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Introducing the yearly summer men!

2023

2024

2025

also…. might be making a jinu x reader x kenji fic. but you didn’t hear that from me. reqs open for kpop dh

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guilt

summary: you're looking for an end to your misery and guilt, but find healing instead. pairing: dante sparda x succubus!reader | game-oriented warnings: reader has a death wish and suffers from meltdowns, unprotected p in v, fighting sex?? swearing, descriptions of reader's demonic form, afab!reader, fighting for dominance, slightly sub!reader, some aftercare w/c: 5.1k

a/n: aight, here it is! i hope y'all don't mind a bit of build up lol

You were created with one purpose to fulfil — weaken humanity.

And you did. For centuries, you crept into the dreams of soldiers, doctors, priests, kings, disturbing their peace with your beauty, syphoning their life force with your body. You ruined marriages, impaired armies, even, all in the name of the King of the Underworld. But not without guilt.

See, when Mundus selected you for his demonic crusade, he overlooked one particular flaw that you managed to hide quite well — compassion. Not that you were the first demon to give a shit about humans, but you were one of the few who experienced shame so strong that you considered death to be a form of penance.

Only, death wouldn't have brought humanity any benefit. So, you ran away, slipped through a gate between the worlds and hid away for decades, until you were sure no demon was looking for you anymore. Inspired by Sparda's selflessness, you picked up odd jobs, helping the humans you once actively tried to destroy. You were a village teacher who disappeared, a military nurse who died on the battlefield, a firefighter who burned, a police officer who got shot — even if a body was never found — all while battling your own demons.

When you were born, you were born with a weakness, an insatiable, aching hunger for sex, an urge you needed to suppress and control. And it consumed you, like lava flowing through your veins that burned holes through your skin. Some days were easier. Others weren't, because when it rained, it poured, and you locked yourself inside of your bathroom, submerged in ice cold water just to stop the impulses from taking over. Your body, your real, demonic body, decorated with blood red scales, and a serpentine tail to match, with horns and slitted pupils, were harder to control when the urges hit, and you felt bad lying to your boss when you called in sick.

Because of your abstinence, the carnal cravings became frequent, more violent than ever before, and you knew the only way to go back to normal was to give in to them every once in a while, but you couldn't. You couldn't break the humans that took you in when you needed them the most. There were only two options left — to die, or to fuck.

You met with Enzo at the Bull's Eye Bar, hood over your head to hide the horns, gloves to hide the talons. You didn't take your sunglasses off, not wanting to scare the one man that knew the truth about you. He sat down next to you, but you quickly moved away, leaving one barstool between the two of you. The last thing you wanted was to rampage through the bar and kill him.

"I'm not afraid of you, kid. It's just a bad day." He tried to comfort you, but you shook your head.

"I think my time's up, Enzo." Your voice was meek and raspy.

"Don't be dramatic! Buy me a drink and let's talk about it."

You smiled at his optimism (and opportunism), accidentally flashing your fangs, and while you could tell Enzo was taken aback by them, he didn't leave. So, you bought him a drink and talked about it.

"I don't think I can take it anymore. Just being here makes me want to... jump your bones." You cringed at your own words.

"Who would've thought I still got it at my age?"

"It's not funny. You know that would kill you."

"I know." Enzo sighed. "Listen, I know a guy-"

"No. Absolutely not." You shook your head and sat up ready to leave.

"Sit down, girl. I'm not finished." He grabbed the glass full of ice-cold water that you ordered and splashed you with it.

"Why on Earth did you do that?" You froze, shocked by Enzo's behaviour.

"To cool you off. Did it work?"

"I- well- yeah, actually." You felt your body temperature go down.

"Good, now listen."

It was a stupid idea, but it was an idea nonetheless, better than the one you had, anyway. The red neon sign in front of you almost blinded your eyes, particularly the silhouette of the girl, but you walked closer to the building and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, you decided to push open the door, letting yourself in. Your heels clicked on the wooden floor as you wearily approached the front desk, with nothing but a rotary phone and the photo of a beautiful woman on it.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" Your voice echoed in the building, and you didn't dare to stray away from the desk.

"Shop's... closed."

Turning on your heels, you looked to your left to see a man with wet white hair sticking to his cheekbones, wearing nothing but a pair of leather trousers, beads of water dripping down his bare chest. God, he was stunning, and it did little to help your condition.

"I'm sorry, but I really need your help." You could barely breathe. "Enzo sent me."

"Still, shop's closed." He shrugged and walked past you towards the stairs. Underneath the landing was a white fridge, and the man opened it and grabbed himself a beer.

"Please, you're a devil hunter. Dante, right?"

"That I am."

"Good, because I need you to hunt one for me. Please." You begged him again, and after a few sips from his drink and careful consideration, he sat in his chair, feet propped on the antique desk.

"Alright, I'll bite. What am I hunting?"

You sighed, pulling down your hood and removing your sunglasses while your heart beats quickened.

"Me."

He paused drinking, blue eyes staring at you, and even though he was trying to hide it, you could tell he'd never seen the type of demon you were before. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you unbuttoned your trench coat, letting it fall down and pool at your feet, then took off the gloves. With each article of clothing you peeled off, more of your demonic nature was left exposed, but you had enough humanity in you to not strip all of your clothes. You wanted to die with dignity.

"Please be quick." Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt hot tears roll down your cheeks. You didn't want to die, not really, but you would be doing humans a favour if you did.

"Save your tears. Devils don't cry."

Dante was harsh with his words, but he was right — you didn't deserve that, you weren't human. But then, why were you afraid? Why did you feel centuries of guilt haunting you in your last moments? Why could you see the face of every man and woman you tormented in their sleep whenever you closed your eyes? Was that not human enough?

"I'm sorry, I can't help it." You said, eyes still shut and your fingers tugging at the hem of your dress.

"What kind of demon are you?" He asked, and you sighed.

"What difference does it make? You kill all kinds of demons, don't you?"

"Just curious." Dante nonchalantly said.

You opened your eyes, slitted pupils following him through the room. Was he stalling? Was he even the man Enzo recommended? You were hoping for a quick, clean death, not an interrogation.

"I'm the worst kind." You said, praying it would irk him, make Dante want to kill you faster. "The cowardly kind. The kind that shows up in your dreams and torments you, sucks the life out of you for sustenance, that makes men lose their minds. Not blood and gore, but pleasure and pain. And I am begging you to end my life."

"Why?"

"Why does it fucking matter?" Your voice lost its sweetness, now dark and low. "What matters is I hurt people, lots of people." You dropped down on your knees, lifting your dress inch by inch. "And I wanted to be like him, like Sparda, wanted to be good!" Your sharp talons clawed at the skin on your cheeks, leaving burning marks under them. "But I can't fight it anymore, it's eating me alive! Please, Dante, please do something!"

You were hysterical at that point, sobbing, screaming in pain, dripping with sweat. Dante found your eyes — full of both lust and grief — and your body shook spasmodically, like you were possessed by yourself.  Your hips rolled, thighs squeezed together while you tore the collar of your dress, wriggling, writhing in pain. So much pain. That was your penance.

He was genuinely shocked by the conflict within you, the battle you fought for God knows how long, and he could tell you regretted it. In fact, Dante pitied you.

"Kill me, kill me-" You choked on your words, throwing yourself at his feet. "Please, please, please-"

"I'm not gonna kill you." Dante stepped back, then crouched next to you, one hand placed on your shoulder.

You flinched and hissed at the man, his touch sending a wave of heat through your body, but you propped yourself on your elbows and pushed yourself back, as far away from him as possible, crawling into a corner. There was very little sanity left in your brain, and you eyed the door — you had to run again, or else you could have hurt him. Leaping towards the door, you found yourself caught by his arms, and he overpowered you with ease, holding you while you tried to fight him.

"Let me go!" Your fists slammed against his bare chest. "Please, I need to go, need to feed, need to fuck-"

Agony. You were in agony. Dante swept you off your feet, knocking the wind out of you as he threw you on his shoulder to carry you. You tried to put up a fight, tried to wrestle out of his grasp, but he was much, much stronger. Almost like he wasn't human at all. Dante practically dragged you to the bathroom, forcing you into the bathtub, despite your protests. But he was doing you a favour, really.

The cold water snapped you back to reality, even if it was momentary, and your convulsing body relaxed. Your breathing and heart beats slowed down, and you sighed, watching the tub fill with water. Dante opened the window, and the cool late-night breeze tickled your skin.

"How did you know about the temperature?" You whispered, too ashamed to even look at him.

"Hell's cold. Thought you might be homesick." Dante leaned against the edge of the bathtub and you snorted at his remark. "You got a name?"

"Y/N."

"Your real name." He folded his arms across his chest.

"I'm trying to forget it. Trying to die, too, but you're making it harder." You scoffed.

"Oh, yeah, not happening." Dante turned the tap off. "Enzo knows about you." It wasn't a question at all.

"Yeah, he believed I could change. So did I, but I guess I'm a demon through and through. Any reason why you didn't shoot me on the spot?"

"Eeeh." He shrugged. "Guess I saw potential in you. You're pretty weak, though."

"Gee, thanks, Dante." Your finger tapped on the surface of the water, creating small ripples.

"No, that's a good thing. It means I don't need to tie you up while I figure out a solution." He rubbed his chin, and your eyes followed his hand, stopping on his white stubble. Shit, he was a little too handsome for his own good.

"Not to be rude, but are you out of your mind? There is no solution, only death."

"But you don't want to die."

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Of course you didn't. But what choice did you have?

"How long until your next... meltdown?"

"I don't know, a week? Two? They're becoming more frequent and less... bearable." You shivered, and Dante stepped away to bring you a towel.

"Anything else I need to know?" He helped you stand up in the tub.

"This is awkward, and contradictory, but feeding helps me regain control."

"Feeding?" He rose a brow.

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't."

"You do, and I don't wanna say it." You snatched the towel from him and dabbed it on your skin.

"The first step is acceptance. Don't be a prude, it doesn't suit you." Dante closed the window while you stepped out of the bathtub, water dripping down the tiled floor.

"What, are you a psychiatrist? Fine, it's sex! I need to have sex!" You said that a bit too loudly. "There, happy?"

"Well, it definitely makes it easier." He closed the gap between the two of you, backing you up into the bathroom corner.

"You're crazy. It'll kill you."

He laughed. Dante full on laughed in your face while you stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Believe me, it'll take more than that to kill me, princess. But, by all means, if you have a better idea, spit it out."

"I can't, I'm not ready." You shook your head.

"Bold of you to say that. You know, considering you're a sex demon and all." Dante's harsh observation stung you, and again, tears fell.

"You're an asshole." You whimpered like a wounded dog. "A first-class asshole. You don't even know how hurtful that was. You don't even know me."

"Am I wrong?"

"Yes! Yes, you are! I have to kill to survive. Do you know how fucked up that is? I can't believe Enzo sent me here. I'm leaving." You pushed him away with all the strength you could muster and opened the bathroom door.

"If you leave, you'll end up hurting someone. Or yourself." Dante said, and you froze.

Maybe he was right, maybe he could help. He did overpower you, and humans couldn't really do that. You spent too much time away from Hell to keep up to date with the news, but you heard rumours of half-demons. Sparda's offsprings in particular.

"Who are you?" You turned to look at him.

"Just someone who's not so different from you. Stay and find out. Or leave, and I'll have to hunt you."

He knew how to bargain.

"Can I at least have some dry clothes?"

His shirt was big on you, swallowing your entire body in it, but it was comfortable, and most importantly, dry. Dante offered you a beer, but you politely declined — alcohol riled you up. He offered you a spare room in his strange shop, and you locked yourself inside of it, refusing to sleep. Your hunger wasn't just physical — it transcended into the realm of dreams, and you didn't want to torment the man who wanted to help you. But he was kind enough not to pressure you into sleeping with him, even if deep down you knew that was the only way to keep you sane.

When you were mentally stable, Dante taught you how to shoot and fight, and when you lost the plot, he forced you into the bathroom, hosing you down with ice cold water. When he left for missions, you begged him to chain you up and lock you in your room, and when he came back, he brought you back to reality. But it was becoming worse than ever. The weeks between your outbursts turned into days, and you were harder to handle each time. Still, Dante didn't even try to convince you to give in. If anything, he admired your stubbornness.

It was late at night when the devil hunter came back from his mission, and the first thing he did was to run upstairs and check on you. Dante turned around on the hallway, stopping when he saw the door to your room wide open and empty. The chains that were supposed to bound you while he was gone were broken, making him think that it wasn't you that somehow escaped, but that someone, or something, broke in. A quick scan around the room and Dante concluded that there was no sign of trespassing — the window of your room was locked from the inside, and so was the front door. Nothing was different, not even the claw marks on the floor.

He frantically checked every room upstairs, calling out your name, asking where you were, but before he went downstairs, Dante stopped at the top of the staircase. He didn't check his bedroom.

His hand hovered over the doorknob and he slowly turned it, quietly pushing it open. Even with the lights off, Dante knew you were there, the outline of your body barely visible in the dim moonlight. He flicked the light switch, and there you were, sprawled on his bed in a torn shirt that left very little to his imagination. But something wasn't right. You weren't tormented by that insatiable hunger, weren't convulsing, you just looked at him through thick lashes with those slitted pupils that he came to both love and hate.

"You're here." Dante tilted his head, one hand close to his gun. Just in case.

"I am." You purred, rolling on your side, your serpentine tail coiling around your ankle.

"Why are you in my room?"

"I was drawn to it. Well, to your scent." You simply shrugged, and he couldn't understand why you were so calm, so docile. Unless...

"Have you fed?" Dante stepped closer, gun now in his hand.

"Mmm, wouldn't you like to know?" You flashed your fangs and fixed him with your eyes, like a viper assessing its prey. "What are you gonna do, shoot me?"

Damn it. You really had to go and fuck everything up. But when he took another step, he could hear, no, feel your heart thumping against your ribcage, too fast for how calm you were trying to appear. Then he saw the beads of sweat on your skin, and the claw marks on your neck, the hair strands clinging to your talons, the wound on your lower lip, and the tears welling up in your eyes. He saw how you hurt yourself for fear of hurting others.

"For a demon, you're a pretty horrible liar." He tossed his gun on the table next to his bed, and you wailed in pain, unable to pretend anymore.

You understood two things in the months you spent with Dante: that he wasn't fully human, and that he wasn't going to give up on you. Yet it didn't make yielding any easier. The last time you fed was at least a century ago. Even if Dante did let you feed off of him, there was no guarantee it would help since, well, he wasn't fully human. But he wasn't going to kill you, and you were running out of self-control.

Fuck.

"Let's get you in the bathtub." Dante's voice was gentler than ever.

"No."

"No? Y/N, I'm not gonna shoot you, that's final."

"I don't... I don't want you to shoot me." You sighed, chewing on your lower lip.

He didn't say anything, and instead waited for you to speak.

"Are you sure it won't kill you?"

"Positive." He nodded.

"Fine. Just know it won't be like with a human."

"What, are you gonna crawl on the ceiling or something?" Dante joked, but the look on your face told him you didn't find it amusing.

"I don't know, I can't remember what it's like."

Oh, you poor thing. He couldn't imagine going through centuries without feeling a touch, a kiss, even a hug. Not that he got laid often — women were drawn to him until he opened his dumb mouth, but it was their loss.

"It's alright, I'll take care of you if you'll let me." Dante promised, and you believed him.

Whether it was your desperation or his confidence, you didn't know, but you truly believed that he could help. You just really hoped he wouldn't fucking die in the process.

"Please." The word was quiet, weak, but full of desire. "I don't know how long until I fully lose it, Dante."

In the blink of an eye, he stood beside the bed, again proving that he wasn't human, and you slowly gained courage. Maybe it would be okay, maybe you would be okay. Your body reacted when you felt his presence, kneeling on the mattress to be at his level. Locking eyes, you swallowed the lump in your throat and placed your hands on his shoulders. He felt like fire under your fingertips, and it made you want to rip open his shirt, which you tried, but Dante wrapped his fingers around your wrists, holding them in place.

"Down, girl."

"I can't, I'm starving."

"I know." He pressed his lips onto your knuckles, so gentle that you thought you might spontaneously combust. "But you need to take it slowly. Don't let it control you."

You nodded, albeit the heat and pain between your legs killing you, and tried to calmly unbutton his shirt when he released your wrists. Your hands trembled, failing miserably with the first button, and while Dante pitied you, he refused to give you a hand. It was tough love, but it was necessary.

"Please, Dante, please help me, please fuck me, pleasepleaseplease-" Your incoherent babbling tempted him, it truly did, but it felt wrong. It felt like he would be taking advantage of your weakness. Men would have walked on corpses to hear a beautiful woman beg like that, and they would have been persuaded in a split second.

But Dante wasn't a normal man. You asked for help, and he would do just that, but not how you wanted. He placed two fingers onto your luscious lips, silencing your devilish tongue, and it worked, because you stopped and stared at him.

"You need to calm down." He said, and you nodded before opening your mouth to suck on his digits. "Not like that." Dante sighed, the leather trousers now very uncomfortable on him.

He didn't tell you to stop, though, because having something to suck on helped you focus on unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. God, you were something else, something equally beautiful and grotesque — a demon with a human heart.

His shirt fell on the floor, and Dante finally pulled his fingers out of your mouth. Your hands rushed to his belt, only for him to swat them away, telling you to relax, to enjoy the moment, but how could you enjoy it when your skin itched with impatience, while he had the patience of a saint?

"I need you, Dante, please. Have I not been good?" The pain in your voice mixed with the sorrowful look in your eyes had him weak, but he remained focused.

"So good." He growled, slowly losing his cool. There was demon blood inside of him, too, after all. "But I need you to stay calm, yeah? Can you do that for me?"

Another reluctant nod, even if you flesh was burning and your heart was racing. Taking a deep breath in, you dragged your sharp claws down Dante's chest, down his abdomen, past his V-line, and only then did he let you unbuckle his belt. You violently pulled it away, tossing it somewhere on the bed, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back and holding it in place.

"I'm gonna kiss you now, and you're going to behave."

"Can't promise that." You scoffed at his demand.

He didn't quip back, but instead pressed his lips onto yours, kissing you with a hunger greater than yours, a kiss so sloppy and wet that you thought it was his first time. It wasn't, he was just that needy, and you kissed him back, looping your arms around his neck, moving closer to him until he almost lost his balance. When he pulled away, you whimpered, pathetically begging him to kiss you again, to touch you, to fuck you, the sound of his zipper shutting you up.

"Fuck this." Dante pushed you onto the mattress so hard you bounced back. "Can't hold back anymore."

The grin on your lips should've been a red flag, but he didn't care anymore. His thick, hard cock sprung out of his boxers and you instinctively spread your legs, only for him to grab your ankles and pull you closer, earning a giggle from you.

The tip of his cock pressed against your entrance, and Dante groaned when he felt how impossibly wet you were. He really wanted to take his time with you, but he was still a man, and you were a succubus. It was never going to be slow and steady. He pushed past your slick, velvety folds, not giving you any time to adjust to his girth because you took him so well.

You arched your back when he bottomed out, power coursing through your veins as you regained life strength, and he was still alive. For now. His first thrusts were brutal, full of lust, rage, love and hatred, and you bucked your hips, brain and body overwhelmed by the sudden strength inside of you.

"Thank you, thank you!" You cried out, latching your arms behind his shoulders. "Fuck, I've never felt so good!" Your sobs echoed in his bedroom, and with the newfound strength, you managed to hook one leg around Dante's thigh, pushing him on his back.

The mattress dipped under his weight, his hands roaming all over your body to rip the already torn dress off of you. You frantically bounced up and down his cock, palms on his chest to support yourself. He let you have your fun, let you ride him as he took in your beauty, but Dante wasn't in the mood to submit. Not after the months of torture you made him go through. With a supernatural force, he sent you flying across the room, and you hissed when your shoulder blades hit the wall that cracked behind you.

Dante leaped towards you, pinning your hands above your head while you wriggled and fought against his restraint. You got a taste of power and needed more, and he was about to give it to you, but not before crushing your lips under his, reminding you that you were not in charge. Yet, you didn't want to take the hint, and instead coiled your tail around his ankle, yanking it until Dante lost balance and let go of your wrists.

What was supposed to help you turned into a battle for dominance, both with Dante and with yourself, because deep down you knew that you should've yielded, but it wasn't in your nature to submit. You slipped away from him, but he was quicker, grabbing your arm and turning you around, his chest pressed against your back. Dante held you despite your protests, before slowly bringing you down to the floor, on your knees.

"Relax-"

"Don't wanna relax-" You snarled, convulsing under his arms. "Wanna, oh-"

The words melted in your mouth when he slammed his cock back into you, painstakingly slowly rolling his hips while your eyes filled up with tears of ecstasy. You never submitted, always dominated, but the way Dante pushed your head down and fucked you felt so good that you couldn't help but lift your ass up for him to take you however he pleased.

"See? That's much better, isn't it?" He fucking cooed at you, and you sobbed.

"Yes! Yes, yes, oh, God, yes!" You cried out when the tip of his cock bullied your cervix, stretching your sore cunt out. "More, please! I need more!"

"Greedy girl." Dante's fingers bruised your hips, gripping them so tightly you thought he might rip your flesh off.

The power that seeped into your veins was minuscule compared to the the new sensation that you felt — addiction. You became addicted to him, to his touch and his scent, to his cock, like it healed something within you, like you didn't live to suck the life out of humans anymore, but to be with him and only him.

It seemed as though Dante fucked you eternally, and your once insatiable hunger disappeared with each thrust, replaced by pure bliss. Your arms wobbled under the pressure and pleasure, and you bucked your hips against his, chanting his name like a prayer.

"I'm close! Dante, I'm gonna cum!"

"You poor thing." He whispered with a hint of pity in his voice while brutally slamming into you. "When was the last time you came?"

"Never did, no man could make me cum! No one fucked me like you do!"

And Dante believed you. He believed every single word that came out of your sinful mouth, because you came to him looking to put an end to all the misery you caused through sheer sacrifice. You were desperate, and desperation made you honest.

Like clay in his nimble hands, you let yourself be sculpted and shaped by Dante into something else, something new, something better. Oddly enough, he felt the same, as though all his life he'd been navigating through a long, dark tunnel, and he finally found the light at the end.

You came undone on his cock with only his name spilling from your lips, waves of both pleasure and power coursing through your quivering body. When your arms and knees gave in and you almost hit the floor, Dante caught you, one arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. His hips stuttered while he held you, fucking you until your cunt felt hot and sticky with his cum. Slowly and carefully, Dante pulled out, and without a word, he picked you up, carrying you to the en-suite bathroom while you buried your nose in the crook of his neck.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was gentler than ever before as he placed you in the bathtub.

"Like I can live another century without going batshit crazy." You sighed, catching his wrist in your hands. "Thank you. I know you were probably disgusted by me the whole time. I'll leave as soon as I wash myself."

"Actually," Dante tilted his head, a grin spread across his lips, "I was hoping you'd stay."

He wished he could frame the priceless look on your face, with your dishevelled hair, mouth agape and glossy eyes.

"Why?"

"Think about it." Dante turned the tap on, kneeling by the bathtub. "You said you wanna help humanity, didn't you?" He asked, and you nodded. "Great. Then what better way of helping it than by hunting demons? You can already shoot, I made sure of that, and you can definitely put up a fight. Learned that the hard way."

Your eyes darted to the water flowing from the tap, pondering his suggestion. Could it be? Have you found a purpose for yourself? One that didn't involve faking your death or disappearing from villages? One that allowed you to be yourself, without hiding your true nature? One where you didn't have to be so alone?

"I'd like that."

"Good." Dante's fingers brushed through your hair. "And I'll personally make sure you're not going batshit crazy."

"Gee, I'm beginning to think you actually enjoyed that."

"I reserve the right to neither confirm, nor deny."

[clip-the-simp]

I’d like to think that if Dante or Vergil were to try and pretend to be the other for the day, instead of it being easy to tell them apart, it’s actually hard as fuck and would easily be summarised like this;

Vergil pretending to be Dante: which ones Dante?

Dante pretending to be Vergil; and which ones Vergil?

You: I’m not playing this fucked up game again! Never again!

Vergil pretending to be Dante : and why not sweetheart? Afraid you’ll loose like always?

You: considering the fact that I did make out with who I thought was Vergil, only for it to be Dante so needless to say this game is far too powerful and dangerous to be playing!

Vergil breaking character: WAIT YOU MADE OUT WITH HIM *points to Dante* THINKING HE WAS ME?!

Dante: well done Vergil, this is why we can’t have nice things…and why we probably should’ve stopped playing this game to begin with.

[clip-the-simp]

dante x f!reader. established...something. reader is a magic anthropologist and they're both in their thirties. this is full of cringe banter and innuendo i'm so sawryyyyyyy | wc 1.6k, reading time: 7 minutes.

“What are you doing here?”

You’ve been aware of Dante’s slow creep down the aisle of the largest archive of metaphysical knowledge this godforsaken place has to offer for some time. You finally call out to him across messy stacks of books.

Foolishly, you hoped he wouldn’t make a game out of this. He strides up to you confidently, clearly thrilled to finally have forced you to be the first to break. This is familiar territory for you and him both, where all of your “career” related activities are conducted and where he comes to find you when he’s looked everywhere else without a trace.

Leaning against the shelf, he folds his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side.

“I’m researching obviously.”

You look up from the shelf in front of you with a raised brow only to be met with a pair of familiar eyes trained directly at the curve of your chest and whatever peak of skin is pushed up over your neckline. 

“Yeah, researching how far you can look down my shirt from that grand height you stand at.”

Caught, the gunslinger’s eyes drift toward your face without an ounce of shame in them. 

“And what about it?”

Your stance shifts from flat footed to standing on your tiptoes, arm extended high above your head with your thumb and forefinger reaching toward the tip of his nose to flick it. As sharply reflexed as he has ever been, he dodges the attack and captures your hand in his, spreading your fingers and pressing the heel of your hand against his lips.

Allowing him a moment to sniff your wrist and shoot his best half lidded glance downward, you end it quickly by snatching your arm from his grasp and placing it down at your side. A flaming face that belongs to you turns back toward the shelves to hide your thrill at his public flirtation, insisting upon keeping things polite while you’re working billable hours.

“What do you need, Dante?”

He wishes he could press another kiss at the delicate bend of your wrist.

“A break. A drink. Lots and lots and lots of money. Right now though? Information.”

Sighing, he leans against the bookshelf and holds out his forearms for you to place the ever growing stack you’re working with upon. Wrinkling your nose, you look between him and the books and he holds out his arms and shakes his head leaving you optionless. 

“What about?” You stack a book and then another, looking up at him to find him already staring down at you. “God don’t look at me like that, just tell me what you want.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head.

“Well, you, of course.” 

It takes all of your strength not to turn and walk away if only to be left alone from his tormenting. You’re good at holding your own, especially against the gruff figures who come to you in search of knowledge of demonology or the magical arts you’ve so raptly committed your life to seeking and holding yet it’s different with Dante.

The two of you have been very good friends since the spring of your early twenties. You’ve, at the very least, slept together for almost that entire time too - entering your thirties in each other’s arms. Constantly picking each other’s brains, running from each other when things got rough and back toward each other when they’ve improved or the lonely nights wouldn’t abate on their own. He’s almost sort of a…companion despite your distaste for defining characteristics.

A boyfriend who lives a life too dangerous for attachment, his very clear one to you cast aside. A man you think about when you wake and sleep both, hoping he’ll visit your dreams on the off chance he isn’t by your side. 

Enough of that. You clear your throat to feign impatience and force him to answer.

“I need to borrow that brain and how good you are at figuring out where to find shit in here.”

Laughing, you raise both of your brows.

“It’s alphabetical. Did you forget your letters or what?”

He leans downward, a larger frame closing in and you sidestep him slightly, pretending preoccupation with the books on the portion of the shelf in front of you.

“I forget everything when you’re around.”

Scoffing, you yank a book off of the shelf. “Okay now you’re laying it on a little too thick.”

Looking around the library, you know it’s futile to refuse him. There hasn’t been a moment in the past ten years you’ve told him no in any meaningful way and surely you won’t start today.

“I’m working—” he raises his eyebrows and gasps at the words, feigning shock and you shake your head to dissuade him from continuing with his show. Working is all you’ve seemed to be doing these days, spending days and nights alike with books spread across the small expanse of your apartment leaving little time for extracurricular fun. “But I can make time to help out if you promise you’ll let me handle the research I’m being paid for first.”

“I could pay you too, y’know. My methods may be a little unconventional compared to whatever this mysterious patron is paying you with,” he raises a brow and you roll your eyes. “You’d be rewarded very, very well if you’d only put the books down for one night.”

The innuendo is dripping from his every word. If you knew less about how much he meant what he’s saying perhaps you could play it off better yet your cheeks flame. You know how his rough hands feel at the base of your spine and the dip of your waist, swearing you can feel them drag across you. 

“Oh by the way, what’s the name of that demon you needed me to research?”

Attempting to gain a little bit of control over yourself and the situation, you change the subject and pretend you can’t taste him as clear as day in your mouth, memories doing more than you need them to right now.

“It’s, uh, H…” he trails off, giving up the effort of continuing his tall tale. Another sigh, another beat passes and he furrows his brows. 

You always manage to expertly cut him down to size, a curse and a blessing all at the same time. 

“I’ve been trying to see you for weeks, honey.”

You shake your head. “Days. It has been days since the last time we saw each other and you spent the night despite saying you were leaving before I passed out.”

No chance of wiggling out of this one.

“In my defense, they’ve felt like weeks. Months.”

Shoulders sagging, you lean forward and press yourself against the bookshelf and a pitiful excuse for a frown, the upturned corners of your mouth you can’t seem to put down any time he’s around giving you away. “Sorry for neglecting you. Unfortunately, a girl’s gotta eat and pay rent.”

Of course, there’s no offer made to assist you with either of those things considering he has to work pretty hard for both of them himself. 

“And while we’re discussing it, you don’t have to pay me with that.” 

If you weren’t in public you’d say what you mean - fucking - but it’s easier to simply allude to the late nights spent taking out your mutual grief and frustration with physical release when company you don’t know may be lurking around. Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to the shelves and stack another book atop the rest. 

“In fact, if we both had more of it to spare, just spending time with you would be payment enough.”

If he’s taken aback he does his best to hide it, shifting slightly and covering his face partially by turning it in the direction of the darkened other end of the aisle. 

“See, all this time I thought you only liked me for my body,” he lets slip.

Softly giggling, you pause all other movement besides the rise and fall of your chest and the focus of your gaze upon the man beside you though his gaze remains averted.

“Nah, I hate to say it but I enjoy your company most of all.”

Now he’s drawn back, looking at you with a bit of doubt clouding those steel blue eyes to which you notice and shrug at. “We have the best conversations. You make me laugh; you never make me feel like it’s inconvenient to liste–”

Your words are swallowed by Dante’s mouth before you can get them out. Those quick reflexes worked to bring him close to you before you could even notice, soft lips pressed against a slightly drier, rougher pair. 

“Well when you put it that way,” he mutters against your lips. You laugh against his mouth, lips curving perfectly into his. 

It’s all almost too sweet to bear. Strangely boyfriend-y for a man you’re so apprehensive to refer to as such. 

A stranger breezes past the two of you in the aisle and pretends not to gawk. Despite the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, you let the natural scrap of shame you have remaining go the way everything else does when Dante’s around.

It disappears, evaporates. Leaves only the two of you behind. 

“You can stick around if you don’t have anything better to do,” you tell him, finally breaking away.

Groaning, he redistributes the weight of the books across his arms and stands up so he’s no longer slouching.

“Can’t we take them back to your place?”

Shaking your head, you rap your knuckles against the heaviest metal spine bound book at the bottom of the pile.

“Nope, the rules dictate that this one stays here and I need it the most.”

Smirking, he leans in closer to you. “Then we’ll just have to have some fun here.”

Tossing another book atop the now chin height stack he’s carrying, you shoot him a look that says everything he needs to know. The private booth in the back the two of you occupied the last time he decided to bother you at work is available today.

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tumblr where are they

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℘ i care

✮ cecil stedman x gn!hero!reader

mild angst. arguing. cecil being mean and rough. suggestive at the end.

⤷ cecil has had enough of your reckless antics.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: i love aggressive cecil too and honestly i write him way too nice sometimes bc he is genuinely pretty mean 😪. don’t be fooled by the title this is not fluffy.

submitted by @jjfishsworld

masterlist

*

With the way Cecil’s jaw clenched at every word he spoke, the way his eyes would squint each time he glared at you, the way his fists were clenched in his pockets, the way his voice would boom, his tone harsh and grating with underlying, bubbling fury and irritation, you already knew you were in for a hot scolding. And sadly, it was well deserved and well overdue.

You wouldn’t call yourself disobedient. Most of the time, you do what is ordered of you, expected of you. You’re a good hero, a strong hero. But sometimes - no, many times - you go overboard. You dive head first into situations where the scale of danger is unknown to you, confident in your abilities to handle anything thrown at you it’s worrying - coming out bruised and battered and only ready for more. Sometimes you even ignore your teammates, believing that you know what’s best for the mission.

And worst of all, sometimes you ignore Cecil.

Sure, he’s given you warnings, threats of suspension that you never take seriously because…well, it's you, one of the most valued members of the guardians. Your presence alone can be the defining factor of whether a mission is a success or a failure and you think that’s why Cecil’s been so easy on you thus far.

Your luck has run out.

He dismisses all the fatigued heroes and they lumber towards the showers, exit or wherever they go after a mission. You walk right past him. He stares straight ahead.

“Not you.”

You come to a halt. Your heart hammers at your chest. This was expected but that doesn’t make you any less nervous.

The other heroes glance at you, weary on your behalf, though they say nothing. They don’t want to be a part of this anymore than you do. One by one they leave until it’s just you and Cecil standing in the grandness of the GOTG Headquarters. Yet it’s Cecil’s gaze that makes you feel so small and so vulnerable.

Your body veers towards him.

Cecil’s lips are in a thin line, the spider-web scar on his cheek even more prominent due to the nasty frown on his face. He looks worse for wear - his signature red tie is missing, leaving just a loose, unbuttoned collar and the usually crisp white shirt is slightly untucked from his slacks.

It seems like you’ve really worn him out.

Neither one of you speaks for a moment. Silence rings in your ears. You’re exhausted, jaded, a consequence of the impulsivity that Cecil despises so much. Your molars grind together, weighed down and crushed together by the boulder that is your jaw. You can already feel the brewing tension, churning and boiling like a kettle on a stove until it screams.

“You wanna die?”

Your heart jumps and for a second, a microscopic, irrational second, you think he might actually kill you.

You blink, breath hitching. “…What?”

Cecil huffs. He strolls around you, slow and casual, like a friend, as if he isn’t about to give you the reprimanding of a lifetime.

“You wanna die?” He repeats. He doesn’t like to repeat himself. “There are quicker ways to kill yourself. Easier ways.”

You’re rendered speechless for a moment.

Cecil doesn’t seem too bothered by your lack of response. He simply…watches you, inspecting and patient. The calm before the storm. The blue of his eyes are hard - the blues that are usually the clear azure of the sky towards you are now the callous and unmerciful rigour of the ocean.

Though quiet, you finally find your voice.

“No.” You reply, shaking your head. You bite the inside of your cheek. “No, no, I don’t.”

Cecil raises his brows. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You furrow your brows, feeling a flame of anger rise within you. He got what he wanted, right? The villain is gone, intel acquired and if he’s lucky, maybe he can even be best buds with the guy. You’ve done what he asked, he just doesn’t like your methods and, frankly, that's not his problem. He should only concern himself with the results, like he does with every other hero except you.

“Why’re you so pissed?” You ask, crossing your arms. “You got what we wanted, didn’t you? I don’t know why you’re bitching about me not-“”

Cecil barks out a laugh, baleful, mocking, shaking his head. It stops your little rant in its tracks. He can’t believe your audacity, truly. You’re a piece of fucking work, the most difficult hero he’s had the misfortune of working with. One who thinks they can do what they want, whenever they want, however they want and suffer no consequences whatsoever. It’s like you’re proud to disrespect his authority at every turn, twist and corner. You need to be taught a lesson, really, you need a firm hand. You need stern, strict discipline.

“I’m “bitching” because you treat every goddamn fight like a suicide mission. I told you to get intel, not to engage with two of the strongest villains we know of.”

“No, I-“”

“Yes, you do!” Cecil bellows. His voice rumbles and echoes around the emptiness of the headquarters. It silences you. “You’re not only endangering yourself, but also your teammates and the civilians around you. You’re not being brave. You’re not being heroic. You’re just being plain stupid. And the worst part is that you think it’s something to be proud of.”

Now that really shuts you up.

It’s shameful to admit, but you weren’t thinking about your teammates on the field. You never do. They can handle themselves like you can, can’t they? They don’t need to be watching your every move nor you theirs. But the fact that your desire to achieve the mission, your overconfidence and impetuousness may actually be a threat to the safety of your teammates, your friends and other innocent people? That doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel good at all.

It almost scares you how Cecil is acting - he is angry with you, genuinely angry, something he’s never been towards you. It’s unnerving.

You won’t admit this to Cecil, though. The pride you possess will not allow such a shameful thing.

“I’m not a babysitter. The team can handle themselves.” You grunt. Your mouth is dry. “And it’s easy for you to say all that shit considering all you do is sit behind a big screen and shout my fucking ear off!” That last part ends in a yell, your annoyance getting the better of you. “You don’t know what it’s like being out there on the field, not-“”

Cecil moves with a quickness, crossing the distance between the two of you in a second. Before you know it, he's right in front of you, glowering and domineering. A shadow is cast over his brow and eye.

“You think I’ve never been out on the field before?” He hisses. A vein throbs in his forehead. This is his last straw. “Hm? Because I have. Just because I have no powers doesn’t mean I’m weak. Clearly. And just because you happen to have powers doesn’t mean you’re invulnerable. Far fucking from it.”

You don’t have a real response to that. You know he’s right. You knew he was an agent before he became the director. You just wanted to insult him, offend him like he’s been offending you for the past five minutes. He’s good at that - offending people.

You roll your eyes, going to turn away from him. You’ve had enough of Cecil for one day.

Instead, a hand grabs you. More specifically, Cecil grabs your jaw, the broadness of his hand cupping the expense of it. He forces you to look back at him. He’s not done with you yet.

You could have pushed him away. You’re a superhero for god's sake. You could kill him with one sneeze or a flick of your finger. He’s just a human after all. But you just stand there, trapped within his grasp, like a mouse in a trap, waiting for him to speak again, to scold, berate, to rail. For someone with no abilities, he sure has a considerable amount of power over you in ways that don't just pertain to his official position.

“You want to stay on this team?” Cecil asks. “Help ‘save the world’? Get a good salary? Good benefits? A pension?” You don’t respond, too shocked by him even touching you. You think that he knows you have nothing to say.

Cecil leans in, nose to nose, whispering. “Then you listen to me. Only me. You follow my fucking orders without question. No debate. No compromise. This isn’t a democracy. You do as I say. Nothing more, nothing less. Can you at least understand that?”

You stare at him. For once, you have no comebacks, to witty quips, no snarky reply. He’s shut your mouth. You simply nod.

His eyes soften, the anger in his face melting away. His jaw unclench, his brows raise. He looks relieved.

He sighs. “That’s what I like to see.” He releases your face. You let out a sharp exhale. You didn’t even realise you were holding your breath.

Cecil steps away from you and lifts his wrist, looking down at his watch. He sighs, turning and walking away from you.

“If you were always so docile, maybe you’d actually be an S-tier hero.”

With a buzz and a flash, he’s gone.

You’re left alone in the grandness of the headquarters, your legs trembling and your hands twitching.

You try to ignore the newfound heat that’s brewing in your lower stomach.

*

a/n: i need him pregnant

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Who needs April Fools when your whole life is a joke?

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~One Shots~

Ao3- Logan One Shot Collection

A Logan Holiday Ao3

Logan Howlett // Wolverine x mutant!fem!reader

Summery: The reader tried to find Logan to celebrate the winter holidays. She finds him isolating himself from the festivities but doesn't allow him to sulk in peace.

Training Day Ao3

Logan Howlett // Wolverine x mutant!fem!reader

Summery: Professor X decided it's time for you to hone your powers for more then just defensive field work. However things get a little out of hand when Logan is the one running the simulation.

A Long Days Work Ao3

Logan Howlett // Wolverine x mutant!fem!reader

Summery: After a long day of tending to children's bumps and bruises Logan takes you out for drinks.

Do Over Ao3

Logan Howlett // Wolverine x mutant!fem!reader

Summery: After the drunken kiss you had given Logan you couldn't get the scene out of your head. So as you avoided Logan he then confronts you during training.

🔞 Bad dream (WIP)

Logan Howlett // Wolverine x mutant!fem!reader

Summery: Your nightmares had gotten worse after confronting your feelings for Logan. One night it's too much for you to deal with alone so you seek him out.

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~One Shot~

Title in progress (WIP) Ao3

Rex Splode x hero!fem!reader

Summary: After begging Cecil to join the Guardians of the Globe he finally allowed it. Only when you were being introduced alongside Immortal and Bulletproof things get a little heated causing tension to a cure. That soon dissipates however once he realizes he need to be better

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~Series~

🔞 Not Much Else (WIP-on hold)

Cooper Howard The Ghoul x f!reader

Summary: The reader is a vault experiment that makes it to the surface and after a few years joins up with The Ghoul to work a job. The reader and The Ghoul knew each other before the bombs fell but takes them a minute to figure that out.

Ao3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - (to be continued, expected to be 25 parts)

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✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ this is a writing blog of both sfw and nsfw… view at your discretion. Everything is rated mature (due to language and or alcohol depictions) unless stated otherwise. Smut will be clearly labeled and with sufficient warnings.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ she/they

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 20

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ request: not yet open

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ I’m still getting use to Tumblr’s writing format so forgive the sloppiness.

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ my worst enemy is writer's block. Someone put a hit out on that guy and quick. It tends to take me a month to write and that’s if I like where the story is going. Also for warning I can’t spell for shit but I still love to write so please forgive me :D

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ I write X Reader fics for whoever I’m simping for at the time. But my list of fictional crushes is long so I’m sure I’ll write at least one for all of them eventually.

Each master list is for overall fandoms and detailed descriptions of each one shot/series. They will also have links to the Ao3 cross post.

⊹₊⟡⋆ Marvel

⊹₊⟡⋆ Invincible (coming soon)

⊹₊⟡⋆ Fallout {TV show}

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Bᴇᴇɴ ⵊɴsɪᴅᴇ

A/N… Rex is shameless, rrrrrgh. Wrote this with an energy drink and a dream fyi, so I’m still sleepy as shit.

the sun was shining and the birds were singing—which is what you’d be thinking if you were still snoring away in your beloved dreamland. but no, reality hits you hard as soon as you awoke. your gaze snaps to the man beside you, almost a little breathless; otherwise—out of it. then what happened last night comes rushing back to you, the memory makes you groan as you stretch, feeling the soreness not just down where it was; but virtually everywhere on your body. while you couldn’t complain about where you woke up, your body was hurting like hell. and it wasn’t even from last night alone. It was the entire goddamn week.

you telepathically curse the world. fuuuck.

however, you decide to check if you were really dreaming. you lift the blanket, your eyes razing over your spottily bruised skin; mainly on your hips. though to gods, you could feel some sort of warmth against the sensation of the bruises. you blinked slowly, a semblance of confusion crawls up your spine.

“holy shit.” you mutter, shifting so that you no longer were just laying down.

so you weren’t dreaming.

whatever you were feeling in your heart, or chest—this was just unreal. you actually fucked Rex.

you snort, holding your head in your hands. leaning against the headboard of the bed. well, atleast you were comfortable. because this was some bullshit.

there’s no way you actually did it, but the evidence was indisputably clear. you couldn’t deny it.

you were used to doing one-night stands, no strings attached. no feelings whatsoever involved, all purely for the moment of pleasure. however this was a different case.

Rex actually stayed. you weren’t sure how you were supposed to feel about that, or the whole thing in general. but he wasn’t awake yet—fortunately, so you could freak out about it in quiet silence. not have to be embarrassed. though that was not to deny you were already reaching that right now.

“you good?”

His hoarse voice snaps you out of your hazy daze, and you blink a few times when you fully register that Rex was—in fact awake. you let out a low squeak when you realize, groaning inwardly at yourself. “m’fine.”

“your lookin’ pretty red though.” he drawls, chuckling as he stretches his arms. this probably was nothing new to him, but this was certainly something new to you.

you did not like it. “guess we both know who to blame for that,” you bite, though there was no venom in your words. even despite the circumstances, you try to be a nice person.

“oh me?” he laughs, “damn. I’m hurt.”

however, even full well knowing he says that. it wasn’t true, he enjoys talking with you. so when he’s seen you with some less then inconspicuous assholes trying to pull shit on you last night at the square downtown. Rex most certainly didn’t take it well, he’s trying to be a better man sure, but that wasn’t stuff he takes lightly. even for a douche like him, and he recognizes it.

“like you’d be hurt by that.” you exhale, letting your shoulders deflate. despite being square as they’ll ever be when your in working form, you didn’t have the energy to muster something more. sometimes being around Rex made that part easier.

as per his cocky demeanor, he replies, “had me there, but damn, I didn’t know someone like you could moan so loud.”

“your a whiner.” you shot back with a grin, brow arched. Rex holds up his hands in mock-surrender.

“hey, I know game when I see it.”

“Oh do you?” you laugh, crossing your arms.

Rex props himself up on his elbows, biceps flexing against the strain of his weight. his tone drops low, “s’not meant to be an insult.”

you sigh, shaking your head. “I know. it’s just—“ you cut yourself off, now rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m just surprised.”

now that had him curious, Rex crawls over. for a moment, he hesitates, but against his usual gut instincts — he lends his hand for yours.

and you don’t stop him, of course you don’t. you should, but you didn’t.

“c’mon…” he questions, brows creased with concern. “you wanna tell me?” Rex will respect it if you decline doing so, but, he just senses like it’s something you need to get off your chest.

you take the moment, this transitionary pin willowed in oddly comforting silence. “it’s not like I haven’t fucked before, but usually… it’s all one-time thing with guys I’ve met just once.”

“Mhm.” he muttered, “but there’s more?”

you nod, “it’s always no strings attached, and they never stay—but you did.”

Rex pauses at that revelation, then chuckles. your prolonged sadness suddenly dissipates, wondering why he found it so funny.

“eh, shit. i get that.” he says, firmly pulling your hand closer, interlacing with his own. a lop-sided grin tugs at his lips, “i used to hop out a lot afterwards, but y’know i realized it just only made me shittier.”

you bark out a laugh at his comment, and honest to god that alone makes his heart swell. “I like getting to wake up to a face like yours anyways.” he adds finally, still grinning.

“oh fuck you.” you insult, but nothing behind it whatsoever draws any bite. usually they do of course, but now it’s just not working at all.

seriously, what the fuck was he doing to you?

“anytime of the day?” he interjects, looking straight at you. you shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t back down, instead inching closer to you.

oh my god, you think to yourself. Rex truly always had a way of subverting the mood, whether subtly, or otherwise in true fashion. it was a uniqueness only he could perform, frankly it had made you question once or twice why or how you even had a crush on Rex.

“have you got any shame?” you smile, watching as he drops himself right on top of you.

Rex hums to himself, as if he truly was taking your question into consideration. then he shakes his head, “nahhh, I lost that awhile ago.”

you had to stifle a laugh, “you know what? that tracks.” you reach for his face, carefully holding it. though, his eyes were really… pretty. oh damn this guy.

“exactly.” Rex inhales, leans right into your touch and lets out a long sigh. “damn sure I’m not the only one though.” at that, you shake your head in disbelief. Rex wasn’t wrong though, but you were sure he outmatches you in that department.

hell—Rex was naked an entire fight, and he felt no embarrassment about it whatsoever. you point your finger right into his temple, “you… Rex are lucky I haven’t kicked you out yet.”

“guess I am.” he responds, its a note of simplicity in he says it that makes you envious. “you know what would happen if you did?”

you only smile, then decide to humor him, “what?”

“I’d be so sad.” he says, laying his head against your chest. relishing in your warmth, and you blush. feeling the heat rise in your cheeks and neck, he was so unfairly beautiful when it looked like he was at peace.

you decide to pat his head, threading your thumb against the sleekness of his hair. “that’d be a first, but i would feel too bad.”

“good,” Rex sighs, almost impossibly nuzzling in closer. he moans, “keep doin’ that, please.”

you almost shiver at the noise, laying your other hand against his back. you fully commit to carding your fingers through his hair. “you really like this huh?”

“feels nice.” he admits, and you roll your eyes in slight disbelief. nonetheless—you continue doing as per his request, taking residence in this little world of yours.

if this had been you and him way earlier, maybe five months back. you would’ve accused Rex of being replaced by someone else entirely, because this was way too domestic. while it was unusual, you didn’t mind it. you definitely wanted going to commit this softness to memory, because you weren’t sure if you ever were going to see this side of him ever again.

a soft buzz interrupts your stream of thoughts, and you realize it was your phone. so you stop your ministrations, you hear a low huff immediately.

he curses breathlessly, motherfuck—he was really enjoying that. “who is it?” Rex mutters.

“dunno, I’m lookin.” you respond, dragging your free hand up and down against his back. continuing on with your other, you check the notification—

“shit.” you cursed, groaning. “it’s my brother.”

he lifts his head up, Rex was surprised, “you got a bro?”

you nod at him, ripping your eyes away from the screen. “he’s just asking if I could come over to his place to help with his shit. dumbass won’t specify.” you roll your eyes, “whatever he means.”

“well that’s stupid.” he replies, raising a brow. Rex leans forward, taking the phone out of your hand. you stutter at his sudden action, but he only just sets it face down on the space of the bed beside you. he then returns his gaze to you, and leans closer, waiting for you to be able to say yes.

you were confused, but then the realization sets in. you couldn’t repress your smile, leaning forward to slot your lips against his.

Rex hums, trying to let his mind get muddled. your the one who pulls back, and he stops. “the dude can wait can’t he?” he asks, and you shrug.

“maybe,” you replied, sighing as you your forehead against his. “but I can’t just stay in here the whole time. I’m gonna get questioned, and damn thoroughly might I add.”

Rex just only groans, rolling his eyes. he leans back a comfortable distance, a light flickering in his gaze, “I could come with you?”

“But then that’d just make things weird.” you refute, squaring your shoulders halfway. at your words, Rex laughs.

“I’ve been inside you.” he grins, resting his hand against your chest as if to emphasize his point.

“pretty sure we’re past that point.”

[clip-the-simp]

ᝰ.ᐟ mama cat

✮ cecil stedman x gn!hero!reader

sfw. fluff. no pronouns. cats. mentions of animal abandonment. cecil being cecil.

⤷ you have a thing for strays.

wc: 1.3k

a/n: another cecil fic <33

masterlist

*

Cecil looks pissed.

If his quick, furious stride, the wrinkled frown on his face, his balled up fists and the fact that it looked like steam was coming out of his ears was anything to go by, then yes.

Cecil is angry.

For good reason, you suppose.

You did ignore him when he was speaking to you over the communicator and then proceeded to simply take it out of your ear to stop listening altogether. His voice gets annoying after a while.

But you had a good reason, too.

Just as you were about to take off after a solo mission well done, you spotted a cat. It was a small cat, white fur soaked and matted from the abusive rain. Its blue eyes blinked at you slowly.

“Awww.” You had said. “Hi there.”

You stalked closer to it, shrinking yourself and holding your hands out. You didn’t want to scare the poor thing.

It tilted its head at you. As soon as you came within a metre of it, the cat turned around and trotted away. Not scurry away in fear, or sprint away in fright.

It wanted you to follow it. So that’s what you did.

That’s how you found a litter of almost identical, newborn kittens in a flailing cardboard box, wet from the rain. The kittens whined loudly, cold and scared. The cat wants you to help her kittens.

Someone must have just left them here. You frowned at the thought.

How could someone do that to these innocent babies? They could’ve just given them to a shelter. Was that so hard to do?

Driven by righteous anger and a need to protect, you scoop up what you assume to be the mother cat, the cat who had led you here. Surprisingly, she allowed it.

Maybe it’s the hero in you that made you do it, but you couldn’t just leave something so defenceless and vulnerable to fend for itself.

“Come on.” You told the cat, as if it understood. “Let’s get you some help.”

Now, you’re standing in the reception of the GDA Hospital, drenched to the bone, holding a box full of felines with god knows how many infections, and an angry looking Cecil is storming in your direction.

Well, that’s nice.

“What did I tell you?” Cecil spits as soon as he gets close. His arms are crossed and you think if he keeps making that face it will be stuck like that forever. “Hm?”

“Uhm-“”

He doesn’t let you answer. “I said, ‘You do as I say’ and you listen.”

“No, I-“”

“What the fuck were you thinking? I thought something happened or that we lost contact. I need to know what’s happening so I can keep you safe. Is that a difficult concept for you to grasp?”

“Look-“”

“No, you look- What the hell is that?”

Cecil looks down at the box in your arms. A tiny ‘meow’ can be heard. He looks back at you and blinks.

“What. Is. That.”

You chuckle, nervous. You really can’t tell if he’s confused or still angry at you. You pull your cape hood down.

“I found them.” You shrug. “The mom-cat led me to the rest of the kittens. At least, I think she’s the mom.” You open the box, showing them to Cecil. “See? I think someone just left them there. So I bought them back here to get them looked at and stuff. Can you believe someone would do that? A whole bunch of newborn kittens just left on the side of the street. I should just find whoever did it and-“”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Cecil waved his hands, shaking his head. “This is what held you up? These…kittens?”

You sniffle. “Well…yes?”

Cecil sighs. He pinches his nose. “You don’t just go dark on me. You understand?”

“Yes.” You deflate, suddenly feeling a little guilty. Cecil always tried his best to keep his heroes safe and he was probably worried out of his mind. “Sorry.”

Cecil sighs again. You’ll be the death of him.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” He huffs. “Just don’t do it again.”

He knows that if any other hero did what you just did, they would’ve gotten chewed out. A warning. Perhaps even a temporary suspension of duty if he was in a bad enough mood. But you…you barely even get a shrug of the shoulders.

Seriously, Cecil can’t stay mad at you for long. You’re so brave, throwing yourself into danger at the detriment of his beating heart yet he can’t help but admire you despite that. You seem to be the only hero who doesn’t glare at him in irritation or even hatred. How you look at him with twinkling eyes, full of energy and so eager to please, especially please him…

So sue him if he goes easy on you.

“Yes sir!” You salute.

Cecil winces. “Don’t do that.”

You grin at him. He looks away.

A hospital employee just happens to walk by. You jump at them.

“Hey! Excuse me!” The doctor pauses. She looks very confused. “Can you help these kittens? I found them when I was on a mission. They were in the rain, I think they might have hypothermia or something…” You look over to Cecil. “Don’t you guys have a vet in here or something?”

“This is a hospital for people.”

“You have a McDonalds.”

“No, no, the Pentagon has a McDonalds.”

“Well it wouldn’t hurt to have a vet. We have animal heroes too.”

Cecil pauses. “… I guess that’s true. Maybe those tax dollars can go to something useful…”

The confused doctor looks between you and Cecil. She then looks over to Cecil for confirmation. Cecil closes his eyes and nods, exasperated.

The doctor cautiously takes the box of kittens from your hands. “…I’ll see what I can do.”

*

Later that night, you sit with the cat and her kittens. They had their own hospital room and everything. You were right - she was the mother of those kittens. She was barely an adult herself.

Mama cat was spayed, chipped and vaccinated along with all of her babies.

You smile as she purrs under your strokes. She is so adorable. Saving these cats is the most rewarding thing you’ve done all week.

The door to the room slides open - it’s Cecil.

“Still here?”

You nod. “I didn’t want to leave them alone.”

He huffs. “There’s like, seven of them. I don’t think they’re lonely.”

“It’s hard being a single mom. Maybe mama cat needs help.”

Cecil hums. He watches as you look over at all of the kittens, trying to give them an equal amount of attention.

It’s strange. You can cause so much damage, do so much destruction and yet here you are - doing baby voice to some abandoned kittens.

“Can we keep them?” You ask.

“Who?”

You tilt your head. “What do you mean ‘who’? Us.”

Us? You and him? Cecil likes the sound of that more than he wants to admit.

“Have you forgotten what my job is? I can't exactly go around chasing after cats. Also, their piss stinks.”

“You’re the US government. Think of something! Get a pet sitter. Make a pet room. Just for these cats.”

“I-“”

“Pleaaase? You gave Shapesmith a racecar bed.”

“Shapesmith is a martian child in an adult's body.”

“Exactly! So you like to help children.” You gesture to the kittens. “Help these kittens, Cecil.”

“Look-“”

“Please?”

Those damn eyes again. So endearing.

It’s really hard to say no to you. And Cecil is so easy.

“…Alright. I…I’ll see what I can do.”

“Yay!”

He points his finger at you. “No guarantees.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “No guarantees.”

Cecil wonders why he continues to do this job - to question his morals and character at every turn, to wonder if he’s the “good guy” in all of this, to be barely tolerated and downright despised by those around him.

Maybe this is why.

To help abandoned kittens and see the soft smile spread across your face.

*

[clip-the-simp]

ᴀʟʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟᴇᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀᴛʏ ᴏꜰ @ꜱᴏʙʙɪɴɢꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛᴇʀ

they do it in porn (mark grayson)

party games (mark grayson)

full of shit (rex sloan)

who's your daddy (rex sloan)

the colour silver (cecil stedman)

[clip-the-simp]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][smidge of angst][boss/subordinate][no nudity][public sex][young cecil][standing sex][oral (f! receiving)][fingering][creampie][standing missionary][he's a lil' bit of a piner]

Cecil thumbs over the smooth surface of an aged picture, pulled out of the safe haven of his wallet. He feels the coolness of the image, weathered blue eyes lowering to his beaming face, dimples deep in his cheeks and the youth is so apparent. Beside him, you're wearing one of those childish plastic tiaras with fluff around the edges, arms crossed over your chest and pretty eyes narrowed into a scowl.

And Cecil swallows, a slender fingered hand moving to tug on the tie around his neck, loosening the loop until it hung lazily and his hand wraps around the crystal tumbler. He keeps his gaze on the picture, eyes softened uncharacteristically and heart panging with a sense of longing.

It's been at least 30 years.

30 years without hearing your snide remarks, without being told that he's a walking, talking advertisement for birth control, without being punched in the throat.

Cecil brings the glass to his lips, ice clinking around in the brown liquid, and he inhales sharply. The bittersweet scent clogging his mind for a minute and for once, he's not holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He simply holding your paperwork.

Cecil understood why you were always in such a bad mood. A permanent scowl etched onto your face, the way you'd rub at your temples and bark orders.

Assistant Deputy Director. That was your position.

Forced to do the work of those above you, and receive none of the credit. And Cecil's pure little heart couldn't help but pity you.

"I got that coffee you asked for." Cecil hums softly, setting the paper cup on your dimly lit desk, papers scattered and the sleeves of your shirt rolled up to your elbows, pens tossed haphazardly and you continue working.

"I didn't ask for coffee." You state, gaze remaining glued to the documents in front of you. Documents that were definitely above Cecil's pay grade but you couldn't be bothered to obscure them from his view. Not when he watches you with those pretty blue eyes, silently willing you to meet his gaze. Until you do.

"You didn't have to." He speaks softly and you let out a soft breath, fingers curling around the cup and bringing it towards your lips, palms heating up and you inhale the aroma. Strong and just the way you like it.

And you sigh.

"Oh, Cecilia. Where would I be without you?" You coo sweetly, before taking a sip. The coffee is scorching the inside of your mouth, but your training taught you to never show weakness so instead of 'hashafashasha'-ing your way into cooling the coffee, you simply swallow. Feeling the burn all the way down to your belly before setting the cup down.

"Was it hot?"

"Very."

Idle chatter flows like a river between the two of you, your hands continue to sift through the documents, signing, blacking out what needs to be erased and editting plans for various projects.

And Cecil hums quietly.

"You know, ma'am, I've never seen you do the birthday walk." He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, brilliant blue eyes trained on your features as

"My birthday's on a weekend."

"Which weekend?"

"That's classified." You dismiss him with ease, peeking up at him from beneath your brows and my God, do you wish you didn't.

Pretty blue eyes locked on you like you're the only thing in his world, lips looking so perfectly rosy, and blonde strands fall over his forehead, so messily majestic. And you swallow.

Before begrudgingly admitting the date.

"That's... Today." Blonde brows scrunch into a frown as he straightens up just a bit, his tie hanging limply down the front of where his shirt sits so snugly around his torso, tucked into the front of his pants and sleeves rolled up just enough to expose that classy wristwatch.

Gold. But it was too warm, in your opinion.

"What? No, that's crazy." Your sarcasm is layered on thick enough for him to know you're fucking with him, and if it isn't, the twitch of your lips give you away. And you let out a breath, before glancing at Cecil.

"If you sing, I'm calling you Cecilia for the rest of your life as well as making you clean latrines."

"I'm a high ranking agent."

"And you have arms and a nose. Essential for scrubbing shit stains from porcelain."

And Cecil grimaces. "Why do I need a nose for that?"

"I'd like for you to smell me abusing my power."

God. Cecil wishes he'd sang to you. He imagines the way your lips would've curled into a begrudging smile, the way the corners of your eyes would crinkle and the way your cheeks would flush, becoming heated.

He glances towards the framed picture that he usually keeps tucked in the locked compartment of his desk.

Aged and frayed, folds and disappeared pigment where the picture had been folded up so many times in so many different ways.

Flushed cheeks and hazy eyes stare back at him, kept pretty behind a glossy glass frame. And his fingers absentmindedly twist at the ring on his pinkie.

Your favourite metal, pretty and polished. Not a scuff in sight.

"This is ridiculous."

Carnival lights flicker in the emptiness of the night, the sounds of fun and laughter surrounding the two of you as you continue to walk between the various stands. A plethora of rides, of attractions, of snacks.

"If you can stop your complaining, miss, maybe you'll enjoy it." Cecil grumbles, before he feels the way your hand reaches for his, your pinkie wrapping around his so sweetly. And he glances down towards your interlocked hands.

"You look like the type of guy to get lost." You mumble. "Or touched."

Cecil can taste the cotton candy on his tongue, he can feel the warmth wrapping around his pinkie and he slumps into his seat, staring ahead into the emptiness of his office. He can hear the giggles that would slip past your lips whenever he'd lose at something.

He feets the lush grass beneath his shoes, he feels the cold breeze whipping at the back of his neck. And he swallows, bringing the Scotch back up to his lips, taking a mouthful.

"Win me a teddy bear."

You stare at Cecil with a blank, almost expressionless face. Watching him stare down at you with the sweetest expression and you let out a groan, handing your pretzel before you lick the sugary sweetness from your fingers.

And God, watching you lick your fingers felt like watching sin be born.

Your pink tongue dragging along the pads, lapping and sucking, until you deemed them clean enough and you stepped up.

Readying your eye at the scope, before aiming.

6 faux ducks in a row, and that gave Cecil the pick of the litter. And by natural instinct, he grabs the one that looks the most like you.

A frowning turtle.

"Doesn't it look like you?" Cecil hums, before angling the turtle towards you, allowing you a good look at the shoddy stitching and the mismatched cotton used for the body.

"Why d'you think it does?" You take another bire of your pretzel.

"Because you're turtle-y coming outta your shell."

Cecil smiles at the thought of how you turned to face him. So slowly.

Wind whipping at your hair, tresses framing your face so perfectly that he would've thought he was recalling painting, rather than a person. You were a sight for sore eyes.

The shitty joke had somehow managed to get you to let out a laugh. Melodious, sweet and so, so... Addictive. He'd instantly marked the sound of your laugh as his favourite sound. The cacophony of wheezes and breathless coughs had his heart clutching, even now.

And Cecil takes another swig.

This time, straight from the bottle.

"Shit..." Cecil's voice is breathy, lips pressed against your pulse, one of your thighs hiked around his hips. You remain pushed against the warping mirror, prisms of light dancing over your features and that goofy ass song that plays over the speakers is drowned out by your panted breaths. And he shudders when your manicured fingers sink into the golden strands at the nape of his neck.

His breaths are deep and shaky, hands grasping at your waist and thigh, anything to bring you closer to him.

Fuck, he has your picture tucked into his wallet already. He'd have to be fucking stupid to miss the signs you've been giving him all night.

Calling him 'Cecilia', telling him that he looks like a boyscout with the way his eyes twinkle so prettily at the different attractions. Not to mention the way you fingers slid between his when you pointed out the House of Mirrors.

Cecil's cock strains against the front of his slacks, his hips slotted between your thighs, and he shudders when he feels the way your nails scrape against his scalp. "Well shit..." He breathes out. "I like that..."

Cecil swallows, the back of his neck set aflame wth a deep blush, and he simply inhales through his nose.

And he's surrounded by silence. Delving deeper into memories that threaten to escape him with each visit.

Soon enough, Cecil found himself guiding your thigh to rest on one of his broad shoulders, meaty hands pawing at your thighs, lips pressing haphazard kisses along your hosiery-clad thighs, before he rips a hole into the nylon.

His knees dig into the cool linoleum tiles beneath him, but it does nothing to cool the flame that seems to be scorching just behind his flesh.

Cecil's hands paw at you, fingers tugging your panties to the side and his tongue drags through your sloppy folds, and he just loves the way your belly dips inward at the feel. And he groans. Your hand moves to rest on the crown of his head, nails scraping along his scalp, fingers disappearing between his blonde strands and you sigh.

Your breath stutters, head tipping back against the mirror, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth because sound travels. Especially when it's a high pitched moan because he has those perfect and pouty lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on it like it's a fucking treat.

This is definitely against the rules. This could be seen as an abuse of your power, but you can't really find the urge to give a shit. Not right now when his tongue's dipping into your spasming hole and definitely not when his nose is bumping at your clit so teasingly.

"Such a pretty pussy." He croons, diamond eyes glossy and chin coated in a slick sheen, and he slides one of his hands up your thigh, fingers tracing along your slit when his tongue goes back to lapping between your folds.

Your brain turns to a muddy puddle, threatening to leak out your ears when one of his long fingers are buried in you, all the way to the knuckle. And he curls the digit, a calloused fingertip presses against that gooey spot that makes your knees buckle.

"Holy sh-shit..." Your hands are cradling the back of your head, your lashes fluttering and your chest heaving, kiss swollen lips parted to let hot puffs of air escape your lungs And choked up throat.

Fingers fuck into your cunt, dragging against your insides with a skill that makes your toes curl in your heels, and you're so confused as to how you're even able to stand up.

Your body slumped and your breaths weak and whiny, staring down at him from below fluffy lashes.

There's something so earnest about the way he sucks at your cunt, lips finding purchase around your sloppy folds and eyes so glazed over, you're wondering if he's enjoying this more than you are.

His hips buck into nothing when you come. You spasm around his fingers, breathless gasps slipping from you with the ease that water slips through the cracks in stone.

And his free hand palms at his cock through his slacks, brows scrunching into a cute little frown before he pulls back, gossamers of your wetness clinging to his lips.

His eyes lower to where your slick drips down his palm and he licks his palm clean, pink tongue savouring the taste of you and he smears his saliva-coated palm along your cunt.

Before rising to his feet.

His breath stutters in his withered lungs, face burning a bright red at the memory. The dimness of his office is a weak consolidation, slumping back against Italian leather and he glances towards the ceiling.

He remembers the way you sighed when he pushed into you, clingy pussy immediately wrapping around him so snugly and he remembers the way your arms snaked around his neck.

And he takes another swig. The liquor burns on the way down but it does nothing to quell the fiery pit in his belly.

"Shit..." Cecil groans. "Too tight— m'not goin' anywhere, doll." He lets out a breathy laugh when he watches the way you hide your face in the curve of his neck, nails digging into his broad shoulders and you're barely able to stand up.

You're so warm, slick dripping down your thighs and soaking your pantyhose, your panties tugged to the side and your gooey walls fit him so snugly.

The sounds you make when his hips meet yours with each roll is downright nefarious. Breathing sweet sighs and moans into his ear, your nails leaving scratches along the back of his neck and your thigh hooked around him, bringing him closer.

He's not even pulling out properly, you won't let him. The blonde tufts of his happy trail grinds against your clit teasingly, the sensation making your lips part. Spit-slicked and rosy, and he can't not kiss you.

Cecil's lips press against yours with the kind of desperation no subordinate should have. Ever.

Tongue brushing against yours, and he's kissing you like he's trying to remember you forever. To remember the way you feel.

And he sighs into the kiss when you suck on his tongue.

Cecil's not looking down. He can't afford to. He doesn't wanna look at where your pretty cunt's wrapping around him like a fucking leash, where you're creaming around him and Cecil whines.

Panted breaths escape him and he hides his face in the crook of your neck, hands grasping the fat of your ass beneath your skirt, bringing you closer with each desperate fuck into you.

His flushed tip presses slick and messy kisses against your cervix, a perfect curve that hits that spongy spot with each sloppy thrust and he's damn near embarassed that he's rushing towards his orgasm with the speed of a freight train.

And he swallows. Hard.

"I can't pull out." He pants. "I just— I can't, I don't want to. Shit, 's so good..."

And he babbles. He's embarassed. But he's only been fantasizing about fucking you like this for the last 4 years.

Picturing how your tits would press against his chest in missionary, how he'd inhale that sweet perfume up close rather than just the ghost of it when you walk past him.

"Then don't."

Cecil takes a deep breath to clear his mind. He doesn't need to be painting the inside of his slacks with a load that's been aching to be emptied into you.

He glances longingly at the pictures of you. The expression on your face, the matching smiles you wore for the staff photos. And he glances at the ring on his finger, glinting in the light of his desk lamp.

"Keep this. In case I die." You hum softly, sliding one of your many rings onto his hand instead, picking his pinkie as the chosen digit.

You're supposed to go... Negotiate with some firebreather, Director's orders in hopes of assembling a team of heroes.

"You'll be fine." Cecil reassures, pressing a kiss against your palm, looking down at you with that adoring expression.

"Whatever, Cecilia."

He feels the way his throat burns at the memory. And he glances towards the watch on his wrist.

Roman numerals, silver with a black, leather strap. Worn and frayed, but still visibly well-maintained.

"Found this." Cecil stares down at the box in his hand. A sleek wristwatch, displayed on a tiny pillow. Silver, with black leather straps. And a barely visible 'C.S' engraved on the back.

And a tiny note.

'Always thought you'd look less faggy in silver.'

He remembers the way his body nearly went limp. The way his stomach dropped, the way his throat tightened and the burn that seemed to scorch the back of his eyes.

And Cecil glances towards the watch on his wrist, thumb brushing over the leather.

"You were right." He mumbles. "Silver looks better."

Taglist:

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