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boopsiesdaisies · 2 months ago

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being near each other

bob reynolds/sentry x reader | 2,130 words | angst&fluff | gn!reader

THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS

tw: panic attacks, swearing

bob and you are both so bad at feelings, but maybe you'll find a way to make it work?

a/n: i'm down bad crying at the gym, why does he look like a kitten in a storm drain, but ripped as shit??

link to part two!

____

Living with the New Avengers was the most difficult task that you had encountered in your life. Sure, you had defeated your fair share of villains, but living with roommates was arguably the worst experience of your life. Not just any roommates, these roommates specifically. All of you had tried to establish a chore chart, but after Walker’s week of hell, it was a collective decision to abandon that. You had no idea how that man had survived life to this point, since he somehow made chloroform to clean the communal kitchen and knocked out every member of the team, you had decided that he was never to be allowed near bleach or rubbing alcohol again. If cleaning the base didn’t stress you out enough, the bass on Alexei’s speakers that played nearly 24/7, or the constant lack of personal space from working and living together was going to drive you mad. But cleaning, noise, or personal space weren’t the issues that worried you the most. The worst issue was Bob.

You had hoped that after living with the team that you would be able to shove any emotional feelings for Bob deep, deep down. It hadn’t worked. Instead, you spent everyday attempting to hide any upturn of your lips and softness for the man as the feeling in your chest continued to grow. It only grew worse with every single interaction. From sitting next to him in meetings to watching him quietly hum to himself while he washed the dishes. Alright, so maybe you watched him a lot, but that wasn’t your fault! It had to have been Bob’s fault with his dumb stupid hair, and dumb stupid smile, and dumb stupid laugh, and dumb stupid abs that you would have never expected on him–

Woah. You were getting ahead of yourself. The blush began to creep higher on your cheeks as you tried to will yourself to focus on the moment.

“Okay, who's sitting out of the mission tonight?” Yelena’s voice pulled you back to the present.

“None of you look at me, I’ve done it so many times it’s not even fair,” Alexei said.

“Who’s turn is it anyway?” Walker turned to look at the chart in the meeting room.

“No, no way, you didn’t like the chart so don’t go looking for it to save you now,” you laughed.

“Actually,” Walker’s tone increased in pitch, elevating the level of cockiness to him. “It’s your turn.”

“My turn?” You clarified, fear beginning to pull at you.

You wanted nothing more than to get out tonight, the heat of your blush was beginning to go to your head, and the idea of sitting with Bob tonight was not going to cure it.

“Yep, your turn,” Walker solidified and turned back to Yelena. “Do we want to wheels up at 0800?”

“Oh my God we get it you were in the military John, get a hobby,” Ava spat as she began to stand.

As she stood, it cued everyone else to stand, as you were left reeling. Panic began to set in as you realized you couldn’t be left alone with Bob today, your heart might explode in an ungraceful love confession at this rate.

“Wait, wait, wait, I can’t stay behind this time guys.” You said as you tried to stop everyone from leaving the table.

“It’s your turn,” Walker said.

“Okay, so it’s my turn because the chart said so, but if the chart said it was your turn you would fight it, how is that fair?” You pushed.

“Because it is convenient for him now, it’s no big deal, we each take turns staying home with Bob,” Yelena pushed back, as everyone left the room, except for you.

“Guys, c’mon,” you groaned and turned your back to face the wall, only to see the face of Bob staring back at you. There was a softness in his eyes despite the childish display you just put on.

He cleared his throat and looked down, “sorry you got stuck with me.”

“I didn’t get stuck with you, I just didn’t–” you started, quick to stop yourself. Shit, this was going to go poorly.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it. Well not used to my powers, which is why you’re stuck here, but I mean, used to being left behind.” The small smile that graced his lips made everything worse.

“You’re not left behind, it’s just not safe for you until you know what you’re doing, which is why we probably shouldn’t let Walker anywhere out of the house.” You laughed softly to yourself. “I just wanted to go today, that's all.”

You were lying through the skin of your teeth and you were hoping that the seemingly every permanent blush on your face wasn’t going to give you away.

“So, since we have a few hours to ourselves, do you want to make dinner or something?”

“Sure!” Bob bounced up, seemingly recovered from your persistence to leave earlier and bounded over to the kitchen.

If you were never letting Walker in the kitchen again, you weren’t going to let Bob near it again with a ten foot pole. You had never encountered someone who truly could not find anything or do anything in the kitchen. At every step, you guided his lost eyes to where he needed them and while the love of him was rising in your chest, you could feel the energy beginning to shift around him.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, why don’t you just taste test for me and you can help me clean up after we’re done?” You asked.

“I just want to be useful,” Bob said.

The tremble of Bob’s lower lip made you reach for him, the worst idea you had in a while. Your fingers lightly brushed against his hairline as tucked the ever persistent piece behind his ear.

“I think you’re useful, just maybe not at cooking,” you replied.

Bob’s hand covered your wrist and suddenly everything went dark as you relived the very worst moments of your life.

___

When you finally came to, the smell of burning food overpowered your sense as you gasped for breath over and over. The tears that pricked the edge of your eyes overflowed as you pushed yourself to sit up. The panic in your body began to rescind but the pain from falling to the floor seemed to dull any other sensation or cohesive thought. As you tried to reorganize your thoughts, and catch your breath, the only thought that came to your mind was Bob. He was here when you fell and now he’s gone. The panic refilled your lungs again, although it wasn’t about you anymore, it was entirely for Bob. Every fiber of muscle pushed you forward as you searched for his figure around the kitchen. Seemingly absent from the kitchen, you pulled the food of the burner worrying about turning the stove off later, as your feet began to run to the hallway of shared rooms. Your voice carried his name over and over as you prayed that you were going to be able to find him before the Void took over. You cursed yourself, feeling entirely at fault since it was your inability to come to terms with care for another person that put him in this mess. As you approached the hallway, the level of destruction increased. Overturned furniture, picture frames torn off the wall, and blocking the path, crowded you as you pushed through the mess to find him.

You heard him before you saw him. Loud sobs coming from behind the door to his room, only halfway on its hinges. Slowing, you peek through the door to see him. Balled against the furthest corner of his room, with hands pressed over his ears, gasping for air just as you were only moments ago. You were so focused on him you couldn’t tell if your breathing was still ragged.

“Bob?” You asked softly, praying the human part of him was still winning the fight.

He didn’t respond to you as you pushed through his room. The broken wood and glass fragments crunched under your shoes as you stepped closer to him. The darkness pulled away any of the light near him or of the setting sun in the window, covering the edges of his arms. You crouched down, and sat next to him.

“I’m going to touch you okay?” You asked as you reached to rub his back.

“No!” He pulled away, “you can’t, it’ll happen again.”

“I don’t think it will, it’s okay, I’m just going to rub your back.” You lightly placed your hand on his back, and began to rub small circles on his upper back.

Bob began to speak again, but stuttered over his words as the sob racked through his body.

“Hey, it’s fine, take a deep breath, I can’t help you if I don’t know what's wrong.” You leaned closer to him as looked up to you.

Bob’s eyes scanned the room, he seemed so afraid. “What does it matter, you don’t care.”

“Of course, I care,” your hand fell off his back. “I care about you a lot.”

“You wanted to leave,” he said, quoting the moment from earlier and part of your heart ached.

“I did,” you agreed.

There was no point in denying the moment, but you weren’t quite sure how to vocalize why that would make sense.

“I don’t–” you began only for Bob to interrupt you.

“I don’t even know what I was thinking, rigging that stupid chart like they all suggested to get you to talk to me, why would you even want to talk to me?” He fully turned away from you in that moment.

The irony of the moment made you laugh.

“See now you’re laughing at me and –” He started.

“No, I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at how bad we are at…this.” You gestured to the invisible this, and noticed Bob’s breathing, while still quick, seemed to had slowed down enough for conversation. In a moment of bravery, you pulled Bob’s face back to look at you.

From this distance you could see the details in his eyes. The brightness that pulled into them as his powers grew in intensity was overwhelming. The eye contact was going to kill you as if you didn’t already want to crawl into a hole and die. Your communication skills were going to shit the longer you looked at him. The constant blush that accompanied your face when you were near him seemed to worsen, as you hoped the tightness in your chest was from the fear of sharing your feelings over another run in the Void.

“I wanted to leave because I’m afraid of talking to you,” you started.

The hurt that flashed across his face in that moment seemed to make everything worse for a moment. “Shit, not like that, not in the ‘I think you’re scary’ or ‘I don’t like you’ kinda way, but in the ‘I like you a lot and I’m afraid of real feelings’ kinda way.”

Still getting no response from Bob you kept going, “I had hoped that if I kept avoiding talking about it that it would get better. But everything you do makes me feel whole and like there's this warmth in my chest whenever I’m near you, and I’m blushing like I’m some high schooler, and it’s weird and I don’t hate it but I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“What?” The starkness of the question pulled you out of your tangent.

“I like being around you,” you said softly. “I really do.”

“You’re not mad at me?” The tears began to well in his eyes again.

“No, why would I be mad at you?” You asked.

“Because of the kitchen?” He looked down at his shoes, apparently finding something interesting in the chaos of the room.

“Did you do it on purpose?” You asked.

“No!” Bob started, before you stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Then I would never be mad at you.” You did your best to sound reassuring.

After a few moments of silence, Bob spoke. “I don’t know how to talk to you either, but I like being around you.”

“Okay, so we’ll work with that.” You smiled. “We’ll just start with being near each other.”

Bob’s eyes met your eyes again. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you replied as you brushed the piece of hair out of his face again. This time, his eyes were back, the blue looking almost gray in the low lighting of the room.

“What the fuck did you two do?” Yelena’s voice pulled the two of you out of the moment.

You really hated your roommates at that minute.

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yanderedrabbles · 5 months ago

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Yandere Days of the Week

Monday is your grouchy and uptight coworker. He's a stickler for the rules and not someone who confesses his feelings. He'll usually push his spectacles up his nose and frown at you whenever you try and do something new, no matter how simple.

"What did I say about filling out the spreadsheets by yourself? You've confused all the figures."

He'll push both you and your chair out of the way and settle himself at your desk like one messed up spreadsheet means the death of the whole company. If you ever try and thank him, he'll glare at you like you've insulted his whole bloodline.

"Tch. Just ask me next time."

If you pay attention, you might notice the blush that tinges his cheeks whenever you smile at him. You might notice the way he straightens his already perfect tie before coming over to harangue you about company dress code and your slightly-too-short skirts. (Why is he noticing your skirt length to begin with? Perv).

Luckily for him, you're usually too irritated or harassed to pay attention. His secret crush will be staying a secret for as long as he can manage.

Tuesday is your overly sweet neighbour. He introduced himself to you the second you moved in - offering you a tupperware of homecooked food because he knew exactly how overwhelming moving in could be. He's the guy you call when you need a shelf hung up or a stubborn jar opened. He'll raise his brows when you thank him, secretly pleased that you asked for his help.

"That's what neighbours are for, right?"

He doesn't mention that the previous tenants left him a spare key to your apartment. What if you get hurt one day while you're locked inside, with no one able to reach you in time? It's safer for you both if he keeps it a secret.

And if he occasionally let's himself into your apartment while you're at work, it's just to keep an eye on the place. It's what any good neighbour would do. So stop wondering what the white stains on your panties are, okay?

Wednesday is your unassuming classmate. They're the quiet kind, apt to fade into the background without meaning to.

At first, they were envious of you. Pretty, clever, friendly - you aren't the type people can easily ignore. They watch you whenever they can, desperate to somehow copy that elusive charm that makes you so special.

It doesn't work, obviously. When they try smiling like you it looks stiff and unnatural. When they copy your outfits they feel exposed, self conscious. When they try wearing the same perfume as you they break out in hives that last all week.

They can't be you. No one can.

But they aren't going to give up so easily. Maybe your luck doesn't come from clothes or hair or makeup. Maybe it's something deep inside of you, something that can be ripped out and kept for themselves.

They're going to learn what makes you so special, even if it means following you home with duct tape and chloroform.

Thursday is your favourite professor. He's the quietly confident type, the kind of man who doesn't have to shout to keep the lecture hall's attention. He's insightful and empathetic, his brown eyes always warm.

You trust him totally and completely. You don't notice when he starts resting his hand on your lower back whenever you stand next to him. You don't notice that your papers are always graded more harshly than your classmates. You don't realise he wants you, not even when he offers you private office hours despite his packed schedule.

You're a real cock tease, always looking at him with those doe eyes and pretty lips. He's a patient man - he'll have you eventually. It doesn't matter if it takes him two weeks or two years, he'll keep dropping your grades until you beg him for help.

You trust him. You really, really shouldn't.

Friday is the star athlete that everyone admires. Handsome, confident, clever. A man like that would usually invite envy, would get dirty looks thrown at his back and nasty surprises in his locker.

Not him though. Everyone loves Friday.

Well, everyone except for you. There's something about him that frightens you. Underneath his golden boy facade, there's something rotten and selfish.

You don't realise he's noticed your dislike until he corners you after class one day. He wraps one hand around your wrist as everyone files out of the lecture hall, too eager for the weekend to notice the slightly panicked look on your face.

"Listen, I hate to think I've done something to offend you. If I have, just tell me now and we can sort it out," he tells you, blue eyes cold and distant despite his pretty boy smile.

You tug at your wrist but his grip is unbreakable. He isn't hurting you, but his strength keeps you right where he wants you.

"We barely even know each other," you say, your eyes jumping to the door and the suddenly empty corridors. "I don't have any issue with you."

"That's a lie and we both know it. I don't want to push you, but I'm not letting you go until I know what I've done."

You finally meet his eyes. "You have it too easy in life. You get everything you want. I don't hate you. But I don't like you either."

His expression is a careful blank. "I'm not going to apologise for what I have or for what I've been given."

You tug at your wrist again and he finally let's you go.

"I don't expect you to," you mutter as you swing your bag over your shoulder and hurry out the door.

He watches you leave and inside him some selfish, possessive creature lifts its head and growls. You should have known - when a man with everything he could ever want is shown something he can't have, that just makes him want it all the more.

"Gonna make her mine," he says to the empty classroom. A promise or a threat, even he can't be sure.

Saturday is a party girl. The kind of bombshell who wears a tiny metallic bikini, a cowboy hat and absolutely nothing else to a rave.

She knows every kind of cocktail and every kind of fun time pill. She's shamelessly cocky and shamelessly outgoing. When you run into her at a concert, she'll get you all the way to the stage no matter how packed the crowds are.

You'd think a girl like that would know all about boundaries and consent and you'd be right. The thing is, she ignores it just as easily as she ignores speed limits and DUI citations.

She'll kiss you when you're too drunk to say no. She'll give you pills that she knows you can't handle just to take you home. She'll ignore you when you try and push her away, weak and intoxicated and too woozy to form a full sentence.

And the worst part? She knows you won't report her. Girls can get drunk and touchy without it ever being called a crime.

She'll run her hands up your thighs and nip your neck and tell you she loves you. But she's always long gone by morning.

She's just a girl, your honour. And she'll use that excuse as many times as she needs to.

Sunday is your local barista. He's an artist on the side, the kind of creative soul who can't express himself without the help of charcoal and acrylic.

He's too stoic to ever work the cash register or take orders, but he somehow always ends up there when you're in line.

He usually sneaks an extra sweet treat into your order. And if he has the time, he'll usually leave a little doodle on your receipt.

He hasn't spoken to you much, but he can feel the red thread of fate tugging you closer everyday. You're soulmates, lovers meant to be, fated by heaven and all its angels.

It doesn't matter how long it takes, you'll be his eventually. He can read it in the stars.

#Yandere Days of the week #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x you #soft yandere #yandere writing #yanderecore #Fem Reader #yandere x darling

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misserabella · 2 months ago

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your love took me hostage

dark! spencer reid x fem! reader

cw; +18 content, minors dni!, post prison! spencer reid (my beloved), no description whatsoever of reader, spencer turning into a psychopath, pervert! spencer, violence towards second characters, stalking, kidnapping, use of chloroform, spencer being completely and utterly obsessed, masturbation (spencer), blood, mutual attraction, fighting, reader being held hostage, spencer being basically a sugar daddy, manipulation, cursing, noncon/dubcon in sexual acts (reader likes it ??), fingering, multiple orgasms every time, squirting, oral sex (r! receiving), pussy talking, piv sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), spencer is hunggg, cervix kissing, spencer’s wishful thinking about fucking into your womb, breeding kink, lots of cum, reader saying no but not really meaning it, dirty talking, praise, choking, hair pulling, scratching, pet names, etc. please read all the warnings!!

dark! psychopathic! spencer who has changed. maeve’s death broke his soul. jail; his body and mind. all that was left was a brilliant brain and the broken carcass of the man that had been ripped apart by the world.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had given up on being happy. on love. until he saw you. you with that bright smile of yours, that sweet tone on your voice when you’d wish a good day to the clients on the coffee shop… his eyes met yours and it had felt as if the world —the one that had stopped moving for him— started right back up again.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who knew he had to have you when;

“sweet guy, right?” you inquired him and he frowned.

“i’m sorry?”

you smiled brighter. “you seem like one of them. let me guess...” you talked to him as you brewed a new order. “loooots of sugar in your coffee, right?” his mouth gaped and you giggled.

god. that sound. he’d kill for that sound.

“how did… how did you know?”

you shrugged. “call it barista’s intuition.”

“well...” he red out your name from your tag. and the way it rolled off his tongue. god. “you’re right.” he smiled. a real truthful smile. one he hadn’t given anyone in what it seemed like forever.

you hummed with a smile, proud of yourself —and kind of completely and utterly smitten with this man, but that was not the case, or your job.— “and what can i get you…?” your eyebrows raised and he cleared his throat. god, reid, get it together.

“spencer. spencer reid.” he gave you his name and you wrote it down on the clear to-go cup.

“well, what can i get you, spencer?” he had to bite down a groan. fuck, a moan. ‘cause the way you said his name? jesus christ. he wanted to hear you saying it over and over again. no, better-moaning it.

“what do you recommend?”

you smiled. “let me surprise you.” and you winked at him. winked.

later, when you called his name once again and gave him his order, he couldn’t suppress the groan that left his throat in delight when the sugary drink hit his taste buds, and when he saw the little smile you had drawn next to his name? he couldn’t suppress the sick need to have you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who found each and every one of your social media accounts within a few hours and may have not stalked them every day since, touching himself to your posts, to your stories. he couldn’t get enough. he would be shooting blanks and still couldn’t stop stroking his swollen —yet still painfully hard— cock.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who memorized your scheduled. he knew when you’d have a morning shift. when you’d have an afternoon one. time you’d clock in, and when you’d clock out. the color of your car. your designed parking spot…

dark! psychopathic! spencer who kept visiting you over and over again, asking for the same drink you’d made for him the first day he had met you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had learned your address by following you back to your place. he had to. to make sure you made it safe and sound. right?

dark! psychopathic! spencer who would stay near the coffee machines or sit at the bar to have a better view of you, and for a chance to chat.

dark! psychopathic! spencer whose obsession only grew when you started drawing hearts along with the smiley face on his cups —cups he never trashed and kept hidden and safe—.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who’d get jealous at anyone who approached you, that smiled at you, that talked to you…

dark! psychopathic! spencer who has been near to killing multiple men who had danced with you, touched you, tried to kiss you while you’d be out with your friends, sending them with critical wounds to the hospital without feeling any type of remorse or guilt. no one could touch you. only him could.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who’d also grow more and more scared by the passing days. with the field in which he worked in? he believed anything bad could happen to you at any given moment. he had already lost maeve. he couldn’t lose you. he had to protect you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer’s mind. who starts to scatter.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who knows he has to do this. for you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who whispers soft ‘sorry’s into your ear when you’re closing for the night, pressing a damped-in chloroform napkin to your nose until you were passing out onto his arms.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who moans when he finally, feels your body pressed against him, who gets hard just by sniffing the coconut shampoo you used for your hair. fuck. you just smelled as sweet as you were. would you taste as sweet too? he had to take deep breaths to not bust in his pants.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who knows how to make you disappear with no trace left behind. who knows what to not do to not get caught.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who’s right there by your said when your eyes snap open once again. you’re in a bed you’ve never met. in a place you’ve never seen before. “hi angel.” he’d smile, brushing off hair from your face, helping you when you hint you want to sit up.

“spencer? what-? what’s going on? where am i?” you question and he keeps that sweet smile of his, but still frowns.

“what do you mean, honey? you’re home.” and that’s when you frown looking at your surroundings.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had brought your furniture over to this renovated-basement wonderland he had spent all his money on and created just for you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had also hacked your internet search, your pinterest… and bought you your entire wishlist. that new couch you had been saving for? paid in cash. that kitchen isle you’d been dreamed of having since you were a kid? taken care of and built on your right. and that incredible brewing machine you’d been drooling over? right on the new and shiny kitchen counter, ready for you to use.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had not only bought and built you your wished apartment —in a basement, but who cares about that?—, but had stocked your wardrobe with the pieces on that said wishlist. all brands you could only dream of having. dresses, tops, skirts, jeans, heels, shoes… hell, even the latest and most beautiful bags. and jewelry. sooo many pieces of the prettiest jewelry in the world.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had spent his whole life living off the most basic things, saving all his money. money he wanted to spend on you. solely you. because you deserved it.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who doesn’t understand when you panic. when you try to get away from him. when you beg him to let you go.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who stays calm, ‘cause he knows you must be in shock. he can read your expressions, your body, almost your brain. he was trained to do so. so he knows just the right things to say, when to touch you. when to not touch you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who gives you space. who waits for you to get comfortable.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who is just waiting… to finally pounce. like predator lurking on its prey.

and the moment finally comes. and spencer is a great predator.

dark! psychopathic! spencer that groans as he kisses you like you’re the last woman he’ll ever kiss. you will be. forcefully pushing his tongue into your mouth.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who moans when you harshly bite down on his lip, filling up his mouth with blood.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who only pulls you closer despite your fighting. “keep going darling, i love it when you fight me. but you know this is just a facade you’re putting up. you know you can’t keep fighting me forever.”

you shook your head as he kissed and nipped at the skin down your neck.

“you think i wouldn’t see it? that i wouldn’t notice it? the way you looked at me that first day? how your eyes kept fleeting back to my lips when i spoke? how you’ll seek to touch me? how your body posture will change while being near me? you like me.”

“no.”

“i bet you dreamed of this, didn’t you? of me getting you all to myself… keeping you hidden where no one could see you… touch you… except for me.” you shook your head. “then why are you letting me touch you, huh? why aren’t you pushing me away?”

your back arched as his fingers met your hardened nipples. what. the. fuck? why weren’t you fighting? why were you letting this happen? why were you… liking it?

he ripped off your pajama bottoms and panties, exposing your soaking folds to his hungry eyes.

spencer hummed. “look at you. poor thing. have i broken you yet? so wet and i haven’t even toyed with you yet...”

a pitiful moan got ripped out of your chest as his fingers —long, beautiful fingers you had of course not thought about before— met your core and spencer cursed. “fuck baby. you’re dripping. all this for me?” he sucked at your neck, his fingers moving up and down in between your slick lips, fingertips meeting your engorged clit. and a gasp leaves you, hips canting for more. “spencer…” you whine and he sighs right against your ear, as if he were in pain.

and he was. he had never been this fucking hard. be was sure his cock was about to rip through his slacks.

“fuck. juuust like that, baby. moan my name just like that.”

dark! psychopathic! spencer who fingers you soooo good… deep and slow, the hard and fast. until you’re a blabbering and squirting mess, begging him to stop. but you really don’t want him to, ‘cause it feels so good…

dark! psychopathic! spencer who then leaves you to take care of his raging boner, sucking and sniffing the fingers he had fucked you with and coming so hard his sight goes white.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who slowly starts to feed you more and more of that unforgettable pleasure; sucking your nipples until they’re raw and sensitive, fingering you until unconsciousness, rubbing his hard clothed cock against your naked core to leave stains of your cum on them —which he may or may not proudly wear to work, telling the team it’s just coffee that had spilled on them—.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who spends so much time in between your thighs eating you out that his jaw will hurt for days.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who, when he finally fucks you, you’re crying. ‘cause you know you should hate him, hate all of this. but he has broken you. with his pretty face, his soft touch and way of treating you —like a goddamn goddess—, with his fingers, with his tongue, with his huge fucking cock. and you can’t help but be this wet. to want this. him.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who can’t believe just how fucking tight you are, praising you, going slow at first so you could feel every vein, every ridge, and he could feel every bump, every clench of your walls around him.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who then starts really fucking you. pounding into you until your screams filled the flat, until your nails are scratching down his back so hard your drawing blood. and he’s growling “yes baby, mark me up. i’m yours. fucking yours.”

dark! psychopathic! spencer who chokes you, who pulls your hair, making you feel a new kind of pleasure you’ve never felt before. and you want more, more, more.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who —after he’s made you cum like crazy—, nears his own release and pushes your legs onto your chest, leaving you in just the perfect mating press that pushes the head of his cock against your cervix over and over again. god, how he wished he could fuck through it and fuck into your womb. pump you full of his cum. well, i guess, just one of those things he could do.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who tells you so. just how hard he’s gonna cum. how he’s gonna fill you up with his cum, and you shake your head, telling him that he can’t come inside, that you were not on the pill.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who just smirks and chuckles as your meek voice tells him you don’t want it. “you don’t want it? are you sure about that? ‘cause this pretty thing down here sure as hell does. just listen to her. so fucking wet and ready for it. to be bred. to take my babies.” and the you moan. you fucking moan.

your face flushed. your hands clamp over your mouth. and you’re mortified. ‘cause the thought of it has you so close to the edge once again…

you’re sick.

“you want it, doll? want my baby? want me to leave you dripping?” and you shake your head, begging him to not do it, but your body betrays you, your cunt getting slicker, tighter, nipples pebbling and back arching, legs falling apart for him, inviting him deeper. “shhhhh.” he hushes your little ‘no’s. “now keep your legs like that for me. gooood fucking girl. open up. take it. take it all baby. fuck. take my fucking cum.” and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head when his fingers pinch your clit and his cum fills your womb in thick heavy spurts. “fuuuuck yeah.” he groans as he feels you cumming once again, squirting all over his stomach, his thighs, his cock, drenching the sheets. “that’s it angel. milk that cock. good fucking girl.”

dark! psychopathic! spencer who that night fucks so much cum into you that you are a dripping mess for days.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who then slowly starts to starve you from the pleasure, to make you dependent of him. to make you obsessed with him. to turn his obsession reciprocate. and it works. of course it works.

a/n; this kind of got out of hand (but i kinda love it)

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viperineee · 4 months ago

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thinking about dark!sevika who stole you from a brothel…

cw: kidnapping, slight Stockholm syndrome, dark!sevika x kinda dumb reader, manipulation mentioned, overstimulation mentioned, spitting, fingering, dubcon

it started off normally, she came to the brothel looking for a quick stress reliever when Babette introduced you two. you were new, but your body made up for your lack of experience in brothel life. so she took a chance, and she’d be a fucking liar if she said she wasn’t obsessed.

god, she had dreams nights after about how tight your cunt felt around her fingers, how well you took her rough nature. the way you babbled and cried as she pounded her cock up into you, the way your tits bounced in her face. she felt her boxers getting wet everytime she thought about it.

so she started requesting you, visiting the brothel at least twice a week. she was fucking you more than she was at the last drop, which said a lot. and you were happy to have a regular, your naive little mind ignoring the red flags she started showing after a month.

she scared off any other potential customers, threatening them the moment they looked in your direction as you strut around, tits jiggling in the tight bra. and don’t get her started on your thighs, she enjoyed the way they pressed together, just barely giving a view of your perfect cunt. they just werent good for you, they couldn’t give you what she could. and they definitely couldn’t fuck you like you needed.

sevika showered you in gifts, and you dumbly accepted them, thinking she was showing you a sign of friendship outside of the mind boggling sex you frequently had. cause people do that, right? they buy expensive gifts for people they pay for sex from? it made sense to you.

but for sevika, it wasn’t enough. she needed you, she couldn’t stand just visiting anymore. so, one night, she waited until your shift was over. you came out in a pair of shorts and a hoodie, hood up and hair barely peeking out from underneath. she walked up behind you, placing a hand over your mouth and forcing you to breathe in the chloroform. the moment you went limp in your arms, it took every ounce of strength from her to not shove her fingers in your pussy. even in sleep you were probably soaked, tight hole desperately needing to be filled.

she carried you back to her apartment, placing you on her bed. she chained you by you ankle to a bedpost. long enough that you could move around the bed freely, short enough you couldn’t reach the door if you stretched with all your might. and when you came to, you saw her sitting on the edge of the bed. her hand rubbed up and down your thigh, acting as if this were a casual situation.

when you began to squirm and threatened to scream, her hand covered your mouth, her body weight holding you down as she laid on top of you. “shhh, shh, you’re safe here with me. you were too good for those fuckers at the brothel. you wanna be here with me, right?” she whispered in your ear, and you could feel her hand cupping your pussy. you loved the sex with her, but staying with her was an entirely different situation.

her fingers pushed your flimsy panties to the side, rubbing slow circles on your clit. you felt tears prick your eyes from the gravity of the situation. you felt dirty, still feeling the throb in your pussy from her fingers. “say you’ll stay with me. forever.” she pushed two fingers inside of your sopping hole, your muffled gasp like music to her ears. you did your best to fight it off, but every curl of your fingers diminished your common sense. and sevika was loving every second of it, watching your watery doe eyes roll back into your skull when her fingers pressed just right. she might’ve cum just from the sight alone, your tears wetting her hand.

when she felt you clench around her fingers, she pulled out. you sobbed at the lack of fulfillment, feeling just so empty now that her fingers weren’t stuffing your needy hole anymore. “say it, say you’re mine.” she landed a slap to your cunt, pulling her hand away from your mouth. she knew that desperate look of yours, you’d do anything to get a chance to cum.

“pl-ease, i’ll stay. i’ll be yours, just please make me cum.” you beg her, all logic going out the window. sevika smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and pushing three of her thick fingers into you. “so desperate to cum around my fingers, you’d do anything to make me happy wouldn’t you?” her pace got faster, rougher, and miraculously deeper. “stupid whore can only think of getting her pussy stuffed, huh?” she asked, lowering her body.

sevika spit directly onto your clit, and that had you unraveling. she watched as you coated her fingers in cum, the white substance leaving a ring around her digits. “look at you, cumming around my fingers. gonna ruin you, gonna break you until all that dumb little head of yours can think of is getting split open on my cock.” she told you, the pace of her fingers not slowing down once. poor baby :(

#sevika smut #dark sevika #viper thoughts ᪥#sevika x you #sevika scenarios #sevika x reader

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thehydraethereal · 5 months ago

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ALL I SEE IS 'RED LIGHTS'

》[summary] You are shown the effects of what happens if you cross your boyfriend's line.

》[word count]: 1k (I'm shoked lol it's so short but long for me)

》[warnings]: Not proofread. This work contains dark themes and elements such as abusive relationships; heavy violence and implied homicide; obsessive behavior, mental issues; abuse; mentions of abduction and drugging; and more. This is dark, so if these warnings trigger you, do not interact. MNDI, for your own safety. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

》[note] : Thank you for reading and reblogging. Visit my masterlist and check out my warnings. Asks and new requests are always appreciated. ughhh, this is...concerning. also, for my soulmate in the district of dark art @highonmarvel. დ and a lil' something to @stargirllanaa, if you want to read :((

“Pl-please…Rafe? Rafe, please, d-don’t l-leave me h-here-” you sobbed, struggling against your boyfriend’s rough hands that were trying to secure your wrists together. “Shut up! I need to think-” he hissed, tossing you on the iron floor of the ship. You knew the pogues had got on the boat and they were your only rescue before Rafe would get to take you to a foreign country where you won’t be able to leave him and no one will ever find you, but the problem was that Rafe knew that too. And he didn’t want his plan spoiled by his sister and her stupid “friends”.

You cried harder when Rafe crouched down next to your shaky form and secured the scratchy rope with zip ties. His hair was falling into his eyes that were constantly darting from your wrists to your face. “Somebody help me-” you cried, your voice barely coming out audible from your aching throat, before Rafe slapped you hard across the face, your head meeting the wall of the tight room he was trying to put you in. “Can you just shut your fucking mouth or should I do it for you? Huh?,” Rafe growled, his heavy breath hitting your burning skin. You gave him a small nod before he got up, looking for something to use as a weapon against nothing else than his own sister and the other kids. “I-I’ll di-die down h-here, Rafe, I can’t…I can’t breathe-” you whispered, the hot and small place choking the hope out of you. Your ribs were met by the kick of his foot, and you bent your body even more to try to keep the pain out. “You should’ve thought about that before you decided to play the smart bitch, tryin’ to act like you could fuckin’ leave me.” Flashbacks of his hands dragging you by your hair to the car and drugging you with chloroform, all these just to get you on this boat made you nauseous all over again.

When he finally found what he was looking for, he shot a last glance at your trembling form then he closed the door after him, leaving you in utter and complete darkness and pain.

The only thing that you could see was the constant flickering of a red light. You did not know what to do, you felt broken. But you had to try something, unless you wanted all your friends, the only people that really cared for you, dead at the hands of the man you alone decided to let in your life. You attempted to control your breathing and just focus. Had Rafe locked the door? No, he didn't have a key, the ship was massive and there was no chance he had fully explored it. As you struggled to break free from the restraints, they were so tight that they caused your skin to tear.

Ignoring the pain, you searched with your fingertips for anything sharp that could help you escape. Your fingers came across a pointed object, causing an excited squeal to come past your lips. Sliding your wrists against the sharp edge, you eventually heard a slight noise and felt your hands become free. Tears of relief welled up, ready to spill just as warm blood ran down your hands.

As you stood up, your vision blurred from the sudden movement, almost causing you to fall again. Bracing yourself with your arms on the wall was efficient, and you managed to push the door open. You sobbed shakily, grateful for this little victory.

The happiness didn’t last because now you had to figure out a way to…find your friends, get off this fucking ship and make it out alive back to Kildare.

Small droplets of sweat rolled down your forehead and you wiped your face with both of your hands, trying to smooth down your hair and keep it out of your eyes. You took a few small steps, looking around the unknown illuminated surroundings for any signs of Rafe or other men.

A loud bang made you flinch so hard and you thought that, for a moment, your soul had leapt out of your body. Through the tears blurring your vision you saw your older brother, John B, on the dirty floor, coughing heavily and before you knew it, your terrified sight caught your boyfriend straddling him.

Rafe looked almost like a demon, his pupils so dilated his eyes were coal black, hair stuck to his wet face that was hit by the crimson lights, low growls erupting from his veiny neck. The gun in his hand was constantly hitting your brother’s face, slowly turning him into an unrecognisable bloodied creature.

You felt like your insides had been set on fire, and your feet carried you next to the two men. The tendons in your knees gave up on you, throwing you over your brother’s limp body. You did not care about Rafe anymore, you didn’t care if he’d kill you, you wanted to die right now. “Wh-what are you doing to me…?”, you whispered hoarsely, the pain becoming unbearable all of a sudden. Your ears stung, and your tears mixed with John B’s blood, dripping patiently on the iron floor. Your forehead fell on his chest, and his flimsy, yet comforting arm wrapped weakly around your lower back. Your fingers caressed his cheek, gathering the maroon liquid and tiny pieces of broken skin.

Then, Rafe’s agonizing grip fell on the back of your neck, pulling your sagging, delicate body up with his. If it weren’t for his thick bicep that had wrapped around your waist or his broad chest that was sustaining you from behind, you would have collapsed back, right next to your brother. “You are not leaving me.” Rafe snarled awfully calm in your ear, as if he didn’t just possibly murdered somebody. “Get that in your fuckin’ skull already.”

Your tears washed down the blood on your cheeks as you were being dragged further and further to the only one left in your family which was agonizingly consuming his last breaths and, as always, there was not a single thing you could do against Rafe Cameron. It always ended how he wanted.

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chemanalystdata · 2 months ago

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Chloroform Price Index: Market Analysis, Trend, News, Graph and Demand

The global chloroform market has experienced notable fluctuations in pricing due to a combination of supply-demand dynamics, raw material costs, environmental regulations, and market trends across key industrial sectors. Chloroform, also known as trichloromethane, is a colorless, volatile liquid primarily used in the production of hydrochlorofluorocarbon-22 (HCFC-22), which is employed as a refrigerant. Additionally, chloroform serves as a solvent in pharmaceutical and chemical industries, although its usage has declined in some regions due to health and safety concerns. Price trends for chloroform are heavily influenced by these usage patterns as well as regional regulatory frameworks.

In recent years, the chloroform price has seen variability driven largely by the changes in demand from the refrigeration and air conditioning industries. The increasing global need for cooling systems in both residential and industrial applications has driven up demand for HCFC-22, indirectly affecting chloroform prices. However, this upward pressure is somewhat counterbalanced by international regulatory efforts, such as the Montreal Protocol, which aims to phase out ozone-depleting substances like HCFC-22. These regulations have encouraged the development and adoption of alternatives, which in turn can suppress demand for chloroform and impact its pricing in the long term.

Raw material availability also plays a crucial role in determining chloroform prices. Chloroform is synthesized primarily through the chlorination of methane or methyl chloride, processes that depend heavily on the availability and price of chlorine and methane. Any disruption in the supply chain of these precursor chemicals can lead to production issues and consequently price hikes. Moreover, energy costs are another important factor as chloroform production is energy-intensive. Fluctuations in oil and natural gas prices tend to reflect in chloroform pricing, with increased production costs being passed down to consumers and industrial buyers.

Get Real time Prices for Chloroform: https://www.chemanalyst.com/Pricing-data/chloroform-62

Regional differences in pricing are another key aspect of the global chloroform market. Asia-Pacific, especially China and India, remains a dominant player both in terms of production and consumption. High levels of industrialization, a growing pharmaceutical sector, and increasing demand for refrigerants have kept the market vibrant in this region. China, in particular, is a significant exporter of chloroform, and any policy change or production disruption there has the potential to affect global prices. On the other hand, in Europe and North America, environmental restrictions have limited the usage of chloroform, thus influencing demand-side pressures and generally leading to more stable or declining prices.

The pharmaceutical sector remains an important consumer of chloroform, though its usage has diminished over the years due to health and environmental concerns. Chloroform has historically been used as a solvent in the production of various drugs, particularly antibiotics and vitamins. Regulatory scrutiny and the availability of safer, more sustainable solvents have led some manufacturers to shift away from chloroform. However, in some countries with less stringent regulations, the demand from pharmaceutical and agrochemical sectors continues to support the market and influence pricing dynamics.

Technological advancements and the adoption of green chemistry principles are also shaping the chloroform market landscape. Companies are investing in more environmentally friendly and sustainable production methods, which may initially increase production costs but could lead to long-term benefits and price stabilization. Moreover, recycling and recovery techniques are gaining traction, especially in regions with strict environmental norms. These methods help in reducing waste and improving cost efficiency, potentially lowering market prices over time.

Seasonality is another subtle factor influencing chloroform prices. Demand for refrigerants, and thus for HCFC-22, tends to rise during warmer months, especially in tropical and sub-tropical regions. This seasonal surge in demand can cause temporary price spikes in chloroform, particularly if the supply chain is tight. Similarly, unexpected weather events or natural disasters affecting production facilities or transport routes can lead to supply disruptions and volatile pricing.

Global economic trends and geopolitical factors further contribute to chloroform price volatility. Trade restrictions, tariffs, and shifts in currency exchange rates can affect both the cost of production and the international movement of chloroform. For instance, a weakening of the local currency in a major producer country can make exports more attractive, boosting global supply and potentially lowering prices. Conversely, import restrictions in major consumer markets can reduce demand and pressure prices downward.

Market competition also plays a significant role in determining chloroform prices. The presence of several manufacturers in Asia-Pacific fosters competitive pricing, while in regions with limited production capacity, prices tend to be higher due to reduced local availability. Consolidation in the chemical industry and strategic alliances among key players can also affect the supply chain and impact prices. Long-term contracts between manufacturers and buyers may offer price stability, but spot market prices often reflect real-time market dynamics more accurately.

In summary, the chloroform market is shaped by a complex interplay of industrial demand, regulatory environment, raw material availability, regional supply and demand dynamics, and broader macroeconomic factors. As industries continue to evolve and environmental awareness grows, the chloroform price market is likely to witness further changes. Stakeholders including manufacturers, buyers, and investors must closely monitor these variables to navigate the market effectively. Despite regulatory pressures and competition from alternatives, chloroform remains a vital industrial chemical, and its price trends offer valuable insights into the broader chemical market landscape.

Get Real time Prices for Chloroform: https://www.chemanalyst.com/Pricing-data/chloroform-62

ChemAnalyst

GmbH - S-01, 2.floor, Subbelrather Straße,

15a Cologne, 50823, Germany

Call: +49-221-6505-8833

Email: [email protected]

Website: https://www.chemanalyst.com

#Chloroform Price #Chloroform Prices #Chloroform Pricing #Chloroform News #India #United kingdom #United states #Germany #Business #Research #Chemicals #Technology #Market Research #Canada #Japan #China

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rosie-posie1313 · 11 months ago

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Bruce Wayne Fic Recs II 🦇

Fic Recs Part 1

Different By @batarangtotheheart

when batmom gets mad By @thatawesomenerdygirl

hot mama By ^

LET’S HAVE A BABY By @catxsnow

HAPPINESS By ^

CUTE SUIT By ^

Family ties By @obislittleone

Alone By @uncpanda

Nurse By @alienguts

Green Eyed Monster By ^

Unexpected Visitors By @toastedkiwi

I Saw It Coming When You Threw The First Punch By @ragingbookdragon

Friends To Arranged Marriage To…Wait, How Many Kids? By ^

Six-String By @thebigbadbatswife

If They Get Married I'd Be Your Uncle By @oh-for-fic-sake

What Is A Mother, But The Woman Who Loves Us Most? By @ragingbookdragon

Adore you By @ladyofhellhounds

Interviews By @c-nstantine

Mr. And Mrs. Wayne By ^

Batfamily and Batmom goes to Bali headcanon By @toastedside

‘Till Death Do Us Part By ^

Mothers By ^

Rough Night? By @bubblyani

Respect By @battymommastuff

Not Jealous By @bluebellhairpin

Saving Bruce Wayne By ^

Anniversary Blues By ^

In the Life of By ^

Much Loved Sister In Law By @lazydoodlesandfanfic

Rise and Shine By @alienguts

Scars By @straywords

New Edition By @alisonwritesimagines

Call mom By @cipheress-to-k-pop

The Night We Met By @alisonwritesimagines

What? By @notwonderlandsworld

Promised haven By @whirlybirbs

Bafam imagine By @ragingbookdragon

New Beginnings By @xoxo-mylove

Hcs for Bruce when his s/o wears his clothes By @vigilvntes

Forgive By @chubbyreaderchan

“A Trophy and Chloroform” By @kaleidoscopewritings19

Three’s the Magic Number By @celestialnxva

The Only Exceptions By ^

Gensei By ^

Happy Birthday Batmom By @ragingbookdragon

Time is everything we may not have By @robinsdearest

Cafes and Alleyways By @bludhavents

Shovel Talk By @makethatelevenrings

it matters to me By @reveluving

#bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batmom imagine #batman x reader #batmom #batman imagine #batfamily

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blake078 · 11 months ago

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The New Avengers Tv Series Chloro Scene

#chloro #chloroformed #chloroformedwoman #the new avengers #joanna lumley #classic tv chloro scenes

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der7py · 3 months ago

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Yandere Fashion Designer x reader

While visiting your favorite fashion designer, something seemed off. He seemed off. More panicky, more scrambled than usual. Why? Where was that cool and calm collected Antonio? Well, he was right behind you.

Warnings: People pleasing, forced isolation, panicked motions, kidnapping, deranged thoughts, extreme paranoia, guilty conscious, extreme self-neglect, locked doors, locked windows, paranoia, very minor violence, chloroform wipes, slight guilt-tripping, paranoid thoughts

You knocked on his door, the rain downpouring on you and your raincoat. That's all the weather ever was nowadays. Just rain and more rain. Which meant that little mister fashion designer was cooped up in his office all day. "Antonio! If you don't open the door, I'm gonna break in through your window!" You yelled, knocking on his door again as you tapped your foot. Finally, you heard some shuffling around. Took him long enough! As the door opened, you were met with a very disheveled Antonio. His blonde hair was a complete mess, a pencil stuck in it. Or maybe it was originally behind his ear. His eyes were wide yet the bags under them were heavy. His shirt was unbuttoned, and a tape measure hung around his neck with his sleeves rolled up.

"Y/n! I uh... I didn't expect you to come over." He said nervously, attempting to fix his messy hair, which just made it worse. You looked him over, cringing at his state of mind and appearance. You reached a hand up, pulling out a cut piece of silk out of his hair. "Yeah... completely unrelated question... how much sleep have you been getting? And have you seen what grass looks like?" You jokingly asked, which received a glare from your friend. "Haha. Very funny. Now, did you come here because you missed me, or did you come here to belittle me?" He questioned, leaning against the door with his arm. That brought a smile to your face. At least he hadn't completely lost it.

You jokingly punched his arm, letting yourself in as you took your raincoat off. "There's that sass! Was starting to think you had completely lost it in here." Antonio rolled his eyes, shutting the door and locking it as he moved past you towards the kitchen. "Don't mind the mess. I've been working on a new spring collection, so I haven't had time to properly clean." He said, moving towards his kettle to make some tea. You noticed the messy state of his usually clean house. Papers scattered across the floor, fabric loosely thrown around, and some books collecting dust. His window blinds were shut, and his door had gotten a new lock now that you looked at it. It looked like it had several new locks now.

"Hey, uh... buddy?" You started, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. The state of his kitchen wasn't much better either. You knew he wasn't a hoarder. And it didn't look like that either. It looked like somebody's mental state. "What's uh... what's with the new locks on the door? Worried somebody's gonna come and snatch your stuff?" You somewhat jokingly said, which immediately caused him to slam down the kettle and turn around. "Snatch who? Snatch what? I'm not paranoid. You're the paranoid one! I'm completely sane. Stop accusing me of things you have no evidence of." He rambled, a crazed look in his eyes before he took in a deep breath. "Sorry. I've been on edge lately. Guess being cooped up in my office hasn't been the best, huh?" He laughed, turning back around to finish making tea.

Well, that was weird. He never had outbursts like that. Was his mental state okay? You awkwardly laughed it off with him, but your mind was preoccupied. Eventually, he poured you both some tea, sitting down himself. "I guess nerves haven't done well for me. I keep thinking this new collection will flop." He said, trying to excuse his sudden outburst. You frowned, setting a hand on his as he sipped his tea. "Yeah, I get that. But don't dress so much, okay?" You said, giving him a smile before sipping your own tea. He smiled back, taking in a deep breath before standing up. "Would you like to see the collection?" He asked, which earned a nod from you. You stood up, following him out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his office. As he opened the door, you were met with multiple fashion dummies, beautiful clothes hanging on them.

"With all the rain, I thought I'd make my spring collection rain themed." He said casually, looking at the designs he made. You slowly touched them, feeling the soft fabric. You could tell he put a lot of work into what he made and that he wasn't like most fast fashion companies who just threw something cheap out and then moved on. There was actual skill in these outfits. You always knew he was talented. He always had been talented. But this, actually feeling and seeing his work up close, really showed you, his skill. "This is fantastic." You mumbled, looking back at him with awe. You kept forgetting that he could just make things like this out of thin air. "Antonio this dress with the glitter is amazing! And it doesn't even feel grimy and gross! How did you even manage this-" You started, but as you turned around; he was gone.

"Antonio? Buddy? Where'd you go?" You asked, peeking your head out the doorway as you looked around the corner. Where did he go? You decided to wait a little longer, maybe he had to use the bathroom, or take an important phone call from his boss! But he always told you if he was going somewhere, even if he was going to go open a window because the house was stuffy. After about 15 minutes of waiting, you were getting worried. You needed to go find him. You left the room, venturing down the hallway to try to and find your beloved fashion designer. But something looked different. The windows. They were locked.

You walked over to the window, attempting to open the big window where his book corner/think station was. But it wouldn't open. "Antonio? What's wrong with your windows?" You called out, but no answer came. No calm and warming voice to soothe your fears. You walked downstairs, and the same thing happened. The windows were locked. And that mega lock door? Sealed nice and tight. Fuck it. You needed to leave. Maybe this was just a new way of saying his social battery was gone and he needed some space. "Antonio I'm gonna go home now. I'll see you tomorrow?" As you turned around to try and pry the locked door open, a cloth was suddenly shoved against your nose and mouth, and two strong arms wrapped around you.

"No. No, you can't leave." A familiar voice said, and you knew it was Antonio. "I have done everything to make you want to be with me. What am I doing wrong?" He asked, his voice shaky as he started to laugh. "Is this house not quiet enough? Do I scare you? Is my job too demanding? I promise I'll make you a whole collection. I'll make all your clothes for you! Would that be enough!?" You were starting to lose unconscious, and it was too late to fight him now. How had you not seen the signs? The locked doors, the people pleasing over the past few weeks, the begging for you to stay longer. You just chalked it up to him being lonely and scared. But you should've know.

Your eyes slowly closed, and your body went limp in his arms. You didn't know where you would end up after you woke up. But something in your gut told you, you wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

"I'll keep you safe. I promise. I'll make you so happy, so loved, so cherished, you'll never want to leave. I'm sorry it had to come to this. But I love you too much. Forgive me."

#yandere #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere fashion designer #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you

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cold-kitty · 1 year ago

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The winner of this week's poll was... Yandere Murderer/Serial Killer!

Includes: murder (not darling), nsfw (not with darling), stalking, a little fluff, cameras

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Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer that had planned to kill you as his next victim.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who stalks you to figure out your routine to find when you're most vulnerable, but he ends up finding you cute.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who doesn't kill you right away just for his entertainment, he wants to figure out what makes you tick and use it against you. you're so cute when you're angry!

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to see you as an actual person and not just someone for him to kill, which is a first.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to really like you, who waits until you're not at home before installing discreet cameras in your house.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who watches you in his free time, every second of it.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who touches himself when you do, zooming in on your hand on your genitals.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to leave you little gifts. your favorite candy bar? you suddenly have one. you like a certain animal? you have a new plushie. you wanna watch a movie? you suddenly have the DVD. he loves seeing your face light up every time you get a gift.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who feels enraged when someone picks on you. how fucking dare they! they should be hung on a meat hook like the animal they are!

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who feels his heart sink when he sees the look on your face when you find the body of the person, he wanted to comfort you. he would be more careful hiding the bodies now. there's also an onslaught of gifts the next day.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who finally, finally decides to take you. he makes sure he's gentle with you, he doesn't dare inject you with anything, he uses a simple cloth dipped in chloroform. he doesn't want to restrain you, but he's scared you'll run off.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who holds you until you wake up, rocking you gently.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who's genuinely so happy to have you now, even if you're scared or don't like him.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who showers you in gifts and love, who cuddles you while still respecting your personal space. he doesn't dare to force you into anything with him, he loves you too much.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who doesn't stop trying, who waits patiently for your love even if it hurts him.

Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who stops killing people for you, he knows you don't like it and he doesn't like how scared it makes you.

If you end up falling for Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer, he immediately starts breaking down in happy tears. he's clinging to you, burying his head in your neck or chest, desperately kissing anything he can. he's so goddamn happy, he's waited so long for this.

If you don't end up falling for Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer, he'll just wait, he needs you to love him back.

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How was this for my first fic? Feel free to ask for expansions of this idea, like darlings that act in a certain way. Mean, willing, scared, etc..

~🐈‍⬛

#yandere x male darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere murderer #yanderefanfic #yandere serial killer #male yandere

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cxrrodedcoffin · 8 months ago

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❀ 𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 ❀

Kinktober fic 3: Cooper Abbott ❀ Kidnapping/Gunplay/CNC

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠!

a very special thank you to @xxbimbobunnyxx for the chat sesh that inspired many of the special little details in this, love you dolly!! ♡ 𐙚 ‧₊˚

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dom!cooper, stalker!cooper, bimbo!reader, kidnapping, dubcon, stockholm syndrome, voyeurism, gunplay, masturbation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cnc “forced” breeding, dacryphillia, daddy kink, creampie, choking, bruising, fem + afab reader, chloroform mention, alcohol mention, oral fixation, degradation, pet names (bunny, sweetheart), oral sex mention (m + f receiving), mutual obsession

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k

𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞-𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬, 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 “𝐧𝐨” (𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝), 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐝𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 “𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝” 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐈𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞.

Cooper had a soft spot for you, he always had, from the first day he saw you walking past the fire station on your way home. He’d become obsessed, learning your daily routine, your work schedule, what days you liked to go out with your friends. He’d stay out all hours of the night to watch you through the window of your apartment. He loved that you were a night owl, staying up late to dance around your bedroom, watching movies late into the night, even putting on a show for him every time you got new clothes, flashing him your pretty breasts and perfect ass without even knowing it, because you always kept your blinds open, silly girl.

He spent weeks buying things to match the decor he saw around your apartment, pretty pink curtains to put over the small basement windows, a blanket with little bunny motifs all over it, ruffled satin pillow cases just like the ones you had on your bed, even going from pet store to pet store to find a dog bed large enough to comfortably fit you so you wouldn’t have to sleep on the hard concrete like the rest of his victims. You weren't a temporary thrill the way the others had been, no, he planned on keeping you forever.

You were so sweet, so innocent, so full of life. On Halloween night, when you bounded down the stairs of your apartment building dressed as the cutest little bunny he’d ever seen in a white and pink babydoll dress, thigh high stockings, and pink platform heels with fluffy ears and a tail to match, he knew it was the night. While you were out with your friends, doing shot after shot, Cooper was persuading your landlord with his fireman’s badge to let him into your apartment to check for a gas leak. Once inside he perused your belongings, admiring your delicate eye for decorating before gathering some of your clothing and shoving them into his duffle bag, being sure to grab your stuffed bunny off of your bed before giving your landlord the okay and returning to his vehicle parked across the street.

He waited, watching the passersby until he saw you stumbling alone down the sidewalk, almost tripping in your heels as you braced yourself against a lamp post. He slipped from the car, jogging across the street to offer you a helping hand, his heart racing at the way you smiled up at him and giggled a drunken “You’re hot.” against his shoulder as you fell into him. He almost felt bad, placing the chloroform soaked rag over your mouth. But the way your eyes fluttered so sweetly to sleep shook all of that away, knowing you were meant to be his.

You fought him for a while, kicking and scratching and even biting him the one time he’d tried to brush your hair away from your face that first week of captivity. You resisted him as much as you could, spending every moment you had alone those first few weeks searching for ways to escape, but the more time you had alone with your thoughts, the more you started to believe that life with Cooper wouldn’t be too bad.

He was kind to you, attentive, making sure you ate the food he prepared for you, always taking a bite first to show you it was safe. He brought you books to read while he was away, turned on a mix cd of your favorite songs he’d studied your spotify account for weeks to perfectly curate. He gave you your privacy when you showered, providing you with the hair and bath products you used before he’d taken you, he brushed your hair out, letting you use your heat tools to style it and do your makeup to make you feel more like your usual self under his supervision to be sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself.

He didn’t try to touch you before you were ready, waiting for the day you made the first move, when he knelt down beside you to give you your dinner and you leaned in to kiss him, just a soft peck on the cheek to start. He was handsome, even drunk you knew it that first night, and watching him haul his laundry up and down the stairs each week, arms flexed with his grip, your carnal needs were growing stronger. You wanted him, needed to know if the size of his member matched his staggering height, and as the months went by, you grew more wanton.

Cooper felt like he could’ve had a heart attack the day he opened the surveillance stream on his phone to find you sprawled across your bed, legs spread and dainty fingers pumping in and out of your wet heat, your other hand rubbing quick circles over your swollen clit as you let out the softest, neediest whimpers he’d ever heard. He had to excuse himself to the bathroom at work, making sure his headphones were in to hear you when you came, his fist pumping his cock furiously over the toilet as he watched you fuck yourself desperately, your nose scrunched adorably with the way you concentrated on your movements. When you came, Cooper groaned so loud he knew he’d have to come up with an excuse when he walked out, because what left your mouth made his head spin. You didn’t just moan, you cried out “Daddy!” clear as day.

That was the beginning of him testing the waters, letting his hand linger on you a little longer each time, feeling your skin heat up beneath his touch, until the day you said so sweetly he felt he could’ve died right there, “I-I need help.” and finally asked him to touch you. You trembled underneath him, body on fire with every skirt of his fingers over your skin until they reached your most sensitive areas, rubbing expertly over your clit as his free hand pushed your shirt up over your chest, his mouth finding one of your nipples and gently sucking until you were arching into him, the dual stimulation too much for your touch starved body. You came embarrassingly quickly, clinging to him like you might fall to pieces if he ever let you go.

Cooper spent the next few months figuring out what exactly made you squirm, going out of his way to be sure he just had to wash the flannel he was currently wearing while loading the washing machine full of his laundry, taking his time undoing each button one by one, watching the way you tried to sneakily look over the top of your book to catch a glimpse of his shirtless physique. When he’d gone back up the basement stairs you shamelessly stared at his back, watching the way his muscles shifted with every step he took. He did everything he could to drive you crazy, your requests for his help in relieving your frustrations growing more and more frequent until it was an almost daily occurrence.

He quickly caught on to what kinds of touch made you react the most, and what he found above all else was that underneath that sweet exterior, you had a strong penchant for pain. He’d dig his fingers into you when he went down on you, nails biting into the plush of your thighs until you bruised, your cries of pleasure louder when he pressed down on them. You arched your back the first time you let him sink his thick cock into you, exposing your delicate neck and silently begging for him to wrap his hand around it until he took the hint, squeezing gently as he looked into your eyes, something sparking behind them with the breathy gasp that left your parted lips.

“Little bunny, you like when daddy hurts you, don’t you?” He taunted, watching your eyes light up at the given name, your heart soaring as you finally had names for your dynamic, nodding eagerly as much as you could with his hand around your throat and his hips still slamming into yours.

You became more obedient over time, subconsciously waiting for the rumble of his truck in the driveway when he arrived home from work, your heart racing in anticipation every time you heard it. You found yourself fixing your hair, trying on what different outfit combinations you could make with the few pieces Cooper had managed to take from your apartment, spraying your perfume right before you knew he’d come down the stairs, doing everything you could within your confines to be as appealing to him as possible. Little did you know that he found you appealing in all forms, but seeing you put in that extra effort for him, doing your best to please him, brought him a level of satisfaction he’d never experienced before. You took pride in being his perfect little basement bunny, and he took pride in being your daddy.

You were made for him, had to be, he was sure of it. You were perfect, so willing to adapt, open to letting him play your body like a violin every chance he got. Fucking you was like the sweetest sonata with the way your cunt cradled his cock so perfectly, responding to his every movement the way an instrument does to those of a classically trained musician, walls pulsing rhythmically around him every single time you invited him into your orchestral harmony.

He hardly thought it could get any better until the day he came down the stairs with his handgun holster still attached to his belt, barely even giving a second thought to it as he walked quietly across the concrete floor, watching you snooze peacefully in your little nest of fluffy baby pink blankets and pillows.

“How’s my little bunny feeling?” Cooper’s gentle voice and soft caressing hand against your cheek woke you from your slumber, the cold emanating off the concrete basement wall prompting you to pull your plush blanket tighter around your scantily clad frame, only a baby pink tank, white frilly shorts, and your fuzzy white bunny socks to keep you warm.

“M’okay daddy, just a little cold.” You replied softly as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, your view of his strong build becoming more clear. He dropped into a squat next to your bed and cupped your chin in his hand, bringing your gaze to his.

“I’ve got another blanket and some sweaters I picked out just for you coming in the mail sweetheart, do you think you can wait a couple more days?” You looked up at him, nodding and stuttering out a “Yes daddy.” through chattering teeth, your body shivering as you sat up and the blanket slipped from your shoulders.

“If you’re a good girl, Daddy might just let you sleep in his bed upstairs tonight, would you like that?” He caressed your cheek, watching as you nuzzled into his touch and nodded eagerly. He smoothed your hair away from your face, your eyes wandering down his chest to his waist before stopping on an unfamiliar sight.

Your eyes went wide when you caught a glimpse of the gun on his hip. He saw it, that same spark behind your eyes he’d seen the first time he choked you, and he couldn’t resist the urge to press the issue as you continued to stare at the weapon.

“Do you want to see it?” His tone was one that would typically be used to address a curious child, knowing how much you liked the condescension. You nodded hesitantly, eyes fixated on it when he carefully withdrew the firearm from the holster. He turned it over in his hand, letting you examine it before brushing the slide and barrel against your cheek, making you shudder. “It’s not loaded.” He remarked, watching your shoulders relax, taking that as a sign to push you a little further. He nudged the muzzle against your lips, dragging your bottom lip down with it teasingly before muttering an experimental “Open.”

You obeyed, slowly opening your mouth until Cooper was able to begin to slide the barrel into your mouth, your front teeth just barely grazing over the front sight as it sunk deeper, stopping when the trigger guard bumped against your lower lip.

“Suck.”

You did your best to service the weapon the way you did Cooper’s cock, but the cold metal on your tongue was making it hard to move your tongue smoothly along the slide, your jaw instinctively trying to pull away. You continued sucking, just bobbing your head with hollow cheeks as you looked into his eyes, only a short distance from your face as he stayed down at your level. He loved watching you humiliate yourself just for him, willing to put yourself through all sorts of degrading acts just to see him smile lovingly at you the way you always hoped he would.

He withdrew the weapon, looking over the way your spit shone on the edge of the muzzle and halfway up the barrel. He drew it back, aiming it at your forehead. You trusted him wholeheartedly, but the action still made you tremble in fear, uncertain if he was lying about the gun being empty.

“Roll over, bunny. Ass in the air, now.” Your brain barely registered the order, still too focused on the firearm aimed point blank at your skull.

“Are you going to behave? Or do I need to keep this gun pointed at that dumb little brain of yours until you learn to comply?”

“No, I mean yes! yes daddy, I’ll be a good girl! I’m sorry!” The fear in your voice made Cooper’s cock twitch, steadily straining more and more against the dark denim of his jeans. He laughed in amusement at how quickly you shifted to your hands and knees, adrenaline coursing through your veins as the gun left your line of sight. You waited patiently as he paced behind you, just taking in the sight of your round ass in those tight ruffled shorts before abruptly gripping your hair and pushing your face into the plush of the bed, your back arching down to accommodate the harsh angle.

Next thing you knew there was foreign pressure against the increasingly embarrassing wet spot on the gusset of your shorts, rubbing teasingly against your folds through the thin layer of fabric. You rarely wore underwear anymore, and today was no exception, only your shorts separating you from being penetrated. You pushed back against what you thought was Cooper’s hand until the cool chill of metal grazed your inner thigh, making you whimper in shock. He gripped the waistband of your shorts, yanking them over your ass to gather at the bend of your knees, acting as a makeshift restraint to prevent you from crawling away.

You were exposed, cold air settling on your impossibly wet pussy, only heightening your sensitivity as the metal of the gun prodded at your folds. You shuddered, reaching for your stuffed bunny, hugging it tightly to your chest for comfort as your pussy clenched around nothing, your fear quickly turned into desperation, the necessity to be fucked growing increasingly apparent through your uneasiness. Cooper ran the muzzle through your heat, coating it in your arousal before pushing slowly into you, the gasps of disbelief and pleasure alike echoing from your throat amazing him. He knew you were dark, but he never thought you’d let him go this far.

He thrust the short barrel in and out of the tight ring of muscles right at your entrance, watching you devolve into a mumbling, moaning mess, keeping you perched on the edge of stimulation, not giving you enough to work toward an orgasm but continuing to push the gun in as far as the trigger guard would allow, teasing you until he had you absentmindedly rocking your hips back against it.

Once Cooper decided he‘d had enough of his fun, he removed the weapon from your heat before placing it on the floor and sliding it across the concrete, out of reach from both of you but just barely remaining in your sightline.

He quickly undid the buckle of his belt, shoving his pants and briefs down to free his aching cock, it practically directing itself to your waiting cunt in front of it. You relaxed into the bed beneath you, the heat rising in your body enough to warm you from the frigid cold of the basement as you eagerly waited for Cooper to finally fill you.

“Did you enjoy that, dirty girl?” His voice sounded distant through the blood pooling in your ear drums but you gathered your scattered thoughts enough to whimper a needy “Yes, daddy.” while nodding what little you could with your cheek pressed to the cushion between you and the ground.

“Then that greedy little pussy of yours is going to love this.” He practically growled, stalling with the tip of his cock just inside your entrance for only a moment before pushing forcefully inside of you, your walls spasming at the sudden yet familiar intrusion. His pace was steady but hard, taking his time to draw almost completely out of you before slamming back in, his fingertips gripped tightly into the plush of your hips.

“She’s a needy little thing, just like you, you know. She was gripping the barrel of my gun for dear life, I almost felt bad taking it away from her, but I think she likes my cock even better, don’t you?” He spoke about your cunt as if it had gained sentience, was its own person. Something about it made you feel less than human, and it made the knot in the pit of your tummy tighten even further. You buried your face in the blanket bunched next to you, trying to hide from him despite the way he reached spots inside of you no one else had ever been able to.

“If you’re not gonna speak, I’m gonna have to listen to whatever your sweet little pussy says, think I’ll give her whatever she wants tonight.” He drew his hand back before landing a harsh smack to your ass, drawing a muffled yelp and an extra firm squeeze of your cunt from you as he watched the raised outline of his handprint form on your tender flesh.

“She likes pain, bunny.” He stated matter of fact, his hand snaking under your hip to find your neglected clit, the swollen bundle of nerves finally getting the attention it so desperately needed. Your walls fluttered around him in response to the focused circling of his expertly trained fingers, milking his cock for everything it was worth, your bodies melding together in the most primal way.

“She likes pleasure, too.” He laughed, increasing his pace until he felt the familiar grip of your cunt on the verge of orgasm, pulling him in with every contraction of your walls around him.

“You hear that? She’s telling me she wants me to put a baby in her.” He leaned over your arched back, his words raining down over you like a heavy downpour. You gasped, eyes rolling back at the provocative statement.

“What little bunny? You like that? Want Daddy to pump your little pussy full of cum?” He laughed again, taking great enjoyment in pushing your buttons, your body literally begging for it in every carnal sense.

“N-No, Daddy, please don’t!” You managed to push the blanket you’d been muffling yourself with aside to feign protest, putting up an imaginary fight.

“Your pussy is saying otherwise, bunny. She’s begging me to give her my babies.” His hand slapped at your clit, making you jolt and cry out again, tears slipping past your waterline from the almost overwhelming amount of stimulation.

“No, no, no! I don’t want to get pregnant daddy, please don’t do it!” You sobbed, your head spinning as he hit that soft spot deep inside of you over and over and over, unable to stop yourself from moaning as tears streamed down your hot cheeks.

“Oh listen to you cry, you're just too cute sweetheart, now I’ve gotta knock you up.” He dripped sickeningly sweet condescension through gritted teeth, a low growl sitting at the back of his throat waiting to be set free.

“You’re gonna give daddy a whole litter of baby bunnies.” He groaned, hips slamming against your ass so hard your skin reverberated back against him, your whole body convulsing as it betrayed every thought in your mind, an orgasm stronger than any you’d ever had before coursing through your every nerve ending as a sobbed scream ripped from your tired throat.

You could feel his cum fill you to the brim as he came with an animalistic groan, the warm substance dripping down onto your trembling thighs when he pulled out. You wanted to collapse info the floor but your body wouldn’t let you, still frozen in the aftershocks of your orgasm. You felt Cooper’s large hands on your lower back, gently pushing you to lay flat on your tummy before laying next to you, one arm wrapped around your waist as he looked at you, waiting for you to finally come down.

“Did I do good, daddy?” You asked barely above a whisper, your throat sore. He smiled, brushing a loose lock of hair behind your ear, that tenderness he held for you showing again.

“You did amazing, sweetheart. Let’s get you up to bed, you definitely deserve it.” He rose to his feet, helping you up on shaky legs before guiding you over to and up the steps, his hand remaining glued to your lower back to remind you who was still in control despite his soft spot for you.

—

tagging: @xxbimbobunnyxx @babygorewhore i@hereforthehitsbaby @thebutchersbitch @userchai @hibiskooks @strangererotica @pinastrihaven @acidqueensstuff @dirtylittlefairytales @batgirlofficial

please comment or message me if you’d like to be tagged in my future cooper abbott/adams fics!

#dividers by cxrrodedcoffin #cooper abbott #cooper adams #trap 2024 #josh hartnett #mine #my writing #my dividers #cooper abbott x reader #cooper adams x reader #cooper abbott smut #cooper adams smut

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 25 days ago

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Nobody Sees Me Like You Do (jason todd x gn!reader)

soulmate au — when your eyes meet for the first time one of you passes out. This is meant to be stupid and it delivers, right until it gets angsty, like all my jason fics do. I truly cannot give that man a break

Also—humor, angst, mutual pining

Swearing, as always

I don’t know how long this is

———

“Move to Gotham, they said,” you pant through gritted teeth, clutching the graze on your side. “Get your PhD on the cheap, they said.” An explosion reverberates above you. You duck, shuddering. “Follow your fucking dreams, they said.”

Follow your dreams, get your doctorate. Move to Gotham, it’s so inexpensive! Well you did, and you can take that right to the bank. This bank, in fact. The one getting overrun by fucking aliens.

You see an overturned desk and run for it, keeping your head low. There’s an alien here that throws barbs, one already cut through shirt and skin on your ribs. You don’t need another injury.

Something land behinds you with a thump. You scream and make to turn around, but the thing wedges something into your mouth. Holy fucking shit, is this chloroform? Are you getting abducted?

You bite at whatever’s in your mouth, punching at the thing behind you.

“Motherfu—”

A hand on your shoulder pulls you around while the thing in your mouth is ripped away.

“Jesus, relax.” The thing behind you is a man, or at least, looks to be. You aren’t taking any chances.

“Who the fuck are you?” you hiss. He’s wearing a red helmet and a suit with what looks like reinforced padding. He’s also shaking out his hand, you must have bitten it.

“I’m Red Hood.” The voice that comes out of the helmet is robotic. “I’m here to save you.”

Is he. How convenient. “Prove you’re a person,” you insist.

“What? You want proof fucking now?” He gestures to your wound. “You’re bleeding, you’ll get your proof outside.”

“No fucking way,” you snarl. “What if you’re an alien in disguise? Anything is possible, ah—fucking—pparently.”

“You are the last civilian in here. Please, just—”

“Not until you prove it,” you insist stubbornly.

“Holy fucking Christ. Okay, fine.” He takes off a glove, flexing his hand. “See?”

You eye it before shaking your head. “Not good enough. Take off the helmet.”

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?” the robotic voice snarls at you.

“I need to see a human head!”

An explosion sounds near you. Quickly, he reaches up and undoes a catch, pulling the helmet off. “See?” he says in a man’s voice. “Human head.”

You stare at him, searching, just to make sure. He’s got a sharp jaw and tanned skin, and he’s wearing a domino mask. You peer into the eye holes to find green eyes staring back at you.

Your eyes lock. Something clicks, and then the man’s eyes roll back as he passes out.

You’re dumbfounded. “What the fuck?”

Then—

“No! Not here!” you hiss desperately, shoving at his body to try and wake him up. “Nononono, you can’t do this now! This can’t happen here!” You punch him in the shoulder, but it’s no use; he’s out cold.

Another explosion sounds, and you stifle a moan, holding back tears. A 10% chance of having a soulmate, an 8% chance of finding them, and you found each other in a firefight. And he was the one to pass out.

And now you’re both going to die. This soulmate crap is some steaming bullshit.

Something whizzes over your head, and you lean down, instinctively covering the man’s body with your own. You start to hyperventilate, swallowing down a lump in your throat.

Come on, you’re in the same situation you were in a few minutes ago, you just have this new, deadweight guy to carry. Think, think. Figure this out.

Looking at the man, you realize he’s wearing an earpiece. With shaking fingers, you pull it out of his ear and hold it up to your own.

“—Hood, come in. Hood, report!”

Right, that’s who he said he was. Red Hood.

What a stupid fucking name for a soulmate to have. You’re gonna get that shit tattooed over your heart? Yeah, right.

You clear your throat. “Uh—Red Hood is, uh, unconscious,” you say carefully into the communication device.

There’s silence for a moment. “Who’s on the line?” someone growls. Holy shit, is that Batman? Damn, your soulmate is a vigilante?

Great. He’ll probably die fighting crime.

“I’m his, uh…I’m, I’m a civilian.”

“What happened?” a new voice asks. “What’s his status, is he hurt?”

“No…no, we, uh…” Christ, this is embarrassing. “We, uh, looked each other in the eye?”

Thankfully, they get it. “Oh my god. In the fucking field?” The second voice sounds darkly gleeful. “And he’s the one who knocked out?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“That shit is hilarious.”

You kind of wish this guy would shut the fuck up. “Can you, like, get me out of here?”

“Coming to you now.” Thank god.

But before he can get there, some purple, alien thing lands in front of you. You let out a scream as an arm-like appendage shoots out from his body, grabs your soulmate by the neck, and starts to drag him away.

Acting on instinct, you grab the red helmet laying on the floor beside you and whip it against the alien with a crack. It makes a hissing noise, but fortunately, lets go of the man. Unfortunately, it sends the arm soaring toward you.

You wind up the helmet again, but suddenly electricity crackles through the alien, and it drops. Well, more accurately, it explodes, flinging purple shit all over you. You blink goo out of your eyes.

Standing behind the pulpy remains, miraculously clean, is another man in a suit and a mask. He jabs a finger at his chest. “I’m Nightwing. I take it you’re the captive locked in the tower? And this,” he nudges Red Hood with his boot. “Is your new knight in shining armor?”

You stare at him. “Can we…go?”

Nightwing grimaces. “Yeah, sorry. Here—” he hoists your soulmate up into a fireman’s carry. “Follow me. Stay close.”

You nod, scrambling to your feet. Nightwing leads you carefully through the pandemonium at the bank, stopping you short and changing routes as, you assume, Batman takes out more of the aliens. You’re practically glued to Nightwing’s back, which means you’re actually pressed against your soulmates chest as Nightwing carries him. You study him; hanging upside down he almost looks like a wet cat.

You shake your head. This is fucking insane.

Finally, you make it outside. As soon as Nightwing gives you the all clear you collapse onto the steps outside the bank, putting your head between your knees. You had just wanted to make a deposit at your stupid fucking bank that didn’t have online services. Getting caught up in an alien attack and finding your soulmate was officially too much for a Wednesday morning. You have class later, for fuck’s sake.

There’s a slight shuffle, and you look to see Nightwing has stretched out on the steps beside you. You hope he stays quiet. You really don’t want to talk right now.

Of course he doesn’t. “So. New soulmate, huh?” he gives you a grin. “Pretty exciting.”

You grunt. It’s another thing you have to fucking figure out.

Nightwing frowns. “Not excited? You got a boyfriend or girlfriend?”

You give him a side eye. “No,” you admit.

That seems to satisfy him. “Well, great. Then you and Red Hood over here can work it out.” He pats the man—your soulmate’s head. You look to see Nightwing has laid Red Hood out on the steps upside down, with his head next to Nightwing’s thigh and his feet several steps above.

He looks ridiculous. You crane your neck to stare at him. He’s a big man—and the armor only makes him bigger. He looks like he fights hard and wins. You don’t know how to feel about it that. Brick shithouse gym bros were never your type.

You look down to his waist and realize he’s got two guns holstered there. You don’t know how to feel about that, either.

Nightwing notices your staring. He opens his mouth to comment, but you cut across his words.

“Who are you guys, anyway?” Nightwing stares at you, clearly affronted. “I’m new to Gotham,” you add.

He lets out huff. “We’re vigilantes. We fight crime and work with Batman.”

Huh. You know about Batman, but not these two. “Why?”

Nightwing runs his tongue over his teeth. “You’ll have to ask your soulmate yourself,” he answers. You nod. “What are you doing in Gotham?”

“I’m getting my PhD.”

This brings him to attention, although you don’t know why. “In what?”

“Applied mathematics.”

He lets out a sharp laugh.

“What?” you ask, annoyed.

Nightwing shrugs. “Your boy here likes books.”

You blink. “Okay.”

How stupid. Anyone can like books, you like books. Just because you’re getting your doctorate in mathematics doesn’t mean you can’t like fucking books. You let out a huff.

“By the way,” he nods at your torso. “How’s that cut doing?”

Oh, right. You shift to examine it and wince slightly. “Laceration, more like,” he adds sympathetically.

“S’okay. Not bleeding anymore.”

“Okay.” Nightwing nods. “You’ll have to get that checked out. Maybe at our base.”

That throws you for a loop. “What? Your base?”

He nods. “But, hold on. Big man’s coming in.”

What is he talking about?

He looks over his shoulder. “Hey, B.”

You hear a grunt and nearly piss your pants. Whipping your head around, you realize Batman had landed silently behind you. All six feet of him tower over you now.

He stares silently, face impossible stoic. You gulp nervously. Are you supposed to do something?

Thankfully, Nightwing takes over. “Red Hood is fully unconscious after making eye contact with his soulmate, here.” His lips twitch. “Said soulmate has a laceration and has likely been exposed to alien material, recommend further testing.”

“I got some shit in my eyes,” you add helpfully.

Batman grunts again. “We’ll bring you to the Batcave for testing.”

Uh, what? The fucking Batcave?

“How—how am I getting there?” you stammer.

“Batmobile,” Nightwing says easily.

Uh, you think the fuck not. “Can I take the bus?”

Nightwing snorts. “No,” Batman says in a clipped voice.

“Most civilians would kill for a ride in the Batmobile,” Nightwing points out. “What’s your deal?”

“I’ve seen that thing go. It’s a car accident waiting to happen, you’d think it was a racecar.”

“It’s reinforced,” Batman says.

“I’m not.”

“It’s either that or the back of my motorbike,” Nightwing offers.

Damn. You’re not opposed to motorcycles, but you trust this guy about as far as you can throw him.

“Put me in the Batmobile,” you sigh.

“You can ride alongside your unconscious lover,” Nightwing says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Fuck off,” you say without thinking. Your eyes widen as he bursts into laughter.

“Hmm.” You look up, but Batman’s face betrays nothing. “Nightwing, you’re dismissed.”

He hops up and gives a salute. Batman inclines his head, asking something, but Nightwing shakes his head no. “Great talking to you.” He offers you a hand, pulling you to your feet. “I’m sure we’ll see more of each other.” With a wave, he disappears.

That leaves you with Batman and your new soulmate.

Carefully, Batman leans down and scoops the man into his arms. It’s not like Nightwing, holding him slung over his back. Batman carries the man bridal style, and when he holds him close, the man, still out cold, leans his head on his chest.

Huh.

“This way.” You follow Batman away from the bank; down a side street. Under the shadow of a fire escape lies the Batmobile, a low-riding tank. You eye it fearfully.

“Don’t worry,” you glance up to see Batman giving you a small smile. “I’m a very good driver.”

You nod cautiously, watching as he carefully transfers Red Hood to the backseat. You’d hoped he’d strap the guy into the front so you’d be spared having to ride in the passenger seat, but oh well.

Stepping to the passenger side, you try and open the door, but the fucker is heavy. It takes two hands and all your weight to get it open. Slipping inside, you start to fight a similar battle to get it closed.

“Ahem.” You startle, then lean back as Batman reaches neatly across you and pulls the door closed. You scramble to get your seatbelt on.

Batman puts the car in drive and you’re off. Not quite reassured, you’re clawing at the seatbelt with clenched fingers. But Batman drives slowly and carefully through the streets of Gotham. You relax slightly.

You stare out the window, exhaustion setting in. You are so fucking tired, but the day isn’t over. You still have to meet fucking Red Hood proper.

“You’re injured.”

You jump slightly. “Uh, yeah. Just on my ribs.” You twist a little to show him.

He glances at the cut. “Hm.”

You wait for him to say anything else, but he doesn’t. You nod uncertainly.

The car is silent for several minutes. Then—

“I’m glad you found each other.” His voice is gruff, and he isn’t looking at you, his gaze is on the rearview mirror, on the man in the backseat.

You nod again. “Me too,” you supply, not quite meaning to.

You’re quiet for the rest of the ride.

Eventually, Batman carefully eases the car into a tunnel. A few twists and turns and you’re pulling into a garage. Batman quickly exits the car and gently pulls Red Hood out from the back. You fumble with the door, but Batman opens it for you, despite carrying Red Hood. You jump out, running to the other side of the door and slamming your back against it to force it shut.

“Hm.” Batman grunts, but you’re pretty sure you saw him grin. He turns and leads you up a flight of metal stairs, across a wide hall with a huge computer at one end, and into what must be the medbay. He gently lays Red Hood down on a cot, carefully pushing his hair out of his face. Then he turns to you.

“Laceration?” You shift and give him a view of the cut. He looks it over carefully, then nods. “I’ll handle it.” Pulling off his gloves, he strides to a cabinet to collect supplies. You hop up on a spare bed.

He comes back brandishing a pair of fabric scissors. “I need to cut more of your shirt out of the way,” he says apologetically.

“Go ahead,” you shrug. “Useless now anyway.”

Nodding, Batman cuts out a rectangle along your cut. He rips open an antiseptic wipe, but you stop him.

“Do you mind if I do it?” You’d rather administer the sting yourself.

Batman holds it out to you, and you begin cleaning your cut, wincing occasionally.

“What. What do you do?” You whip your head up. “In Gotham,” he amends.

You squint at him. Is Batman asking you a personal question? “I’m a doctoral candidate at Gotham U.”

“What subject?”

“Applied mathematics.”

He nods. “Scholarship?”

Apparently you’re having a full-ass conversation now. You go back to cleaning your cut. “No.”

“Are you working with an advisor?” he asks.

“Not yet,” you sigh. Asking a prof to be your doctorate advisor is going to be a pain in your ass. You’ll have to kiss up to someone, you just have to pick who.

Batman seems to pick up on your dilemma. “Who will you ask?”

Does he know every professor at the university? “Tanner,” you say suspiciously. “Or Al-Barazi”

He grunts, which gives away nothing. You eye him as he holds up a bandage.

“Do you mind?”

He can probably plaster it on better than you can, anyway. You nod, and he removes the paper adhesive and gently applies the bandage, making sure the cut is fully covered. “Thanks,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hn.” He picks up a tray with a vial, another antiseptic wipe, and a disposable needle laying on it. “Blood test,” he says apologetically.

Ugh. “Make it quick,” you say, holding out your arm.

He works fast, thank god, and you turn your head away and grimace until it’s over. “Well done,” he says, as you breathe out a sigh of relief. “I’ll go—”

A groan cuts through his words. You whip your head around to see Red Hood starting to sit up on his cot. In a flash, Batman has put your blood sample on a table and appeared at Red Hood’s bedside.

He murmurs something, but Red Hood groans again. “Back the fuck off old man, I’ll just—”

Batman silences him, low voice terse as he says something else. You see Red Hood’s gaze move to you over Batman’s shoulder.

You stare back silently. Maybe you should wave. Instead, you shrug uncertainly.

His eyes harden. Fucking excellent.

Batman takes a step back. “I’ll run the tests,” he says to both of you. Then he makes his exit.

Alone, you and Red Hood size each other up.

He’s the one to speak first, expression grinding into something mocking and almost cruel. “It’s you!” he says, smiling at you with false delight.

So this is how it’s going to go. You wish you could leave, but you don’t remember where the exit is. And you need to make sure you don’t have some alien disease.

You spy a cot next to his and walk carefully over to it, sitting gingerly down on the starched blanket. “I guess it is.”

He immediately busies himself by taking off his body armor, removing it piece by piece until he’s left in only a tank top and tactical pants. You stare at him, why the hell shouldn’t you? He’s muscled, but not as big as you’d feared.

He still looks powerful. And he has a lot of scars.

When your eyes travel to his face, you see he’s taken off the domino mask. Huh. He’s movie-star handsome, the kind of face you grow up wishing your soulmate has.

He’s being such a dick that it doesn’t even faze you.

Red Hood looks at you cockily, smirking. You look back blankly, face empty. You’re not giving this fucker anything until he plays nice.

He goes right on smirking, and you go right on staring blankly. You’re determined to wait him out.

He doesn’t drop the act, but Red Hood is the one to speak first. “Wanna tell me your name, sweetheart?”

“Sure.” After you tell him— “Am I supposed to call you Red Hood?” He must have a real name.

This, shockingly, makes him hesitate, before pasting on a crooked smile. “Name’s Jason.” He gets a gleam in his eye. “Jason Todd.”

You blink. Is that supposed to mean something to you?

“Congrats, you have two first names,” you say with a shrug.

He gets tripped up again. For a moment, you feel a flicker of savage victory, but it quickly dissipates. You aren’t supposed to be at odds with each other like this. This isn’t how you want to do things.

“So we’re soulmates, huh?” He switches gears, giving you a rueful smile that you don’t trust for a second.

“I guess.” You shift uncomfortably on the cot. Your bed is close to his, close enough that, when you’re pulling your legs protectively against your chest and he’s reaching to unlace his boot, your elbows brush against each other.

Your skin crackles where it touches his, like a live wire runs between you two. You gasp and he swears and wrenches his arm back. You remain frozen in place, arm suspended in the air. The slight patch that touched him is still tingling with residual energy. You run your other hand over it; it’s hot to the touch.

You and Jason stare at each other. Damn. This soulmate shit is no joke.

The physical reminder almost makes you want to cry. Why are you stuck with this asshole who isn’t even nice to you?

Jason recovers first, prodding at you while you’re still reeling. “So if we’re soulmates, does that mean we should tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets?” he asks with faux-earnestness.

Uh. “I mean, may—”

“‘Cause I…well, you might as well know now.” He grabs the neckline of his tank top and yanks it down. “I died.” He shows off what’s definitely a y-shaped autopsy scar, wearing a wide-eyed, mournful look.

Your eyes narrow, partly because what the ever loving fuck, but also because you can see a wedge of triumph in his eyes.

You suck in a sharp breath, seeing through him in an instant. Jason’s not telling you to get close to you; he’s trying to make you walk away.

Coward.

Quick as lightning, you reach out and grab him by the jaw. His chin buzzes in your hand, and he lets out a shout, twisting against you. You hold on, bringing your face close to his. “Don’t fucking bullshit me,” you say through gritted teeth.

“What the fuck?” He sounds amazed. “You don’t believe that I—”

“No, I know you died. But you didn’t tell me because you want me to know.” He looks shocked for a moment, then narrows his eyes. “You’re testing me.”

Jason looks away from you, gritting his teeth. “Don’t play me like that,” you add.

You let go, settling back on your cot. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to do this,” you mutter. “Just be straight with me.” Man the fuck up.

You stare at your lap, trying to calm the adrenaline racing through you like wildfire. Your mind returns to his horrific scar, and you let a shudder escape. What happened to him? Did he really die and come back to life, is this some necromancer shit? You teeter on the edge of a panic attack.

“I—” Jason breaks through your rising hysteria. You raise your head as he cuts himself off with a growl. “Do you want to do this?”

Good question.

You study him as you mull it over. He’s not mocking you anymore; he’s defensive, holding his tank top up to his neck, hiding the scar. You were right, he doesn’t want you to know about it.

Jason’s eyes are guarded as they focus on you. It’s the closest to honest he’s been so far.

He really is beautiful.

You sigh. “I mean, are you gonna be nice to me?”

He acknowledges the hit with a tilt of his head. “I’m…not known for being nice,” he says ruefully. You squint; something in your gut tells you not to believe him. He’s a vigilante, isn’t he? Doesn’t that mean he saves people?

Which reminds you—

“Why did you become a vigilante?”

Jason laughs bitterly. “Wasn’t given a choice.”

Not a great answer. “Someone’s forcing you now?”

“…no, not now,” he adds begrudgingly.

You raise your eyebrows, prompting him to continue. Jeez, getting this guy to talk is like pulling fucking teeth.

“Now,” he chews the inside of his cheek. “I can do it. Most people can’t. It helps. Someone’s gotta do it.” Jason looks at you, eyes searching yours.

Yeah, you can get behind that.

You nod, and see him relax slightly. There’s quiet for a few seconds, but you can feel Jason’s eyes on you, silently pushing you to answer. Do you want to do this?

Based on whatever the fuck conversation you’re having, it seems like Jason’s not into it. You lay the groundwork for an exit strategy. “To be honest, it seems like a bad way to start a relationship,” you admit. “Knowing what’s meant to be the endgame and all.”

Jason face falls, almost imperceptibly, but you catch it. Disbelief flows through you. What does this guy want?

“Yeah,” he grinds out.

Maybe he is interested? You go a different route. “I…” you force yourself to take a deep breath. “I’ve…dated, before but…” you smile ruefully. “I haven’t had a lot of success. Not with…other people.”

Jason nods but keeps silent.

You lose patience. “Can you just tell me what you fucking want?” you snap.

Jason seems taken aback by your forwardness. You glare at him.

“Ahem.” You both start as Batman appears in the doorway. “Test results came through.” He holds several papers in his hand.

You nod, tuning him out as he begins to read through them. The truth of the situation begins to creep through the adrenaline, and you turn your back on both of them as you start to cry silently.

You can’t help it, you have a soulmate and he doesn’t want you. It’s enough to break your heart. You can talk a big game about how soulmates are unrealistic and how it’s impossible to build a relationship based on some random quirk of fate, but deep down you’re hypnotized by the idea just like everyone else. Of course you are, a person who was made for you and no one else? Who you’re fated to be with? That’s the dream. Who wouldn’t want a soulmate?

Jason, apparently, even though he has the ill luck of having one. You have the ill luck of it being you.

“—and we couldn’t detect any STI’s so you’re all clear,” Batman says carefully. “Though your iron’s a little low.”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “I’m supposed to be taking supplements.” Keeping your back to him, you raise your voice so Jason can hear you loud and clear. “If you want me to go, tell me and I’ll go.”

You wait for several seconds. You don’t turn around. He doesn’t say anything. You take it for the answer that it is.

“Thanks for all your help,” you say to Batman, thickly. “I need to go home.”

Batman nods, narrowing his eyes over your shoulder. “I’ll have someone take you back.”

You follow him out of the sickbay and upstairs to the street level. You cry the entire time, and Batman patiently waits for you to stumble after him. Eventually, you make it outside to a sleek black car. You fall into the backseat.

An older man sits behind the wheel. “Where am I taking you tonight?” he asks in a kind, British accent. You look up to see his gaze on you in the rearview mirror, warm but sharp.

You give him your address. The tears don’t let up, but thankfully he doesn’t comment.

Some time later, you don’t know how long, he stops the car and steps out, opening your door for you. You quickly collect yourself and get out. “Thank you,” you say voice unsteady.

“My pleasure.” You look down to see he’s handing you a pharmacy bag. “Iron supplements.”

You open your mouth, then close it, nodding.

“Have a goodnight,” the man, eyeing you carefully.

You nod again, then turn and head into your building. Once inside your apartment, you get yourself a glass of water, strip down and crawl into bed, not bothering to shower. The day plays over and over in your mind, and you cry yourself to sleep.

•••

Jason’s starting to think he fucked up.

Maybe acting like a complete dick to his soulmate wasn’t the right move.

It’s been two weeks since you walked out, since he passed out at the sight of you and started this whole fucking mess, and everyone has been on his ass about this. Dick has been yapping in his ear, Bruce keeps trying to corner him and give him a lecture, and Alfred has been absolutely skewering him with disapproving looks. Jason can’t hold out under that kind of pressure, he cracks like a mirror and stops lying to himself.

He shouldn’t have forced you to leave by being such an asshole. Classic Jason, executing the perfect self sabotage. Ten out of ten.

In his defense, he never expected this to happen. In fact, he was pretty fucking sure it wouldn’t. How could Jason Todd possibly have a soulmate? He’d died for fuck’s sake, surely the universe knows not to touch that one. What if he hadn’t come back? Would you just be up shit’s creek without a paddle? What if you had found each other earlier, before he’d croaked? How fucked up would that have been?

It makes him shake his head. It just doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

And he…he’s not a good soulmate. Look at who he is, look at what he’s done. You’d be better off if you’ve never found him. He drove you away for your sake, he thinks to himself.

Alfred had called him on this bullshit immediately, as soon as he’d come back from driving you home. He’s been niggling at Jason, trying to get him to see that at the very least, Jason can’t make that decision for you. Just like every other relationship, you have to judge him for yourself.

Ugh. What fucking hell.

Whatever. It’s too late anyway. He’s pushed you away, you’re gone. Bruce has offered to find you, but it feels…wrong, to force his way into your life like that. Obviously, he could find you, but if you don’t want him in your life, then he shouldn’t be there.

Except maybe there’s more to this soulmate thing that he thought, because despite his refusal to look for you, he finds you anyway.

At a club.

On the dance floor.

It’s dark; pink, blue, and purple lights illuminating the room. Jason stands at the bar, three quarters of the way through a beer he’s been nursing for forty five minutes. Roy’s in the bathroom, and he must’ve invited someone along with him because he’s taking for-fucking-ever.

Jason glances at his phone, bored and ready to leave. He’s only here because Roy dragged him out, insisting it would help him forget about you.

Which it doesn’t. Because there you are.

You see him the second he sees you. Your expression hardens as you make eye contact. Before he knows what he’s doing, Jason takes a step forward. He holds his arms open, chest centered, eyes clear. Come on. Come on.

He sees you roll your eyes. One of your friends leans down to whisper in your ear. Jason can read their lips: do you know that guy?

Yes. You leave your friends and make your way toward him, stopping about a foot away. You stare at him, raising an eyebrow.

Jason looks at you, so uncertain. He—he doesn’t know what to do, now.

You sigh, gently plucking his beer from his hand and setting it on the bar. Then you grab his hand—holy shit, it’s all electricity, all the way down—and tug him onto the dance floor.

Your arms slot around his neck, and his hands find your hips. You’re wearing a shirt that leaves your midriff exposed, and his palms are hot against your skin.

It’s almost too much. Your skin buzzes and crackles and pops and he feels it all the way to his teeth. You’ve got your forearm pressed against his neck; it sends electric shocks down his spine.

From the way you’re frozen, gritting your teeth, you feel it too. For almost a minute, neither of you move as you adjust. Just as Jason starts to get used to it, you look at him with a wry smile. He returns it shakily.

Then you move an arm from his neck, letting your skin brush against his, and put your hand on his bicep, sliding down to his wrist and back up again.

Jason almost passes out. He’s panting, shaking like a startled animal. You smile triumphantly, and Jason knows he’s in trouble.

Trying to get ahold of himself, he squeezes at your hips, rubbing slow circles into your skin with his thumbs. You inhale sharply, glaring at him even as your body trembles under his hands. He gives you a smirk. You roll your eyes and then do what he’s been wondering about since he first brushed against you in the sickbay: you kiss him.

It’s dizzying.

All of Jason’s focus seems to be concentrated into his lips, which sizzle and pop like oil on a hot pan. You let out a shocked cry into his mouth and he swallows it eagerly. He slides his mouth against yours; the friction is unlike anything he’s felt before. Jason thinks to use his tongue and brushes it gently against the inside of your cheek, darting back as he feels you bite down hastily.

You pull away, panting, removing your hands from him and resting your head against his chest, t-shirt giving you some respite from the heady feeling of skin on skin. As soon as he notes your absence, Jason realizes he’s a goner. He’ll do anything, anything, to feel that way again.

He runs his hands up your arms encouragingly, using one to tilt your chin towards his so he can kiss you again, but you shake your head, pressing your face against his chest.

Damn. But he can feel the heat of you, pressed against him as you are, and this feels nice, too. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and another on your midriff, skin buzzing at the contact. You shudder but burrow further into his chest.

This gives him some time to think.

Yeah, he fucked up. Jason wants to kick himself.

And he knows, right down to his bones, that he’s pushed you out of reach. He’s certain that you won’t give him another chance, just like he knows he’s undeserving of you in the first place.

It’s too late. You’ll never be his. There he goes, breaking his own heart again.

For a moment, Jason struggles to breathe.

You shift, knocking your head against his chest. He looks down at you, heart thick in his mouth.

You’ll never be his, but you’re here now. Jason’s grip on you tightens. He’ll take whatever he can get tonight, and that’ll have to be enough.

He rests his chin against your head. You hum, stretching up to press lightly against him, and Jason could just die.

He rubs soothingly at your back. He has you tonight.

Or rather, he has you in this club. Jason wants to bite his tongue off when he realizes you’ll leave in less than a few hours.

He needs to stretch this out as far as it will go.

Jason sees two people disentangle enough to leave the dance floor and exit the club, groping each other the whole time.

Maybe you can leave with him.

The idea ripples through his body, taking hold immediately. He can try and convince you to come home with him and have you in his bed for one night. And then you’ll walk out of his life and that’s okay. It is.

Cautiously, he slides a hand under your shirt, caressing the skin of your back. The buzzing almost overwhelms him, but he doesn’t let up, stretching his fingers high enough to trace your shoulder blades. You freeze in his arms, but you don’t pull away. He sets his other hand lower, running a thumb just above the waistline of your jeans.

You tilt your head up and squint at him; you know what he’s doing. But Jason doesn’t care, he’s got a goal now, and he takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss you. You bite at his lips but kiss him back.

The sparks almost fry him. It’s easy to lose himself, and a moment later he finds his hips moving against yours without his permission.

Again, you freeze. Jason can’t help but marvel; so in control, so commanding of yourself. He panics for a moment before your hips start to grind up into his. You wrap your arms around his neck—sizzling against him—and pull him down to kiss him deeper.

Relief and adrenaline surge through him. For a few precious hours, he’ll get to have you.

You make out for ages. Jason can’t get enough. Around you, people come and go, but the two of you stay rooted to the spot. Jason feels his phone vibrate with a text from Roy and ignores it. He couldn’t give a fuck.

He feels like he could go on forever, but eventually you pull away, yawning. His chest tightens as you pull out your phone. Your eyes widen; it’s half past three in the morning.

Jason grits his teeth. He has to make his move, and he has to make it now.

His courage almost fails him; he has to bury his face in your neck, cheeks buzzing. “Stay with me a little longer,” he mutters into your skin. “Come back to my place.”

He holds his breath. You keep silent. Then, you pull away, eyes searching his face.

Old habits die hard; he gives you a cocky smirk. You grab his chin, just like in the sickbay, and pull his face down toward you.

His facade clean falls away. All he’s got left is hunger.

You examine him a moment longer before letting out a soft sigh. “Yes,” you say quietly.

He grabs your hand and guides you toward the exit.

Twenty minutes later, he’s got you on his couch, the long line of your body laid out beneath his. It’s heaven. You’re impossibly closer now, gravity pulling him in. He suspends himself carefully above you, not wanting to crush you, but still close enough to let your skin burn him.

You pick up where you left off, kissing messily. Eventually, Jason thinks to pull his shirt over his head and throw it to the floor. You quickly follow.

His chest explodes against yours. Jason bites his tongue sharp enough to draw blood as you let out a small shriek. Your skin reaches up and consumes him. It’s overwhelming, it’s too much skin to skin contact, it’s everything Jason has ever wanted when he’s flinched away from someone’s touch. Someone else’s touch.

Shakily, you bring your arms up to lay your hands on his back. Jason could cry. He loses hold of himself and collapses, putting his weight on you completely. You let out a small oomph.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, gasping.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you soothe him. Hesitantly, your hands begin to rub his back. Biting his lip, Jason maneuvers himself so that his arms are underneath you, holding you to his chest. You let out a small hum of contentment.

He lets himself settle against you, feels you shift beneath him until you’re comfortable. Again, he wrenches his face into your neck. You giggle quietly, and he smiles against you.

After a while, the buzzing cools into a warm glow. Jason could stay here forever.

Eventually, though, you cough. He can hear you yawn. “Jason,” you whisper apologetically. Hearing his name sends a jolt up his spine. “Jason, I gotta go.”

No. Not yet. He’s not ready to say goodbye.

Jason reacts on instinct. “Stay,” he mumbles. “Sleep here.” He sees it coming: again, you freeze. “We don’t have to…” he quickly adds. “Just…sleep.”

In the morning, he tells himself. He’ll let you walk away in the morning.

He looks at you, this time, as he waits for you to answer. Having you so close makes him brave, makes it easy to show on his face how much he wants you to stay.

Your eyes are guarded. “Sleep where?”

Uh…good question. In my arms.

“Take the bed,” he answers. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You look at him warily. He holds his breath.

You yawn again, and it takes the fight out of you. “Okay,” you mutter. You shift below him, and he gets up obligingly.

“In here.” Jason leads you to his bedroom, heart pounding. He opens the door, and you peek inside. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”

You look back to him, nodding. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Jason shifts on his feet, lingering. You turn your searching gaze on him again.

Eventually you nod and dart into the room, pulling the door shut behind you.

Jason exhales. He turns back toward the couch. It’s going to be a long night of imagining what you look like, lying in his bed, steps away.

He lays himself down and closes his eyes. As if he’ll be able to let you go, now. He’s gonna fight like hell for you in the morning.

•••

This was a really fucking bad idea.

You clutch at Jason’s sheets, nearly ripping them in half as dread fills you. Why did you do this to yourself? The scent of him envelopes you and you almost want to cry.

What were you thinking, coming back here? You know he doesn’t want to be with you. The best thing for you to do now is just move the fuck on. Put him out of your mind before it’s too late, before you fuck up and get yourself addicted to a drug that doesn’t want you. You couldn’t help micro dosing him at the club, you didn’t know he’d be there. Mistakes happen. But you shouldn’t have fucking macro dosed him by sleeping in his goddamn bed, especially when it smells so good. You’ll be having withdrawals for weeks.

Last night was a fluke. You don’t know what on Earth possessed him to dance with you and hold you and kiss you like that, but you sure as shit know it’s not going to happen again.

But it happened. You stare up at his ceiling, trying to make it make sense. Jason doesn’t want to make it work with you, he’d wanted you to walk away back in the sickbay. Right? Then what the fuck was he doing last night? He wasn’t acting like he wanted you to walk away, he asked you to stay. And like the Grade-A idiot, fucking addicted junkie you are, you’d agreed.

You turn over on your side, mashing Jason’s pillow beneath you. Why did he even invite you back here in the first place? He clearly doesn’t want a relationship with you. Your breath stills; he probably just wanted to get lucky.

That little fucker.

The realization clears your head. That’s why he acted like that last night, that’s why he held you and danced with you and kissed you like—like he did.

Because he just wanted to get off.

Despair crashes over you, forms a lump in the back of your throat. You beat it back angrily. Fuck him. Fuck him for thinking he can just use you like that, use the hold he has over you for his own ends.

You rip the bedsheets off and pull your pants on, absolutely fuming. You’re going to yell at this motherfucker, you’re going to tear him a new asshole, and then you’re going to get the fuck out of here.

The bedroom door slams open with a bang. Snarling, you make your way into the kitchen, to see Jason’s jumped about a foot.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He looks down and swears again. “Motherfuck—”

He ducks down to examine something on the floor. You realize he’s holding a spatula. “I used up all my eggs. Fucking hell.” He sighs, grabbing a paper towel to clean up what must be egg on the kitchen tile.

He’s making eggs?

The scene deters you, but your anger comes roaring back. “Were you seriously just going to eat a whole fucking breakfast while I slept in your—”

“What?” Jason cuts you off, confused. “No! These are for you, too, dipshit!” He freezes.

You stalk toward him, furious. “What did you just call me?”

“…sorry,” he mutters, turning to the stove.

Wow. What a guy.

Scoffing in disgust, you walk to the door and grab your coat from the hook. That makes him pause. “Wait, you’re leaving?” Jason asks, surprised.

“Uh, yeah,” you say meanly. “You wanted me to walk away, so here I go.”

“But I…” he trails off. You look at him, eyebrows raised, expecting him to do nothing, just like last time. And you can’t work with nothing.

Jason turns off the stove and crosses the kitchen warily. “Just…just stay and have something to eat. Please,” he mumbles. He’s barely looking you in the eye, you stare at him until he meets your gaze. There’s nothing but open honesty on his face.

Hm.

Cautiously, you put your coat back on the hook and cross your arms over your chest. “Why?” you ask warily.

“Because, I…” he trails off with a growl, giving you a rough, earnest look.

Reluctantly, you sit yourself at the kitchen table. Ridiculous, ridiculous! You should be on the other side of that door, you should be on the street by now.

But you’re powerless against how much you want him, how much you want this to work. You’ve already swallowed the fishhook; all he has to do is reel you in.

Relief swamps Jason’s face. He turns and busies himself at the stove. As soon as his back is to you your elbows hit the table and your head is in your hands. What the fuck are you doing? Why do you insist on torturing yourself? Why are you giving him another chance?

You stay like that until you hear the knock of a plate hit the table. Looking up, you see Jason’s handed you a plate of eggs and toast, plus a mug of coffee. He sits across from you with his own plate and cup.

He’s got two eggs and you’ve got three. He must have given you the extra after one had ended up in the floor. Such a gentleman.

“Thanks,” you say, sitting up.

Jason nods.

Neither of you say anything, nor do you move to eat.

You glare at him. You’re sure as hell not going to move first.

“Fucking Christ,” he breathes, before deliberately slicing into an egg and mashing his toast into the yolk. You roll your eyes and follow suit.

“You got salt and pepper?”

“What?” Jason looks up, frowning. “I already put some on.”

“Not enough.”

“God almighty.” He heaves himself up and moves to the cupboard, quickly returning with salt and pepper shakers. “Happy?”

“No. I don’t want to be here,” you remind him.

That sucks the fight away. Jason looks at his plate, chastised. “Right.”

You grab the salt and pepper. The shakers are stupid, Batman novelty garbage: Batman’s the salt and Robin’s the pepper. The salt comes out of the pointy Bat-ears.

Ridiculous. You season your eggs angrily. “I’m finishing this meal and then I’m leaving,” you announce, scooping up some egg with your toast.

Jason offers you a leaky smirk, full of holes. “Not gonna help me clean up?”

It makes you furious. “What the fuck do you want from me, Jason?” you demand. “What do you want? Because I’m not playing your stupid fucking games and I’m not going to let you jerk me around.”

Untrue. You probably would. But he doesn’t need to know that.

Jason looks at his plate, hands curled into fists. “I—what do you want?”

You stand up, chair screeching. No fucking way are you taking a deflection right now.

“Sweetheart, wait.” Jason gets to his feet.

You swallow. ‘Sweetheart.’ He called you that before, but it feels different now.

Or maybe that’s your imagination.

“I—I shouldn’t have acted like a such dickhead.” His head is turned from you, but then he meets your eyes with gritted teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Great. “Answer my question.”

His face hardens. “I…I don’t…” Jason shrugs almost helplessly. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away, but I didn’t do it for shits and giggles. I…” he ducks his head. “My life is…dangerous.”

He looks at you imploringly. Your eyes drift to his chest. Right. He literally died. “I didn’t want to drag you into that,” he says carefully.

You sigh, collapsing into the chair. He follows your lead, sitting across from you. “Slow down, cowboy,”you say, exhausted with the back and forth. You need to start smaller. “Do you want to see me again?”

You are being very fucking brave right now. Your breath freezes in your mouth as you wait for his answer.

Jason stares at the table. “Yeah.”

Your mouth melts. “Okay. Me too.”

He looks up at you, shocked. You roll your eyes. His face falls into a smirk.

“If you get too cocky I’m going to leave,” you threaten. Jason nods but doesn’t pare down the smirk at all.

Time to be braver. You grip the edge of the table. “Do you want to be…just, just friends?” You force yourself to look at him, his face has fallen.

You suck in a breath. “Because I want more.” The words spill out of you.

You want to throw up but by god you are going to maintain eye contact, come hell or high water. You grit your teeth and lock onto his eyes, so focused you almost miss what he says next.

“I do, too.”

You blink. Jason’s looking at you like you’d hung the moon.

Fuck, yes.

“Cool,” you say with a smile.

“You’re one in a million, sweetheart,” he adds, breaking out into a wide grin. “Couldn’t miss my chance.”

You blush. Jason’s eyes are hungry.

There’s a beat of silence. “What do we do now?”

Jason considers for a moment before picking up his fork. “Finish your breakfast.”

You take a bite of toast. “Then what?”

“D’unno.” He smirks, mischievous. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

You grin into your eggs, delighted. “‘Kay.”

———

I didn’t not mean for this to be so long, I wanted to write a cheeky jason soulmate fic but in my heart of hearts I truly believe that jason can’t have a cheeky anything. Why accept a soulmate when you can preemptively burn your relationship to the ground to save time?

#teeth writes #jason todd #batman #dick grayson #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gn!reader #red hood x gn!reader #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #dc imagine

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