#edit: added their eye patch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

everrinsly · 1 month ago

Text

a/n; thank you for all the sweet, kind comments! i really like this version of suna. i finally finished this i started in uni haha when i had terrible back pain

and also every time i visit the motherland (not often :(, i always have to smuggle back some salonpas (they are for pain relief, comes in spray or patches), also reminds me of when fukunaga says nice toss, salonpas

blurred lines, best friend vibes.

kiss it better... with salonpas with suna. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

post-game suna is exhausted... and needy for salonpas, your touch, and maybe a kiss?

more suna here!

more reads!

જ⁀🏐🖤📱

The front door clicks open just after midnight.

It’s quiet, almost cautious, but so heavy with the weight that always comes home with Suna after a game.

You're curled on the couch, the TV droning quietly with the low hum of some late-night ad reel.

The sports channel had been playing his game earlier—replays, commentary, all the fast cuts and booming excitement worthy of national coverage. But it’s long ended, now reduced to a loop of shampoo commercials and cheap car deals.

Still, you leave it on.

You just liked the noise, the flicker of the screen, the soft glow casting shadows across the apartment. It made the place feel less empty, the sense that the apartment wasn’t completely still, and maybe less like you were waiting (even though you were).

So when you hear heavy footsteps and a duffle bag dropped with a dull thump, your pulse reacts before your mind does.

He doesn’t say anything. He never really does when he’s wrung out from the celebrations, where the adrenaline’s burned out and his body finally realizes how hard it worked.

You wait, heart thrumming quietly. And sure enough, a few seconds later, Suna rounds the corner and pads slowly into the living room.

He’s in his EJP jacket—half-unzipped, exposing the edge of his gold jersey and the wet sheen on his collarbone. His hair is damp and messy, curled slightly at the ends (he probably gave up halfway through drying it).

He smells faintly like locker room sweat, floor resin, that tired musk of post-game exhaustion; but underneath it all, he smells like him, something so distinctly familiar, safe, warm… like home.

His eyes land on you, hazy and unreadable.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, voice barely above the hum of the TV.

“Mm.” He nods and slinks toward you, dropping onto the couch besides you.

You flinch a little when his head tips to the side and lands on your lap, heavy and warm and wholly unbothered by personal space. One arm dangles off the couch beside your legs and the other is awkwardly around your waist, pressed between your back and the cushion.

He exhales long and slow. “Dead,” he mutters into your thigh.

You smile, hand hesitantly moving to brush through his hair, gentle fingers combing out the sweat-dried strands. “Looked like a tough match.”

“My whole body feels like it got hit by a truck,” he grumbles against your skin, lips ghosting where your shorts ride up your thigh. “Everything hurts.”

You scratch his scalp in sympathy. “You did dive into the bench during the third set.”

“Saved the ball,” he deadpans.

“Nearly broke your shoulders.”

“But I looked hot doing it.”

You laugh softly. God, he’s so—you don’t let yourself finish the thought.

(But yeah, he did look hot. There were already fan edits online that you definitely didn’t save to your phone... definitely not).

“You should’ve left that save for Komori. He was lunging for it behind you.”

“He wouldn’t have made it,” he replies, twisting his face to look up at you now, brows furrowed in focus that meant he’s still analyzing, still replaying everyone’s moves in his head. “We had a shitty formation during that play.”

You hum softly, not agreeing or disagreeing, just letting the silence sit between you for a second. Then, with a small sigh, you lift your free hand and smooth it over his forehead, pushing his bangs back.

“Stop thinking so hard,” you say, voice laced with fondness. “It’s just a thought... from lil’ old me, who doesn’t play volleyball and mostly watches games through 4K.”

That earns you a half-smile, lazy and crooked. You continue to run your fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a second, like your touch is heavier than it is, grounding him.

There’s a beat of silence before you pick up the banter again.

“You also didn’t even shower yet, stinky,” you tease.

“You still let me use you as a pillow though.”

“You always use me as a pillow.”

He looks smug. “‘Cause you’re comfy.”

You roll your eyes, fingers drifting lower, brushing along the curve of his neck until they find the thin silver chain resting against his collarbone. You trace it lazily, just touching, feeling.

He groans softly. "Keep doing that."

You know his signs—when he’s too tired to joke, too sore to sit up, too worn out to hide how much his body aches.

So you say, soft and careful, “Want me to put some Salonpas on your back?”

Suna doesn’t answer right away. He just shifts, turning a bit to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, face angled toward your stomach. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting shadows.

He breathes you in before he speaks. “Only if you kiss it better.”

Your fingers freeze in his hair. “Absolutely not.”

“Cold.”

Your heart is doing something strange, fluttery and traitorous and too loud for a moment like this.

But you cover it with a scoff and reach for the little drawer on the side table, where you keep all the ‘just-in-case’ things: band-aids, lint rollers, and of course, Salonpas—because of course you do; you’ve lived with him long enough to expect these nights.

You’re halfway through peeling open the box when you hear him murmur, voice low and drowsy. “Not the patches.”

You pause. “Hmm?”

He shifts again, tilting his head just enough to glance up at you from his spot in your lap. His lips curl in that faint smirk that always makes your chest feel tight.

“Use the spray,” he says, voice light. “Feels better when you rub it in.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “You mean it feels better when I touch you.”

He doesn’t even pretend to deny it, only shrugs. “Don’t be weird about it.”

You let out a quiet, flustered huff, ducking back into the drawer and digging past the clutter for the familiar blue can. Your fingertips close around the cool metal, and you hold it up with a pointed look.

“Gross behavior,” you mutter.

“Not gross,” he mumbles into your thigh. “Just honest.”

You roll your eyes and pat his cheek, signaling for him to fully turn. When he shifts face down on your lap, you tug his jacket and jersey up by the hem.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, just lets you pull it halfway up his back until the cool air hits skin.

And then your breath catches.

His back is a mess of tension—taut lines and overworked muscles, a constellation of bruises blooming faintly across his ribs and shoulder blades, and deep, dull splotches where he must’ve collided, where he must’ve hit the ground hard.

It’s the kind of damage that doesn’t show on the scoreboard.

You swallow, pressing your lips together. You hadn’t realized he’d taken this many hits today.

You hesitate with the can in your hand, eyes scanning the bruised dip of his waist.

And for a second, you forget the banter, the teasing back-and-forth that always makes these nights feel easier. All you can feel is that soft, aching throb in your chest: the part of you that wants to press your hand to every mark and ask if it hurts, the part that always hurts with him, and for him, even when you try not to.

Then, before your brain can catch up with your mouth, something small but so honest slips out.

“…Just one,” you whisper. “One kiss.”

It’s barely louder than a breath. You’re not even sure he hears it.

But then his back rises and falls with a slow exhale, and the smirk in his voice is unmistakable.

“Thought you said absolutely not.”

You glare at the back of his head before softly pinching his ear. “Do you want the kiss or not?”

“I want ten.”

“You’re getting one.”

You lean down before you can change your mind, pressing a soft kiss just beside the worst bruise along his upper back. It’s barely anything, just the lightest warmth of your mouth against his skin, but it's enough for him to let out a sigh.

You shake the can, the rattle filling the space between you, and then spray a gentle stripe down the curve of his spine. He stiffens at the initial contact.

But when your hand meets his skin—gentle, deliberate with care, spreading the spray in soft, gliding circles—you feel it.

The way his breath holds. The way his muscles relax. The way his body eases.

He wants your hands on him even when he doesn’t hurt; he needs your touch more than he lets on.

“You always want to be spoiled,” you murmur, smoothing your palm over the tension at the small of his back. Your voice is quiet, but the affection in it sneaks through anyway, soft around the edges.

“Only by you,” he replies casually. His voice vibrates low against your thigh, slightly muffled, but the weight still lands sharp.

You freeze for a split second, not at what he said because he’s always saying things like that, but at how easily it slips out, how much it doesn’t sound like a joke.

Your hand lingers where it rests, fingers spread lightly over the dip of his spine. His skin is warm beneath your palm, the faint rise and fall of his breath slow, steady, too calm for the way your heart is tripping over itself.

You shouldn’t. You always say that. And then you do it anyway.

You lean forward and press one more kiss—just one—below his shoulder blade. It's slower this time, softer. Your lips drag a little against his skin, and you stay there, lingering for a beat too long.

His breath hitches, just slightly.

“Fuck yes, angel,” Suna mumbles, voice a little hoarse, like it caught in his throat.

You pull back, cheeks warm, and immediately reach for his hair again—fingers threading through the dark strands before giving a firm tug in retaliation, not too hard but just enough to make a point.

"I'm gonna rip you bald."

"...Kinky."

239 notes · View notes

fictionalmenxyn · 10 months ago

Text

߷𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬߷

Pairing: Chris x influencer!reader (established relationship)

Warnings: language, suggestive talking

-☺︎︎☺︎︎☺︎︎-

You had just arrived back at the LA house. Holding food bags from McDonalds. You went over to Matt’s room and dropped his food off. Realising the boys were on stream, but Chris was in his room.

You headed down to the bottom floor, Chris’ room. You knock on the door then open it.

Chris looks over and smiles “hey chat, my meal is here.” He smirks and made sure to hide his actual food from the camera. As you walks over and sat in the spare chair. Chat blew up.

‘OMG HEY Y/N!!’ ‘EW CHRIS U JUST CALL HER UR MEAL LOL’ ‘CHRIS NO AHAH 😂’ ‘y/n is not his food guys she went to McDonalds 😭’ ‘omg Y/n on stream with the boys’ ‘cuties!!!’

You smiled at the camera “hey guys, imma hop on stream with Chris and Matt.” Chris smiled and placed his meal out on the desk “chat should Y/n take over while I eat??” Matt joked “yeah, she better anyways.” Chris playfully gasped “absolutely not!!” You laughed. Taking the controller from Chris. You started to play Fortnite with Matt.

As you played, Chris watched and read chat as he ate. He’d giggle at some comments. He asked “hey chat?? Should I feed Y/n/n a nuggie??” You laughed. Chat obviously agreed. You joked “the fucking edits are gonna go wild…” he laughed “perfect!”

He held a nugget to your lips, you took a bite. Then he fed you the other half. You thanked him then handed over the controller as he was done eating.

You talked with everyone who was watching the stream as they played. Chris glanced over and chuckled “chats asking ass or tits…” Matt replied “personality, then heart..” Chris smirked “exactly…” you pulled a ‘ok, did he just agree to that’

Then Chris added “then ass.” You gasped “I was fucking waiting for that!!” You added “I was like ‘damn he really just agreed with Matt without saying that’s then you said it I was like ‘there it is’” you all laugh.

While Matt was doing something, you and Chris sat in his room waiting for Matt’s return.

Chris was eating a pack of sour patch kids. You stuck your index finger and thumb out. You give him the puppy dog eyes “can I have you?” He grinned “magic word??” “Please??” “It’s abracadabra!” He laughed hard. You laughed at him, thinking ‘how the fuck was it that funny??’ He held the pack out to you “here babe, since you sooo kindly said ‘please’ I guess I’ll let you have some.” You smiled “thank youuu”

You looked to the camera “see chat, this is what I gotta stick up with.” That earned a loud gasp from Chris “you did not!” He put his sour patch kids down and started play fighting with you.

Matt returned to his room, sitting back in his chair. “You guys ready for another round on here? Or we playin’ dress to impress???” No answer… “Chris? Y/n? Chat, what’re they doing??” He leaned closer to his screen and read chat. Spamming.

‘They’re play fighting again!!’

Matt chuckles, you get back into your seat again “Matt come get your fuggly ass brother” Chris playfully but definitely gently punched your arm. You punched his back “ow bitch! That hurt!” You giggled. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!” “Wa, wa, babe, too bad so sad.” Chris demanded “kiss it better!!” You laughed. Giving his shoulder a kiss.

After a while, you were now sat on his lap as you watched him and Matt play dress to impress. “No Chris get the mini skirt!!” “I’m getting there!!” You clapped when he put it on the avatar “fucking slay, hoe!” He smiled. You said “chat, rate fit outta ten!” Everyone spamming nines and tens.

As the ratings started, Chris wrapped his arms around your waist. Placing a few small kisses to your cheek and jaw. He smiled “foot outfit choice, baby” you smiled “what can I say, I’m just too good.” Matt and Chris laughed.

You lean back into Chris, resting your head on his shoulder. Staying like that for the rest of the stream. In between all the play fighting and grabbing snacks. He also gave you the occasional kisses and pecks. You were the official ‘chat reader’ as Chris put it. Reading out chat and talking to the viewers. Everyone loved you on stream with the guys while they played games all night.

-☺︎︎☺︎︎☺︎︎-

406 notes · View notes

kiarst · 3 months ago

Text

little late night thoughts (again):

yan!batfam x neglected!reader (again because this trope just has so much potential for crossovers and the yan!batfam ideas are rotting in my head) but this time, we're messing with voltron.

same start where mc somehow ends up in batfam's care and ends up getting neglected. They are around Tim's age in during the vld series plot so around 18-19 maybe. In order to try and prove themselves to the batfam or try to gain their attention, they run away and apply to the garrison as a medic (yes, i know that the garrison is mainly for pilots and stuff but for this au, they have a medical course). why a medic? because they aren't confident enough to fly a plane and they find that a medic is still a very important role in a team.

they end up in the same year as keith, lance and hunk. I don't know how they first interact with them, maybe mc and keith end up as partners during a collaborative activity between the pilot and medic class and they somehow? end up becoming friends or they end up becoming the medic on lance's team. I don't know but basically, mc ends up with the main group and the shenanigans of the vld plot ensue. maybe there's another lion and mc is their pilot and they slowly learn how to pilot with help from shiro, keith and/or lance (mainly shiro cuz he was one of the best pilot's in the garrison and keith cuz he was also one of the best pilots in their year). maybe they just stay in the castle and help and are the designated medic, patching everyone up and keeping an eye on everyone's vitals and stuff. mc eventually tells everyone who they really are (cuz they used their mother's maiden name to enroll), maybe because someone found out or they did it a bit after pidge's reveal cuz it's like 'oh, we're airing out secrets now?'. the members of the team from earth kinda freak out but also understand if mc doesn't elaborate further until they feel ready to. mc slowly grows as plot progresses, realizing that their feelings about the neglect are valid and that they should live for themselves and to help others, something like that while allowing themselves to be vulnerable and depend on the team cuz they were neglected for a long time and had to mostly be independent.

now for the batfam's side. On their side, again they don't notice. maybe alfred notices or they all don't notice until the news that 4 students from the garrison, an ex-student and a missing pilot have disappeared. I prefer the news one cuz it's gonna hit like a freight train once they see mc's picture flash on screen. breakdowns, arguing, regretting and lashing out ensue and they use their resources to try and locate mc, even asking some space heroes and alien connections they have for help.

I don't know how the space stuff would work. maybe the green lantern corps are aware and trying to do something but the galra are too big of a problem to take on full force. I'm leaning more towards the voltron space being far, far away from the dc space maybe (for convenience). like the dc space people have heard of it, they just think it's a legend or stories from space's past. the galra invasion of earth would be wild though with the heroes existing, kind of wonder how that will go.

also would mc have a love interest in this au? who would it be?

Thoughts?

edit: added a bit to clarify mc's age and also because I have no idea how old the cadets of the garrison are when they first enroll and are first years

#yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere batfam #batfam #yandere batfam x reader #voltron #voltron au

176 notes · View notes

lakefu · 1 year ago

Text

A Perfect Warmth 🕯️

Summary: Astarion and Tav take a well deserved break away form the chaos of their adventures at an inn inside Baldur's Gate. They need to clean up and get back on the road but they keep getting distracted. Perhaps plans could be delayed for a night of passion...

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Tags: 18+, Explicit, fluffy smut, brief Astarion trauma response, PIV, erogenous elf ears, scent kink, blood + biting, a bit of praise, a bit of edging... a sprinkle of cockwarming...., these guys are in love...

Word count: 3.5k Note: This was my first fic originally uploaded on Ao3 on 11/27/23, inspired by the patch #4 dev note mentioning adding sponges to clean your companions. I've made edits from the Ao3 post.

“Remind me to sell this junk next time we pass by a merchant, would you dear?” Astarion was seated at the edge of the bed and rummaging through his traveler’s pack, placing various items on the nightstand for further examination. Two silver forks, an old necklace, and a handful of various polished stones ended up on the table before he plucked out an intricate sapphire ring and held it up to the sunlight peeking through the window.

“Good taste,” he muttered to himself. He placed the ring on his pinky finger in amusement and resumed the scavenge.

“It’s going to get difficult sneaking up on people if I have to lug this heavy thing around you know.” He threw over a glance at Tav, who was preoccupied with gathering laundry together in preparation for the next day.

“It wouldn’t be so heavy if you didn’t pocket nearly every shiny thing we came across,” she teased, without even looking over at him.

He gasped dramatically. “Framed by my own lover? Quite the scandal. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the near dozen times you’ve asked me to hold onto your things because your own pack was too full.”

“Hmm. Maybe. I guess that might sound sort of familiar…” She giggled to herself and walked into the bedroom to catch his eye, meeting him with a mischievous grin.

“Why are you such a- oh! Now, what’s this you’re wearing?” Astarion blinked and scanned her up and down, clearly enthralled by the wardrobe change. She stood there in an old linen robe that was yellowed with age, definitely unlike anything he had ever seen her in before.

“Just some old thing I found in the dresser here, isn’t it just fabulous?” Tav's words were dripping in sarcasm and yet she smiled, performing a grandiose little spin in the middle of the room as if she was wearing the most beautiful ball gown in the world.

“I… it’s just so different from your usual armor or that drow nightwear you fancy so much. You look so… domestic.” His eyes were locked onto Tav intensely, with brow furrowed as he seemed to be confused by his own words.

She felt her heart skip a beat and a flush run to her face.

“And you think that’s a good look for me?”

His eyes softened and he paused a moment before quietly answering.

“Yes… I do.”

Tav watched as his smile faded and the gaze of his eyes became increasingly more distant. The atmosphere seemed to shift and a slight panic ran through her body. Did she do something wrong? No... and it didn’t require a tadpole connection to get an understanding for what had brought down his spirits.

Astarion hadn’t considered a comfortable domestic life was possible for someone like him. Even the slightest concept of such a thing had been buried for over a hundred years, and he never expected it to resurface. Was he worthy of such a thing, and was it even possible?

Oh, it was possible. The evidence was standing right in front of him, spinning circles in an ugly bathrobe. He could see glimpses of a happy future that was so close to being a reality he nearly felt nauseous. Not because he was unsure of himself, but because there were still too many unresolved matters they had a duty to attend to. Too many missions and stupid little quests that could now go wrong and threaten this idea of a happy ending he never even knew was possible.

Everything was different now that he realized what was possible, and he suddenly felt an unknown and uncomfortable pressure. All he knew was that he couldn’t afford to lose in the upcoming battles. Battles that some would say were impossible, suicidal even. The thought of loss at this point was beyond unbearable. It was sickening just to think about.

“Hey!!” Tav ran up to where he was sitting on the bed and took his head in her hands. She placed a delicate kiss on his forehead, knowing she had to get him focused on something else.

“Why don’t we go to the shop right now and get rid of that stuff,” she motioned to the collection of items that had been gathered on the nightstand.

“Wouldn’t hurt to get some more coin in our pockets, right?” She looked at him expectantly and felt a huge relief as a light seemed to return to his eye and meet her view.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to wear that horrid robe to see the merchant,” he sighed and looked up at her pleadingly.

“Of course not!! I’ll change and- oh gods!!! We’ve got to get this blood off your face, the merchant is going to think we are trying to kill him!” Tav exclaimed as she lightly shook his shoulders, and quickly began examining his body to see how much cleaning would have to get done before they could leave.

“Blood… on my face?” He raised an eyebrow and brought a finger to his cheek.

“Yeah!! Well, it’s all over you really, dontcha remember earlier today, fighting those cultists?? You sneaked up behind one of ‘em and BAM!!! Just obliterated with a single strike, it was amazing!! You’re so strong…you know.” Her pulse was racing at the mere memory of the event as she delicately traced the side of his face with her fingers and ventured down to his chest.

“Ah of course. That was all so terribly easy I’d nearly forgotten,” he said proudly, adjusting his posture and keeping his eyes on Tav’s hand movements sliding across his chest. Her soft touch was becoming more firm as her fingers made their way toward his arms, giving his biceps a teasing squeeze before leaning her face into his and teasing a kiss.

Before their lips could touch, Astarion wags a finger in between their faces as if to remind Tav of the task at hand.

“Alright my sweet, let’s clean up shall we? You’re my mirror after all. So, go on then.” He took her hands into his own and gave them a kiss before placing them back at her side, encouraging her to go and gather whatever it was she needed to get him cleaned up.

Right, the supplies. It was nearly impossible to remain focused after moments of intimacy with him, no matter how brief they were. She quickly moved into the other room to acquire the washcloths and bucket of soapy water that she was using for herself not too long ago. Hands full, she scurried back to the bedroom to meet her lover, who hadn’t moved an inch.

As she approached him, Tav could feel the tie on her robe becoming increasingly more loose with each step that was taken across the floor. The embarrassment hit her as she realized she didn't have any hands free to do anything about it. She quickly tried to put the bucket down by the bedside, but the bending movement only resulted in the robe slipping off one of her shoulders, exposing a bare breast.

“Oh? You haven’t got anything on underneath?” Astarion cocked his head in amusement, eyes unmoving from the newly exposed skin.

“Ye-yeah that’s the whole point of robes isn’t it? I was doing laundry earlier ya know and umm,” She laughed nervously and started to fix the wardrobe malfunction but was quickly stopped by a hand over her own. Astarion reached out toward her until both hands were around her waist and pulled her in close to his body. Fangs were peeking through his devious smile while determined eyes looked her up and down. With a singular finger he crept over to the loose knot of the robe’s tie and flicked it completely undone with one swift movement.

Tav shuddered and felt her body starting to run warm despite now being suddenly exposed to the cool air of the inn. She was completely revealed to him now, the robe only just clinging to her arms and draped across her backside.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he sighed and began kissing her stomach and caressing the curves of her waist. “Come here.”

Tav gasped as she felt his cold grip around her waist tighten as he expertly lifted her up onto his lap with ease. Pleased at the new angle, Astarion shifted his attention to kissing the crook of her neck and started moving down her chest. He delightfully found her nipple with his mouth in no time, and teased it in circles with his tongue just as he knew she liked it. His gentle sucking continued for only a few brief moments before he suddenly withdrew and cleared his throat.

“Ah, well. You can reach my face better up here I’m sure. For the cleaning of course,” he said smugly. The elf leaned back and admired the view of his lover, nude and flustered, perched oh-so perfectly on top of him.

“The cleaning…” Tav nodded and remembered she still had a warm and soapy washcloth in her hand. The urge to throw the stupid cloth into some unknown corner of the room was nearly undeniable. All she wanted in this moment was for him to take her completely, in any way he wanted, it didn’t matter as long as she ended up getting fucked into oblivion. So fine. On with the cleaning.

She raised the washcloth to his temple and slowly began to wipe away the dried blood by working down his face. His cheeks were a bit sunken as usual but flushed adorably in this moment, clearly enjoying the tender rubs of cloth on his skin. She continued rubbing down toward his chiseled jawline, across to his lips, and back up the other side to repeat the process once more. She ran her fingers through his silver curls and noticed his ears would need cleaning too.

One hand caressed the pointy ear to keep it in place and the other brought the washcloth in for a gentle scrub. A quiet moan suddenly escaped the vampire’s lips.

Oh? She had seemingly discovered a sensitive spot and noted that she would have to continue her work carefully. The scrubbing continued but Tav couldn’t keep her eyes off his face now. His eyes were closed but still noticeably moving behind their lids, and his lips were slightly parted with his breathing becoming increasingly heavier and more noticeable.

Astarion was in his own world of pleasure. What in the hells had he been doing these past weeks, aimlessly scrubbing himself clean alone in the river when they could have been doing this the whole time instead?

He opened his eyes just to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. She was still there of course, diligently and lovingly taking such good care of his body. A wave of maddening lust rushed through his core and he needed her closer. He needed her as close as physically possible and even more so after that.

Their eyes met, revealing intense desires. Tav lowered her hands and she spoke slowly, “Can you take your shirt off? There’s a spot I can’t get to with it on…”

She wasn’t fooling anybody, but he obeyed without hesitation. The shirt was gone in seconds, revealing his pale and perfectly sculpted chest. It was a sight that Tav never tired of admiring, and was in fact the subject of distracting daydreams on the daily. She shifted her body closer to his and continued scrubbing his neck and chest, despite it becoming increasingly more difficult to focus. Deep breaths.

She had always been fond of his cologne that he was quite proud of concocting himself. The scent of aged brandy, bergamot, and rosemary was now forever an Astarion specialty that she could never forget. Even during times of battle or travel, a gust of wind could carry his essence to her and bring along with it a sense of reassuring familiarity. As she continued to wipe him down, however, a different scent began to come to the forefront.

It was something that did not seem completely foreign, but it wasn't immediately identifiable either. There was something about taking it all in that felt forbidden. Tav tried to pinpoint what she was experiencing. He smelled earthy… raw… unnatural… it was without a doubt, the undeath.

An undeniable heat rose through her body as she engulfed herself with this pure scent from her lover. The washcloth, the bed, the entire room seemed miles away, and nothing felt coherent except for a craving to be even closer to him. Nothing else existed except their bodies and her overwhelming desire to-

“Eager, are we?” A sultry voice snapped her back into reality, where piercing red eyes amusingly greeted her return. She suddenly became aware of a presence between her thighs and glanced down, realizing she was sitting atop a clothed bulge. His hands had a firm grip on her backside and his encouraging movements made it clear she had been absentmindedly grinding on him during her trance.

“Shit, I got carried away…” She hadn’t taken her eyes off his crotch and began to notice that her excitement had left a dampness on his clothes. Embarrassment nearly overtook her, but a gentle yet confident hand grabbed her chin and brought it up to meet his gaze. He leaned into her with a grinning open mouth and kissed her passionately, tongues intertwining.

She felt his fangs briefly scrape against her tongue every so often until a metallic taste became increasingly noticeable. She didn't mind the blood, especially since it seemed to enhance his arousal as noted by his hips continuously jolting faster up into her exposed crotch. Tav was soon pleasantly overwhelmed between his deep kisses and desperate hands groping her at every curve of her body. She longed to give him everything; her blood for his hunger, her body for his pleasure.

Tav released herself from the kiss they had been locked into and tilted her head so that her neck became exposed as an undeniable gift. His mouth lunged at the presented spot as soon as it was noticed, fangs immediately sinking in deep. Tav cried out at the initial impact but soon was reveling in the experience. It was a perfect mixture of pain and pleasure that she was only capable of experiencing from him.

He remained on her neck for a while, still tightly holding on to her body and keeping one hand free to reassuringly caress the back of her head. It was only after the blood flow slowed to a near stop did he cease his medley of licking and sucking at the wound. Blood dripped down his chin and onto his exposed chest, but he was ultimately unfazed. He leaned back, clearly happy and mostly satisfied, but there was still a different type of satisfaction he had left to chase.

Astarion's throbbing erection was begging to be released from its clothed restraints. He quickly untied his pants and shifted his underwear to finally free it. He moaned a few incomprehensible words of relief and stroked himself a few times before looking up at Tav for approval.

Tav had been staring at his length from the moment it was exposed, an impressive size for an elf, no doubt. Her eyes fixated on his perfectly pink tip, glistening with precum just for her. She immediately fantasized of shoving him down her throat until she choked and cried, but that was a fantasy for another day. In their current position, they both knew there was only one simple way of how to continue.

“Astarion,” she whimpered. “Fuck me.”

Tav sat up on her knees and positioned herself so that her entrance was just nearly grazing the head of his dick, ready to take him in completely at any moment. She grabbed ahold of his shaft and guided the tip back and forth through her folds until he was covered in her slick. The new sensation of the friction between them left them both gasping and desperate for more.

Suddenly, finally, his arms wrapped around her body as he pulled her down onto him with one firm motion. Astarion grunted through his teeth while Tav moaned unapologetically, focusing on relaxing enough to allow her body to adjust to his length inside of her.

The temperature differences between their bodies only heightened the feelings of pleasure whenever they became one. Her warmness was intoxicating to him, granting a sense of safety and bliss that was impossible to achieve anywhere else. He was already so close to the edge in this moment, but was not ready to give in just yet. He wanted this moment of heaven to last as long as possible.

Meanwhile, Tav was having the time of her life riding her man like there was no tomorrow. She had no intent to slow down until a pair of large hands suddenly gripped her hips in a way that prevented any further movement.

“I’m not done with you yet, love. Didn’t you notice the mess I’ve made after feasting on you?” Astarion took a finger to his chin and smeared a bit of Tav’s fresh blood down his neck.

It was true, he had made a mess. Quite uncharacteristically of him in fact. Tav had assumed he had simply gotten careless in his horny and feral craze but no- it was clearly all calculated.

“Just be still and sit nice and pretty on my cock. Finish the cleaning, then I’ll take care of you myself. How does that sound?”

How does that sound? His words echoed in her head, which was already spinning plenty enough as it was. She was unsure if it was from the blood loss or her seemingly never ending carnal desires, but perhaps it was both. One thing was certain, however, he could convince her to do damn near anything speaking in that low and lustful tone of his. Without uttering a word she slowly brought the washcloth up to his chest.

“Good girl,” he whispered. He felt her body twitch around him in response to the praise, and he leaned back to relax and enjoy these final few moments of intimacy.

It had taken everything in Tav's power to remain still while she worked. It wasn't exactly easy to focus- she was being split in half by a whimpering vampire beneath her after all. Astarion’s skilled fingers had been dancing around her swollen clit the whole time, just enough to keep her stimulated but never enough to let her come.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the blood was all cleaned up. She hadn't even realized when it happened or how he did it, but his pants were completely gone now. She reached over to place the cloth down and awaited her reward of sweet release.

Astarion’s hands moved to the knees that were straddling him and slowly pushed them farther apart, spreading Tav’s legs open bit by bit. She inhaled sharply as she took him in deeper. He opened her up more and more until she lost her balance and fell backwards onto his expectant embrace.

“Relax darling, I’ve got you,” He purred in reassurance.

Astarion took her entire weight in his arms with ease and laid her down amongst the soft pillows of the bed. He nestled himself comfortably between her legs, making sure their bodies were flush with one another. Nearly smothered by his body now, all Tav could do was claw at his back and arch her hips into his powerful thrusts. His mouth frantically traveled across her lips and neck with desperately wet kisses until he settled near her ear with a playful nibble.

“You’re so beautiful…” He whispered tenderly, while the rhythm of his lovemaking became increasingly sporadic. “So fucking perfect… Gods…just for me… I love you… so much...”

“Star, I- ah!” Her words cut short as she felt something snap within her. Pure ecstasy- she was falling and flying somewhere a million galaxies away and never wanted to come back. Obscene noises and curses filled the room as they rode out each other’s high in tight embrace. The smell of sex lingered in the air as their bodies heaved with labored breaths, finally collapsing on each other in exhaustion.

They laid together a while longer, exchanging soft kisses and enjoying the short moment in time where nothing else in the world mattered. Eventually, Astarion rolled out of the bed and stood up to stretch.

“Tsk, looks like it’s my turn to clean you up my dear,” He said with an accomplished grin, eying how her thighs were dripping with his sticky mess.

“I’ll be right back, don’t move an inch. Actually, I doubt you can move at all after that, ahaha!” He laughed and leaned over to brush aside a strand of Tav’s sweaty hair that was stuck to her forehead before walking over to the other room.

“Shut up… dummy…” she smiled to herself and rolled over, feeling at ease enough that the weight of sleep was starting to overtake her.

“I love you too, Astarion.” Her eyes closed as she drifted off into a peaceful slumber, knowing that her lover would soon come back to her side like he always did, and always would.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #bg3 astarion #astarion fluff #bg3 #astarion fanfiction #vampire fanfiction #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #bg3 smut

771 notes · View notes

mysticalmallard · 1 year ago

Text

♥︎ Defending Their Girlfriend ♥︎

🦆:These were all supposed to be drabbles, but I got a bit carried away, so they are more like oneshots and I didn't want to edit any of them down. Because they all came out so long I've only done Jax, Juice, Kozik, Tig and Chibs. I may do a separate one another time for Happy and Opie if that is something you guys want ♥︎

SoA Taglist: @arkytiorlecter @aimkatsz @ravennaortiz @darqchilddaydreamz @mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @hatersaremymotivators @theshynerdsworld @thefrogytimes @youngadult9016 @meera10

♥︎ If you wish to be added or removed from this taglist comment or message me ♥︎

��️ Warnings ⚠️ : VIOLENCE, ABUSIVE BEHAVIOUR, SEXUAL ASSAULT, CREEPY MAN, SEXIST men, swearing and other general SoA Warnings there is nothing too graphic but if you don't like reading about any of the topics listed please DO NOT read the rest of this post!!!, ONLY YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE for your OWN media consumption!!! ⚠️

SoA Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Jax

On a hot summer night, Jax and his girlfriend were out for a night walk, enjoying the quiet streets of Charming together.

As they walked, a group of young men, all of them a little tipsy on alcohol, passed by. One of the men catcalled Jax's girlfriend as they walked by, making a crude and sexist comment.

Jax took immediate offense, gritting his teeth in anger. He stepped up to the man, who looked startled by the tall, furious biker suddenly in his face.

"Excuse me?" Jax growled, his eyes locking onto the man who had made the inappropriate comment.

The man took a step back when he spots the club patches, suddenly realizing who Jax was.

"N-nothing, man, it's cool," the man stuttered out, trying to backpedal. But Jax wasn't satisfied he was already too angry. The other guys had stopped and were starting to circle, realizing the situation was getting heated.

"Oh, it's *not cool*, man," Jax said in a dangerous tone, his eyes flickering to the other guys slowly surrounding them. Jax wasn't worried, though - he lived for this. The tension in his body made it clear he was ready to defend his girlfriend, his pride at stake.

His girlfriend tugs at his sleeve worried "Jax it's okay...let's just go"

"Nah, this isn't okay, babe," Jax responds, his voice firm but gentle. He turns his head to look at his girlfriend, seeing the hint of worry in her eyes. He softens slightly. "He's disrespecting you. Me. *Us*."Jax turns his attention back to the man who started this whole thing. "You need to apologize. Now," he demands, his voice a low rumble, his eyes fixated firmly on the guy.

The man, still looking nervous but a little bolder behind his friends, scoffs and throws a cocky grin. "And if I don't?" He asks in a mocking tone.

Jax's eyes narrow, anger flaring again. He closes the space between them, getting right in the man's face. "Then you're gonna have a huge problem on your hands." The threat in Jax's voice is clear.

The man shoves Jax back when he gets in his face Jax stumbles back, but catches himself quickly, the shove only adding more fuel to his anger. He takes a step forward again, his shoulders squared swinging at him connecting with the man's jaw.

The man falls backward, clearly not expecting Jax to strike so quickly. The other men hesitate, not expecting to deal with a fight.

Jax stands over the man, glaring down at him. "Don't ever disrespect my girlfriend again," he snarls.

The man is clutching his face, a look of fear in his eyes as he looks up at Jax. He nods shakily. "S-sorry, man," he stutters out, clearly intimidated.

"Now apologize to my girlfriend," Jax's tone is firm. He's not backing down until the guy apologizes properly.

The man looks up at Jax's girlfriend, shame on his face. He mutters a quick, "Sorry, ma'am."

Jax's girlfriend looks relieved, but she's clings onto Jax's arm standing close to his side, clearly still feeling uncertain about the situation.

Jax looks down at her, silently asking if she's okay with the half-apology. She nods slowly, looking somewhat reassured.

Then, Jax looks back at the man on the ground, eyeing the other men who are still standing around, ready to step in if necessary.

"This is your only warning. Don't say that kind of shit again." Jax's voice is cold and firm. The message is clear - he won't tolerate anyone disrespecting his girlfriend like that again.

Juice

Juice and his girlfriend were sitting on the couch in his living room watching tv, when suddenly, she received a phone call from her parents. She reluctantly answers already knowing what they were gonna say. They were trying to convince her to end her relationship with Juice. Juice overheard bits of the conversation and could feel the tension in the room. He knew that they disapproved of their relationship.

Juice squeezed a pillow in frustration, but he couldn't just sit there and let her parents talk her out of their relationship without a fight.

He took the phone from her hand and took a deep breath before speaking. "Hey, I know you don't approve of this relationship, but I love her and I'm not going to let you talk her out of being with me without giving me a fair shot."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, but he could hear her parents murmuring in the background. They clearly didn't like his interruption.

"Listen I am sure you have some good qualities or our daughter wouldn't date you, but we don't want her dating some criminal thug from a motorcycle gang," her father said, his voice filled with disapproval.

Juice clenched his jaw, stung by the man's words. He couldn't help but feel the anger rising within him, but he tried to keep his cool.

"I may be in a motorcycle club, but I am not some mindless thug. I have a brain, I have a heart, and I have feelings just like anyone else, and i love your daughter sir...I don't know what she sees in me to be honest with you...she could have anyone she wants and she chose me...but I am going to stay with her as long as she wants me to be" he said with clenched teeth.

There was another moment of silence on the other end of the phone as her parents continued to murmur in the background.

Juice could feel the tension building up inside him, but he was determined to prove that he was worthy of her love. He glanced back at his girlfriend, who was sitting on the couch beside him, her eyes watching him intently. She gave him a small smile, knowing that he was defending their relationship fiercely. He smiled back at her before turning his attention back to the phone.

Her father spoke up again, his voice now filled with a hint of annoyance. "Look kid, we just don't want our daughter mixed up in some dangerous lifestyle. Motorcycle clubs are not known for their stability or their law-abiding ways, and we don't want her getting hurt or in trouble."

Juice took a deep breath before responding, his voice firm and steady. "I understand your concerns, sir, but my club is not like that. We have rules and structure and we take care of our own. We don't just go around causing trouble for the hell of it."

"But you DO cause trouble, don't you?...you say you love our daughter, but you can't, not if you want her involved in that lifestyle," her father says matter-of-factly.

Juice closes his eyes and sighs, stung by her father's words. He knew that her father had a point. His life in the club was dangerous, and he had seen firsthand how it could cause harm to those he cared about. But he couldn't deny his love for her. He couldn't just easily walk away from her.

" I know the life isn't perfect, sir, and yes, sometimes there is trouble, but I promise you I would never let anything happen to your daughter. I would protect her with my life. And as far as loving your daughter...I do, I love her more than I could even explain to her...but i am gonna try my best to show her every damn day"

Her father was silent for a moment, as if contemplating his words. Juice could hear him talking to his wife in the background, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He waited anxiously for his response, his heart beating faster in his chest.

Finally, her father spoke up, his voice slightly more compassionate than before. "Look son, we love our daughter and we just want what's best for her. We want her to be happy and safe, and we're afraid this life you're involved in will only bring her pain."

"Come visit let me show you, meet me atleast before jumping to conclusions with gossip you hear from people who don't know me or the club....your daughter loves you guys so much and I don't want us being together creating tension in your relationship with her" he sighs down the phone trying to find someway of fixing things.

Her father was silent for a moment, mulling over Juice's invitation. He could hear him speaking to his wife in the background, and Juice could only hope that he was coming around.

Finally, her father spoke up again, his voice filled with resignation. " Fine, we'll come meet you. But we're only doing this for our daughter's sake, not yours."

"Fine with me, sir," is all he says before hanging up.

His girlfriend scoots over to him. "What did they say? They weren't rude were they? I swear I've told them so many times the club isn't a gang but they don't listen" She rattles off nervous to what was said.

He gently holds her face, looking in her eyes to get her to stop rambling. "Hey, hey, don't worry about it," he says, trying to soothe her. "It was a little rough at first, but I managed to calm them down. They agreed to come meet me."

"They did?" She asks in disbelief. "How did you manage that? I've asked before, but they said they were too busy"

He laughs softly, amused by her surprise. "I can be pretty convincing when I want to be," he jokes. "I just spoke my mind and made it clear I was serious about you. And I guess your dad didn't want to stand in the way of his baby girl's happiness."

He tightens his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. He can feel the warmth of her body against his and the softness of her hair against his cheek. He nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent.

"I'm here for you," he whispers, his voice low and intense. "I'll always have your back."

Herman Kozik

Kozik pulled up to his girlfriend's house but as he pulled up he saw her standing outside with her ex. The ex was yelling and she was crying, with tears streaming down her face. Kozik gets off his bike and could immediately sense the tension in the air.

The ex, noticing Kozik's presence, turned and scowled at him. "Who the fuck are you?" he spat.

"I'm her boyfriend," Kozik replied, trying to keep his cool. "And you need to back off from her, man."

The ex's face contorted into a sneer. "Boyfriend?" he said, his voice dripping with venom. He turns back to her "are fucking kidding me with this shit?...huh? we were just having a little spat and you go and sleep with some biker dickhead..huh? I always thought you were a bit of a whore but really? I give you your space and you treat me like this?.." With every word the ex steps closer to her, she steps back as best she can away from him until she's against the building.

"w-we broke up. You kept cheating on me so I ended it. Its been 5 months...please just leave" she says shaking.

The ex lets out a scoff as he continues his advancement on her, he's just a few steps from her now. Kozik doesn't like the look on her face and steps between the two of them putting himself in front of her. "Back off man, I'm not going to tell you again." Kozik's tone is firm as he shoves him.

The ex stumbles back, a look of anger and disbelief on his face. "Who do you think you are, you biker trash?! You think you can come here and take my girl? She's mine!"

Kozik stands his ground, not backing down. "She's not your girl anymore, she's mine and she asked you to leave, so do it."

The ex takes a step forward, his hands balling into fists, "Or what, you're going to kick my ass? I'd like to see you try biker boy"

Kozik keeps his cool, staring the ex down. "I don't want to fight you man, but I will if you don't leave. She doesn't want you here."

Kozik looks over his shoulder at his girlfriend she looks terrified.

His voice softens, "Go inside love, i'll be in after" he says not wanting her nearby should things get violent.

She shakes her head softly glancing between them "n-no...please I don't want you to get hurt"

"I'll be fine baby please go inside" he pleads with her and she relents slowly walking around, the ex hurling insults at her as she goes when she goes to move past him he lunges forward grabbing her wrist causing her to scream.

The moment he touches her Kozik tackles him to the ground. He was caught off guard as Kozik takes him down. The Ex landed hard on the gravel, his back hitting the ground with an "oof". He tried to get up but Kozik was already on top of him, pinning him down.

"YOU DONT FUCKING TOUCH HER!" He screams in his face. The Ex tries to struggle against Kozik's hold, but it's no use. Kozik's grip is tight and strong.

"Get off me!" the Ex snarls, but Kozik just presses down harder, his face inches away from the Ex's. The ex turns his head to the girlfriend "you fucking see what you've done huh? You little whor-" Kozik doesn't let him finish punching him in the jaw.

"YOU SHUT UP DONT CALL HER THAT"

The ex let out a groan as Kozik punched him. His head slumped back into the gravel, reeling from the impact.

"You bastard!" he groaned, but Kozik didn't let up. He leaned forward, his face just inches away from the Ex's.

"You listen to me and you listen well," Kozik growls. "You're going to leave her alone. You're not going to speak to her, you're not going to call her names, and you're sure as hell not going to touch her again. Do. You. Understand?"

The Ex nods, his expression a mix of anger and fear. Kozik lets go of him and stands, taking a step back. The Ex sits up, his jaw sore, and glares up at her.

Kozik blocks his view standing in front of his trembling girlfriend.

The Ex gets to his feet, his hand rubbing his bruised jaw. "You think this is over?" he spits.

"It's over when she says it's over," Kozik replies, his voice hard and determined. "And she's already made it clear she doesn't want anything to do with you."

The Ex opens his mouth to reply but stops himself, his eyes darting between Kozik and his girlfriend. He clearly wants to say more, but he knows he's out matched.

"You're done here," Kozik says firmly. "So do yourself a favor and save yourself the beating and leave. Don't come back." Kozik stares him down, daring him to do something after a long while the ex stalks off back to his car across the street.

Kozik stays in a protective stance in front of her until the car disappears around the corner.

The moment he is out of sight he turn back to her. She's shaking, her eyes wide and tear-streaked. Kozik gently cups her face with his large, calloused hands, his expression softening.

"Baby, it's okay," he says soothingly. "He's gone. I'm here. You're safe now."

Kozik wraps his arms around her, holding her tight against him. He rubs soothing circles on her back, trying to calm her down.

"Shhh, it's alright love," he murmurs into her hair. "I got you. I got you."

They stand like that for a few moments, her clinging to him like a lifeline, him holding her close and protective. Finally, she pulls back a bit, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. Kozik brushes the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, his touch gentle and caring. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, alright?"

Tig Trager

Tig was at her place when the doorbell rang. Tig, being the gentleman he is, answered it for her.

"May I help you, ma'am?" Tig inquired to the older woman waiting outside.

The old woman glares at him, her eyes narrowing as she looks him up and down. “You’re making too much noise! Always driving that loud motorcycle, playing music late at night. It’s completely disrespectful!”

Hearing the womans shrill voice his girlfriend comes up behind him knowing he has a short fuse with these kinds of things. "I'm sorry, we'll try to keep it down from now on" she says not wanting to cause any issues with her neighbour.

The old woman huffs, clearly not satisfied with the response. “You young people have no respect these days. In my day, we knew how to behave properly. But I guess your generation doesn’t care about how your actions affect others, do you?”

Tig’s temper is reaching its boiling point, but he manages to keep his cool for now. "Respect goes both ways, lady," he says, his tone cold and calculated. "We’ve been keeping the noise down as much as we can. Maybe you should try investing in some earplugs or something."

The old woman looks affronted by Tig’s response. “How dare you speak to me like that! I have lived here for years before she even considered buying that house, and I will not be disrespected by some biker thug!”

Tig’s temper ignites at her words. “Biker thug? You call me a thug?” he scoffs, his voice rising in anger. “I was a Marine. I fought for this country. What have you done besides sit in your rocking chair and complain?“

The old woman looks taken aback by his words, her eyes narrowing further. “I don’t care what you’ve done. You’re still making too much noise and disturbing the peace. Maybe she should consider moving if you can’t handle living in a civilized neighborhood.”

Tig’s fists clench at his sides as he struggles to keep his composure. "Civilized neighborhood? You call this place civilized when all you do is nag and complain? Maybe you should learn to mind your own damn business and stop worrying about how loud we are."

"You watch your tone, young man! I have the right to live in peace and quiet, and I will not let some criminal with a bad attitude tell me otherwise." The old lady’s eyes flash with anger.

Tig is on the verge of losing his temper completely. "Criminal? I’m not a criminal," he says through gritted teeth. "And you don’t have the right to tell her what she can do in her own home. We’ll keep the noise down as much as we can, but we won’t be silenced just because you don’t like how we live."

The old woman huffs again, clearly not satisfied with Tig’s response. "I’ll be watching you. One more loud noise and I’ll call the police and repor-."

Tig doesn't let her finish and just slams the door in her face mumbling under his breath "Damn old lady." He huffs, turning to face his girlfriend. "Can’t she mind her own damn business? People these days, I swear. I bet shes just all pissy cause she ain't getting any... do you think Piney would take one for the team?" he asks jokingly pulling a giggle from her. "But seriously," he continues, his expression turning serious. "Don’t let her give you any grief....but you know you would have any issues if you just live with me....we can be as loud as we want there." He says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively putting his hands on her hips.

"I know, I know," she says, giggling again as she rolls her eyes at his antics. "And as tempting as that offer is... Its a little too soon for us baby...besides I dont think you can handle all this every day...do you think you could keep up old man." she says, running her hand over his chest.

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I can definitely handle it baby doll." He says, his hands moving up her sides. "I can keep up just fine. In fact, I could probably wear you out before you could wear me out." He grins, pulling her closer to him.

"Wanna prove it, Trager?" She challenges peering up at him through her lashes.

A sly smirk spreads across his face as he eyes her up and down, taking in her seductive curves. "You bet your sweet ass I do," he growls, his hand moving to her hip, pulling her flush against his body. He cups her chin, lifting her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he leans down to her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "You're playing with fire, darlin'," he whispers, his voice low and rough. His arms snake around her waist, pulling her closer still. His hands wander down to her ass, giving a firm squeeze. "You sure you can handle it?"

She gasps softly as he touches her, her body responding to his touch. "I can handle anything you throw at me, Trager," she whispers back, her eyes locking with his.

"Is that so?" He grins, nipping at her ear. "We'll see about that."

He scoops her up into his arms, holding her against his chest with ease. He strides over to the couch, setting her down on it before crawling over her, his body covering hers. He takes her wrists in his hands, pinning them above her head. He gazes down at her, his eyes filled with hunger and desire. "You still think you can handle it, doll?" She shivers as he holds her pinned beneath him, his body pressed against hers. She can feel his heat, his strength, the hardness of his muscles.

She meets his gaze boldly, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, I know I can handle it. But can you handle me, old man?"

He chuckles moving his lips hovering over hers but a loud knocking comes from the door once more causing them both to groan

"I CAN STILL HEAR YOU" The voice of the woman breaks through ruining the moment.

Tig growls in frustration, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Damn it," he mutters. He sits back on his heels, running a hand through his hair "Let's just ignore her hmm? she has to leave eventually"

She sighs "Tiggy, baby, we are not having sex in earshot of that woman total mood killer"

He sighs heavily "I could kill her if you want.. I'm sure no one would miss the old hag" he offers only half joking.

She swats his chest laughing "Don't you dare, she'll end up haunting me forever" she pouts.

Tig laughs, amused by her playful swat. "Okay, no killing the old bat," he agrees reluctantly holding his hands up.

"But seriously, how do we shut her up? You deserve to be able to make as much noise as you want in here without being hassled by some nosy neighbor."

She pauses, thinking for a moment. "I don't know... maybe I could talk to her again and try to reason with her. Or we could get some soundproofing for the walls."

He frowns thinking for a moment "...or you could just move in with me...you could sell this place or rent it out...I have a spare room you could turn into your own space if you want...I dont think it's too soon" he asks again completely sincere.

She looks at him, surprised by his proposal. "Move in with you? But... are you sure? I mean, it's a big step."

She can see the sincerity in his eyes, and a part of her is intrigued by the idea. Living with Tig would certainly be different than living alone, but the thought of waking up next to him every morning is pretty appealing...

"I'm sure," he says firmly. "I want you closer to me, and it would solve the nosy neighbor problem. Plus, I could keep you safe easier."

He reaches out and gently tucks a strand of her hair out of her face. "Besides, I like the thought of waking up with you every morning."

Chibs

Chibs and his girl were at the mall, walking up to the escalator hand in hand. While going up, Chibs' sharp eyes caught sight of something unpleasant. He saw a man standing a step bellow them discreetly aiming his phone under his girl's dress, attempting to take a picture.

Without skipping a beat, Chibs snatches the phone out of his hand. He holds it firmly, staring the man down. The creep froze, realizing he'd been caught, his eyes darting around nervously.

Chibs' grip on the phone tightened. He glanced at his girl who was visibly uncomfortable and quickly caught onto the situation, her cheeks flushing with anger.

"Ye thought ye could just take pictures of my girl without being seen, eh? Not on my watch," Chibs growled, his voice low and dangerous.

He opens the phone Chibs flicks through the images on the man's phone, each one more sickening than the last. His anger mounts as he realizes this creep has been a repeat offender, taking pictures of alot of unsuspecting women at the mall.

His jaw clenches tightly as his eyes narrow on the man, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Ye got quite the habit, don't ye? Takin' pictures up lassies' skirts without their knowledge," he seethes.

He hands the phone to his girl, making sure she sees the evidence. She looks at the pictures, her expression a mix of disgust and anger.

"I'll take care of this, don't ye worry," Chibs reassures her, turning his undivided attention back to the guy. His voice is firm and commanding, "Ye've got some explainin' to do, laddie. What's yer name?"

But they've reached the top now the man quickly trys to scramble past wanting to get away. Despite the man's attempt to flee, Chibs' reflexes are lightning fast. Before the guy can take 2 steps away, Chibs seizes him by the collar, yanking him firmly back.

"Nah, ye ain't goin' anywhere," Chibs hisses, his grip like iron, effectively boxing him in.

A small group has gathered around seeing the commotion his girlfriend quickly explains what's going on with a shaky voice so they don't get the wrong idea about what Chibs was doing handing the phone to a dad wearing dog tags with his two teen daughters so he can see for himself. The dad looks at the phone, his expression hardening as he sees the pictures. He passes the phone to one of the older girls, who also peeks at the images. She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Oh my God," she whispers.

The crowd surrounding them grows, with murmurs of disgust and outrage. Chibs holds the man firmly, his eyes scanning the gathering crowd.

The dad and few other men from the crowd help him hold the man down on the ground, none of them caring if they hurt him or not.

The man squirms in the grip of Chibs and the other men, but it's useless against their combined strength. Chibs holds him tight, his eyes narrowing angrily.

"Nuh-uh, laddie. Ye ain't gettin' away from this," he growls.

One guy in the crowd heads off to fetch mall security, and they arrive within a few minutes, taking the situation in.

The security guard approaches Chibs and the rest of the men holding the man prisoner. "What's going on here?" he asks, a sense of authority in his voice.

"This creep was takin' pictures up my girl's skirt on the escalator," Chibs explains, his voice a dangerous rumble.The security guard's eyes widen slightly as he nods in understanding, he then turns to address the man. "Is this true?"

"I... um... I...," the man stutters, his protests falling flat under the intense gazes of Chibs and the others.

"Save yer excuses, laddie," Chibs interrupts, his tone firm. "We all know what ye were doin'. There's the proof, right in yer damn phone."

The security guard nods, taking the phone from from her to have a look. His expression hardens as he goes through the images. The man's face is a mask of shame and fear as he's cornered.

"Alright, we'll be taking him into custody, and call the police" the security guard says to the crowd around them. "You can all return to your day now."

The people gradually disperse, the thrill of the spectacle wearing off. Chibs nods at the security guard. "Make sure he pays the price for what he's done," he adds, his voice hard and unforgiving.The man is taken away by the security guard, struggling but ultimately unable to escape.

Chibs turns to his girlfriend who still looks shaken. He puts his arm around her, pulling her close.

"Are ye alright, love?" he asks gently, his voice softer now the immediate threat is gone."I... I think so," she says quietly, her hand clinging to his. "I just can't believe someone would actually do that."

Chibs tightens his grip on her, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Aye, it's sick. But ye don's have to worry about him no more. He's goin' to get just what he deserves."

Chibs gently kisses the side of her head, his lips lingering against her hair. He draws her closer to him, his strong arms wrapping around her protectively.

"I'm sorry ye had to go through all that, lass," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "Don't worry, I'm here for ye."

666 notes · View notes

snowysosturn · 6 months ago

Text

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, bickering, mention of toxic relationship, aftermath of a toxic relationship that contains violent conduct (not toward a person), arguments, tension

Warehouse 79 had a raw, unfinished charm, white lighting, concrete floors, and currently, the faint echo of basketballs bouncing in the background.

I sat cross legged on a stack of unopened boxes, my laptop balanced precariously on my knee as I scrolled through mood boards and concept sketches. Chris sat nearby, flipping through sample swatches with one hand and sipping a can of pepsi with the other. His energy was infectious, even after years of working together.

“What about one last round of varsity hoodies?” Chris asked, pulling out a bright crimson swatch and holding it against a navy blue. “It’s been one of our best drops, and people keep asking for more.”

I nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear as I considered his idea. “It’s a safe bet, but if this is supposed to be the final varsity drop, it has to be more than just hoodies. You know, make it memorable.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.

“Think beyond hoodies” I said, gesturing toward his phone. “What if we added jackets? Maybe patches people can customize or swap out. Make it more interactive, more personal.”

Chris leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like he always did. “Patches, huh? That could actually work. Retro but fresh.”

“That’s what I was thinking” I said, feeling a small surge of pride. Brainstorming with Chris always felt like a challenge, but in a good way. He was quick to shoot down bad ideas, but when he liked something, you knew it was solid.

He nodded, his fingers tapping on the table now as he started building on the concept. “We could package it as a set, hoodies, jackets, and patches. Maybe even limited edition duffle bags to tie it all together.”

Before I could respond, the rhythmic thud of a basketball hitting concrete interrupted us. My eyes flicked toward the far end of the warehouse, where Matt was casually shooting hoops at the makeshift hoop Chris had set up years ago for "creative breaks."

Matt had tagged along because, apparently, Chris wasn’t confident enough to drive alone yet. He hadn’t said a word since we got here, content to stay in his own world, his airpods in as he aimed for shot after shot. Until now, he broke his solitude, turning toward us.

“Have you gotten any further yet?” Matt asks us, like it's an inconvenience to him.

“Yeah, we’re thinking varsity hoodies and jackets for a final time” Chris replied. “Y/n came up with the idea to add patches.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, his tone clipped. “Patches? That’s..different.”

I rolled my eyes, the easy energy in the room immediately shifted. “It’s called creativity, Matt. You should try it sometime.”

He smirked, finally glancing at me. “Right, because nothing says groundbreaking like varsity hoodies.”

His tone was light, but it still set me on edge. There was something about Matt that always managed to push my buttons.

“Do you not have anywhere else to be?” I shot back, keeping my tone as even as possible.

Matt caught the basketball mid dribble and leaned casually against the wall, his smirk annoyingly perfect. "Nope. But if you two could stop dragging this since I’m starving. Unless you’re planning to serve snacks with those hoodie ideas?"

"Funny" I shot back, stuffing my laptop into my bag.

Chris didn’t even look up from his phone. "We’re nearly done. Chill out, Matt. We’ll grab food on the way home."

Matt let the basketball roll across the floor and spread his arms. "No rush, right? It’s not like I have a life or anything."

I opened my mouth to fire back, but Chris cut me off. "Y/n, have you heard from Nick today? We should see if he wants food, too."

I sighed, redirecting my focus to Chris. "I’m meeting him when we're finished here actually. I’ve got my six month landlord inspection going on now, so he’s coming over to help me redecorate after."

Chris raised a brow. "Redecorate? Didn’t you just move stuff around last month?"

"Yeah" I admitted, my voice tightening, "but now that I have the apartment to myself, it feels like a good time to start fresh."

Matt raised a brow, his interest clearly piqued. "Apartment to yourself? What, you finally realized living with your boyfriend wasn’t working?"

Chris groaned. "Matt."

"What?" Matt said innocently, shrugging. "I’m just curious. Everyone knew Ethan was a walking red flag. Figured it was only a matter of time."

"Thanks for the unsolicited commentary" I snapped, glaring at him.

"Anytime" he replied with a mock salute, his smirk widening.

“How did he take it? You breaking up with him?” Chris questions.

I let out a small sigh. “I mean he didn’t take it well it went better than I expected. He was angry, saying I was making a mistake and I’ll regret it.” I paused, shrugging. “But he agreed to have his stuff out before the inspection, so that’s a relief.”

Chris, oblivious to the tension, nodded. "Good for you, though. Ethan always gave me bad vibes. Nick’s probably thrilled to help you out now."

"He was practically bouncing off the walls when I told him" I said, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. "He’s probably more excited about display pillows than I am."

"Sounds like Nick" Chris said with a laugh.

Matt leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as his smirk turned wicked. "Let me guess, Nick’s going to pick some pastel theme, and you’re going to act like you love it because you’re too polite to say no."

I glared at him. "Unlike you, I actually appreciate someone’s help when they offer it."

He raised a brow. "Politeness isn’t going to make your apartment look less boring."

"Neither will your input." I snapped.

"Touche" he said, almost sick I caught him with that one.

Chris shook his head, "Alright, we’re done here” grabbing his keys from the counter, jingling them in his hand as he turned to me. "I’ll drive you back to your apartment, text Nick to see if he wants any food."

"Thanks" I muttered, barely masking my annoyance as I walked toward the door.

Before we headed out, I pulled out my phone, quickly texting Nick. Hey, I’m on my way back to the apartment if you want to make your way there. You want us to pick up anything for food on the way?

I hit send and slipped my phone back into my pocket, following Chris and Matt out into the parking lot.

"Nick will probably want sushi or something" I said casually, climbing into the passenger seat of Chris’s car. "You know how he gets about food."

Chris grinned as he started the car. "Yeah, he’s got that obsession with sushi, huh? Can’t blame him, though. I’m all about the ramen."

I laughed lightly, glad for the brief distraction. "He’ll probably text me back in a second, i'll let you know."

We drove in comfortable silence, I thought about what Chris had said earlier, about Ethan always giving him bad vibes. Chris wasn’t wrong. Ethan had been controlling, manipulative, and honestly, just a drain on my energy. Still, hearing Chris talk about it made me realize how little I’d talked to him about my relationship with Ethan.

As we pulled into traffic, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced down and saw Nick’s name flashing on the screen, wanting to FaceTime.

"Hey" I said casually, looking at his face show up on screen.

The line was silent for a beat before I heard his voice, shaky and urgent. "Y/n, where are you right now?"

I blinked, a knot forming in my stomach. "Uh, I’m on the way back to my place with Chris and your other triplet. Why, what’s going on?"

There was a pause, then Nick’s voice came through, thick with disbelief. "There’s an eviction notice on your apartment door."

My heart dropped. "What? No, that can’t be-"

"I’m looking at it right now. It’s taped right on the door. You need to get down here."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I could feel the sudden heat rising in my face as panic started to set in. "This.. this doesn’t make sense. Everything was ready for the inspection, what’s going on?"

"Wait, what?" Chris pulled over to the side of the road, his face clouded with concern. "You’ve been on top of your rent, right?"

"I.. I have" I said, voice trembling.

Nick cut in, his tone soft but insistent. "Y/n, you need to come down here right now. It’s serious. I’m gonna try to reach the landlord, but you need to be here to figure out what’s going on."

"Okay. Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes."

I hung up the phone, the weight of everything sinking in.

Chris turned to me, looking torn between wanting to comfort me and knowing there wasn’t much he could say. "What do you want to do?"

I rubbed my temples, trying to clear my mind. "I don’t know. I’m just.. I can’t believe this is happening. Everything was fine yesterday."

Matt’s voice came from the passenger seat, snide as usual. "Well, sounds like your ‘perfect’ little life is falling apart, huh?"

I whipped around, eyes narrowing. "Really? Now?"

Matt raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just saying. Seems like you might need to start planning your next move. Maybe get a new place.. or a new boyfriend this time?"

"Matt" Chris warned, but it was too late.

I glared at him. "You don’t know anything about my situation, so don’t even start."

"Hey, I’m just here for the entertainment" he shrugged, his grin as infuriating as ever.

I wanted to say something back, but the lump in my throat made it hard to speak. I didn’t want to deal with Matt’s sarcasm right now, not when everything was crashing down around me.

Chris glanced at me again, his voice soft. "Let’s just get to your place first. We’ll figure it out, okay?"

"Yeah" I said, swallowing hard. "Let’s just get there."

But as we pulled back into traffic, my mind raced, trying to figure out how I could possibly fix this. The car ride felt like it took forever, and my nerves only grew worse the closer we got to my apartment. Nick’s voice replayed in my head: There’s an eviction notice on your apartment door. I could barely focus on the road ahead, my grip tightening on the seat as Chris drove.

When we finally pulled into the parking lot, I didn’t wait for Chris to park properly before hopping out of the car. My heart pounded in my chest as I rushed toward the building, Chris and Matt followed closely behind.

As I reached the hallway outside my apartment, I spotted Nick standing by the door, his arms crossed, his expression tense. The sight of him didn’t calm me, it only made the situation feel more real. Nick looked up when he saw me approach, his face showing concern.

My eyes briefly flicked to the eviction notice on my door. It was there, right in the center of the door frame, almost mocking me. The bold black letters stared back at me, and a wave of dizziness washed over me.

"Thanks for calling me" I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper as I fumbled with my keys.

I inserted the key into the lock, the sound of the metal grating in the keyhole too loud in the silence. The door creaked as I pushed it open.

The instant the door swung wide, I froze.

The apartment was trashed.

Paper scattered everywhere. Broken glass from what must have been the coffee table lay in shards on the floor. It was as if someone had gone on a rampage, tearing through every inch of the space. The once cosy apartment that I had been proud of was now completely unrecognizable.

“What the..” I whispered, my voice trembling as I took it all in.

It wasn’t just messy, it was deliberate. The TV was shattered, clothes thrown across the floor like a hurricane had ripped through my wardrobe, couch cushions were slashed open, foam spilling out like guts, and my framed pictures lay in pieces. My chest tightened as I moved further inside, carefully stepping around the shards of glass and debris.

Ethan.

It had to be him.

I felt my chest tighten as I took in the sight, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. It was like I was in a nightmare, but I couldn’t wake up.

My stomach twisted as I stepped inside, the mess spilling out into every corner of the room. Ethan had done it, trashed everything. It was too good to think he'd leave peacefully. I could almost hear his angry, self righteous voice in my head, laughing at how easy it was to tear everything down in one final fit of rage.

I should’ve known.

I heard Nick’s muffled curse from behind me. I could feel his anger building up, the tension in the air almost as thick as mine. "That piece of shit" he growled under his breath. "He did this."

I nodded, trying to process what I was seeing. The eviction notice on the door made sense now, it wasn’t just an arbitrary decision, the landlord had clearly seen the destruction, and now there was no turning back. I was out of my apartment.

I tried to breathe, to stay calm, but the sight before me, everything I had worked for, everything I thought I had built, slipped away.

Nick walked deeper into the apartment, kicking aside a broken chair leg. His voice was quiet but full of venom. "I’m gonna fucking kill that motherfucker. I can’t believe he did this to you."

Chris, still standing in the doorway, said nothing for a moment before speaking with a quiet tone. "Did the landlord know about this?"

I felt a stab of humiliation, and nodded. "Yeah, makes sense why I got the eviction notice now. He clearly walked into this when he came to inspect the place."

Nick turned to face me, his eyes full of concern. "You have to come stay with us."

Matt, who had been standing off to the side, his usual smirk nowhere to be found, finally spoke up, his tone laced with disbelief "Wait. Are you seriously offering for her to stay with us?" He looked between me and Nick with a disbelieving frown. "That’s.. insane. No offense, but we don’t have space for an extra person."

Nick shot Matt an exasperated look. "Come on, Matt. It’s not like she has anywhere else to go."

I glanced at Matt, feeling the tension between us rise instantly. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, he didn’t want me there, I could tell.

I looked at him, shaking my head. "I can’t, Nick. That wouldn’t be fair to you guys."

Matt folded his arms and leaned against the doorway, his face set in a grim expression. "Yeah this is a terrible idea."

I chewed on my bottom lip, torn.

Chris stepped in then, his voice steady but full of concern. "Y/n, listen to him. I know it’s not ideal, but you need somewhere safe to stay. We’re just trying to help."

Nick focused solely on me. "Y/n, you don’t have a choice. You can stay as long as you need to. We have space, Matt’s just being stubborn. We can make it work. The podcast room is clear now, there’s room for a bed, it’s literally the perfect spot for you to stay, and it’s right next to my room."

I glanced back at Nick, feeling torn. The idea of moving into their place, especially having to live with Matt, wasn’t exactly ideal, but I didn’t have many options.

Matt raised an eyebrow, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest. "A ‘perfect spot’? Nick, it’s a tiny room with no door."

Nick turned to Matt, his tone firm. "We can pretend it’s a cute little loft."

Matt was visibly uncomfortable. "Yeah, but our place is a little cramped for four grown ass people, don’t you think?"

Nick didn’t miss a beat. "It’s not forever, Matt. Just until Y/n figures things out."

I felt all eyes on me, the weight of their stares almost too much. I hated this. I hated feeling like I had no other options, no choice but to accept their offer, but I was also too exhausted to argue. Too emotionally drained from everything that had happened.

Finally, I nodded, the decision feeling like it was being made for me. "Okay, fine. But just until I can figure something else out."

Nick smiled, relieved. "Good. It’s settled, then."

I sighed, trying to push down the swelling feeling in my chest. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t how I envisioned spending my time, living with Matt, of all people, but it was a place to stay, and for now, that was all that mattered.

Matt, still grumbling, shot a look at me. "Just don’t start stealing my snacks or leaving your crap everywhere. I’m not your maid."

I raised an eyebrow, giving him a sharp look. "I’m not the one who trashed a fucking apartment, Matt."

He rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make it weird."

"Not planning on it" I shot back, my voice flat but with just enough bite to make him pause.

For the moment, the tension between us felt like it could snap at any second, I was already starting to brace myself for the weeks ahead. I wasn’t sure how I was going to navigate living under the same roof as Matt, but right now, I didn’t have much of a choice.

a/n: eeeeek new series!!! im v excited for whats in store for this one! also theres 100 tags on this already and its only part one??? i love yous so much omfg

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

#snowy speaks #fire & desire #snowys sturniolo series #snowys series #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #enemies to lovers

338 notes · View notes

ts4-poses · 6 months ago

Text

NEWS IMPORTANT I'm back from my vacation! But there is a huge backlog waiting for me! So please be gentle with me, I will be adding everything in the queue, you only have to be a little patient! <3 Are you tired of understanding T.O.O.L. mod for your poses and don't want to use the move/rotate function on WW poseplayer? There is an easier way to move/rotate your posed sims! Try the mod 'Pose Alignment Interactions' here

Tip from me: There is a huge increase of boosty-links these days, but since you have to make an account to download and this website still has some trust issues, I would advice you to NOT make an account with your main e-mail you use for everything. Make a sims-cc-e-mail for example, since you have to make an account almost everywhere these days! Be safe on the internet lovelies! I don't share early access poses until the early period is over! (don't paywall your holiday poses until after the holiday!!)

KNOWN POSEBUGS Eyelids Eyelids are still not fixed by EA after the Lovestruck patch, so it could be that eyes are not entirely closed in many poses due to this EA bug.

PLEASE UPVOTE THIS TOPIC Thank you for the immense response! Child/toddler/infant height presets Child/toddler/infant height presets for poses are sadly, after the Business and Hobbies update, broken. Topic to upvote HERE (@/electricwhims found a workaround for their newborn infant preset, so this works for poses again! Make sure to download the updated preset again!)

New here as a pose creator? Please tag the page (a good @ts4-poses tag in your post will work if you are not shadowbanned, hashtags don’t always work but I follow several tags), or submit your posepack through the submit form. I don’t always have time to always check all the pose creators who are not tagging, so please make it easier for me doing so! Am I not reblogging your posepacks? Make sure you don’t copy tags from earlier posts, but type them in every new blogpost! If you do that and still are not being reblogged, you are probably shadowbanned and are not popping up in my notifications. (Send a message to tumblr support!)

Rules for reblogging I don’t reblog permanent paywalled poses, blender only poses or posepacks with months of early access. If you have a normal early access policy (due to EA their rules) I will reblog your posepack after the early access period is over. Because if you wanna find that perfect pose to use for your story/post/edit you want to use it right away, right?

Make sure you put your downloadlink above any cut

I have everything backed up from 2024 on, so if anything is lost from that time, please let me know. I will upload it in the Lost Poses section. Please let me know too if a link or post is dead. (You can due through message or the submit form!) I sadly can’t reply every ask for certain poses you are looking for, since I’m doing this on my own and we have over 24k posepacks here! <3

Links that are helpful!

Everything posing you should know

The pose creator discord

Lost poses section (if you have anything from these creators that is not uploaded here yet? Please send me it!)

How to use poses?

Deco sims tag!

#pinned post #tutorials #tutorial

158 notes · View notes

vampishnes · 1 month ago

Text

Sanguine Hunger: Like Real People Do

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five, Chapter six, Chapter seven, Chapter eight, Chapter nine, Chapter ten. Pairings: Platonic!Thunderbolts & Fem!Reader, Bob x FemThunderbolts!ExAvenger!Reader Summary: Garden centre, Walmart, and absurd amounts of alcohol. Tags: No use of ‘Y/N’. Female reader. Slow burn! Found family, 'slice of life', Hurt/Comfort Warnings: References to past trauma. [This is a lighter chapter, as a treat.] Word count: 2.5k A/N: I have done major edits to the grammar and structure (+ a little more content on each chap) to every single chapter of this fic. I hope it will be a lot nicer to read now, and I apologise for how it looked before. Also, this work now has a tag list! If you wish to be added, you can send me a message or comment below! :)

The moment you stepped foot into the garden centre, the overwhelming scent of earthy soil overtook you. The air was thick with humidity.

Rows upon rows of plants stretched out before you, and they felt almost overwhelming after the sterile confines of the Tower. It was most definitely too early to be outside, but after your late-night rendezvous with the rest of the Thunderbolts, you passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Bob walked beside you, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, eyes wide as he took in the sight. “Wow, this place is huge,” he murmured, voice nearly lost among the rustling leaves. His gaze darted around the room, and you followed it to the giant Monstera. Every leaf looked pampered: no brown edges, no sad yellow spots. But even so, they spilt over the stacks of shelves like they were too heavy for their own good. Some hung lazily, others curled at the tips until the shelves disappeared under all the untamed green.

The bell sounded behind you, its iron-wrought chimes jingling against each other as you shut the door. There was no one around, unsurprising considering the time, but you could hear a faint clambering sound slowly getting louder.

“One moment!” a voice called from somewhere within the greenery. You snapped your head around, your fingers clenched in anticipation.

A younger man ducked his head into view, long hair frazzled as if he’d just completed a marathon. Sweat glistened from his forehead, though most of his face was hidden behind a massive fern.

He licked his lips, set the plant down with a thunk, and wiped his palms on his apron. You squinted to try to decipher the half-removed text, ‘Grab your balls. It’s canning season.’ He caught you staring and grinned. “Vintage,” he said, tapping the words. You nodded, lost in your curiosity and confusion. “How can I help?” Bob reached into his back pocket and produced the now completely crumpled piece of paper. It was the same list as earlier, but you could see there had been a few revisions in a different-coloured pen.

“We’re complete beginners,” Bob pressed the list into the worker's hands, eager as much as anxious to have a professional opinion. “Well, actually, that’s if there isn’t anything below beginner because we’re probably closer to that.”

“What exactly are you working on?” he asked, eyes skimming over the simple items on the list. “A small starter patch?”

“Avengers Tower rooftop garden,” you replied matter-of-factly, as simply as if you were discussing the weather and not a practical national landmark. The worker blinked, his grin becoming a look of manic shock.

“No shit? I thought I recognized you.” His voice pitched upward, finger pointing right down your chest. “Why are the Avengers buying plants, couldn’t you just hire someone to do this?”

“Because we’re the Avengers with a ‘z’,” You tugged the paperback from his grasp and tried to soothe the oncoming headache. “And we just want to grow some of our own shit.” The worker nodded insistently, clearly coming down from his enthusiastic high. He walked around the desk and rummaged around in the drawer before returning with a ballpoint pen and a scraggly-looking notebook.

“Well, if you’re building an entire rooftop garden, you’ll be needing more than just seeds and dirt.” He frantically wrote down in his notebook until the paper had almost completely disappeared under the ink. “Building a garden sounds simple, but one of that calibre will probably make you regret not just hiring someone.” He shot up and shimmied his pen into his apron’s pocket before dashing off into the labyrinth of plants.

“Sorry, I thought this would be a lot more simple,” Bob whispered to you, eyes wide, as he watched Jeremy — whose name you only learnt from his askew name tag — work in front of him.

“No, this is good,” you said, tapping Bob gently with your hand. “I mean, it’s just some plants, it can’t be that difficult.” Bob gave you a crooked smile, softening at your reassurance.

As it turned out, it could be that difficult.

You wouldn’t just be sitting around, digging up dirt and waiting until buds started to grow. It was far more architecture-based. An hour after setting foot in, you’d added a multitude of what you’d deemed ‘random’ items to your basket.

Including but not limited to: galvanized-steel containers, powder coating for said steel so it’d ‘fit in’ with the aesthetic, porcelain floor tiling, and far more seeds and pots that could reasonably fit inside your car. Which was how you now owed roughly more than half your monthly budget to a moving company called “Broke Back Movers”, who’d be hauling your garden-to-be onto the Avengers Tower roof next week.

“This has been extortionate,” you said, taking a long sip of your black coffee as you glared at the receipt. “You know Bucky is going to give us an earful, right?” The garden centre café was bustling with life, humming with the clattering of silverware and the constant buzzing and grinding of coffees being made.

Bob stared into his own cup of drink. The way his shoulders slumped, not tired, just… quietly defeated, said everything you needed to know. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here,”

“Why?” you asked, softer this time. “You having second thoughts?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” he fidgeted at the sugar granules on the table, scattering them onto the floor. “It’s a lot more work than I realized.”

You swirled your cup before taking another sip. “Does that mean it’s not worth it any more because it’s a lot of work?”

“I just don’t think either of us knew what we were really signing up for,” he gestured vaguely to the receipt.

“I do now.” The admission felt dangerous, like it was more than just plants and planning permissions. “And I still want it.”

“It’s going to take months,” Bob’s gaze drifted past you to the pest control aisles. “Could be at it until summer.”

“Good,” you nudged his foot under the table. “It gives us something to do, other than saving the world, of course. But that gets boring.” He snickered in response, burying half of his face in his coffee cup.

“We should probably bribe Bucky with something. Maybe the whole team, since we’ll probably end up dragging them all into this mess.”

“I saw a Walmart on the way here,” you flicked the empty sugar packet at him. “I doubt spending more money is the answer, but maybe absurd amounts of alcohol will be.”

The drive over was only a few minutes. When you arrived, the shop's fluorescents hummed above you, their glare bouncing off rows of glistening alcohol bottles. A sudden chill from the AC sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps racing up your exposed skin. You reached for another bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey and threw it in the cart, where it joined two others and a disordered assortment of spirits. You grabbed a fourth Jack, because why not, and lobbed it in. You walked further down the aisle, eyeing all the colourful cocktail mixers and throwing some in for good measure.

Bob trailed behind you, pushing the increasingly heavy cart with growing concern. “Are we planning to get everyone blackout drunk?” he asked, watching you add yet another bottle of drink to the collection.

“That's the idea,” you replied, grabbing a box of premixed drinks and examining the flavour selection on the label. “Team bonding,” you said, turning to face him fully. “Plus, half of you guys are super soldiers, not like you’ll even feel it.”

Bob considered this for a moment, then shrugged and resumed pushing the cart. “Yelena will probably still manage to drink us under the table.”

“Now that,” you said, tossing in a bottle of vodka that looked expensive enough to justify the inevitable lecture from Bucky, “would be entertaining to watch.”

The checkout line was mercifully short compared to all the other lines, though, the cashier did a double-take when she started scanning the bottles. Her eyes flicked between you and Bob, clearly trying to place your faces. “Having a party?” she asked, the scanner beeping rhythmically as bottle after bottle passed through.

“A crazy one,” you replied, pulling out your card as the total climbed higher. Bob winced visibly when the final number appeared on the screen.

“That'll be $347.82,” the cashier announced, and you could practically see Bob's soul leaving his body. You handed over your card without flinching, sliding it down the side of the reader. The bagging process was a struggle in itself, you tried to shove as many bottles in the few bags you’d bought but still needed to grab more to carry it all.

The parking lot was filled, and your car sat packed between two other trucks. Bob loaded the bags into the trunk, while you slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.

The radio crackled to life as Bob came around and settled into the passenger seat. You reached over to change the station, swapping between a range of different genres, from songs about love to a radio host complaining about ‘Spider-Man the Spider-Menace’.

The drive back to the Tower felt different from the morning trip, more relaxed, almost teetering on excitement. The city was busier now, morning settling into early afternoon, and you found yourself stuck in traffic only five minutes after pulling out from the store.

“The garden centre was nice, glad I didn’t have to go alone,” Bob said suddenly. He was looking out the window, but you could see his reflection in the glass, the small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I should tell you something, though,” you said, glancing over at him as you stopped at a red light. “I’ve been lying to you.” Bob’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared into you.

“What?” he stammered, adjusting in his seat so he could give you his full attention. “Lying about what? Did you not want to do this?”

You shook your head, fingers grasping steadily on the wheel, arms fully outstretched. “No, I want to do this.” The light turned green, and you pressed the accelerator, the tower coming into view ahead. “I’ve gardened before.” Bob laughed, and the sweet sound filled the car and warmed your beating heart. You pulled into the Tower's underground garage, the familiar hum of the building's systems welcoming you home. “I know, I know. I’m a lying cheater.” As you turned off the engine, Bob was already reaching for the door handle, but he paused.

“What did you grow?” he asked, turning back to you. Something bitter unfurled in your chest, dangerous and painful and terrifying all at once.

“I planted a flower. On Tony’s grave,” you said, confession pouring out of you, more painful than anything else in a very long time. “Used my blood to grow it. So it’d… last.”

You shoved the car door open, desperate for the garage’s cold air to swallow you whole. But Bob’s hand closed around your forearm, gentle and unyielding. No yank, no demand—just stay. You sank back into the seat, the door hanging open like a held breath. His thumb brushed a slow arc over your sleeve, the friction soft. The quiet between you thickened, alive.

You could hear it all: the traitorous drum of your pulse, too loud, too raw. The flower would never wilt. You’d made sure of that. Its roots would coil deep, fed by the same power that kept your hands stained. A monument, 'look at what I lost'.

“Lily of the valley,” you stared at the garage stone wall. “Started small. Now it’s… God, it’s taller than me.”

Bob’s thumb stilled on your sleeve. “You go back to see it?”

“Not since I moved here,” the words tasted like ash. “Fourteen months.” The silence pooled, heavy, until you couldn’t handle the weight any more. “The roots… They’ve wrapped around everything, I could feel it. Like I was forcing him to stay.” The admission clawed up your throat. You let out a breath, not shaky, not steady, just something in between, and then, slowly, you pulled your arm free.

“It’s cold,” you said, though it wasn’t. “Let’s get this stuff inside,” and Bob let you stand. You stepped out, boots scuffing against the concrete floor. Bob moved with you, opening the trunk and pulling out the first bag, the bottles clinking together under his grip. He didn’t comment on your deflection, didn’t ask if you were okay, he just worked, handing off bags one by one, like this was the only thing that mattered right now.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and Bob stepped in first, shifting the bags in his grip before leaning against the railing. You stared at your reflection in the mirror; you’d managed to throw some of your clothes in the dryer last night, so now you weren’t running off the bottom-of-the-wardrobe scraps. Even still, you’d picked out just a simple gray spaghetti strap tank top, paired with a blue-grey plaid flannel shirt and a rugged brown denim jacket thrown over.

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal the hallway leading into the Tower’s common space. The moment you stepped through, the shift in the atmosphere was immediate. Alexei was slouched on the couch, legs sprawled, as he bellowed a story at Yelena, who was sipping from a mug as if she was merely tolerating his nonsense. Across the couch, Ava sat absent-mindedly beside Bucky, who was scowling at his phone.

The second they clocked you and Bob, more specifically, the bags of alcohol in your arms, the reaction was instant. Alexei sat up, eyebrows shooting up in dramatic delight. “You have come bearing gifts!”

Bucky, however, narrowed his eyes at the sheer amount of bottles. “How much have you two spent?” He put his finger up to stop Bob from responding. “No, don’t tell me. Plausible deniability.” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, already resigned.

Bob hoisted his bags onto the counter with a quiet grunt, shaking his head. The receipt peeked out from between his fingers, still absurd enough to make him grimace.

“You know,” he muttered, “I really thought gardening was going to be the most expensive part of this week.”

Alexei let out a loud ha! And slapped Bob’s back with enough force to make him stumble. “Oh, my friend, you have clearly never purchased alcohol in bulk. It was investment!” Yelena snatched a bottle of vodka from the pile, inspecting the label like she was judging its quality.

Ava plucked a bottle of whiskey from the mess, twisted off the cap, and took a casual sip. “Less talking. More drinking.”

Between the six of you, the unpacking process was surprisingly smooth, bottles sorted into neat(ish) rows across the counter, mixers shoved toward the fridge, discarded packaging tossed haphazardly into the bin.

You reached for a bottle at the same time as Bob, fingers brushing lightly against his. Neither of you pulled away; it wasn’t intentional, exactly, but you couldn't help but linger. Bob cleared his throat. You gave the bottle to him without comment, your own hand flexing slightly before moving on to unpack another.

“Y’know,” you said, slapping a tequila bottle down, “we’ve got enough here to play every drinking game ever invented.”

Alexei grinned wide, gesturing grandly. “Now you’re speaking my language!”

TAG LIST: @non-anonymous-anon @ara-a-bird

#marvel #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob x reader #marvel thunderbolts #sentry #the new avengers #the thunderbolts #thunderbolts #thunderbolts spoilers #ava starr #yelena belova #alexi shostakov #bucky barnes #found family #thunderbolts x reader #x reader #bob reynold x reader

119 notes · View notes

guillotinesandroses · 2 months ago

Note

HIII omg i literally love you thank you so much for answering my previous ask (i feel so bad for doing this rn but i got another odd prompt) so what if we swap what we did for the previous one and it’s individual upper moon reactions finding out you’ve become human again (so like adding on to the previous) feel free to ignore or answer whenever you like!!

Note: Very cool concept! Haven't seen this done before, so I had fun trying to figure out the logistics of it :] For now I decided to just write the six main upper moons since doing too many all at once gets kinda draining and annoying to edit lol. I'll do the other demons if someone asks me to.

This one can be read as platonic or romantic. Reader is still implied to be mentally around the same age as the characters, though.

Characters: Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza, Hantengu, Gyokko, Gyutaro

Content Warnings: Blood, injury, gore, cannibalism, murder, canon typical violence and themes, morally fucked up reader to varying degrees depending on the character in question

Editing notes: This has not been edited yet.

Remnants of the Past

Kokushibo

> Upon sighting your figure fleeing towards him, all six of his eyes blink open in surprise. Blood pours out of open wounds, your breath comes out ragged wheezes, and you collapse when you see him. He appears beside your writhing form in a flash. His worried, racing heart hides beneath his cold and calm exterior as he examines your wounds. He receives no answer when he tries to interrogate your shocked self, but he soon feels as if he needs none.

> The flesh of your arm is far too soft for a demon, the skin lacks any of its usual markings, and your blood smells... unmistakably human. All of the comfort he had found in knowing you were indestructible shatters. His attention turns to the culprit finally showing itself, a demon slayer of seemingly normal stature. However, the sword of this human is far from common, curving a way fit more for piercing rather than slicing. He makes fast work of the slayer- who was admittedly rather powerful- before going back to tending to you.

> From the few answers he managed to squeeze out of the cocky eyesore of a slayer, he gathered that this was a new remedy that was being worked on. The fact that it worked on an upper rank such as yourself was worrying, but it should not be anything to get too concerned about. There should not be any need to examine your injuries, so he ignores your snarky comment about him making you wait. Instead of giving it the time of the day, he holds you up to inject his blood back into your body. He does his best not to pay any mind to the fret constricting his lungs as the dark liquid courses through your bloodstream.

> However, he cannot pretend not to notice when the mass amounts of blood he has poured into you shows to have no effect at all. When you shift around in discomfort, he reprimands you for allowing a slayer to catch you off guard. You try to strike back with sarcasm as you usually do, but shut your mouth when he threatens you into staying still. At the end of the day, his orders demand absolute obedience, and your close relationship does not change that. Eventually he has to give up and admit that his efforts are producing no results; he needs to take a different approach and meet with his lordship.

> Normally he would trust you to survive on your own. Now he hovers over you, much to your annoyance. Even so, he cannot help himself. Humans are so fragile. Although demon slayers unaware of your past would leave you alone now, regular humans and wild animals have turned into real threats instead.

> Every nerve in his body screams, terrified that this could be permanent. Still, he remains calm on the surface as he patches up your wounds the old fashioned way. He knows all too well how vulnerable the human physique is, treating you with more grace than one would handle a porcelain doll with. The irritated twitches of your mouth do not go unnoticed by him, he understands why you would hate being considered weak. Even so, he also knows you are grateful for his care from your bashful, averted eyes and the gentle manner you hold his hand in when he helps you up.

> On your way to the agreed meeting place, a lone demon slayer crosses your path. This is of no concern at all, though the man harshly questions why a human would hang around a demon. Kokushibo cleaves out the slayer's heart in a swift and uncaring movement. Your expression did not as much as shift at the man's accusations, much to Kokushibo's delight. This newfound humanity has not changed your resolve, which his lordship would hopefully take into account when considering your fate.

> Luckily, in spite of your seemingly permanent human form, his lordship opts to keep you alive. A poison such as this is a definite threat, but by examining your body he should be able to find an antidote to reverse its effects. Until then, you are to remain in the Infinity Castle for safekeeping and experimentation purposes. Frustrated and longing to gain back your stronger form, you agree to the arrangement. An immediate sense of relief brushes over him the second your safety is guaranteed.

> He does not hide this from his lordship, thoroughly satisfied with the end result to these unfortunate circumstances. Although his lordship disapproves of this warm relationship between the two of you, viewing it as a hindrance at most, there is no questioning the loyalty either one of you has shown to him. You may not be as punctual or absorbed in his lordship's goals as Kokushibo is, but in not a single corner of your mind do you hold a wish to disobey him. The hierarchies of demons may not matter to you, but you have never gone against them either, holding a strange form of optimism for the future of the species.

> He may not be able to fully understand you, but he knows that in his many centuries, thousands of things have slipped past his fingers. You are the only one he managed to grab a hold of. The idea of your death sends shudders running up his immortal spine, something he only realized upon witnessing your newfound vulnerability. Perhaps lamenting on past mistakes is worthless, but he now regrets allowing you to fight on your own. As much as conceals his thoughts, your snarky comments and oddly hopeful smiles fill his heart with a rare sense of delight. Regardless of what the future may bring forth, he will not repeat his mistakes; you will remain alive by his side.

Douma

> His colorful eyes widen in confusion when you rush past the treeline towards his temple. You collapse onto your knees in front of him, but he does not even get the chance to tease you for the action. A demon slayer jumps out of the forest, and he blocks the hunter's blade with one of his golden fans. In spite of the slayer's confidence and genuine skill, Douma emerges victorious from the battle. This is largely due to you shouting at him to actually dodge the blades just this once instead of reveling in his masochistic tendencies.

> When he is done and turns to you, he completely understands that something is truly wrong here. By now your bleeding should have stopped, you should not even have a scar left on your body as a demon of your rank. Without warning, he strikes a hole into your bicep with one of his razor-sharp claws. You grit your teeth as the crimson liquid flows through you and await the usual surge of strength that comes with demonic blood transfusions. However, your condition shows no improvement at all as the minutes pass, and soon he is forced to give up his efforts.

> Thoroughly amused, he giggles before asking you for more details. The poison's effects are rather concerning when you explain them to him; you have been turned fully human again. As hilarious as he finds this predicament, he does bring you to one of his cultists who is more informed on mortal medicine. The whole way through he teases and bugs you, but at least his presence ensures that the cultist does not dare slack off while treating your wounds. You are the one who needs to insists going to Kibutsuji with the information on this new poison, he would have much rather kept you all to himself as a cute little human-demon. Being on the way to meet with the Demon Lord does not make him lessen his antics at all, though.

> The moment you glance away distracted, sharp teeth sink into your shoulder and you jump. Lips suckle at the flesh, drinking up the warm blood. You grunt and roll your eyes, shoving your fingers into his. He yelps at first but like the little freak that he is, allows the noise to turn into a delighted gasp right after. You do your best to ignore him when sighs with glee, red liquid running down his lips as he explains in detail how he wishes you would dig your way into his mind with those dull nails of yours.

> Suddenly, cutting him off, a pair of arms wrap around you and swoop you away from your infuriating partner in crime. You demand that the slayer put you down, only for him to exclaim that he will protect you with his friend. Douma laughs so hard his back arches and he has to grip his sides not to fall over. You almost feel bad for the two humans for how insistent they were in shielding you. Soon enough the slayers have been taken care of and he pokes at you, chastising you for not thanking him even though he has saved you twice today already.

> Closing your eyes, you try to ignore his taunts. This comes with ease until he brings up the pity in your eyes when he killed the two demons slayers. He coos as your eyes snap open again, twirling one of your accessories around his finger. How pure of heart you must be to feel even for such foolish creatures. Perhaps being human suits you better. Besides, he quite likes your newfound vulnerability, it's so adorable!

> Though it must also be so burdensome, maybe he should relieve you of that suffering and pain. He does not even get the full suggestion of devouring you out of his mouth before you shoot it down. Even so, he just laughs off your rejection, smiling bright with empty eyes like he always does. Once again he reminds you that pitying the weak only makes them weaker in the same way allowing them to believe foolish things does. Not in the mood for this kind of conversation, you change the topic and try to retain your sanity during the trip.

> The King of Demons is more than displeased at the discovery of this new poison. Even his own blood cannot reverse the effects of this toxin. Irritated to have lost one of his most powerful servants, he demands to experiment on you until he finds a way to undo it. Obviously, you have to agree and Douma oh so graciously offers to watch over you while you are in this vulnerable state. Despite your irritation, you agree to the arrangement; locking your whereabouts down to a specific place makes transporting you easier for Nakime.

> Arriving back at the temple, Douma urges you to have some sake and describe how it tastes and affects you with your human biology. You decline, calling him out on just wanting to get you drunk to see you make a fool of yourself. Giggling off the accusation, he whines over you being no fun at all. In spite of all his talk, he gulps down the ineffective alcohol and stays by your side for hours. Although he may do his best to act insufferable to draw reactions from you, he does not want you to die.

> After death, there is nothing; you stop feeling, your heart stops, and your brain stops. He does not want you to rot. If you rot, there will be no one he can talk to so openly. In spite of your supposed apathy, you neither hate, judge nor revere him. Such a person- one capable of accepting him as he is- is difficult to find even among demons, and he is not ready to let go of this kind of treasure just yet.

Akaza

> His eyes widen at the unlikely sight- his rival, primary sparring fighter, one of the worthiest opponents he has ever faced- runs through the woods, wounded and out of breath. Bright blood pours out of your body onto the white snow as your legs give out. What an utterly disgraceful picture, Akaza thinks and scrunches his nose. Before he can berate you for letting yourself get into this condition, a nichirin sword almost sinks into his forearm. He grabs said appendage and sends the demon slayer flying.

> Although the slayer proves faster than most, proven by how he landed on his feet, he gets defeated soon enough. Akaza raises a brow when he turns to you. By now your injuries should be long gone, yet you still pant and wheeze as you try to keep your guts from spilling out. He walks over but freezes halfway through. Your blood smells... human.

> Used to containing his hunger, he ignores the saliva gathering on his tongue. Against his will, his heart squeezes in worry as he crouches next to you. He does not wait for an explanation, unpleasant memories reaching for the surface. Pushing his finger into one of your wounds with furrowed brows, he assures you that you will survive, mind not truly present in the moment. He has the cure this time, he can save...

> ...Who can he save? That does not matter, he will save the sickly person before him at any cost. The haze in his eyes grows into desperation as no amount of blood seems to work. So, he forces in more and more blood. You will be cured, no matter how long he must remain by your side, no matter what he has to do!

> You are the one who needs to push him away. This is not accomplishing anything, all it does is hurt more. Even after pulling his hand away, he refuses to leave your side. Raising an eyebrow at his strange amount of concern, you tell him if he wants to help, he should go and get some bandages. He performs the request in an instant, moving you around to wrap with a mixture of gentleness and frantic fear.

> He remains at your beck and call even after having taken you to cave before sunrise. Tireless, he keeps checking on your bandages and wellbeing, keeping you warm in the cold weather. You nearly managed to give him a heart attack by stepping out of the cave into the sunlight, entranced by feeling it on your skin after so long. He tries not to think about how angelic you seem in its glow, light shimmering like fireworks in the ice that covers the trees. Truly, he should kill you for having become so weak again... but he knows too well he never could.

> These thoughts grow worse when nightfall arrives and you prepare to meet with the Demon Lord. Akaza comes up with as many excuses as he can for keeping you around. Even humans can become strong, you could become worth fighting again. Besides, this should not be permanent. No, regardless of whether you get turned to a demon again or not- a worthless thought to consider since you surely will be- this weakness of yours must be temporary. That means you are worth keeping around, you will be allowed to live, he tells himself and hopes his master will agree.

> Akaza's anxiety reaches its peak when kneeling before the King of Demons beside you. He would pray for this transformation to work if that would have any effect on it at all, but he is certain whatever gods may have existed abandoned him long ago. Your persisting human form makes him even more certain of this. At least Kibutsuji allowed you to live even if only as a test subject for now, it is your only way of becoming a demon again after all. In spite of that small success, Akaza's heart aches even after leaving the Infinity Castle. If the effects of this poison are permanent, you will grow old and die.

> Although the pain of that reality would be unbearable, you remain blissfully unaware of Akaza's internal conflict. Allowing the snowflakes to melt on your warm skin, you find yourself entranced by the pillowy sky. The cold water floating down, sticking to your lashes and rushing down your forces that sense of humanity further into your veins. Concerned, he asks you about your sudden quietness, unnerved by your absent eyes in the wintry atmosphere. When you respond, he almost wishes he had not asked. Being human again has brought back memories of your past with an unpleasant intensity.

> He swallows, knowing a demon's own memories are far easier to control, to push down and forget. Although your past remains for the most part a mystery to him, he loathes to think of his own. Something within his heart shifts, much to his chagrin. He truly should not feel this way, should not feel the urge to protect someone so weak. Your death would only be a natural, fitting, and expected turn of events. Even so, he finds himself hovering near you far more often than he would like to admit.

Hantengu

> When you emerge from the treeline running for your life, he shrieks and scrambles off on all four limbs. Surely the threat must be great if it has sent someone like you running, right? Eventually he has to slow down but to his surprise when he glances back, no one is behind him. Neither you nor whatever was following you are anywhere near him. He hesitates before sneaking back, yelping at the sight that awaits him.

> Initially he hides further behind the tree, trembling, but then whispers to the assailant. What gives the slayer the right to bully and wrong the weak? How cruel to hurt someone so innocent. The demon slayer lowers the sword from your neck and smirks, claiming it is a lucky day, two high ranked demons gone in mere minutes! Upper Four trembles at the words and insists he deserves pity but as he predictably gains none, a battle breaks out.

> After his clones are done, he peeks out from his hiding place. Creeping forth cautiously, he shakes as he realizes you still have yet to heal. Sekido tells his original self to pull himself together, that kind of cowering pisses him off. Karaku licks his lips as he takes in your pained wheezes, making an inappropriate comment on them. Urogi lets out a gleeful laugh in agreement, finding your suffering amusing, but Aizetsu disagrees.

> Such a poor thing you are, something is clearly very wrong. Zohakuten scoffs from the sidelines, going on about unjust villains tormenting the weak. Yes, this is a type of situation his entire being is quite familiar with. Such a poison's existence is a scary though, turning into an even weaker creature than he already is makes him shudder in terror! Thankfully, there is an easy cure for your predicament... or at least he thought there was.

> He quakes in fear, trying to calm himself as your condition shows no sings of improvement. Oh, no, perhaps his weakling blood simply is too pure to induce a transformation! He truly apologizes, even though it is not his fault in any way! He is far too pathetic, you see, so you must have pity and forgive him! You brush him off, too delirious to get fully annoyed and tell him to get in contact with the Demon Lord.

> Helpful and considerate as always, he gets around to doing that right away! However, as he does so, a group of demon slayers suddenly attacks him and claims they are saving you. He screeches and cries, begging for them have mercy on his feeble self, but it is all for nothing. Although he takes care of most of them on his own, you still have to finish the last one by whacking her upside the head with a fallen branch. You snarkily remark that you have to still do everything around here yourself, allowing the stick to crash into the dirt.

> He gives a quivering smile, saying that a gentle soul like him would be nothing without a partner like you. The rest of the trip to the castle goes by swiftly, as does the meeting. His lord examines you and he tries his best not upset the Demon King. The thought of doing so rattles his very core, his entire being! Unfortunately, nothing can be done for your condition, how scary!

> That could have been him if he were not better prepared! To him, it is simply another thing to get jumpy over. The thought of losing his invincibility sure is horrifying. Luckily, it was you and not him! You are not particularly appreciative of these comments but stick beside him either way, and he is oh, so grateful for that!

> Cruel as the world may be, at least it blessed him with a friend who owns a heart as kind and sensitive as his! Kibutsuji utilizes this predicament as a way to urge Upper Four out of his shell more often. He wants his 'protector' to be able to defend him again, does he not? It works and he actually does pick up the slack, growing a little bolder than usual. You better be grateful, he is putting his own frail skin on the line here! He will not go much further than this though... or perhaps he will, considering the type of person that you are.

> He is a virtuous and kind man after all... maybe it's time to return the favor. You have protected him quite often and stood up for him, defending his word against the brutes who dare doubt his integrity. Truly, you are a gracious and understanding hero, a saint among throes of garbage. Yes, this could work out. You may not be able to shield him physically anymore, but you'll keep sticking up for your fragile, vulnerable old pal, won't you, former demon?

Gyokko

> Normally he would scowl at and maul whoever interrupted him while he was enraptured by the dance of the muses. However, this time the disruption to his creative process came from his most devoted fan. No great artist could possibly look past the call of loyal admirer. So, he turns around only to bear witness to the most glorious art piece. You lay before him, blood pouring out into a puddle below you.

> As you scramble and fail to get back onto your feet, your hands slip from beneath you, failing to support your rupturing body. The vermilion splashes over your arms, coating them like paint. He urges you to stay still with a gleeful grin, praising the aesthetic and elegant display you have brought before him. Those splotches of crimson and maroon contrast with your skin tone in the most gorgeous and refined manner! He must capture these most sublime shades into the piece of art they deserve to be.

> However, before he can do so another disruption, this time utterly unwelcome, springs before him. Only because of your warning, he was able to dodge the strange blade slicing at him. Infuriated, he lashed out and attacked until the demon slayer was torn to shreds. What a poor and uncultured cockroach, that one took atrociously long to die! Now the maggot resembles its true, inferior form more accurately.

> He hums in delight at thought of another beautiful masterpiece created by his godly hands. Truly, that worthless lower life form should be grateful for having been made into a sculpture worth existing. Though one thing still troubles him, a mere ordinary human should not have been able to bring you, strong and beautiful, to your knees. He finds the answer in your marred features, a horrendous and disgusting truth. The fine art that once was your demon markings have been washed away.

> In place of the formerly superior and chosen being resided a mortal. Vulnerable and pathetic, wounded and brutalized as all humans should be, yet his guts churned at the gory visual. Rather than relishing in the bloodshed, his throat dried like that of a fish tasting surface air for the first unfortunate time. If someone like you could so easily be twisted back into this horrid form, could he or his lord be corrupted in such a way? What an uncomfortable thought, he shakes it off to his best ability.

> To truly rid himself of it, he pushes his blood into your injuries. Soon enough you will be back. Perhaps much weaker and therefore less worthy, but you will be back nonetheless. Then he will have no need to burden himself with such thoughts any longer. However, no amount of extra blood seems to be causing any resemblance of change within your physique.

> No, this could not possibly be! Not his admirer, one of the very few intelligent and cultured enough to see the beauty in all of his art! Why, out of all the useless maggots crawling this earth, did you have to suffer in this way? Oh, how cruel the world is, to take away his muse, the one whose ideas were actually worth considering. He should create a vase inspired by this unsightly transformation, as soon as possible.

> However, undoing this nonsense takes priority on his to-do list. You were not meant to be a mere human, a weakling, a creature headed for death since its creation. So, he brings you to the mightiest being in the whole universe, the Lord of Demons! If his lordships's might cannot fix you, nothing in this world can. This should be an easy feat... or so Gyokko assumes.

> Upon witnessing your persisting mortality, conflict stirs in his brilliant mind. This is still you- ethereal, art-loving, inspiring you- but you are now horribly human. Even as you take the form of lesser being, he is fond of you. However, your existence needs to be refined again, and someone must now make sure your fragile form does not crumble, leading to your untimely demise! He is not sure he can handle that, his chest is already painfully tight from all this worrying, you see!

> Though it is as they say, beauty is pain, no? Usually he much rather prefers the pain of others, but he is not too picky. An artist must be open to new options, interpretations, and sources of inspiration! You will continue to be his muse, and he will create art that will go down in history. Surely you would not disagree with this arrangement... even if he asks you for just a few drops of your delightful, easily staining mortal blood, right?

Gyutaro

> Your bloodied footfalls echo in the halls of one of the Entertainment District's largest buildings. They splatter against the wooden floors and you heave with desperation. Only after reaching the one demon near enough to help, you allow yourself to collapse into the closest wall. His eyes widen in shock as he tries to ask what the hell happened to you. All you tell him is to not get cut before your strength fades.

> He does not get the chance to shake you back to reality or question your ominous words. His sickles deflect an oncoming, oddly curved blade on instinct. A battle ensues and all he can gather in the heat of the moment is that this slayer is guilty for your current condition. He keeps your words in mind and goes on to win. After putting the dots together, it is blatantly obvious that you were poisoned in a way that rendered you far more vulnerable than usual.

> He tries to keep his voice steady as he crouches down before you. To his horror, your body reeks of blood, human blood. It is not excess from the slayers or other humans, it is your own. With a sharp breath, his gaze darts around before grabs a proper hold of you. Berating you for being so stupid as to let yourself get cut by a sword obviously containing poison, he injects an irrational amount of his blood into your veins.

> As it shows no sign of working, his breath quickens as he tries to shake you in a weak attempt to make the blood course through your body as it should. You groan in discomfort and tell him to just help with patching up the wounds. Although he complains, he does so with brows furrowed in worry and frustration. As soon as the bandages are in place, you begin to move together to get to a human doctor. You have to act as the brains for now, since his panicked scrambling is not exactly the most helpful thing.

> The ways he scratches himself in with the hand not supporting you are also concerning, even with his demonic physique. So, you ask for more support to get him to stop. Meanwhile, a million thoughts race through his mind as he holds you in a grip far too tight, as if you may crumble away if he eases up. The scales need to be balanced more, he thinks while holding back the urge to rip and tear at his skin once again. Once he gets his hands on the rest of those demons slayers, he swears they will never forget who it was that sent them into the afterlife.

> Now, this time it seems lady luck decided to stand by his side. He will get to do what he does best sooner than expected; he will collect what is due. A group of demon slayers comes along and tries to start a fight with him. However, before he even gets the chance to strike back, you step in with a well-concealed mischievous glint in your eyes. With your new, obvious human appearance, you step forward as well as you can and scold them for judging your dear friend.

> He is no demon, he is your dear partner, who is currently being so kind as to help you recover from your surgery. They should be ashamed of themselves for jumping to conclusions like that! With your stern voice and convincing, confident act, the slayers end up apologizing, much to Gyutaro's amusement. As soon as the inexperienced swordsmen turn around with their guards down, you give him the go ahead to strike. After finishing them off with his usual ruthlessness, he tells you the act was unnecessary.

> You hum in agreement but at first offer no response aside from a chuckle. When you ask him so sweetly if he can blame you for wanting to contribute, he breaks out in uncontained, delighted laughter. In spite of the cruel situation, this atmosphere persists for a while as you prepare to inform the Demon Lord of this development. As your injuries begin to weigh down on you once again and you quiet down to spare energy, familiar, uneasy thoughts creep into his head. You sure are charismatic... and persuasive... and beautiful.

> If you had met when you were humans, surely you would not have spared even a glance into his direction. Only in these twisted circumstances did he even have a chance at knowing a person like you. Even now, this sense of companionship was almost ripped away from him. Nowadays he is so used to having the control he lacked through all of his youth. Still, today was a grim reminder that the world is more than eager to try to rip it all away from him, everything he has managed to claw into his hands with blood and sweat.

> There is much more he needs to do still, reasons to get stronger. Especially after the Demon King's failure to turn you again, he knows he must keep his guard up. With poisons like that, his sister's life is on the line as well. Your invincibility already shattered, but he refuses to let it burn to ashes. Even as the world seems to quiet down once more, he will continue to work hard and ensure there is nothing in this world for you to fear.

#x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #platonic x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo x y/n #kokushibo x you #douma x reader #akaza x reader #hantengu x reader #gyokko x reader #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #upper moons x reader

66 notes · View notes

thatonerylan · 6 months ago

Text

Life or Death (Opening)

Summary: When player 263 joins the games, it’s a matter of life or death. Meeting people along the way.. friendships that end in coffins and bloody money..

Genre; smut, fluff, angst

TW: gore, squid game stuff, death, murder, public humiliation, manipulation, violence

Word count: 1k

After being subdued by a man in a nicely tailored suit with a briefcase to play a long game of ddakji, losing round after round, going more and more into debt, y/n sighs.

A grimace plastered on their face, they flipped over the card the man handed them. On the back had a date and time, along with the location to be at.

October 1st.. 8pm.. Hwangdong Street

Pulling their head up from the card, they watched the doors close to the subway, the salesman smiling and waving behind them.

“Yah! Shibal!” An angry groan left y/n. They kicked the wall, the debt they had added on piled on top of their already lingering debt.

———————-

After calling the number on the back of the card, giving her name and birthdate, the day came. Y/n waited at the spot that the card said. It had been freezing out, so they held their hands together. Glancing down the street, they saw a van with bright lights turning on to their street. Could this be the one?

Watching as the van came to a halt, y/n climbed inside once the door closed. They got a quick glance at the people, one with purple spiky hair, two with long hair, and an older gentleman. She remembered the older gentleman from the previous games, but not the others.

The small whirring of gas came from inside the car. Y/n tried to fight it, eyelids getting heavy before finally closing.

____________________________________

A soft shake woke them. Glancing down, y/n noticed that they were in a green tracksuit. Their phone and shoes were gone and somewhere else, their eyes meeting the other persons before glancing at his number… 456.

So he was the last person to join the games? Glancing down at their own number, they saw that it read 263. Taking the number in, they glanced around at everyone else.

The purple haired guy had been talking with another guy, a cross hanging around his chest. Was he religious or something? They witnessed them trying to hit on another girl there, hair high up in a ponytail. Her number read 196 on the patch.

Going back to fiddle with their jacket, everyone scrambled back when a group of guards came in. Some had triangles, some circles and one square.

The guards talked about signing a form, which made the purple-haired guy ask about his limited edition shoes, another person asking If they could have their phone back and another asking if they could leave. His number read 230, while the guy next to him had 124 on his tracksuit.

A mother and her son were arguing over debt,along with an older gentleman, and a guy who looked to be about in his late 20s. The number on his jacket read 218, while the guy next to him read 456. They seemed to know each other.

Glancing up, Y/n made eye contact with another woman who sat on the top bunks watching everyone below her. She had black curly hair, her tracksuit adorning the number 212.

Off in a corner was a group of people. Numbers bright on their tracksuits. 256,333, 222, 388, 125, 067, 199, 240, and 380. All were in one big group amongst one another, with the occasional people going in and out to mingle.

“Attention”

The looming voice from the guard made everyone quiet down. Soon, a video came up of all the people on the screen.

“Player 333. Lee Myung-gi. MG Coin. Debt of 1.8 billion won.”

“Player 196, Kang Mi-na, Debt,45million won.”

“Player 120, Cho Hyun-ju, 330 million won.”

“Player 230, Choi Su-bong, 1.19 billion.”

Y/n watched as the square guard read off the people’s debts, with their pictures on the screen. Everyone gasped at an old man's nearly 10 billion won when he came on the screen. Yet, theirs wasn’t as bad. Only around 100 million won since it was backed up by student loans.

Soon, they all went to get their pictures taken, one girl immediately recognized 230 which caused a bunch of people to gather around him.

“Your Thanos! The famous rapper! Can I get a picture!?”

Y/n watched as people gathered around the purple haired male, watching as his eyes scanned to 196 to motion with his hands

“You want to join? Come on”

“Only one person at a time” The triangle guard spoke to the group, crossing their arms in an “X” movement. After the group dispersed, the purple haired male also known as Thanos turned his head towards one of the other males there.

“I know you! I’m a big follower of you! You took all my money!”

Y/n watched the scene unfold, a triangle guard ushering them along for their picture.

“Smile”

The voice on the camera said. Y/n didn’t, and went to follow the others. Up the winding stairs and to where they would start the first game.

Glancing down, they say people following behind one another like ants in a colony. Moving their head back up to see that the front person had stopped in front of doors.

Soon the doors opened, all 456 people walked inside, staring at the big doll at the other end. People murmuring amongst themselves, y/n catching an attempted flirting session.

“Senorita? In a sea of people, you caught my eye. My beauty, my flower blossoming amongst the weeds. Red, orange, yellow, green, I’m a Legend Thanos.”

We thought he was done. He wasn’t.

“Now look at us this blue-green. Now give me the green light. I like you”

A few hand jazz’s and a finger heart afterwards, most of us could tell she wasn’t amused.

“Attention everyone. We will now start the first game. ‘Red Light, Green Light. You have 5 minutes to cross to the other side.”

People were talking amongst themselves until player 456 pushed through

“Everyone! You must move when she faces the tree! When she turns away you stop!”

As soon as the doll turned her head, people ran. 456 yelling for everyone to freeze when she turned to face them and scan for moving people.

A bug had landed on 196 causing her to scream and move. At first nothing happened, then an explosion sounded and people were running.

Gunshots being fired at the people that moved, crimson staining the walls and the doors, even the floors around them..

#player 001 #squid game #front man #squid game season 2 #in ho #001 x reader #player 333 #thanos #player 124 #player 456 #gi hun #min su #thanos x reader #namgyu x reader #in ho x reader #gi hun squid game #gyeong su x reader

95 notes · View notes

librababe99 · 10 months ago

Text

Vigilante's Lullaby |Part One|

cw: Red Hood, Gender Neutral Reader, Angst, Mentions of violence, blood, injury, medical procedure, hurt no comfort, dark romance, hurt no comfort word count: 1.9K summary: In the shadows of Gotham’s underworld, you run a clinic that caters to those no one else dares to help. One night, Red Hood stumbles in, bloodied and defiant, refusing assistance despite his wounds. As you force him to stay, a strange, electrifying tension fills the air.

A/N: Hello! Just finished up the final edits to the first part of this new series. For the sake of dramatics I really liked the idea of leaving Jason's identity anonymous and sticking with his alias. Also as of now I'm wanting this to be a four part series but of course that can change! If you'd like to be tagged in the next part just let know <3 As always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

(DC Masterlist) (Marvel Masterlist)

(Synopsis) (Part Two)

The clinic was a small, dimly lit space tucked away in the decaying heart of Gotham’s underbelly. The walls were cracked and worn, the faded paint peeling in corners no one bothered to care about anymore. Shadows lingered in every corner, as thick as the stench of sweat and antiseptic that clung to the air. It was late—well past the time most sane people would be out in Gotham. But sanity was a luxury in a city like this, and you’d long since learned to live without it.

You leaned over the trembling form of a thug, stitching up the gash in his side with quick, practiced movements. He wasn’t important—just some small-time crook who got into a fight he couldn’t win. It wasn’t your job to ask questions. You weren’t paid for that. People came to you because you never asked why, and you never judged. Criminal, vigilante, or something in between, it didn’t matter. In Gotham, everyone bled the same.

The thug winced, muttering a half-hearted complaint, and you hushed him quietly, focusing on the task at hand. It was routine—just another night in a city that never slept, where violence was a constant companion.

Then the door slammed open, hard enough to rattle the rusting hinges.

You looked up, instincts on edge, fingers stilling mid-stitch. A figure loomed in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the floor. The helmet gave him away immediately—Red Hood. His presence dominated the room, his chest heaving, blood dripping onto the worn floorboards.

"Out," his voice growled, distorted through the modulator in his helmet. It wasn’t directed at you.

The thug on the table scrambled up, clutching his side. He didn’t wait for a second warning. As soon as Red Hood stepped into the room, the thug fled into the night, disappearing into Gotham’s shadows.

The vigilante staggered forward, his movements heavy, labored. Blood soaked through his jacket, staining the dark fabric and leaving a trail of crimson in his wake. His breathing was harsh, his body barely holding itself together, but when you moved toward him, his gloved hand shot up.

“I don’t need your help,” he growled, even though his knees almost buckled from the effort of staying upright.

You stopped short, eyeing him carefully. His wounds were bad. Too bad. He wouldn’t last long in this state, not even in Gotham. But you’d seen his type before. The kind who thought they could muscle through the pain, through death itself, out of sheer willpower. Maybe he had cheated death once, but not tonight. Not like this.

“You’ll die if I don’t patch you up,” you said, voice calm but firm. You weren’t afraid of him. That was important. Red Hood’s entire persona thrived on fear. “Sit down. Now.”

His helmet turned slightly, as if sizing you up. There was tension in the way he held himself, every muscle coiled tight, ready for violence even though his body was betraying him. His fingers twitched like they were ready to reach for his gun. But you stood your ground.

“I’m not going to ask twice,” you added, eyes narrowing. “You won’t make it out of this room if you don’t let me help.”

For a long, painful moment, he didn’t move. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he let his hand drop to his side. A begrudging acceptance. He stepped forward and sank into the chair, the weight of his injuries catching up to him.

You didn’t hesitate. Moving quickly, you grabbed your supplies and knelt beside him, carefully peeling back his jacket to expose the wound. The gash across his side was deep, and there were other cuts and bruises littering his body, evidence of a fight he barely survived.

As you worked, the room fell into a tense quiet, broken only by the sound of his labored breathing. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the mix of blood and sweat clinging to his skin. Your fingers brushed against his flesh, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through you. The air between you seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, thick with something unspoken.

He watched you from behind the mask, his eyes hidden but his presence palpable. You didn’t flinch, didn’t show any reaction to the violence he wore so plainly on his skin. You’d seen worse, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he unsettled you. Still, there was something in the way he sat so still now, the way his body surrendered to your touch, that made the space between you feel... electric.

“You don’t ask questions,” Red Hood said after a while, his voice low, almost conversational now. There was a hint of something behind his words, like he was testing you. “Everyone else does.”

“I’m not everyone else,” you replied simply, not looking up from his wounds as you stitched them closed with quick precision.

He made a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “No. I guess you’re not.”

Your hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary as you finished up, the tips of your fingers brushing against the edge of his skin. His body tensed slightly, and you could feel the air shift between you. There was a moment—brief, almost imperceptible—where Red Hood’s guard dropped. His gaze softened behind the mask, as if for just a second, he was letting you see past the armor. Past the walls he had built so high.

But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Red Hood stood abruptly, wincing as he moved, pulling his jacket back into place. He didn’t say thank you—he wasn’t the type. He didn’t have to. The way his eyes lingered on you, just for a heartbeat longer than they should have, told you everything.

“Don’t expect me to come back,” he muttered as he made his way to the door.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

He disappeared into the night, and you stood in the quiet aftermath, staring at the blood he left behind on the floor. Something about that encounter stuck with you. It was more than just another wounded vigilante passing through your clinic. It felt like the start of something darker. Something deeper.

A week passed, and you tried not to think about him.

But Gotham had a way of bringing people back into your life whether you wanted them or not. The nights were long, the clinic busy as always, but a part of you found yourself glancing at the door more than you cared to admit. You told yourself it was just a matter of curiosity—nothing more.

Until he returned.

This time, Red Hood didn’t burst in with the same dramatic entrance. He slipped through the door quietly, his presence immediately recognizable despite the effort he seemed to make to go unnoticed. He was wounded again, though not as badly as before. His jacket was torn, blood staining his side, but his steps were more measured, less desperate.

You raised an eyebrow as he stepped into the light, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

His lips twisted into something like a smirk, though there was no humor behind it. “Didn’t have a choice.”

Without waiting for your response, he sat down in the chair again, wincing as he moved. You took a deep breath, grabbing your supplies once more. This time, there was less urgency, but the tension between you had only grown in his absence. As you worked, the silence stretched again, but it wasn’t the same. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air.

“You live like this every night?” you asked after a while, breaking the quiet. “Bleeding all over the city?”

He chuckled, though it was dark and hollow. “It’s Gotham. Bleeding’s part of the job description.”

You glanced up at him, instinctively drawn to where his eyes should be beneath the mask, though you still couldn’t see them. The white lenses covering his eyes remained in place, a barrier between the two of you, preventing you from truly seeing the man beneath. But you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and unwavering, as if he were studying you just as closely.

There was always something about that mask—how it made him unreadable, cold, distant. Yet, in moments like this, when the tension in the room grew thick, you could feel the weight of emotions hidden behind it. The silence stretched on for a beat too long, the sound of your steady breathing filling the space as you tried to ignore the electric pull between you.

“And what job is that, exactly?” you asked, your tone carefully measured. You couldn’t let your curiosity get the better of you, but the question slipped out before you could stop it.

He hesitated for a brief moment, his head tilting slightly as if considering his answer, though the visor obscured any hint of where his gaze fell. "Righting wrongs. Settling scores," he finally said, his voice low and cold. "Call it whatever you want."

The cold finality in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just talking about Gotham’s criminals. No, there was something more personal in his words. He was talking about himself—his own demons, his own darkness.You didn’t push further. It wasn’t your place, and you knew better than to pry into the shadows he carried. But it didn’t stop you from feeling the weight of it, the sheer force of the rage and pain he carried with him.

“I’ve seen plenty of people come through here with wounds like yours,” you said softly, focusing back on the gash you were stitching up, your hands steady despite the tension in the air. “They usually don’t last long. This city eats people alive.”

His head tilted slightly, and though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt the intensity of his attention shift back to you. For a moment, the air felt heavier, thicker. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was low, rough. “I’m not most people.”

You couldn’t help the small, bitter smile that tugged at your lips. “No. I guess you’re not.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt charged, like standing on the edge of something dangerous. There was always something about him that made you feel that way, as though you were staring into an abyss and contemplating whether to jump. Maybe you were a danger to each other, a collision waiting to happen.

When you finished patching him up, your fingers lingered, the soft brush of your skin against his as you pulled the gauze into place. This time, he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he remained still, the air between you crackling with something unspoken.You glanced up at him again, meeting the featureless gaze of his mask, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel them on you, feel the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Something was happening between you two—something inevitable, dangerous, and completely out of your control.

Without a word, he stood, pulling his jacket back over his bandaged torso. The movement was sudden, almost abrupt, as if he needed to break the moment before it went any further. He didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t offer any words of gratitude or reassurance.

But you knew he’d be back.

Even as he left, the heavy door of your clinic closing behind him, the presence of him lingered in the room—dark, dangerous, and unmistakably powerful. The pull between you both was undeniable, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening between you was far from over.

And it was only a matter of time before that tension snapped.

246 notes · View notes