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marcyvamp1re-blog · 2 months ago

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pt.4 SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

synopsis ⸺ In a Gotham steeped in darkness, Bruce Wayne confronts a past resonating with secrets. As he uncovers the identity of an enigmatic antiheroine, he will discover hidden truths that will stain his legacy. Blood, a symbol of betrayals, intertwines with his fate, revealing that darkness dwells within him as well.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, tw.noncon, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I took a long time because I went on vacation, I wasn’t inspired, I had a lot of things to catch up on, and blah blah blah. The good thing is that I brought part 4, and just so you know, there are about four or five more parts of the story, maybe more.

I'm dirty, infinitely dirty,

this is why I scream so much

about purity.

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the memories and the silence that now inhabited that room. Every corner of that space reminded him of his daughter's presence, a presence that had been fragile and ephemeral, like smoke disappearing between fingers. He looked at the diplomas and trophies on the shelves, those small proofs of her effort and dedication. He caressed them with the same reverence he used when going through old photographs, searching for something, anything, that would tell him he had done enough, that he had been a good father.

But he only saw the same emptiness in her eyes that he had known since childhood. She resembled him more than he would have imagined. In her dull gaze, in her absent smile, he recognized the same pain that had accompanied him after his parents' death. He realized, almost bitterly, that this darkness was an inheritance, a shadow he had left in her without realizing it.

Bruce ran his fingers over an old photo from her first birthday after losing his mother. That day, Alfred had secretly taken her to Metropolis in a desperate attempt to give her some happiness. But even at the amusement park, where laughter and noise were contagious, her face remained a vacant mask. She wasn’t really smiling, as if something inside her knew she would never have the normalcy that other children enjoyed.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce rested his head on the pillow that had been hers, wanting to cling to the scent of his daughter. But there was no trace of her aroma left. Alfred, in an act of rigor that Bruce couldn’t understand, had eliminated any trace of her, perhaps trying to close a wound that Bruce was unwilling to let heal. He had reproached Alfred for hours and hours for erasing that last vestige of his daughter. But Alfred’s look, serious and filled with silence, told him what he already knew: maybe he didn’t deserve to keep those memories because he had failed to protect the person he loved most.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the pain of each thought that emerged from that dark room. Everything reminded him that, somehow, he was responsible for his daughter's disappearance, as if his own shadows had consumed her. In his mind, images of what he could have done differently began to surface, a parade of possibilities where he was a better father, more attentive and less blind to her suffering.

Suddenly, Titus and Alfred the Cat entered together through the door, coming in silently, as if they understood the weight of that moment. Titus approached Bruce, resting his massive head on his knee, while Alfred the Cat jumped onto Bruce's lap, purring softly. Bruce petted the dog and the cat, finding in them the only comfort that seemed left to him. His voice trembled when, in an almost delirious tone, he confessed to them:

"Maybe I’m the real killer here. What kind of father lets his daughter get lost in the dark? What kind of monster was I that I never saw her pain? If she’s dead… if my little girl has left this world… then I am the only one responsible."

He paused, breathing heavily, as the words he wanted to suppress escaped his lips in a bitter and disturbing whisper. "Sometimes I wish I had… had stopped her mother. If she hadn’t been… if I had raised her from the beginning… I could have saved her from so much pain."

The words, though spoken in a barely audible murmur, weighed heavily in the room. He caressed the pillow, almost pleading for the past to change, for every mistake to be undone. The cat purred softly, as if understanding the pain Bruce was trying to stifle deep in his chest. Titus looked at him with eyes full of loyalty, without judging him, but not offering the redemption he desperately sought.

"I would give anything for a second chance," he whispered, his voice broken. "I would give my life to undo every moment that made her drift away. I would give anything to see her smile again, even if it were just once… even if it were just to tell her how sorry I am."

The house was silent, and in that instant, Bruce understood that there were no words, no time, no strength that could change the past. He was trapped in an abyss of guilt, with only shadows and memories now haunting him, reflecting his own empty and broken face.

Finally, he could no longer contain himself. Feeling the emptiness in his chest, tears began to fall onto the pillow, soaking it with his pain, as if the weight of his own guilt slid out in every sob he tried to stifle. His face was buried in the memory of his daughter, lost in the pain that tormented him with an intensity he could no longer bear.

It was then that Damian entered, dressed as Robin, with his katana stained with a dark red liquid that could be nothing other than blood, with a sharp and direct arrogance, breaking the silent mourning of Bruce. Coldly, he looked at his father and pronounced, almost with disdain, "No matter how much you cry like a whore, Y/N won’t come back."

Bruce looked up, surprised and hurt, but before he could respond, Damian continued with the same hardness. "While everyone was out in a gang like a bunch of lowlifes and came back empty-handed, I found something you didn’t even bother to look for while lying here like a cheap whore." Damian looked at him with a mix of disappointment and reproach, as if he couldn’t understand how his father had let so many signs slip by.

"Did you know? I had a relationship with Ivy, that old woman who had the indecency to date my little sister while being an old hag. Plus, she worked as a waitress in some bar wearing little clothes to survive. Like some common bitch. And the last time, she was seen in the subway, with a strange man with psychiatric crazy vibes... surely another one that slipped away while you were lying here." Damian’s words were blows to Bruce, each revelation a testament to how much he had let slip away.

Damian continued, each phrase laden with resentment and questions. "Why did she have to work? Why did she, the daughter of the renowned multimillionaire Bruce Wayne, the masked hero of Gotham, have to depend on a miserable paycheck that didn’t even cover the end of the month? And the subway, father, did she really have to take the subway like any unknown person in this city?"

Bruce looked down, unable to respond. Each of those questions was a dagger reminding him how far he had been from understanding his own daughter. He had ignored, or perhaps never wanted to see, the sacrifices she made to survive, the paths she took in search of something he had never given her. Now, with Damian's words filling the silence, Bruce realized he had condemned his daughter to the same fate he was trying to combat on the streets.

Damian watched him, his gaze cold and critical, as the room filled with a tense silence. For the first time, Bruce understood that perhaps he was never the hero he thought he was, and that in his attempt to protect everyone, he had failed to protect the one who needed him the most.

Bruce felt anger bubbling inside him, intensifying with each word that left Damian's lips. "How dare you come in here and say that? You weren’t a brother to her, you weren’t there when she needed you the most," he shot back, his voice echoing in the room like dark thunder. The image of his daughter intertwined with his rage, each contained tear now fueling his fury.

Damian frowned, unrestrained. "That's how I show my affection; you should be used to it," he retorted disdainfully, recalling that moment when he arrived at the mansion, he had stabbed Y/N with his katana. "I did what I had to do, and I don’t have to accept your reproaches. Everyone failed Y/N, even you."

"Don’t try to blame others for your own failures!" Bruce shouted, frustration filling every corner of his being. "You weren’t there, Damian. You can’t always hide behind your arrogance."

Damian crossed his arms, his defiant attitude unbreakable. "And what if I wasn't? At least I didn’t hide behind a mask of sadness. Better stop reproaching me and listen to what I have for you." He stepped closer, pulling out a half-open old cardboard box. "I brought you a gift."

Bruce looked at him suspiciously. "What is it now?"

"I went looking for Selina, but she slipped away like a scared kitten," Damian said, mocking the situation. "A waste of time, but I found Ivy in Arkham. She said little about Y/N, which annoyed me, so… well, here you go." He opened the box slowly, revealing Poison Ivy's head, the fresh blood still dripping from the edges.

Her face, once beautiful, was now serene, with pale skin and a touch of green that evoked her connection to nature. Her normally vibrant red hair now fell messily around her face, while her eyes, closed forever, seemed almost at peace, as if she had found a breath in the chaos she once inhabited.

Bruce felt as if the world had stopped. There was no horror in his gaze, only an emptiness where anger and sadness collided. "What have you done?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but resignation permeated every word. The life of his daughter, the decisions he had made and what that meant now overwhelmed him.

Damian shrugged. "She was a monster, just like all of us. What matters is that now you have something tangible, something you can show."

"What kind of family are we?" Bruce let slip, feeling defeated. "This family is a failure."

"Oh, so it turns out we’ve been a family all this time?" Damian replied, scornful, but his tone was less certain.

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling the discomfort of the situation. "Take me to the apartment where she lived," he said, his voice enigmatic and cold. It was a request that resonated with the gravity of what he had lost, an echo of what he had failed to protect. As Damian looked at him with surprise and a hint of concern, Bruce knew that the truth he would face in that place was beyond any form of redemption. The darkness that had invaded his life was about to be confronted, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what he would find.

As Bruce and Damian prepared to leave, Titus and Alfred the Cat watched them from a distance. The dog remained alert, his ears perked, as if he could sense the tension looming in the air. His instinct told him that something grave was about to happen. Alfred, with his wise and sharp gaze, seemed to share the same unease, his eyes fixed on the men who were heading toward the dark fate they had chosen.

As Bruce and Damian headed for the door, Titus stepped forward, his expression a mix of concern and determination. It was as if he were trying to convey a silent message, a call to reason that his owners could not hear amid their emotional turmoil. Alfred the Cat, with his elegant stride, approached Bruce and rubbed his head against his leg, seeking comfort for the hero who seemed on the brink of losing himself even further in the darkness.

Turning around, Bruce felt a pang in his heart. He looked at his animals, those innocent beings who had always been there to offer him companionship, and realized that they were aware of what was about to come. In a world where violence and betrayal lurked around every corner, their departure was the beginning of something much darker.

With one last look, Bruce found himself in Titus's eyes, reflecting a mix of loyalty and worry. It was as if the dog knew that the decision they were making would not only affect them but would also drag others into a chaos from which they could not escape.

Damian, impatient, had already crossed the threshold, but Bruce paused for one more moment. "I’m sorry," he murmured, although he was not sure to whom he was really addressing: whether to the animals who looked at him with eyes full of wisdom or to himself for the path he had chosen.

However, it was already too late to turn back. With one last glance at the room where it all began, and at the animals who looked at him with concern, Bruce stepped into the dark world that awaited them, unaware that soon, everything would get worse. The air was charged with ominous anticipation, and the feeling that tragedy loomed over them like a shadow, deep and inevitable.

You lay on the bed, your body still heavy from the forced encounter, thoughts fluttering in your mind like butterflies trapped in a net. The room was enveloped in an unsettling gloom, the air thick with a tension that could not be ignored. Beside you, he breathed with a calm that contrasted with the whirlwind inside you. There was no name, no face to remember; it was just him, the one who had kidnapped you and made you his own, a figure who had taken your life and distorted it at will.

As you stared at the ceiling, the silence became a mirror of your thoughts. Rage and hatred toward your family surged within you, feelings that had once seemed so distant. They didn’t understand you, they hadn’t been there to protect you, and now, in this strange intimacy, you found yourself wishing to be with him more than with them. Confusion engulfed you; on one hand, there was a part of you longing for affection and acceptance, while on the other, there was a strange pleasure in the situation, a desire to escape the life that had caused you so much suffering.

Despite everything, you missed your mother. Her laughter, her hugs, the way she always knew how to calm your fears. But that maternal figure was slowly fading from your memory, drowned by the anguish of betrayal and loneliness. You found yourself trapped between the desire to remember the good and the hatred toward the past that had brought you here.

As the room remained silent, a dark and almost self-destructive impulse took hold of you. With trembling movements, you picked up a sharp object and pressed it against your skin, feeling a sting that was both physical and emotional. In that moment, you thought about the irony of your situation: you had lost control of your life, and in seeking an escape, you chose to hurt yourself.

The duality of your feelings was heartbreaking. On one hand, you yearned for freedom, to reclaim your identity and the love that had been taken from you. On the other, there was a part of you that felt alive in this new relationship, a twisted connection that kept you captive. The internal struggle manifested in every thought and every action, revealing the complexity of your situation.

You remembered moments from his life, the wounds he carried, and the pain he had faced. Had Bruce ever been so lost, so filled with sadness that he had to do the unthinkable to feel something? The idea that the man you admired could also have been vulnerable struck you like a revelation. You wondered if he had ever cried in solitude, questioning his place in the world, if he had ever felt so trapped in his own life.

As you touched your stomach, an old pain resurfaced. There, beneath the skin, was a scar, a reminder of the time Damian had hurt you with his katana, an act that had been both an attack and a cry of desperation. The brush of your fingers over the wound, although healed, still brought memories of suffering and betrayal, a deep connection intertwined with the pain you felt now. The scar was a metaphor for your life: a wound that would never fully heal, a reminder that pain is part of your existence.

Tears fell more forcefully as you thought about how your family’s decisions, rivalries, and chaos had influenced your life. Bruce, with his constant struggle against the shadows of his past, was a reflection of what you could have been: strong, determined, but also broken and lost. In that moment, you felt just like him, entangled in a cycle of suffering and confusion.

You allowed yourself to cry, feeling that perhaps in that vulnerability there was some freedom. It was a relief, an act of resistance in the midst of the oppression that surrounded you. As the outside world faded away, the pain of the scar became a reminder that, despite everything, there was still a part of you yearning to break free, wanting to escape this darkness. And amid that sadness, one thought grew stronger: perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to find your path again.

The man let go of your cheek and, with a casual gesture, lit a cigarette, the smoke dancing in the air like shadows in the dim light of the room. His eyes, fixed on you, had a dangerous intensity. "Do you see this?" he said, exhaling the smoke slowly. "Now you are stained, like Gotham. You’ve been in the mud, and it’s your duty to clean yourself up. This is just the beginning."

He looked at you with a twisted smile, an expression that mixed amusement and dominance. "You have to understand that you can’t escape from what you are. The city is a reflection of yourself. And like Gotham, you too need to be purified." With a sudden movement, he offered you the cigarette. "Smoke. It will help you forget the tears."

You hesitated, but his eyes challenged you, a clear message that there was no room for denial. With a mix of fear and despair, you brought the cigarette to your lips, feeling its bitterness touch your tongue. "Don’t make me repeat myself," he said, his voice a cold whisper. "I want you to feel the poison, just like the city does. You are part of it now, and you must accept your role."

The pressure of his words overwhelmed you, each syllable a reminder of your distorted reality. "But why me?" you stammered, feeling desperation twisting inside you. "Why do I have to be part of this?"

"Because there is no choice," he replied with disdain. "There never was. Every day, every decision you made has led you here. Weakness is not an option. Look around you; Gotham has no place for the weak. If you want to survive, you need to get your hands dirty. And believe me, there is a lot of blood to clean up."

Your heart raced as you inhaled the smoke, the burning filling your lungs and leaving a feeling of emptiness. "What do you want from me?" you asked, feeling the power he had over you strangling you.

"I just want you to accept your new place. I want you to understand that in this world, death and destruction are inevitable. There is no redemption for the stained, but you can try to fix it… in your own way."

He trapped you in a dark cycle of thoughts, where each of his words echoed in your mind like a terrifying echo. You knew he was playing with you, manipulating your emotions. "If you don’t clean yourself, you will suffer the consequences. And if you cry for her again, I promise you will pay for it," he said, tightening his grip on your arm.

As the smoke dissipated into the air, the feeling of being trapped became more palpable. You found yourself between acceptance and internal struggle, but deep down, you knew you had to find a way out. However, the darkness around you grew more intense, and each of his words was another chain binding you to this fate you had not chosen.

The air thickened as he exhaled smoke, the room filling with a gray fog that seemed to reflect the chaos in your mind. He looked at you with an intensity that overflowed with obsession, a strange mix of affection and dominance that enveloped you. Despite the tears running down your face, you felt no sadness or fear. You had passed the stage of terror; now you felt strangely alive, almost liberated in your pain.

"My dear," he said in a soft yet authoritative voice, "you must not see this as a punishment. It is a purification. Gotham needs someone who understands its pain, and you are the chosen one." He leaned closer to you, his hot breath on your skin. "You are like a spark in this darkness, and together we can illuminate it. You just have to let the poison flow through you. With each tear, you are cleansing the city."

As he held you, the contact between the two of you was electric, and a part of you began to understand his madness, the way he had woven his dreams of greatness and purification through your own desires for belonging. "Did you know my mother was in Arkham?" he continued, as if sharing a special secret. "She was stained too. In her mind, she fought demons that no one else could see, just like you now. And look where she ended up: trapped in her own memories, in her own shadows."

The revelation hit you. A fragment of pain resurfaced, intertwining with the new knowledge. "What… what happened to her?" you asked, your voice trembling. It wasn’t sadness you felt; it was curiosity to know that story that had remained hidden.

"She got lost in the darkness of Gotham, just like everyone else," he said with contempt. "But that doesn’t have to be your destiny. You are stronger. My mother let herself be consumed by her madness, but you… you can take control. Let me guide you."

You fell silent, contemplating his words. The tears continued to fall, but now they were just a part of you, a manifestation of the internal struggle. You knew you were trapped in a dangerous game, but there was something in his promise of power and control that began to seduce you.

"So cry if you need to," he said, caressing your cheek with a touch that was both gentle and threatening. "But don’t let those tears weaken you. Every time you feel the urge to cry for her, remember what you are. Remember that the city needs someone like you to cleanse it of the filth."

"How can I do that?" you asked, feeling the echo of his words resonate in your mind. "How can I clean something so deeply rooted in darkness?"

"With determination," he answered firmly, his eyes shining with a mix of fervor and madness. "You must learn to see the beauty in chaos. There is power in pain. With every action you take, with every decision you make, you will be purifying Gotham of its own decay. And I will be by your side, guiding you. Together, we will be unstoppable."

As you absorbed his words, a strange sense of purpose began to take shape within you. Although his love was perverse, there was something in his vision that resonated with you, as if you were destined to fulfill that role. As the smoke from the cigarette faded into the air, so too did your fears, leaving only a cold and clear determination: you were going to take control of your destiny, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

"No! I don’t want you to go!" shouted little Y/n, clinging to her mother's handbag with the desperation of someone who knows something important is about to slip away.

Her mother, a blonde woman with a tired gaze, let out a sigh of impatience. Y/n couldn't quite remember her face, but she knew it hardened at the tug on her bag, and without thinking, she pushed the girl, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud. Y/n looked up from below, her big eyes reflecting a mix of fear and pain.

"Stop being silly, Y/n," her mother murmured, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice. She leaned down, trying to smile, but the coldness in her eyes betrayed her. "You know I have to do this... for both of us. Everything I do is for you, even if you don’t understand it now."

The girl nodded slowly, but inside, she felt the truth—that repeated phrase was just a curtain. She knew there was something broken in her mother, something she was too young to fully comprehend but sensed in every harsh gesture, in every bitter word that hung in the air. Something that made her feel alone, even when they were together.

Her mother straightened up, adjusting the bag as if it weighed tons. She raised a hand in a mechanical farewell, and without another word, she left through the door without looking back.

Days passed in a haze of silence and dry tears. Y/n had no idea how much time had passed since her mother left, leaving the echo of her footsteps as the only reminder of her presence. Hugging herself, she spent the nights waiting for some familiar sound that never came.

When she finally opened her eyes, she realized her surroundings had completely changed. She was no longer at home; she was sitting in a cold, unfamiliar room, with gray walls and flickering lights dimly overhead. In the distance, she could hear whispering voices.

"How is it possible that someone left such a small child alone?" It was the firm, serious voice of a man. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she distinguished a police badge on the man's uniform. It read Commissioner Gordon.

Next to him, a red-haired woman spoke in a low voice. "Dad, you can't be sure. Maybe it was just a lie. You know how her mother was: a history of psychiatric hospitals and drugs at home. How do we know she didn't make up the story about Wayne?"

"Barbara, we have evidence that doesn't lie," Gordon replied coldly, his tone tinged with disdain. "We know the paternity test is real."

The girl felt the world sway around her. She listened to every word and felt each comment like a dagger sinking deeper into her chest. Those adults, figures of authority and trust, spoke of her mother as if she were little more than a mistake, something despicable that had left scars on her life. Sitting there, hidden behind a wall and hugging her knees, tears returned to her eyes, a mix of sadness and a terrifying understanding of what it meant to be alone in the world.

"Do you really think someone like that should have had a child in her care?" Barbara said from her wheelchair, her tone full of contempt. "She was probably just looking for easy money, manipulating everyone she could."

Commissioner Gordon frowned, clearly uncomfortable. "Barbara, that's not fair! Even if she didn’t lead the best life, she was still a citizen like anyone else, and she had the right to rebuild her life. No one is perfect."

From her corner, Y/n tried to cover her ears, but Barbara's words were impossible to ignore.

"I can't believe it, Dad. How could anyone in their right mind have left a child in the hands of that woman?" Barbara said with a cold, almost poisoned voice. "Someone who clearly had drug addiction problems and who was in and out of psychiatric hospitals. I bet she didn’t even know who the real father was."

Each word made Y/n's chest tighten even more. Her mind screamed silently: Stop! Please stop saying that about her! Her small hands trembled as she remembered the moments she had spent with her mother. Her mother, who although had those dark days and her brusque manner, had fed her, tucked her in, and cared for her as best as she could. Despite her mistakes, she had been her mother, and that was all Y/n could understand.

But Barbara’s words kept filling the room, like a storm of resentment. "I don't know how Bruce can even be involved in something like this. That woman was a burden to everyone. I can't imagine anyone worse as a mother."

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block it out. It's not true. She’s not bad. She took care of me. We didn’t have much, but she always tried to be there for me. But no matter how hard her thoughts tried to silence the pain, Barbara's words left deep scars, increasingly difficult to heal.

As Y/n remained there, her tears already dry, her thoughts twisted in her mind like threatening shadows. She heard the echoes of Barbara's cruel words and Gordon's, and a silent resentment grew in her chest, almost like a slow poison. She tried to remember the good moments with her mother, but the dark thoughts seemed to drown them out. She was good, she was good... No, you can't say that about her... But those same thoughts tangled with hate and confusion, and the pain grew stronger.

Suddenly, everything turned white. The walls, the voices, the cold metal chair beneath her legs... everything disappeared into a blinding void that enveloped every corner of her mind. And then, there was only her, standing in that white abyss, with a strange weight on her shoulders and in her hands.

She looked down and saw a white armor, shining as if made of shards of moon and shadow. It covered her body completely, with firm, polished plates that fit like a second skin, protecting every part of her. The gauntlets were solid, with sharp and detailed edges, and in her hands, she wielded two katanas whose blades reflected that void like deadly mirrors.

The design of the armor was imposing and terrifying. The helmet resembled a bat, with long pointed ears extending upward, and a dark V-shaped visor that barely revealed her eyes. The lines that ran across her chest and arms formed the silhouette of folded wings, as if that bat awaited to unfold at any moment. The chest was engraved with fine black details, resembling veins radiating dark power. In the center, a small emblem in the shape of a black teardrop contrasted with the radiant white of the armor, like a mark of pain and sacrifice.

In the dim light of the void where she stood, Y/n felt the weight of the katanas in her hands as if they were extensions of her own being. In that moment, the white armor fit her like a comforting embrace, a reminder of the power she now possessed. She looked at herself in a non-existent reflection, feeling that every part of her being was ready to act, to reclaim what she had lost.

With a tremor of emotion and a palpable obsession, she held them to her chest, hugging them tightly. Words flowed from her lips, laden with a burning, almost manic desire: "Soon you will be mine... I will go home. I will be my little girl again."

The echo of her voice resonated in the white void, vibrating with the intensity of her longing. In her mind, an image formed of a home, a place where shadows no longer lurked and where her mother, though imperfect, would be able to embrace her once more. The idea of being together again, of transforming her pain into power, filled her with a fierce determination.

"I will come back for you," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of tears and a crazed smile. "Nothing will stop me. I promise." The choked laughter turned into a murmur of echoes, resonating in the abyss like a sinister promise, as the world around her began to fade again, leaving her alone with her obsession and her new identity.

In the silence, whispers began to rise, soft at first, but increasingly insistent. One word repeated, muted yet burning, like a spark in the shadows.

The word reverberated in the void, growing more intense, like a kind of dark mantra. And when Y/n could barely bear the weight of those voices, one final phrase emerged, chilling and final:

"Death is the ultimate prize."

You walked through the halls of the old apartment block, your white armor shining in the dim light, like a bat defying the embrace of the night. The echoes of your heels resonated, a dark song reverberating in the solitude of the worn walls.

Your figure, sculpted in gleaming metal, was a silhouette of elegance and mystery, as you hummed a forgotten melody, slipping between the shadows like a whisper of the forbidden. Each step was a heartbeat in the silence, a chilling reminder that there is still life in abandonment.

The portraits on the walls watched you, empty eyes that seemed to come alive, as you moved with the grace of a specter, a macabre dance of light and shadow at dusk.

The doors, worn and creaking, whispered secrets of past stories, and you, guardian of those forgotten tales, advanced fearlessly, seeking what was left behind.

You were an enigma, a reflection of the lost, a shadow walking, dressed in white, in a world clinging to its demons, where the past and present intertwine in a lethal embrace, and the night waits, eager for your return.

You paused before the door of one of the apartments, its frayed wood opening like an abyss, a dark invitation that defied logic. The silence became thick, almost palpable, and the echo of your humming faded, leaving a void that swallowed the darkness.

The threshold awaited you, a portal to the unknown, and a cold breeze, laden with whispers, caressed your skin like a lost lover. Inside, the shadows seemed to come alive, a palace of echoes and laments, where time had woven a web.

Your heart raced, a mix of adrenaline and challenge, as you gently pushed the door. It creaked in protest, like an old ghost, and when it opened, revealed an abandoned world, furniture covered in dust, with withered memories.

The remnants of a past life crowded every corner, and a scent of decay floated in the air, but something more, a glimpse of presence, urged you to enter, to explore the hidden. You peered in, and the dimness embraced you, as if the apartment claimed you as its own.

Each step on the creaky floor was an act of daring, and the walls seemed to murmur forgotten secrets, stories of betrayed loves and lost souls. In the center of the room, a dark, diffuse, and shadowy figure formed among the shadows, like an echo of your own existence, a reflection of what could have been.

You stood still, breath held in the abyss of the moment, the half-open door, a threshold to your destiny, and the silence, now laden with promises, stripped you of fears, leaving only the certainty that in that space, you faced the echoes of your own darkness.

As you advanced, your eyes fixed on a dusty, worn wooden box resting on the small dining table. Something about it drew you in, as if it held a dark secret. You approached and, with trembling hands, opened it. Inside, horror was revealed: the head of Poison Ivy, the green hair still vibrant, a gaze frozen in time. You didn’t cry, but a slight tremor coursed through your body, a mixture of surprise and disdain for the brutality that had taken place in that space.

"Normally you enter through the window," you murmur to the air, with an ironic smile on your lips, as if addressing a presence you hoped would appear.

And then, as if the night itself had responded to your call, Batman emerged from the shadows, his dark figure silhouetted against the dim light coming through the window. The air became tense in an instant.

"Who are you?" he asked, his grave voice resonating with a mix of distrust and anger. "What are you doing in the apartment of Bruce Wayne's daughter?"

You laughed, a laugh that echoed in the empty room, filled with irony and knowledge.

"His daughter?" you mocked, your eyes shining with a mix of challenge and amusement. "So Y/n is your daughter. Isn’t it curious how things intertwine in this city?"

The silence grew heavy, and you felt his gaze intensify, evaluating every word you had spoken. He knew you had crossed a line, but the revelation had ignited a spark of playfulness in you.

"How do you know who I am?" The question slipped from his lips, but there was no fear, just an unsettling curiosity.

"Gotham has its secrets, Bruce. And I, like you, am part of this darkness. The identity of a hero or heroine is just a game of shadows, and in this game, you and I know how to move between the lines."

You stood firm, the tension between you palpable, as the echo of laughter still resonated in the air. Batman's figure, always imposing and enigmatic, seemed to waver at the revelation that in this dark labyrinth, he was not the only player.

The tension intensified, and Batman took a step forward, approaching you with an intense gaze.

"How do you know about my daughter?" he inquired, his voice brusque, each word laden with frustration. You remained firm, crossing your arms, letting the silence settle between you.

"Oh, Gotham speaks, even in whispers. The city has a way of revealing what heroes prefer to hide," you replied disdainfully. "Your life, your secrets, are more exposed than you think." He frowned, anger crackling in his eyes.

"What do you know about Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening, as if waiting for you to throw down a challenge.

"I know you didn't want her. That you left her in the shadows while you dedicated yourself to your personal crusade," you replied, irony dancing in your tone. "That girl grew up without a father, and you, the great hero of Gotham, preferred to be a myth."

Rage etched itself on his face, but there was something more, a hidden pain surfacing behind the armor of his anger.

"It's not that simple, and you have no idea what I've done for her," he retorted, his voice tense, each word like a blow.

"Really?" you asked, flashing a mocking smile. "What have you done? Cut off her partner's head, the only person I love, just to extract invalid information? What a great father."

An uncomfortable silence settled between you, as the air vibrated with unspoken emotions.

"You are not one to judge me," he declared, his voice tense. "You know nothing of what I've sacrificed."

"Maybe not, but I know enough about the void you've left," you replied, undeterred. "And I know Ivy was there for her. You, the hero, vanished while others took on the role of father."

The anger shone in his eyes, but there was also a spark of recognition. He observed you, assessing the courage that led you to challenge him.

"And who are you to come and point fingers? A lost anti-heroine in her own struggle?" he shot back, his voice laden with contempt.

"I am what Gotham needs," you replied, confident. "A reminder that even heroes like you can fail."

The discussion turned into a power struggle, both of you clinging to your truths, while Poison Ivy's head remained a sinister reminder of the choices you both had made.

Suddenly, Batman's fury exploded like lightning in the darkness. Without warning, he seized you by the neck, lifting you with surprising strength. The air became scarce, and the pressure on your throat made you feel vulnerable, although the mockery never left your expression.

"Where is Y/N?" he demanded, his voice charged with rage and desperation. The shadows moved around him, intensifying his figure, which seemed more monster than hero at that moment.

Despite the iron grip, you kept your gaze fixed on him, challenging him, feeling the adrenaline pulse through your veins.

"Are you that worried about her whereabouts?" you replied, a mocking smile barely hiding your disdain. "Maybe she's hanging from a hook in a slaughterhouse, who knows? That would be an ironic twist for a girl who grew up in the shadow of a hero, don’t you think?"

His eyes narrowed, anger and helplessness battling within him. You leaned in closer, feeling the pressure on your neck, but that only fueled your defiance.

"Don't laugh about this!" he roared, tightening his grip slightly. The fury in his voice was palpable, but something deeper kept him on edge.

"Me? Laughing? You, the great Batman, scared for your daughter's life?" you shot back, never breaking eye contact.

The tension was becoming unbearable, but there was something fascinating about the game you were playing. He was caught between rage and fear, and you, in your shadowy game, fed off his anguish.

"Do you know something? You're losing yourself in your own legend," you continued, while he held you in the air. "I'm sure you once dreamed that she would have died in that alley with her mother."

In that instant, something in his expression changed. The anger slowly faded, giving way to a deep concern, though he still held you firmly.

"I warn you," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours. "If you lie to me, I won't show mercy."

You laughed again, though the risk was imminent, as your heart raced.

"And what will you do?" you challenged, your voice trembling but resolute. "Threaten me with your dark past? I'm here because I know the truth, and I do not fear your shadows."

Bruce's patience evaporated like smoke in the heavy air of that apartment. With a sudden movement, he hurled you towards the table, the impact resonating with a crash that reverberated through the walls. Your katanas slipped to the floor, leaving you defenseless. The furniture creaked under your weight, but adrenaline kept you alert, your instincts sharp.

You quickly rose, shaking your head to clear the confusion, while the anger on his face transformed into determination.

"I don't have time for your games, Kerosene," he shouted, stepping forward, ready to fight. "If you know Y/N, tell me!"

You steadied yourself, smiling defiantly as you positioned yourself, preparing for combat.

"Do you really think you'll throw away the only one who can help you?" you replied, feeling the pulse of challenge coursing through your veins. "I'm offering you a chance to know the truth, and you choose to fight. Very typical of you."

With a swift movement, he lunged at you, throwing a direct punch. You dodged, making an agile turn, but the atmosphere became a whirlwind of force and speed.

You charged at him, hitting him in the side, feeling how his tense muscles responded to your attack. It was not just a physical fight; it was a clash of wills, an explosion of repressed emotions.

"You’re an idiot if you think you can scare me!" you yelled at him while he tried to immobilize you. You twisted and managed to sidestep him, landing a blow to his jaw that made him stagger.

Bruce quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. He advanced again, his movements precise and calculated, while you played with speed and agility.

"Stop!" he roared, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "I just want to know where my daughter is."

"And I just want you to stop living in your hero fantasy," you replied, with a defiant laugh as you dodged another attack. "The truth hurts you, Bruce, and you prefer the fight over facing it."

The exchange of blows continued, the sound of fists colliding and the creaking of breaking furniture filling the air. The room became a battlefield, with the table as the central stage of your struggle.

Bruce, with a mix of skill and strength, cornered you against the wall, but instead of giving up, you seized the closeness. With an agile movement, you pushed him back, making him lose his balance.

"Are you going to keep this up? Destroying what’s left of this city?" you said, breathing heavily but not yielding. "Or are you going to listen to what’s really at stake?"

His eyes were now inches from yours, the fury and frustration of his search fueling the spark of the battle. Both of you were willing to fight, but deep down, you knew there was something deeper at play than just physical strength.

The battle continued, becoming increasingly intense and violent, like a whirlwind of unleashed fury. You launched at him, landing a blow that hit his chest, but Bruce responded with a punch that made you stagger; the force behind his blow was terrifying. The rage emanating from him was palpable, and with each attack, both of you took the struggle to a new level.

The apartment walls vibrated with the thud of bodies colliding and furniture being dragged. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the air as you crashed into a table, breaking it into pieces.

You got back up, a piece of wood in hand, and threw it at him. Bruce dodged it, but the fragment smashed against a lamp, exploding into a million shards. The light flickered before going out, plunging the place into an unsettling darkness.

Both of you moved like shadows through the chaos, and sweat and blood began to mix, the air filled with a metallic smell that only intensified the battle. Bruce landed a punch on your jaw, and you tasted blood in your mouth. You didn’t stop; with a cry of defiance, you responded with a series of rapid blows, each one stronger than the last.

You darted to his side, using your agility to hit him in the ribs. The impact made him stagger, but before you could capitalize on the opportunity, Bruce spun around and kneed you in the abdomen. The air escaped your lungs, and the sharp pain made you fall to your knees. However, you didn’t give up.

With renewed determination, you got up and threw a direct punch to his face, hearing the crack of his skin upon impact. Blood spurted from his lip, and the fact that you had hurt him only fueled his fury. With superhuman strength, he pushed you back, slamming you against a shelf, which gave way and collapsed on you. Books and personal items scattered across the floor, covering the place in even greater chaos.

But there was no time to stop. You rose amongst the debris, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. With a leap, you charged at him again, landing a blow that left a mark on his face. Rage and pain intertwined in the air, and both of you were on the brink of madness.

The room had turned into a battlefield, with blood staining the floor and walls. The apartment’s decor, once a refuge, lay in tatters, as if Gotham itself had decided to yield to the brutality of your confrontation.

Bruce, with his determined gaze locked on you, lunged at you again. Both of you were exhausted, but the fight was a necessity, an uncontrollable impulse that kept you standing. His fists and your movements were a wild dance, and amidst the chaos, both of you knew that the outcome of this battle would not only define the present but also seal your fate.

You charged at him, landing a direct blow to his stomach, and when he bent forward, you took the chance to hit him in the face once more. Blood spilled from his nose, but he countered with a knee strike, and the impact resonated in your bones.

The fight continued with increasing ferocity, the room transforming into a wreckage. Every blow exchanged resonated like thunder, but it was the moment when Bruce landed a punch to your side that made you fall to your knees again, gasping for air. The pain was intense, but there was no time to lament; rage and frustration drove him to push onward.

Seeing the opportunity, Bruce lunged at you, and with a rough movement, he lifted you off the ground, holding you by the neck and raising you into the air. You struggled, feeling the pressure increase, the air escaping your lungs. The room blurred around you as you began to lose control.

"Tell me where Y/N is!" he shouted, his voice echoing in your mind like a refrain of desperation and fury.

You were on the brink of passing out, your eyes clouding, but amidst the confusion, you managed to maintain lucidity, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Bruce's hands were like a yoke around your throat, and the feeling of suffocation intensified with every passing second.

The pressure was unbearable, and you fought to free your neck, to breathe, but it felt like trying to break chains of steel. Your hands struck his arm, but he wouldn’t relent, becoming more focused, more desperate.

Finally, with a titanic effort, you managed to reach your helmet, and in a twist, you pushed him back, but the pressure of his grip was too much. It was then that, in a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, the helmet slipped off your head, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

The light of the apartment filtered back into your vision, and it was at that moment that Bruce, seeing your face, stopped dead in his tracks, the expression of his fury transforming into horror.

The face before him was not just an adversary; it was a reflection of his own daughter. The reality crashed against him like lightning.

"...Y/N?"

A/N ──── I WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT YES, WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND Y/N IS REAL. And yes, it's necessary; you'll understand why by the end. Furthermore, Ivy's death has always been planned. In the next chapter, a female character will appear who, I warn you, will be a victim of the Waynes, and the scene will be a bit graphic and very grotesque.

I want to add that this chapter is very, very, veeeery weak because I’m very tired, not very inspired, and dealing with other things. I’ll try to do better for the next one and bring you a chapter of better quality.

And a warning for those on the taglist: if you’re already on it, please don’t ask me again and again to add your name because I end up getting confused and repeating names.

Also, there are some that I can’t add for reasons I don’t understand.

If you requested to be on the taglist before and you're not, please ask me here or send me a message; I don’t bite.

Feel free to ask me anything if you’d like.

Take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

@redkarmakai @the-rouge-robin @twismare @wizzerreblogs @beeboopneep @mistfire1999 @delfinadolphin @expctron

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing 's work and @klemen-tine 's work, be sure to check them out!

1K notes · View notes

fics-lovebot · 1 year ago

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jungkook fic recs

main masterlist

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

i´ll be constantly updating this list so make sure to check it out often for new recs ;)))

pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

disclaimer: if you came back to read that one fire fic you liked but can´t find it, its bc the link wasn´t working anymore so I deleted it :/

last updated: 25/11/2024

yandere / mafia / bad boy

romantic dreams - ( @kooktrash ) yandere!jungkook, tattoo artist jk, boxer!jk, UGHH ITS GOODDD, he´s so toxic frfr, namjoon is sick of his ass lmao, totally obsessed with reader, jealous and possesive af, he´s crazy sdlfjs but i´m into it

toxic noona - ( @aajjks ) yandere!noona, toxic controling relationship, jk is a victim, he´d rather die than leave, reader likes to make him cry, manipulation

yours insanely - ( @smileyoongle ) yandere!jk, serial killer jk, detective!reader, he kills women who look like you, so interesting to read

darknet - ( @darkestcorners ) yandere!jk, the internet is scary, human trafficking, jk is scary dangerous, it´s a LOT, just wow

who is in control? - ( @ctrlsht ) yandere-ish, lawyer!jk, posessive jk, obsessive jk, toxic relationship, stalking, manipulation, secret relationship, he´s cray-cray

hybrid au / soulmate au / super hero au / alien au / supernatural au

bunnytalk - ( @woncon ) bunny hybrid jk, owner reader, jk is a sad bunny bc reader won´t return his feelings but it´s all just a misunderstanding

night vision - ( @bonny-kookoo ) e.r, alien!jk, suggestive, lowkey smut, bunny hybrid reader, jk has tentacles ,,,,,nothing else to say, flirty fluffy jk, this is dIFFERENTTTT i love it

closer - ( @blublublujk ) smut, step siblings au, noona reader, yandere!jk, jk is obsessed with him older step sister, WHEWWW this is intense, very detailed, loved it

your eyes tell - ( @angellesword ) soulmate au, angst, fluff, happy ending, artist!jk, lawyer!reader, "you live in a world where people see in black and white. The solution to finally see the colors? It's simple. You need to meet your soulmate and look at him in the eyes, but what if the person bound to you is already contented with the monochromatic world? What if your soulmate, is already in love with someone else?" a whole 2020 throwback, we don´t see fics with multiple chapters often, back then they were so good, like this one!

obsessed with your scent - ( @angelguk ) soulmate au, alpha werewolf!jk, omega!reader. jeongguk’s obsessed with your scent but he doesnt know he’s your mate bc you take suppressants. PLEASEEE I NEED A MOVIEEE, miss author you really made my 2020 better, thank you and ily

slice of life / university-college au / idol

you make him go crazy - ( @onlyswan ) fluff, idol!jk, slight angst, multiple scenarios, reader is constantly making him go nuts, he is STRESSED lmao, it´s cute anyways, reader is kind of a careless brat but jk wouldn´t have it any other way

you wear his clothes - ( @nochukoo97 ) fluff, thing is...HE gives you his clothes, he´s so boyfriendd

screw up; over wine - ( @koocycle ) finance major jk x model!reader, first date drabble, he is really into reader so he takes her to a fancy pricey wine and dine but guess wHAT.. he is broke lmao so he straight up PANICS, lowkey highkey secondhand embarrasment but it´s jk so it ends in a cute way

kiss me better - ( @jaykaysthicthighs ) angst, jerk jk, mean jk, misunderstanding, manhandling, he is crying bc he assumed she was cheating but he was sooo wrong, now he is begging, crying, throwing up,,, they make up anyways, its angsty in a satisfying way

you´re sleepy but you promised you´d go grocery shopping with him - ( @thvhoe ) e.r, its cuteeeee

couple questions with vogue - ( @kjdkive ) fluff, e.r, idol!jk, supermodel!reader, I LOVE THISSSS, he is the best boyfriend/fiancé soon to be hubby EVER UGHHHH its so cute

devoted to trouble - ( @jeonsweetpea ) fluff, lil angst, smut, comedy, spiderman!jk au inspired by seven??? a masterpiecE. the world finds out he is spiderman but he dgaf bc he only cares about you, #pininggg, reader playing hard to get, man i love tHIS

show you what devotion is - ( @thvhoe ) boxer!jk, ballerina!reader, fluff, angst. you´re like his safe place, it´s giving exes to wannabe lovers, they deff like each other and jk wants to eat her uP but he´s wants it to be romantic and stuff, idk idk I liked itttt

you surprise him for his birthday - ( @nochukoo97 ) he´s so boyfriendddddd, this is so wholesome and cute

he can´t sleep bc he loves you so much - ( @onlyswan ) now THIS makes me want to drink bleach and die bc of how cute it is, THEY ARE SO IN LOVEEEE, there´s a lot of giggling, a lot of praising, a lot of disgustingly sweet loving talk after sex :´)))))) its such a good read i promise

fighting heart - ( @kooktrash ) boxer!jk, fluff, angst, he´s so stressed sldfkj, reader gets in a small accident and jk went crazy when a nurse answered your phone

daft pretty boy - ( @jeonqkooks ) basketball cap!jk, classmates to lovers ig, see he´s smart but when he´s with you he gets nervous and forgets how to exist, he lowkey confesses and he´s sraightforward with itt, he´s got a hUGE crush on you lmao

ride - ( @ohjeon ) strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, jk is a fucc boy on campus, reader has tattoos and rides the coolest bike, jk has an instant crush, love at firts sight i would say, got him blushing and sweating lmao, this is an on going series but I KNOW it´ll be gREAT, I love it already

in your arms - ( @kookslastbutton ) e.r, fluff, smut, morning secs, waking up by his side for the first time after moving in

encore - ( @jjungxkook ) game designer!jk, he is cool af, has a fat crush on reader, this is just the teaser of the fic but I really like it

crave you - ( @7deadlysinsfics ) idol!jk, crack, smut, fluff, hispanic choreographer reader, texting, taejikook, jk is HORNY but he´s a softie too, he´s got a big big fat crush, strenght kink bc we all know he can throw her around like a ragdoll

pretty girl - ( @bts-trash-blog ) smut, tattoo artist!jk, chubby reader, THIS IS ITTTTT, he´s tall, dark and handsome, flirty af too, "pretty girl" stFUUUU, they both want to fuck so he shoots his shot at the tattoo appointment

easy - ( @itsamejin ) angsty, fuckboy jk, bet!trope, jk plays you so he can get his rent paid, i read this one a lawwngg time ago and decided i was an angst loving hoe

Inevitable - ( @ahundredtimesover ) angst, fluff, smut, lovers to exes to lovers, baseball player!jk, dad!jk, parents au, you break up with jk years ago after you got pregnant bc you wanted him to follow his dreams and now he´s back home just to find out there´s a boy who looks just like him.. this is a masterpiece, honestly one of THEE best jk series out there, it has it all fr, the angst is angsty and the fluff is FLUFFY, i love it sm i´ve read it 3 times and never get tired of it

finish line - ( @bonny-kookoo ) fluff, nerdy!jk, racer!jki loooooveee itttttt, so cute, so fluffy, this blurb uGHHHHH, just read the whole thing pls

ungodly hour - ( @explicit-tae ) crack, smut, fluff, college au, broke college student!reader, lowkey slutty!reader, jk is thirsstttyyyyy, simping atp, "who´s dick do i have to suck for a hulu account?" this series is honestly so funny ksjakskjs

disney + and bust - ( @1kook ) angst, fluff, smut. yall already know i love to see man crying and begging for forgiveness :p, so kook is ur succesfull "app developer" bf and he says some very hurtfull things to you out of anger

rattled - ( @gukslut ) complete series, single dad au, angst, smut. honestly? one of the best fics out there. I read this a long time ago and i´m still in awe. The way this is written makes you feel every word. also, the plot is so so unique. i love it.

pu$$y fairy - ( @angelguk) smut, college au, non-idol, fuckboy!jk, virgin!reader, this is a 2020 old but gold, i read this a long time ago and still love it to this day

sweeter than strawberries - ( @cinnaminsvga ) shy baker!jk, college student!reader, noona!reader ??, s2l, mutual pining, cute cute cuteeee, another 2020 banger, i love how lenghty they used to be

you wrote jk a confession letter but he didn’t see it - ( @angelguk ) fluff, small brain big heart!jk, college au, non-idol, LMAOOOO this was funny asl, 2020 did it again, i loved this

frost impressions - ( @fortunexkookie ) soccer coach!jk, teacher!reader, gamer au, work au, idiots to lovers, one sided pining at first, it´s a longggg one. another 2020 masterpiece, one of my favorite fics out there, he´s so disgustingly smitten with his new coworker that he ends up making a terrible first impression. so so so entertaining and fun to read, jk is silly af lmao, can´t stop putting his foot in his mouth, theres a bunch of cute second hand embarrasment situations

ceo au / sugardaddy au / rich bf au / coworker au

Over The Odds | The Confession - ( @jungk0oksthighs ) ceo jk, sugardaddy jk, jealous bf jk, sugar baby reader, he gets mad and yells bc he is lowkey insecure of her ex but reader is equaly in love. this is a series

wrong time - ( @spideyjimin ) smut, angst, dilf!jk, ceo!jk, exes to lovers, workaholic as a scape mechanism, the one that got away type of stuff but she broke things up first for valid reasons, big big heartache but she´s still the love of his life

don´t blame me - ( @ctrlsht ) sugar daddy!jk, ceo!jk, soft yan!jk, obsessive!jk, student!reader, unhealthy behavior on his part, manipulative behavior on her part, jealousy on both parts, he goes a lil too far but reader is bitchy and annoying, he lit gives her everythinggg she asks for, the man is..creazy about her in a very unhealthy way and she takes advantage of that, toxicc

failed quickie - ( @vminizzle ) cowerker jk, suggestive, they´re about to fucc on an elevator but it didn´t work, he likes his hair pulled!!1!

someone older - ( @bonny-kookoo ) smut, ceo jk, divorced jk, 30 something yo jk, taehyung has a kid, younger oc, its a nice read, would do it again

break up au / cheating au / fuckboy au

night after night - ( @brown-bi-beautiful ) smut, angst, crack, fluff, semi-retired fuckboy jk, red flag jk, stalker jk, break up au, lovers to exes to lovers, he fucked around and found out so he is FREAKING ouT, also he is beggING okk.. we love that, he also has a Harley bc he is bad boy™, they make up anyways bc he is pussy whipped.. or in love, whatevs you wanna call it

seven plus one - ( @jvngkoos ) smut, angst, they break up for like a week and that shit got him SIMPING fr, standing under the rain begging and stuff, the man is obsessed, we love it

pwp / fwb

you good?? - ( @mono-moonchilds ) drabble, smut, "what if you gave jungkook head?" is righT bc i´ve been thinking about it for a min!!! he is mean ok yall know he is a brat buT, the head is too good to do all that, the man was shaKINg for godssakeee, so good he had to answer with a thumbs up bc reader drained him fr, left him so brain dead he couldn´t even speak

afterglow - ( @elitekook ) smut, fwb!jk, slight possessive!jungkook, dirty talking, degrading nicknames, but he cares ok, he´s trying to get out of the friend zone

come sit on my lap - ( @euphoricfilter ) pwp, lots of praisingg, they way this is written is good yall, "use me" , “so polite” shUT UPPPP im literally blushing, AND he is also cute at the end?? i hate it heREEE :´)

he has a lot of cum - ( @euphoricfilter ) boyfriend!jk, the title I- , he DOES have a lot of cum, lots of stamina, lots of everYTHING, and on toP of those small details, wdym he wants to see how many times he can cum in you before it´s too full and it starts to spill????? somebody stop this man

riding jungkook´s nose - ( @euphoricfilter ) we´ve ALLL thought about this, and if you haven´t you´re lying, periodt. pRAISINGGG, he´s in a pussy-drunk frenezy, he likes feeling used, he likes getting his hair pulled, he likes getting his face wET, it´s sickenINGGGG goreaditplease

fucking in the gym - ( @euphoricfilter ) this was inspired by that one pic of him and jimin with their back out, I SEE THE VISION, fucking with ceiling mirrors

wicked - ( @noteguk ) smut, incubus!jk, big big corruption kink, lots of dirty ploting and dirty talk, yupppp this is a good one, so detailed, love me a fic that lit makes me see what i´m reading

fuck buddies - ( @angelguk ) smut, angst, non-idol, fwb au, jk wished you were more than just fwb

4K notes · View notes

after-witch · 2 months ago

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Horrorfest: I Know What You Did Last Halloween [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Title: I Know What You Did Last Halloween [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Synopsis: You watch a movie with your captor.

For Horrorfest request:

watching a horror movie with hawks/Keigo and him getting bored and trying to make very much unwanted advances towards reader and reader is more scared/anxious of that than the movie.

Word count: 800ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, sexual assault

The scantily clad college student on the TV screen has just watched one of her friends get butchered, and now she’s running down a seemingly endless corridor, cold sweat artfully placed on her forehead by a special effects team, hoping to escape the killer before her own guts get speared on his knife. She picks a door at random, shuts it as quietly as she can, then crouches down beside it to await her fate.

You are doing nothing so exciting.

You are simply sitting in a living room, underneath a warm blanket, a bowl of popcorn resting in between you and the pro-hero that kidnapped you.

Reflexively, now and then, your hand grabs a fistful of popcorn and shoves it into your mouth without a hint of daintiness.

Not because you’re particularly hungry, or because the movie is so engrossing you can’t be bothered to eat popcorn like a human being instead of a horse, but because the more you stuff your face, the more you can avoid talking to Hawks. Or Keigo, as he says to call him, which you sometimes do in order to avoid his bad moods.

He’s not in a bad mood now.

No–in fact–

The scantily clad college student turned sole survivor of a midnight massacre holds her manicured hand over her mouth to silence her breathing, limbs shaking as she hears the killer’s knife dragging against the hallway. “Come out, come out”--

Keigo is in a good mood. A pleasant mood. A mood that has him snuggling closer to you on the couch, hand reaching for the popcorn or–no, not for the popcorn. Hand reaching across the bowl and for your fingers, which you yank away, shoving them inside the bowl and grabbing another fistful of buttery pieces.

It’s a pathetic tactic. But one that works. Sort of. Maybe. For another minute. Because you hear Keigo sigh, feel him shift closer on the sofa, and then–

“Babe,” he says, drawing out the word. “I thought we talked about this.”

“We” didn’t talk about it, you think. He talked about it. Told you to stop being so skittish, to start acting like a proper partner, to let him touch you and kiss you without making him feel like an asshole.

But you kidnapped me, is what you should’ve said.

“Okay,” is what you did say. And he’d grinned and told you to pick out your favorite movie and you put on a slasher you used to watch all the time in college. It made you feel scared, it made you feel giddy, it was like a creepy comfort movie.

The killer stops at just the right door and the final girl, the only one out of her friends not to end up on the wrong side of a blade, looks like she’s going to be down for the count. She’ll get grabbed and gutted like the rest of them. Only when the killer opens the door, a note of triumph in his voice–only to find himself getting smacked in the face with a desperately swung desk chair.

Keigo’s hand is not over the popcorn bowl now. Now, it is sliding underneath the blanket, where you can’t easily bat it away. Not without making him annoyed, not without the excuse of popcorn.

There are no excuses to make when his hand finds your thigh, gives it a squeeze. It should feel warm underneath the blanket, but it’s like an icy chill descends over your skin. Goosebumps that he coos over, takes for sensitivity and not horror, spread across your legs.

On screen, the final girl is battling for her life. She’s winning. She will win. You know this, have seen it a thousand times.

In the living room, with Keigo’s hands creeping up your thigh and his body getting closer, setting the popcorn to the side so it doesn’t spill, you’re wishing you could do the same.

But she–she is allowed to fight and scream and claw and give the killer a taste of his own medicine before emerging triumphant and alone. She has that freedom, despite her dead friends, despite the trauma she would no doubt endure if the film extended past the credits.

You?

You’re sitting on the couch, no popcorn between you now, as Keigo begins to press kisses to the side of your neck. Your jaw. Your mouth.

You–

You’re stuck in your horror movie, and the killer’s call is most definitely coming from inside the house.

#yandere hawks #yandere keigo takami #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest

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gremlingottoosilly · 10 months ago

Text

Maid-up problems (Konig x maid!Reader)

Konig goes to a maid cafe. Billions must perish. Tags and CW: yandere Konig, obsessive and creepy behaviour, Konig is a bit of a perv, colonel loser Konig, maids and maid cafes, general fluff, slight age difference, slight size difference, mostly from Konig's pov. AO3

— Welcome home, master. What your maid I get for you today, hm? König just died and went to heaven. Heaven consists of pretty girls running around in fluffy skirts, little aprons and putting on adorable headbands with white ruffles. Heaven filled with the smell of reheated pastries and pre-made snacks, with neutral sweet perfume and the stench of sweat from the customers. Heaven is filled with angels who run around in maid costumes and call him master – and all of this without going through the hassle of finding a cosplay-friendly prostitute in Vienna.

He honestly rolled his eyes the first time he saw the post about a new maid cafe opening in town. Horangi was the one to show him - the bastard didn’t even live in Austria and yet had followed all the news, maybe to only make fun of his colonel. He knows that the tiger has his dirty secrets too – ido girls, idol boys, some new band every week that he’d spend his paycheck to get all possible merch. Changing his gambling addiction to a k-pop one – all while his glorious commander is going crazy from the new maid hentai he just watched. Honestly embarrassing at his age…but he doesn’t care. He has money for the exclusive translations and elite figures – and he has some time on leave to visit the damn maid cafe. Then König meets you. He died, went to heaven and was greeted with an angel…no, a goddess. In a frilly apron, short skirt and adorable, albeit a bit embarrassed smile. You had your persona on – dorky and clumsy, useless little maid that customers liked to scold when you’d almost drop their drinks and then fake cry while apologizing. Some sadistic bastards like to play pretend by calling your manager while you’d beg for them not to. Some perverts with a hero complex would play into your pleads. König stares in awe as you drop the menu accidentally, not forgetting to show off your cleavage as you pick it up. Brushing it off with your finger, looking so tiny and shy…god, he fucking adores you already. — S…so sorry, master. Please, forgive me for dropping the- — It’s okay. Don’t worry, ja?

He reaches for your hand, but you shoo it away. No touching – the cafe policy, as dumb as it sounds. He knows it’s for your own good, to protect you from perverts and creeps – but you shouldn’t be so scared about touching him. He would have to train you to do this after. nothing that a few touches of a good military discipline wouldn’t fix though – and he is very good at breaking down dumb recruits and annoyingly stubborn people. Oh. Right. He still kinda has to order. His gaze immediately flicks to the most expensive thing on the menu – an exclusive dessert, probably too sweet for his tastes. He will have to make do though – there isn’t much on the menu, certainly is zero alcohol so drunk guests wouldn’t harass the maid girls, and a tiny portion of an omelet with some ketchup hearts squeezed all over it certainly isn’t to his tastes either. No, König had his eyes – covered by glasses, of course, he didn’t want to show off his scars and the expression of a serial killer forced to work in mercenary forces to cute girls in ruffled aprons – on a different prize. You.

And the exclusive photos and a hug from any waitress of the fine establishment that would come with this overpriced order.

König has never seen the manager of this cafe, but he is ready to give them all money he has – just for implementing this feature into the menu. Just for selling off their girls to any customer who is willing to pay almost 50 Euros for a piece of a pretty regular cake and some coffee.

You stare at his order for a few seconds, your mouth going agape. He is not hurt – it was weird, after all, for a guy like him to order something as silly as this. You’re probably weirded out, thinking that he accidentally put his finger on the order – but you know better than to ask again and risk him changing his mind. Your cafe gives off bonuses if guests want to take a picture with you so, naturally, you’re all smiles and nods, tilting your head to the side as you say, ever-so-sweetly, that you’d be back with his order. Now…is König ashamed of liking the pretty little maid so much? Not really, to be completely honest, he kinda adores having you around, and he’d pay even more for the opportunity to touch you. Too bad your cafe isn’t a front for some other body business – he’d be happy to raid it on the part of special forces and then save you from such a gruesome fate by making you his wife.

König wonders if your cafe has themed days. Maybe catgirls, cosplay, maybe housewives.

König wonders if he can get your number. Then his gaze falters to the reflection of his face in the screen of his phone – and, no, not going to happen. Not when he is fresh out of deployment, barely showered, and thrown a clean hoodie on which does very little to cover the smell of blood clinging to his body. It’s his cross to bear – his victims scratching at his ankles as the colonel sips on complimentary water from a pink glass and looks at all the other losers who coming to this fine establishment.

You’re lucky it’s a slow day – if König saw you being so sweet and touchy with some other lousy customer, he might have shot the whole place up. Master does not tolerate his silly servant being so nice to others, after all.

— Your coffee, master.

He whips out a stack of bills already, way more than what he was supposed to pay even with the exclusive offer he ordered. Your mouth opens to stop him, to remind him of the actual price of everything – then he breaks whatever good intentions you had when he starts to speak, his voice muffled a bit because of his black surgical mask.

— Do you have a boyfriend?

Oh.

Now, under normal circumstances, you’d yell for the manager to come and pick you up. You’d scream bloody murder and alert other girls and clients that you’re having a bad customer who is going into harassment mode very quickly – asking such personal questions at this place is something that shouldn’t be happening, no sir. Totally not happening.

But…the work has been a bit slow lately. You didn’t get as many bonuses as you wanted to, and the rent is coming up, and the phone bill is getting more expensive…sometimes you just got unlucky and his a streak of customers not liking your particular archetype – so if this weird dude who is totally killing people in his spare time wants a bit more than usual service and is definitely ready to pay for it.

You might have had a thing for guys in masks. Big, muscular guys in masks who looks like they can choke you with their thighs and then fucking destroy you. With money who can get you a bit closer to your savings goal. So, you’re not calling your manager, your friends, or the police. So, you play into the fantasy for a little bit, remembering all the acts your supervisors drilled into your head. — Of course I don’t, master. I’m here for you, remember? You smile and nod, hoping it will be enough. Hoping a guy like him could be satisfied with something as silly as this, something as tiny. You touch his hand a bit later, making sure to hold him for a while longer. A simple trick to enhance the amount of tip you can get – even tho you feel like playing with fire when you touch this guy so sweetly.

And, oh, König is…done for. Smitten. Shot right in the heart through his cock, somehow. This man survived battle after battle, destroyed more small countries than there is letters in his real name, but he was defeated by a pretty girl in a maid outfit in a cafe made for incels and otaku wannabees. If any of his lower officers saw him right now, with ears and cheeks burning angry red, with his heavy breathing and obvious, but concealed by table hard-on, he would be done for.

But, oh god, aren’t you just beautiful?

Obviously embarrassed and maybe a bit shy – he thinks it’s probably just your persona, a way to milk tips from the customers who like to play dominant, but König doesn’t even need to play. He knows he’d have to take you by the end of your shift, whatever this time might be. He is not the best person for the romance job, but he’ll be damned if he let a pretty thing like you just run away like a silly girl you are.

— Can I have your phone number? You want to say no, he can’t have your phone number. The guy smells of gunpowder and blood, looks like he is going to shoot the entire venue down if you disagree with him, and you do not want to die like a hero for a job that pays barely above minimum wage for the amount of public humiliation you have to endure to ensure good tips. The guy smells like danger and a bad time and a long conversation with your manager about the types of guests that they allow into this fine establishment.

You want to say no and yell but, then again, there are multiple factors that are screaming against such rush decisions. A huge chunk of money he still has in his valet is, embarrassingly enough, one of the biggest decision-making points. — We’re not really allowed to give our phone numbers, master… His hand goes to his pocket.

You’re not sure if he is touching his cock, his gun, or another stack of bills right now – but all of the options are kinda making you want to die before you can check your answers. It’s going to be bad either way, so you tilt your head to the side, trying to look as innocent as possible.

— But I can make an exception!

He actually startles, looking at you like you just agreed to marry him. You probably would, with enough bullet threats – but you still bite your tongue, not wanting to give the crazy guy an idea. You actually don’t know if he is crazy or not – but taking your chances isn’t something you want to do on a nice Monday dead work day.

You can see relief in his eyes. A little wrinkles of smile, too – his mouth is covered by a mask, but you’re almost sure he is grinning like an idiot under this thing. Oh no…you just insulted a customer in your mind. It’s really bad for business.

You write your number down and pass it right to his hand without anyone noticing…you hoped so, at least – you don’t want other customers to order the same special treatment and you know that the manager would have your head for overstepping the rules so much. No one would care that you’re saving this fucked up place from a massacre – they would only care about arbitrary rule-breaking. You lick your lips and smile as his hand lingers on you a bit too long.

His hands are big and warm, too – you’re getting lost in the touch, as he carefully caresses the back of your palm with his thumb. He is…surprisingly tender. As much as a killing machine can be tender, of course – but you do appreciate a softer, milder touch. You do appreciate his hands on your body, caressing it softly and maybe even leaning you for a kiss and a quick…

Oh god, what are you thinking. You need to stop, immediately.

He pulls from his table suddenly and you almost feel like you fucked up, somehow. Maybe he did wanted something a big more than what you were willing to give, maybe this guy wanted you in a way that was not friendly for the cafe – but he swoops you by your waist before you could say anything before your hands could go upright and smack him – and you stop right before hearing him saying the dreadful words. The words you wished he wouldn’t have enough money to say.

God, this is hopeless.

— Can I get my special offer now?

König makes it sound like the special offer would include you on your knees, choking on his cock. König makes it sound like it would include you on your back, taking pounding from him while he tugs on your dumb apron and tells you to cry for your master. König makes it sound like the short skirt of your outfit was not covering you enough, he makes it sound perverted, horrible, utterly despicable, he makes it sound like…

God, he doesn’t have enough self-control for you.

You just…look so scared. Nervous. You play with the fabric of your costume in your hands as the other maid – some faceless pretty thing for him, with his eyes glued to your side anyway – was making pictures. Polaroid, is overpriced for a couple of photos he will get…but he doesn’t care if he has to blow off an entire contract bonus if that means getting some bonus from you.

He gets to hold your waist and it’s so easily to imagine digging his fingers to your sides as he fucks you with as much passion as he could gather. It’s easy to imagine his cock pumping into you, your tummy bulging from the sheer size difference between you and him – poor thing, you’d probably be terrified as he would force himself onto you. Maybe you’d clutch your little apron adorably and beg for him to stop. Maybe you’d ask him to be rougher and more passionate – to make you his in all sorts of ways. He just…he can’t imagine not taking you home after this.

He hugged you, it’s basically a marriage proposal already.

You try your best to ignore the way his hand slips down, almost to the point of groping your ass. You ignore it, the girl who is taking the pictures ignores it too. No one wants a scandal, no one wants to point this out – everyone knows how tips are made here, and you sure as hell won’t be putting yourself in danger just because you feel his giant hand fondling you through the fabric of your silly dress. You forgot the protective shorts too - so there is only a matter of underwear and skirt between his hand and your ass.

Somehow, the sensation isn’t as terrible as you want it to be. Somehow, you feel like tips aren’t the only thing that keeps you from screaming at him.

König died and went to heaven – this much is obvious. He is taking a picture with a pretty girl, he touches a pretty girl in maid's suit and she doesn’t even say anything to him. He just went out from a successful contract that would keep his pockets full for a few months and went straight for his savings, and he killed more people than the last week – god, life is fucking beautiful. He fondles your ass with his hand, other is awkwardly limp to his side, and he already knows that he will be a regular here.

He hates getting his pictures taken – it’s normal for people in his line of work, being a mercenary and a socially active person isn’t something wise if you don’t want an enemy finding out where you live, but he doesn’t really care anymore – he will keep the pictures with you, hold it in his wallet and put a spare one in his vest pocket. You can be his little guardian angel, the pretty girl who is waiting for him to return.

And he does have your number with him.

— Are you happy with the pictures, master?

You tilt your head and König forces down the urge to squeeze your cheeks and kiss you. They way you say this, the way you call him master – he simply can’t resist, not when you’re too fucking adorable to miss out on. He knows it’s inappropriate, he knows you’re just working here, but it doesn’t stop him from leaving a hefty tip and making sure you know exactly what made him leave so much.

God, he can’t wait to make you his.

König wonders if you’d agree to wear a skimpier outfit once you’re at the safety of his house.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #call of duty #loser!konig #konig smut #konig x you #cod konig #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #yandere imagines #yandere male #male yandere #yandere #maid #maids

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rhadamanthes · 8 months ago

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Mr.Policeman. Sukuna x reader

word count : 1,7 k words

warnings : officer!sukuna, fem reader, slight yandere reader, handcuff, finger sucking, rough sex, mention of baby trapping, creampie.

author's notes : this was inspired after watching a killer's paradox on netflix, i wanted to fuck that detective so bad... enjoy

Crushing the butt of his cigarette on the floor, Sukuna takes a deep breath before entering your apartment. Another call from you, urging him to come during his shift. You entered his life a few months ago, crying at the police station for a stolen purse. You gave an extensive description of the overpriced bag, and everything that was in it. When he found the culprit a few days later you came running to him, hugging him, thanking him over and over.

He made the mistake of calling you with his personal number. Ever since, there was not a single day where you haven't solicited him. A spider on the wall ? you call him. A sprained ankle? you call him. Can't find your keys ? another call. Every single time he denied you, you would come crying at the station refusing to talk to anyone but him. Sometimes he wonders if you have any self respect.

Earlier today he recieve a call from you, you sounded really panicked this time, you told him to come over without further reason. He did, when he enters your place, you don't come rushing to him like usual. Something off, he calls your name, A muffled voice comes from your room. Following the sound, he can't believe what he sees with his own eyes. You're laying on your bed, wearing a lacy nightgown as well as a robe. Your hands are tied up to the steel frame of your bed and you're gagged. What the hell happened this time? He sighs walking to you. Taking a seat on the bed he notices the fear in your eyes. Shit it's for real this time.

"What happened ? are you ok ?" he inquires, freeing your mouth.

"I'm fine Just a bit shocked, untie my wrists please it hurts" you quietly speak.

Sukuna feels bad, something happened to you and he was reluctant just at the thought of seeing you again. Once you're free, he encourages you to tell him what happened. Grabbing the notepad on the side of his uniform he's ready to take your testimony.

"I have a stalker, he was inside when I got there."

Writing down all the information as you speak, things don't add up. How could you call him? You were gagged when he got here but he heard you loud and clear on the phone. Closing the notebook he stares at you. This is the problem, he thinks, he never knows how to deal with you, what is true what isn't ? You look at him curiously when you notice he's not writing anymore.

"How could you call me if your wrists and mouth were restrained ?" he starts in a calm voice.

"I-i don't know i don't remember... I did what I can '' you stutters, the tears threaten to fall from your eyes, as you sob on his shoulder holding him tight.

Shit he is definitely acting like an ass today. He still can' shake the gut feeling he has, this added up to all your interaction since he knows you can't be a coincidence. You have a crush on him, worse an obsession could this be one of your schemes ? He needs to be sure. Separating your bodies, Sukuna holds you by your shoulder planting a sweet kiss on your lips, he waits a few moments but you don't deepen the kiss. When he breaks the contact , your brows are slightly furrowed. Could he be mistaken ?

"Officer, I'm not sure what you're doing" your sweet voice reach his ears, as you run your hands up his arms, squeezing his muscles.

You little vixen, this is all you desire. He should have known from the second he laid eyes on your stupid pink nightgown.

"You're not ?" he asks, locking his hand in your hair.

You shake your head left to right, looking at him through your lashes. He's going to ruin you, he doesn't want to be gentle. You made him lose so much time and sanity over the past few months. At the same time he also want to feed in your delusion, be sweet with you like the hero you see in him, to fuck you sensually as he saved you once again.

"Be kind to me officer, i'm still a bit shaken" you purr laying back on the bed.

"I have a name sweetheart, say it" he decided to play your game today.

"Sukuna, please make me feel good." Your voice is itching his brain the right way, maybe he should have folded way before today. You look particularly desirable in your little silk underwear.

"Should I use this?" he says, grabbing the cuffs you were previously tied with.

"Hmm I'd prefer if you used yours." you say tracing the police badge on his firm torso

"As you wish" he undresses you revealing your naked body under the gown. Of course you didn't bother wearing anything underneath. He huffs through his nose, you're endearing in your own way that's for sure. He taps your hips telling you to turn around. You dramatically hiss at the impact.

"Come on now" he scoffs

"But i want to see your face please" you beg, grabbing on his shoulders tightly.

"So demanding, is it because you're still scared? I'm here now, nothing will happen to you" he coos stradling your body.

Your lips met his, Sukuna let you lead, you take your time, exploring his mouth with your tongue. The kiss is so sweet you might actually make him rot. Feeling your hands fidgeting with his hips he grabs it as a reflex, breaking the kiss. His patrol cuffs are in your hands.

"Why don't you tie us together" you bat your eyelashes and Sukuna really thinks he went mad resisting you for so long.

Taking the cuff from your hand he clicks it on your left wrist, you do the same for his right one. A soft giggle escapes your lips once you're linked to each other, you're looking at him with pure lust now. He wants you too, can't wait to feel your warm pussy around him. He quickly kicks off his boots and gets rid of his trousers. He's about to take off his cap when you stop him.

"It's hot, keep it on Sukuna please" the way his name rolls off your tongue makes him feel like a brand new man. You're so salacious.

Granting you your wish he brings his cuffed hand to your lips, dipping two of his fingers in your mouth. You happily suck them in, never breaking eye contact. Your tied hand is wrapped around his wrist, keeping him in place. Once Sukuna feels they're wet enough he brings them to your pussy, rubbing your clit a few times before he curls them inside your wet walls. Your moans fill the room and he can't help but groan at the feeling.

"You don't even need it, you're so soaked" he gritts through his teeth, watching his fingers coated with your arousal, mixing with your saliva.

Jerking his cock he enters your pussy hungrily in one go. You both moan at the sensation. God you're everything he thought you would be, your pussy is squeezing in a delicious manner while you're splayed on your back eyes closed, mouth open. Sukuna starts with a slow pace until you beg him to go faster.

"You're such a brave girl taking it all like that" he grunts, snapping his hips harder against yours.

"You're proud of me ?" you mumble, scratching his back with your free hand.

"So proud" he can't keep his eyes off your breast as they bounce under each of his powerful thrust.

The more he ruts into you, the louder you get, he's intoxicated looking at his cock going in and out of your sopping cunt. It pussy hugs him perfectly and judging by the way you're moaning he can tell you feel good too.

Sukuna never considered himself a greedy person but for you he might just become one, lifting your legs up on his shoulders, he thrusts deeper in your cunt. As a reaction, you immediately sink your nails deeper in the skin of his back.

"Oh my god i feel you in my toes" you cry, the tingling sensation on your soles making you drunk on the feeling.

"Yeah?"

You can only hum in response, air taken out of your lungs. The bedroom sounds like a mess, your excitement makes wet noises under his powerful thrust. Sukuna moans at the way your cunt wraps perfectly around him. The bed is creaking under both your weights. You've been dreaming about this for so long you can quickly feel yourself reaching your high, you wish your every desire to be fulfilled.

"Sukuna cum inside me please" you beg searching for his ruby eyes.

Looking down at you he feels his stomach churn. You look so desirable right now, of course he wants to fill your pussy and watch his semen leak out of you, but you're so shifty could you trap him with a kid ? Feeling his hesitation you usher him closer, begging in his ear one more time.

His resolution easily dies down as your saccharine voice fills his brain.

"Shit, i'm going to fill you up" he grunts, pushing your gummy walls again and again to satisfy the both of you.

With one last thrust, the police officer makes you the happiest woman on earth, tainting your insides with his seed as your pussy squeezes him impossibly tighter with sweet release. His sweating body rests on top of yours as he slowly regains his breath. After a moment, he rolls on the side staring at the ceiling, before he can think about anything, you lay on his chest kissing his bare skin.

"I made us dinner if you're hungry I can heat it up" you purr tracing circles on his torso.

Not saying a word Sukuna wonders if he's ever going to be able to escape you after this.

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 6 months ago

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Yandere Elite Serial Killer (3)

Part 1 + 2

Of course, his family congratulates him, offering to just abduct you then

But he’s much more sadistic in the way he decides to claim you

It’s not entirely just to see you make faces he’s never seen

Part of this prolonged delivery is meant to watch you up close

By having you in his study group he finally gets to watch you in public without the distance his masked security team could report

Without encroaching ‘too much’ on your private space that’s only for him

He can also give you the first-hand experience of what he goes through

It’s important you know what his world is like

As well as how some of these monsters don’t deserve your kindness

It irked him to see you come with peace offerings to the emotional nut job

He knew her smiles and confiding in you was all a guise

He just hoped she’d save it until the hunt

But despite what you might believe he doesn’t want you to die

He does put a tracker on you and he sends a covert servant of his to trail you

In his defense, he didn’t want you to feel left out

Because of the vengeful group he had amassed had he shown too much favoritism they surely would have attacked you by now

But you made it

with some minor scratches and scrapes sure

But you made it

And that’s all he could want

The cherry on top of it all is that ‘Piggie’ had survived the initial bullet from the shotgun

So he makes a point to save her for later

Experimenting with some of the new ‘gifts’ he’s been given from a manufacturer of military weapons

When he’s not torturing her playing

He’s bathing in the afterglow of his new life with you

Explaining his twisted version of events to you

he becomes your hero

Dressing you in the finest silks while he pretends it’s his sorry task to gather victims for his family’s vicious hunt

Providing you with a fake chunky folder filled with their crimes

And making his family out to be the bad guys helps in gaining your trust

Oh how he loves it

Oh how he loves you

The way you praise him for standing his ground on a decision that was already made

Or how he takes care of the distant family of one of the victims and you dote on him

He doesn’t want you to find out

At least not now

He makes up some other bogeyman more likely his family who could honestly care less

Saying that he needs to put a ring on your finger in order to save your life

tie the knot and give him all you can offer

If not I’m sure whatever friends or family who are looking for you would love to play a certain game at the vacation mansion

“Come my prize! I want to share my world with you! “

Let him show you all manner of things you don’t have to lift a single finger for

“Now that I have you, I’m going to spoil you beyond your wildest dreams.”

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere original character x reader #yandere original characters #yandere oc x you #yandere serial killer #yandere elite serial killer oc

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screeching-bunny · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Slasher Hcs

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

🌟 Yandere! Slasher has been stalking you the minute you moved into his town. Imagine his surprise when he learns that you’ll be attending the same school as him! This must be fate telling him that you’re the one and to get with you quickly! He’s already planning his future with you. From where your wedding will be, how the names of your kids, how many pets the two of you would own. Everything you can think of, he’s already panned it.

🌟 Yandere! Slasher is so socially awkward around you. Whenever you speak to him his knees start shaking and he’s tripping over his words. Just a bundle of nerves and can’t think whenever he’s around you. You probably don’t even notice him or remember him most of the time but whenever you greet him he can basically feel his heart leap out of his chest.

🌟 Yandere! Slasher loves to give you presents and his love language is definitely gift giving. It’s not the normal gift giving though, it’s more of a “Wow look at what my cat gave me” type of gift giving. His “presents” are hit or miss though. They’re either extremely good presents like a stolen gold watch or extremely crappy like a dead bird. It’s very interesting to say the least.

🌟 Yandere! Slasher loves killing people for both the thrill and fun of it. He likes to pick off your friends one by one and watch their faces curl up in fear. Desperately watch you to be isolated from social interaction so that he can observe you without the fear of losing you to someone else. It’s gotten so bad that almost everyone believes that you're the killer since all of your friends end up missing or dead.

🌟 Yandere! Slasher would swoop and clear your name in hopes of looking like a hero in your eyes. When you are eventually cleared from all allegations, he’s the only person that you're actually actively interacting with. Even though he’s gotten closer to you, he still feels all giddy inside and clumsy.

🌟 Yandere! Slasher is the type of person to just steal your trash. Remember that fork you threw away? Well that’s his now. Remember that empty water bottle? It’s his new refillable water bottle. What about that napkin you threw away yesterday? Well, it’s at his house next to his bed. That man will literally be on his hands and knees digging out of the trash to find whatever thing that you threw away.

🌟 Yandere! Slasher is so down bad that he has his own fake mini you plushie that he sleeps with every night. And yes made that plush himself. He literally salivates at the idea of sleeping on a bed with you. Literally wants to be with you so bad. He gets increasingly annoyed whenever he’s not around you or has his sights on you.

🌟 Yandere! Slasher would definitely kidnap or abduct you one day. He’d basically do it in his signature serial killer costume. Yandere! Slasher would prefer it if you had a group with you during this. He just loves the chase and it makes everything so exciting. Loves the idea of you slowly starting to panic as everyone disappears one at a time. It has him jumping for joy.

—

Things were looking terrible for both you and your group. The murder was still after you relentlessly and wouldn’t give up no matter what. Everything was looking so dim. None of you were able to call the police for some odd reason, it felt like someone was jamming the internet. Nothing was working but a singular phone that could only be used to text messages to a singular unknown phone number. This was your current predicament, trying to strike a deal with a psycho killer for your lives.

Random side character: (trembling) while sending a message “Please let us go we’ll give you anything”

Originally, you all didn't have much hope, but what you all didn't expect the killer to reply so quickly.

Yandere! Slasher: “Anything is fine?”

Random side character: (trembling) “As long as you let us go, we’ll do our best to help you fulfill your wish.”

Yandere! Slasher: “I want the cutie standing over there to be my spouse. Specifically the one that has [describes your appearance]

Everyone : "????"

You: “What the fuck—“

Before anyone could react, the opposite side began to send messages quickly. You couldn’t believe that it was possible for someone to type this proficiently. It was like the other person wasn’t even typing at all. Their typing skills were faster than a normal person talking. If your life weren’t in danger right now you’d be applauding.

Yandere! Slasher: “I am a male, 6’6, and have no bad habits. I have been ranked first academically since I was a child. I was admitted to multiple Ivy League Universities with excellent scores. At present, I have not killed anyone in the last 24 hours. I am very kind. My family is very rich and I can provide you with a happy life. I will do all the housework after marriage. I will do all the laundry, cook, and clean the house. I can hand over all my salary to you. I will never quarrel with you, and I also guarantee that I will only love my spouse in my entire lifetime. This is my photo.”

After this sentence, more than a dozen photos were sent from the opposite side. Different backgrounds, different angles, and different clothes. The only thing the photos had in common was that they were carefully photographed. It was obvious that the photographer was working hard to get his good side.

Yandere! Slasher: “If you don’t like my appearance, I can always get plastic surgery. If it’s my gender you have an issue with, then it's not impossible to become a woman.”

All eyes were on you right now and the only thing you could say at that minute was,

“…. What the hell?”

Pt. 2

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere oc #yandere slasher

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wisecura · 1 month ago

Text

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.8 ⁭ ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.10??

p.9

AN: this took a minute, but I was finishing the outline for a few of the other chapters and a few other works I've been doing. I was off from work for a bit, went back, had a set of traumatic back to back days. and well, writers block is one hell of a thing, y'know? aaaand with the seasonal changes I'm just tired maybe a bit down. but thank you guys for your love and support!

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, violence, lashings, blood, mental breakdowns, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside your moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

threats and cwuddles

an: i said what i said

How utterly pointless.

There he was, standing before the pathetic excuse for a man—the one you called uncle, the so-called leader of your disgraceful clan. The ridiculous get up had him holding back a joke, as the man seemed to sneer down at him. His expression oozing disdain—as if he wasn't even worth the effort of a proper glance.

Toji nearly laughed at the sheer audacity.

This man, puffed up with self-importance and brimming with hollow authority, presumed to have the upper hand?

Absolutely comedic.

Toji let his eyes drift over the man slowly, deliberately, as if assessing a weak opponent in a fight he knew he’d already won. Everything about him screamed mediocrity wrapped in false power—his carefully pressed robes, the practiced tilt of his chin, the way he held his hands behind his back as if it really added weight to his presence.

But Toji saw through it all. He always did.

Authority like this was a farce. A staged act meant to instill fear in those who’d never known freedom. And Toji? He was already a foot out the door. And he didn’t play by their rules. Not now. Not ever.

He could kill him in seconds...if he really wanted to.

"So," Toji said, his voice dripping with derision. "This is the man in charge, huh? Can’t say I’m impressed. You look more like an angry little chihuahua guarding a bone that isn’t even yours."

Your clan leader's sneer faltered for a second at his blatant disrespect. It wasn't often someone so ill-mannered showed their face in his estate, let alone had the audacity to open their mouth in front of him.

But they were all the same to Toji—weak, predictable, and utterly worthless.

Toji wasn’t the type to be a hero—never had been, never would be. Kindness just wasn’t in his nature, and every decision he made came with a price. He didn’t hand out favors for free, and he certainly didn’t involve himself in someone else’s mess out of the goodness of his heart.

So why was he here?

The answer was annoyingly simple.

you.

Maybe it was because, technically, he was your husband. Sure, it was only in name, but the fact remained. Or maybe it was because of Megumi—his dumb, lovesick son—whose actions, if not his words, made it painfully clear just how deeply his affections for you ran.

From the surface, Toji could make excuses, just how he may have when he first picked you up from this clan. But deep down, way below—in the dark recesses of his mind, Toji understood the real reason.

It wasn’t about obligation or some half-hearted attempt to help Megumi.

It was the moment you'd broken down in his arms.

Sobbing, so uncharacteristically vulnerable, your back covered in those deep, fresh lashes—five if he counted correctly. Clinging onto him, in a way you hadn't ever done before, even when Megumi had been ignoring you. And he could see the scars from previous lashings. Some faint, a light pink indention, and others a solid light purple.

He wasn’t good at comforting people—really. And what good was an assassin in that situation?—but something in that moment had made his head snap. And a mix of different memories and bottled-up emotions compelled him forward. He'd never made impulsive decisions. And Toji Fushiguro was never one for kindness.

But now, here he was. Standing in front of your uncle, the so-called leader of your clan, ready to do something he knew was reckless. Something that could potentially mess things up for both you and his son. A defensive action like this could easily hint at a deeper relationship between the two of you, which was not something he really wanted. These geezers weren't brand new to mind games, but neither was he. And, sure, he could just kill the guy, but that seemed like way too much effort. A few choice words should handle it.

"So, tell me...why is the Toji Fushiguro bothering to grace me with his presence? I can’t imagine you're here to meet the in-laws?" He was fishing, hoping he would rise to the occasion, hint at any personal glimpse into the killer before him.

Toji didn’t take the bait. He just stood there, calm as ever, his face giving nothing away. God, did he hate these clan politics. His dark eyes casually swept the room, clearly bored—not impressed by the fancy decor, not intimidated by the guards at the doors, and definitely not by your uncle. Honestly, he'd rather be back home, digging into some of your homemade yakitori. This whole thing was turning out to be a real drag.

"What’s the matter? Are you just here to puff your chest and waste my time?" He's getting antsy now,

Toji’s lips twitched into an almost imperceptible smirk. His gaze razor-sharp, locking onto the older man. There was a pause as your uncle locked eyes on Toji's. Unmoving, unflinching, before Toji took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance just enough to make the clan leader stiffen. "You know," Toji said, his voice casual, almost conversational, "it’s funny. For a guy so full of himself, you’re awfully quiet about those welts you sent her home with."

Your uncle's eyes widened—but only for a moment, leaning back with mock nonchalance. "Welts? I have no idea what you're talking about. And what's it to you anyway? Don't tell me you've actually caught feelings for her?"

"Feelings? Don’t kid yourself. I’m not here to play hero, and I’m definitely not here for her." Toji shrugged casually, tossing his head to the side and leaning back to give him some room, his eyes flicking over the clan leader, as if taking his question seriously. "But let’s be honest—she doesn’t look as hot in bed when she’s got all those welts. Kinda ruins the mood, you know?"

Stunned, the clan leader chuckled uneasily, trying to regain some semblance of control. He shouldn't have been too surprised given the Sorcerer Killers stellar reputation for the debauched lifestyle. You were technically his wife afterall, "Ah, well—that makes more sense. Using the whore for what she's worth, I guess." Toji could practically hear your resale value dropping by the second, as the clan leader processed this thought before continuing in an almost thoughtful murmur. "Just here to make sure your toy stays intact."

"Call it whatever you want. I don’t care. But if you think I’ll let you mark her skin up again, then you’re even dumber than you look."

The clan leader’s sneer returned, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. Much like a petulant child, not getting his way. "And if I don’t? What then, Fushiguro? You’ll kill me?" Now lets not go putting ideas into his head...

Toji let out a low chuckle, shaking back in laughter at the fear creeping into his voice. "Kill you? Nah. You’re not worth the effort." He paused, feigning a change of heart as his voice dropped, leaning in again for the kill, his words a hefty weight. "Actually, maybe I’ll stick around. Tear this whole place apart just for fun. I hate this sorcerer bullshit anyway. Watching your precious clan crumble might actually make my day."

The clan leader’s face twitched, his bravado faltering again under Toji’s unrelenting gaze, his words hanging in the air-message loud and clear.

"Fine," he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "If it means that much to you, no more marks. No need to make this a bigger deal than it is."

Toji smirked, satisfied. He stepped back as he turned toward the door. "Good. Glad we could see eye to eye," he said oh so smoothly.

With that, he strode out, leaving your uncle in an uncomfortable silence. Toji knew the man wouldn’t see him as anything but a threat, and that was exactly what he wanted. As long as they kept their grubby hands off you, he didn’t care what they thought—or what he had to say to make them believe it. And hopefully your home clan wouldn't go around making decisions on this calculated move alone.

Now, it was time for some well-deserved meat.

Thankfully, your clan visits were few and far between.

The trip home that day had been nothing short of brutal, and your clan head’s disdainful disregard for how you might explain the aftermath to your husband lingered in your mind like a bitter aftertaste.

The weeks dragged on, and before you knew it, the seasons had shifted. Fall gave way to winter, winter melted into spring, and eventually, summer arrived again. Yet, Megumi’s absence remained a constant despite the seasonal changes.

Determined to stay connected despite the distance, you’d picked up a cell phone not long after Megumi left. Toji had handed over both his and Megumi's numbers with his usual air of indifference. “In case of emergencies,” he’d said, tossing the paper onto the table like it was no big deal. But to you, it was. Your focus had been on one number only: Megumi’s. He was the hardest to reach anyways.

What would you even say? Hi, how are you? Too formal. I miss you already. Too much. The hesitation gnawed at you. After a few moments, you settled on something simple and sent it off, heart pounding in the silence that followed.

Megumi’s replies, however, had been scarce—short, distant, and frustratingly neutral. You tried not to let it sting, reasoning that he was busy adjusting to his new life at Jujutsu Tech. He had training, studies, and an entirely new world to navigate. But the lack of insight into his world left you feeling unmoored and oh so helpless.

Did he eat well? Was he overworking himself? Did he even want to hear from you? The unanswered questions piled up, an invisible weight pressing on your chest.

When his birthday came, you’d agonized over whether to call, but the fear of interrupting—or worse, being brushed off—kept your fingers from dialing. Instead, you texted him, wishing him a happy birthday in a message that felt far too impersonal. Hours later, his reply came: a simple thank you.

It was polite, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t tell you if he was happy, if he’d smiled at your message, if he’d even thought of you beyond that brief acknowledgment. The distance between you felt larger than ever, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was slipping further away—or if you were.

You hoped—prayed—that he’d found some happiness at school. That maybe the time away had helped him grow, helped him heal in ways you couldn’t. You wondered if his sharp tongue and stubborn attitude had softened enough to allow for real friendships. Did he smile more? Did he laugh? You pictured him in that new world, surrounded by people who might understand him better.

As summer approached, anticipation and unease twisted in your chest, a slow, suffocating knot that tightened with each passing day. The thought of seeing him again stirred a mix of emotions—excitement, yes, but also a quiet fear that plagued you. Would he still look at you with that same guarded expression? Would the distance he’d created remain? Would he persist with questions you couldn't answer?

His parting words haunted you, echoing in the quiet moments when your mind wandered too far. You replayed that last conversation over and over, dissecting every syllable, every pause, every look. The unspoken questions lingered like ghosts: Had you done enough? Said enough? You’d wished, countless times, that you’d found the right words to ease the tension before he left.

Now, with the summer sun creeping closer, you could only wonder if it was too late to mend what had been broken—or if it had been broken at all.

And then, one quiet afternoon, he came home.

The sound of the door creaking open sent a jolt through you. Without thinking, you found yourself halfway down the hallway, your heart pounding in your chest.

When you saw him, you froze—and so did he.

He stood in the doorway, his tall frame outlined by the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. A faint breeze followed him in, tousling his hair and leaving it slightly messy, adding to the disheveled charm he carried so effortlessly. His piercing eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away.

Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, laden but charged, his gaze lingering on your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail. He looked different—older, his features sharper, his presence more commanding. You still found yourself struggling to recognize him each time you saw him—such a common occurrence now that it was almost expected. There was something in his eyes, something softer, more vulnerable. He looked like he wanted to say something.

“Megumi,” you whispered, full of hesitance. Your voice almost broke under the weight of the moment, a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

He didn’t move, his hands still gripping the straps of the bag slung over his shoulder. For a second, you thought he wouldn’t respond. Then he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he stepped further inside.

“Hey,” he said softly, the warmth in his voice wrapping around you like a balm. It was a simple word, but it carried so much—a mixture of relief, uncertainty, and something deeper—something unfamiliar, that made your chest well up.

You’d missed him more than you dared to admit. More than you’d allowed yourself to feel during the long months of silence. And now, standing here, the space between you felt both impossibly vast and achingly small.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, without a second thought, you closed the space between you and wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. He stiffened, caught off guard, before slowly, his arms came up to hold you, and to your surprise, he hugged you back. Not hesitantly or awkwardly, but fully, his arms wrapping securely around you and pulling you close, almost flush to him. His head dipped down, his nose brushing against your hair as he held you firmly against his chest.

“Welcome home,” you murmured, unable to keep the brittleness from your tone, your cheek pressed against him. The words felt fragile, as though the moment might shatter if you spoke too loudly.

He didn’t respond immediately, but you felt him exhale, a deep, contented sigh that seemed to come from somewhere buried deep inside. His nose pushed further into your hair, and his grip tightened just enough to knock the breath out of you.

“I missed you,” his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the stillness. You hadn't expected it, the sentiment not lost on you. It'd been too long, the texts too short, and the emptiness of the house too loud. But the way his arms enveloped you, strong and protective, took away all of those negative feelings.

Your arms tightened around him in return, head still laying on his chest. The words slipping from your lips, practically dripping with affection. “I missed you too.”

Finally, after what felt like both seconds and forever, he shifted slightly, loosening his hold just enough for you to pull back. When your eyes met his again, you couldn't help the small smile plastered on your face. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, and it sent a bittersweet ache through your chest, a feeling you didn’t quite know how to name.

The corner of his mouth twitched, “You text a lot, you know that?”

A soft laugh bubbled out of you. “And you’re terrible at replying.”

“Dinner’s already started,” remembering the pan still on the stove. “You’re probably starving.”

He didn’t let go immediately, his hands lingering on your arms as if reluctant to let the moment end. “Yeah,” his voice low, as a faint flush crept up his cheeks, he finally stepped back. “Starving.”

You gave him a warm smile, brushing your hand lightly against his arm before turning toward the kitchen. Even as you moved away, you could feel his gaze lingering on you from behind—heavy, unrelenting, and more present that he previously was. Whatever walls had been between you before—whatever distance he’d tried to create—seemed to crumble in that quiet, intimate moment. Just what happened while he was at school?

Dinner that night was warm and comforting, a feeling you hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever.

“So, how was school? Are you making any friends?” you chirp, pacing around the kitchen, so aware of his eyes tracing your every movement. The excitement in your tone was impossible to miss, a lightness that hadn’t been there in months. After so many quiet dinners with only Toji for company, the thought of someone else at the table made you relieved. Even if the two of you had been getting along better recently.

Megumi glanced up from his plate, pausing for a moment before answering. “It’s...fine,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind. “I’m focused on my training. That’s what matters.”

You hummed, a small smile tugging at your lips. You don't miss the evasiveness of his answer. “Still, I hope you’re finding time to enjoy yourself, even just a little.”

He didn’t respond right away, fiddling with his food, his gaze briefly dropping to his plate.

“Make any friends?” you try again, gently.

“A few,” he admitted, his tone reluctant but not dismissive.

“Really?” you hum out again, glancing over your shoulder at him. You wanted him to open up to you, but with his nature it wasn't exaclty going to be easy to get him to talk. “Anyone special?”

He shrugged, eyes still downcast. “Not really,” he replied, his voice neutral but you saw the way he trailed off, lost in his own thoughts.

You paused, raising an eyebrow at him, deciding to press a little more. “C’mon, Megumi,” you teased lightly, turning back to the stove. Your tone intentionally unserious. “I know you’re not that antisocial. You’ve got to be opening up a little, right?”

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but the expression didn’t quite land. “It’s fine,” he groaned, though his tone softened slightly, as if the question hadn’t entirely annoyed him. “I’ve been busy.”

You hummed again in acknowledgment, not pushing him further, but your smile lingered. You were just glad to have him here, back where he belonged. Actually talking to you. Even if he wasn’t saying much, his presence spoke volumes.

Your questions continued easily—about school, his classes, his life outside of the house—and though his answers were typically grumpy and brief, you didn’t mind. It was the fact that he was answering at all, the fact that he wasn’t shutting you out, that made it all feel worthwhile. You didn’t dare bring up the tension from last summer, not wanting to risk spoiling the fragile good mood.

Toji was out for the night, leaving the house blissfully quiet, and Megumi made no comment on the food, though he cleaned his plate for the second time. It was a small victory, but it still left you smiling as you settled onto the couch afterward.

Megumi surprised you by sitting beside you. He didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms and leaned back, his expression neutral as you put on a movie. Sure, he'd sat near you before, but the long months that followed his absence made you tense a bit. He didn’t seem particularly interested in the movie you put on, but you heard no complaints.

At some point, exhaustion crept up on you. The day had been long, and the warmth of the room, combined with Megumi’s quiet, steady presence, lulled you into sleep. Without realizing it, you shifted slightly, leaning toward him, your head eventually coming to rest against his shoulder.

Megumi, of course, noticed immediately.

He stiffened at first, his entire body going rigid as he felt the soft weight of you curling against him. His breath hitched, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break out of his chest. His mind screamed at him to stay still, to not move or make a sound.

But then he glanced down.

You looked so peaceful, so utterly at ease with him, and it sent a surge of emotions through him that he could barely contain. Warmth, nervousness, longing—it all tangled together, leaving him frozen in place. The faint light from the television cast soft shadows across your face, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

You trusted him so much, leaned into him so easily, and it made him ache with something deep and primal. He didn’t know if he deserved this—if he deserved you—but he couldn’t stop himself from savoring the moment.

Tentatively, he allowed himself to relax, his shoulder shifting slightly to give you more room. His fingers twitched in his lap, aching to reach out and brush a stray strand of hair from your face, but he held himself back. He couldn’t ruin this.

He stayed like that, unmoving, as you curled closer, your breathing soft and even against him. Every part of him burned with the overwhelming need to keep you like this, to hold you, to never let you go.

When the movie ended, and the room fell into quiet stillness, he carefully reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. Gently, he pulled it over you, his hand brushing your arm as he tucked it around you. The brief contact sent a shiver down his spine, but he forced himself to pull away.

He refused to leave, wanting to be with you like this as long as possible.

p.1

p.10

come home

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