#s: old wounds
Text
Transference Ch 2
inspired by @scealaiscoite 's touch-starved prompts
TW: First aid on bad wounds, uhhh swearing? cuz Danny should get to say fuck, can't think of anything else atm, if u want a better list follow the Pt 1 link to my Ao3
Go gently friends,
~Ren
Pt 1
Danny wants to pull this plane apart. He would do it happily! With a little extra enthusiasm. He wants to remove panels to see the guts, how the wires connected and weaved together to put this wonder together. What gave the engine that quiet whisper of a purr that even with Danny’s dialed up senses he could barely hear it? Was it made out of special metal? A plane used in vigilante missions must have been reinforced with special materials in case of impact or a crash. Who oversaw the maintenance? Danny wanted to meet the person who regularly got elbows deep in the bowels.
How many special security measures did it have? Since this was Batman’s plane probably more than Danny could think of. How many secrets did it guard? This plane probably had access to some very dangerous information, so one would assume it was a target. The plane was vulnerable being left unattended wherever they were. With the vigilante’s away on their mission their rogues could play. Danny knew firsthand with his own rogues. Was the plane on the same network as the Batcave? It had to be right? At least the comms? Was it in case they had to share updates on confidential files between locations? Danny’s fingers itch to get his hands on the controls, examine the programming, maybe find a systems list.
He can’t see the plane that well yet, but he can feel it hum under his feet. The soft vibration works its way up his body-it’s nice, he decides, to be able to focus on figuring out what exactly was running down below rather than his brother collecting a number of things before moving behind him. Danny was close enough to the wall that his fingers traced along barely there seams between the smooth, cool to the touch metal. He wouldn’t know how durable it is unless someone told him what the material was, but the likelihood of them divulging their secrets was very low, if nonexistent.
Still Danny was free to wonder, no one could restrict his thoughts. What kind of weapons systems did it have? Surely there must be a bathroom. Regular planes had those small ones, if Danny’s experience with Vlad’s displays of wealth told him anything, the obnoxiously rich liked to embellish their already expensive things with expensive add-ons. Danny can’t yet see how big the cabin is, but he’s perched on some sort of cot. He must be in some sort of medical treatment area that the Bats use when they get injured on missions and there is no doctor readily available.
If things go well after his eyes are healed maybe his father would let him take a look around? (They currently were itching something fierce as they slowly healed.)
The parallel between the Fentons and Bruce Wayne’s intelligence was not lost on Danny, and he cannot help but feel so heart wrenchingly fond. He has had a lifetime habit of collecting parents that have made brilliant vehicles.
(He ached for the time before the portal when he was close with the family that took him in, when that GAV was simply an RV to take deep in the woods and lay out a blanket on the hood or roof to watch the stars, talking about the possibility of something more out there.)
Danny can’t stop his flinch from where Nightwing had accidentally rubbed too hard along the edge of his shoulder. “Hey Bud?” Nightwing calls out, “Lookin at your back, well, some of the tissue has started dying,” The man genuinely sounded upset about it, did he not know? “it’ll need to be removed, but I’ll have Agent A take a look when we get off a moving vehicle, okay?” His brother finished explaining over Danny’s internal tangent. His back doesn’t hurt that bad, which is concerning in its own way since the wound was- as dick pointed out- awful, but it did draw him back out of head. Danny bobs his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll clean them up the best I can for now.” Danny probably wasn’t supposed to hear that mumble that sounded like Richard was talking to himself, as though he was reassuring himself there was something productive he could do to improve the situation.
Despite the setback, the vigilante is calm, sitting behind Danny painstakingly cleaning his back wounds. So far unshaken by what Danny is certain is a grotesque scene the man is chattering away about patrols and the person called Agent A, who he is reassured will meet them back at the Cave. It kind of amazed Danny how the man was able to endure his tiny flinches and hissed breath to try while trying to distract him. Danny currently wasn’t an easy patient to stomach.
The sores tunneled down through fat and muscle to his bone. Most of the sores were in stage four, it didn’t take them long to eat away at him and fester, even before becoming a halfa the boy was tall and willowy meaning he had no body fat to slow down the progression of the forming injuries. They hadn’t tried to hide anything from him in the time he was trapped there. After all, if a ghost isn’t sentient, it can’t possibly understand in-depth scientific experiments so why bother to attempt secrecy that would be a waste of precious time and energy. They had simply discussed it like everything else, over his twisted body for most of the day. The scientists had only moved him previously when they needed access to a different part of his body. When they discovered his body started to develop bed sores They were excited. (Danny felt himself slipping away from his body into his memory, he was slipping away from Richard.)
“That’s odd…Honey! Look,” The woman said softly some time into his captivity. She’s pointing at his side, Danny can’t tell what she could be pointing at, all of him hurts. He can’t remember what they did there that could be worth pointing out now. Them not remembering sends a weak chill down his spine, they kept meticulous notes even if it was swallowed by their disorganized storage, it shouldn’t be possible for them to be surprised at the state he’s in since they carefully crafted the condition he’s in. Her fingers flick his collar on, unbuckling the right restraint as she goes before they sharply dig into his right shoulder, before flipping him onto his side roughly to see from another angle like that old map on their family trip to see Aunt Alicia last summer. “It’s getting sores! Stage two I’d say.”
“Bed sores? It’s hurting itself?” The man’s voice comes out bewildered before he leans closer to see and then cheerfully muses. “Seems like the ectoscum can cannibalize itself! Look at the inflammation! Do you think the infection and strain could kill a ghost?” Danny whimpers behind his muzzle when he can feel the man in his curiosity starting to poke at the edges of the wound with something metal and sharp. “Huh, Mads?” The man prompts.
The woman doesn’t respond. Their silence blankets the room, the scientists both thinking over what they see, what it means.
The woman makes a small sound and goes rigid reaching for her husband. “I-It’s damaging Danny’s corpse!” She wails in grief, Danny wants to wail right along with her that they’re already destroying his body, "Degrading him further-” A sob echoes in the lab ripping his heart into tatters, Danny tries not to think too hard on the fact he’s so affected by her distress even though they’ve been elbow deep in his ribcage, poking, prodding and removing organs. He tracks the diagonally moving tears as they dribble down the side of his face, across his left cheek to disappear into his hairline. He feels ashamed, after all this hurt, he still loves them, his core still cries out for them. He realizes she’s not just sobbing now the woman is screaming at his prone form, “-how cruel is your species going to be!? Get out. GET OUT OF OUR SON! Murderer! You-”
NO!
No, now isn’t the time to think about that.
Danny can taste the iron from his bitten cheek and the salt from wayward tears. He takes a deep breath trying to ground himself in the present. Nightwing had seen the lab, the sight of the mad scientist’s work had made him physically sick, pulled him so carefully from that table, smoothly carrying him away from his own personal hell to the Batplane. They aren’t here. He was… safe with his brother, for the moment.
A crackle of static explodes from behind him causing Danny to flinch away from his brother before a mess of different voices comes through. He can’t hear what they’re saying, the voices too tangled, too unfamiliar, and too quiet since he didn’t have a direct connection, but whatever is said at the end is enough for the vigilante to go rigid and pause in his ministrations to reply. “Woah, B, I’m still here, no need to sound so scary!” Richard chuckles a bit and doesn't feel scared or worried, so Danny relaxes again.
The eldest son hums, “No, I just was ignoring you,” Danny cracked a small smile at the plume of amusement that drifted between them. Richard’s hand grasps his own gently, “Yes I know how batty you get when I shut off my comms. Yes, I found the main lab.” Richard huffs, “Yes. B, I got ‘im out, we’re in the plane, I’m looking over him now. Have you forgotten I’ve been doing this with you since I was eight or that I took over the Batman mantle under the assumption you were dead?” Richard's voice strains a little in frustration by the end.
Another smaller burst of noise comes quickly in response. Danny flushes weakly in embarrassment as he realizes, like with Team Phantom, it was probably Nightwing’s team all talking over each other in his earpiece. Danny’s core aches at the thought of his sister and friends, how long has it been since Danny’s heard their voices? Weeks? Months? Ancients, could he have been with Them for a year? More?
A single voice breaks through over the others, whatever was said had Nightwing tense, ready to spring to his feet, bursting at the seams with rage-protect-refusal-grief.
The sudden change in his bubbly brother would’ve knocked Danny down had he been standing, because he isn’t standing Danny reaches out. Danny might not trust him but his father’s eldest hasn’t even tried to hide what he was feeling. Might not know he needs to. He has his ‘eyes’ wide open now. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and he became a lab frog. There will not be a third time. Danny will not trust this side of his family blindly but that doesn’t mean he can turn away from the man now.
He squeezes his brother’s hand gently to draw his attention, Danny could hear the man force himself to take a long, deep breath. A soft burst of affection-love-love-love-protection brushed against him in return. It was delicate and wispy but strong enough to linger in the air around them. It couldn’t hurt to keep the contact going, Danny decided. Anything to keep that depressing cocktail of emotions from creeping back.
“No.” Another breath, “Stay there and finish what we started.” The tone is cold and leaves no room for argument. “No one comes on board. This isn’t about what you, or Robin or anyone wants. This is about him. What he needs to feel safe enough to leave here with me. This is about trust. So. If he has decided that he would like some peace and quiet on the way home, he’ll be getting it. Anyone who has an issue with that can take it up with me in the ring when we get back. Any questions?” Nightwing growls into his comms, a singular voice says something after a moment.
Danny strains to try and catch what was said. He doesn’t want them to fight over him. “Good,” His brother loses the edge to his voice, “I’ll send the plane back to pick you guys up!” The coms shut off abruptly and he says to Danny, “Sorry about them!”
Danny just shrugs in response as his brother resituates himself on the cot, unhooking Danny’s hand from his to move it so it rested against Richard’s calf. Danny accepted the change with a weak flex of his hand feeling the rasp of kevlar against his palm. Danny always remembered it because of its interesting texture. Perfect for their dangerous nightlife. If Danny needed armor this is what he’d want to get his hands on, a team with resources tends to help too. Keeping in touch with one’s team is important, Danny can’t fault Richard for that. They settle back into a comfortable silence.
Because they were connected it was easy to catch the beginnings of Richard’s hesitance stirring, “If.. How would it make you feel if your brother wanted to see you?” Richard asks hesitantly as he unexpectedly starts on a new wound making Danny flinch forward. “Sorry Danny.” The genuine, unfiltered feeling of remorse unsettles Danny a bit but instead of retreating he leans into it. The people who once had been his parents- who he still loved despite what had happened, it was all encompassing and intertwined with his anger and longing- had never felt remorse for hurting him. Danny shook his head a bit, Richard is still waiting for a response.
His brother? Richard was his brother, technically, even if Danny’s not sure he can risk staying with the Bats. He won’t deny anyone their connection to Bruce or Batman. Richard was gentle and caring while his emotions bubbled up and warmed Danny to his core like he was in a jacuzzi. He couldn’t have meant himself so that must mean one of the others wanted to see him? Would they be like Richard? Are any of them upset at the idea that another child was connected to Bruce?
They were all siblings, all family through their father but that doesn’t mean the connection has to be acknowledged or the label meant anything. Brother, sister, son, they were all just words. Family extended only as far as the living with the Fentons. Him being half-dead disqualified him quickly once they discovered his secret. Danny wasn’t exactly excited to find out what his father and his brood thought of his after-life.
Unsure, Danny shrugged again and played with the sweatshirt, he liked bunching it in his hands.
A few minutes of silence went by before a beeping started up. His brother sighed, not sounding surprised and started digging around looking for something. That something is placed in his hand, it takes a second for Danny to work out what it is. A comm. He throws a questioning hum back at Richard. “He’s calling on a private line, I figured you could listen in and make your own decision.” That. That was very considerate. Giving him a choice. Seems to be on trend for the man. Danny is rightfully suspicious but slips the comm into his ear nodding to go ahead and connect them. There’s a beep signaling the connection was established. Danny wasn’t prepared who he would hear on the other end.
“Wing. I am converging on your location. What is his status?” The voice is breathless, and the tone is harsh, filled with frustration but familiar. A voice lost to time and those damned sand dunes.
“He’s currently conscious, Little D. Banged up but we expected that. Thought I told everyone to hold their positions?” He questions softly, a distinct contrast to the almost harsh tone he used on the comms earlier. Dick knows Damian has been desperate to find Danny running himself into the ground searching labs and bases, the team tried and failed to get him to rest or slow down for a moment to regroup. Isn't surprising that he’s decided to abandon his part of the mission and head for the plane. It kills Dick but he’ll have to be very firm in his stance besides Danyal, if he says no other Bats on the plane, Dick will leave Damian behind.
“Tt. I did not abandon my responsibilities. Orphan is finishing our section,” Damian sounds offended their brother even implied that he didn’t do a thorough job, the familiar reaction lessens some of the uncertainty Danny is feeling. “I have arrived, open the doors, Wing.”
“Sorry Baby Bat, no can do!” Nightwing cheerfully responds, “I’m-” Danny tugs hard on the man’s sleeve.
Danny signs frantically, D.A.M.I. comes aboard. Now. Hurry. We are mirrors. Dangerous
The man looks confused at his interjection but has such a soft smile on his face at Danny’s response until it turns to a frown at the last bit, one that Danny realizes with a start that he can finally see. Slowly the man reaches for his comm, “Scratch that, Baby D says you need to come aboard. Looks like those bastards could have it out for you too.”
~~~~~~~
Dick watches both of his brothers as Robin rushes inside as soon as the door is cracked enough to squeeze through. Dick stays where he is by the console, hitting the buttons to close the door and listens to the many locks reengage. Once secure he inputs their destination and hits autopilot. Better to get Danny to Alfred as soon as possible now that both twins are on board. If he has to separate them… Well, there are some tranquilizers on board and Dick is sure Damian could enjoy his nap in the bathtub as punishment for upsetting their very injured new sibling. Damian freezes a few steps from the door, Dick sees the desperate drive to find his twin that has been hounding the boy for weeks extinguishing the moment he laid eyes on the cot. He’s ripping off his domino mask with no hesitation, exposing his full face for them to see.
Dick almost relaxes when he sees the awe that broke through first on Danny’s face at Damian’s entrance, the emotion flickers away quickly before he tucks his chin in and his face is obscured in shadow. The urge to jump in and soothe him rises so quickly Dick almost rises from his seat but instead throws his weight back further until his hip digs in a bit to the arm and he knows he will remain in place. He would not interfere unless Danny became physically distressed. Danny had wanted to see Damian, Dick reminds himself. Dick had a few reasons he had even asked the boy about it. If things went well it truly would be good for both of the twins.
Dick had seen Damian determined before, seen the kid get news that left him shaken and lost, but no one had seen him flip flop from rattled to be as focused or push himself that hard, not even when Damian was convinced the only way to prove his worth to Bruce was killing his older siblings. He’s grown so much over the years and is now making his own decisions and having so many different experiences, his little brother has learned so much and came so far. Dick didn’t think it was possible to feel prouder.
“Dami.” Danny croaks with a wince and a hand at his throat. He’s looking at his lap, his other hand fiddling with the sheets.
“Danyal.” Damian’s voice wavers, “Ahki.” The boy is rooted to his spot, waiting for permission to approach. The words visibly hit Danny and he shakes his head a wounded whine. He clearly didn’t expect his twin to be here nor Damian to recognize him as blood, as a brother. Danny’s hand drops the sheet reaching for Damian. His body starts to tilt forward, and Dick can’t help but take a step towards them even as Damian rushes to meet Danny, carefully draping his arms around Danny’s shoulders which gently keeps him from falling to the floor. There isn’t much unbroken skin to rest Damian’s arms on, but Danyal hardly seems to care.
A heart wrenching sob fills the cabin, their youngest sibling gripping Damian’s cape so tightly his knuckles are white. Dick can just make out the quiet tones of Damian speaking Arabic quietly in their brother’s ear. Their bodies sway with the instinctual drive to comfort, it’s touching, very cute…
Always one to take advantage of sibling shenanigans Dick quickly pulls out his phone with a smile and snaps a picture to send to the boys later… And the group chat that Damian isn’t in. Picture sent, he tucks his phone away. His phone vibrates with multiple notifications but doesn’t check it. The Bat Brood can simmer. Dick smirks as he moves back over to the sink to wash his hands so he can continue treating Danyal’s back. The tears and sobs abruptly cut off behind him.
“Fuck.”
~~~~~
If Danny didn’t just spend an unknown amount of time being tortured by the family that chose him as a child, he would be sinking through the floor in mortification. Damian was here. His gaze burned from the entrance and Danny for a long moment was afraid. What was Damian seeing when he gazed at the pathetic picture Danny made hunched on the cot? Danny couldn’t help but fidget with the sheet to try and ease the unsteady feeling in his chest. He’d wait. Yes. Let Damian brave the quiet- “Dami.” The broken sound leaves his throat, oh ouch.
He raises a hand to hover over the area, cradling it as if his palm could dampen the scratching pain. Danny waits. He had fucked it up. He hasn’t even given his brother the respect of meeting his gaze. (Not that he can see clearly for more than a foot in front of him, everything past that was misshapen and difficult to make out.) What in the Infinite Realms has possessed him to call out to Damian so casually, affectionately? Damian had only ever allowed that name in the hush of the night when they were alone.
“Danyal.” Oh. “Ahki.” Oh. Oh Damian, his other half. Awe-grief-regret-vengeance- protect-help-love whipped across the space between them, heavy and fierce Danny can’t help but shake his head with a sharp whine. Guilt chokes him for doubting his twin, his other half. With distance he was able to bottle up his yearning and then he was so busy with the portal, rogues and Zone, he had been too exhausted to reminisce too deeply about his childhood. He kept his eye on the news for surface level stuff, had seen his brother go to their father but didn’t dare make a move to follow him.
He regrets that now as Damian slips his arms around his shoulders gently securing him back onto the cot. Damian was holding him like he’d shatter at too hard of a grip, but Danny doesn’t care, he’s in his brother's arms. Damian is hugging him. Danny can’t stop the sobs that bubble from his chest, it hurts each inhale pulls at his y-incision, the pain he hasn’t felt rushing forward. Danny fists fabric and pulls his brother close.
"Baby brother,” Damian crooned in quiet Arabic “Danyal, I’m here. I got you. You did well enduring until help arrived, I’m so proud of you.” Damian’s emotions were overwhelming, they accompanied his sweet words enveloping his senses. He wasn’t lying, Danny can feel it. The rage that’s rising within Damian should scare him yet he’s leaning on his brother harder. Damian is furious with Them, not Danny. He sobs and listens to his brother's promises of safety, of retribution. He feels safe here cradled close in Damian’s arms. Truly safe, something hidden deep within him unwinds.
He knows how stubborn his twin is, how he would’ve fought tooth and nail to be part of the team that was looking for him. He’ll have to ask about that later, how they’d even know to go looking for him when he’s years dead, buried, and bones for his birth family. He was a little mad they’d bring his brother here when-
His core shutters in his chest. The feeling that something was wrong hit Danny harder than Skulker. “Fuck.” Danny reluctantly pulls back from Damian. His core pulses weakly. Danny somehow knows it’s a warning.
“Danyal?” Damian sounds wary, his hand grips Danny’s arm tightly. The pressure is reassuring because Danny is so scared right now. But this could be worse. With Damian here, perhaps things will turn out okay.
Danny wants to linger looking at his eyes. A shade he’s never found a substitute for, but so desperately tried to keep fresh in his memory. Time slows. His core pulses. Danny’s body wavers for a heartbeat in his brother's grip. “What is happening?!” Damian looks alarmed, his grip tightening and releasing like he does with his blades while gearing up for a fight. It’s cute and almost makes Danny coo at his elder brother.
Running out of time Danny grits his teeth and frees his arm to start signing as fast as he can to try and explain. It would help if he knew how much they knew about him, the Fentons, the GIW and ghosts but they didn’t have time for a report. He doesn’t want to say too much but he has to warn them. If Vlad finds out he’s away from the GIW and vulnerable he was screwed. The Bat Parade isn’t trained in ghost fighting. Danny would be taken and who knows if he’d ever be able to escape.
Had an accident. Not fully human. Too much physical damage- Danny signs.
His core pulsed weakly interrupting him before it pulled, his body rippled in sync. His head swims, words are hard to remember for a moment. Danny has to hurry, and he isn’t really sure how he wants to phrase this next part, if anything causes the Bats to change their minds about helping him, it won’t matter what Damian wants. The only way for Danny was through, avoidance wouldn’t help at this point.
-I’m about to hibernate in my C. O. R. E. Core- He continues.
“Core? What is a core?” Dick breaks in. Danny’s eyes jumped to the man, before focusing back on Damian, there wasn’t time. They would barely be getting a shitty explanation out of Danny didn’t have time for questions from the peanut gallery. Damian's gaze is calm and steady when it meets his. He hasn’t turned away from him, he didn’t interrupt.
-I haven’t seen it, but it’s… my everything, heart, organs, brain. Core heals. Without a human body DANGEROUS for me. Danny is sure to emphasize again, DANGEROUS, vulnerable.
Find J. A. Z. Z. F. E. N. T. O. N. Useful. Ally- Danny hesitates on why but gives in- knowledge, weapons, shields.
V.L. A. D. Enemy. Vlad is bad. Don’t trust.
He makes the sign for creep and sees Damian’s expression shutter under his protective rage. An instinctive small trill leaves Danny’s lips, pleased that if Vlad shows his face Damian won’t make it easy for him to have his way.
Despite his best effort Danny is losing steam his instructions come out choppy. He has moments left.
Damian watches him, like he can feel Danny’s core shift, resignation seeps off his body in waves but determination makes his expression fierce, “You will be safe, Danyal. I will be here when you return.” We will be together. Danny hears the unspoken promise.
A. H. K. I. You’re a target. I love you. Danny signs their personal signal for head on a swivel and then reels Damian back in, desperate for one last touch to make him real. Tucked in his twin's arms Danny gives himself over to that feeling of safety, clinging to it as he sank into his core.
~~~~~
Damian blinked light out of his eyes and frowned at the big black spot taking up his vision. His hand now hid what was left of his twin. Danyal had just been in front of them horribly hurt but alive. Finding and freeing his twin was all that had mattered to him. Damian lightly squeezes the hand holding his brother’s quiet core to feel the shape of it in his palm. Once more in his life Danny’s vibrant presence is just out of his reach.
Grief is an old friend that rises to swallow him. Damian beats it back viciously. Black and blue move closer in his peripheral vision, his eldest brother snatches him close-no. Them close. His brother is still alive. He’s healing. Damian reminds himself despite the sudden wave of failure that crashed into him. Holds onto the thought stubbornly as he examines the stone in his hand. It’s the same shade of blue that makes up Danyal’s eyes.
The impulsive part of him calms looking into the swirling blue.
If he hadn’t seen the transformation himself. If he hadn’t been allowed aboard… he wouldn’t believe it. Damian is immensely grateful that captivity hadn’t broken his brother, not completely. Danny had been hesitant but had put his trust in them. Damian had seen his hesitation, the wariness, how Danyal had shrunken into himself, his instincts likely screaming to run, to hide. Whether that trust was because he chose to, or if he ran out of options, Damian didn’t want to know the answer. The unknown time between them no longer was a curiosity to be explored in ‘what ifs’ but a potential threat that Danyal needed to handle carefully. It stung, it being logical didn’t detract from that. Too many years apart, too much had changed within each of them, and their relationship cut short before it took off but not before carving out a part of him. Nothing could compare to the cruel crater Danyal’s life had left in his wake of his death.
His twin’s core gleamed innocently in his palm.
“Damian.” Richard’s worried tone draws his attention away from Danyal’s new form.
Damian keeps his gaze on the core, takes a calming breath and promises himself that when Danyal is back, they’ll go to the place he secured and created with his twin in mind after coming to Gotham, show him Damian’s sketchbooks and paintings, and introduce him to the animals in his care. Damian will finally get to share this strange, chaotic, but warm family with him, as he was always meant to. Damian would be careful that there would be no mistakes, no lead unfollowed, every piece would be gathered together and turned over, a plan would be made that would safeguard their victory. Danyal is relying on him. Damian will utilize everything he’s gained over their years apart to protect his brother.
“Release me,” Damian demands as he wiggles out of his brother’s arms, but it doesn’t come out as firm as it would normally and turns to glance at the closest monitor. They still had two hours left until they arrived at the manor. Damian glances at Danyal’s core in his hand before he turns to face Richard. He looks like he needs to lie down but he has managed to keep a wobbling smile on his face. “Tt this is a mere setback,” Damian scowls at the little marble, he can’t be mad when his little brother gave him such valuable information on what pieces are on the board, the board he’s been playing on wherever he’s been hiding.
“Here, hold him for a moment- No!” Damian’s shout is too loud, it echoes around the cabin. His panic morphs his expression and his brother thankfully does halt his casual reckless reaching for their brother who is a quarter-sized marble. Danny only had said he was vulnerable before he ran out of time, they must exert the utmost caution. There would be no causal anything going on with Danyal in this state. “Let me. Please hold them flat.” Damian says softening his tone, Danny going into his core wasn’t Richard’s fault nor was it the families. He didn’t want to take his frustration out on him when Damian knows his eldest brother is reeling at the transformation right alongside him. The soft tone makes Richard’s smile come a bit easier this time at Damian’s mother henning and Damian tries not to preen under the approval he can see in Richard’s dopey smile. Carefully he places Danyal in Richard’s hands, they close softly around Danyal in a protective cage.
“He said he heals faster in this ‘core’?” It’s a silly question, but Damian nods watching Danny rest in Richard’s palms before sharply turning away to gather his things. He starts digging around for paper and a pen to make notes, folders for organizing the information, and his laptop before hunkering down.
“Uh.. okay,” Richard’s confusion both amused him and had Damian ready to snap in frustration. Danny had spent his last moments in his body giving them information and it will not go to waste, not for a second. He carefully labels the folders with the names Danyal had given him, pointedly ignoring the crisis Richard seems to be going through next to him, before he turns on his laptop and starts his search with this ‘Jazz Fenton’. Danny didn’t give Vlad's last name but this woman has the knowledge, weapons, and shields the family will need to protect their youngest. Damian knows what loss is, knows this loss specifically, he is determined to never feel it dig his claws in again.
Robin gets to work.
#daydreamsandcrashingwaves#ddcw.txt#dc x dp#danny and damian are twins#transference fic#hurt/comfort#ao3 writer#ao3 fanfic#Torture#old wounds#Touchstarved prompt#@scealaiscoite 's touch-starved prompts#evil cackling#ISTG i had the biggest grinch smile on my face writing this#Hope you enjoy as much as I did writing it!
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have you heard of tmnt:out of their shells? because I JUST found it and im losing my mind over it
*takes a long drag from cigarette*
Heard of it? Boy... I lived through it. You'd best not be bringing up things that shouldn't be spoken of. Even back then at the tender age of 6 I could tell it was cringe.
#don't open old wounds#tmnt#been seeing a lot of people talking about it recently and you're all crazy#just let it remain dead back in the 90's#along with aol dial up#and tamagotchi#and pogs#ok the 90's were actually pretty awesome
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...do you think Dante ever realised how Vergil-like he was acting around Patty? She was quite obnoxious in the anime, did he ever think 'oh no is this what being Vergil felt like?', or 'was I ever this annoying?'...
Knowing Patty did him a lot of good, do you think it, per chance, also reminded him of happier times in his and Vergil's childhood when they just played together and annoyed each other all the time?...only to, of course squash those nicer memories the moment Patty leaves, because then the reminders of what he's done come crashing down....
#i am having F e E L i n g S ok ay#seriously i just thought that dante always tried to make Patty mind her own business and that's exactly what smol Vergil wanted Dante to do#and it spiraled down from there#patty's obnoxious behavior helped him to keep Thoughts TM at bay but what if it also reminded him of his childhood#i mean her entire background is Painfully familiar to dante#i am a firm believer that protecting her helped dante heal some old wounds and he was already in an obsessively retrospective mood at the#time maybe she also provoked a resurfacing of some happier memories of his#only to get hammered by his trauma even harder later of course and to get actual hammered in attempts to escape this vicious cycle#congrats now you're sad too )#at least it is bittersweet this time#patty propaganda#makes my brain go brrrrrrr#wonder if it'll work in reverse too! would meeting vergil and seeing dante go all 'annoying little brother' on him remind patty of her first#meeting with dante for the first time? and will vergil's 'moody' behavior remind her of dante at that time#i will Force patty into sparda family trauma and you can't stop me#patty lowell#patty adopted dante as her father figure#patty and nero are cousins#vergil is patty's classy uncle#dmc
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considering an au where cassie is the hw2 protagonist...
#{ yes this mostly because of the vanny mask }#{ OH (edit) THERES ALSO THE CANDY CADET STORY THAT KINDA RESEMBLES THE ENDING OF RUIN }#{ but its ALSO because the protagonist knows how to use a faz wrench + }#{ this mimics (ha) the ending where cassie goes to that one poster and gets a fake happy ending }#{ maybe somehow she wound up in the old pizzeria (maybe its as far as she could go) and now shes just kinda stuck }#{ she keeps the mask on bc its the only way she can feel happy and safe but then theres reality which- }#{ -is likely meant to resemble ruin (especially bc of the mini games) }#{ im just having thoughts ok. }#hw2 spoilers /#{ im still not done so theres a high chance that fnaf canon will spit in my face again skdnsjnd }#{ (hw2's candy cadet not the ruin one skdndj) }#{ IM JUST??? }#🎬 || time for bear. (ooc.) || 🎬
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#tw: death#tw: irl death#tw: parent death#ok those tags will make sense in a moment but! cause I've been going back through my s/is lore it made think a lil deeper into her#relationship with o'b (true heat) n well the thought of them talking about kids came up#both o'b n myself irl have a genetic that can lead to terminal illness n cause my s/i is me she has it too#o'b carries a disease in his blood that killed his sister n mine can lead to terminal cancer not 100% but I'm more likely to possibly get it#over someone who doesn't have the same gene it's what killed my own dad irl#so i like the idea of both of them like bonding on that level knowing they both have like this *monster* inside them inside their genetics#n well its comforting to me to know he knows exactly how i feel irl#idk cause of the whole his ashes finally being ready for pick up thing it sorta opened old *wounds* n my fear of dying like he did#i know I'm gonna die someday everyone is but i don't wanna die the way he did#i think I'm venting uogihviyv not what i meant to do! I'm not looking for comfort! just brain werms went screwy lol#but i really like the idea of the two of them having a bonding moment over their fears n grief in a way that only people in that position#can#n it's comforting so ojghvihfiv#shut up rattie no one gives a shit lol
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hey, r u ok? dont forget to wash the wound and apply antibacterial cream! also, yellow as in infected or fat?
in a perfect world i'd tell u to just go to the doctor but i'm struggling with the same thing (afraid parents will yell) so can you pass it off as a wound from falling? is it the right shape for that? sorry if i'm overstepping my boundaries, i hope you're ok!!
Ill probz say in tags cuz,,, its,uhmmmmm not da best,, topic,, ever
tw wound talk n stuff n s/h :((
#tw wounds#tw injury#uhmmmm i am too scared to wash it#idek if we have antibacterial cream....#I cant rlly pass it off as a wound from a fall cuz... uhmm it was from a blade#tw self harm#<- yeah ill put that there now#and they know i do tend to uhhh engage in s/h#sooo#thats not possible soooo#also it was yellow as in fat.... eueuugughhh....#sorry if this is triggering to u#also u arent overstepping boundaries dw#also its been bandaged n stuff and i replaced the old bloodied bandage that i had on first so
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i am going to be so controversial right now but i think episode 1 of the loki series might just be my favourite simply because the premise of the first episode was so promising. in fact, critically analysing the show, the theme of loki having had to outrun the title of villainy and yet not quite folding into the mold of a hero would have been so outrageously gorgeous to explore. people praise agent of asgard, and honestly, i don’t see that much of a difference between what the loki series wanted to do vs. what has been written — until the writers of the series completely forgot what it was that made loki so appealing in the first place (his ambiguous alignment and his overall morally grey character), and many heavier themes are sacrificed for a warped romantic story that hadn’t needed to be told in the first place
#i am once again back on my bullshit because i think the idea that self love#needed to be visualised the way it had been with the whole s*lvie and l*ki is so unnecessary#because there are TONS of movies and stories out there#about individuals struggling with self-acceptance and self-love#and they react in such a questionable or damaging ways#that would've been so fun to explore in l*ki's perspective#from loki's questionable character#like coming out of age-ish genre?? would've been so fun to infuse#even if tom is already well in his 40s#because what if the discovery of sense of self if not you feeling too young and too old in your own skin#and thinking about it now... s*lvie's character would've been such a nice contrast#of a l*ki who has went too rogue; too deep-set in her revenge to come back#vs. this l*ki whom after the invasion of new york is still particularly new from the wounds#we know he carried in the mcu since hasn't experienced it yet; not by himself#like i could go on and on#people are so insistent that s*lvie is her own character#which is fine! but u have to understand she too is a l*ki and i wish she would've written more with that in mind#because l*kis are so interesting to explore in and of itself; in whatever version they existed with or upon#like im not sure if im making sense but ..... i just wish people care more to explore character study when they say they want to#anyways ep 2 shouldve been my fave cause of mobius' gorgeous gorgeous involvement#but ep 1 is so chef's kiss... i love the potential.#that would for sure be my favourite#gen: out of character.
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Had another dream story idea and it's BAD out here y'all. My subconscious said "you don't go for sad old white men yaoi? Well here's one and you have to care about it so much. Good luck"
#the braiiiin worms#The surrounding story was very good lotr asoiaf 80's fantasy epic and then there were these two dudes just So Achingly In Love oh my GOD#Basically they had been knights together back in the day during their own Young Men Do Big Things story and deposed the evil mage king#They were just village boys turned soldiers who fell in love and did something good#but then the one was basically forced to become king because he'd killed the last one and had to get married and produce an heir#So he does get married but tells the queen he's never going to sleep w her and she can fuck who she likes and her kids can have the throne#Since he's not even nobility he doesn't care about The Bloodline#His lover is promoted to “protector of the king” 👀 and they manage to be happy despite the restrictions of royal life#Eventually though it comes out that the king's kids aren't his#And this sparks a conflict between “loyalists” who want the True King's Legacy and the “monarchists” who want Real Noble Lineage#With the queen basically standing back and watching it happen as the crown prince decides now is a great time to try “patricide”#the lover finds the king's nephew (the loyalists' heir) and tells the guard to take him to distant family to raise until he's old enough#But the guard is like “he's gonna get found out in no time” so instead sells him to ppl who find exotic kids for nobles to keep as wards#and he basically disappears into a faraway household and the lover doesn't even know#Meanwhile the king survives a poison attempt but is now physically impaired and on high alert#He leaves with a small retinue to Do Some Business but when he comes back the castle gates are up and arrows start raining down#So it's him and his little group at the edge of a market vs. an entire castle#In the ambush/battle he is seriously wounded#and they try to fake his death to get back in the castle and then nurse him/sneak him out#But the prince doesn't take it at face value and stabs the “body” to make sure#and the lover has to act through watching his all-but-husband who'd just planned their escape from all this get killed in front of him#So that it doesn't blow his cover and get him killed too#That's about where the dream ended but I'm uggg g h gg#I'm SO invested in these two fantasy gays and their incredibly poetic relationship#Doesn't hurt that there were like 3 very graphic sex scenes between them across the timeline#And they were so obsessed with and hungry for each other the whole time.... the last one was just before the ambush#after the king has been left near-immobile from the poison and they're like 40-something#and the lover takes him away from all that and back to the days it was just them and he was strong#It was sooo romantic but also hell when can I get ravaged like that#Anyway I'm ruined and I can't even really work on it I have too many other things to do
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lsdunes: There’s a certain energy flowing around Old Wounds, how does this song make you feel? 🌌🌵
📸: @kevinestradaphotography
(L.S. Dunes Instagram | August 29, 2023)
#ls dunes#l.s. dunes#m: anthony green#m: frank iero#m: tim payne#m: travis stever#m: tucker rule#lsd: 2023#in: aug/23#t: photo#ph: kevin estrada#s: old wounds#sm: instagram#from: official instagram#archive[ane]
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https://x.com/lsdunes/status/1697656257199391133?s=12&t=7VhFiZCSUm5974J9kJkMcw
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details about ocs!
send an emoji/description of emoji to learn more about a writer's oc! many of these are taken from my munday asks meme, because i thought it would be fun to make a version for characters too! the prompts are categorized by emoji type and given descriptions in case anyone can't see the symbols. can be used for roleplayers and any general writers alike! for roleplayers, these can also be used for your interpretations of canon characters if you so desire as well!
𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒.
💭 THOUGHT BALLOON — what is your oc's MBTI, enneagram, and/or other personality aspects (if known/interested in)?
🚗 CAR — does your oc have a driver's license? can they drive/operate any automobiles/machinery besides cars?
✈️ AIRPLANE — does your oc like traveling, or do they consider themselves a more homey person?
🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?
💍 RING — does your oc have any piercings? do they want any (more) piercings?
🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN — does your oc have any tattoos? do they want any (more) tattoos?
📚 BOOKS — what level of education has your oc most recently completed/is currently in (GED, undergraduate, grad school, phd, etc)?
🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)?
🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?
🩸 DROP OF BLOOD — what is your oc's blood type?
𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐒.
🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often?
💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.
💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits?
🔱 TRIDENT EMBLEM — can your oc swim? do they enjoy swimming?
🔺 RED TRIANGLE POINTED UP — does your oc know how to use any weapons?
🔶 LARGE ORANGE DIAMOND — does your oc know cpr? do they have any other medical expertise?
🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?
𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄.
🌈 RAINBOW — what is your oc's sexual orientation/gender identity? what pronouns do they use?
🎄 CHRISTMAS TREE — what is your oc's favorite holiday?
🐶 DOG FACE — does your oc have any pets?
🐈 CAT — does your oc prefer a wide circle of friends or a few close friends?
🐷 PIG FACE — what is your oc's favorite animal?
🐉 DRAGON — what is your oc's favorite mythical creature?
🍃 LEAVES FLUTTERING IN WIND — what is/was your oc's favorite subject in school?
🌴 PALM TREE — does your oc have a green thumb? do they enjoy gardening?
🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?
𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒.
❤️ RED HEART — what are three of your oc's positive traits?
🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc's neutral/questionable traits?
💔 BROKEN HEART — what are three of your oc's negative traits?
💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?
🧡 ORANGE HEART — does your oc tend to prioritize family or friends?
💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any?
💚 GREEN HEART — does your oc prefer being inside or outside?
💙 BLUE HEART — does your oc have any cool/special powers and/or abilities? how are they with magic, if it exists in their world?
💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your oc's ancestry/genetic background?
🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?
𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒.
🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE — when is your oc's birthday? how old are they? what are their sun, moon, & rising signs (if known)? what about their tarot card, ruling planet, & ruling number (if known)? do they fit the typical traits of these sun, moon, & rising signs?
🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)?
🍰 SHORTCAKE — what is/are your oc's favorite sweet(s)/dessert(s)?
🍦 SOFT ICE CREAM — what is/are your oc's favorite ice cream flavor(s)?
🍔 HAMBURGER — is your oc good at cooking? are they good at baking? which one do they prefer?
🥯 BAGEL — what does your oc's typical breakfast look like? do they usually eat breakfast?
🥪 SANDWICH — what does your oc's typical lunch look like? do they usually eat lunch?
🍛 CURRY AND RICE — what does your oc's typical dinner look like? do they usually eat dinner?
🍸 COCKTAIL GLASS — what is your oc's favorite alcoholic drink, if they can drink?
☕️ HOT BEVERAGE — does your oc prefer coffee, tea, hot chocolate, milk, water, or some other drink? how do they like to take this drink (ex. coffee with milk, hot chocolate with whipped cream, a specific kind of tea, etc)?
𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄.
😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life?
😖 CONFOUNDED FACE — is your oc an introvert, an extrovert, or an ambivert? do they let people in easily, or are they more reserved?
🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms?
🧐 FACE WITH MONOCLE — is your oc more logical or emotional?
🤓 SMILING FACE WITH GLASSES — is your oc chatty or quiet? are they at ease in social situations, or are they more shy?
🤩 FACE WITH STARRY EYES — is your oc a planner, or are they more spontaneous in their actions?
😥 SAD BUT RELIEVED FACE — is your oc prone to getting stressed out, or is it easy for them to keep their cool?
😓 DOWNCAST FACE WITH SWEAT — is your oc open-minded or stubborn? are they inquisitive or do they prefer to keep to their bubble of knowledge?
😞 DISAPPOINTED FACE — does your oc attract others, or do they tend to be left alone?
🤒 FACE WITH THERMOMETER — does your oc get sick easily?
👨👩👧👦 FAMILY WITH MOTHER, FATHER, SON AND DAUGHTER — how many people are in your oc's immediate family? how many people are in your oc's extended family? do they have aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc? who in their family are they closest with? are they close with their birth family, or do they have a found family?
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↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴
☒ Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six
☒ Summary: Your heart felt full as Alastor continued his lead. You both danced to the melodic sounds, relishing in the shared embrace. That night was one that you cherished for months to come. But on the contrary, your blossoming relationship with Alastor solidified the beginning of the end.
☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, prequel to the first two parts, alastor and reader are human in this part, 1930's period typical misogyny (NOT from alastor), fluff, falling in love, obsessive!alastor, reader is in hell for a reason, murder, gunshot wound, major character death, one suggestive scene involving finger sucking *giggles*, domestic!alastor, reader and alastor being an absloute power couple, blood, alcohol consumption, dancing
☒ Word Count: 6,276
You often dreamt of trading places with your dear old friend, Elaine. She had it all; money, family, respect.
You, on the other hand, had none of those things.
When your parents left without notice on your eleventh birthday— you ended up homeless in a matter of weeks. Elaine’s family took you in out of pity, and they made it very known throughout your childhood that they only cared for you to make themselves out to be saints. It didn't take a fool to see that they treated their own flesh and blood better than the rubble they picked up off the streets.
Elaine was often condescending toward you, but you put up with the brunt of it. It's not like you had any other choice- and when her father offered you a typist gig at his local radio broadcasting studio- you had no other option but to accept.
Your treatment from others at the studio was no better than the one you received at home.
If you could even call that loveless place a home.
The broadcasting biz was male-dominated, as most jobs were in your day. So, of course your counterparts looked down upon you as a woman. You were less than to them, and the constant berating about how you should be wed by now with kids to dote on ticked you off even further.
That was not on the itinerary for you.
The plan was to save enough of the slim earnings you made being a typist to run far away from this place. To be free of these people, from this town. You dreamt about how lovely it would be not to bite your tongue and endure all the nasty things people spat at you just to have a roof over your head.
Soon, just a little bit longer.
Grin and bear it. Don't let them know what you hide behind the façade.
"My, my! What a lovely smile!" A smooth voice pulled you from your stupor. You flinched back from your desk as the man standing before you ducked low- extending his hand.
"What's your name, little darling? I'm Alastor! It's a pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!" You took the man's hand, shaking it slowly sharing your name, and offering the same pleasantries, before peering up to get a good look at this Alastor fellow.
Based on first impressions, you thought he was a well-put-together fellow. His crimson vest hugged his slender frame well, you noted. His white dress shirt underneath contrasted beautifully with the seamless leather gloves adorning his large hands. The black bowtie was simply the cherry on top of his polished look. His features were handsome, and that darling smile of his caused your face to grow hot. His chestnut eyes peered at you behind his round-framed glasses, gazing at you as if you hung the stars in the night sky.
You had never been captivated by a man until this very instant. You always believed romance was a waste of time. But now... you weren't feeling as opposed.
"Say, what brings a fella like you to a place like this?" You stood from your seat as his hand released yours. His gloved fingertips lingered on your palm for a moment- but it was long enough for you to notice.
"Why a job, of course! You're looking at the new host of the biggest radio broadcast in all of Louisiana!" Alastor's grin widened as he puffed out his chest proudly, bringing his hands up to straighten out his bowtie.
"Oh, my! Congratulations, Mister. I look forward to working with you." Your voice was as lively as ever, putting in your best effort to come off as friendly. Alastor's deep chestnut eyes studied yours. It was almost intimidating.
Almost.
"Just call me Alastor, my dear! A beauty such as yourself is more than qualified to be on a first-name basis with me." His flirtatious nature had your heart rate accelerating at an alarming gait. Plus, the wink he shot your way to emphasize his statement only added fuel to the fire.
You were at a loss for words, simply nodding in agreement at his terms. Your gaze averted from Alastor's as you rubbed at your arm nervously. You had never been this flustered before. It was... uncharacteristically exciting for you. "Excuse my fowardness darling, but would you allow me to take you dancing tonight? It is a cause for celebration, after all!"
His offer left you stammering as you clutched your arm tightly, your sweaty palm bleeding through your vermilion dress sleeve. "Are you positive you want to celebrate with a woman you only just met?" You chuckled nervously, meeting his gaze once more.
"It would be my pleasure, little darling." You swore your heart skipped a beat as those words left his lips. Alastor was an enigma of a man, and he left you needing to know more about him. "If you insist! I'm flattered, truly."
Alastor chuckled lowly at your words as he took ahold of your hand once more. This time, he turned your palm downward before pulling the back of your hand up to his lips. Alastor's eyes bored into yours as he placed a chaste kiss atop your knuckles. His lips lingered on your skin for a few beats longer until he inevitability abjured from you.
"Lovely! I'll be waiting in the lobby once the workload is finished for the day. Meet me there?" You could only nod in agreement as your heartbeat resounded in your ears. Alastor bid you farewell, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
He just asked you on a date- didn't he?
Shit, shit- shit! A relationship was not on your to-do list.
The workday trickled on slowly. You were beside yourself— too focused on your plans with Alastor tonight.
Was your dress formal enough? It’s not like you could go home and change now— and you didn’t have the proper heels on. The pair that you usually switched into before you went dancing.
It would be fine— why were you even stressing over the little details?
More importantly… what were Alastor’s intentions with this— date?
You mulled it over the whole trip to the lobby of your workplace. You felt your nerves prickle your skin when your eyes met Alastor’s.
He was already waiting patiently for you near the exit. Alastor had a blazer on now, you noted— and he was smiling wider than ever. “Ah, there you are! Ready to head out, dear?”
Alastor’s voice was equivalent to a smooth amaretto. Silky and delightful, with a little bit of an edge to it. Your mouth felt like it was full of cotton from the nerves— and all you could muster was a quick nod.
“Wonderful! We better get going while the night is still young— ha!” Alastor opened the door, tilting his head; gesturing toward the exit. You got the hint, wobbly legs guiding you out of the building and to the dimly lit street.
You knew a speakeasy just up the other street, so you figured that was the spot Alastor intended on taking you. As your feet led you in the direction of the bar, Alastor let out an amused hum. “My, my… am I correct to assume you know your way around these parts of town?” You giggled nervously, as you felt Alastor’s arm brush up against yours as he walked beside you.
“You’re spot on. I’ve lived here all my life, and for a brief period, I was living on these streets.” Your voice was quiet as those words left your lips. Perhaps you should have kept that detail to yourself. You kept your eyes forward as you walked along the sidewalk. But you could feel Alastor’s eyes on you— without peeking over.
“Might I ask why, darling?” You swallowed harshly, not expecting a follow-up question. You secretly hoped Alastor would have skirted past that little detail about your past. “Ah well, my parents moved out of town on my eleventh birthday. I think they forgot what day it was, truthfully. They were too hopped up on pills and booze,” You laughed bitterly at the memory before continuing. “My parents owed the bank a lot of money, you see, so the first thing those brokers collected was the house I still lived in at the time.”
You shook your head in disbelief, scoffing as you continued the recollection of your youth. “Those money-hungry sharks didn’t even give me a month to collect my things or find somewhere to shack up. When the cops arrived, I told them I’d be staying with a relative— but that was a bold-faced lie!” The speakeasy was in your sights, so you tried to get to the end of this pitiful little tail. “Long story short— I lived on the streets for a couple of weeks until my friend’s parents took me in.”
Alastor swiftly opened the bar door for you, gesturing you in. You were met by the smooth sound of jazz the moment you stepped foot in the joint. The smell of cigarettes and liquor saturated the space. Alastor interlocked your arm with his as he led you to a nearby table. You felt heat rush to your face from the unexpected touch. “I’m truly sorry you had to experience such hardships at such a young age, my dear. That must have been very difficult for you to process.” Alastor’s voice was soft as he offered his sympathy. He pulled the wooden chair out, allowing you to sit comfortably. Alastor gently pushed your seat in before taking his across from you.
“Thanks for saying so. You’re the first person to actually consider my feelings.” You chuckled, raising your hand and gesturing your fingers in a come hither motion to grab the waiter's attention. “What ever do you mean?” Alastor propped his elbows on the table, cupping his face with his hands as he leaned forward. His eyes swirled with curiosity. Alastor was genuinely curious to know you better— your heart skipped a beat from the notion.
“Well— most people just praise Elaine— that’s my friend… if you could even call her that— anyway, as I was saying! Most folks boast about how heavenly Elaine’s parents are for taking in a poor old nobody like me.” The waitress knew you well, so he kindly placed your usual atop the creaky table. One for you and one for your date. You offered the fellow a warm thanks before taking a sip.
“Praise? Those folks did the bare minimum! Tell me more about your friendship with Elaine, hm?” Alastor didn’t bother downing the liquor just yet. He was too enthralled by you and your musings. You felt nervous under his curious eyes— so you took another sip of the saccharine quencher before continuing. “You sure—? I feel like I’ve been talking an awful lot, and where are my manners? I haven’t asked you a single thing!” You shook your head in disbelief, feeling embarrassed with yourself for your rude display.
Alastor’s gloved fingers wrapped around your hand in the blink of an eye. Your eyes flickered down to where the two of you were now connected before his voice tore your gaze back to his face. “Nonsense, my dearest! Please, I insist. I’d be delighted to know more about you.” His words were so earnest, and he spoke with much confidence. All you could focus on was the feeling of his gloved fingertips caressing the back of your palm and the echo of your heartbeat resounding in your ears.
“Alright— if you insist… but if I ramble too much, just tell me to shut it, will ya?” You downed the last of your drink as a laugh escaped Alastor. “I would never silence you, darling. Don’t ever allow a single soul to treat you that way for that matter, understood? Now, carry on!” You felt your blood pressure spike from his kindness, and your hand twitched under his grasp from the giddiness you felt before you continued on. “U-Understood. Anyway, um, Elaine is an old-school buddy of mine. But we grew apart the older we got… so, by the time we reached junior high, she practically hated my guts!” You laughed at the recollection as the alcohol buzz began to kick in.
“Elaine would make up nasty rumors about me and then deny the fact that she did. Any other friend I tried to make, Elaine would somehow do or say something to make them dislike me. I couldn’t do anything about it— I had to play nice because of the living conditions. I still do!” Alastor’s eyes never left yours, and neither did his hand. He continued to rub the back of your palm soothingly as you rambled on.
“Even my job at the radio station… it wasn’t my choice. But Elaine’s father owns the company, so he offered me the typist position. Not like it was really an offer, though— I had no choice but to accept the opportunity. Otherwise, I would have been ungrateful. Christ, I really hate those folks… they look at me as if I’m—“
“—Scum?” Alastor chimed in. His voice was low as he leaned in closer. Your head was a bit fuzzy from the alcohol as you felt his breath fan across your cheeks. “Yeah… like scum.” You felt his hand tighten around yours. His smile was smaller than before, a bit more rigid, for that matter.
“I knew you and I were the same. The moment laid eyes on you, I knew,” Alastor paused, bringing his free hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“You see, I was treated that same way my entire life, my dear. Until I decided I was quite the opposite of what those disrespectful wretches deemed me as.” His hand lingered by your face, daring to cup your cheek.
Alastor's breath had a hint of coffee and spice to it— you noted— as his face inched even closer to yours. “And you are too, my dear. Those fools don’t hold a candle to your magnificence.” Your body felt light, and all you could focus on was Alastor’s chestnut eyes— every breath you took fogged up his glasses a little.
“You really think so?” You muttered, a lazy grin stretching across your face as Alastor finally allowed his gloved palm to rest against your cheek.
"I know so, my sweet girl.” He caressed your burning face with much tenderness. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and your thoughts were all out of sorts as you tried to articulate a proper sentence in your drunken stupor.
“What did you mean before when you said— that you and I are one and the same?”
Alastor let out a soft chuckle, causing your eyes to flutter shut for a moment. He leaned over the table, invading your personal space. Dipping his face low— lips lingering next to your ear. “You use your smile as a tool. Hiding how you truly feel behind that pretty little mask of yours.” Your breath hitched from his words— was it that obvious? Could everyone tell that your welcoming smile was nothing but a lie? Before you could spiral further— and as if Alastor could sense your worries— he eased your mind with his words. “Worry not, my dear. Only I can see through your façade. One should recognize themselves when looking into a mirror, yes?”
Alastor slowly pulled his head back. Allowing his face to come into your line of sight. “So you… and I… are alike in that way, huh?” You mumbled out, letting an airy chuckle escape you. Alastor squeezed your hand once more before he leaned back in his chair. You watched as the man sitting before you picked up his untouched glass of liquor. He downed his drink in the blink of an eye slamming his glass against the table before standing up from his seat.
“I take pride in keeping my promises, and I have intention to dance with you tonight, my dear. So, shall we?” Alastor outstretched his hands toward you, his toothy grin cascading across his features. You took hold of him without hesitation, giggling youthfully when he pulled you to your feet with ease. “I’d be delighted!” Alastor wasted no time pulling you to the open floor. The music was as vibrant as ever now that you were closer to the live band. The vibrations of the music reverberated through your sternum; as did the butterflies when you felt Alastor’s large palm drape around the small of your back.
His other hand took ahold of yours, and instinctively, you placed your other palm flat against his shoulder. Alastor began leading you to the melody of the song. Your cheeks hurt from how wide your grin was. You couldn’t remember the last time you smiled and meant it before tonight— all thanks to this mysterious man you met today. “Alastor, I know we only just met, but I feel like I’ve known you all my life!” You shouted loud enough for only Alastor to hear beyond the music. His chestnut eyes swirled with an emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on as his eyebrows lifted in shock.
“You took the words right out of my mouth, my dearest! The moment I saw you, I knew you would be truly magnificent.” Alastor dipped you low, his grasp on you tightening to support you. He was slow when he dragged your upper half back up, allowing your chest to slot against his own.
“Well, did I meet your expectations?” You joked. Alastor ducked his head low, allowing his face to invade your personal space. This time, his nose brushed against yours, lips mere centimeters from colliding.
“You exceeded them.” Alastor’s voice was quiet, but you heard him. Loud and clear.
This moment felt too good to be true, and the longer you gazed into his captivating eyes, the more lost you became in Alastor. Your lips trembled in anticipation— and your hand at his shoulder clenched and unclenched— a small habit to help ease the nerves.
“Would it be foolish of me to say that I… feel like I’m falling for you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you searched for any displeasure that dared to cross his face from your confession— but you found none.
“And if I admitted to reciprocating those feelings… would that make me outlandish as well?” Alastor’s hand released yours, now opting to slide up between your bodies to cup your chin beneath his gloved fingertips. He tilted your head up just a touch more.
Alastor finally closed the gap between your lips and his. Your eyes widened in shock from the chaste kiss he gave you. You caught Alastor’s intense stare on you while he pressed further into you before your eyelids fluttered shut. The grip you had on his shoulder tightened as his lips danced along yours. They were warm and cracked slightly from his incessant smiling. But you didn’t mind it one bit. He tasted of your favorite liquor and conviction.
Your mind went fuzzy from the mix of alcohol running through your bloodstream and the feeling of sharing your very first kiss with a man you met only earlier today.
It’s strange. Even though you only crossed paths with Alastor this morning— he was the first person in your life to ever see you; the real you. The woman you kept hidden behind a plethora of masks and musings. You prided yourself on your foolproof façade, so when Alastor just waltzed past your guarded walls, it threw you for a loop. But this change of pace was the best thing that could have ever happened to you. For the first time in your life, you felt a sense of control over your own life— over your own freedom. Alastor believed in you, so why shouldn’t you believe in yourself?
Alastor parted his lips from yours slowly, savoring the moment with you for as long as he could. Your eyelids peeled open, taking in Alastor's pleased countenance. "Oh, my darling. There's no way I'm letting you out of my sight now."
Your heart felt full as Alastor continued his lead. You both danced to the melodic sounds, relishing in the shared embrace. That night was one that you cherished for months to come. But on the contrary, your blossoming relationship with Alastor solidified the beginning of the end.
You could hardly stay away from Alastor after your first date. It was as if a magnetic force was pulling you to him. He walked you home from the radio station each night and met you at your doorstep each morning. He even told you one time that he memorized absloutely every part of your day so you could always have time for each other. It was the little things that made you fall even harder for him. Alastor would leave a bouquet of roses atop your desk every Friday when you took your lunch break so that when you arrived back, you would be pleasantly surprised by his gesture.
Alastor was a proper gentleman, and his kindness and care toward you almost made you forget about the rotten things in your life— almost.
Elaine grew jealous of your new beau. She noticed you were livelier than ever, and that just wouldn't cut it. Misery loves company, after all.
She had her father triple your workload, forcing you to stay after hours. It took a toll on you and made it harder to keep time for Alastor.
But that wasn’t all— your room would be trashed by the time you came home. And somehow, your very few belongings started going missing.
The last of your patience went out the window when you noticed the locket Alastor gifted you for your one-month anniversary was nowhere to be found.
It didn’t take a genius to realize Elaine was behind your sudden stroke of bad luck. You put up with the torment all your life, but not anymore. You were at your wits end with Elaine and her arrogant family.
“Christ, I hate that wicked woman!” You groaned in frustration as you barged into Alastor’s apartment. The lanky man whipped his head in your direction from where he sat at the piano. His fingers stilled against the keys, ending his song with a dull note. “What did she do this time, my dear?” You stormed over to him before slotting yourself beside Alastor on the piano bench.
“The locket you gave me for our one-month anniversary is missing! She stole it— I just know it!” You gritted through bared teeth. Alastor wrapped an arm around your shoulder, hugging you close to his side as he cooed at you. “You know, the offer to move in with me still stands.” His voice was gentle as he placed a kiss atop your head. His large palm smoothed over your arm; in an attempt to ease your nerves.
Heat rose to your face from the mention of his proposition. Sure, you thought about it countlessly. But you and Alastor were only approaching that six-month mark of your flourishing relationship. You always believed in the notion of waiting to live with a partner until after marriage. That’s what you conveyed Alastor. “You know we can’t… unless you are willing to get hitched tomorrow,” You joked, turning your head slightly to peer up at him.
“Darling, you know I would marry you in a heartbeat. But one of us is not ready for marriage quite yet!” He quipped, dipping low and nuzzling his nose into yours. Your heart did a flip from his unyielding confession.
You knew Alastor would do anything for you at this point— this man was like no other. He worshipped the ground you walked on, yet you still were on the fence about marriage. You still had your personal goals you wanted to achieve before tying the knot, and Alastor respected your wishes. But you knew deep down he was aching to put a ring on your finger and claim you as his for good.
“Hey— don’t tease! I just… It’s becoming harder to put up with their nonsense. I wish they would all disappear! Elaine, her father, and her mother.” You let out a long sigh as your body slumped forward. You rested your head atop Alastor’s broad shoulder, smiling softly at his familiar scent.
“Well, I could make that a reality for you, my sweet girl.” Alastor’s voice was low and dripping with mystery. You laughed at his cryptic utterance. “Yeah, by doing what? Throwing them in a ditch?” You joked, raising a brow as his hand halted against your arm. The air became thick with tension as the silence grew louder.
“…Well yes, my dear! But the ditch part would be after all the fun.” You quickly turned to face him, your frantic eyes scanning his features for any semblance of falsehood. You found nothing of the sort.
Alastor’s features were as relaxed as ever. As if he asked you something as mundane as 'what day was it?’
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Your voice was level as your eyes locked with his chestnut ones. You nervously anticipated his response. “Quite so! Have you noticed the lack of journalists around the radio station lately?" His question threw you for a loop.
Now that you thought about it- yeah, there has been a lack of jerks around the office. The same fellows that undermined you just for existing.
“Well now that you mention it— yeah, I have. What does that have to do with anything?” You tilted your head slightly, still not following where your boyfriend was going with this. Alastor’s grin sharpened as his eyes flickered to your lips. “My, dearest, you are too pure for your own good. It drives me crazy.” Alastor’s other hand drifted from the piano keys. His thumb and forefinger came up to grasp your chin. He pulled you in close as his eyes flickered back to yours.
“Well, I took care of those nasty good-for-nothings! They are resting comfortably in a ditch deep within the preserve. So, no need to worry your pretty little head over it!” Your eyes widened from his confession— his even tone and frenzied stare proved that what he said was factual.
“They had it coming! Speaking down to you in such a way. I could hardly stand it any longer, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.” Alastor sounded pleased with himself as he confessed to murder so casually. Your eyebrows rose in shock as he tugged you closer. Your lips ghosted over his. “You killed those men for my sake?”
You could smell the whiskey on his breath from this proximity. Alastor’s hand— that rested on your arm— now found purchase around your waist. “Indeed, and I would do it again in a heartbeat for your sake.” You could sense his anticipation to kiss you at that moment.
His love for you was suffocating in the best way possible. You didn’t know you were capable of drowning until you sank into his touch. “And I would take pleasure in ending Elaine and her parents’ lives. If it meant your precious mind would be at ease.”
Your heart fluttered as you closed the gap. Your lips molded against his, moving in tandem. You turned your body toward him through your shared embrace, sliding a leg up and over the piano bench— now straddling the seat. Alastor’s grip on your waist tightened. His fingertips twitched with need as they danced further along your side. You reached out for him, desperately carding your hands through his chestnut locks. Alastor’s chest pressed tightly into yours as his lips moved against yours with a searing desire. You only dared to pull back when your lungs started burning. Alastor rested his forehead against yours as you shared the same air.
“You really mean it?” You asked breathlessly, allowing your hands to cup his cheeks.
“My dear, I would die for you,” Alastor paused, the pad of his thumb swiping across your bottom lip sensually.
“I would lie for you,” His thumb pushed past your parted lips, and your tongue instinctively swirled around his deft digit.
“I would happily follow you to hell if you asked me to.” You gave his finger a playful suck, reveling in the sight of Alastor’s deep blush.
His chestnut gaze fixated on your mouth as you pulled off of his thumb with a wet pop. Alastor shuddered at your sultry display. His grip on your waist was firm.
“Please, Alastor. I want to be a part of it this time. We will be unstoppable together.”
Alastor swore he fell in love with you a thousand times over the moment those words left your lips. You couldn’t be any more perfect for him.
Alastor wanted to tell the whole world about the colors he saw in your eyes; the colors a man out of love could never recognize. He truthfully would have married you the first day you met. It was fixation at first sight.
He was overjoyed to commit murder alongside you— one of the many memorable first times you would come to share. Alastor saw the pieces fall into place before his very eyes the moment he witnessed you take someone’s life.
The frenzied stare you harbored; the blood spattering over your perfect face, decorating your smile in a picturesque way. Alastor swore meeting you was his life purpose, and assisting you on your first kill solidified that sentiment for him.
Alastor could not suppress the urge to touch you at that moment. He pulled you close, taking the lead like many times before. You danced around the dead bodies, laughter filling the barren space as the record player skipped from the other room.
He always knew red was your color. The first time you met, you were wearing a vermillion dress. But the deep crimson blood covering you from head to toe was your best look yet— he thought.
After you both hid the evidence and any proof of life— fabricating notes on Elaine and her parents' behalf to make it seem like they went abroad— you celebrated.
Celebrated the past no longer having you in its clutches.
Celebrated the freedom of never having to grin and bear it to survive; ever again.
Celebrated the ever-growing love you held for Alastor— as he did you.
Celebrated the new beginnings and the best that was yet to come.
You saw life in a new light from that day forward, seizing each day with delight.
With Elaine’s father out of the picture, Alastor became the man in charge at the radio station. He had full creative freedom to take his radio show in any direction he pleased. If folks dared to disagree, Alastor would promptly take care of them.
Business was booming for Alastor at the radio station, and you were finally out pursuing hobbies and careers that inspired you.
Alastor ended up popping the question a couple of months later as things began to settle down for you both. It was romantic, really. His gesture was over the top and grand in the best way possible but still entirely authentic to Alastor. You finally felt ready to take the next step in your relationship. And so, you said yes.
Alastor was over the moon when you agreed. You could have sworn you saw a single tear roll down his cheek— but he denies it vehemently.
You didn’t have any friends or family, and neither did Alastor— with his mom having passed years prior, so you truthfully had no need for a grand ceremony. Alastor sorted out the date for you to be wed. The anticipation only elevated your excitement by the day. And when the date finally approached, you could hardly contain your joy.
You took on the day like any other— you made breakfast, hung the laundry on the clotheslines, participated in your favorite pastimes, and met up with Alastor in the preserve to assist him in burying his most recent victim.
You didn’t know the dead fellow, but you were sure Alastor had a fair reason for killing him. The man probably took the last jar of special spice from the store that Alastor used to recreate his mother’s jambalaya— and in that case, the prick had it coming.
It was dusk. The sky was a mesmerizing red and orange ombré as you walked hand in hand through the woods with Alastor. Your free hand held a shovel, and his free hand gripped the ankle of the deceased man whom he dragged from behind along the rocky path. Now and then, the dead man’s clothing would cling to a stubborn stone, making Alastor halt in his stride. You would share a chuckle before he tugged the man free, continuing down the path with you by his side.
You were so excited to get this over with, so you could head to the courthouse with your beloved Alastor. As you recited your vows in your head, you suddenly heard a loud boom before your hearing failed you entirely. Everything was motionless after that.
Your mind scarcely processed what had happened until you turned to face Alastor. The sight before you had your stomach in knots. Your beloved was bleeding from his forehead, and as if you were in slow motion— your arms reached up to him as his legs buckled beneath him. You knew you were screaming by the burning sensation in your throat, but your ears were still ringing in a deafening manner. The last thing your conscious mind ever saw was the grim view of all light leaving Alastor’s eyes.
Those same eyes that grounded you. That brought you purpose and offered you nothing but love and devotion.
All of that was gone in a split second.
After that, you felt a searing pain in your head before your vision went dark.
It was as if you were underwater. You felt lighter than air as you sunk deeper into uncharted waters. You could hear muffled voices and flashing lights shining from the surface— but it was all out of reach. You just sunk peacefully. Enjoying the enshrouding darkness.
However, your peace was torn from you as quickly as it was obtained.
“She’s a Jane Doe. Poor girl got caught in the crossfire. I bet she didn’t even know the guy she was walking with was a serial killer!” Your eyes burned from the bright lights and the nauseating white ceiling that took up your line of sight as the distant people continued to chatter. “I bet he tricked her into thinking he was a good guy— bet he led her out in those woods just so he could kill her like that poor fellow he was dragging out there!”
The rhythmic beeping increased as all your focus shifted to the intense shooting pain coming from your head. “Oh— she’s awake! Miss, can you hear me?” You groaned softly as an older woman came into your line of sight. She was peering over you. You must have been lying down— you thought.
“Loud and clear.” You mumbled, trying to sit up only to be pushed back down by the stranger. “Miss you can’t do that! You’re in the hospital. You suffered from a severe injury. Please, don’t make any sudden movements.” Her words took a moment to process through your semi-conscious mind.
“What happened to me?” You managed to mutter as you closed your eyes. The intense lights were causing your head to ache even worse. “Miss, you were shot in the head. It was a hunting accident gone wrong,” The nurse paused, giving you a moment to digest her words before continuing.
“Turns out the man you were out in those woods with was a wanted serial killer. That Alastor fellow was an active murderer for decades! The papers say he was good at steering clear of the cops for all these years. The hunter wasn’t even aiming for you both. His target was a nearby deer,” Your mind was struggling to piece things together as the nurse rambled along.
“The bullet you took probably was the exact reason you’re still alive! Who knows what that maniac would have done to you? Which reminds me, do you remember your name, sweetheart? You didn’t have identification on your person. We asked around the area to see if anyone recognizes you, but we've had no luck with that.”
You were surely dreaming, right?
Everything this woman was saying sounded outlandish. How did you even end up in a situation like that, and more importantly—
Wait… what is your name?
“I… I don’t know. I can’t… remember a thing.” You shook your head, which only caused you more pain as your eyes shot open. You were still met by the sight of the noisy nurse, and the white hospital walls.
Nope, not a dream.
The nurse looked at you with a horrified look. “Oh geez… the doctor said your injury could cause memory loss, but it was a slim chance. Let me go fetch him. This is way out of my pay grade.” The sound of her footsteps echoed through your head before they slowly dissipated. You gaped up at the blank wall.
A clean slate, nothing to give the surface any character.
Ironic.
You had no clue who you were and no memories of your life before this accident.
You were left with more questions than answers.
The only thing you knew about yourself was that you were one of many Jane Doe's.
Fuck.
tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts @villxinmiixx @persephoneblck @maxlynn17 @littledolly2345 @karolinda007-blog @falling-endlessly @greekyoghurtwithberries @bladeismine @aloraaaxcrystalzx @doctorswife221b @scaramoochiie @fairyv-ice @chirikoheina @veroneverleft @tired-of-life-86 @saccharine-nectarine @c-thegingergirl @tsunaki @geminixbunny @softangxlicss @alleystore @sirens-and-moonflowers @fairyv-ice @honey132 @alastorsaries @zenix108 @michi-keinz
#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel smut#alastor smut#alastor x you#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel x y/n#hazbin hotel imagine#alastor imagine#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor x y/n#alastor fluff#alastor angst#hazbin hotel angst#hazbin hotel fluff
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youtube
Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared
The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!
#ACLA24#ACLA24Leaders#youtube#youtube video#climate leaders#climate solutions#climate action#climate and environment#climate#climate change#climate and health#climate blog#climate justice#climate news#weather and climate#environmental news#environment#environmental awareness#environment and health#environmental#environmental issues#environmental justice#environment protection#environmental health#Youtube
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18+ mdni
Suguru loved picking you up from work on his motorcycle but he would never admit why. He drove an old Suzuki and all your colleagues (not just the girls!) would stare at him, he looked really pretty- waiting for you outside the office, with the helmet around his hands and a cigarette on his lips, killing time on the phone. Once he spotted you, he’d give you a wide smile and put his phone in his pockets. You gave him a peck on the lips and climbed on the back. Even though he did this for a year straight and he always drove very carefully, you had this habit of clinging onto him, enveloping his strong body with your hands and resting your face on his back, smelling his shampoo and leather jacket. You were squeezing him so tightly at times that your chest was pressing directly on his back making him hard while driving. He hated himself for being so desperate but just your body pressed on him drove him insane to the point of his knuckles turning white from his grip on the handles. You had never realized this though you’d notice that almost every time you got home, he’d throw your bag on the floor, push you against the wall and groan like a wounded animal against your neck, kissing you and fumbling with your clothes. His hands would caress your face while his mouth desperately searched yours, he was flushed and needy. ‘’Mhmm baby.. I haven’t even showered yet.. p-please’’ you’d mewl but he’d shut you up with an even hungrier kiss. ‘’I don’t mind princess, need you now.’’ he’d respond, pushing his achingly hard cock on your clothed entrance, rubbing up and down seductively, his tormented voice making you forget everything else (like the question why he was so hard already). He would lift you up against the wall, slide your soaked panties to the side, all that making out with him had you embarrassingly wet as he'd shove himself deep in your pussy, filling you up so good, you’d let a soft moan ‘’S..suguru p..please’’ you’d blurt, not even knowing what you were pleading for, trying to stabilize yourself in his embrace, you were slightly hitting against the wall with each needy thrust, gripping on his tousled hair for support, it turned him on so much ‘’fuck..baby ..don’t do that’’ he’d warn exhaling heavily, your hands on his hair made his cock twitch. You never listened anyway- not until he had your head banging against the wall and neighbors were knocking to ask if everything was alright afterwards.
#jjk fanfic#jjk smut#geto x reader#getou suguru x reader#geto x you#geto smut#him on a bike drives me crazy agshfhdjs#jujutsu kaisen#corollaservant
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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑
➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone)
➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.)
➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries
➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this.
➸ WC: 2k
❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.
"Oh, yeah? What about?"
"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”
“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.
“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”
You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”
“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”
“I would.” More than he knows.
It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.
Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.
You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.
The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.
You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.
He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.
You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.
The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.
And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.
He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.
Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”
His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”
You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.
(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)
And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.
Of course, you take your job very seriously.
You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”
“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.
“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”
“The verdict, then?”
“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”
Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.
You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.
“You gonna treat me or what?”
Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.
The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.
Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.
“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”
But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”
You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.
You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?
But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.
“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.
He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.
After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.
Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.
And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he��s never taken for granted.
“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.
Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x you#simon riley fluff#simon riley fic#cod x reader#cod fic#call of duty fic#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare#cod mw x reader#cod mw fanfiction#cod mw 2
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UNTIL I FOUND YOU (2)
PART 1, PART 3
Coriolanus Snow x fem!Reader
Synopsis: When the 18 year old Coriolanus Snow recieves the news that he has to mentor a tribute in order to claim the Plinth Prize, he expected everything but not a shy girl from district 12 to claim his heart.
Word count: 2,1K
Warnings: Reader pretty much just replaces Lucy Gray, Lucy Gray does not exsist in this (I´m sorry), some things might not fully add up to the movie plot ´cause I only saw it once and that was three days ago, use of Y/N, it´s implied that the reader is shorter than Coryo, small swearing, simple inhumane Hunger Games topics, mention of blood
Reblogs and requests are always welcomed <3 (just like pointing out grammatical mistakes :))
Previously…
A few screams erupt from the group of tributes, and everyone starts to slide out like bags of flour. Y/N yelps again and tries to hold onto Coriolanus, he manages to hold both of their weights, but Y/N´s grip on him loosens when she wiggles in his tight hold.
"Wait- Y/N hold on!" he hisses out, but Y/N moves in his grasp trying to get a hold of Wovey´s hand who´s close to sliding down as well.
"Grab my hand!" she yells, but Wovey slips away, and Y/N watches the little girl and Jessup moves out of her view into the unknown.
Y/N removes herself from his grasp, just as Coriolanus can´t hold them up anymore due to the shaking wagon, and they all slide into whatever the Capitol planned for them.
Gasps and yelps ring through the air as all tributes including Coriolanus are forced to leave the wagon, the feeling of falling long gone before Y/N can take in the situation, and with a thump, she makes contact with something cold and uneven. The warmth of her ´mentor´s´ hands leave her body, and the red of his clothes fall out of her reach.
A slight hiss escapes her dry and parted lips as a sting shoots through her head, a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that suddenly doesn´t feel so thin anymore, as a small trail of warm liquid slides down her temple.
Her brows furrow at the feeling, before she can stop herself she pushes her upper body up from the filthy ground and leans onto her forearms in order to sit up. The right side of her face still feels warmer than it should, so she moves onto her shaky knees.
While all her attention is on the side of her obviously wounded face, curses and groans echo through the air, most of the tributes stand up and brush their clothes off the dirt that still clung to them.
In the meantime, blurred-out voices slice through the silence, Y/N winces at the feeling of the small gash on her temple, the second her fingers touched the side of her head, she removed them again. Her hands wrap around the fabric of her shirt and she lowers her head to connect it to the wound, gently drying it of the red fluid.
"…well, give them a chance to stand up and catch their breath. I´m jealous of that entrance!" a voice speaks up, although it´s quiet to Y/N´s ears as the source of the words is plenty of feet away from her. She drops her shirt back down and leaves the wound by itself, although the slight sting practically yarns for better treatment.
"Y/N?" Jessup speaks up to her right, her head and upper body move in his direction, her body rotating to the right.
"Yeah, yeah.. wait," she speaks, lowers her hands onto the cold stone texture beneath her and uses her strength to push herself off the ground. Big and warm hands wrap around her waist unexpectedly and easily pull her up from the ground, setting her back on her feet.
A small surprised gasp leaves her lips, and she turns at the feeling of hands on her middle.
"Thanks, Jess-" she stops the words from spilling past her lips, the hands that still rest on her body don´t belong to the boy from District 12, instead, Coriolanus Snow shoots her a small smile. Y/N can´t stop her face from flushing at their close proximity before their short moment is interrupted.
"But guess where I am today!" the same voice from before again reaches their ears, and just now the girl realizes that she´s in fact surrounded by bars out of metal, their height makes it unable to climb them, locking the tributes inside like animals in a cage.
"Here´s a hint, that´s right! The Capitol´s Zoo, where this year´s tributes will be held behind these bars for your viewing pleasure."
"That´s right. All twenty-four of them-" Y/N peeks past a few taller tributes surrounding her, and her eyes fall onto a man who holds onto a small microphone, his body turned to another man who seems to record the scene unfolding in front of him. The speaking man himself is dressed in a plain gray suit, his black shoes underlining his obvious wealth.
At least a dozen pairs of eyes watch the tributes through the bars, expensive-looking clothes rest on their bodies, as a crowd including all ages from 4 to 40 don´t remove their stares. Some of their faces show awe and excitement, as if extinct animals have been reborn and are presented for the world to see.
Coriolanus´ eyes harden at the ogling eyes that skim over the players of this year´s game, although he does catch a guy around their age watching Y/N intensely. The sudden need to shield her from the praying eyes raises in his chest, and his hands - that still rest around her middle - tighten.
The guy in the gray suit stops in his tracks the moment he faces the cage, the unexpected color red catching his attention.
"What in the gem of Panem…?"
"You see that´s an Academy rouge, no?" he turns back to the camera with a questioning look on his face, seemingly addressing whoever is watching.
"Excuse me!" he yells over at Coriolanus, his eyes widen, probably in realization or maybe out of fear.
"Hello, Sir."
"Yes, you. In the red."
"Who are you, and why are you in there with them? We´re live!" Coriolanus gulps at the words, he opens his mouth but nothing comes out, he just continues to stare at the man at a loss for words.
"Uhm, I-…"
"Are you alright?!" the guy yells again.
Coriolanus removes his hands from Y/N`s waist and takes a small step away from her. Y/N quickly stops him and catches his arm in her grasp causing him to stop and turn his eyes back to hers.
"What are you gonna do?" she asks quietly, shielding her face from the camera.
"Y/N Y/L, may I introduce you to my neighbors?" he asks with a tint of amusement, yet his face is filled with dread.
"A reaction would be appreciated, anything would be nice!" the voice speaks again.
Coriolanus´ gaze falls to her right, the white of the rose he gifted to her gleaming in the sunlight, he takes a step and picks it up from the ground, before he snaps the longest part of the stem off throwing it to the side.
Although the rose did take a little damage due to the fall, its sparkle is still evident as the blonde tucks it behind Y/N`s ear, his blue eyes never leaving hers in the progress.
With a nod, he offers her his hand.
She gently nods back in understanding and her hand lands in his bigger palm again, although his fingers are a little rough his hand engulfs hers in a soft manner.
"Well that´s something you don´t see every day, they´re holding hands."
Almost every tribute found someplace to sit, watching the little show that unfolded in front of their eyes.
"Yes, yes, yes," he speaks again as Coriolanus leads her over to the bars, taking one step after the other, carefully stepping over smaller stones to prevent a fall.
"Who are you, sir? What are you doing in the cage here?"
Y/N´s hands start to sweat a little, the smaller the distance becomes the áudience´s´ eyes don´t prey away.
Y/N plasters a fake smile onto her lips, false enthusiasm spreading over her features, as two children, not a day older than 10 and 4 step closer.
"Hi," Coriolanus speaks.
"How do you do?" he asks, now directly addressing the young boy with shoulder-length black hair.
"My name is Coriolanus Snow, and this is my tribute. Y/N Y/LN from district 12," he says with a fake yet kind voice, as his gaze is fixated on the two children.
"Hi," Y/N adds and awkwardly waves her hand at them.
"What´s your name?"
"My name is Pontius." the small boy answers, the suit he´s wearing markless and clean.
"Nice to meet you, Pontius, is that your sister?" Y/N asks politely, Coriolanus squeezing her hand proudly at her quick improvising.
"That´s Venus, she´s only four," he says with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Well luckily four is my favourite number, it´s a great age to be."
"I remember you." the little girl in pink replies.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, you´re the one that volunteered for her sister," she says proudly, her face beaming with happiness.
Y/N`s face falls at the mention of her beloved sister, who´s most likely watching this conversation right now. Yet she shakes the thought off and the fake smile returns to her face.
"You´re right that´s her!" the reporter says.
"So, as already mentioned this is my mentor, Coriolanus Snow, it seems like I got the cake with the cream since no one else bothered to show up." Y/N say as she rests her elbow on his shoulder.
The reporter turns back to the camera in confusion, takes a small breath and then starts to ask "So, the game makers did tell you to jump in the cage with them?"
"They didn´t tell me not to." the boy beside Y/N answers, his expression showing no regret.
"They just said it´s the mentor´s job to introduce our Tribute to the citizens of Panem. And I thought if Y/N is brave enough to be here, why shouldn´t I be too?"
"Well that is a nice thing to do-"
"What´s that on your forehead?" Venus asks genuinely interested, seemingly uninterested in the fact that she just cut off the reporter, the camera moves to the small girl.
"Oh. that, well-" the District 12 girl´s hand moves back to the wound that still remained on her temple, her fingertips coated in red after touching the skin.
"That happened when we were…. delivered…." she adds, her voice holding fake amusement.
"You´re hurt?" Coriolanus asks from beside her, and before the girl can tell him that it´s fine and that it´ll heal on its own Coriolanus´ pointerfinger and thumb gently pull her face closer to his by her chin.
His blue orbs are looking down at her while her own hold his gaze, in order to see him she has to lift her head.
"Oh that looks like quite a gash doesn´t it?" the reporter slips in, while he gestures for the camera to move closer to the both of you, the sparkle in the reporter's eyes showing his excitement, that he´s the one to catch this simple yet intimate moment between Mentor and Tribute.
"Yeah well in the next 48 hours, the little gash might just be at the bottom of my list of problems," Y/N states in a cold tone, her face moving out of his grasp.
The reporter seems to lose interest in the sudden change of topic, and gestures for the cameraman to film the other Tributes, ranting on about whatever topic comes to mind.
Y/N scoffs at them and how easily they lose interest in something the moment someone´s actions don´t fit into their perfect picture.
"Here, let me." soft, white fabric presses against the side of her head, as Coriolanus cleans the wound of the remaining still air-drying blood that paints her skin, the cotton taking away the thin layer of sweat as well.
Even though her gaze is on her feet, she can feel his eyes boring into the side of her face.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
He nods his head, yet he keeps his hands on her face, gently treating the wound, at the feeling of his warm hands, Y/N can´t help but blush. Her cheek grows warm where his skin meets her own, as her eyes stay on the ground.
"Are you sure-" Coriolanus is cut off again.
"I hate to interrupt, but I think you´re about to be whisked away, young man."
Someone harshly slaps Coriolanus´ hand that rests on Y/N´s face off, he gasps at the action, but neither of them can say anything before a Peacekeeper grabs his biceps and starts to pull him to the exit of the cage.
"Let´s go."
"Wait-" Y/N grabs a hold of his free wrist.
"Can you get us some food? Please? We´re practically starving."
Coriolanus just nodded at her quietly, the space between the both of them growing as he´s pulled away from her. The girl suddenly feels empty without him standing next to her, like a shield that´s been protecting her has been taken away.
The reporter - whose name seems to be Lucky Flickermann - now turned back to the cage ends his live report,
"The 10th annual Hunger Games are soon approaching, so come down to the Zoo and see the Tributes before it´s too late." he does a dramatic pause.
"And I mean, too late," he adds with a small smirk.
"Capitol news."
"I´m Lucretius.", he looks up to the sky before stretching out his hand and catching a coin.
"Lucky Flickermann." with that the live report ends.
For those who asked for a second part :) (I can’t tag everyone!)
@zucchinimalfoy
#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x reader#the hunger games#hunger games x reader#tom blyth#tom blyth x reader#until i found you#finnick odair x reader#peeta mellark x reader#lucy gray baird#x reader
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Okay this is an idea I’ve had for a while but imagine Miguel hasn’t had time to fuck his s/o due to spider duties and Alchemax shenanigans. And they’re soooooo fucking horny typically they come to Miggy whenever they have this problem but they don’t want to bother him so they bring out some old tools. Their vibrators from before they started dating. Miguel comes home however right during the middle of you using one of them and he’s soooo mad cause he wants to fuck you. I’ll leave the rest of the fic up to you. 💋 Love you so much!!
You Set My Soul Alight
✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader
✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel is always busy and leaving you in a mess. But you feel bad bothering him so you look for your past methods to get off.
✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Supermassive Black Hole” by The Muse. Apologies this took a while.
✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1k
✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, pet names (Mi amor, cariño) cock blocking, female masturbation, biting, blood, restraints, begging, choking, slightly mean Miguel…
Want more Miguel Content, check out my Masterlist!!
“Miguel.” You moaned out and pushed up against the kitchen counter.
You felt one hand slip under your shirt and, the other went down to your pants, tugging them down.
“Yes, mi amor?” Miguel whispered in your ear, “Use your words.”
“Please… Hurry.” You whined.
His body was up against you. His fingers lightly graze your skin in fear but still were attentive as possible. But you jolted when you felt a finger push inside you.
“Slow.” He murmured, “Slow.”
You continue to whine and moan as his finger moves in and out, then a second finger was added.
“Migu-!” His hand that was previously toying with your skin was now clammed over your mouth.
“So impatient.” He chuckled, “I ought to-“
His phone rings loudly and he curses rather loudly. Marching over it and answering it, talking to whoever was on the other side. But by the looks and sound, it wasn’t good news.
“I’m sorry, (Y/n). I have to head back to the office.” Miguel tells you.
“Go back? But you just got home a couple of hours ago.” You questioned.
“Well, they let the intern do the filings. I have to head back and fix their mistake.”
You watched him head up to the bathroom, leaving you flustered and bothered.
It wasn’t the first time something like this happened. Whenever Miguel had the chance to finally touch you, something always has to interrupt him.
It would’ve been fine if it was for the last couple of days, but it just had to be weeks!
Miguel grumbles in his office, looking over the mess the employees let the intern make. And what’s worse? Oh yeah, he has to go back to the headquarters before Peter B. does something stupid. Why did he leave that idiot in charge again?
He grumbles even more when he gets the notification on his laptop, more emails sent, and more paperwork to look over. Sometimes he wishes he could just ditch work and head back to you. But he knows he’s the boss and he couldn’t be doing that.
And it wasn’t the first time this happened…
You felt Miguel’s crotch press up against yours, his lips kissed down to your neck, placing light kisses before biting down.
Your hands come up to his hair, pulling him away from your neck. You watch him as he smirks, licking the blood off his lips.
“What did I say before?” He murmurs.
“Miguel.” You huffed, “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please-“ His watch rang, making his hiss.
He grabs it, pressing a few buttons. A screen pops up, it’s Gwen, “Yes?”
“Um, how bad would it be if about a dozen villains escaped?”
“Gwen, you do not need me there.”
“Normally, yes. But if it’s all of them…”
“All of them?! How?!”
“I just got here!”
“I’m on my way.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, cariño, it’s-“
“Don’t apologize.” You sit up, “Go, I can take care of this.” Gesturing to the still-bleeding wound.
“I love you.” He places a kiss on your forehead.
“I love you too, Miguel.”
It wasn’t just frustrating for him, it was you as well.
You wanted to beg him to stay a little longer, but at the same time, it felt selfish. The HQ would’ve fallen to pieces if Miguel wasn’t there to control the situation.
And now, you laid back on the bed. Usually, you’d keep yourself busy with your work but the ache between your legs was getting unbearable by the second.
You huffed and opened the bedside table, last drawer, and hidden under a blanket was your vibrator. It’s been a while since you last used it, it was before Miguel became slammed with work. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
You took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing. With it up against your clit, you pressed the button. The vibrations made you jolt and your breath hitched. You closed your eyes and let yourself fall into your imagination while pleasure flows throughout your body.
You missed his touch. The way he made you feel. How careful he was with you like you were made of glass. But once he was sure of himself, he’d let himself go.
The way his hands come to your throat, squeezing it before his hands traveled down. But your favorite part is when he finally got to bite your neck. You knew it was his favorite and he wasn’t going to admit it.
Those nights that were pure bliss always heeded carefully, he wanted to be sure that you were okay and-
“Didn’t think you’d miss me this much.” Miguel leans on the door frame. Watching you cover yourself you, “No, no, don’t stop on my account.”
“I-I thought-“
“Yeah, the others had it handled. Came back home once I learned.” Miguel closes the door as he enters the shared bedroom, “So, what’s this?” Snatching the now turned-off toy, “How long have you been using this?”
“Just now.” You tell him.
He climbs onto the bed, “Am I really that disappointing in bed?” Miguel forces your legs open and pulls you closer to him, “Is that the only thing that can get you off?” He starts stripping himself.
“No! You’re more than enough.” You try to sit up but he pushes you back down.
“Then tell me why do you still have these?”
“B-Because you’re so busy, I didn’t want to bother you.”
As if his smirk couldn’t get anymore wider, “All you had to do was use your words.” Miguel holds your hands up against the headboard, using his webbing to keep them secure, “So, tell me. ¿Qué quieres?” (What do you want?)
“Please…”
“Please what?”
“Please, fuck me, Miguel.”
“See, was that so hard?” He chuckles.
He doesn’t bother wasting time preparing, he shoved himself in a single thrust. His hand comes to your throat, apply pressure.
Your legs tightly wrap around him, if he wasn’t already close to you, he is now.
“I’ve got a lot of making up to you.” He growls, “We have all day for it, keep your eyes on me and I’ll give you want you want.”
© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copy, translated, or put my work on any other platform without my permission.
#x reader#x female reader#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara#spider man x you#spider man 2099#spider man x reader#spiderverse#spiderman#spiderman 2099#spiderman x you#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman x y/n#spider man#spiderman smut#smut#miguel o’hara smut
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