mother had recently started to act the way she did when Nikolai and I first became friends. I didn’t want to fall asleep in Nikolai’s bed while I was bleeding, but I didn’t want to never have another sleepover with him again. Especially not when she refused to explain why being a woman changed so much.

I had decided to avoid Nikolai as much as possible until the sting of my mother’s new rule faded. Unfortunately, that night Nikolai was extra talkative--excited as he insisted I stay for a little longer. Soon, I found his familiar good naturedness melting away my nerves and before I knew it I was laughing in the middle of the night. When my eyelids started to feel heavy, I had moved from the chair, ready to head back to my room.

Nikolai had looked at me oddly before he asked why would I leave so late when it would be easier for me to just sleepover? It was an innocent question, he did not know about my change and I had wanted to keep it that way.

I tried playing coy, but Nikolai has always had a talent for getting around my better judgement. I don’t recall exactly how it happened, but I remember him standing in front of me. It was the first time I noticed how much had actually changed over the years--he was now taller than me for the first time in his life. His hair had started to grow a little longer, golden and soft-looking--and his face seemed much more angular. But he had not lost his boyish charm.

“Y/n?” My name fell softly from his lips, and that was the first time I had ever noted the fullness of them. I didn’t understand why I considered that something worth noting. “Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

Perhaps I had been a little curt--nerves and hormones had left me not feeling like myself. I didn’t tell him about the bleeding, I couldn’t. That became the second secret I kept from him--but I did tell him that my mother had told me I was a woman now, and that women can’t have sleepovers. Not with those of the opposite gender. I made no effort to hide my confusion because I expected him to be as perplexed as I was. But he was not confused--in fact, he had the audacity to laugh. My face flushed, but I did not know why.

“Why is that funny?” Maybe he thought I was still too much of a child to be considered a woman. I assumed it a fair assumption, I had not grown the way he had--my shoulders had not become sturdier and I had not become particularly broader. Still, I would rather melt into the floor than tell him about the reason my mother now considered me a woman. “My mother did say that, and I don’t know what being a ‘woman’ has to do with staying in your room at night.” Something strange had crossed over his features then, something much more brooding than I was used to.

I had blinked at him as unexplained nerves pooled in my stomach. Perhaps that look would have been enough to keep me silent if he had managed to not grin. That self-assured grin that had always challenged me. “Well since you know everything about my mother now, maybe you can tell me why she’s been acting strange. She’s starting to act the way she did when we first became friends.” I expected him to at least pretend to be worried. Perhaps his parents had spoken to her and had mentioned wanting our friendship to end. But his grin had only grown. Pride left me angry. “She did say that I could stay if you ordered it--but I’m glad you’ve never ordered me to do anything, so I can leave right now because you’re acting as odd as her. I don’t understand what you could find funny about our friendship ending.”

He had stopped me from storming out of his room by placing one hand on the wall between me and the door. “Y/n, don’t be cross--I’ll explain it all, I promise.” Angry pride made me want to storm away from him, but curiosity and something unknown and warm kept me in place. “Do you remember when we read the play about the rival families, how the two main characters had kissed?”

I remembered that part of the play especially well. The concept of kissing so casually, outside of marriage, had been jarring to me. “Yes.”

“Now that we’re older, your mother must be worried that we might do that.” He paused before leaning against the arm he placed on the wall to keep me from leaving a little more. “Kiss.”

The clarification was not needed--in that brief pause, I had allowed myself to imagine no distance between our lips. Something in me burned with embarrassment when I realized that some part of me found the thought appealing. The only thing I wanted in that moment was assurance that Nikolai would never know I felt that. That was my third secret, and the weight of it was heavy against my chest.

Still, though, all of my confusion had not yet left. “Is there much harm in a kiss?”

The question had left an odd smile on his lips. “There’s potential harm in what it could lead to for the woman, but not so much for the man.” He exhaled slowly as my face tensed. He could always read me too well because he was quick to add, “What it could lead to isn’t a bad thing, it’s meant to be pleasurable, but it’s serious.” I did not understand, but a part of me was starting to grow okay with that. Nikolai’s voice had started to become lower than ever, and his gaze remained tense. Perhaps if I accepted the confusion for now, things could go back to normal. If the conversation ended, I could stop thinking of his lips and his hands and what it would mean for them to touch me. “It’s considered a vice, like drinking or gambling.” The additional comment helped more than it should have. A vice--not scary and not painful, but not something to indulge in. That’s enough explanation for now. “If you want to know, I won’t deny you.”

I appreciated the offer tremendously. The vice that comes after kissing is clearly something that’s been intentionally kept from me. It’s something he was privy to that I was not, and he offered it to me like so much else. But if knowledge that my mother feared us kissing made me think of his lips, then I doubted I could handle knowing what comes after kissing.

“I’ll let you know when I want to know, but I appreciate the offer.” It felt like a fair response. His snarky grin came back immediately. Irritation rooted itself in my stomach. I hated not knowing more than him for once, but I still had one question I could not relinquish. “But what does that vice have to do with orders?”

At that, his smugness faltered. “It’s not unheard of, for princes and handmaids--for a prince to obligate a handmaid in order to fulfill his vice. Though many handmaids fill the vice of their own will for benefits.

The explanation left him like a confession. I didn’t understand his hesitance--it’s not like he’d ever make me do anything I didn’t want to do. Even when I worked, he was hesitant to ask me to go out of my way to bring him a glass of water. And I couldn’t imagine gaining anything from offering Nikolai something I didn’t really understand. I wasn’t naive to the fact that my life had more privileges than many palace servants. “Oh.”

His eyes hardened. “You know I’d never--”

“I know.” It was finally easy to smile again. “I never thought otherwise.” Something in him seemed to ease at that, his eyes went from hard to warm in less than a second.

I had no more questions for him and I was also no longer a flight risk, but Nikolai did not move. He did not step back to create a more appropriate distance and he did not drop his arm. His gaze, however, did move--dropping downwards, and slightly away from my eyes. I did the same, my eyes falling to his lips.

The silence between us began to make me feel like something in me was in danger of overflowing. “Then I guess my mother is once again worrying for no reason.” Strangely, I did not feel the need to feel embarrassed about staring at his lips. “Because I would never particularly want to kiss you, Nikolai Lantsov.”

The comment was meant to be teasing, a joke to clear away unknown tension. I should have known better than to challenge his pride because he instinctually moved his hand off the wall and beneath my chin. I did not flinch when he tilted my head upwards slightly with his fingers. “I could get you to want to kiss me if I wanted to.”

Three secrets in one night. I did not think I could bear a fourth one. “Hm…” The ground we treaded on felt unstable, but something in me trusted Nikolai to not let me falter. “I should--I should go before I give my mother anymore cause to worry.”

His fingers had brushed down my chin easily as he dropped his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

And that he did. The days passed without mention of the last time he asked me to sleepover. It was as if nothing had changed except now I found myself noting things I most definitely did not want to note. These didn’t feel like individual secrets because it felt easy to group each admirational thought into one secret. Soon, that became my new normal--easy banter, easy touches of hands, and easy yet silent admirations of his beauty.

I never wandered too hard about what the vice that kissing can lead to entailed. I didn't particularly want to know, but knowing that I could ask Nikolai at any time brought a sense of security to me. But besides that, I never thought of that conversation until the day I was asked to look for Nikolai because he was late for dinner.

That in itself was odd, most of the time when Nikolai was late it was because he was with you. I checked his room, two other rooms he was known to frequent, and then finally the library. First, I noticed a handmaid two years older than me. I was finally at an age when one begins to compare their beauty to those around them, and I recognized the girl as gorgeous. She was better endowed than me, physically, and she always seemed fun. And then I noticed Nikolai, standing closer to her than I’ve ever seen him stand to anyone. His expression was serious as the girl giggled.

Nikolai’s expression shifted from tense to shocked when he saw me. “Y/n.”

It took me a moment longer than it should have to realize what I had interrupted. Guilt and jealousy were quick to twist in my stomach. “Dinner--your parents sent me to look for you.”

He was quick to walk around the girl, who was quick to glare at me. I attempted to disappear down the hall after mumbling a quick apology, but Nikolai was faster than me.

“Y/n,” he did not hesitate to grab my wrist.

It shouldn’t have irked me the way it did, after all, neither of us had ever really hesitated to touch each other. I had always reached for him when I wanted him, and he had done the same. But the thought of the same hands that touched the most beautiful girl I had ever seen on me left me bitter in a way I didn’t understand.

Still, I pushed through all of that. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, your mother asked me to look for you because she assumed you’d be with me when you were late to dinner. I didn’t think that there’d be--”

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” The words came out flat as his eyes took on the same quality they did the night he explained my mother’s concern to me. “Valaria wishes there was something to interrupt, but there wasn’t.”

Oh. I refused to let the correction inflate me. “Would you like me to not come to your room tonight?”

The offer felt awkward to make. “No,” the answer came quickly, “In fact, go there now--I want to see you right after dinner. I’ve missed you today.” The instruction left my face feeling warm. “We could read an extra chapter of our book if you’d like.”

Despite myself, I grinned. “Yes.”

“Looking forward to it.”

True to his word, Nikolai was quick to return to his room. He had come back to me eagerly, going out of his way to squeeze my shoulder as he entered the room.

I opened the book to the chapter we had left off on, but before I could start reading, Nikolai stopped me. “Sit next to me?”

The question came softly. It had been some time since we sat next to each other on his bed. Still, I moved off of the chair and to his bed. Something in me longed for the familiar closeness of childhood. I allowed him to play with my fingers as I read.

“You know you could take one night off from me if you wanted to.” The admission left me softly, part of unsure if he was still paying attention to my words. “She was pretty, it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings if you told me you wanted me to not come tonight.”

Nikolai exhaled easily, squeezing my fingers once. “I said I wanted to see you and I meant it.”

It took all of my energy to push past the way his words made my stomach leap. “In general, if you ever--”

Nikolai cut me off by laying his head on my lap the way he used to. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” It was the first time in years that he spoke to me in a way that acknowledged his authority. “Keep reading please.”

And that was the last time we had ever mentioned other handmaids in that context. The fifth secret I ever kept from him was the way I worried that one day that would change.

--

The door creaks open while I’m in the middle of fluffing an already pristine pillow. Nikolai steps into the room, but I continue to work.

“Darling,” he breathes too easily, “Today has been painful.” I straighten, looking at him as casually as I can manage. “And now I have to deal with you being mad at me.”

Damn him and his ability to read me with one look. “I’m not mad.”

“You know you can’t lie to me,” he sighs, stepping forward, “We’ve known each other too long for that.”

I press my lips together, irrational anger pushing itself into me at an odd angle. “We’ve also known each other too long to keep secrets.”

His eyebrows draw together, a look so quizzical I’m reminded of our schooling days. “What secrets have I kept from you?”

Mentioning that had been a mistake. I exhale as flatly as possible. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” My dismissal only has Nikolai’s expression hardening. I drop my gaze. “Unless you need something, I’m retiring my services for the evening.”

I take a reluctant step towards the door, eyes attached to the floor. “Y/n,” his voice is gentle. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just tired.” Please let that be at least somewhat believable. “I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself in the morning.” I take another step, a little more assured. Nikolai’s hand is on my shoulder before I can escape. “Nikolai--”

“Y/n,” his voice is that of velvet, “I can’t have you be mad at me. Not now.”

Sighing, I meet his gaze. The tiredness I see behind his eyes is almost enough to chase away my nerve. What I’d give to be able to melt into our familiar routine. “Then you should have told me you were almost engaged to a literal Saint--the same literal Saint who’s one of my closest friends.”

Nikolai’s expression shifts as his hand drops from my shoulder slowly, fingers brushing down my arm before he finally intertwines our fingers. I bite my tongue to avoid squeezing his hand, but I don’t move to separate us either. He studies me silently, eyebrows drawn together. The longer he stares, the more whatever turmoil he’s experiencing seems to dissipate. After a minute of silence, I can read his expression perfectly. His lips are pressed together in that coy way--the way he only looks when he’s suppressing a smile.

I loathe him for it. “Nikolai Lantsov, don’t you dare laugh--not after what you did. Do you have any idea what it felt like to have Alina casually mention the fact that you almost married her casually? Like that was common knowledge to everyone but me?”

My words break away the last of his self control. He grins, flashing his annoyingly perfect teeth. “Do you have any idea what it feels like for me to want nothing more than to see you and then you let me believe something may actually be wrong when the only issue is your jealousy?”

The amusement in his tone is like poison to me. I find the strength to jerk my hand away from him. “I am not jealous.” He laughs; I am further enraged. “I am not.” The genuineness of my anger must finally register on some level, because he tries to suppress his smile. “I have every right to be mad at my best friend for not telling me that he was almost married.”

“We didn’t exactly come close,” he manages, expression still much too light for my taste. “I’m glad for Alina’s sake, I’m not sure being a Saint would be enough to protect her.”

He is infuriating. “I’m not sure anything you have will be enough to protect you.”

Something in his gaze shifts, softening the tilt of his mouth. “I don’t doubt that.”

I don’t know what I expected from him--but not this. I thought he’d be at least somewhat apologetic. “You should have told me.”

“I would have if I felt it was significant.”

“I’m your best friend--your marriage is significant to me. And even though it’s not like you’re engaged to her right now, you should have told me. You know I talk to Alina all the time.”

He sighs once, a hint of apology threatening to ghost over his eyes. “If I knew not knowing would have upset you so much I would have told you. I was--I was just so excited to be around you again I didn’t see much relevance in anything that didn’t involve you.”

The intensity that Nikolai regards me with is enough to wither all of my fury. But without my anger, I am left spiraling in emotion that I’ve been pushing against for years. My mother’s warning about relationships with those above us rings in my ears--sharp and headache inducing. I am still when he reaches for my hand again, but I do no allow myself to return the gentle squeeze of his fingers.

“I’m not sure much outside of you has significance.” He’s giving me a look I am familiar with. A look he often uses to chase away my anger.

Without my anger, I have nothing to keep me from melting into him, indulging in his presence fully. It’s so easy with him and I blinded myself to the danger of that. He may not be marrying Alina, but one day he will marry someone. A person worthy of his status--and what would I be left doing? Washing their laundry? Tearing up when I dusted the library and came across a book we had read together? Enough damage has already been done--I need to cut myself with this blade now in hopes of making sure I can one day recover.

He will get married one day, and nothing will be the same. And that’s a good thing--he deserves the love of a princess or queen. I want his happiness, even if it’s not with me. But some vindictive part of me hopes that some part of him will miss me. That some part of him will be dulled without me.

I’m a fool--he will remember me as the handmaid from his youth. The girl who made him laugh once or twice before he grew up. I force my hand out of his grasp. “You can’t win me over with words every time.” I need to get out of here before he says something that makes me lose all resolve. “Tomorrow morning I’ll be here to prepare you for breakfast.”

“Y/n.”

I step forward, refusing to look at him. “Goodnight.”

He sighs, his hand quick to grab my arm. Before I can question him I feel myself pulled back. I expect him to pull me just close enough so that I have to meet his gaze. He continues, pulling me sharply before placing a quick hand on my shoulder, forcing me down. My back hits his bed.

I sit up as soon as the reality of what just happened seeps into my mind. “Nikolai, what in the Saints--”

“If you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one.”

I scoff, thoughts of escaping him put on hold by the principle of pride. Fine. I’ll beat him one last time, and then I’ll let us separate. I shove him. He laughs--of course this is funny to him. He got to keep fighting past the age of about eleven. His laughter adds to my anger, I move to shove him again, but he catches my wrist easily. I struggle against his hold, shoving him a third time with my still free hand. He pushes me slightly. That’s all it takes to unleash familiar habits.

Our small fight is hardly fair. He has all the advantage--more training, and he’s standing above me. When I finally make a move that might give me some success, Nikolai leans forward. He practically tackles me, his weight forcing me flat against the bed.

I move an arm, ready to push him off of me. Nikolai snags my wrists, holding them above my head. “This means I win.” I roll my eyes, anger returning.

“Let me go.”

He sighs tiredly, but the smugness radiating off of him is suffocating. “Admit that you were jealous.”

There are a lot of things I am willing to do for him--but never that. I cannot give him the one separation I still have. “I wasn’t.”

“Then why are you mad?”

I press my lips together. “I told you--”

“Do you really think you could lie to me?”

“You don’t know me that well.”

Nikolai moves his freehand, touching my chin as a way to ask me to look at him. I meet his gaze hesitantly. “Yes, I do, and that’s never bothered you before but it does now.”

Maybe this is a conversation better had bluntly. “It bothers me now because you’re too old to hold onto the daughter of a palace handmaid and I’m too old to pretend that our different statuses don’t matter.”

“Y/n,” he breathes, “Nothing’s changed. Status didn’t matter to me when we were children, and it doesn’t matter to me now.”

“You can afford to say things like that.”

“What good is my title if it means I can’t,” he pauses, eyes hesitant, “If I can’t keep things the same between us?”

I smile, the sadness of the look weighs on me and I can’t even see it. “Nikolai, you always knew things would change.”

“No, I--”

“You can’t tell me you think your future wife would like you having such a close relationship with a handmaid.” I press my lips together. “One day you’ll fall in love and get married and you’ll want me to leave your bedchamber as soon as dinner is over because you’ll be eager to spend time with your wife.” His gaze hardens. “And that’s not a bad thing. It’s actually a really good thi--”

The last syllable of my sentence dies in my throat. Nikolai, who must be possessed by something, leans down and presses his lips against mine. I beg myself to resist, but his gentleness is everything I’ve ever wanted. He releases my hands in favor of holding my face. That’s all it takes--my hands move without my permission, into his hair--pulling him closer to me. What am I doing? I’m insane. Placing my hands on his chest cautiously, I push just slightly. He’s quick to obey, pulling away while allowing his teeth to brush against my bottom lip.

I gape at him--taking in his now slightly swollen lips. “Nikolai.” He can’t do this to me. We’re friends. Despite the fact that I’ve loved him more than I should--we’re friends. “You’re being extremely unfair.”

He draws his eyebrows together, sitting up quickly and moving off of me. “I’m being unfair? I have spent my entire life loving y--”

I sit up, furious in a new way. “You have not!” This is the dumbest I have ever been. I move to stand, still feeling the softness of his lips against mine.

“Your tooth fell out.” The sharpness of his words forces me to still.

“What?”

I can’t bring myself to turn and look at him, but I’ve always been able to feel any heaviness he bears. The weight of it leaves little room for air in my lungs. “You were ten. I told you ‘girls couldn’t fight’ so you punched me in the face. That was the first time we ever fought--I didn’t mean to hit you in the face, but you moved. You moved and I hit you in the mouth and your last baby tooth fell out. I expected you to cry or get angry, but you just blinked at me and laughed. You were happy to lose your last baby tooth because it meant you were grown up. And then you smiled and asked me if you looked older. If anything, the gap in your smile made you look younger but I told you that you looked like a grown-up because I wanted you to keep smiling. Because your smile made me feel like I won something.” I turn on my heels, but I cannot meet his gaze. “That was the moment I fell in love with you--so don’t tell me I haven’t spent my entire life loving you.”

The weight of his words is harder to survive against than the heaviness of his feelings. “Nikolai, you know we can’t ever be together--”

“Why not?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I manage, voice low, “You almost married the Sun Summoner--”

“That was political--”

“Exactly, your marriage is meant to be political, and if it happens to be out of love--which is what I hope you get, because it is what you deserve--it will be to someone of status.”

Nikolai stands, the movement is that of a king, not the boy I know. “I do not want status or to love someone else--I want you.”

“I can’t take that from you--”

“You can’t take anything from me because I’ve already given it all to you.”

I press my lips together, heart tearing for him. “I love you too much to ruin you.”

My words seem to snap something in him because his eyes darken, the way he watches me adjusting accordingly. “You can’t ruin something that’s always been yours.”

I let myself smile. At him. At his words. At the foolish hope the child in me has clung to after all of these years. I reach for him thoughtlessly, because I have the right to. Because I’ve always had the right to. He’s quick to respond, kissing me with much more security than before.

This time, he pulls away of his own regard. “You still haven’t admitted that you were jealous.”

His teasing smugness isn’t as sour to me anymore. “I wasn’t.”

Nikolai pulls me towards him easily, lips threatening to brush against me, warm breath against my face. “Are you sure, darling? You were awfully quick to claim what’s yours.”

I roll my eyes, grinning so widely I’m surprised my face doesn’t yet hurt. “You’re the one that fell for a ten-year-old girl with a bloody mouth.”

When he smiles back at me, he places a hand on my hip, pulling me forward slightly. “That I did.” He pulls me forward slightly. "Does this mean you can sleep in here again?"

"If anything, this is more reason for me to sleep in another room." He rolls his eyes, pulling me even closer. "But I won't tell if you don't."

Nikolai leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Deal."

tags: @deardiarystuff @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

[danny-chase]

Do you think that Tim saved Dick in a way? Because we see Dick getting better as he gets closer to Tim and healing and getting back into the family, and ig it’s Tim who initiated that.

I literally don't have a yes or no answer for this... like most things in the Batfam - it's complicated. (Following answer is informed by 90s-00s comics, i can't really speak for new52 because it just... has so many issues one of which being erasing the relationship between Dick and Tim for *checks note* no discernable reason other than possibly *checks note* Didio hates legacy characters and wants only bad things for them so he could have excuses to kill them off or cancel their comics... idk just a guess)

Warnings: for Bruce stans - just look away i'm about to bring up bits of canon you most likely don't like, for Dick stans - Devin Grayson's run is mentioned, for the lovely anon - i wrote an essay, hope you are prepared

Tim coming into the family gave Dick a reason to occasionally hang around Bruce and i'm not sure if this is an exaggeration or not but he did sort of save that relationship - but whether that was a good or bad thing at the time, i can't really say. For sure - it starts off good, Bruce is actually trying to be a good dad (he comes down to Blud to check on Dick, adopts him, trusts him with his own city, calls him for backup, etc.). But we also see throughout Bruce Wayne: Fugitive/Murderer how unhealthy the relationship between the two can be. Dick built his core values around Bruce - if Bruce had actually killed here it would have been devastating for Dick (he was pretty much on the verge of a mental breakdown simply because they couldn't find proof Bruce wasn't guilty). The two literally got in a fist fight during the arc because Bruce was being uncommunicative and Dick couldn't take it anymore, snapped, and punched him when Bruce said "Bruce Wayne is dead only Batman now" - this tied into Dick finally having the relief and validation of being adopted and he couldn't handle Bruce stripping himself (and by extension, his fatherhood of Dick) away. In this era of comics Bruce had gotten physical with Dick before (here's me venting like an annoyed loser), and here's a clip from Bruce Wayne Fugitive that i just, *sigh*, canon Bruce, my detested.

Now on the other hand - getting Dick involved in the batfam more doesn't just mean he was hanging out with Bruce. His relationship with Tim is pretty great and I can definitely see where it was healing for a while - but also - to give credit where credit is due, the healing he goes through during this era of comics can also be attributed to Barbara and the Titans (the fab five specifically). Wally literally joins the Titans to give Dick a "social life" (me - it's because he's gay and wants to spend more time with Dick, actually, screw you DC you know i'm right). Donna plays a major part in keeping Dick's emotional well being in check. So like everything was going fine - Dick was healing, spending more time with friends, spending a lot of time with people he loved, like Tim, except he was neglecting his health and not sleeping - but overall he was in fact, managing, and moving past the deaths of Jason and some of the other Titans. With the current Titans - he was a hardass (which like ~trauma~ so I understand), but like things were going relatively okay.

And then Donna and Lilith died. And hooof Donna dying was like really really bad for his mental health.

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files (2003) #1

[Image ID: Dick sits in a room staring at a photo, the phone rings in the background, and he doesn't even acknowledge it, the voice mail plays: "I'm not here. Leave a message after the beep." The photo is shown closer in the next frame, it's of the five original Teen Titans - Roy kisses Donna on the cheek, tipping his hat his other hand making the okay sign, Donna has an arm around Roy, the other hand on Dick's shoulder, Garth proudly stands beaming with his hands on his hips, and Dick has both his arms around Wally's neck. Everyone is smiling in the photo. A voice plays over the answering machine: "Dick, it's Roy - pick up the phone... c'mon... please... I know you're there... just pick up. Dick, we need to talk... you can't just... please..." End ID]

For context - the previous page noted that this is Dick SIX WEEKS after Donna died. Usually Dick's the one who moves on quickly, but Donna dying broke him in a way nothing else had before - and that could be partly because he was still recovering from everyone else's death.

Up to this point, Dick had been healing and Tim was definitely a part of that, but then DC decided to throw the absolute book, bookshelf, and library at him. Reading Outsiders (2003) it's very clear he's very traumatized, and around the same time, Devin is literally whumping him like it's the whump Olympics, breaking him and Babs up, burning down his childhood home, blowing up his apartment complex (killing all but like two of his neighbors), he's literally sleeping on fire escapes using newspapers as covering because he has nothing, and the bad thing i don't like to think about (i'll let you know if you ask but that one needs lots of tw, but if you know where i'm going you know what it is already), Blockbuster is killed and he blames himself - and loses it over breaking Bruce's one rule, Bludhaven is nuked, and he pretty much tries to kill himself.

So basically, he was on the path to healing (with Tim as part of that) before he got absolutely destroyed (and almost killed off by Didio in one of the crisis). Tim in his own right, was also going through a lot in the meantime, his dad died, Steph died, Kon and Bart died, i don't remember what else happened and i haven't read that era of Robin yet. Things were good until they weren't anymore, and sometimes i think Dick would regret ever exposing Tim to the life they live, and questions whether he should have just sent Tim packing x2. They do get to spend a year together on a mental health cruise, but then Damian comes into the picture, Battle for the Cowl happens, and they have their falling out. But whatever happened on that cruise must have been really healing for Dick because he actually kind of rocks it in this era - he keeps things light with Damian, Alfred notes at one point how he makes things easy because he has lightness in him, and he patches things up with Tim - catching him in that panel of Red Robin - from there they kind of go back to normal, there's a lightness to the way they banter with each other (also here) and Tim returns the favor (from the Red Robin incident) by pulling Dick out of the water.

They've saved each other multiple times over (physically), and in both in the Black Mirror and Gates of Gotham, Tim helps out in a period where Dick is starting to fall apart from the pressure of holding things together for so long (something Tim might feel guilty for, because he did run away from Gotham on a wild goose chase for Bruce). In that period, it's really clear that Dick saves Tim (he reminds him in RR, that someone does actually care for him) and then Tim saves Dick from being torn apart by Gotham.

I should point out - Damian, while starting off as kind of a hinderance, does eventually start helping Dick as well. By the end of their relationship (before the New52 destroys everything i love), Dick has helped Damian grow emotionally, and through that process Dick probably finds meaning and value in their time together, probably a lot like he used to feel with Tim. And of course, physically, they've both saved each other multiple times by the end of the run.

So yeah. I think Dick finds meaning in growth in mentoring his younger brothers, and it's likely a healing process, that healing just has some twists and turns along the way, and sometimes, on bad days, he probably feels like maybe he shouldn't have intervened at all, but i think on most days, he's proud of what Tim's become.

...I hope this is coherent lmao

[asweetprologue]

window to the soul

Octoberfest 3: ghost (from geraskier hollow) + stare

“It’s drawn to strong emotions,” Geralt said, and Jaskier knew that he was about to become bait.

The monster of the week was a wraith, but of an unusual type. Over the years of traveling together, Jaskier had seen plenty of wraiths - noonwraiths, nightwraiths, even a plague maiden once. He probably could take one on himself, knowing what he did about the process of destroying them, though it would be difficult without the use of yrden holding them in the physical realm. Luckily it was Geralt’s job to dispatch them. Jaskier usually didn’t even go along to watch anymore, unless the story behind the haunting was particularly ballad worthy. 

This time, the wraith was different. Geralt had quickly identified the lost soul, a young woman who had recently died. She’d been deeply in love with a merchant that had regularly come and gone from the town, and had tried to cast a spell to trap his heart. Jaskier knew, after everything with Geralt and the djinn, that there was no curse or potion that could truly emulate love. Her spell had made the merchant obsessed with her, the man driven slowly mad by a fixation that he did not want and could not escape. In the end he had killed the girl and then himself, to escape from the madness that she had struck into his mind. The strength of her grief and the magic of the binding spell had changed the spirit of the woman into something else entirely, something extremely dangerous. 

“It’s a sort of hybrid between a vampire and a wraith,” he explained. They were in the field beyond the village, and Geralt was meticulously checking over his potions. His blades were laid off to the side, the slick oil that he used to slay spectres shining across his silver blade. It was nearing sunset, the twilight hour that made it easier for apparitions to make themselves seen in the material world. Jaskier was sitting across from him, nervously stripping leaves from a small twig. Geralt continued. “The emotion she felt and her unrequited love turned her into a heartwraith. Sometimes people call them ‘hungry ghosts.’ They’re never satisfied, and they feed off of people’s emotions to try and fill the void in them.”

“Sounds like a truly awful existence,” Jaskier mused, watching Geralt. The evening light played across his broad shoulders, turning his hair from silver to gold. Jaskier thought he might be able to understand where she was coming from, even if he’d never have tried to bind Geralt to him unwillingly. It was a terrible thing, to be so deeply and unfortunately in love with someone who didn’t want you. 

“I need to draw her out,” Geralt said gruffly. “She’s seeking out powerful emotions, like the couple that were attacked and the man who was beating his wife. I’ll need your help.” Jaskier sighed. Of course, it didn’t make much sense for Geralt to try to draw her out. Though Jaskier didn’t subscribe to the notion that witchers felt less than regular humans, Geralt was what Jaskier would dub repressed. The man couldn’t look an honest emotional conversation in the face without getting flustered and running away. 

“Whatever you need,” Jaskier said, like he always did. He didn’t love playing bait, but he knew Geralt would never let anything bad happen to him. 

Geralt nodded and picked up his silver sword, his steel one still securely in its sheath on his back. “Come on. We need to build a fire to destroy her locket.” The girl had kept a locket with a small lock of the merchant’s hair inside, which Geralt had guessed helped tie her to this plane. Over the next few minutes, the two men built a small pyre. Geralt pressed the locket into Jaskier’s palm, his fingers brushing over Jaskier’s skin. He tried not to blush at the contact. 

“When she’s distracted, throw this into the fire. It’ll weaken her,” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded mutely, clutching the warm metal close. The fire crackled merrily beside them, painting the landscape around them in swatches of ocher and dark blue. It was truly approaching night now, only the barest hint of sunlight still left on the far horizon. 

“What do you need me to do?” Jaskier asked. “To get her attention, I mean.”

Geralt gave him an odd look. “Nothing. I’m going to draw her in.” Geralt’s face was pinched in a way that Jaskier had come to realize meant he was experiencing some kind of emotion, though it was always hard to tell which one. Anger, frustration, sadness and pain all translated into relatively the same expression - tight jaw, drawn eyebrows, thinned lips. Jaskier wanted to reach out and sooth the tension from his friend’s features, but luckily the locket demanded his hands’ wandering attention. Geralt gestured to the soft earth beside the fire, clearly bidding Jaskier to sit. He did so, flopping gracelessly into a crossed legged position, back straight from tension. It was hard to forget that a wraith could appear any moment to wreck the quiet evening. 

Geralt settled next to him, dropping into the kneeling position that he favored for meditation. His eyes were grave as he looked over Jaskier’s face. “Just… sit still,” he said softly. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with that tone, so he just tried to do as Geralt asked. He settled in, waiting for something to happen, but Geralt just stared at him. 

For a moment it was awkward. Jaskier felt a blush spread across his cheeks as those golden eyes regarded him, sweeping over his face and following the line of his neck. Geralt was a man who always split his attention half a dozen ways at once, one eye always on the door and an ear out for trouble. Jaskier had accepted long ago that Geralt never fully listened to him, and that was alright. It wasn’t in his nature, and Jaskier didn’t need participation to hold a conversation. Now, though, he felt the full force of Geralt’s focus on him, looking back at him as if trying to see beyond a mask. Geralt’s own face was impassive, that slight frown still marring his features. 

What could he hope to accomplish through this? If he wanted to elicit strong emotions, there were certainly easier ways to do it than a staring contest. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever elicited strong emotions in anyone that he wasn’t actively singing to. It was he who was often overtaken by the whims of his own heart, prone to fits of temper and weeks of lovesickness by turn. Geralt never seemed to feel anything other than mild annoyance. Gods, what if Jaskier annoyed him so much that just looking at him made the witcher angry enough to summon a spectre? Jaskier knew he could be infuriating, but surely if Geralt detested him that much he would just leave Jaskier behind. Right?

Anxiety filled his chest, but he’d been instructed specifically not to move. Forcing himself to relax, Jaskier found himself taking the opportunity to just look back for once, something he so rarely had a chance to do. He absorbed all the details of Geralt’s face that he never allowed himself to - the way Geralt’s left eyebrow was ever so slightly interrupted by a tiny scar, the slight wrinkles on his forehead from years of frowning and the even fainter ones around his eyes, the ever so slight part of his lips. The dramatic light of the fire and the moon overhead made his face into a patchwork landscape of color, the valley of purple shadow in the hollow of his cheek highlighted by soft gold. Jaskier committed every feature to memory, thinking of the notebooks he could fill with songs dedicated to Geralt’s eyes and lips and brilliant white hair. He loved him so much it felt like it was going to drown him, leaving no room in his chest for his lungs. 

After he’d finally taken in all the abstract elements of Geralt’s face that he could in the low light, Jaskier’s eyes dragged back to meet Geralt’s. The gold of his irises were nearly consumed by dark pupil, his eyes expanding to take in as much light as possible in the darkness. In this lighting he looked both more and less human, and it made Jaskier feel helplessly fond. Their eyes met, and suddenly the situation struck Jaskier as a bit funny. Two men sitting in a field, silently staring at each other, one pining away like nothing else while the other tried to summon a ghost. It was ridiculous. He quirked a playful eyebrow at Geralt, as if to say, Aren’t we just a couple of fools?

Jaskier watched Geralt’s face shift, a second of surprise flitting across his face. And then, without warning, there was something new there, something Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen before. A softening in Geralt’s eyes, in his brow, as he looked at Jaskier, open and affectionate. The expression hit Jaskier like a punch, or a kiss, demanding and devastating. Geralt’s mouth opened on a low exhale, and Jaskier leaned forward, wondering if he dared, if Geralt might - 

There was a screech, and the wraith was upon them. 

Geralt was up in an instant, silver sword flashing as he blocked a clawed hand from coming down on Jaskier’s head. Jaskier yelped as he scurried out of the way, clutching the locket he’d almost forgotten. There was a sudden burst of purple light in the field, making the shadows around them dance and twist eerily. The wraith made a horrible noise, like flint scraping across metal, endless and clearly annoyed. Geralt pushed her against the wall of the magical trap, cutting off bits of wispy energy with his sword. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure when the exact right time was, but the wraith was certainly distracted. Jumping forward, he tossed the locket down into the fire, watching as the clasp popped open and the little lock of hair fell into the embers. It caught quickly, and Jaskier heard the wraith shriek again, this time a haunting and mournful sound. When he turned back it was just in time to see Geralt shove his sword in her chest. The strange, cottony fabric of her ragged dress seemed to dissipate in the wind, her dry flesh cracking and falling away like old paint. After a moment there was nothing left but a pile of ash. 

“Go in peace,” Geralt said, and turned to Jaskier. Dropping to one knee, he said, “Are you hurt?”

Jaskier pushed himself into a better sitting position. They were close, too close. He hoped the warmth of the fire would mask his blush. “I’m fine, thanks to you. Is she really gone?”

Geralt nodded. “Should be. She has no tether to this world anymore without the locket.”

“Right,” Jaskier said. He paused. “So. Um. What you did there seemed to work, at least.”

Geralt leaned back away, out of Jaskier’s space. He missed the proximity immediately. “I wouldn’t have exposed you if I could think of another way.”

“Well, it’s not easy to find someone as irritating as me on such short notice,” Jaskier said nervously. “Hardly efficient.”

Geralt gave an almost comical shake of his head, surprise slapped across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

Jaskier shifted, uncomfortable. Giving a forced laugh, he said, “Well, I can only imagine that you were conjuring up strong emotions of the, ah, annoyance you so often display when I do something like, I don’t know, sing or eat or breathe. I know you’re not so easily swayed by my charms.” He tried to pass it off like a joke, but he knew it fell flat even as he was saying it. There was too much hurt in his throat to make it come out anything less than bitter. He stared into the fire, watching the locket turn a liquid red from the heat. 

A warm hand suddenly came up to cradle his jaw, and Jaskier blinked in surprise as Geralt’s fingers urged him to look up. “It’s not that,” Geralt said forcefully. “You must know, Jaskier, you have to - When I look at you, it’s so...” He cut himself off with a frustrated sound. Words had never been his strength. “I feel many things for you, bard.”

Jaskier swallowed. “You do?”

Geralt’s eyes were hot on him, and Jaskier wondered if one could be branded by a glance. It certainly felt like it. “Yes,” Geralt said. “Intensely.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier stammered. “Um. I’m not sure if I’m reading all this right, but assuming that you’re saying you don’t hate me, then, ah -”

Geralt gave an annoyed huff, and Jaskier was just about to comment, say something like, see, I am irritating, but then Geralt was kissing him, and he decided to let it go. He leaned into the press of lips, gasping softly. It was brief, nearly over before it began, but Jaskier could feel the warmth of it after Geralt pulled away, breath ghosting over his skin. Jaskier shivered.

“Quite the opposite,” Geralt said softly. His eyes were molten gold, hotter than the locket still melting in the fire at Jaskier’s side, and Jaskier never wanted to look away. 

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” he said, and leaned up to kiss him again.

~~

this fic was heavily inspired by Somedrunkpirate’s piece A Lover’s Lament, which is one of my favorite stories of all time. If you read it you’ll be able to see exactly what scene I borrowed from, and I need you to know that it lives in my head rent free. 

edit: for some reason tumblr ate everything but the heading for this fic and I didn’t realize until this morning, so thanks to the ten people who liked it with no content LMAO. yall the real

[zv5x]

I'm curious, if Reader died or got knocked out in last fic with Poly!Spirit and Sen-

Reader is alive, just passed out from pain! The reason it happened so quick and without much effort from Spirit is cause, you know, demon powers. I know this isn't a request for a part two and was just a simple question buttttttt I'm extra as fuck and I wanted to do one anyways, so I'll just get it over with here! Hope you all enjoy!

Request status : open! 💕

tw !!! Be careful guys, Senpai goes a little crazy in this one lolz

( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

Spirit couldn't help but feel a great deal of pity as he glanced over at Senpai. The look of fear and uneasiness on his face was clear as day, and he nervously played with his loose-fitting tie as he stared at (Y/N) who was unconscious on the bed. Chains held their arms and legs to the bedposts, so there was no chance of escaping.

Spirit hummed, giving (Y/N) an empathetic pat on the leg, before choosing to address Senpai. "I know this isn't the sight you wanted to come home to, but-"

"W-what happened to them? D-did someone hurt them?!" Senpai managed to sputter out, despite the fear eating his body alive. Spirit sighed, as he couldn't help but become slightly irritated as soon as Senpai lost his cool like he was now. Nothing could get done when you're overrun by panic, but he was glad he was at least there to keep everything together. "Did they..." Senpai paused for a second, his past fear slowly draining from his face, replacing it was an expression that even Spirit couldn't fully read. "Did they try something funny again...?" Senpai asked in a low tone, and Spirit made a small noise as his response. The room was consumed by silence for a few moments, before Spirit decided to answer his question for real.

"I suppose you could say that." He said calmly and quietly, not really caring to expose the whole truth of what (Y/N) had done just yet. If Senpai asked for clarification or specification, then he would absolutely tell him, but he just didn't see it as needed at the moment. Senpai groaned in annoyance, stomping on the floor a single time. Spirit only rolled his eyes.

He didn't even bother to take his eyes off of (Y/N)'s "sleeping" form as Senpai made his way towards the two of them, stopping in front of the bed and crossing his arms. "What did they do?" Senpai asked quietly, almost in a whisper, in a tone that implied that maybe he didn't even want to know, but was just simply curious. Spirit shrugged.

"It was nothing too painful, just a punch to the nose. It didn't even hurt for a minute, really." Senpai looked at the entity standing next to him in a mixture of shock and disgust, absolutely baffled by the fact that their darling (Y/N) would ever do something like to that to either of them. He just didn't get it, and frankly, neither did Spirit. Really, they were just trying to help, but their (Y/N) just wasn't listening. It made things so much more tedious than they needed to be. Senpai growled to himself and made his way onto the bed. Spirit looked on in confusion, arching an eyebrow as he watched Senpai set himself down on (Y/N)'s chest, straddling it. He adjusted his position slightly, wriggling to make sure he was in the most comfortable position possible, before raising his hand to above the side of his head and bringing it down forcefully and quickly, slapping (Y/N) in the right cheek. Spirit even flinched himself, as the slap was hard enough to make a loud sound on impact.

However, Spirit couldn't feel too bad. He did try warning (Y/N). Senpai would be a lot harsher on them than he ever would be.

(Y/N) gasped as they woke up from their unconsciousness, Senpai glaring down at them as he watched them do so. It took them about a minute for their eyes to fully adjust to everything going on at the moment, especially since what caused them to wake up was so...violent...

"Well...good morning, honey." Senpai said through gritted teeth, and (Y/N) instinctively tried raising their arms, only for them to be held back by the chains. They swore at Senpai and demanded for either him or Spirit to release them, but that did nothing but anger Senpai further.

"You're lucky me and Spirit as so nice to you, if you were acting this bratty towards anyone else, your throat probably would've been sliced..." Senpai snicked sadistically, only for his slight amusement to completely vanish as (Y/N) leaned up towards him and spit in his face.

Senpai stumbled back, instinctively grabbing a tissue off the bedside table and wiping his face quickly and roughly while whining in disgust. Spirit bit his lip and took a step back, fully expecting Senpai to completely lose his shit within the next few seconds. Senpai began to hyperventilate, looking at the tissue with a look of pure distain. Senpai suddenly slammed the tissue to the side and pulled the table drawer open, his eyes set on a certain black rectangle. He pulled it out and held it up so (Y/N) could see it, and their eyes widened with fear and regret, instantly recognizing it as a taser.

"Do ANYTHING like that again, and this is going straight into your neck, understand?! God, how many times do we have to fucking TELL YOU, (Y/N)?!" Senpai screamed, punching the sides of the bed harshly. (Y/N)'s breathing was quick and heavy, the fear on their face as clear as day. Tears pricked at the corners of their eyes as they were reduced to the bearer of Senpai's rage, Spirit standing in calm silence as Senpai yelled on about what they had been trying to tell (Y/N) for almost a year now.

"You're so fucking GULLIBLE! Without us you'd probably be fucking dead on the side of the road! You think you can just go do whatever the fuck you want with whoever, and then treat us like we're fucking disposable trash?! You sick WORM." Senpai went on and on, even at one point grabbing (Y/N)'s shoulders and shaking them harshly. He was pissed, and Spirit saw his anger as justified. "We're doing this all for YOU! We love YOU! We NEED you, and you need US!" Tears began to fall from Senpai's eyes just as (Y/N) began fearfully sobbing as well, but Senpai's tears were more of frustration and anger than crippling fear. "We love you (Y/N), please, we just want to take care of you, you're our everything! Please!" Senpai choked back sobs as (Y/N) continued crying themselves. "Nobody else can love you like we do, they just can't keep you safe like we can, we'd do anything for you, we just want you to be happy..." Senpai sniffled, but (Y/N) didn't respond.

Spirit didn't feel bad for (Y/N). They wouldn't be here right now if (Y/N) would just learn how to listen. They were doing this for love, for repayment for all the effort (Y/N) put into making sure they were alive and well. (Y/N) saved them. Before Spirit knew it, Senpai seemed satisfied with the agressive lecture, and replaced his seething anger and flowing tears with a cutesy giggle and a wipe of the eyes. "You're just so hopeless, (Y/N)...but that's fine, some people just aren't meant to take care of themselves!"

It was almost scary how quickly Senpai could switch between moods, but who was Spirit to judge? Rejection was never in Sen's programming, and he was meant to be a hopeless romantic almost all of the time, so he really couldn't blame Senpai for having...less than stable moods.

"You're so lucky you have us dolly, where would you even be without us?" Senpai gushed, and Spirit couldn't help but agree. The two of them could tell (Y/N) clearly wanted to detest that, but they didn't care. Their input was irrelevant, since they didn't at all know what they wanted or needed.

Senpai hummed happily, curling (Y/N)'s lips upward in the shape of a smile with his finger. The skin of his digits were soaked at this point, as tears were pooling from (Y/N)'s eyes as they tried squirming away so desperately from his vice grip. Spirit cupped his one cheek with his hand and held (Y/N)'s trembling one in his other, smiling almost as brightly as Senpai.

They deserved this. They deserved something nice after that that bastard put them through. And, this was it. Their present, their compensation, their reward.

Their soulmate.

Senpai giggled, and Spirit followed soon after, the two of them looking at each other as if they were reading the others thoughts perfectly. Senpai turned to (Y/N), that smile still just as strong as it was before.

"Now, go on...tell us you love us~"

[10millionyearsdungeon]

Acts of Contrition

A/N: Heeeey, it’s been a while. Like...a long time while. Shaking the rust off, this is for @chiwhorei​ and their Heavenly Bodies collab (*see here*). No beta, we die like everyone else. Per the theme, and as a send off to my fellow fallen saint and recovering Catholic, it’s a kind of riff on a prayer? Not my best Shindou, but it’s Shindou all the same. Really need to revisit this guy. ANYWAYS--

TW: Sacrilegious themes, Oral (giving/receiving), Dacryphilia, Spit, Corruption, implied monster fucking (because why not?), mild exhibitionism, squirting, mild cockwarming ================================================

Your whole life, you always tried so hard to be everything your parish priest and father wanted you to be; pious, virtuous, radiant-- the epitome of the girl-next-door with a rosary tucked between your breasts and a prayer on your lips. It was your wholesome, squeaky-clean image that initially drew his attention and had you malingering on your knees with your mouth gaping and drooling into the carpet bristles of your parish confession booth.

"Got something to confess, sweetheart?" Shindou grinned in the darkness as you gazed up at him from your knees, nose pressed into the curling pubic hair tickling your mouth as he twitched down your throat. He held you there until your eyes began to roll back and tears threatened to break free from your waterline in trails of smudged ink down your flushing cheeks. You could taste his disappointment when they didn't fall, and he curled his thick fingers into your hair to rip you from his length. Incense and shame burned down your throat and into your lungs as you gasped for reprieve. His smirk was a gleaming scythe, all but signaling the beginning of your end.

"Please, more," you begged, scrambling to clutch his parted knees and nudge his cock closer to your waiting mouth. "More." His hum vibrated the dust lingering in the cramped space, as if he needed time to carefully consider what was originally his idea. "Shindou, yo--"

Gagged by his fingers, your tongue laved over his thick digits and your voice rose into unintelligible moaning. Your saliva ran down his wrist and your chin in thin rivers to the carpet digging into your knees. "Ah, ah. I asked for your confession, not for your begging. Perhaps I need to keep this pretty mouth busy while you take your penance." Eager to please, you nodded furiously into his hand, gagging and spluttering over his fingers as he twisted your body in half. The humble pleated skirt draped over your ass like a dainty envelope, the flash of white cotton panties plastered with slick against your pussy an invitation he couldn't deny-- he tore away the flimsy fabric with his teeth and whistled low at the silvery strings of slick still binding you to your underwear. You always forgot how strong Shindou was when he had a goal set before him.

"Mm, let's begin," he purred into your cunt, the sudden lash of his tongue against your neglected clit nearly tipping you into exaltation.

"H-hewl mwwwree fughlo gwssss," you babbled over his fingers as they dug almost painfully into your tongue. Cheek pressed hard into his knee, you heaved into his skin as your eyes rolled back into your skull with another skillful swipe of his tongue teasing your spasming whole. "Haaorrtsswiffee."

"C'mon, sweetness, you can do better than that. Really enunciate. It doesn't count if He can't understand you." Your toes curled in your knee socks as another wave of ecstacy washed over you with a flick of his sinner's tongue against your swelling clit. With a bend of his wrist, he tickled down your throat and dug his teeth into the swell of your ass when you gagged around them. "So tight. Do better. You know you want to. You asked for this, sweetheart." He retracted his fingers from your panting mouth, tracing the slick, bruised skin of your lips before he gave your hair a gentle pet.

"H-hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee…" you began again trembling over every word earning another vicious bite to your inner thigh. Shindou moaned into your scent tracing his tongue over the darkening bruise.

"Y'know, I'm feeling like a Hail Mary isn’t good enough. Let's try again," Shindou hoisted you into his lap, chest pressed firmly into your back as he lined the head of his cock, glistening with dewy precum, with the touch-starved maw of your cunt aching to stretch around him. Ever the tease, he tapped at your entrance, grinning at the sticky slapping of flesh on flesh as you squirmed to better accommodate him in the booth.

"Oh, my God!" You nearly screamed, sheathing him within you in one turbulent bounce. He barked out a laugh, dark eyes glittering in the shadows as he lifted your hips again with his teeth on your neck. "I-i-i'm heart-heartily so-sorry for haaah-ving offend..fuck, offended thee…" His pace was an idle one, but the vicious gnashing of his teeth burying into your neck made the aching around his cock pale in comparison. He needed you shamed, broken and sobbing out for release before he'd taste satisfaction.

"And I de-detest all my sins moh-ost s-sincerely because they d-disp-please thee." Pried open for him to abuse, Shindou let his hands wander beneath the carefully starched collared shirt and loosened tie to tease your pert, overly sensitive nipples through the fabric of your simple bra. He searched your face as he thrust up into you, knowing it wouldn't be long before those tears would begin to fall. "My God!" you gasped.

"Keep going," he groaned, tugging your blouse open and shoving your bra out of the way. He devoured the full-body shudder of your exposure, dragging his tongue up along your ear with a sigh. "You're so gorgeous when you break," he whispered, earning a hiccuping whine and the bubble of sobs he had waited so patiently for. Gyrating onto his cock, you couldn't stop the tears staining your cheeks with mascara as he rutted into you. Glancing down at where your bodies fused into one, you whimpered out the next verse as your cream dribbled down his balls.

"M-my God, who art so-oh deserving of all my love…"

"All your love, princess?"

"Ah-ah-ah!" He busied his free hand between your spread legs, rubbing tight circles on your clit. With a jump, you keened back into him and sobbed out wordlessly. Shindou ran his tongue to capture a stray tear from your hairline and moaned into the taste as he redoubled his efforts. "All my love f-for thy infinite good-fuck-goodness and--"

"And what? C'mon, finish like a good girl." Every thrust into your clenching heat had your body tensing like piano wire tuned by a master. His pulse vibrated through your core, loosening your tongue as he continued to tease and tug at your darkening nipples. “Most ah-amiable perfections…” He smirked into your hair, breath condensing on your neck like incense cloaking you in his scent. “I firmly pu-purpose by Thy Holy Grace never more--” Eyes rolling back, you stuttered and bucked fitfully back into the hardened planes of his lap. Your voice rose, cutting through the confessional booth and earning a satisfied grunt from the two-faced demon splaying your cunt wide for the congregation to observe if anyone dare open the door. “Never more,” you cried. Shindou paused, content to flex his length into your warmth while you sobbed out another broken, “Never more.” He dug his nails into your breasts, roughing your tender flesh to coax another wave of shuddering sobs and glistening tears from your weeping eyes. He sighed into your skin, dragging his lips along the moistened trails of shame and relief running down your jaw and cheek. “Please,” you whispered, rocking your hips fruitlessly to your own end. He hushed you as if silencing a toddler and stilled your hips with a single stroke. “Ah ah ah. Good girls finish their prayers.” With the head of his cock just kissing the gummy ring of your cervix, you grinded against him and cried out again, much to his annoyance. “Figures. Couldn’t be a good, pious little shit. Had to be a filthy, needy, broken little whore like the others.” “I’m broken. More, please give me more!” He scoffed at your pleading, content to have you writhe and wring yourself out on his heavy cock. Breasts bouncing and the unmistakable sounds of flesh penetrating flesh to defile that most sacred space, the sights and sounds of you coming undone for him proved all too tempting to ignore. He could taste it on you-- the rhythmic spasming of your cunt around his cock, the wobble in your legs, the uneven cadence of your breathing when he finally fucked back into your eager hole, all of it signaled your end. “Finish your prayers, sweetheart.” With two thrusts you let out a long, piercing moan, drawing the attention from those outside of the booth. Carelessly, you thrashed against him, milking his tumescence as if it would be enough to grant you divine forgiveness. “Finish like a good girl.” Shindou’s hand wandered between your trembling thighs as he rutted into you, his fingers dancing over your swollen clit despite your body bucking and fighting against him. The pressure in your belly was indescribable under his constant attention. “Finish for me.” Your body was his to play, to abuse to his delight. Shindou reveled in your shame as your squirt painted the door and carpet, shadows playing sinister tricks on your eyes as you searched the space for his face over your shoulder. “I firmly purpose by Thy Holy grace never more to offend Thee,” you whispered, coming down from your high with dripping thighs and shame staining your features. The door creaked open on its ancient hinges. Candles flickered in the chapel like whispering witnesses to a most capital crime. Tangled in the remnants of your uniform, your eyes glazed over and stared past the nuns exclaiming over your ruined state. You could feel his fingers ghosting over your exposed buds, taste his sweat and preek over your tongue. Your cunt throbbed around the memory of him, empty and hungry for his approval. His devil’s mark ached on your throat, a bruise you hazily hoped wouldn’t fade before his return. Captivated by the spectre of his presence, you melted into the tweed cushioned seat as far removed from the shouting and outrage of your audience as one could be. He’d be back for the rest of you and leave a more permanent mark. There were more pretty, pious words to pry past your lips, more tears to taste on your road to damnation, and he would be remiss  to miss out.

[cloudninetonine]

Cogito, ergo sum

Chapter: 2

Pairing: Connor (RK800) x fem!reader

A/N: Hey guys! I want to apologise for the long wait between chpaters but seeing as I’m on my last year of college my school work is coming before everything else so it’s a little hard working between them! Don’t worry, I’m not dropping this series or anything just expect chapters to take a little long to be loaded and everything! Also, this chapter seems a little too far paced for me, so sorry about that as well!

Tags at the bottom once again!

I do not own Detroit become human this is merely fanficion

Warnings: Bad language, physical assault, threats (?), hints of abuse, (Name) being weird like always, also angry (Name), mentions of drugs, there’s a bit of slander against drug abusers that I do not condone!

Undercut babes!

It’s fascinating, it really is, the way her beautiful gaze follows you as you round her, studying her feverishly, your eyes wide and bright.

She’s...well, words cannot describe her. Her beauty lies beyond your imagination and you’re not quite equipped to say anything that her magnificent ears deserve to hear, your words are below her and she’s just-

Wow.

“Ms (Last), please-”

You raise your hand towards the younger engineer, silencing with a small utter of ‘hush’ and he’s shutting his mouth, falling back to the side of your desk with not much else to say.

The android you’ve been un-shamelessly ogling for the past 10 solid minutes is still very quiet, she’s just watching you in her manufactured attire, shy, nervous, scared- everything you really wish she wasn’t right now because there is no way you want her to see you as some sort of threat, far from it.

“Henry” Turning back towards the engineer, he stiffs up like a board, sweat forming on his brow “Why didn’t you dismantle her?”

It’s rude, it’s horrible to say and it sours your mouth when you form those words, but it’s an honest question, you want to know why someone would do this, keep her alive, see her for all her glory.

The public spoke strongly about their opinions of androids, like toys to be played with, slaves to be worked, not the thing you so desperately wanted people to see them as. The masterpieces that stood beyond human comprehension.

The android lets out a noise similar to a whimper as Henry stammers out.

“I-I couldn’t she- um- I-” Finally, he sighs with frustration, Henry makes eye contact with you “She said was scared and...I couldn’t”

You snap back to face her.

“Is that true?”

She hesitates, one second, two seconds, three seconds, four- it takes a whole 30 seconds before she’s finally responding. “Yes…”

Your chest bursts in excitement.

“You’re incredible” Henry deflates in relief, placing a hand against your desk while you grasp her cheeks, her warm grey eyes glancing between your two hands then meet your own stare, confused. “Amazing, beautiful, fantastic, so, so much more”

“...thank you”

You sniff, then you’re pulling away, trying to keep your tears abay. You really can’t believe that your work has gone so far, that new forms of sentient are evolving from a human’s hand, you’re so overjoyed by it all but you’re also kind of realising how weird you’re being.

“Sorry, I’m becoming the creepy stereotypical scientist, let me just-” Pulling off your lab coat, you throw it over her shoulders, pulling it tighter around her for her dainty hands to grasp and hold, a smile growing on her face in gratitude. You’re really still in awe of it all but send her a giddy smile back “Henry get Kamski I’m sure he’s gonna love this”

When the man disappears, closing the office door behind him, you guide her to a chair, kneeling before her kindly.

“Tell me” She waits patiently for you to continue “What’s your name?”

When she opens her mouth, you interrupt her, grasping her hands “No, not the name you were given, the name you have chosen. What is your name?”

You’re at the beginning of history right here, you can already see the books that are yet to be written, all starting at this very moment, with you and her. This android, this amazing, piece of living metal, is the start of something great and you can’t wait to be a part of it.

“My name is….”

-----------

“(Name), I’m sorry, but there isn’t really anything I can do”

Your hands come down on the desk, expression unbelieving.

“But he attacked Ortiz in self defence, it’s not fair for him to be shipped to Cyberlife! That hellhole already has enough test subjects with other deviants, why can’t he be let go!?” Pushing yourself back up, you drag your hands down your face in exasperation “He’s a victim! He was defending himself, why can’t we let him off with a lesser offence?”

Billie sighs, shutting the file softly. “Because in the eyes of the law, he’s not a victim. He’s property and there isn’t much we can do about that. Besides, because Ortiz is dead, his ownership basically goes back to Cyberlife, so they have the authority to take him back”

Billie’s right, you know that they’re right, but it’s just so frustrating, so vexing that this is the case. An android, in the eyes of society, is nothing more than their components, why should they be given the same privilege as those who eat, shit and breathe?

Billie may be a judge, but they didn’t make the law.

You remember years ago, when something like this would have been seen as detestable, that the masses would have stood up to fight this kind of horror, but for some reason, with age came stupidity and ignorance it seemed. What the fuck had happened to you all?

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again before huffing, taking the file from their desk and ripping your coat off the hanger.

“I’m sorry, (Name)!” Billie calls and you wave them off, shouting back a ‘Don’t worry about it’ then close their office.

The courthouse is only a few blocks away from the precinct, a good walk away, a good way to calm yourself down until you’re having to face the frustration that comes in with having to work in such a high strung place. It’s funny really, you used to say ACAB when you were younger, still believed it too, so it’s really a wonder as to why you joined, but then again sometimes to make change you have to become the very thing you hate-

“Detective (Last)-” 

You scream, almost dropping your files and jumping a meter within the air. Passerbys don’t even spare you a glance, a generation raised on the weirdest websites like Vine, Tiktok, Youtube and god forbid, Tumblr, have them desensitised to whatever shit people like to play at now-a-days.

“Oh my God, Inspector Gadget” A hand falls to your chest, checking your racing heartbeat “You can’t just sneak up on a bitch like that”

Connor, the big old puppy, tilts his head in mild confusion “But I called your name twice, detective”

Oh.

“What are you doing here, Connor?”

The android joins your side and you continue your way. “Lieutenant Anderson informed me that you were heading to the courthouse, so I decided to come and brief you about a new case”

A new case, of course a new case, deviancy keeps popping up all over the country rapidly but you can’t hold your surprise about the fact that it’s been a  few days and there’s already a new case.

“Deadass?”

Wait, you hadn’t mean to say that-

His eyes narrow “Deadass?”

A snort escapes you “Oh my God I can’t believe you just said that, it sounds so cursed coming from your mouth. I meant, seriously?”

You swear on your life, on everything that may be above and so much more, that the android lets out a laugh when he continues, explaining the details as you finally enter the office.

You realise, as he talks, you feel a whole lot lighter than you had earlier.

-----------

“This guy is as scummy as it gets” 

Unfortunately, you can’t help but agree. Todd Williams is about as charismatic as a dumpster fire, messy hair, messy face, stained clothing and the stench of alcohol clung when you finally met him, having to hold back a wince of disgust.

You don’t usually speak ill of others, but you know his type, from the way he carries himself to the way he speaks. You’ve had to face men like him before, his whole demeanor brings back bad memories and you’re so glad that you’re not the one having to get details from him, to have to speak to him.

One thing’s for sure though, you don’t blame whatever deviant decided to book it from him.

“Why doesn’t he just...get a refund from Cyberlife?” You take a sip of your milkshake, staring at Hank, Connor and Mr Williams who looked to be ending off their conversation. “They do that for deviants, don’t they?”

Yes, if you remember, the new flashy CEO of the hell corp spoke it for all to see, that deviance is guaranteed to offer you your cash back.

How inhumane it all sounded.

Gavin scoffs, drinking his coffee “You think a guy like that cares about refunds?”

No. You know why he’s doing it. It’s all about power for fuckers like that.

Mr Williams leaves, Hank is looking through his notes, Connor is heading your way, probably to refer all the information back to you and Gavin is taking in a breath to start his bullshit again, despite your civilness that you had been sharing.

Eh, peace was never an option-

“Your metal boyfriend is heading this way”

The noise you make isn’t human, it’s a mix of a wheeze and scream, like you’ve just choked on the air your breathing and in all honesty, you have, but you’re not letting that mother fucker get away with catching you off guard, especially when he starts laughing.

“Shut up, furry”

Your actually feel the air from his head snapping towards you. “I’m not a fucking furry, quit fucking saying it!”

You pat his shoulder “It’s alright, Reed, we all know you wrote yiff fiction in your spare time-”

You dodge his fist, running away from his red, angered face and petty insults, dragging Connor away from the break room to the side, all while laughing up a storm.

Having your attention on the android again brings back Gavin’s words, his tease of ‘boyfriend’ which makes your face heat up, in what? You’re not quite sure, but it’s enough to make Connor notice your oddity.

“What were you and Detective Reed-”

“Nothing” You cackle, patting down his shoulders to distract yourself “He’s just being an arsehole again, nothing to worry yourself over”

And worry himself he didn’t, because he couldn’t of course, android and all.

Connor was quick to fill you in, an AX400 by the name of Kara had stolen (the word kidnapped comes to mind but you know that the robot detective will just ‘correct’ you on your wording) another android, Mr William’s ‘daughter’, model YK500 named Alice after assaulting him the night before. Mr Williams had been knocked out after the ordeal, as to why it had taken him so long to report it. 

“Were there any signs of assault that you could see? Ones that could lead to a potential take down or unconsciousness?” Connor takes a moment before shaking his head “Yeah, I didn’t think so”

What a lying fuck.

“Let’s head to the briefing room”

Hank is there, as well as a whole group of other police officers, talking amongst themselves as you situate yourself behind the podium, screen remote in hand and smiling brightly. Your partners are at your side, Connor in his usual stoic stance while the old fart has his arms crossed, bored as always and you’re ready to debrief the many uniforms but they keep talking, even after you clear your throat.

You’re not one to get angry at being talked over, annoyed, yes, but anger leads you nowhere with a crowd, so instead, you use your most favourite tactic to date

“Pay attention to me or I am gonna start screaming people” You sing. Not a threat, but a promise. “And you all know I will screech like mother fucker”

The room is silent in the next second.

“Great! So-”

The door to the room bursts open.

“Fucking really-”

“Detective (Last)'' It's the front office assistant and by the looks of it, he is panicked, worried even, as he addresses you. You suddenly feel your stomach knot up  “I’m sorry, but there’s been an emergency with your relative Carl Manfred”

You swallow, hard. “What?”

The meeting ends right then and there.

-----------

Hank hurls to a stop right outside the entrance. You’re already halfway out of the car when he shuts off the vehicle, Connor is taking off his seatbelt and you’re already racing down the soaked concrete path to the front door, rain pelting down on you.

You barely feel it though.

You startle the receptionist when you slam your hands down, eyes wide in panic, breathing coming out in fast, short pants and just looking as though you faced the masses to make it to this spot, right in front of her.

“Carl Manfred, he was brought here about an hour ago is he-”

She interrupts “Are you family?”

“Yes, please, I-”

“In what relation do you have to the patient?”

Is she really fucking serious right now? You debated leaning over and strangling your answer out of her, letting her know what kind of fucking pain you could put her through in this very moment-

But the hand that is placed against your back keeps you still. It’s warm and comforting and keeps you from mauling the fucker right out of her chair, though it doesn’t calm your anxiety, no, but at least it’s there.

You turn to see Connor, who nods towards you politely.

Huh, what a twist of events.

Hank leans over from your other side, looking just as angry as you feel, though he keeps his voice civil when he speaks “Listen, her old man’s just had a heart attack, could you drop the formal shit so she can see him?”

Her voice is sharp, just like her stupid fucking face and she snaps back “I can’t let you in unless I know your relation, unless you’d like to be escorted out by security”

Damn, she’s playing with fire and you’re ready to throw oil all fucking over her.

“I don’t fucking think so-” Pulling out your badge, you slam it against the desk, with nothing short of a growl “Police. Now, tell me where my fucking dad is or you’ll regret the next words that come out of your mouth”

You never abuse your power as a cop, it’s inhumane and back in your younger days you sneered at the disgusting police who would use their authority for their own gain, so you hate to admit but the nervous look that crosses her face when she sees your badge and Hank’s when he pulls it out for extra effect scratches an itch you begged to be scratched.

“Floor 3, the front desk will inform you what room”

“Thanks” You spit, already rushing to the elevator, the other two following.

Connor is quiet, to your surprise. Honestly, you expected him to speak out about your behaviour, your attitude, your unprofessionalism, but he says nothing, just trails after the two of you in silence, obediently, just like he was made for. 

It’s comforting having him here, even if he’s just following orders.

The next receptionist is kinder than the last (she even scowls at the mention of her coworker) and points down the hallway, to where two officers stand with cups of coffee within their hands. They stiffen in surprise at your arrival, but you pay them no mind, pushing your way into the room where you finally pause, taking in the scene of your beloved father figure, laid still within the bed, pale, heart monitor beeping occasionally. 

The doctor by Carl’s side looks up at you. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

Hank and Connor wait outside.

“(Name) (Last), Carl’s daughter and emergency contact” You explain, walking further into the room “Is he- Can I-”

“He’s fine” She explains with a comforting smile “And yes, you can come closer, though the medication has him knocked unconscious so he won’t be talking any time soon”

The relief almost has you collapsing, brings you back from the panic attack that threatens to kick your arse right in front of everyone and you finally breathe normally.

“Thank you, and you are?”

“Dr Collins” Collins offers her hand and you shake it weakly. “Your father is going to be okay, (Name), but he’s going to need a lot of rest. Cardiac arrest at this age can be fatal, so we were lucky that he lived so close”

You nod, tiredly slinking to Carl’s side to drop into the cushion chair, taking his hand in yours. Kissing it lovingly, you place it close to you in comfort, in reassurance.

‘He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s going to be okay-’

“What are you doing here?”

Your anger shoots right back up, as does you head when you turn to look at the doorway.

“Leo” The name is dragged out of your mouth, it’s spoken with a heavy coat of venom and dirt and for all the participants who are about to see this wild shit show, is a clear indication that you’re far from happy to see the man that stood there. “The fuck are you doing here?”

He scoffs “I’m family, what else am I here for?”

“Oh I don’t know,” You’re standing, stalking closer to him with a raged gleam in your eye “To mooch off him a little bit more?”

The tension can be cut with a knife, everyone can see it, feel it, even Connor, who looks ready to intervene at any given moment.

“No, detective” One of the officiers starts, cutting in in hopes to keep you both calm. “He was there when it all happened, he saw everything-”

“He was there?” No, her words only add fuel to the fire and you’re glaring at your brother once again “You were there? The fuck were you there for? You did this?”

“No!”

“Please calm down” Collins cuts in “I understand the anger but the other patients-”

You ignore her, glancing around the area when a thought struck you.

“Where’s Markus?”

Connor’s the first to respond, “Who’s Markus, detective (Last)?”

“Dad’s care bot” A pin drops, no one is speaking, the two cops are quiet, Leo is scowling, but he’s not looking at you and your anger is quickly making room to fear, cold and stabbing when you push again, harsher, angrier “Where the fuck is Markus?”

The second officer speaks this time, hat in his hands and you know what happens next is not going to be good.

“He was leaning over your father when we walked in detective, Mr Leo Manfred told us he attacked him” The man gulps, hesitating. He’s not nervous for what he’s done, no, he’s nervous about the dark look that seems to be slowly taking over your eyes, “I shot him”

A beat goes by. Then another, another, another, another, another-

“Why were you there in the first place?” It’s soft, curious, but the rage behind it is big, your need for an answer is keeping it back “What was the call for?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Answer the question, officer”

His partner offers up the answer “....A break in, ma’am”

There’s silence, then you nod in understanding.

No one is quick enough to stop you from shoving Leo into the wall, hands wrapped tightly around the lapels of his jacket and holding him up so you can scream at him properly, face feeling hot from anger, eyes wild from rage, practically feral. 

“You fucking did this! This is your fault, you good for nothing fuck!” You pull your hand back and punch him right in the face, he’s too in shock to react but everyone else is trying to pull you off “What?! Were you off your shit from snorting that fucking powder again, you damn druggie!? Huh!? HUH!? You high right now, too!?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, (Name), let go!” Hank yells but he’s fucking impressed by your resistance.

“He could have died because of you, you good for nothing cunt! Worthless piece of shit! Now, Markus is fucking dead because of you, the person who was actually fucking taking care of him! This is all your fault! He’s in that hospital bed, because of you! You! Did! This! All for those stupid drugs! You’re fucking pathetic!”

You’re finally tugged off by someone, their arms slipping under your own to stop you from going back at him again. The officers are acting as a wall between you and your brother, Dr Collin’s is checking his nose as blood drips down his face, Leo is still in shock and Hank is leaning over, hands propped onto his knees. That leaves...

“I’m sorry detective (Last), but I’m going to have to restrain you until you calm down”

You scream in frustration and try to fight against it, but damn, you have to admit in a moment of clarity, Connor is fucking strong.

“Lieutenant Anderson, if you could take her legs, we can escort her out of the building without much trouble” Hank huffs something under his breath probably a grunt of ‘fucking android’ but complies, glaring at you when he leans down.

“You kick me and I’ll kick your ass”

Your respect for him makes you comply, but the anger doesn’t stop you from cussing both him and the android out, naming every threat under the sun as they carry you out of the building, back to the car which you are shoved placed into.

“Let me out of this fucking car, Hank!” You bellow, glaring at the man with sharp eyes who stood outside the vehicle, leaning against it “I’ll break this fucking window, I swear to fucking God!”

“You can try, but we both know you won’t!”

Once again, you’re screaming, tugging frantically at the door’s handle that you know is locked, but are way too angered to care right now.

Connor sits by your side, a good distance away to not antagonise you, silent, waiting and watching as you slowly fall from angry to desperate, tears welling within your eyes and falling down your cheeks. It only takes a few more moments for you to stop altogether, your shoulders shaking as you sob, quietly but strong.

The android finally speaks “Detective (Last)-”

You’re on him in a moment, arms wrapped around his frame, face buried into his shoulder, wetting his suit jacket as you cry, shaking.

It’s a new one for Connor. An android built for detective work, to sniff out the bad deviants, to question suspects and actually built with a comforting feature for victims of crimes. But this is a first, a first he’s seen anyone to tears, more importantly, a first of seeing you so broken. Sure, he had seen you defeated those few days ago, but this is different, you’re not trying to hide conflicting feelings behind your bubbly smile and weird jokes, you’re just...crying. Nothing more, nothing less.

His arms are hovering at your sides, hesitant, unsure and it’s not until Hank gestures from outside the car to ‘fucking do something, you stupid machine’ that the protocol finally kicks in, his arms coming to wrap around you securely and comforting, reassuring you through your whimpers.

Connor is a robot, a machine that feels nothing.

But seeing you cry isn’t something he can just let happen.

Software instability.

-----------

Tags: @dillxpixkles @1950schick @pinkittwice @iris-suoh @loveflowsthroughme @thatlonelyalto @starcatcher-kay​ (ya’ll I’m half asleep if I forgot you in the taglist I am SORRY-)

[cdyssey]

Holiday

Summary: Grace and Frankie have a heart-to-heart after 7x03. | AO3 Link

—

Grace makes margaritas that night to celebrate Grankiekuh, the new holiday that she and Frankie just made up to celebrate the fact that Frankie doesn’t feel the need to make up holidays to avoid her anymore.

“You just squished our names together and threw the -kuh from Hanukkah at the end,” Grace accuses, chuckling. 

Light.

Playful.

Simply exuberant.

Just an hour ago, she was guzzling martinis on the couch with her ex-husband trying to figure out the quickest way to apologize to Frankie for a twenty-year-old mistake.

And now they’re planning a fake holiday together, and everything is somehow right in a world that also features her current husband sleeping in a jail cell.

“You have to admit—it has a certain ring to it,” Frankie hums determinedly. “We could be the new Shefani, the octogenarian Bennifer!”

“Well, don’t expect me to passionately hold your ass on a speedboat anytime soon,” Grace teases as she carefully measures tequila in a cylinder and then pours a little more than the recommended amount just to be safe.

“Nah,” her partner winks conspiratorially. “Just my hand across a candlelit table will do.”

And so they light a scented candle on the dining room table and drink incredibly boozy margaritas and eventually eat Del Tacos takeout that arrives half-an-hour late because the DoorDash driver couldn’t find the beach house. And Frankie laughs about Grace tearing the poor delivery kid a new one. And Grace quietly admires that Frankie still gives the twerp a twenty dollar tip anyway.

“At least he’s got a stronger constitution than Bugs Bunny,” Frankie snorts as she closes the door on yet another shell shocked human being who has encountered the wrath of Grace Hanson.

“That isn’t an impressively tall bar to surmount,” Grace replies, wrapping a fond arm around Frankie’s shoulders.

They talk, they eat, and then they talk some more when all that’s left at the bottom of the brown paper bag are tortilla chip crumbs. They talk a little bit about everything, really—the surprisingly pleasant weather these past few days, Bud’s apparent penis problem, Robert being useless at the dishes, and how delicious Del Tacos is. 

And between them, talking about everything is certainly not the same as talking about nothing.

Because even if they’re only talking about the weather or the dishes or the abysmal states of their children’s genitalia, it’s because they enjoy each other’s company enough to implicitly understand that it’s nice to just sit together at the end of a long, hard day and hear each other’s voices.

Because the little things are nice sometimes.

The day-to-day minutiae and routine of living with another person.

Sharing space with them.

Being present.

Being kind.

And in experiencing another’s unadulterated kindness, becoming whole.

When Grace gets salsa on the corner of her pink mouth, Frankie reaches over and thumbs it off with a kind of casual intimacy that was hard won between them, fought for and so lovingly, so painstakingly earned. 

They love each other.

They’ve surpassed the point where they constantly have to say it aloud.

I love you, Frankie says when she takes extra care to clean the dishes just the way that Grace prefers—something Robert Hanson never quite learned after forty goddamn years of marriage.

And I love you, Grace replies when she unthinkingly puts Frankie’s phone on charge because she realizes it’s on four percent, and her friend can’t fall asleep until she’s listened to meditative whale noises on YouTube for an hour.

And I love you, Frankie doesn’t say when she extends her palm to Grace and tells her that they should stargaze tonight because “Saturn’s vibin’ in the sky.”

And I love you, Grace replies when she threads their fingers together so snugly that their rings clink and replies—without sarcasm, without judgment, without weight, “Sure.”

And I love you, they tell each other as they slowly stagger their way out onto the deck, Grace assuming the right cushion and Frankie taking the left, arm in arm until the very last moment when it makes more sense for them to let go, to find their own equilibrium as the sea breeze sweeps gentle fingers through their hair.

The sky is star-freckled tonight, blushing purple and inky blue.

In the natural silence that follows, however, the moon and the stars and the supposedly vibin’ planets don’t particularly captivate Grace’s attention for very long, so she finds herself staring at Frankie, who’s staring off into space, her tall features bathed in amber porch light.

Something has shifted in her expression in the few elapsed moments since they’ve been outside, her thin brow furrowed, a frown threatening to tug at her lips where there had once been an easy smile. Her slender hands are clasped below her chin in a gesture that Grace has come to associate with introspective thoughtfulness, tinged with a kind of subtle melancholy that Frankie has always maintained that she detests and tries to consciously avoid. 

“Frankie… are you—?

“We only fought for two hours this time,” Frankie interrupts softly, nodding towards the outdoor dining table where the Hanson-Bergsteins had yet another disastrous brunch together. (At least no one broke a bone or got hit with a wiffle bat this time.) “Ha, that’s a new record if I’ve ever heard of one!"

But the joke doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and Grace’s heart sinks somewhere beneath her ribcage. It throbs in her uncomfortably full stomach. She had naively assumed that three margaritas in a piece, the two of them could just skip the part where they rehash the day’s events and openly reflect upon them—but she should have known.

These emotional reckonings are Frankie’s chosen form of healing.

She’s always processed better aloud.

“Fighting with you is the most uninspired pastime I can think of doing these days,” Grace tells her truthfully. “I’d rather resolve our conflicts in five minutes than five hours, so we can catch Jeopardy! together without sitting on the couch in passive aggressive silence… I think we’ve reached a point in our friendship where we can do that… yeah?”

The question comes out a little more vulnerably than she would have liked.

Open-ended and hesitant, it requests an equally honest answer.

And while she knows that Frankie has no qualms about being emotionally honest, Grace also innately understands that she has chronically shied away from honesty about all matters pertaining to herself. 

(When she initially told Nick that she wanted to redefine their relationship, she couldn’t have even told herself what the hell she meant either. She supposes she wants to have her cake and eat it, too—to be in a relationship with Nick and go home to Frankie. But maybe that means she doesn’t really love Nick, that she’s just using him for the ample entertainment he provides: the romance, the easy companionship, the sex. And maybe, at the heart of that unsettling hypothesis, she’s just as much of a stone cold bitch as everyone around her seems to think. Her husband is in jail, and she doesn’t lose any sleep about it. In fact, in her queen-sized bed in the beach house she shares with Frankie, she’s slept better than she has in all the many elapsed and miserable weeks since she said, “I do.”)

“Of course!” Frankie exclaims, her brows arching in surprise. “You say tom-ay-to, I say tom-ah-to, and then we kiss and passionately makeup. That’s exactly where we are nowadays.”

“Then why do you still look like a kicked puppy?” Grace asks shrewdly, folding her arms across her chest. “Or like Sol after his supposedly well-trained dog shit in his Birkenstocks.”

“Does being marginally tipsy on tequila count as an acceptable answer?”

“Nope.”

“Fine then and damn,” Frankie sighs, waving a defeated hand around the empty air. “But don’t hold it to me if I’m not making sense, Grace. I’m thinking rabbit trails tonight. And not, like, rabbit trails of criminally-tampered-with poop, but circles and other weird thoughts that don’t seem to be heading anywhere.”

“Hey, I'm not going anywhere—I’ve got all the time in the world to listen,” Grace replies easily, and this is love, too, without ever uttering the word.

Twenty years ago, she did everything short of making up a holiday to not spend a single moment alone in a room with Frankie Bergstein.

And now, she's done everything short of divorcing her husband to ensure that they're never apart.

Frankie's eyes briefly widen in pleasant surprise at this seemingly unexpected gesture, her parenthetically enclosed mouth curving into a gentle smile—tender and sweet.

Lord, she’s beautiful, Grace thinks to herself as Frankie mulls on her next words.

She thinks this at least twice a day and chalks it up to passive jealousy that someone can look so radiant without ever really trying, by just simply being herself.

“Mm, okay... so I was just thinking about how my thing might actually be worse than yours… and you killed my son’s beloved rabbit,” Frankie says bluntly.

And so clearly!

Like she already fully believes it.

Grace blinks rapidly, not entirely computing what she just heard.

“How the hell did you come up with that conclusion?” She asks, nonplussed. “Like you said, I killed your kid’s rabbit and lied about it for some twenty-odd years. You and Sol just played an elaborate game of hooky.”

Frankie looks torn on whether to laugh or shake her head in clear exasperation of Grace not getting it.

“But the ethical jury in the sky isn’t in on me creating a religious holiday just to avoid you,” she protests with a half-smile. “Or even worse, admitting that’s the reason after all these years. I hurt you, Grace, and I don’t wanna hand wave that away just so we can watch Jeopardy! in peace. I want to check in with you and make sure you’re really okay.”

Even after many years of slowly but surely becoming acquainted with Frankie’s uncanny sensitivity to her emotions, somehow, it’s always still a pure shock when Grace is met with the unadulterated and unconditional extent anyway. She’s still unlearning Robert’s idea of emotional care, which largely involved having a stockpile of generic gifts to placate her various moods and whims.

And frankly, she’s not the most empathetic woman of the year herself.

I hurt you, Frankie said candidly and made no attempt to defend herself, to excuse her actions.

I hurt you, she declared, and it was an I love you at the exact same time.

Grace can hardly swallow, her throat a hundred emotions thick. 

“Hey now,” she eventually rasps, “don’t go all revisionist on me now. I was so fucking mean to you. We don’t play wiffle ball anymore at waffle-and-wiffle brunches because I hit you with a bat.”

“You told me there was a bee in my hair,” Frankie rubs the back of her head wistfully. 

“There totally was,” she grins painfully, “but the bat was a highly unnecessary measure.”

“Grace!” Frankie groans. “Don’t get me sidetracked. I’m trying to be real with you here—I wasn’t a saint by any stretch of the imagination! I could be shitty to you, too.”

But Grace firmly shakes her head at this, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her rebuttal already locked, loaded, and innately known to be true.

“Not as often as I was to you, and rarely did you instigate because I’d already started it,” she insists, venom in her voice, raw and undeniable self-loathing. “If I’d been you dealing with me… God, maybe I’d have needed to make up a holiday, too…”

And even as she says it, the uneasiness in her stomach suddenly solidifies into sharp clarity and even crueler pain as she realizes what’s really been bothering her these past few days—a burgeoning feeling that she’s every bit as “harsh” and “vindictive” as Robert told the FBI lady she could be, even though she’s sworn she’s changed, even though she's wanted to be better.

God knows she's tried to be.

Because of Frankie.

Or maybe even for her.

The two reasons are interchangeable in her mind.

“I… I wasn’t like you, Frankie,” she eventually continues, glancing away so she doesn’t have to face the other’s expression—fearing confirmation of all her awful feelings, monstrously craving pity she’s sure she doesn't deserves. “Hell, I’m still not like you. The fact that my ideal marriage includes my husband being in jail more or less proves that.”

Grace Hanson doesn’t tip confused delivery boys thirty-percent after botched deliveries.

She doesn’t make up fantastical stories about magically disappearing bunnies for her kids so they believe in themselves.

She rarely apologizes for her mistakes.

And she makes a hell of a lot of mistakes.

“Robert called me harsh and often vindictive,” she chuckles humorlessly. “Well, I guess he’s got my number almost better than anyone.”

The ensuing silence following this proclamation stretches long and thin, like a tightrope strung precariously taut, and Grace is about to cave in to the temptation of looking at Frankie again when all of a sudden—

“Bullshit!” Frankie exclaims ferociously. “That’s a whole lot of bullshit, Grace Hanson.”

“Frankie, don’t defend—“

But she quickly reaches over and tightly curls her palm over Grace’s spiny knuckles, demanding her attention and getting it.

In so many years and throughout the span of them, she has been the only one to ever truly earn it.

Grace turns her head and finds Frankie’s oceanic eyes inches away from her face, storm-like in their intensity, piercing all over.

“Robert doesn’t get to use the present tense with you because he doesn’t live with you anymore,” Frankie insists when she knows she has Grace, when Grace can no more look away than a rabbit can actually disappear in a hat. “He doesn’t get to see you the way I do. And let's be honest here, I'm not sure he ever really has."

“And how do you see me?” Grace can barely breathe, only dimly aware that this is yet another needy question, one that can only engender a frighteningly vulnerable response.

Her heartbeat quickens.

She feels the exact striation of Frankie’s finger that is resting on the quarter of a million dollar wedding ring Nick bought for her in Vegas.

In the semi-lit darkness, Frankie’s sharply hewn cheeks feather themselves sunset pink. 

Grace blindly assumes it’s the humidity.

“As someone worth discovering,” she murmurs, “and by discovering, understanding that you’re a pretty darn amazing person to love beneath all those expertly erected walls.”

Frankie leans forward then and presses a chaste kiss on Grace’s head, quick and habitual, like she’s done it a hundred times before. Her floral perfume wreathes her like a warm embrace. Beneath the perfume, she smells like acrylic paint and sea breeze and strange but rich incense—complex and earthy and full of so many vibrant notes.

Heat rises to Grace’s face.

This must be the humidity, too.

“Some people don’t get that,” Frankie continues, moving back to her own cushion again, “and that’s their loss. They’ve never had to carve a pretty statue outta stone before, have never had to work on a relationship with you over time.” 

“So what you’re saying is that it takes work to love me, huh?” Grace raises a teasing eyebrow, even though she's not exactly sure that this is the appropriate time and place to make a joke. But the alternative to lightly joking is to internalize the words that Frankie just said, to truly contemplate what it means that there's at least one person in this world who'll wait for her—despite her many walls and damn them.

“It takes work to ever love anybody, really,” Frankie shrugs easily. 

It’s an unsurprisingly sage take—Frankie’s always been good at emotions and relationships and all of the other important and dauntingly human stuff—but it’s also one that gets Grace to thinking about Nick again, about his kindness and his persistence and about his dedication to wanting to make things to work.

She’s beginning to get an inkling of what it might mean that she doesn’t want to meet him halfway, kind and persistent and dedicated though the man might be.

That if she had to choose again between husband and home, there would be no contest.

There would be no hesitation.

So perhaps there are two people in the world who would wait for her, but of those two, Grace knows there's only one whom she would invite to stay.

“Happy Grankiekuh, Frankie,” Grace says, leaning her head against her best friend’s shoulder. “I like discovering you, too.”

“Well, you should! I’m a fucking delight.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Ha, never.”

But in the end, Frankie intertwines their hands together, and the silence of this action is its own unmistakable and resonant reply.

I love you.

Grace Hanson is loved.

[jasonndeans]

strange love - shane “dio” morrissey x reader

word count: 3,986

chapters: one shot

summary: porn with plot...barely. dio is feeling moody, reader is feeling needy. sexy shenanigans ensue.

warnings: knife/blood play, slight degradation, worship, blowjobs, vaginal fingering. if i missed any, let me know!

Dio’s signature trench coat consumed you in its cracked leather leaving you drowning in it -- the pungent scent of cigarettes seemed to be sewn into the fabric, though you didn’t mind; the sleeves hanging well past your fingers and its length causing some nearly fatal falls. That is, only to your dignity. You had to hike the hem of it up like a ballgown to walk around. Usually, Dio got a kick out of this. He’d snicker to himself, allow his softer side to peek through the cracks as he muttered into your hair: “Looks better on you than it does on me, birdie.” It always made your heart flutter.

Tonight, however, he’s not sparing you a passing glance. No, his eyes and mind are someplace else entirely, brooding away under a proverbial thunder cloud beside you on the couch. He gets like this at times, lost in his own world of grandeur. Any other time you’d leave him be, pry a penny for his thoughts. But as of right now...you’d rather his attention be squarely on you.

“Dio,” you call to your zombified boyfriend. Turning to face him, you gauge no reaction and pout to yourself. You try nudging his foot with yours, perching your chin atop his shoulder and whip out the puppy dog eyes. “C’mon, baby, talk to me.”

Finally, he stirs with a sigh, near obsidian eyes catching yours. “Not right now, birdie, ‘m preoccupied.” The hand he rests on your knee as comfort isn’t enough, though. It places an ache in the hollow of your chest when he gets like this, always so engulfed in these dangerous thoughts and ideas about a fresh, new world free of so-called “drones” and their robotic habits. He means well, in his own skewed way. Hell, part of you almost admires it, finds it attractive to see this power hungry leader in him…

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you eye his open palm at your thigh. You won’t be quitting so easily.

Lips stretch into an impish grin when you lean in further to brush them against the exposed skin of Dio’s neck. “Need a distraction, hm?” His pulse speeds up a little at your gentle ministrations, lined eyes slipping shut. Ah-ha. More kisses slowly meet the warmth of his throat. A soft groan of defeat meets your ears, stirring something deep inside you.

“Mmm, not tonight.” He says at last. The rasp in his voice would make you weak at the knees if you were standing. His thumb begins to trace circles onto your thigh in spite of himself and it causes your heart to mimic the stuttered beat of his own.

Victorious, you smile into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck, moving your lips to his ear. “Shane…” you whine.

Dio brings his thumb to a stop, fingers clamping down around your lower thigh. For a moment, your heartbeat pauses, too. You’re met with those piercing eyes that bore into yours, tanned features stony.

“The fuck did you just call me?”

He heard you just fine, you know that. It’s a challenge; you’ve prodded a little too hard. He wants an answer and he wants one now.

Thickly, you swallow the anticipation building in your throat and breathe: “Shane.”

All is quiet then except for your now heavy breathing. Dio’s gone still as a statue for a moment or two. You don’t dare to move, even when he does; rising from his seat your gazes remain locked. His touch has left you but even so you feel a phantom grip...or is that just future bruising?

Raven black hair casts a shadow over his eyes in the dim lighting of your apartment. It makes him look that much more intimidating as he towers over you. “Stand up.” He orders. Your jaw goes slack and you’re a little slow in doing so, because he has to repeat himself. Louder this time. “Stand. Up.”

You jump up like a loaded spring, feeling so much smaller than you normally would when his coat swallows you whole. That won’t be a concern for long, it seems, because Dio’s next command is for you to--

“Take it off.”

No time wasted there. You hurriedly slip black leather from your shoulders and toss it aside which seems to please him. He’s smiling darkly and fuck, it’s so hot.

“Atta girl,” Praise is sweet like honey rolling off his tongue, sending your heartbeat skyrocketing. You fear he can hear its rhythmic thrum as he saunters closer to where you stand, awkwardly awaiting him. He’s mere inches from you now and the gentle graze of his hand along your neck, up to your jaw shoots shivers down each one of your vertebrae with a hissing intake of breath. From Dio, only a curt chuckle. He comes in closer still, strong nose drawing a line from your cheek all the way up to your temple as hot breath heats your face. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, birdie, y’know that?

You say nothing at all. God, you just want him to kiss you. Kiss you hard and hot with his knee between your legs and--

A soft flick slices the silence. Then comes a glint of light. He’s taken out his switchblade. Your eyes follow it much to Dio’s amusement and you swear the closer it comes, the louder your pulse becomes. Its point pokes at your jawline, eliciting a sharp gasp. Dio sneers at your reaction. The bastard. He applies pressure -- not enough to break skin but just enough to get his point across. It moves down across your neck, follows the curvature of your collarbone…

“Bet you’d be even prettier with my name carved into your skin, hm? That way you won’t forget it…” His knife stops at the neckline of your shirt. That made your breath snag in your throat, eyes growing wide. It sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time he’d suggested something so...dissenting to say the very least. You got high off of the rush of being with him; on the run, hand in hand, just the two of you in a parallel world of your own where glares and expectations didn’t mean a damn thing. You were fearless at his side, proud to be the one and only person in this world he so detested he trusted to bring it down with him.

Chest heaving, you nod. Dio flashes a wicked grin and in one swift movement, slices your shirt open one button at a time until you’re exposed to the air, raising goosebumps on your torso. A large hand at your waist, you hear your boyfriend mumble “Fuck it,” as he pockets his blade and pulls you to him, mouths colliding. His free hand dives into your hair and you groan into his hungry lips, each kiss more fervent than the last. You trail your hands down the expanse of his chest and start to tug at his shirt. His skin is hot and smooth to the touch — you want to feel him flush to you, skin to skin, sweat mingling. You revel in feeling his firm torso as he does yours, fingers slipping beneath your open shirt while the cool metal of his rings shock you with chills. Dio damn near rips it from you, and to be honest he might as well now that it’s been rendered useless. Onto the floor it goes. You’re eager for his to join it, roaming higher up and looking for permission with your tongue to deepen your kiss when your wrists are grabbed and your lip is between his teeth.

You’re both breathing like you’ve run a marathon. He’s hardly done anything to you and already you feel a familiar heat begin to bloom where you need him most. He’s staring at you with such a hunger it’s hard to control yourself.

You part your lips to beg, “Di—“

He’s taken your flushed cheeks into his hands, running a thumb along your lower lip. “Shh, shh, shhh…” A laugh sounds in his chest when again, you impatiently tug at his shirt, and shakes his head. “Not yet, birdie.”

Your eyes close as he leans in, bites at your earlobe, wraps a hand around your throat. Christ, his voice alone can soak you, but this…?

“You’re gonna get on your fuckin’ knees...and youre gonna worship me.” Those words are breathed hotly into your ear and you nearly collapse then and there. He’s so close you can feel the growing bulge in his pants poking at you. Dio squeezes your neck — just a bit — and pulls you from your thoughts. “Do I gotta repeat myself?”

You hold his gaze like it’s fucking magnetic and quickly nod.

“Good.”

And he shoves you to your knees.

You busy yourself with undoing his studded belt and ridding him of his dark jeans and boxers. His cock stands tall, presenting his Prince Albert piercing proudly. You take him in your hands and feel him twitch in your grasp, working up his shaft slowly and kissing the underside, licking a stripe up to the head. He growls deliciously from above you and weaves needy fingers into your hair, a wordless hurry up. You place a kiss at the tip and rub your thumb over its opening. Suddenly, he knots his digits into your hair and tugs. You only wince and give him a squeeze at the base before taking his length into your mouth, tasting him, hot and salty against your tongue, then in your throat as he thrust in with a snap of his hips, causing you to gag. You begin to suck him off, taking your time, raking your tongue along the underside. Dio’s throaty groans fuel the fire already burning between your legs, driving your desire to drag them out of him.

“Fuck, baby, shit — you’re so good…fuckin’ suck me dry...”

Your hands grip his thighs, nails creating half moons as they dig into his skin, his grip in your hair making your scalp burn and you moan around his cock. Your tongue runs along a particular vein when you remove your lips, pulling it away and ever so slightly grazing your teeth there. Dio tugs tighter in time with a beautiful stuttered sound of approval that dampens your underwear even further. You yearn so badly for some form of contact there to ease that primal ache, hand moving downward between your legs. He’s far too lost in his own pleasure to realize, right?

Wrong.

Those fingers untangle themselves from your mess of hair and wrap around your jaw with force, jerking your attention upwards, lips and chin glistening with your own spit.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His chiding takes a dangerous tone that makes your blood icy and your growing need hotter. “Make me cum with that mouth of yours ‘n I’ll think about giving you what you want.” A light slap lands on your cheek as your cue to continue.

Again, you take him right down to the hilt, nose nestled in dark curls as you moan around the most sensitive part of him. Dio rolls his hips deliciously into the heat of your mouth, giving you hardly any time to relax your throat. You’re given no choice but to find your rhythm and find it fast while your throat is fucked with such a vigor. Your nipples are growing harder and your pussy wetter by the minute, breathing raggedly through your nose and it doesn’t help with the filthy obscurities spilling from your boyfriend’s mouth:

“Ah, shit, baby, that’s it — that’s it...fuck! Pretty little mouth feels so fuckin’ good…! Mm—“ He rambles on like that for a few minutes more, you don’t think you can take the persistent urge in your abdomen much longer.

Dio takes another painful fistful of your hair, thrusts becoming erratic until coming to a sudden stop as relief finds him and shoots down your throat, flooding your tongue with the taste of him. “Fuuuuck,” rumbles from his chest, fingers loosening. “Good…that’s my good girl.”

You swallow what you can, though stray drops leave your lips and dribble down your chin when you pull away. Your hand raises to wipe it clean when it’s caught by a larger one adorned with rings. Dio pulls you from your knees and tugs you into him with a satisfied smirk and swipes his thumb across your chin, collecting his cum and pushing it past your swollen lips. You get the message and wrap them around it, swirl your tongue to clean it all.

Gently, he cups your face with that same hand as though he hadn’t just fucked your face breathless and holds your stare. His eyes have taken on a much warmer hue, one that reminds you of molten dark chocolate. “Hey,” he murmurs. You feel the hand at the small of your back travel up your spine and unclasp your bra. The straps fall from your shoulders and Dio tosses it behind him carelessly. It’s not the first time you’ve been exposed to him this way, but you can’t help but feel heat in your cheeks (among other areas) with the way those attentive eyes devour your half naked frame. His lips press firmly against yours, tongue delving into your mouth to taste himself. You mewl against him and reach to tug him closer still but to your dismay, he’s retreated. “Go ahead ‘n lay down for me, birdie.”

What choice do you have other than to oblige?

Still dressed in your jeans and underwear, you find your way to your couch and lay back longways, feeling bashful as you awkwardly strike what’s meant to be a sexy pose. Dio chuckles at this, clearly endeared, but even clearer are his intentions for you. He hasn’t forgotten the promise he’d made, retrieving his switch. You swallow to see him towering over you and moisten your cotton-filled throat at the sight of him now tugging off his thread-worn shirt. God, he was pretty. The many scars strewn about his torso always did remind you of incomplete constellations, waiting to be connected by your tender touch, dotted with kisses. You’re about to complain about your current state of dress when he leans over you, chains dangling, to do away with your pants with a rough tug, taking your underwear down with them. You’re embarrassed at the gasp this causes until you’re face to face with Dio again, his weight on his palms resting beside your arms, knees on either side of your leg with one in between.

“Now, let’s see…” He drawls, knife glinting in low light as it’s brought down to the tendons in your neck. No pressure, but the touch of it alone in your skin is enough to send a current racing through you. His eyes admire the view of you as they search, tongue swiping across his lips and settles on a spot above your left breast. “…Here?” A kiss lands there and you’re sure he felt your heart leap. You make a small noise in your throat. “What was that?”

The way he looks up at you through dark lashes makes you melt. You can only nod. His smile in return is wicked.

Dio adds pressure to the point of the blade and drags it down, creating a crisp line of crimson. You suck in a breath when the pain hits, dragging his gaze up to you to confirm you’re alright. You give yourself a moment and nod again, toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck to prod him along. So he continues, completing the first letter and allowing you a break after each one. It stings, but it hurts so good and goddammit you love the idea of being marked by him as much as he does. His tongue laps at the drops of blood flowing down your breast, his cock erect and twitching as he relishes in the metallic taste. He then circles your nipple, flicks it with the tip of his tongue and takes it between skilled lips and sucks lightly. You whine and press your head back against the arm of the couch, slicker still in your sensitive folds as he expertly teases you. He massages the one left unattended with warm fingers, tweaking the bud between his index finger and thumb. Your fingernails scratch behind his neck and he hums at the sensation, drawing one from you, too, in harmony.

He pulls back, kissing your lips this time, accepting your tongue when you offer it. The taste of your blood still resides and it turns you on even more (as if that were possible). Your arms encircle him, locked lips and lingering blood making your mind hazy, calves hooking around his waist. You want him as close as humanly possible. You need him. He knows what he does to you and he fucking loves it. No matter how much you whine, so do you.

“Aw,” huffs Dio, his fringe tickling your forehead. “You a little needy, sweetheart?”

You push your lip out at him, deflating and he laughs. The rare sound of it makes your stomach flip. In response, you move your hips against him, desperate for any kind of friction there.

Dio flips his switchblade closed and with it still in hand, lowers it, pressing the handle into your clit in tiny circles.

Surprised, you cry out with eyes screwed shut, your back creating an arch, breasts pressing against the firmness of your boyfriend’s chest. “Ohh…” you whimper pathetically. “Dio.” To which he chuckles and cruelly stops the movement to do away with the weapon. You want to beg him again, you know damn well that’s what he wants to hear, but his fingers dip back down and one sinks into you. “Oh!” You could cry at how good that felt, grabbing his shoulder blades and burying your face into his neck.

“Oh, birdie,” he croons, moving his finger out and then back in, then again. “You’re so fucking wet for me already, aren’t you?” In contrast with the tone he’s taken, Dio’s hand moves harsher now, his palm coming into contact with your clit every time he enters you knuckle-deep, slow but shallow. He groans appreciatively as his hand becomes slick and nips at your neck. You swear your grip on him could draw blood; you nearly sob as he fingers you so fucking good, feeding what’s been stirring inside you for what feels like ages now. “I know, baby, I know…” There’s a pause, but only for a moment, so he can add a second and curls the two; the pads of his fingers strike a spot inside you akin to lighting a fuse. He picks up the pace now, sharp jaw of his taut in focus. Until now, you’ve been so deprived, that red hot ball of pressure has gone white — you’re going to snap, you’re going to…

He stops. That bastard, he stops. Right when you’re at the edge. You whimper up at him to see the same fingers in his mouth, tasting you as you had him.

“Mmm…” He hums, making your cheeks heat up, moving to hover above you. Your noses brush, broad hands once again exploring your body — soon to be scars of his name — and he kisses you again. And again. And again.

“Baby,” you manage between kisses, pulling him nearer behind his neck. “Please.”

Dio stops at your throat, wrapping fingers around it with a harsh squeeze. “Say it.” It’s a demand, not a request. He lowers his tone to a low whisper, “I want…to hear how you want me to fuck you. Tell me.”

Your breaths have gone uneven again, shallow with his hand around your neck. “Dio—I-I want you to…please make me cum.” Dizzy. Your vision’s a blur of red and pure lust.

He only grips harder. “You want me to fuck you so fuckin’ hard you remember my name like the slut you are, hm? That what you wanted all along?”

You squeak out your response, practically writing: “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

His lips quirk and he takes a moment to properly align himself, pressing the head in slowly, sweetly in a hiss of breath when he’s fully sheathed.

The noise you make is shameless, only to be cut off when Dio enters you again with his fingers around your windpipe, free hand tangled with yours. His movements are rough and quick and just what you wanted. His cock fills you perfectly, deliciously despite the crass sounds filling your small apartment.

“You look so. Fucking. Good like this for me, birdie,” His thrusts punctuate each word, hips meeting yours every time as he fills you up fully, muscles in his arm flexing. “Got my name on you so everyone can see you’re mine,” he growls. “You love my hand around your throat, sweetheart, I know you do…so pretty…so fuckin’ pretty for me…” He’s glowing with a thin layer of sweat and looking so beautiful as he fucks you into the cushions, hair in his eyes that never once leave yours. The pain etched onto your chest, the pleasure and pressure building, all for him, all because of him. You can’t get enough and you don’t know if you ever will.

“Dio, I-I want to…ah! K-kiss you…”

He leans into the pull of your hand behind his neck, abandoning your hand to haul you flush to him. You grip his shoulders and he kisses you hotly with an open mouth, swallowing your sounds as you do his; they’re addictive to taste, to hear — knowing he wants to give himself all to you, too. Rebuild a world with you. Dio turns your head to the side, hissing into your ear: “Turn around.”

So you do, him inside you as you maneuver onto your knees. Dio’s hand doesn’t leave your neck, his chest to your back and hips snapping back into motion, smacking your ass as he fucks you mercilessly. His words form between clenched teeth and animalistic growls, able to now bite and suck at your neck at this angle. Now, his cock is able to hit just where you need it to. Your mouth is agape and when his fingers again find your clit you’re unable to hide your sob.

“D-Dio—! God, I’m going to—!”

They leave that bundle of nerves as quick as they’d found it, instead cracking his open palm against your ass. “What was that, baby? Hm?” His fingers are for sure leaving bruises at your neck.

Your moan is loud though it strains from the pressure and he fucking revels in feeling the vibrations. “Ah, fuck, Dio I’m gonna c-cum! Please, please, baby…!” Roughly, he runs circles into your clit. That’s what pushes you over the edge and you scream what he’s wanted you to all along. “Dio!” Your orgasm shakes you as you come undone around him; his arms hold you up and he fucks you through it. You’re an incoherent mess, oversensitive, dazed and then Dio follows suit with a strangled groan of your name.

His hand falls and the two of you linger in the moment, breathing each other’s scent. Dio peppers your neck and shoulder with kisses and lays you down over him, couch cushions sinking beneath your combined weight. You feel languid and heavy and at peace all at once, hearing Dio’s heartbeat as you lay there perfectly content on his chest, a mess of tangled limbs and hips fitting together like a puzzle. His lips are at your forehead, fingers drawing patterns on your bare back. You’re about to fall asleep when…

“Birdie,”

“Hm…?”

“We oughta patch that up, don’t you think?”

“Huh?” Your eyes fall to where his name now sits on your breast. “Oh…” You chuckle lazily.

So does he.

“Looks good on you.”