#its just so interesting because like. i fear there is something wrong with me. i fear i am in fact fucked up for no good reason

[sanguineterrain]

Omg!!! Mags this took me too long to get around to but I'm finally here and vampire bruce is 🤌🤌 he's sexy but he's also a train wreck because he wants to protect her but he's ultimately her doom. If only he'd left her alone...

Okay favorite lines:

“There are things far worse than me in this city,” he says, his cool breath brushing over you as he steps closer. “I’m what stands between you and them.”

WRONG! walking tragedy of a man 💔 I still love him tho

His stare feels inescapable. Too consuming. You’re plagued by mystery. “If there was something worth knowing, I would tell you.”

WRONG AGAIN B-MAN! I do love how you captured his Bruce-ness. I think Bruce's worst traits would just get worse if he became a vampire which is exactly what you showed! Human Bruce is already a mess but I feel like you did a great job at showing how the sliver of humanity that remained is what saved him, and what made what he does worth it. That's why he needs her to be his light. I also thought it was interesting how vampire Bruce doesn't make Batman to be a hero. Batman only brings fear and punishment (because vamp Bruce doesn't remember how to be a hero? Or never was one...)

His strong fingertips dig into the meat of your hips. “Never let your guard down. I am an animal acting on instincts. You may not always find me with such a level head,” he hisses into your ear.

Heheheheheh my body had a reaction. When is it my turn to be hunted by a sexy emotionally constipated vampire 🙏 also the blood drinking was very hot. Sucking from my heart??? Ummm yeah. Yeah you do that Bruce 😋

If Bruce puts you where he found you, you won’t even have your not-even-cushy income to protect you.

Awk this was so :( the fact that she expects him to discard her the whole time! Girl, this vampire doesn't mansplain manipulate and manwhore just anybody ☝️ you're here for all eternity 😏

“Checking in.” The words hang heavy in the air. Checking in because something is weighing on his mind. Seeking assurances that you’re still safely tucked into the bed he’d made for you. Calming his racing thoughts.

My beautiful obsessive compulsive disaster 🥰 and I love that you captured how even though Bruce's protective tendencies come from a good place, he's still smothering her and isn't really loving her the way she wants.

Giving food to a scared beast could be the thing to gain its trust.

Oh she's crazy I love her ❤️ And the way she's desperate for Bruce to be more devoted to her than to Gotham.... sighhhh

Anyway this was great! I like how real and gritty you made vamp Bruce because he actually would be so terrible if he became immortal and had to serve Gotham forever. And it's clear he and the Reader are lonely and are wanting to find something that the other can't provide but they try anyway. Aughhh doomed love ❤️❤️❤️

What Remains in Wayne Manor

Summary: To make ends meet, you start to give tours at the historic Wayne Manor. Around that time, you start having strange dreams that lead you to a Gotham urban legend.

Pairing: vampire!Bruce Wayne x reader

Words: 15.2k (lmao)

Content/warnings: manipulation, blood/bloodsucking, hunter/prey dynamic, toxic relationship, bruce wayne as a graying at the temples vampire, major character death, major character undeath, not related to DC vs Vampires

intro + playlist

For over a century, Gotham whispered of a shadowy protector. Rumor tinted blood-red by folklore and superstition. Most haven’t seen him. The ones who claim they have usually get written off as conspiracy theorists.

You know better.

Before Wayne Manor, you dreamed of that night. The terror in the voices of your would-be attackers ringing in your ears as you woke.

Even in the horror of your dreams, you found comfort. Something horrible watching over you is better than nothing at all, you’d managed to content yourself with thinking. You needed something better—evidence that you saw what you did. You looked for Batman in the people who claimed they saw him, in the morbid visitors making a pit stop at Wayne Manor on their way to look for Gotham's vampire.

Maybe that’s how you ended up in your car. You woke from your dream with your start, mind fixed to Batman’s gloves dripping with blood. You tried to remember as the city shrank in your rear view mirror, but it was a blur.

You should run away, quit your job and content yourself to never step foot in Wayne Manor again.

You should.

Instead, you wander through the musty hall into the closed-off west wing—it’s always been closed off, hasn’t it? you think to yourself—fingertips collecting dust along the wainscoting. Maybe you’d fallen asleep again after all. Maybe this was another dream. You figure you must be once you find yourself in a room you recognize.

Books with spines too dusty to read stretch up the length of the wall. Furniture draped in white, dust piled heavy on the sheet. A large desk at the top of the room. The sort of room you would imagine an earnest man pacing up and down. Wide windows with shattered glass glittering beneath—you suspect the willow stretching up to the room to be the culprit. Cobwebs in the great fireplace obscure where warm fires once roared. Above the mantle, a portrait you recognize.

Martha stares down at you. Her gentle smile feels too aware. You came into her home outside your usual terms. Stepped through the veil that kept you separate all this time. You’ve broken your rules, and who’s to say what would happen now that you share a secret with her.

The painting is the one pristine thing in the room you realize with another quick pass about the room. That, and your incriminating footprints in the dust are the only signs of life. Every other ornate frame and marble bust are obscured by grime tucked into each curve. The Wayne Family portrait remains so well-maintained you can see the brushstrokes in the moonlight.

Your gaze falls to the boy. He looks exactly as he had in your dream, so far from stern the stern Bruce Wayne portraits on your tour route. The eyes preserved in oil paint had yet to see his parents’ death.

“I hated that tie.” A voice cuts through the wind rustling through cracked panes of glass. “My father had to remind me not to fuss with it.”

Every piece of furniture was covered with a sheet when you walked in—of that you are certain. Yet now a long camelback sofa has been revealed in front of you, a beautiful carved wooden arch on the back. And on the couch sits a man a near mirror of the late Bruce Wayne.

His eyes are are such a pale blue, they nearly look silver. The sort that look as though they can see everything. Save for the thick, dark hair combed neatly on his head, he's ghostly. His skin is white as a sheet as if he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks; from the dark circles beneath your eyes, you would guess it had been as long since he slept. Even then, he's beautiful. His crooked nose, cleft chin, and sharp cheekbones, he looked as if he could be a dazzling movie star. His long, thin lips tug into a smirk that sets you on edge. Like Martha on the wall, you share a secret with this man, and you’re not sure you want to.

One wide leg crosses over the other as he leans into the arm of the couch. His thick fingers rest beneath his jaw as he regards you. Motes of dust catch in the moonlight before him—thick from the disrupted cover—and make him look magic.

His gaze is ice driven through your skin. Puncturing, burrowing, spreading. He watches you as a member of an audience would watch an actor as the curtain rises.

You don’t move, so he does.

He’s tall, and looks even bigger standing than he did as he sat. Broad shoulders, sturdy arms covered by a worn but well-made sweater. Thick wool fibers knitted into cables, though the collar was frayed, ladders of stitches beginning to loosen.

How had he managed to sneak into the room without you noticing? Wouldn’t you have seen someone in the room as you looked around?

He takes a single step toward you. Two sheeted chairs and a large covered coffee table stand between you. They offer you no comfort.

“My name is Bruce Wayne,” he says as if this were a normal introduction. As if he’s not claiming to be a long dead scion.

You don’t introduce yourself. Fright freezes your body, glues your tongue to the roof of your mouth. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up. “We had only just gotten the portrait and hung it up when they were killed. Alfred hung it up while my mother held me at a distance so I wouldn’t get in the way.”

Alfred Pennyworth. You know the name through work. Even without a portrait of him hanging on the wall in the gallery you show guests, you try to imagine him perched atop a ladder to place the painting on the wall. You imagine a young boy eager with the excitement of something happening, eventually growing disinterested as his parents remarked on composition and lighting.

You shouldn’t believe him, but you do. You’re not sure why. It feels almost out of your control. What other choice is there than to believe this man is Bruce Wayne?

“You were so afraid the first night I saw you. It reminded me…” He trails off. Despite your curiosity, you’re still immobilized by your shock. You still hadn’t gained the ability to utter a word.

“I’ve grown...attached. Even unconsciously, I’ve been reaching out to you,” he says, finally noticing your silence. You’re not sure if it’s your surprise or his words, but you don’t understand. “You see what I want you to see. Or what I’m thinking of. You’re here because I wanted you to be.”

You blink, trying to remind yourself you have a body and vocal chords. “No,” finally you say. “I’ve been having dreams.”

“You saw the entrance to the cave,” he says.

The will to feign ignorance evades you. You’re not even sure if you’re talking about the same cave, but there is no question in his voice. Obediently, you nod. “Yes.”

Does Bruce Wayne know Batman is in his basement?

“You saw my mother the night she was murdered.”

This time, you hesitate, not because you want to withhold, but because you aren’t sure. You saw Martha tonight—seemingly in pain—but you weren’t be sure she was dying. Only that she needed help. You tried to help her.

Swallowing hard, you nod again.

“You’ve been having these dreams for close to three years now, haven’t you? Since the night you ran into that alley.”

All that’s left to do in your reticence is nod again, the rest of your body feeling utterly useless. The pacing of your heart continues to grow. He recognizes you, but apart from the paintings you’ve seen, you don’t recognize him. He can’t be one of the men from that night.

You think of the cave somewhere below your feet. Think of the blood in the stone. Think of the masked man who had appeared so suddenly behind you—whose face you still saw as you woke—filling you with dread in the place that warped comfort once resided.

Bruce notices your spiral. His long legs take him too close for comfort. You stumble away, but he carries on gracefully past you. You wonder if you should make a run for it. Would you be able to outrun him? Would he even try to stop you, or would he allow you to go freely?

A loud scraping noise overtakes your thoughts. You nearly jump out of your skin as the ground rumbles beneath you. Bruce observes the stone fireplace as it falls further into the wall. A dark passage emerges in its place.

You’ve seen the entrance to the cave. Yes, this you’ve seen, though you’d hoped such a thing only existed in the fancifulness of dreams. Now you’re one step closer to seeing what lurks beneath the manor. Despite your admiration for the Batman, you’ve never envied the fact you hadn’t seen him up close that evening. Only the swoop of his cape. The points of his cowl.

“Follow me,” he says, voice cool as the breeze.

Your feet move of their own accord, following Bruce into the dark stairwell until he pauses at a familiar elevator. The iron gate screeches as he pulls it open.

He waits for you to walk in first. You don’t want to but find yourself moving regardless.

The elevator rocks down the shaft, metal sparking now and again on the way. In the pockets of your coat, you dig your fingernails into your hands. Each shriek rattles in your skull. Breath catches in your lungs as if the act of breathing could send the whole thing crashing. As you wait to plummet to your death, you hardly have time to worry about the strange man next to you.

The cart stills. You breathe yet again. Through the crosses in the gate, you strain your eyes in search of blood puddles. You make out nothing but candlelight flickering across stone floors and cavern walls.

Bruce doesn’t move after he pulls the gate open. A moment passes before you realize he’s waiting for you to step out first. As you do, you can take in the whole of the cave, this time in reality. No blood. No Batman.

You flinch as something moves above you. Bruce’s low chuckle rumbles as he walks past. Bat wings flap over you in a great retreat from the noise.

“The city is getting unsafe. I want you here,” he says, pulling your attention.

Without hesitation, you begin to shake your head. The absurdity of your situation suddenly dawns on you. This man has lured you into an expansive cave. He claims to be a man who drank himself to death almost a century ago. He wants you to stay in the ruins of a manor he claims as his own.

You would be running to the elevator if your legs didn’t still feel like jelly from the ride.

Without a response, he gives an unimpressed grunt. He doesn’t check if you’re following him. Only once a seemingly safe distance stands between the two of you do you begin to trail behind. The light of candelabras highlights rows of bookshelves, the same as in the study. Unlike the study, however, you realize these are notebooks, dates penned carefully along the spines.

The rugged tables around are littered with papers. Books stacked high, microscopes and vials. You try to imagine how long this must have taken to put together. The collection of materials you see alone had to have taken decades.

“You say you’re Bruce Wayne, but Bruce Wayne died 95 years ago,” you say. You don’t feel bold enough to make an accusation out loud; every possibility crossing your mind sounds impossible even by Gotham City’s standards.

Bruce continues ahead in silence.

“Are you supposed to be some kind of...ghost?” You want to flinch from your diffidence.

A wry smirk grows on Bruce’s handsome face. “Not quite,” he replies. “What do you remember of that night?”

There’s no need to question what night he means. You remember your part. And though you mean to keep it to yourself, the words slip out as you recall.

Racing from your pursuers in the dark of the alley. Cold wind whipping past your face. The icy ground below your feet—icy like the eyes of the man in front of you. Laughter dying as the light of the moon disappeared.

“Did you know it was me?”

An oppressive grip seems to take hold of you. Something cold and suffocating. The same feeling you’d gotten as you stepped into the elevator.

“Yes,” you respond, the line between Bruce Wayne and Batman becoming clearer in your mind.

“I believe my...concerns for you are what caused you to have these dreams,” he says, choosing each word carefully.

You make a poor attempt at a laugh. The fear lingering in your chest chokes it out, turns it to a pitiful wheeze.

Nothing seems to break you from him. You used to dream of coming here—to understand Batman; to bind you to Gotham as you seemed to drift further away. Now you realize your mistake. You would content yourself to facing the city alone if it meant you’d live to see the sun again.

He makes one last glacial pass over you before he continues to walk again. You hold yourself tightly, feeling yourself walking into a trap but not having the will to step out. You can’t help but think of him as a predator. Agile. Decided. You haven’t seen him truly falter this entire counter. Hesitation, yes, but intent to withhold. He proffers information only after his story has been carefully edited.

You peer at him from the corner of a bookcase and catch the glare of glass. Only once you step closer do you realize what you’re both looking at. Batman’s suit is encased in a glass stand before you. You notice the cape first and remember the way the material moved as he did. As it hangs motionless, it looks far heavier than you would have guessed.

Batman, you begin to realize, is far from the average citizen helping out the city as you thought he might have been.

“I saw them before I saw you,” he says, eyes fixed on the suit in front of him. “I tracked them from a robbery a few blocks away, only thinking of my hunger. I could feel their excitement, and I assumed it was for a job well done. Then I saw you.”

The silence that follows is unnerving. Forces your mind to the dreams. Alone. About to be swallowed by Gotham’s never ending appetite.

You were so afraid the first night I saw you. It reminded me…

Now you wish he hadn’t cut himself off so soon.

At last, he turns to you, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his slacks. “When you’ve been alive as long as I have, you grow familiar with the dangers of the world. But I’ve forgotten how easy it is for a mortal to be injured. One small slip up, and your life is over in an instant. More likely, one major mistake from someone else, and you’d be taken from me forever.”

Being so suddenly claimed by a stranger has you speechless. It wasn’t enough you’d followed him to his cave; you’ve already become something that could be taken.

“There are things far worse than me in this city,” he says, his cool breath brushing over you as he steps closer. “I’m what stands between you and them.”

Danger is a native tongue to Gotham; that is a fact no one in the city can escape. Your home is paramount to others in its oddities and cruelties. A place that raised a unique kind of person. Gotham is a hungry city; its citizens inherit its voracity.

Bruce ambles past shelves. The soles of his expensive shoes barely make a sound. You’re so busy taking in as much as you can, you almost run into him as he stops suddenly.

He pulls out a journal, the dust in that spot already disrupted. Practiced fingers leaf through worn, yellowed pages until he lands on the page he searches for. He doesn’t pass the notebook like you thought he might.

“After my mother and father were taken from me, I was fixated on their undead murderer. I looked for answers. I found him at the cost of my mortality.”

You don’t want to believe it, but acceptance creeps up on you. The casual disregard as he speaks of mortality. The way he spoke of his hunger within the same breath as the men in the alley.

Passively, he scans the page. Is he threatening you, or is he giving you answers you so badly are looking for? The line seems so thin with him.

“Gotham was my parents’ legacy,” he continues. “I found myself in a unique position to protect it. So I did. I could atone for becoming the same kind of monster that took them from me.”

You’re relieved he suggests fresh air, traveling closely behind him through the manor. Your head spins with the wealth of new information, trying to occupy your thoughts instead with the moon shimmering in Gotham Bay, watching waves crest before crashing into the jagged cliff edge.

He stops you a mildly overcautious distance from the edge and studies you. “I mean it when I say I’ll do everything I possibly can to keep you safe.” Somehow, his smooth, low voice carries over the sound of the tide below. You believe him. You can’t be sure the feeling is your own, but it doesn’t come with an invisible hand squeezing at your chest. Even if some part of you still wants to run, the larger part wants to stay.

Now more than ever, you feel now as if you’re in a dream. You sneak your hand up the sleeve of your coat to pinch at your arm. Bruce smirks next to you. You don’t want to dwell on how small and foolish you must seem to him.

The neon emerald of the Ace Chemicals sign glimmers in inky waters. His legacy is just as much there as the ruins of the home behind you.

He hasn’t said as much, but something inside of you grasps Gotham is no longer the same as he once saw it. The city’s many problems troubled him in different ways when he was mortal. Now, the people there—you and everyone else with a beating heart—are nothing but ants. Little things to be squashed unless protected.

Doubt gnaws at you. Anyone could have run into that alley. Anyone could have been as scared as you. That night, it just happened to be you.

Your first date starts at the Gotham Museum of Fine Arts.

You refused to move into the manor when he asked, insisting you would only consider his offer if you got to know him better. You’d felt so childish choking out the word—dating—bracing yourself for Bruce to laugh at you, but he never did. Instead, he agreed. But he didn’t think spending all your time inside Wayne Manor counted.

You wander through the portraits of famous Gothamites unable to relax. You wait for someone to see the large painting of Bruce Wayne hung on the wall across the room; you wait for someone to stop you both and say, “that portrait looks exactly like you!” Worry someone might make a connection that your date has more than a passing to the late Wayne.

Bruce notices. His cool fingers thread through yours—a habit of his, you’ve begun to notice. “They won’t see,” he assures.

“How do you know?” you whisper, leaning in close so no one overhears.

He chuckles as he gives your hand a gentle, affirming squeeze. His breath brushes over the shell of your ear as follows suit. “Practice.”

You travel through time together, drifting from period to period, taking comfort in the presence of his hand. Eventually, you relax. The gravity of him pulls you in, nudging at your mind to remind you what drew you in to begin with. With each moment you spend with him, you find it harder to pull away. His presence calls to you, fills you with such self-consciousness and relief at the same time. And if there’s relief, isn’t it worth it not to fight against the physics of it?

No one pays you any mind. You and Bruce are tucked inside a private world. Yet, watchful eyes scan the room, searching for threats. He wants to protect you; he’d said so from the start. Whatever danger in Gotham could hurt you, Bruce would be your guard. You feel giddy with the freedom, but too hesitant in front of him to show it.

“When was your last date?” you ask. That’s what you do on first dates, isn’t it? Get to know each other? But the task feels so threatening with Bruce. You’re unsure of what will count as a mark against you. Each topic feels like a potential hazard, and the last thing you want to do is give him cause to get angry.

He hums. “As a human, a few months before I was turned. A woman I met at some party or another. We went to the theatre. I can’t remember what it was we saw. I remember I had to leave early.” A darkened look crosses his face. “Other obligations came up.”

You let out a hesitant ‘oh,’ that brings Bruce attention to you again. “There was another after I'd turned. Like me. It was...complicated.”

This time you don’t respond. What was he hoping to find in you after another vampire?

How long Bruce has been alone? Those empty halls of the manor seem so vast. How many years of silence had he been inside its walls? You’ve felt the desperation he had to keep you nearby. You feel the loss he doesn’t speak of. The weight of everything taken from him.

“What about your last date?” he asks.

“Oh.” You weren’t expecting him to ask in return, didn’t have anything prepared. You worry there’s nothing you could say that would sound impressive to him. “I don’t know. A few months ago. We went out for dinner, but it was nothing special. We didn’t keep in touch.”

Bruce doesn’t respond to your silence. You wonder, somehow, if you’d made a silly admission. You try to recover from whatever faux pas you made, pushing conversation again.

“When did you become Batman?” you ask, glancing around carefully. Testing how true his assurances no one could hear you were.

There are no shocked looks thrown your way. Only Bruce’s face softening at the sound of your voice. The gentle look on his face makes him look so different. Buried beneath Bruce’s endless seriousness, a resemblance of the boy he once was still remains.

“I was 36. Single-minded about finding a way to get rid of the creatures that took my mother and father from me. But people were dying from my idleness. I couldn’t only rely on research and a medical school dropout’s education. I needed a more direct approach. So I became the Batman.”

“But why Batman?” You glance around anxiously again, waiting to be found out. But the moment passes.

He doesn’t answer your question. The chill of his hand slips from you as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers. For a moment, you think you’ve asked a forbidden question, but his voice comes out low and smooth. “What are you afraid of?” he asks.

The unusual chill grips your chest again—the one that hints that Bruce isn’t playing fair.

“Being alone here,” you admit. Your face burns with shame, wishing you hadn’t said it out loud. Bruce doesn’t respond, which only makes it worse. You stare at the ground, still trailing along behind.

“I don’t intend to leave you alone here,” he says.

Your unoccupied fingers curl into your palm. “You don’t need to make me tell you things.” It’s a quiet fight, but one you put up nonetheless.

He regards you. You wonder if he’s trying to get you to back down. If he is, you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“I was still mortal when I became Batman,” he says finally. “I needed my opponent to think I was one of them.”

You feel the urge to ask what opponent he means, but you don’t want to feel silly in front of him again. And your irritation still lingers. You’re not sure how you would fare his self-important stare again.

“Are there others...like you?” you ask, gazing at the deep, vivid colors of the baroque pieces you pass.

“There are,” he says. “None in Gotham, however. They understand this is my territory.”

He guides you to the impressionist wing. You pause in front of a Monet. The arc of the bridge and the water lilies in the water are familiar. You peer into the reflection of the water as if you were in front of the pond yourself.

“This was my mother’s favorite,” Bruce tells you. “She grew up near a pond with water lilies. She said it reminded her of then.”

You think of the Martha from your dreams. Her childhood feels so impossibly long ago, lifetimes away from you. Even without ever meeting her, you mourn her. You wonder how true to life your version of her is.

Bruce shows no signs of the same wear you feel as you wander the galleries. His feet don’t tire; his mind doesn’t go groggy with the quiet.

After thoroughly exploring the museum, you’re relieved he suggests dinner. The relief, however, is short-lived. You’d only thought of your hunger; you hadn’t considered if Bruce would eat, nor where he would bring you.

Warm candlelight flits over Bruce’s face. Shadows flickering beneath the hollows of his eyes makes it hard to focus on your food. You wish he would have ordered something for your sake. You cut into your food, trying to give yourself something to do other than meet his gaze. Yet again, you’re a spectacle for him. Something to be observed. A zoo animal.

The marble pillars around you, the quartet playing in the corner across your small table, the vampire who doesn’t eat. All of it feels designed to make you feel inadequate. Why would he bring you here, to a place he wouldn’t participate?

Bruce had suggested dinner here. You had never heard of the restaurant. He’d explained the place was one of the oldest in Gotham. But unlike Wayne Manor, this place had no oppressive presence, only the oppressive rules of society that seem so natural to Bruce even now but so illusive to you.

You haven’t tasted a bite of your meal; you’ve felt too ungraceful beneath Bruce’s unwavering gaze. The guilt dawns on you as he finally breaks the lingering silence.

“Are you enjoying your food?” He leans close. His voice rolls over you like gentle thunder.

With your mouth full, you can only reply with a nod. You force your bite down glancing at the tables around you. Couples laughing softly only a few feet away, their lavishness apparent to you even in the low light.

You don’t want to be alone. Even if you can’t understand his attention, don’t know if you’re anything other than a pet to him, you don’t want to direct him anywhere else. As cold as his safety is, you will take it. You will find whatever shelter in it you can.

His eyes are on you as your head tips back to drink the last of your wine. You can feel the weight of his gaze. The waiter comes by with the check, and you’re thankful for the distraction. You set your glass on the table as if you’d been caught in the middle of committing a crime.

Out the window, you watch large flakes of snow dance from the sky. The first snowfall of the season come early.

Bruce guides you outside. His broad hand rests on the small of your back. You expect for him to guide you towards the valet parking. You step that way, alarmed as Bruce ushers you toward a side street, away from prying eyes.

“You’re upset,” he notes.

With your rigid spine and tense silence, you can’t be surprised he noticed, but part of you wishes he hadn’t. You need more time to wrap your head around your situation—around him.

“Why did you bring me there?” you ask, your arms crossed over your chest in defense of the cold your worn coat seems to be unable to keep up with.

“It’s a wonderful restaurant,” he replies simply.

You’re not sure if he’s missing your point deliberately or not. “You don’t eat. Just stared at me.”

“So the first date didn’t go well?” Bruce asks, quirking a thick brow up at you. “Alright then, what would you like to do?”

Flakes of fall on his hair. White stands out stark against the deep black. The cold seems to mean little to him even as you shiver.

“I want to get to know you!” you say. “I’m at a disadvantage here because you seem to know plenty about me, but just about everything I know about you I learned in a history book.”

His stare feels inescapable. Too consuming. You’re plagued by mystery. “If there was something worth knowing, I would tell you.”

You scoff. “That’s not how this works,” you hiss. “If you want me in your house, I need to know who you are. How else am I supposed to know I’m any safer with you than I am at my apartment?”

The air grows colder as he crowds you. You barely feel the chill of his hand as it cups your cheek. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“No, you’d withhold information instead.”

His hand falls as you turn from him, instead watching the snow as it melts on the ground. Flakes dropping to the concrete. There in a moment, gone an instant later.

“Come with me,” he says, hand outstretched toward you. Against all sense, you take it.

At the manor, you drift hand-in-hand through the snow-dusted rose garden. Damp gravel rustles beneath your feet. Bruce barely makes a sound.

The garden was kept maintained for tours. On nice days, you bring the visitors out here, talk about the staff the Waynes would have kept, mentioning now a team of gardeners is employed through the estate.

In a month or so, the blooms will die. Their petals will wilt and dry, withering with time. The glistening roses in the darkness puts you on edge for a reason you can’t place. Maybe because you’re so used to the sunshine shining on them, drawing out their splendor.

Bruce snaps a deep red rose from its bush. You bite back the urge to reprimand him as you would a guest. He pinches the stem between his fingers, turns it over carefully. “My mother kept roses in the house,” he says. “As a boy, I would turn my nose up and complain of the sweet smell.”

He raises the flower to his nose. His lips turn up so slightly, you’re not even sure if you can call the look on his face a smile. But nonetheless, he lowers the rose, holding it out for you to take.

Soft petals brush against your nose as you smell.

This evening, you retrace your steps to the dining room. Amid the dizziness of your thoughts—nights before, you and Bruce danced across the room after he’d cleared the tables away himself—you’d forgotten to lock the door on your way out.

The empty room fills your thoughts with fantasy. You imagine your life if you’d met Bruce earlier. Would he have brought you to the grand galas hosted in this room? Would you have felt more at ease in the lavish clothes he would get for you?

You imagine a time his hand would have been warm in yours. His hand on your waist would only cause you to shiver from the thrill of contact.

How long could the two of you dance before your feet hurt? Would he carry you off to the bedroom after your guests had gone home after listening to you complain about your shoes?

The days are longer now, and you have more time to kill before Bruce comes up to see you; you struggle against the bitterness of getting less time with him than you had in the cold months of winter. So much of your day now is a hazard to Bruce. You would never see his rare and dazzling smile in the light of day. Never feel his skin warmed from the sun.

Warmth from Bruce seems so unnatural. You’ve never experienced anything other than a chill beneath your fingertips as you brush over his skin.

With your extra time, you’ve taken to learning the layout of the manor better. You’ve grown used to dusting cobwebs off your clothes, imagining the two of you laughing and dancing through these halls as you cleaned as you had to the study a few nights prior.

You poke your head into the unlocked rooms, trying to place yourself on the map of great Wayne Manor. Behind each door is another dusty room, furniture draped just as you’d found the study that night those months ago. Finding a perfectly clean room freezes you in your tracks.

Heavy curtains block out the light. You make out a large four-post bed against the wall. All but the shapes of vanities and dressers are obscured. Thomas and Martha’s bedroom, preserved almost exactly as they had left over a century ago, save for the drapes over the mirrors.

You look up and down the hall the way a trespasser would before taking a single step inside. For a moment, you imagine Martha stepping out of the shadows, ready to link arms and show you about the same way she had in your dreams. But it’s you alone in her musty room. Even if it’s been cleaned, you wonder how long since fresh air had passed over the expensive sheets.

On one of the shapes in the room—a dresser, you think, by the brass handles you can make out as your eyes adjust—you see an ornate circular frame and what you can only jut make out as three faces.

Yet again, you check for standers-by before you pick up the frame, crossing deeper into the room to carefully pull the heavy velvet curtain away from the window. The last rays of the setting sun streaks across the photograph.

Martha is younger than you’ve ever seen her. The softness in her eyes is familiar, but the longer you stare, the harder it grows to place. Beside her is Thomas, his shoulders broad, face stoic. And on Martha’s lap is a very young boy, dark hair atop his head neatly combed back.

This picture feels as though it was taken such an impossibly long time ago. Bruce couldn’t be any older than two-years-old here. You stare at him wishing there was anything you could do to warn him of the tragedy that would become of his life. Wish there was some wisdom you could impart that would somehow make the grief he’d have to hold later in life easier.

So long ago, Bruce had been a child running in these halls. No amount of time passing would take that away as long as Wayne Manor still stood as it did. Before that, he’d learned to walk. And you wonder if maybe Bruce’s idea of himself had been skewed by the calamity of his life. Maybe the bad he saw in himself wasn’t really there. Maybe you could prove that to him.

The curtain falls closed as you pull your hand away. Guilt sneaks up on you again, like Thomas and Martha will burst through the door, laughing in their comfort with each other, and catch you in the act of rifling through their belongings.

Your thoughts wander as you slip into the hall again. Tiny footsteps echo in your ears, racing along the carpeted corridor. A small laugh that resonates through the routine quiet in the manor, still boisterous, yet to be subdued to the soft chuckle you’ve grown accustomed to. You imagine Bruce darting from room to room, waiting in silence for his mother to find him hiding in an armoire or a cupboard.

Ghostly laughter subsides, and you realize you’d been stuck in your daydreams for several minutes. You continue on your way, glancing over untouched console tables and the little bits the Waynes had left to furnish your home.

You find another staircase. The landing looks familiar—you’d be able to follow it and head to the study, wait for Bruce there until he comes up for the night to collect you. You’ll read the books on the shelves, blow dust away from the covers and not take in a single word on the pages as long as you look occupied.

You make your careful descent, taking each step slowly, learning from countless past mistakes how easy it is to slip on dust.

The pattern on the thick carpet down the steps is hard to make out between the grime and the darkness. Fibers fray at the ends. Boards creak beneath so loudly you worry one of them might snap off.

You worry as you stay on your path, eager to see Bruce as a lovesick teenager would be. In the dim of the landing, you aren’t able to catch the split in the carpet, threads stretching up like fingers.

In the dip, your foot catches. There’s no time to recover. A dreadful second passes as you flail, trying against gravity to stay upright. You lose the battle, and Wayne Manor pulls you down. Awkwardly, you turn, your shoulder hitting the ground first before you continue to tumble.

At the landing, your elbow burns. No doubt carpet burn to accompany the dust covering your clothes. Limbs ache and throb, but nothing feels severe. You wince as you sit up, glancing over for any other damage, freezing up as a drop of blood beads from the scrape across your palm.

Your body goes cold at the sight. Before you can rise to your feet, Bruce is at your side. His jaw clenches. His eyes zero in on the blood. The strong muscles of his body go taut.

“Bruce—”

He bends down and takes you into his arms with such ease, you’re not sure it’s happening until you fall against his cold chest.

You try not to wait for the moment he can no longer control himself, but you still find yourself holding your breath as you wait for the other shoe to drop. The pain is secondary to the worry squeezing at you.

“Stay here,” he demands after he sets you on the old camelback sofa. You don’t get a word in before he slips from study. Moments later, he returns with first aid supplies in hand.

Bruce works in silence. Once you move beyond the stinging as Bruce cleans, you’re jarred by the focus in his eyes. Unlike what you’d imagined, there is no ravenous blood lust. If you didn’t know what you did, you wouldn’t have doubted he was anything other than a man tending an injury. He holds your scraped hand tenderly, tending to you with great care. Only once everything is bandaged and Bruce is satisfied you don’t have any other injuries that need tending, does he look up at you.

You only manage to mutter out a feeble thanks.

“The carpet will need to be replaced,” he says in place of a reply to your gratitude.

The reply stings worse than the alcohol on your wound, aches more than the bruises that will develop as you sleep tonight. But what could you expect? Your injuries must seem trivial to him now. He wouldn’t think to ask if you were okay.

You nod.

He has your hand in that same firm but cautious grip. He raises your palm up to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to the bandage, a demonstration of his control. Even handling your blood, you still have yet to see the monster he so feared he is.

“I think you might be misjudging yourself,” you say, your voice gentle. Your mind returns to the picture of the young family, a baby sitting upon his mother’s lap.

You hear leaves rustling in the breeze from outside the open windows. Fresh air now slips through replaced panes of glass, the chirps of crickets filling the silence that settles between the two of you in place of the crackling fires Bruce would light for you in the winter.

The ice of his eyes falls back onto you. His face grows severe, brow twitching up as he regards you. “In what way?” There’s a hesitance in his reply that you somehow feel is reserved only for you.

“I trust you a lot more than you seem to trust yourself. I don’t think you’re the threat to me you insist you are.”

He tenses before he stands up from the couch, turning his back to you. “Thinking that way could cost you your life one day.” The words are clipped. He gathers up his supplies—supplies only now are you wondering why he had to begin with—and swiftly moves from the study.

You stay where you are, aching and stunned, wondering if you should follow after. Part of you wonders if he only needs time, but you think of his bouts of quiet. Giving him time to settle likely wouldn’t do much in your favor.

When you finally will yourself to your feet, you find no trace of him in the hall.

Darkness surrounds you, and you are perfectly aware what lurks within it.

“Bruce?” you call, squinting into the gloom for movement. Your voice doesn’t carry in the dead air. Only you and the whistling wind. Somewhere down another hall, a door slams shut. Your best guess sends you left.

Your body grasps what your mind isn’t willing to accept. You’re being hunted. Your muscles are stiffened, ready to run. But your heart. Your heart wants you to find Bruce, to understand what you’d done to cause him to storm out.

“Bruce?”

The manor still feels so labyrinthine even after weeks of visiting and roaming this side of things. Larger than life, much like the legend living inside it. Uncanny, at times, the way you find yourself surrounded by the stage of your dreams.

You look for Bruce’s expensive footprints in the dust, only to find they disappear not far from the door you’d seen him walk out of.

Something rustles behind you. You gasp. Spin. Nothing is there.

“Bruce, this isn’t funny,” you insist, turning over your shoulder expecting to see him. You’re still alone.

You stomp down the hall, floorboards gnashing with every step. A softer creak comes from the opposite of where you came. You turn, something rushing before your eyes, vanished in an instant.

Your heartbeat has found a home in your throat. You wait for him to move again. For any sign of him anywhere. You feel breath on your neck, but you are alone at every turn, out in the open until Bruce decides he no longer wants to play with you.

It’s horrible, your wait for the end. Part of you understands this is his way of proving a point, but still you brace for something worse. The real lesson, perhaps, where Bruce proves once and for all just how much harm he can do.

You’re yanked back by a force that nearly knocks the wind out of you. A scream rips out from your throat as you try to fight away.The hands that hold you are too firm to be broken from. You’re alert enough to know you’re being held, at least. This is far from the worst outcome, but your heart flips and race anyway.

His strong fingertips dig into the meat of your hips. “Never let your guard down. I am an animal acting on instincts. You may not always find me with such a level head,” he hisses into your ear.

You hold as still as you can, hoping somehow it will deter him from doing whatever he could possibly do with you. One of his hands comes up, wraps around your throat. His fingers are soft as they find your pulse, lingering as if he’d found something luxurious. He does not squeeze.

“I will do everything I can to protect you. There will always be some things I can protect you from better than others.” His thumb swipes over your pulse point again with a tenderness so stark against his words.

Later, as he holds you against him on the camelback, you’re still stuck on his words.

“Would you take it back if you could?” you ask.

Bruce does you the service of pretending he’s too deep in thought to hear your naive question.

It feels childish, your desperate plea to be needed. But of course Bruce would go back. It’s no question you need answered. He’d give everything up, you included, if he could have what he used to. You feel foolish for thinking you could worm yourself into Bruce’s life.

You don’t look at the portrait above the fireplace. You can’t stand to see the ghostly youth on Bruce’s face. It reminds you of the photograph you found on the dresser in Thomas and Martha’s bedroom. Makes you think of the moment this afternoon when you’d been so certain you understood Bruce. But you might be after something impossible.

The idea of him as a child playing hide and seek no longer fills you with the same delight as it had while the sun was still shining.

“I’m not sure what to do about how badly I need you.” You feel Bruce’s gaze before you look up to meet it.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He’s silent for a moment. You think he’s going to pretend he didn’t hear you again. Instead, he squeezes you closer to him. Following his lead, you curl against his chest. “There’s a darkness that festers inside of me. There always has been. This...disease draws it out.” Another long pause. His grip on you doesn’t waver. “But you remind me of the good out there. You remind me of my humanity.”

In that moment, you think once again of the screams of the men as you ran from the alley. You’d stopped only once, as a great shadow swept in front of you, blocking the path. Milky, glowing eyes stared at you in the darkness before sliding past, hulking towards the group.

You ran. Whatever you had encountered that night hadn’t wanted you, so you saw no reason to stay. What would have happened if you had? Tonight was the closest you’ve ever come to seeing what Bruce does out on the streets of Gotham.

If you knew then what you knew now, would you stay? You wonder if it would have made a difference before you loved him.

You swallow roughly. Wishing you could tell him you need him too feels so pitiful, so predictable.

After Bruce’s insistence at being dangerous, you don’t want to tell him now that he offers a safety you’ve never known.

The chill of his fingertips creeps across your skin. In this moment, you’re grateful silence is a language Bruce is fluent in. You slip your arm from where it curls around his sturdy torso, and crawl up onto his lap. He pulls your chest flush against his. You sink into his grip, arms tossed over his broad shoulders.

His fingertips drag up and down your vertebra with leisure. No doubt, in an hour, Bruce will sweep away into the cave to attend to his nighttime activities. You soak up the moment while you have it.

Your forehead dips into his neck, hands raking through the ends of his dark hair. Being this close to Bruce feels forbidden. Something too special to be real. You feel yourself falling into him every time; everything else gets swept away and only the two of you remain.

Bruce’s lips press into the side of your head.

Jealousy twinges in your chest at the idea of him disappearing off for the city. It’s a silly feeling, envy over Gotham. But Bruce stalks the streets nearly every night, leaving hungry, coming home fed. Well-fed, probably not, but enough to keep his hunger level in front of you.

That’s when the idea first sneaks into your head. You imagine, instead of Bruce kissing your bandaged palm earlier, if he’d lapped up the blood slipping through your scrapped skin. What if Bruce didn’t need to feed from the Gothamites he dedicated his immortality to instilling fear into? What if he had everything he needed right here?

Perched on his lap, you imagine taking hold of the hair your fingers run through, pulling him into your neck and keeping him there until the scent left him no choice but to bite. Imagine the strength of his fingers as his hunger has him pinning you in place. You’d trust him. He says you shouldn’t, yet you do. You can allow yourself to be foolish for him. Allow yourself to imagine his cool lips dragging across your skin. Coming from him, a bite could be a reward.

Your mind twists with the desire of it, the itch to satisfy him, but your tongue is too clumsy to form the suggestion. You swallow it whole.

You move into Wayne Manor like an invasive species. A cheap imitation of people who knew how to live in grand places such as this. Bruce, however, got to the point of insisting.

Bruce brushes off complaints of your very sudden unemployment brought on by an email from the tour company; you’re no longer needed while the manor undergoes renovations. Of course, this is his doing, because he’s been the one pulling the strings from the start. A long-term ploy to get you into the manor; anything that lessened the time you spent alone out in the city.

The contractors wandered in and out of the manor, minds fixed on their work. Bruce wanted you away from them. You complied, save for the times you cut through the foyer. Their focus never wavered, yet their eyes seemed glazed over. Later, when you asked Bruce about it, he only nodded, said the workers would have no memory of being in Wayne Manor. Their generous paycheck they’d receive for their efforts would keep them plenty satisfied.

So construction continued, disrupting the spell that had fallen over you and your time spent within Bruce’s childhood home.

Your days were primarily occupied by Bruce now. A taste of life as you had lived months earlier made reality seem so harsh. Brought up worries you’d managed to put off in lieu of the dreaminess of your life with him.

You keep waiting for him to change his mind. To grow tired of you, your humanity nothing other than a passing infatuation. Yet, the smooth ride of the elevator as you go to the cave makes you wonder if Bruce really does mean for you to stay.

Bruce has told you he prefers not to be distracted while he works. You often combat by reminding him he’s always working.

Candlelight spills over scattered papers on a scarred, sturdy table. Bruce makes no indication he’s aware of your presence, but you know better than to assume otherwise. He’s been here for the better part of two days, save for when he hasn’t been out in the city. The distance is becoming harder for you to tolerate.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” you say as you approach.

Bruce gives a hum to acknowledge you spoke. He straightens up slightly, but his eyes don’t leave the page. When you try to peek, he picks them up. The movement is controlled, seemingly a coincidence, but a certainty he’s keeping information from you.

“Something came up,” Bruce says,

You nod in hopes he’ll continue. Sometimes he does, speaking out loud as he puzzles through his current deliberation.

“Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at this for days. Maybe tonight we could go out walking in the garden,” you propose, forcing a hopefulness into your voice than you feel.

Bruce shakes his head before you’ve finished your suggestion. “This can’t wait.”

You don’t want to be hurt by his words. Bruce is focused; you’ve always known this. His unwavering dedication to his cause will always come before you, because you are not what he’s pledged his eternity to. Still, you miss him. The knowledge he’s a few floors away isn’t enough to comfort you as you try to sleep in an empty bed. Even before he leaves, there are excuses. Preparation for a case he’s cracked as he worked the day. Training a body that almost nothing in Gotham could harm. Needing to feed from veins that aren’t your own because you still grow too skittish whenever you think of speaking your desires out loud.

Doubt puts you on edge, especially as you ease into the certain comforts of your new life. No work leaves plenty of leisure time, but your mind tends to utilize most of it worrying about what happens after Bruce finally gives up on you. By now, you imagine your affordable little apartment has been snatched up. If Bruce puts you where he found you, you won’t even have your not-even-cushy income to protect you.

Without prompt, Bruce moves across the cave to a microscope, sitting to examine the cell.

You linger a moment longer, feeling humiliated as you wait for him to recognize you’re still here. When he doesn’t, you trudge towards the elevator, hating the echoes of your footsteps. Hating the way your face gets hot.

From outside the study windows, you watch the sun set, understanding soon Bruce will leave you as he does every night. He’ll come home with even tempers, at ease from sated hunger or satisfaction of his job. He won’t share the scraps of his good humor with you; in your sleep, you’ll miss it all.

The sky turns inky. Luminescent lunar threads weave through the grass. You can’t see the city from here, only the stormy waters off in the distance. You imagine Bruce there anyway, wondering what it is he fights against, what battles he wages you’re unaware of.

Once you’re certain he’s is gone, you walk with heavy heart towards your bedroom. The same bedroom that had once been his as a child. You think of Thomas and Martha’s room down the hall, the family photograph sitting on the dresser. With the history residing within the walls of the manor, you wonder if your presence will ever feel natural.

Part of you wants to check and see if the room is still spotless. Had Bruce been up there to clean, so close to you, never bothering to visit?

You decide you don’t want an answer.

You lay in your bed imagining how things would be with him beside you as you slept. Your body curled around his broad chest. You think of a time where you could sleep beside Bruce the whole night, no fear of the rising sun encroaching on your time together.

Sometime later, your bed dips, and you realize you must have fallen asleep. Your hazy mind wills you back towards slumber. You manage barely to grip onto wakefulness long enough for your eyes to flutter open.

Bruce sits beside you, back bowed as his elbows lean into his knees. The sheets rustle as you move. He doesn’t turn toward you, but lifts his head as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. He’d never tell you if it were; he insists his burdens are his alone.

“Go back to sleep,” he urges.

“What are you doing up here?” you ask, voice rough.

“Checking in.” The words hang heavy in the air. Checking in because something is weighing on his mind. Seeking assurances that you’re still safely tucked into the bed he’d made for you. Calming his racing thoughts.

You prop yourself up for a better look at him. “Rough night?”

You shouldn’t ask. You know better than to expect an answer, but a youthful optimism twists at your heart. Bruce makes you feel so naive in comparison. Everything feels so fresh to you, but everything bewildering comes so naturally to him.

Bruce turns to you. His fingertips trail down your skin as he gives his standard procedure response: “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Would you tell me if it was?”

He says yes. You don’t believe him.

Wind rattles at the windowpanes. You’re thankful Bruce replaced them before the weather started to get cold. It’s the subtle sort of sign you cling to in hopes it means he’ll keep you at least through another winter. He envisions you being around long enough you’ll have to stay warm in this room.

“Do you come up here every night?” you ask. Your hand stretches out, questing for his in the dark of the room.

“Not every night,” he murmurs, obliging your search as his fingers curl around yours. “But it makes the hours before you come down to the cave more bearable.”

“You didn’t seem very interested in me earlier.”

He seems relaxed in a way he hadn’t been earlier. Eyes clearer, posture more relaxed. He’s fed recently.

“I was working.”

Never ending secrets. Ones that ate away in the spaces where you wanted to trust Bruce. To surrender to the acceptance that he wants you here. If he wants you around, why is it these days he only comes to find you as you sleep?

Bruce suddenly kicks off his shoes. You watch, mind sluggish with sleep, as he slides into your bed still in his slacks and turtleneck sweater. He pulls himself to your chest, his head resting against your beating heart.

“What happened tonight?” you whisper.

Bruce doesn’t move. Without breath, he’s as still as a statue, moonlight illuminating the sallow of his skin. Try as you might to outrun it, Bruce is undead. In his eyes, a monster. He’s never been shy of reminding you of this; even as he’s told you to flee, you’ve never been sure he’d ever actually let you go. Yes, you could live outside the walls of Wayne Manor, but would that mean Bruce’s eyes wold never seek you out? Even if he outgrew you, would he accept anyone else having you?

“A group is moving towards Gotham,” he finally says. “Scouts have been casing the city. They need to be reminded whose territory this is.”

You tense. Bruce so rarely spoke of other vampires. Really, just that day in the museum when he’d so firmly told you he’d scared the others away.

Without a response, Bruce shakes his head. “This isn’t good bedtime conversation,” he says.

Your hand trails his spine lightly. You don’t want to admit you agree. The thick yarn of his sweater obscures the muscles of his back. You wish you could feel all of him, but that too is a luxury you’re allowed with such trepidation.

He holds so still, you might have guessed he’d gone to sleep. The cool weight of his head against your chest start to lull you again. Thoughts of impending danger slip away from you, and with Bruce at your side, you fall asleep.

“No.”

Bruce had come home from patrol minutes earlier when you first broached the subject. By then, you’d managed to pick up on his tells. He wouldn’t look at you, paced in place of his usual unnerving pause, snapped instead of grunted when you say something that displeased him. You could tell the city had been quiet that night. Bruce hadn’t fed as much as he needed to.

Bruce turned you into someone who hoped for danger upon the city so he wouldn’t return to you irritated. The hope made you slightly sick with internal conflict.

What if I gave you some of my blood? The question that appalled Bruce so.

“But you’ve said so yourself,” you replied. “You’re always careful. And I trust you.”

He shook his head. “You should know better than that by now,” he scolded, turning away from you. His hand closed into a fist, knuckles rested onto the surface next to the shuffle of papers.

“Bruce—”

“I will not,” he snapped, “resort you to a meal.” Before you could rebuttal, he cut you off. “No. We are not having this conversation.”

You flinched from the sharpness of his voice.

In hindsight, you should have guessed your question wouldn’t be well-received if he was already irritable. But the predictability hadn’t done much about the sting. The ability to see it coming did nothing for the ache of your desire.

Tonight, he comes home well-fed and finds you in the darkness of your bedroom. You press against his firm chest, fingertips brushing over the arm tossed across your torso.

He stays in bed longer now. When he needs you to help pull him back to himself, he wakes you with kisses peppered along your neck. You always afford him these moments. Bruce has given you almost everything but all of himself. In his eyes, the monster and the man you love are supposed to be two different beings. You wanted to prove to him your love wasn’t conditional; there was nothing he needed to hide from you.

“Have you given more thought to my offer?” you ask, your skin still tingling from his lips.

He goes rigid behind you. “There’s nothing left to think about.” You feel the beginnings of a lecture in his voice.

You turn to him in an attempt to pacify his argument. “What if I want to do it?”

“You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Maybe I do,” you grumble. You could be the one who sustains him. Who keeps him full with your commitment. Maybe it would be enough for him to understand the way you see him, if you were willing to do that.

Giving food to a scared beast could be the thing to gain its trust.

Bruce has said himself, you’ve got a way about you that he can’t resist. Even though his every other word to you seems to be ‘no,’ he still claims he finds it hard to deny you anything.

He gives you a stern stare. “If you did, I would be concerned for your well-being.”

“You aren’t already?” you joke, curling toward him. “I mean it. You take care of me. I want to take care of you too.”

The whole home he’d contented himself to lay to waste had been renovated for your sake. You could help keep food on the table.

“You do,” he assures, his hand wrapping around the nape of your neck. Bruce is always so sure, always aware of the next steps in whatever greater plan he plays at. All that seems to go out the window when it comes to you. Even the idea you’d be willing to give him your blood seems impossible.

“Let me help you. Maybe I like the idea of you saving Gotham running off my blood.” Maybe you like the idea of being needed more. But it’s a way to show Bruce how much you care when the words you say don’t seem to get the point across enough for him to believe it.

It is enough.

Days later, Bruce whisks you off to the cave to run countless tests, each one dedicated to find precisely how much of your blood he could take without harm. There could be no margin of error for this. Not with you, he’d insisted. Your safety was paramount to his hunger.

You’re in your bedroom when he finally gives you what you ask. Silk grazes your skin as you lay down at his request. The brawn of Bruce’s arm cage you in. His head dips to your neck. Your eyes wince shut, bracing for a bite that doesn’t come. His lips instead tingle your skin as they travel the length of your neck.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Gentler than I thought it would be,” you tease.

“I’m tenderizing the flesh,” he murmurs dryly.

Another cluster of slow kisses. You squirm beneath him, anticipation flipping your stomach. You want this without question. Unfortunately, your desire does nothing to dull instinct screaming in your head.

He pulls away. The air grows heavier as Bruce prepares himself. “Tell me if you feel dizzy or nauseated,” he orders. The intensity in his voice mounts. An urge he’s always kept behind iron gates is beginning to slip loose. That, too, makes your stomach flip. His voice grows rough with thirst, his chest rumbling against you as he growled his command.

You nod, your mouth too dry for speech.

Bruce nods back. The vigor lit in his eyes matches the enthusiasm of his head ducking again. His nose drags down your neck, savoring you as he breathes you in. You shutter against him.

His cool hand smooths over the raised skin on your arm, a silent comfort to you, before busying his expert fingers with the buttons on the fancy pajamas he’d gotten you. Kisses grow impatient—you’re surprised to find Bruce is capable of such a thing—the lower he trails.

At your heart, he stills. Forehead presses on your pulsing chest as if he were attempting to absorb its frantic beat. Your eyes slip shut, surrendering yourself for what will follow. The bridge of his long nose drags across your skin as he pulls away, every movement so deliberate. He’s drawing you into him, making it impossible to escape from his pull.

Like an intoxicating perfume, Bruce breathes you in. Your stomach flips, anticipation driving you mad until you feel the damp of his tongue over your skin. His breath is cool across the mark from his pleasured sigh.

Bruce’s fangs finally take purchase, so sharp they puncture the skin immediately. Your eyes shoot open, not catching the gasp in time to stop it. Your body jolts, managed easily by his weight on top of you. His eyes are black as night staring at the blood rolling lazily from the bite. He’s fixated as he tests his own power of will.

Desperation is the only word you have for the way he dives to lap up your blood. Between hungry mouthfuls he whines, too aware of how much he loves your taste.

Your limbs are heavy, tension sapped from your body when it could no longer expend the effort. Your mind’s spinning give way to a high-pitched ringing in your ears. A show of love. A demonstration of how willing you are to trust him. You’ll give yourself to him in whatever ways he’s deemed monstrous if it means he’ll let you in. If it’s enough to have access to his heart, you’ll let him do whatever he wants to yours.

You’re falling again the way you had down the stairs those months ago. Tumbling without direction, but this time, Bruce is here with you. Someone to fall into.

His body rocks as he devours you. This isn’t the grizzly bloodbath you’d seen from your dream. Bruce collects you carefully between his lips. Satisfied hums buzz against your skin. This isn’t how he feeds out in the city. You feel a sliver of his guilt absolved with the eagerness of something given freely.

Your breath fills the room along with springtime rain on the windows. The swipe of Bruce’s thumb against your exposed collarbone keeps you tied to your body. With the most reluctance you’ve ever seen from him, he pulls away. His lips flush with your blood. “Do you need me to stop?” he asks.

“No,” you breathe, giving a dazed shake of your head. “You’re still hungry.”

He kneels between your legs. “That doesn’t matter.” His voice lacks its usual firmness, softened with desire.

“It does,” you whisper, arm lazily flying to meet his. You tug his hand weakly and pull him back. You’re heavy and floating at once. A hazy smile grows on your face. “Take more. Dessert.”

You feel drunk off the sight of your blood staining his lips. The taste of you lingers on his tongue. He’s always consumed you; the fact that he should more literally only seems right.

He satisfies your wish, sucking at the mark he made, bruising your skin with his enthusiasm. You’ll have a mark for days to come and look at it with pride.

Finally sated, he drops to his elbow. Your blood is metallic on his lips as he kisses you. You drag your tongue against him, fingers loosely tangle in the hair at his nape again. You give a gentle tug. He allows you to guide him toward your chest. Presses kisses to the puncture wounds. The flat of his tongue gathers up the very last of your taste.

By the time you realize you’re cold, Bruce is already pulling your blanket around you. The time passes lazily as you hold each other. He murmurs against you he worries he may have taken too much, but you promise him you’re fine. You’re content. Safe.

You’re not sure how long it’s been when Bruce presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I’m going to draw you a bath,” he whisper. The weight of his arm disappears. From the other room, you hear the rush of the tub. You think of the sounds of running water in the cave. Grown fond to listen to it in the lulls of your conversations with Bruce.

Moments later, you’re in his arms. He carries you off to the clawfoot tub in your bathroom.

You sigh as the warm water envelopes you and melt into the bath. You manage to open the heavy lids of your eyes and give him a spent smile. His hand is gentle as he cups your jaw, fingers soft as he swipes away the blood smeared over your lips.

“You taste divine, by the way,” he murmurs to you as he gathers a handful of water and pours it down your chest.

Your weak smile grows. “Do I?” Your heart does a back flip within you.

“You do. Rich. Like Chianti and dark chocolate. From what I remember, at least.”

He cleans the blood off of you, handling you as he would glass. You’re pliant at his fingertips, allowing him to put your limbs wherever they need to be. Once you’re clean, he dresses your wound with steady fingers, and when he’s done, you’ve returned to bed beside him.

He holds you gently, an unspoken thank you for the luxury of feeding without a fight.

You tilt your chin, nipping at his neck. “I wonder how you taste.”

Somehow, these are the words to break the post-feeding bliss.

Bruce pulls away. Your hand falls onto the mattress in the growing space between the two of you. “Like rot. Let’s hope you’ll never have to find out.”

If you weren’t missing approximately a quarter of your blood, you would have thought the question over enough to grasp you’d be better off leaving it unasked. Current circumstances doesn’t allow you the same tact.

“Why not?” you hedge.

“It doesn’t matter.”

You know it would. Saying so wouldn’t get you anywhere, though. If you press him any more, he’ll get up. Leave you for the city, because even fed, he still is committed to Gotham more than he is to you. You don’t want to be alone in this bed. Don’t want the afterglow to succumb to something darker so late at night. You drop the subject.

Cold sweat drips down your spine as you lurch up, but the dream that left you so shaken is fleeting by the time you’re upright. You’re only left with the smell of rain-dampened concrete and blood.

Rattled by an unknown fear, you find yourself scurrying to the cave.

A week has passed since Bruce has uttered more than a word to you. Something plagues his thoughts. He hasn’t been feeding; not from you or anyone else. You can tell from the way he stalks through the cave. Whatever he’s after has been keeping him too busy. Your attempts to relax him are always a lost cause. You no longer try. Seldom does he hear you over the sound of his own mind.

Night after night, you wake from horrible nightmares hoping to find him at your bedside. Night after night, you are alone. Lonelier than you have since you moved into the manor. Martha even evades you in your sleep. You have your safety, but it’s left you secluded.

Funny. Another nightmare brought you here long ago. At least, you wish you could find your circumstances funny. Instead, you’re one-track-minded on finding Bruce, eager for his presence to console you.

In the cave, you find nothing but the bats.

Bruce’s name echoes against the cave walls after you call it out. It goes on and on, reminding you exactly how massive the structure beneath the manor is.

Thomas and Martha’s musty bedroom comes to mind. You are yet again a trespasser sneaking someplace you aren’t supposed to be.

Any other night, you wouldn’t think of a single reason you’d want to be here without him—you’ve always found the place unnerving. Now it feels safer than anywhere else. It’s foolish, you’re aware; the manor is secure, even more so since you’ve moved in. Your fear feels too abstract, though, lost in the frays of wakefulness. In its stead, you fear everything.

If you tried to go back to bed, you know you wouldn’t find sleep. You stay.

Bruce could return in five minutes or in five hours. You peer into the darkness between candles looking for a clock. Passing the wall of shelves, you spot the journal Bruce had pulled out the night he first brought you down. The one he’d reached for more than any other.

Even the thought of looking at the notebook makes you feel dirty, but for once, you could actually understand Bruce’s life. The temptation to understand a little more of Bruce’s forbidden world feels too good an opportunity to pass up.

With an unsteady hand—presumably written after a rough, late night in the city—Bruce writes about a young boy hiding in shadow as a creature holds his father and drinks his blood. His mother robbed of her own will and forced to watch as she waited her turn.

After the creature had left—too occupied with its thirst to notice Bruce hiding nearby—all he could do was stare at his mother. Wait for her to blink. Wait for her to react to the voices that eventually came to find him and drive him off to the police station to ask endless questions.

It wasn’t just that Bruce couldn’t speak—though he didn’t for two days—but who would believe him? Even his young imagination struggled to comprehend what happened.

Bruce doesn’t talk to you about that night. How could he? How does one talk of final memories when they’re open wounds? Even reading the account Bruce held at such a great distance makes you set the book down until your stomach stops turning.

A long time ago, Bruce was an eight-year-old boy alone in an alley. The ground had been pulled out from beneath him. Horrors beyond his young years were confirmed. At the top of the list, he now lived in a world without his parents.

And through the haze broke Alfred Pennyworth, the man now responsible for Bruce in his parents’ absence.

Alfred Pennyworth is dead, Bruce’s trembling hand reports. Alfred, who had been an accomplice as Bruce took up the Batman mantle. Alfred, who stayed by his side even after the transformation. Alfred, whose body Bruce found in the cave on a night he’d been out in the city fighting an ambush by more like him. Opportunists had found his safe haven.

Bruce gives a clinical account of the body. By the next entry, he gives thorough accounts of the status of crime in the city. He logs the blood he took from criminals he stopped on the street; more than he had before Alfred’s death. Another death he never spoke of, another he’d never dealt with. Had you been there at his side, he would have assured you he was perfectly fine.

Your palms itch as you gaze at the rows of dusty leather spines. You feel greedy with the answers to all the questions you’ve been asking yourself right in front of you. Bruce holds so much of himself at a distance. He kept himself locked away, even now, you’re still left without a key.

What would happen if you picked the lock?

You go to the beginning, leafing through pages of what you eventually put together as Bruce’s early research. He speaks of vampires as something entirely unfamiliar. His human days. Your fingertips brush over the delicate page, imagining the warmth of his palm as it ran across. His face younger than the one he’ll wear for the rest of eternity, the dip between his brow not as deepened. The dark of his hair not yet dusted with wisps of gray at the temples. Breath in his broad chest. Heart pumping fresh blood in his veins.

He’s restless through medical school, writes of drifting directionless as he tries to make sense of what to do with his life. But life after medical school led him to his calling.

A body. One that pulled up years of what he’d buried. For most of his life, he’d dismissed what he’d seen that night. He was a man of logic, and logic said his memories were those of a scared child who’d lost his parents. Something dreamed up to lessen the blow. But the body was evidence the night terrors he had more nights than not were more accurate than he believed.

He vowed to protect what remained of his family’s legacy, the one last remaining part of their love.

Your mind is gripped by the horror of it. Not fear of Bruce—especially not for what you had expected to find in these journals—but the atrocities he’d faced and commented on with such casualness.

Is your name etched into a page in one of Bruce’s journals? How much longer do you have before it disappears, buried beneath the hazards in Gotham? Will he lament for the taste of your blood that would never again slip through his lips?

“What are you doing?”

The voice is sharp and comes from out of nowhere. You snap the book shut and see Bruce looming behind you. Never have you seen him so furious. Hands curled into fists. He looks larger than you’ve ever seen him. Something more, even, than the way he’d stalked you through the halls. Worse.

“Bruce.”

He steps toward you. “What are you doing here?” His voice strikes you, sharp as lightning. A burning in his throat replaces the usual coldness of his presence.

“I...I had a dream...I came to find you…” The look on his face stops you from continuing. You cling to the journal as if it could do anything to help you now.

“Go back upstairs.”

“Bruce—” You flinch as he snatches the book from your hand.

“Now,” he growls.

Pushing against him feels unsafe, but your feet stay glued to the cave floor. “No. I want to know—”

“If there was anything you needed to know, I would tell you.”

“You wouldn’t!” you yell. “You don’t! I’ve spent a year telling you I want to know you, and you only give me slivers. How many times do I have to tell you I love you until you finally accept that means you don't have to hide from me?”

“Go upstairs. You can’t be trusted down here, so I will no longer allow you to visit.” He lectures you like a child. Your pleas do nothing to change it.

Frustration gives way to anger simmering up your chest. “What am I doing here, Bruce?” you cry, throwing your arms out in exasperation. “You only want me around half the time you’re home, so it’s not my company. You never tell me anything about yourself, so it’s not to be understood. You’re not after my blood—that was my idea. So why am I here?”

Silence is his intimidation tactic, but you don’t care, not even as his cold eyes stare you down. The wall between the two of you feels insurmountable, and you’re past the point of tolerating it. You deserve to know the man whose roof you live under. The man you love.

“I’ve told you, the city is dangerous—”

“That’s not enough!” you yell. Bat wings rush overhead as you try to even your racing breath. “I love you, and it hurts. You would think after a hundred years you might have learned how to treat someone. I’m not sure how you’d know I’m around most of the time. I can't keep waiting for you to care that I’m here.”

“Then leave!”

No noise competes with Bruce’s roar once the bats have left. His anger echoes, berating you again and again.

Tears sting your eyes as you fulfill his wish. Without another word, you run up to the sunlight where he can’t catch you.

In a daze, you find yourself in the city, back at the fine arts museum. In the impressionism wing, you stare at a Monet. This time, you stare at strokes of warm red, orange, and yellow, a faint arc made up in lines of deep rust and blue—so different from the soft blues and greens Bruce had told you Martha adored. But the fire of the hues appeals to your sinking heart. Instead of thinking of the vampire you’d abandoned within his manor, you stare where the colors blend together, get lost in the blur of pigment.

Without Bruce, you feel exposed. Your safety net is gone. What first starts as an unsettling feeling twisting in your cut slowly bleeds through to the luxury of freedom. You’re thankful it comes on gently, otherwise the relief would catch you so off-guard you’d run to Bruce in the cave you’re no longer welcome in.

You picture him sitting in his gloom, hunched over papers, as he stews over your betrayal. At first, you wonder if he’ll ever forgive you; the thought gives way to wondering if you want him to.

Rare Gotham sun shines as you sit on one of the benches in the hall. Despite the frigid air outside, the sunlight kisses your skin. The warmth blooms from within as you remember the light is not something you can be limited by. There’s nothing lethal as you bask in it, watching your fellow Gothamites walk in front of you. Friends complaining about work. Couples with fingers intertwined whose relationships weren’t shrouded in secrecy. Families unaware of the atrocities that threaten them, nor the shadow who protects them.

Once, your life was the same. You gave tours in a historic home because you had rent to make. You believed Batman was real but never believed the rumors of vampires could be true.

Golden sunset spills across the floor. You can’t outrun Bruce for much longer. You wonder if he’d try to find you, to check up on you at the very least, though you’re not sure why you want him to.

You content yourself not to search him out. If he finds you, he finds you, but you will occupy yourself with your life however you chose until he does.

Bruce is relieved to find your belongings still in your bedroom. A book on your nightstand. Expensive gifts from him atop your dresser, things you’d told him you didn’t need, never understanding that he wanted to give you everything he could. What could ever be enough for you? A light in his never ending darkness?

He wanted you safe inside these walls, made a fortress where you could be happy. Hired teams so you could never so much as trip over a loose floorboard. After every patrol, he stole to your bedroom to watch the rise and fall of your chest to be sure nothing had crept into your room while he was away.

When vampires closed in on Gotham, he decided it was best if he didn’t tell you. The threat was his to take care of, not something for you to worry over.

Perhaps he’d reacted too strongly after he found you in the cave on your own. But your curiosity concerns him; what lengths would you go in search of answers? He called you here, but you still answered the call. If you wanted information about the others like him, would you go to them if you found they were here?

He thought showing you the other side of him—the side he’s told you repeatedly to be cautious of—you might see things the way he did. He thought maybe it would be enough to show you his world was not one to play around in. It only seemed to make you more ravenous for secrets as if they were treats.

In the city, he attended his duties, but his mind lingered on thoughts of you. You hadn’t returned to the manor before dark, which meant you were still out there somewhere.

You can’t imagine what Bruce felt finding you in that alley.

Past and present flashed before him all at once. Over a century’s worth of memories. Far too many for one being to hold. So much death. So much agony.

Your blood is too fragrant in the wind. He can taste it on his tongue from smell alone. Chianti and dark chocolate.

He needs to focus, but he tastes you as he fights.

His enemy has an edge—your blood. All the more reason for Bruce to win.

His anger burns so bright inside of him, he swears his heart is beating again. He feels a fury he hasn’t felt in decades.

A very small part of him is relieved you’re too dazed to have see him lose his composure the way he does. The important thing is the vampire that attacked you is no longer a concern. Bruce ripped him to ribbons. The beast will have eternity to put himself together again. The same as any other fool who steps into his city, he’ll have to crawl to whatever hole he came from.

Blood is sticky on your neck. He can’t tell how much of the puddle beneath you is melted snow and how much is blood.

He falls to his knees. Doesn’t hear the sound of his suit hitting the ground.

Blood soaks into the wool of the coat he'd gotten you last year. Snowflakes are stark on the black fibers. He wishes it would do more to preserve the last of your warmth.

If it weren’t for the rapid rise and fall of your chest, you would look—

Bruce understands what he has to do even if he detests it. He wants to give you the world, and now he robs you of it. You may never forgive him, but you can hate him forever as long as you’re still here. He can no longer fathom a Gotham without you in it.

He wants you safe. That’s all he’s ever wanted.

His fingers curl around the cool metal of a batarang. Alabaster skin surfaces from beneath his heavy glove, tinted sickly yellow in the dim light. You barely meet his eyes as he pulls you effortlessly against him. He doesn’t know if you can see him.

His face is stone as the knifed edge of the batarang slices through his palm. Nothing else here is worth his attention more than you. The strain of your breath is overpowered by metal clanging to the ground. The tips of his fingers curl into the meat of your cheek until your lips pucker.

You make a noise. He ignores it. There’s no time for anything else. He will not lose you. His fingernails dig into his palm as he curls his fist.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers, though he knows you won’t remember this. “Forgive me.”

His blood drips onto your lips. In his unbeating heart, he knows this is a betrayal, but he refuses to walk through Gotham alone. Maybe you can still guide him. And maybe if you lose your way, he’ll help you remember yours.

Another slurred murmur slips through your bloodied lips. You turn your head weakly, trying to get you away. He told you his blood wouldn’t taste good. He keeps you in place. “Just a little more,” he mutters. “You’ll be safe.”

He brings you to the safety of the cave. He saves you, but you have to die anyway.

That damn transformation.

The hours pass slowly at your bedside. Your feverish mumbling come and go until the cease entirely.

He doesn’t like it. You deserve better than the cave. You should be upstairs in bed, blankets pulled up to your chin. Maybe out in the yard, dewy grass tickling your ankles as you gaze at the sunrise sparkling in Gotham Harbor.

He doesn’t know how long it will take, but he scribbles everything furiously the moment they happen and compares them with his notes from his own transformation, as mostly illegible as they are; he’d done his best to cling to whatever lucidity he could before the fever took him.

Every moment passes as a reminder to Bruce; he’s failed you. He swore to keep you safe. Now, you’re damned by his own selfishness.

When you open your eyes, Bruce is standing over a journal.

Something is wrong. You feel so cold. Too alert for what you remember going through. Someone drinking your blood. Had Bruce taken too much…?

Bruce notices you’re awake as you assess the emptiness inside of you. More than emptiness. A gnawing from deep within you. A need you don’t understand.

“Bruce…” you say. Your voice feels cold.

He snaps the journal shut and hurries over to you. “You’re safe now,” he urges.

Your heart stops. No, it doesn’t. No, the coldness comes from within you. Your heart doesn’t stop because it isn’t beating to begin with. “Bruce…?” Fear pitches your voice. You look up at him with dread.

Sunlight is still so fresh in your mind. You remember it. Bruce assures you he’ll help with your transformation, but you don’t hear him. You cling to the memory of sitting in the sunshine. Even then, you treasured it, but not nearly enough.

Come nightfall, you walk beside Bruce. You have a new life to make sense of. With the loss of your mortality, you gain the information you’d sought. Bruce withholds little now, explaining the ways of your kind as waves crash against the bay.

White caps break on the cliff side. Above you is a moonless sky. The glow of the city blocks out the stars even from here.

Across the bay is Gotham City. A stomach more than a city, you feel now more than ever. You’d always known it would take you. The only question was when.

A/N: thank you so much for reading! this fic was an eight month long process, and i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i did writing it 💛

a gigantic shoutout to #1 beta reader @janybabyy for reading this through for me (and to @pedrasacorn and @jasontoddismyhusband for reading this in various heinous states of draft) ily

[jasminetea1123]

I have strong feelings about the Magnus Archives. I just finished a third or fourth listen through and I finally feel like I understand why the whole system of the fears felt so off to me. It doesn't follow its own rules at all. It isn't about the feelings of fear that it puts into you like they all claimed they tried to do that but they were too obsessed with the metaphors.

What does being meat for the slaughter have to do with your body image? Just aesthetics. One belongs more with the end and the other the eye, but they're both treated like meat.

Spiders don't belong anywhere near the web apart from as a fun visual, real people aren't afraid spiders somehow control them they're afraid of spiders because they crawl and hide and itch and make you feel like they're on you just by seeing them.

Why does the stranger have the unknowing instead of the dark? The stranger and the eye should be connected if anything, because it's all about knowing something is wrong.

Even the eye doesn't really make sense. What does the fear of being watched have to do with the people watching, really? They experience opposite terrors linked together because the watcher must know to be scary, and why not grab some fear of knowing too much on the way out?

I don't know if this is an intentional irony or flaw of the writing, I genuinely can't decide. Can even the powers themselves not understand what they are because of Smirke? Or did Jonathan Sims simply have weird ideas about fear? Maybe this is all answered in the sequel, which I haven't listened to in full yet, but still I think it's interesting to think about

[brightdeadthing]

.

[zalder]

“I actually read a really interesting book recently that discusses that very concept,” Zarah admitted. “The main character is this thirty year old ends up always creating drama for the people who matter to her and she time travels back to when she was sixteen. At first she’s so caught up in trying to fix what she perceived as wrong about everyone else’s life but then she has this conversation with her dad where she realizes that while it’s important to worry about everyone else, it’s equally vital to figure out your own life. She figures out how to go back and forth between the time lines and every time she returns she realizes that some action or change she has made has ripple effects across everything else.” She laughed. “And then there is the whole matter of her knowledge of life as a thirty year old that keeps screwing things up. Like knowing certain things about people’s future or even your own getting in the way of what was always meant to be because you refuse to see it. I guess sometimes, you just sort of have to let life be. It’ll find its way.” That was what she told herself. It was how she slept at night. There was honestly no use being terrified of something she just wasn’t at a place to know. “Maybe you just had to much to do,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, that fear of missing out if you went to sleep and someone else got something. To be honest, it’s usually the things that you don’t appreciate as a kid that you learn to appreciate as an adult. For what it’s worth, you seemed like a considerably less fussy baby at your current age.”

The thought of Jace as a bully seemed so foreign to her. She thought herself to have a pretty good imagination but she couldn’t picture it. She supposed that everyone had it in them though. “Before the frontal lobe develops, most people would say that comes out of jealousy or attraction so … it could have been either way,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, you came out of it a good man so that’s all that matters at the end of the day. You couldn’t have been too terrible around here though or else I feel like someone would have talked about it.” She was glad he had positive memories of his time in the military. Nothing was ever all good or all bad. At the end of the day, some bad couldn’t take away the good. “I’m glad to hear you guys try and keep in contact,” she said with a nod. “I mean, I feel like everyone needs people in their life who have their shared life experience so that when they need to talk about, they can be there.” She was glad that he had that. “You really don’t have to,” she said of her nickname. “I mean, I’m fine just being me these days.”

There were a lot of people who spent all their time stressing about what they were going to do and what life was going to become. Zarah wasn’t one of those people. She thought about it from time to time, evaluated where she was at but she was content to just trust the process. She firmly believed that she’d figure it out. One way or another, it would work out how it was supposed to. She didn’t see a point in sitting around worrying about things that she didn’t need to. “We all do,” she admitted. She was definitely grateful to hear the words from him. Jason was someone that she trusted. She didn’t think he’d lead her astray. Given that he was a bit older, he enough life experience that she firmly believed that he knew what he was talking about. “That’s life,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, I don’t think anyone has smooth sailing through it all. Even if it does go well for parts of it, we all have to face some along the way.” She smiled. “You do seem to have it remarkably more together than a lot of people I know. I like that about you.” He was steady and stable which was never a bad thing in the grand scheme of things. She laughed at the fact his nieces had taught him how to nap. “Are you sure you didn’t teach them?” That was definitely how it probably was. “I mean, they might have encouraged you to join though.”

“It’s probably the old elementary school mentality,” she said about the picking on people and becoming friends. “I mean, I don’t know that I was ever that kid that picked on people I wanted to be friends with but I’ve always heard that people pick on the people they like the most. If you’re all friends and no one was overly hurt in the end, I suppose that was a good thing.” The hardest times in life were always better when there were people you could trust. She knew that the Army wasn’t a summer camp. She was just glad he’d had people there that had cared about him and vice versa. “I imagine there were other reasons,” she said of the scars. She supposed that war in general was ugly. “I’m glad you all had something to laugh about. It probably makes when you all meet up and catch up all the more fun.” She let out a sigh, shaking her head at the question. “Both maybe. I mean, yes – Alaska is cold but maybe that there is more under the surface.”

[mandalhoerian]

Repost because tumblr's tags were broken yesterday and it ate my post up 😞 Spoilers and translation notes for Rafayel's intertidal zone & analysis because it kinda floored me, I was just as a blank page as he was throughout this. I had to watch it like 5 times to understand what the story was saying and dig into chinese and japanese versions of this to piece together what was really happening. It may be my idiot brain not getting it and maybe it was like the easiest thing to understand for you but. Yeah. I may be just dumb LMFAO AND!!!! There's also a theory of mine into how Rafayel is actually able to read mc's mind/wishes through their lemurian bond, so stay tuned for that I guess

EDIT: correcting some transcriptions of chinese characters and the translations. sorry about that! google couldn't transcribe it correctly. for clarity's sake i will also include original screenshots. please tell me if anything is wrong!

EDIT 2: Check out part 2 to this as well for stuff I missed!

EDIT 3: An Abysswalker connection I found

EDIT 4: Debunking the myths of non-consent & Rafayel hurting MC in the spicy scene

So Rafayel’s whole deal in this memory, I believe, is dependency. Like, too much intensity, too much need, too much fear -- about scaring her off, about what he sees himself possibly becoming in the future, overall just being too reliant on mc and getting scared by it.

Let's begin with this massive fear of being a taker, not just in the “I’m stealing someone’s fries” way, but in this existential, soul-deep kind of way where he’s terrified of turning everything he loves into something he exploits out of demand for his art. And yeah, it’s sad when you first hear him say it, but it’s also really interesting when you look at how this all ties into his relationship with MC and his inspiration source drying up because of her.

Before Rafayel became an artist, he looked at the world in this super pure, wholesome way. Sceneries and nature were just there, things to admire and feel awe over without needing to do anything about it. Like, imagine standing at the edge of a desert, looking at a sea that’s drying up. Sure, it’s tragic, but it’s also kind of beautiful in a raw, heartbreaking way. That’s how Rafayel saw things, he could appreciate them without feeling like he had to do anything.

But then Rafayel started creating, and suddenly, sceneries weren’t just sceneries anymore. They became inspiration. He wasn’t just admiring beauty, he was extracting something from it, its meaning, its pain, its soul, to turn into art for other people. And that made him feel all kinds of icky, because now he wasn’t just looking at the drying sea. He was taking from it. Just as he's using his people's pain in his art as well, that's also a thing.

Now let’s talk about MC. Rafayel loves her like he used to love those sceneries,,, in this pure, untainted way. There's a parallel here. But here’s the kicker, he’s not the same guy who can just admire something and leave it untouched anymore.

And suddenly, this is no longer only about losing inspiration for him.

This happens after he and MC get together, and it’s like all the pain and anguish that used to fuel his creativity just.. ... dries up. He can’t find that spark anymore because now his life is surrounded by love instead of suffering. In fact, his inspiration starts coming from her and it's starting to clash with how he makes art. In the phone call, he seeks her out and says he needs her so bad and she only needs to talk to help him out. This is the first wink wink nod nod of the story.

So what does Rafayel do? He goes on this big, dramatic trip to "find inspiration" (or at least his muse), but it’s not just about his art. He’s not just looking for inspiration, he’s trying to figure out how to be less dependent on her and becoming increasingly more restless over this. The temparature and physical discomfort is making things worse, he's anxiously overthinking, and imagine trying to fight this and the longest art block as of late off when all you want to do is indulge in this special person and be comforted like a lap cat all day every day.

He understands that if he lets himself indulge without restraint, one day his love for mc will turn into pure need. He’ll become more and more greedy, and he doesn’t want that and is afraid of being abandoned because of that growing neediness and dependency.

This is in relation to his art, because as @/dat-silvers-girl put in the comments, he's struggling with "the genuine fear of not being able to enjoy anything in life because all you're thinking about how to use it (as an artist)" . what if he starts doing this to her? to their love and relationship? take from her, and become someone who only takes in every area of life -- like someone who only exploits things by extracting what he feels about them to use it for his art. he's afraid of that, he doesn't like that and possibly doesn't like himself who does it. so why should she? she would leave him for sure, in his head, that's a solid reason to.

The first time around he brings up his anxiety about MC leaving him out of the inner realization of his dependency, the possibility of just what he can become, and fear of abandonment. she effortlessly soothes his worries. It's heavily implied they did it afterwards and after hearing "her life has already been consumed by him" he tweaked out a little bit and his "obsession" seeped through.

After it fades to black, he says ほら……僕もとっくに……君に侵食されてしまっているんだ…… which means "See... I've already been completely consumed by you too" in Japanese instead of the life being made a chaotic mess localization. While I think MC's line was jokey and lighthearted, I don't think this man is joking at all. Rafayel didn't say his life was consumed by her as well, he said HE was consumed. Ouh.

This took the edge off from him for a while but they hadn't gotten to the root of the problem yet, so he was back to square one after the memorial hall, because remember, he's trying to find inspiration as an act of making this dependency of his better. Pain and suffering are all around him here, which his inspiration feeds off of. The dried up ocean he could hear weakening, the skeleton of the whale, the burden of his people and homeland more prominent than before. And what does MC do? Tear through the perspective of pain and introduce a hopeful alternative, "Isn't it a surprise to see an ocean in the middle of the desert?"

This is a place that gave Rafayel the height of helplessness and suffering when he visited by himself before despite momentarily being hopeful after the locals told him such a place existed. But now, she was there to comfort him through his loneliness and pain, hug him, and give him hope yet again. He brings up how he wanted to come here with the most important person to him when he was still hopeful about it before consumed by the pain of it all, and that wish has been granted. That moment has to be so powerful for Rafayel. Literally light at the end of the tunnel.

It had me reeling that he just sat in the car after all that, staring at her for god knows how long until she woke up. He was probably overthinking again, but my interpretation that it was heavily emotional for him (it could have meant so little for MC but the world for him, she doesn't even know) and he wanted to be in that moment with her, just feel and look without restraint. Indulge a little. (I can just imagine him going just a little bit more, I'll go after she wakes up.) And like. His eyes are shining in the darkness is the description here. Perhaps he was feeling so much here. So much love. So much happiness. And he's about to go in for a kiss (heavy breathing and everything) after that, but holds himself back and actively has to pry himself away. He's feeling the neediness again.

That’s why he makes an effort to actively wean himself off and says he'll be okay on his own. What he says to her after MC is like "spoiling him" being all "hey you're sick maybe don't go? or let's go together?" (which is NOT helping Rafayel at all) is even more meaningful in Japanese and I didn't know why they left out this context, but the rearranged line would be "Do you want me to become a sea creature beached on the sand after the sea recedes, unable to breathe on my own ever again?"

Yeah. YEAH. This is about dependency. (He's saying don't coddle me I'll literally become that wolf tearing his shirt meme 😭)

So of course his stubbornness and anxiety force him to do things without MC and distance himself, he can do it. He’s determined to prove to himself that he can endure it on his own.

I also feel like part of the reason he insisted on going to the salon alone is that he’s still worried mc might come to dislike the version of him who's someone he's so sure she will leave, who isn't perfect and he hides behind the persona he's put up just for her. If he truly becomes addicted to her and shows her everything/his true self, and she ends up leaving him, it would completely break him. He's trying to be like "im so normal about her haha" but he's so not normal about her at all. He's literally obsessed I feel like, and perhaps this is him fighting it knowing it's not healthy.

and OOOH about why he ends up coming back from the salon all hot and bothered.

I have strong context that she flicked the bean in there after he left her high and dry in the car ("hot water washes away the stickiness from my body and his stifled breaths still echo in my ears, enveloping me along with the steam in the bathroom. The warmth from his fingertips lingers in the places where he touched me..." is the english. however, in chinese, it goes "熱水洗去身上的黏膩，壓抑的喘息迴盪在我耳畔，和浴室裡氤氳的水氣一起包裹著我." stating "the suppressed breathing" -- which doesn't have any possessive adjectives when I translated it on google and later explicitly asked chatgpt if it had any his/my adjectives involved, just to be sure. it said no but i'd like it if a real chinese speaking person could give their input on this !!! PLEASE DONT LEAVE ME WITH CHATGPT

so um. if the context is in fact the case that he heard her masturbating to him, the intensity with which he attacked her would be normal, I think 😭

I have belief that MC unconsciously shatters his "training himself to be without her" determination through their bond. She just keeps thinking about him the entire time. about him reading her thoughts, though. we still don't know all about the lemurian bond they share. I’d say it grants him some sort of mind/heart reading ability or connects their minds together (when she was thinking about whether she should hug him, he answered “yes”).

At the salon, I imagine Rafayel was already thinking about her like crazy. Then he realized, or perhaps, "heard" she was still worrying about him and thinking of him (as much he thought about her) and decided to go back. Rafayel probably felt that suppressing himself was only making her more anxious and unsettled. She's thinking all about him, unconsciously calling to him to come to her, she didn't want to let him go at all, wanted to go with him, etc...

but even if it was his own decision and no mind reading was involved... uh. If you ask me. He did quite literally hear her after coming back. That's also something that might make him think she wants him as much as he wants her, which made his self-restraint utterly meaningless from the start.

Disregarding this theory of mine proven wrong until a Chinese speaker helps me out here, MC returned to Rafayel's room. A translation omission happened here from what I saw. There are no possessive adjectives in the Chinese text about the room she returns to, and the Japanese one states she returned to the guest room (doesn't specify which one. She was also able to enter Rafayel's room without needing to knock before.)

so uh. she went into rafayel's room y'all. the line "this is my room, you're the one who walked in here" MAKES SO MUCH MORE SENSE. (SO LIKE. NOT ONLY DID SHE GO INTO HIS ROOM, SHE FLICKED THE BEAN THERE AND HE POSSIBLY HEARD IT. SHE'S MORE OF A FREAK THAN HE IS, I UNDERSTAND WHY HE LET GO AFTER THAT LMFAO)

I don't put it past him to get worked up after he finds her in his room post-bath even without my theory lmfao (idk why they put her in a dress when she should be in a bathrobe or something 😭)

His conclusion at the end of this memory that "he finds inspiration in pain and the art of creation is a part of his life. mc made him realize love and art are so alike. even if they don't complete him but burn him instead he wants them (love and art) with every fiber of his being" and MC says she doesn't like that, rightfully so.

So like. There's SO MUCH to unpack in here.

When Rafayel says he finds inspiration in pain and that creation is a part of his life, he’s admitting something raw and essential about himself: pain isn’t just a byproduct of his art, it’s intrinsic to it. For Rafayel, pain and art are intertwined in a way that’s almost inseparable. It’s like his muse isn’t just beauty, but beauty that hurts.

But then he takes this further by connecting art to love. He’s realized that both art and love demand the same from him: vulnerability, passion, and sometimes suffering. They don’t necessarily complete him (he’s not romanticizing them as salvation), but they burn him, wear him down, consume him (coincidentally, this is something he said to MC in the JP dub of this memory, that she consumes him), but also give him life. And for Rafayel, that’s the crux, even if they burn him, he wants them with every fiber of his being.

This is such a Rafayel thing to say. It’s dramatic, it’s tortured, but it’s also deeply SUBTLE. He doesn't spell all of these out, mind you, I got a headache trying to understand him. Or I'm just slow, I don't know. It shows how much he values creation and connection, even if they come at a cost.

MC, on the other hand, challenges this perspective. When she says she doesn’t like that he views love and art as things that burn him, she’s pushing back against the idea that suffering is a necessary part of creation, or love. MC doesn’t want Rafayel to see their relationship as something that requires him to hurt. She’s telling him, “You don’t have to destroy yourself to love me.”

When MC says, “You’ll never have to burn for me,” she’s giving Rafayel an alternative to his destructive mindset. She’s saying that love doesn’t have to hurt, that their relationship can exist without him sacrificing himself on the altar of passion. It’s a refusal to let Rafayel romanticize pain as the price of love.

And I love that Rafayel goes, "Will you help me look for other parts in life outside of pain?" in response. This is NOT about art or inspiration anymore, and the way the dialogue is written is just AUGH. Again I had to rewatch this over and over again for the nuances and subtext.

I love MC's response, she knew exactly what to say. “I’ll always be the one who walks along the shore with you. Of course, diving into the sea bed is fine too. If it can snow in the desert, there will be a day when the ocean returns.”

MC’s response is layered with metaphors, but at its core, it’s about unwavering support and hope::

Walking along the shore: This represents safety and companionship. MC is saying she’ll be with Rafayel in the calm, in the moments where they’re just observing life without diving into its depths. She’ll be his steady presence, his grounding force.

Diving into the sea bed: This is an acknowledgment that life and love sometimes require going deeper and they may go through hardships, into the unknown, the murky, the challenging. MC isn’t afraid of this, she’s willing to go there with him too.

Snow in the desert and the ocean’s return: This is a symbol of hope and transformation beyond being a nod to The Sea of Golden Sand. Snow in the desert seems impossible, just like the idea of Rafayel finding inspiration outside of pain might feel impossible to him. But MC believes in the extraordinary, in change, and in the possibility that beauty and creation can exist outside of suffering.

Her words are a promise: she’s willing to stand by him, to face the unknown together, and to hold onto the belief that a new way of seeing the world is possible.

And Rafayel LOWKEY PROPOSES IN RETURN.

By saying “let’s watch the sea together,” he’s accepting MC’s offer of companionship and hope in the long run. He’s recognizing that life doesn’t have to be about diving into the depths alone, it can be about sharing the experience with someone else, even if it’s just standing on the shore and watching.

“Every sea”: This phrase is key. Rafayel isn’t just committing to one kind of life or one kind of inspiration, he’s opening himself up to all possibilities. Watching every sea means embracing all facets of life, whether they’re calm or turbulent, painful or beautiful. It’s a marriage proposal declaration that he’s ready to explore the world beyond pain, with MC by his side.

So. I love that his inspiration returns after his freak is accepted by MC because he literally feels the acceptance through the bond.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. This memory DRAINED me. They were just supposed to bang what the fuck happened. Why did I have to go treasure hunting to find what was going on in this card. anyway...

[naomi-nana]

✎ᝰ. not much of a romantic .

you hadn't expected the general to accept your gift, much less, to preserve it. not until you see the gift again hundreds of years later.

featuring : general lilia and current lilia vanrouge (cameo appearance: idia)

cw : f!reader, reader is fae and is not yuu, established relationship(?? was friends then they got married), fluuuuufff, probably bad grammars, ooc general lilia? +the divider are supposed to separate between past and future lol

a/n : HEHEHEHHE LILIA VANROUGE

"this is ridiculous," lilia mutters under his breath, setting his weapon by the tree with a look of disapproval shot your way. the two of you were on your way to go back to the camp, but your 'childish mind', as lilia called it, insisted on stopping by the road. simply because a field of flowers had caught your sparkly eyes.

"come, now! there's no need to look so grumpy!" you smiled at him, putting a few flowers in your pocket. had you been someone else, lilia would've just ditched you right here by yourself. but of course, he won't. he tolerates you a tad bit too much to do that—not that he'd ever admit it, though.

"hmph. flowers? what are you, children?"

"no! i simply enjoy life, unlike you!"

"krk..!" he grits his teeth at your reply. how dare you say that to him? sigh. well, he'll let it slide. for now. while he is occupied with his own thoughts, you suddenly walked over to him with something behind you. you also appear to be grinning ear to ear. "what are you doing?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

"close your eyes, will you?" he raised an eyebrow at your request.

"huh? why should i?"

"come on! just do it!" he scoffed at you but did as you had asked. when he closed his eyes, he felt something being put on his head. it feels light and smells great, too. but it's probably because you're so close to him. "you can open them now!"

"ta-da! do you like it? i made it with great efforts, you know." you beamed, chest puffing out in pride. it's.. a flower crown. you made a flower crown for him. for him. the feared general. how can a fae be so pretty and kind? "lilia?" you called out to him, making him snap out of his thoughts. heck, he didn't even realize he's been standing still up until now.

"... utterly foolish. you expect me to go to war with this?"

"i don't see anything wrong with it, general! maybe those humans will be in awe when they see you!"

he scoffed once more, reaching his hand up to caress the flowers so gently as if it would break if he uses slightly more force. "your idiocy knows no bounds."

the sounds of keyboard clicking echoes through diasomnia's halls, specifically around lilia's room. lilia had invited you to visit night raven college during the weekend, and yet, he's now letting you rot in his incredibly messy room without paying attention to you at all while he's playing his game.

not that you mind, you're quite intrigued by his occasional yelling of "nice!" or "yes, hit that!" this makes you wonder how his game can be so interesting. it almost makes you forget that you're both hundreds of years old. but that does not matter. to entertain yourself, you decided to clean lilia's room one step at a time.

the first step is: his wardrobe.

it's messy, to say the least. you scrunched your nose when you smell the stench of unwashed socks near its doors. how long has it been since it's washed? well, no matter. you decided to pick it up and put it somewhere far away for you to wash later. then, another scent reaches your nostrils.

it doesn't smell bad now. in fact, it smells sweet and familiar. a little too familiar. "lilia." you turned your head to the side, calling out to him. but he does not budge. instead, he waves you off with a little, "not now, darling. i'm working." without even turning his head at you. ugh, old men, am i right?

"your 'work' is you ignoring your wife." you quipped, pouting at him. hearing your sentence, lilia chuckles softly while typing into his chatbox;

MuscleRed: Forgive this old man, but my wife called for me. I must go AFK for a while.

then, someone replied,

Gloomurai: oh, kk. no worries there. i'll wait for your return.

he then paused the game, finally turning to look at you with an apologetic smile. "sorry about that, dearest. what is it?" he asked, looking up at you. 'he paused his game for me ...' it's been years, yet he always manages to make you fall in love with him more each time.

"uhm, well, i was just curious to see if you'd know about the flowery scent in your wardrobe."

"oh? well, i haven't the slightest idea. maybe it was those new detergents sebek bought yesterday? he said that it smells great."

you hummed, reaching your hand in the wardrobe to search for the source of smell. "... hm? i think i touched something." when you pulled it out, what you saw almost made you smile like a high school girl in love. it's a flower crown. specifically, the one you made for him hundreds of years ago.

you both stared at the crown in silence before lilia laughed, almost falling off of his chair. "hahaha! i didn't even remember putting it there!" his words made you tilt your head in curiosity and confusion. "but ... how? it should've wilted a week or two after i gave it to you, right?"

"well, i used magic on it so it doesn't have to wilt, love! to think that i'll see it 3 years later after i've put it in there ... i'm quite surprised!" he replied, as if what he did was something that everyone could relate to. as if what he did is something that is not romantic at all.

"you could've just told me, you know ... i would've made you new ones every time it wilts."

"khehehe," he laughs again, embracing you in his arms. "past me was a little too prideful for that. forgive me, will you?"

but of course you do. you love him too much.

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use (with or without permission), do not recommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[dollishmehrayan]

# HOW DIFFERENT BATBOYS REACT TO BUGS && DEAL WITH THEM ── .✦ ( already written in title ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ⋆౨ৎ: so I only wrote this because I find it interesting how different people react to spiders and stuff and as someone who has a deadly fear of them like genuinely I start throwing up thinking about them this was very brave of me to write but guys this is just crack fic to me so enjoy because it’s a saturday (tags: batboys )

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Acts brave… until the bug flies. Then it’s over.

“Okay, it has wings. This is a different situation now!” , “Dick you were okay 5 seconds ago” and it’s WORSE if it’s a flying cockroach like no 🙂‍↔️.

Tries to be the responsible one but ends up calling you to “just keep an eye on it” while he gets something to catch it with and screams if it moves towards him or the kitchen.

Probably names the bug before evicting it. “His name is Greg. Greg the Beetle. He just lost his way.”

Will 100% take it outside and gently release it like he’s Snow White.

JASON TODD ── .✦

Kills it. No hesitation. Doesn’t matter what it is, Isn’t scared of them but just will kill them most effectively.

“It’s either me or the bug. I choose the bug.”

Uses a shoe, a bat, a magazine, or if he’s feeling dramatic a gun. (H/j…)

But if you want to save it, he’ll sigh dramatically and do it for you. “Only because you gave it a name and now I feel bad.”

Still mutters “disgusting little freaks” under his breath the whole time.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Doesn’t notice the bug until it’s already crawling across his laptop screen.

Just calmly gets a tissue and moves it without fanfare.

If he’s had too much stress and not enough energy for it, he might scream, flinch, and then immediately be embarrassed.

Once had a crisis over whether squashing a spider was morally wrong.

Will google “Are bugs sentient?” at 2am.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Is completely unfazed. He grew up in the League bugs are nothing.

Might let a spider crawl on his hand to “observe its movement.”

Gets genuinely offended if you try to kill it. “That is a living creature with a purpose.”

Probably has a pet bug. Or a terrarium of beetles he’s named after Shakespeare characters.

If it’s in your room, he’ll remove it like it’s a royal escort mission. “You’re safe now, beloved.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Doesn’t flinch. Sees a bug, handles it like a Mission Impossible agent.

He probably has some fancy WayneTech bug vacuum he designed just to keep Alfred from squishing silverfish.

“It’s just a moth.” Proceeds to turn off the lights, open the window, and gently shoo it out like a pro.

Somehow always knows where bugs come from. “There’s a gap in the vent cover. I’ll fix it.”

Alfred still ends up handling 90% of the Bat-bug drama in the manor.

(In summary they are all okay with bugs but some will die when they see a rat)

[mimikittysblog]

The Princess

Pairing: Mafia! Husbands! Poly! Ateez x Fem! Wife! Reader

Genre: Angst, a good chunck of fluff, a HINT of smut (no actual sex scenes of the sorts but they’re quite sexual towards each other)

Synopsis: If ATZ were asked what their prized possession is, they wouldn’t say what you think. It isn’t the money, the cars, the jewels, the priceless paintings or anything of the sorts. As cheesy and unexpected as it sounds, they would answer each other. Now while on surface that is true, the reality of it is their most prized possession, their true treasure, the one they don’t even dare let people know they have in true fear of it getting taken away, is you. Their Princess. So what would happen when one night, you don’t come home?

Warnings: Kidnapping, major violence, implied sexual activity, death/murder (not of the major characters), alcohol consumption, Arson, MxM of course. So because of all of this please ⚠️MNDI⚠️ if I missed anything please let me know!

Word count: 5.3k words

A/N: It’s finally here!!! My goodness you guys loved that teaser 😭 I’m so grateful for all your enthusiasm! I hope this fic lives up to your expectations!! Happy reading!! Please tell me what you think! Likes, replies and reblogs are so appreciated!

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

On one side of the outskirts of town, there is this mansion belonging to a very interesting group of people. As of this moment throughout the gargantuan mansion, the sounds of fast paced footsteps can be heard. While loud or fast paced footsteps like these weren’t necessarily uncommon.

However somehow everyone who heard them deep down knew, something was wrong.

Suddenly said footsteps came to a stop as the sound of the door to the meeting room was opened.

Then the dreaded question was asked.

“My loves, have any of you seen or heard from Princess?”

Silence.

Just like that it became nothing but silence as all discussions of work seems to halt after hearing Yeosangs question.

“Is.. she not home yet?” Seonghwa asked softly.

“Well.. I can’t find her anywhere and she’s not answering her phone…”

“What?!” Wooyoung exclaimed as he quickly pulled out his phone and called her number.

Yunho took a glance to the clock on the wall and saw how late it was.

“It’s past her curfew. She knows she’s supposed to be home by now.”

“Forget that! She knows to always answer us. And she’s literally not answering us!” Wooyoung groans after the call goes unanswered.

“She’s just supposed to go shopping again!” Jongho exclaims.

The rest of the men in the room were silent. Frozen in fear and contemplation of what happened to you and where could you possibly be.

Suddenly they hear the front door open.

Believing its you, they wasted no time and quickly rushed down. However what they find are only your body guards, bloodied and bruised.

You?

Nowhere in sight.

At the sight of their bosses, your guards quickly got on their hands and knees. A position that screams begging for forgiveness.

“S-sirs! We’re sorry! So terribly sorry!! One second we were watching over her then the next we go-“

BANG

Hongjoong had no need for useless explanations or excuses.

His Princess was taken.

All he needs now is her back.

Mingi takes the gun from Hongjoongs hand and steps forward.

He kneels in front of one of the other guards and grabs him by the hair, positioning the gun under his chin.

“Where?”

“D-downtown! The alley near her favorite Chanel store!”

BANG

Jongho then takes the gun and aims it at the last guard.

“SIR! Please no forgive me!! I will find her! I will-“

BANG

Protecting you and making sure you come home safe was these guards only job. And yet they have failed.

Now they’ve lost you and to them there is no greater sin.

As Yunho is cleaning the blood off of Mingi’s face, Seonghwa turns to the maids and the henchmen stationed in the room. Clearly terrified as they’ve never seen their bosses so angry.

“Clean this up. We want this place spotless. Not a single trace of these sinners left behind. And get everyone to work. Find her. Check every corner. Turn every stone. Use any informant we have. Use any methods you can think of. Do what you must! And Find. Her. Now.”

With that they scrambled and quickly got to work.

Your husbands then left the room. Rage and determination emanating from their very being.

They will find you.

And those that took you will pay.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

At another mansion on the other side of town, much smaller than the one he calls home, San is residing. He's currently on an undercover mission to get information they need to get rid of this nuisance of a mafia.

This other group wasn’t really a threat. No one was. However they’ve been getting on their nerves for far too long. So they intended to just wipe them out for their own comfort. Silently, quickly and deadly. Like they always do. Furthermore it’ll maybe also send a message to other groups to not pull the same stunts.

So once they got wind of how the head of the mafia likes collecting and having ‘toys' around no matter the gender they knew one of them had to play the part.

After careful consideration and discussion they agreed upon San.

No one was entirely happy with the idea. They hated the thought that San had to flaunt what was theirs and let another man touch him, possibly even kiss him.

However they knew their options to make this quick were very limited.

They all drew the line that San cannot sleep with him though. Not like San ever wanted to anyway. He would rather die before betraying his loves like that.

Thankfully San knew how to play his part well, where he was fun enough to keep around even if he had yet to sleep with the man. Plus he's too pretty of an eye candy to be let go anyway.

However he still needed to get this information quick, cause he knew he couldn't play celibate forever. The man will eventually want to force him to sleep with him.

So he needed to get out of there before that happens.

Currently San is in the living room in nothing but a fur coat and his boxers, as how the man requests all his toys to dress, with said man and the rest of his toys.

He's just drinking his whiskey as the man plays, wishing he was back home.

When suddenly the door was slammed opened and a girl was thrown to the ground.

"Sir, we've retrieved what you've asked for!"

One of the henchmen announced loudly.

San acted uninterested and nonchalant as he usually does until he glanced at and unfortunately recognized the poor girl on the ground.

..Princess..?

Why were you here??

How were you here???

You’re supposed to be safe at home with the rest!

“Ah yes. So this is ATZ’s precious treasure.” The man said with a shit eating grin causing the diamonds in his teeth to shine in the light.

He then got up and made his way to kneel in front of you. The man then grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

San almost lost it.

How dare his filthy hands touch his Princess?! So roughly at that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Let go of me you piece of shit.” You growled at him.

“Ah ah.. is this the way you talk to the only one that can spare yo- UGH! Fucking bitch!”

Before he even finished his sentence you spat straight into his face.

In retaliation he gave you a hard slap, knocking you down.

There your eyes met San.

While to an outsider San seemed unbothered, you knew your husband. He was beyond mad. So mad that the devil himself wouldn’t dream of messing with him.

You, of course, knew of his mission. So you understood why he had to just sit there and act like he didn’t know you.

You weren’t even upset.

You missed him too much. It was such a sight to see him again.

Especially in the outfit he’s in.

So you only give him the tiniest comforting smile. Letting him know that you’re okay.

“Lock her up. ATZ will come and find her soon. They’ll make the deal to get her back. And soon I’ll be the most powerful.”

As you were being dragged away, your eyes only lingered on San.

San could only take another sip of his whiskey, with only one thought in his head.

Oh how wrong this man was.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

“What do you mean you have no leads?!?” Mingi barked at the henchmen who gave him the update. Or lack there of.

“I’m sorry sir.. we’re still look-“

CRACK

“We don’t need your useless apologies. Get out there and FIND OUR WIFE. NOW!” Mingi didn’t even let him finish before hurling a heavy desk ornament straight towards his head and yelling at him again.

Bleeding from the head but grateful it wasn’t from a bullet hole, the henchmen hurriedly staggered over to give Mingi, Yeosang, and Wooyoung each a kiss on their rings that dawn their middle finger. Once the obligatory task of showing respect was done he left the room to continue searching for the lady of the household.

The room fell silent again as Mingi walks over to the big portrait of his husbands and you right in the middle. Smiling so wide and beautifully. He’d do anything to make sure that smile stays forever on your face and for him to always see it.

All of them would.

You’ve only been missing for less than 24 hours yet that’s longer than any of you have been apart these past few years without reason. Along with the fact that they knew you were taken forcibly, unease would be an understatement to describe what Mingi and the rest of them are feeling.

Then after a sigh, Wooyoung reached over and rung a bell that was on the desk. Which caused a maid with a tray of glasses and Wooyoung’s favorite bottle of liquor to enter.

Wooyoung took the bottle, disregarding the glasses and took a swig.

“Have we heard back from San? He needs to come home now. I already hated that he had to do this. Now with Princess gone, I need to know that he’s safe too. And I’m sure he’d also want to find her.” Wooyoung rambled, jittery due to the present status of his lovers are up in the air.

“We just sent the message to him. He’ll respond soon.” Yeosang sighed, trying to reassure him by also softly grabbing his hand. However he also then poured himself some of the liquor and took a sip.

Suddenly a rushed knock on the door was heard.

“Come in!” Mingi yelled.

“Sirs! A message from Sir San!” A different henchmen hurriedly walked in and dropped a small note on the table.

“Good. Now leave.” Wooyoung said.

The henchmen nodded, also kissing the rings on their fingers before leaving.

Yeosang then took the note. It was only two words but it caused him to jump up from his seat. He bellowed for whoever was nearby to come in.

“Get Captain! We need to leave now!!” He ordered firmly.

“What?! What did he say?!” Wooyoung asked also jumping up.

‘Causing Mingi to also step forward curiously.

Yeosang merely had to show them the note for them to understand.

‘She’s here.’

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Locked away in a small and quite frankly ugly room is currently where you are. Truth be told?

You’re just bored.

You wanted to go home.

Thats all.

You knew the second you were taken your husbands will bring upon hell on earth. So you’re just waiting for that to happen.

You’re not sure how they were able to figure out you were their wife in the first place though. Someone on your staff must’ve snitched. Well you can deal with them later.

Right now they just need to hurry and pick you up.

Ugh you bought such a pretty new dress to show off to them…

It’s probably ruined in that dingy disgusting alley by now.

Shame.

A loud thud can suddenly be heard outside of your locked door and it caused your heart to race. Soon the door unlocked to reveal the beauty that is Choi San.

“Sannie!!” You chirped excitedly.

You leaped from the bed only to be pulled back.

“Ugh! Stupid handcuff.” You grumbled. Completely forgetting it was there.

“Oh Princess!!” San said as he made his way to you in a flash, quickly uncuffing you. With a key you’re not so sure where he got it from. A knocked out guard possibly. No matter though.

As now with your arms free you can finally engulf your husband in a big hug once again.

“Oh my sweet darling! What happened?? How are you here???” He asked as he pulled away and checked every inch of you to see where you were hurt.

“I’m not sure my Sannie. One minute I was walking to the car then the next thing I knew these big oafs grabbed me and dragged me here. I’m fine though love! I promise! Minor bruises and scratches is all..” You explained and try to reassure him.

You knew it was in vain though as even a microscopic scratch on you will cause any of your husbands to go on a rampage.

The fact your old butler is now six feet under for giving you a small cut is proof enough.

“Princess.. you’re clearly hurt…” San said with a sigh. “We’re so sorry.. This should’ve never happened.” He apologized softly stroking the bruise on your cheek.

“Hush now my love. You know there’s only one way I could ever possibly be considered hurt. And that is if anything were to ever happen to my precious husbands. Only then. Will I ever consider myself harmed.” Pure love and sincerity lacing your voice.

A voice San truly does miss. It’s been weeks since he’s home. Oh how he misses it.

“Well it’s good to know the feeling is mutual darling. As seeing these bruises and scuffs on your precious skin brings me nothing but great agony and ignites a fire in me like no other.” He explained as he kisses each visible blemish and cut.

“Don’t worry Princess. The others will be here very soon alright? Just sit tight. I need to get back to work to avenge you darling.” Once finished with his reassurance that your husbands are on their way, he finally gives you a kiss you’ve been craving ever since he left the comforts of your home.

“Okay my love. Though do be quick. I’m awfully bored. Oh and by the way..” You start as you softly trail your hand down his chiseled body. “You should start dressing like this at home. I’m sure the others would also very much enjoy it!” You giggle as your hand made it to his crotch. Cupping it.

Oh you missed the little twitch it does so much.

“Ah yes, hmm your wish is forever my command Princess.” He replies with a chuckle. He then takes your hand and kisses the wedding band on your finger softly.

“I love you Princess. I’ll be back.”

“I love you too.”

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

“Ah yes. Mr. Jeong. Welcome to my humble abode! I see my offer finally has caught your eye.”

Yunho doesn’t bother to reply before walking in.

“My, how rude you are. But very well. I’m sure you’re uneasy as.. something is missing.” The man then continues to taunt with a smirk.

Yunho’s face remains stoic, however his fist clenches a bit tighter.

“I have no time for your games.” Yunho simply states before letting himself into the mans office. Yunho then sits down and tells the man to do the same. “State exactly what it is you want. We’ll talk from there.”

The man lets out a scoff before sitting down across from him.

He then claps his hand which causes a very familiar man to walk in to bring in a tray of drinks.

“Thank you San.” The man says in a smirk, once again causing the diamonds in his mouth to shine.

San simply ignores him.

No longer seeing the need to act accordingly.

As San makes his way to leave, he gets stopped by a hand on his exposed abdomen.

“Excuse me. I don’t believe I’ve given you permission to touch my lovely toys.” The man warns Yunho.

Who is simply admiring his husband.

“Hmm… well, ‘your toy.’ Is quite the specimen I must say. Can’t seem to help myself.” Yunho says with a smirk towards San, running his hand up and down his body.

Oh lord how much they’ve missed each other’s touch.

With San’s back facing the man, he can’t see the smirk that San reciprocates to Yunho. Yunho lets out a soft chuckle before taking San’s hand and kissing his ring finger. That was unfortunately currently empty.

“Leave San.” The man growls.

San does. But not before softly grazing his fingers across Yunho’s broad shoulders.

“Odd.. he usually never lets anyone else touch him…” the man mumbles to himself softly. Too stupid to realize what’s going on.

“So you’ve stolen our Princess. Due to that you expect us to work with you. Is that it?” Yunho finally cuts to the chase.

“Well you’d do anything to get her back wouldn’t you?” The man replies cockily.

“Naturally.”

“Well then work with me. Then I’ll set her free. Simple!”

CRASH

“You’re a bigger idiot than we thought.”

Suddenly the sounds of bullets firing, screams and yells can be heard throughout the mansion.

The man, the coward he truly is, instinctively hides under the desk at all the noise. However that desks gets thrown off of him, revealing Yunho standing above him. Gun aimed straight to his forehead.

“Run.”

Without a second thought he books it out of the room. Only to be met with the bodies of his henchmen, maids and toys scattered about. Blood coating the walls and floors. He was frozen in shock. That is before a bullet goes flying near his head grazing his ear.

“AH!”

“I said. Run.”

The man once again runs, but also stupidly tries his luck and pulls out his own gun. Before he could even aim at Yunho, his gun was shot out of his hand.

“The more you try to survive. The less likely it’ll be the case. So when my husband tells you to run. You run.” Jongho simply states standing in the living room. Surrounded by dead bodies, shattered chandeliers, ruined paintings, and mangled musical instruments.

While he was devastated at the state of his fortune he was thankfully still smart enough to value his life more. So he began to rush again.

He thought that maybe he could take the shortcut that leads to his garage through his dining room. So thats where his running legs took him as bullets were still flying everywhere. So much so that he can’t tell which came from his own men and which came from ATZ.

As he made it into the dining room he was only met with the sight of his most precious car on top of his dining table.

“Oh? Were you planning on escaping with this? Hmm. That doesn’t seem possible now does it?” Seonghwa taunts while sitting on the roof of the car.

“All this over some girl?!?!” The man roars enraged of what has become of his hard work.

Seonghwa’s expression hardens in the blink of an eye. Without another word he stands and pulls out his gun then starts shooting at the man without mercy.

The man realizes his mistake too late and gets shot in the shoulder and grazed on the thigh. However the adrenaline pumping through his veins was still enough to have him dashing out of the room.

He no longer has a plan and getting slightly dazed from the blood he’s losing, he’s just trying to get out of there. He opens the nearest door to him hoping it’ll lead to an exit.

Unfortunately for him, once again he’s met with a horrible sight and sound.

“Ah! You’ve finally come to play!” Yeosang says with a smile laced with venom.

What the man has stumbled into is his indoor tennis courtroom. Where currently Yeosang and Yunho have gathered a bunch of his henchmen, somehow tied up their upper bodies, and made them into moving targets for their tennis practice.

Many of his henchmen had succumbed to their injuries and their blood has splattered and painted the walls, floor and ceiling.

Frozen in shock due to the gruesome display, Yunho took the opportunity to serve and strike a tennis ball straight to the mans face.

“Wonderful shot my love!!” Yeosang cheers.

“Your turn handsome.”

Yeosang then wastes no time before doing the same and hitting the man right on the crotch.

“Oops wasn’t aiming for that but I’ll take it.”

“I would say you got a higher score than me.” Yunho chuckles.

This man still doesn’t give up however.

Not like the boys wanted him too anyway. They always loved a challenge and this man hasn’t even payed a fraction of his sins.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

After hearing the commotion thats happening outside your ugly holding room, you knew it only meant one thing.

Your lovely husbands are finally here to pick you up.

While the man that thought he could have his way by kidnapping you was being dealt with, the door to your room opened revealing your knights in shining armor.

Oh my! They look absolutely gorgeous in their suits.

If circumstances were any different you would’ve happily have them take you right then and there.

“My loves!!!” You screeched happily and skipped your way over to them.

“Oh Princess!!!” Wooyoung exclaimed happily as he wrapped you up in his arms.

Seonghwa and Jongho doing the same.

“Are you hurt Princess??” Seonghwa asked worriedly. “Oh my you are! Oh we’re so sorry darling…” Seonghwa didn’t even let you answer.

“My loves I’m fine! I promise I’m fine! I have you here, I’m alright. Where are the others..?” You ask with a pout.

“Oh they’re dealing with pests right now Princess don’t worry. It won’t take them too long.” Jongho says with a soft comforting smile.

“Hmm alright.. are you three taking me home?”

“Yes we are darling! Come no- goodness! what an ugly room they kept you in!! Our Princess doesn’t deserve this?!” Wooyoung then exclaims when finally taking notice of the room. Genuinely upset that you were kept in such an ugly room.

“I know right?! It’s so tacky!!” You say with an eyeroll. Seonghwa and Jongho can only chuckle at your antics.

The three of them then safely brought you outside. Where you were met with Hongjoong waiting patiently on the hood of the limousine.

Also looking immensely good. As in ‘please fuck me right now’ levels of good.

Alas.

Circumstances didn’t allow it.

“Joongie!!!” You exclaim happily as you sprint to him.

Hongjoong quickly opens his arms for you. You jump into his arms as he picks you up and spins you around.

“Oh our Princess.. we were so worried. We’re so glad you’re okay!” Hongjoong sighs in relief.

“Of course I’m okay! You’re my husbands! Nothing will ever harm me!” You say with your gorgeous smile.

“You were taken sweetie.. We’re oh so sorry…”

“Oh enough with your apologies! I’m fine! I promise I’m fine! It seems like you guys constantly forget my vows! Now that hurts! You know I’m only ever hurt when you guys are!” You remind them.

“Well the bruises on your sweet body may not hurt you but they do hurt us sweetie. So that makes it hurt you!” Wooyoung explains going off your logic.

“Alright smarty pants!” You huff.

“Besides! You all bruise me constantly! Do you not?” You tease.

“Those are different love.” Seonghwa says with a knowing glance and grin. Stepping closer to you.

“You know that very well. Any bruising or scratches done to your skin that is caused by us is all because you wished for it. Done specifically for your pleasure.” Jongho says as he leans forward as well to kisses a certain spot under your jaw.

You quickly bit your lip to suppress the moan bubbling up your throat.

Once Jongho pulls away, and you’ve calmed down, you look at all of them properly and smile.

“In all seriousness I’m fine my loves. I really am. You’re here now. You saved me. Like I knew you would. What happened to me was not because of you. Someone betrayed us that I’m sure of and we can deal with that later. Now can you all just take me home?”

“Very well our sweet.” Seonghwa says with a smile as he steps forward to kiss the crown of your head.

As you were about to enter the car you noticed Hongjoong still just standing there.

“My love? Are you not coming with?” You ask.

“Not yet Princess. I need to watch over and there are things I must do. Go home with the others. We’ll be home soon.” He informs with a smile.

“Hmm very well… Don’t take too long though! Tell that to the others too! I miss my husbands!!” You grumble.

“And we miss you. No worries. Being away from you after everything that has happened aches me as much as you.”

“Hmm alright. See you soon my beloved.”

With a final flying kiss goodbye, you enter the car with the rest. You all then drive off as Hongjoong turns around and looks at the mess he intends to finish.

Back in what was once a mansion, with the help of his henchmen that are still abled bodied and loyal to him. The man that caused all of this is executing a plan of escape.

They were finally able to sneak past all of the chaos that was still happening, to the last functioning escape car they know of.

Or so they thought.

Before they could even start the car. That wouldn’t have worked anyway.

They noticed San standing in front of it.

With an expression none of them have ever seen.

“San..?” The man questions as he thought San would’ve been killed as well.

San without even thinking twice, pulls out his own gun and shoots the very last henchmen he had, dead.

Merely as second after their bodies slumped over, a fist slammed into the window of the mans side, cracking it.

“Get out.”

Laughed.

The man laughed.

Thats the only thing he can do in this situation.

Incredibly bloodied, bruised and broken.

With everything he had worked for.

Gone. In less than a 12 hours.

All because he thought he could kidnap you and get away with it.

He then finally got out and stood in front of Mingi.

Where Mingi happily grabbed him by the back of the collar and dragged him to the front of the mansion. Here he threw him down in front of the feet of his lovers that had stayed behind. Their sea of henchmen standing behind them.

Before Hongjoong even acknowledged him, he turned to San. Admiring his body that he missed as much as the others but then clicks his tongue. He grabbed the fur coat San was still wearing then asked.

“He gave you this?”

San simply nodded.

Scoffing he tugs on it more, silently telling San to take it off as he takes his own off.

“No husband of mine will wear such a cheap and ugly fur coat like this any longer.” He complains as he puts his coat on San.

Thankfully he wore the big sized one today. It fits San perfectly.

“H-husband..?”

“Yes. Husband.” Hongjoong replies still admiring San but now also running his hand up and down his body.

Now these are the touches San’s been craving for all these weeks.

“Oh which reminds me!” Yeosang exclaims before pulling out a familiar gold band.

Seeing this causes a huge smile to appear on San’s face and his eyes to light up.

As he did many years ago, Yeosang took San’s hand and slipped his wedding ring back right where it belongs. Kissing it to seal the deal.

“Hmm. Much better. Oh also! You should start dressing like this at home.” The smirk never leaving Hongjoong as he says it.

“I agree.” Mingi states.

The other lovers humming in agreement.

San could only chuckle.

“Princess said the same thing.”

“Well we must make it happen then.” Yunho said with a wide cheeky smile.

“What the fuck is going on?!”

Oh they forgot he was there-

“You really did mess with the wrong people you stupid man.” Yeosang sighs bored of the man already.

“I have a name?!”

“We clearly don’t care. And it clearly won’t matter anymore.” Mingi says with an eyeroll as he flicks open a lighter.

“So this is it? You’re gonna set me on fire?”

“Yes.” San says.

The mans eyes shot wide. Somehow not expecting the blunt answer.

“Not before you watch everything you have burn of course.” Hongjoong says as Mingi throws the lighter behind the man.

The lighter then lands in a trail of gasoline that leads to mangled furniture and fortunes that are strewn about, before leading to the actual mansion.

It doesn’t take long until everything goes up in flames.

The man watches in agony as everything. Everything. Burns. He then turns to the men and curses.

“You’ve taken everything.. literally everything. Must you really kill me too?” The man asks somehow still trying to make it out of this alive.

“I won’t bother you again… I’ll just vanish. Live a quiet life please. You won’t gain anything from killing me. You got her back!!!” He bargains.

SMACK

“Don’t even think about mentioning her again. No. Don’t even think about her. Your mind is not worthy to have her in it.” Hongjoong says after slapping him straight across the face.

“You’re right though. We won’t gain anything from your death. We won’t even gain satisfaction.” Yunho starts.

“However. We’re merely just punishing sinners.” Yeosang continues.

“Before you even bother. No. You haven’t suffered enough. Not even close. But we could’ve done much more. So consider yourself lucky. As of now at least. As we’re sure in hell you’ll suffer even more for what you’ve done.” Mingi adds with a gleaming smirk.

“You took our Princess. Your greatest sin and stupidest mistake. So for that. You must pay the price.” San explains further.

“To put it simply. You gotta die.” Hongjoong finishes as he steps forward and grabs the mans collar.

“‘Cause you being alive is still a sin in itself. Why? Well... you’re still breathing her air.”

And with that, Hongjoong merely gives him one last shove. Making the man fall back into the flames.

His screams of suffering can be heard for miles. However due to his extensive injuries it didn’t take long for said screams to just stop. Leaving nothing but the melody of crackling fire in the air.

Once that happened, Hongjoong lazily chucked in San’s old fur coat into the flames as well. Coincidentally the coat landed perfectly on the mans, now charred, body. This action actually made Yunho chuckle.

“Oh. Like he needed that. I’m sure he’s toasty enough.” Yunho commented sarcastically.

In turn causing everyone else to also let out a laugh.

“Well. Thought he might want to descend to hell wearing what he thinks is fashion.” Hongjoong reasons with a shrug.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

As the fire burned on ATZ and their henchmen just watched. Making sure everything gets burned to the ground. Took a while but it was beautiful in a way so they didn’t mind.

Once the fire started dying down the sound of a car approaching was heard.

Odd.

They were supposed to wait at home.

The car came to a halt and then the rest of ATZ exited. As they walked up to ones who were watching, the henchmen parted straight down the middle to make way before returning to position.

The rest that just arrived now stand next to the others as they also tuned in to watch the fire.

“Weren’t you all supposed to wait at home and keep Princess company?” Yeosang asked.

“Well we were. But we all missed you too much. And you know Princess loves watching the show. Plus.. she was getting needy for all of us.” Seonghwa explains with a subtle smile.

“Aaah I see. Oh! But she shouldn’t be breathing this much smoke though!” San says worriedly.

“Relax. We made her wait in the car. She can still view it well but she won’t be in harms way.” Jongho reassures before handing San a pair of pants.

“Good. Oh? What’s this? You’re not enjoying seeing me like this like the others are Jongie?” San teases.

Jongho simply rolls his eyes and ignores him. Biting the inside of his cheek hoping no one notices his flushed cheeks. Also trying to not look down at San’s bulge.

“I think he just doesn’t want to be distracted. This is the first time we’ve seen you in weeks Sannie. We missed you very much. You and your sexy body.” Mingi says as he nudges Jongho’s shoulder.

Jongho just softly nudges Mingi back.

“Just say you miss my cock.”

“We all do.” Wooyoung chirped in with a smack to San’s ass.

A couple of hours past before the fire finally dies down and the smoke begins to clear.

Their work here is finally done.

And just ust like that the car door then opens.

Then out walks you, their Princess, wearing one of your newest most lavish and expensive dress in your favorite color. You’re also all dolled up just for them.

At the sight of you exiting the car, the sea of henchmen that were still standing behind your husbands, quickly part to make way like before. However this time, they also got down on their knees, head down, in respect.

As they should.

“What a beautiful sight! Oh my loves you outdid yourselves with this one!” You praise them giddy as if you weren’t talking about the scene of a gruesome massacre.

“An appropriate punishment for such a sinner don’t you think Princess?” Hongjoong asks as he takes your hand.

“I suppose.” You hum as you stand beside him.

“Now that you’re done, can we please leave? I’m hungry!”

“Ah! One more thing before we leave!” Hongjoong announces as he walks towards the ashes.

In said ashes, there lies the skeleton of the man that started all of this. With a wide smirk on his face, Hongjoong carefully crouches down and picks up a small but very sparkly diamond from the teeth of said skeleton.

Hongjoong, smirk not faltering even a bit, makes his way back to you and takes your hand.

“What do you think princess? Shall we customize you a new ring?” He asks showing the diamond.

“Oh my! Yes please! Oh! And check for any more jewels that are left behind in these ashes and rubble! We shouldn’t let such pretty things go to waste.”

“Of course darling.” Jongho starts before turning his attention to the men that were still on their knees before you.

“You heard her.”

“YES SIR!”

Like that they all got up, bowed to you once more before rushing to the ashes where a lavish mansion once stood. In search of anything shiny that might please you.

“Hmmm can we pleeeasee eat now?” You ask with a pout.

“Yes we can our Princess. Yes we can.” Seonghwa tells you with a smile as they all lead you back to the car.

“Can we go to my favorite place tonight?”

“Anything for our Princess.”

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Bonus ending! ♡

© mimikittysblog 2024

Tagging: @faeprincess777 @starygw3n @bee-gremlin @pinkpearlstar @sweetinsaniiity @puppyminnnie @borahae-reads @spenceatiny18 @justconniez @rosydipity @vtyb23 @beccaskz @boredlol914 @ntlmundy @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @ateezswonderland @peachyy-jooniee @robertsbbygirl @hanniehq @smally97 @pixie0627 @haven-cove @jaerisdiction @btskzfav @bbyunicornbby @tinybada @cecilleasworld @mudent @mortal-advocate @jjcanwrite

Those who are italicized I could not tag for some reason :(

[sacredsorceress]

Meet Cute with Logan Would Include... || Wolverine Headcanons

pairing: logan howlett (wolverine) x mutant!f!reader summary: you're a new teacher at the school and logan is interested in you from your first meeting a/n: i'm admittedly projecting with the fact that reader teaches history but just a little blurb because logan's been on my mind and i need to get work done <33 lmk if you want me to make this into an actual fic!! warnings: none, all fluff

masterlist | inbox | tip jar (ko-fi)

when you first arrive at the school as a teacher (and late blooming mutant) charles introduces you to logan

logan has a typical scowl on his face and glances at you up and down

so you begin to worry that you've worn the wrong outfit or presented yourself poorly and now an infamous wolverine dig is about to be thrown your way

but instead, he takes a puff of his cigar, and looks back at charles

"you have a rule about only recruiting good-looking teachers or something?"

and what an array of relief (and butterflies) do you get from that

"yes, very funny, logan. however, y/n here has a phd. I've brought her on to teach the students"

"yeah? and what's your "gift"?" (mutation)

he has a coy look on his face

"oh logan, that's a bit personal..." you said with faux seriousness. "buy me a drink first."

for the first time, you saw him smile. a chuckle reverberated in his chest.

"fair enough."

after that interaction charles escorted you out of the room but as you went, logan's eyes were trained on you.

intrigued, he took another puff of his cigar and smiled to himself.

on your first night there, once all the children have gone to sleep and all the adults have gone to their own rooms for the night you hear a knock on your door.

and guess who it is?

you hate to admit it but god, does he look so hot and suave standing in your doorway.

logan's hair is in a typical mess and his flannel has a few more buttons undone than it did this morning,

and although he's rough around the edges and not as necessarily openly friendly as the others, he exudes confidence- especially as he leans against your doorframe.

"you said i owed you a drink."

although he takes you to the diviest dive bar in town, you have such a good time.

after a little bit of awkwardness, the two of you found your footing and you end up talking (flirting) for hours

well, in actuality, you do most of the talking but boy does he like listening to you talk and watching your eyes light up while you laugh at some of your own stories

on the way back to the mansion, he opens the car door for you

"thank you."

"don't mention it" (he's blushing a little)

on the ride back he tries to be as smooth as possible, one arm draped over the passenger seat while the other rests on the steering wheel

he keeps taking quick glances at you as you hum along to the song on the radio and even though you just met he's already thinking about how he could get used to this

he walks you back to your room and as much as he wants to make another move (and you do too) he doesn't want to mess up your relationship before its even started

i mean, you're living in the same place?? what happens if you don't like it?? and you end up hating him?? now his suave demeanor has crumbled under the weight of realising this is actually real and not a game

"I'll.. uh... be down the hall if you need me."

"thanks, logan" you smile softly and he thinks its the first time anyone's done that in over a decade and meant it

when he starts walking down the hall, you call out in a whisper

"oh and logan!" you pause. "sweet dreams."

before he can say anything the door of your bedroom shuts

a stupid, silly grin coats his face so big that he rubs his hand across his cheeks in fear anyone would catch the big bad wolverine becoming a softie for the teacher he's got the hots for

although you've just met, you've got him wrapped around your finger and he can barely believe it

shoving his hands in his pocket, logan shakes his head and laughs on the way to his own bedroom

"fuck."

[desigal-26]

Hii, I've been following you since your aemond work and have been absolutely in love with the Daemon series you have going on right now that I MUST request something because I just love you and your writing ugh I just wanna consume it (in a good way)! Anywayssss, id love an aemond x sister!reader (if youre okay writing targcest! if not, you may delete it and it's totally fine ♡) where she's helped aemond finally conquer the throne? she's very headstrong and has always been more of a warrior, riding a pretty aggressive dragon and aemond asks her to be his queen consort? It's totally fine if not, thank you so much in advance!

I hope this is as per your liking. Feel free to request another anytime.

Your Queen

Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Born out of storm and fire, she will bring end to her blood and she will rise from the ashes…

She was born with a prophecy—a certain abomination that will come at her hands, a faith the gods had chosen before she wailed her first cry. A name the history would remember with fear. A name that would echo forever.

Warnings: Targcest, Unhinged Aemond and Reader, mentions of deaths and killings, Canon divergence, Reader is Morally Gray at best, Sexual Tension (because honestly? Aemond has it with everyone). I think that’s it, but let me know if I forgot something.

Word Count: 2.5k

“How was the pleasure house, brother?” Her honeyed voice made the new King look up from the parchment he was reading—a report on the damages across the Riverlands, an impact of the devastating civil war that had ripped the entire realm apart and set it on fire. And now, the duty of piecing it back together fell on Aemond’s broad shoulders as he pridefully took over the mantle of the King of the Seven Kingdoms after the ‘mysterious’ death of the Green King.

Their plans had worked—better than either of them had hoped for. The Dance of the Dragons weakened both the fractions, yes, but the maddening of Rhaenyra and the mistrust of people in her had only strengthened the One-Eyed Prince’s cause, even if he himself was called Kinslayer by the common folk.

But she—the second daughter of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower—was the true piece of art. The perfect composition of deadly beauty mixed with the cunning of a fox, waiting and counting down the seconds before pouncing on her prey like a skilled predator with a feline grace that earned her the title of ‘Realm’s Oleander’—named after the flower that might seem pretty and innocent but is toxic when sunken its teeth into.

A scoff echoed in the study, and the newly crowned King leaned back in his chair, his blue eye watching her with barely concealed interest. He hummed, before waving a hand in dismissal. “You must be mistaking me for our deceased brother,” the words were smoothly spoken, with a tint of amusement as indicated by the slight upturn of his lips.

But the princess only shook her head, hands locked behind while she walked with a cat’s elegance, her lavender eyes watching him with a spark that possessed too much knowledge and thirst for power—maybe, even chaos.

“You must be desperate enough to return to her.”

She didn’t need to specify whom she meant because Aemond’s face hardened almost immediately, finger gripping the edge of the table as he stood up menacingly with a tilted head and a threatening glint in his remaining eye. A small scar beneath that eye was all the visible evidence that remained of the Battle above the God’s Eye, where he had come close to death before slaying their uncle, Prince Daemon.

Her meant the same lady of Flea Bottom who had made him a man—or so, Aegon used to say. Their sister had a simpler term for that woman—Aemond’s abuser. And one thing she knew of her brother was that he would never go back to someone who wronged him, unless that person was of political value—which that woman isn’t—or if he was too miserable.

She watched him with a critical eye, noticing the obvious tension in his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw—though that was her doing, not the crown’s—and the dark circles blooming over his now almost hollowed out features.

He didn’t look any less handsome than he was before, only more menacing and intimidating, with confidence of having lead a war and coming out at the top with the ancestral crown of Aegon the Conqueror sat proudly upon the molten silver hair. A second son who earned his seat with his blade and wits—and the help of his princess who was called an abomination before she could walk, all because of a prophecy.

A prophecy by a priestess from a religion almost unheard of—Lord of the Light. A future predicted before the first air of this corrupted realm was taken in. Future of a girl born during the worst of storms and by fire’s side; of a girl who will bring end to her kin; of a girl who will rise from the ashes while the world burns in the fires of her ambitions.

All of which stood personified in front of Aemond, standing proudly with an amused sparkle in eyes that resemble their father’s with hair like snow woven in an intricate hairdo that the One-Eyed King swore he saw Visenya spotting in one of those tapestries of the the Conqueror and his sister-wives. The dark leathers of her riding tunics carefully hid the small dagger she carried at her hip, a caution she had picked up on after that fateful night in Driftmark.

“You should know what the Small Council had to say today,” the king said, trying to divert the topic from his visits to Sylvi to the more pressing matters of the crumbling realm that held little to no trust in their liege lords now. He watched as she hummed with a smirk, settling down on an armchair by the cracking fire in the hearth, the lines of her face contoured by the shadows it casted.

“Another roguish demand by a lord whose name is forgotten because of lack of worth?” Had the times had been different, or rather, had they been their previous selves; they would have snickered at the comment, adding little tweaks to it behind hidden smirks while the court continued to either be intimidated by Aemond or be at awe of the princess.

Heavy steps echoed through the quiet room until the Green King himself sat down beside her, his eye tracing her features with reverence, studying her as if she was his destiny. And perhaps, she wasn’t. But she surely played a part in fulfilling his destiny—in reclaiming the throne that should have been his from the beginning but taken away only because he was a second son.

“Lord Stark had enough to say about our war crimes.”

Crimes that began with Vhagar disobeying the One-Eyed Prince and bringing a cruel end to Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon Arrax. The skies had wept that day, and the common folk had retorted by granting him the title of “Kinslayer”. But that, was only the beginning of the slow end that took away the innocence of too many, and countless lives.

Blood and Cheese took away the innocence of their older sister who breathes no longer in the world. Neither of them could ever forget the sight of Helaena clutching to Jaehaera, whimpering and silently crying, or even the sight of their nephew Jaehaerys’ frail body, lacking his head until they found it in possession of one of the two assassins who had tried to flee King’s Landing.

The Battle of Rook’s Rest was the real beginning of the war that costed too much. Meleys and Princess Rhaenys lost, costing Rhaenyra’s side heavy losses but so did the Greens. Aegon was critically injured—and that is when Aemond and the Realm’s Oleander had started spinning their webs, slowly but firmly shifting power from the broken King to the One-Eyed Prince Regent until Aegon was King only in name.

Their mother had relented, but then quietly resigned to the fate, opting to remain by Helaena’s side until she jumped from the window of her room during her captivity under the Blacks. Only at twenty and one years, the eldest daughter of Alicent Hightower had died immediately on spikes with her throat impaled.

The princess had slain her nephew, Jacaerys Velaryon, who would—had things been different—have been her husband. But they weren’t different, and she was thankful for it. The Battle of Gullet was a crafted play of letting the Blacks believe that they had a chance until they didn’t. Until the fierce Princess had arrived on the back of Aegarax—her aggressive and fierce dragon with scales dipped in shadows of darkness, tipped with a burning red of blood. An arrow to his chest was how the heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen died, all because his dragon had flown too low and a crossbow bolt had blinded Vermax from one eye—like they did with Aemond when they were children.

Aemond’s own Battle above the God’s Eye was no short of legend mixed in fires and blades and family blood slew in the skies. That was the day that had changed the course of history and outcome. The greatest warrior on Blacks side—the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen—was killed by the Prince Regent and hence, half a victory was certain.

None of them were innocent. No one in the House of the Dragon was anymore. For those who were pure, were already gone in the soil or too broken to care for the still burning realm.

“We did what was to be done,” she whispered, her amethyst gaze distant, as if she was catapulted back to the time when she still rode on her dragon, setting lines after lines of there enemy’s armies on fire with a single command. Dracarys.

The cracking of the fire was the only sound to be heard apart from the soft breaths of the siblings—the only ones alive while three of their bloods rested with their ancestors. Helaena was the first one to depart the world, aggrieved by her losses. Then followed Daeron, their youngest and the gentlest of all the brothers—trapped by his burning tent with no escape but death.

And then, only a few weeks ago, the eldest child of Alicent followed, though not willingly or by chance of circumstances, but at the hands of his own siblings.

It was the only way, the two had agreed on, with the Small Council backing them. A poison mixed into the milk of poppy, given to Aegon to “soothe” the pain from his ruined body—but the soothing never came until the toxins hadn’t worked their magic and silenced his heart, once and for all.

“Ormund suggest I must marry,” Aemond informed after a prolonged silence of bitter nostalgia and a silent but mutual introspection of what all they have done. But none of them would change the past, because they deserved it—the power, the strength and the throne. It had been theirs since they were born, and nothing, not even being born the second son and second daughter would stop that.

“You must. For heirs.” He only hummed in reply before his hand deftly moved to remove his eyepatch, letting the scar from his childhood and the sapphire see the light of the fading sun and crackling fire. The leather dropped on the ground with a thud, and he tilted his head back, basking in the relieving stretch of his stiff neck.

She watched him, calculating and ready to remind him of their bargain if he forgot. But Aemond never forgets, not when it comes to her; his beloved, headstrong and clever sister who plotted with him day and night for this day to come when he wears the crown and title of the King of the Seven Kingdoms and sport all the titles that come with it.

She made him Aemond the First of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

“Queen Consort,” he cooed with a tilt of his lips in a smirk that threaded between teasing and taunting. His long fingers found the back of her neck, drawing circles as he watched her with a corner of his eye.

She didn’t react, not for anyone else’s eyes, but he felt her shoulders relaxing a bit, the sharp blade of her gaze lowering in a manner that he hadn’t seen since the war had started and transformed them into more of criminal warlords than warriors. But all is fair in war and love—and theirs was always a complex affair of both.

“I will have a seat at the council—no matter what,” she pressed, turning her piercing gaze towards him, daring him to challenge her demand with anything. But her brother would not deny her what was deserving—for he was many things but not ungrateful, at least not to her.

“You would have a throne by the Iron Throne if that is what issa dāria wants,” (my queen) he smirked, his other hand moving to grip her calloused hand, bringing it up to his lips to press a firm kiss on the knuckles that were too familiar with holding him and a blade.

“That would be fascinating, issa dārys,” (my king) she cooed back, a similar smirk dancing in her face as she watched her brother in a way she had always done—reverent but in a different, darker way than most.

He stood up then, letting go of her hand and moving swiftly to the desk still ladden with parchments and letters from every inch of the realm who thought they could gain any sort of leverage on the new King and the fragile peace that has been restored so far. But all of it still dangled on a tip of a double-edged knife, prone to collapse with a single misstep or misjudgment.

Aemond shifted a few papers, revealing a dragon glass dagger the princess recognised almost immediately. The one their uncle possessed—the one used by Rhaenyra and Daemon to slit each other’s lips and hands to combine the blood and seal their marriage forever. Perform the rituals of the Old Valyria and declare to the world that they were above the laws of the common people—but look at them now, both gone—burnt into history because of their stubborn arrogance.

“I suspect your intentions, brother,” she commented with a coy smile, leaning in with her hands perched on her knees when he knelt before her sitting form, the unsheathed blade glinting hauntingly under the fire blazing behind the king who watched his sister with an intensity that only a few possessed.

Wordlessly, he extended the hilt of the dagger with a crooked eyebrow and a smirk that dared her to accept. The challenge of the moment lingering between them as the air thickened with something unsaid.

She took the dagger, her finger trailing the engraved dragon on the pommel before she opened her left palm, letting the sharp tip create a straight cut along the rough ridges, crimson blooming and dripping down the pale skin in an intoxicating action that had Aemond moistening his lips in feral desperation.

He took the dagger and performed the same action reverently on his right hand, his gaze never wavering from hers. Not long after, the dagger clattered to the floor and his left hand snaked around her waist, pulling her down to kneel in front of him on the floor with only a few inches left between them—noses almost brushing.

His bloodied hand seek hers, mixing the bloods that were already shared in their bodies, hearts beating in a synchronisation like a harmony of two dragons mating in the crack of a thunder—dangerous, relentless and deadly.

His lips crashed on hers, hungry and territorial, hand slipping away from her waist to tangle in her hair that resembled his. Tongues clashed in a battle for dominance, exploring and fighting with an hunger neither had experienced before. An intoxicating drug that felt more crucial than air itself.

“You will be the death of mine,” he whispered against her plump lips, hands tugging at her tresses, some of which had escaped from the prison that her hairdo was. He felt her grin against his lips, pulling away to whisper:

“No. I will be your Queen.”

[femmehaljordan]

I think the way people villainize jason is so interesting considering that at his core jason embodies true empathy for victims of both violent and non-violent crime more than any of the bats.

Like you can't cut addicts off cold turkey, that only causes more harm. So he'll make sure your drugs are clean and you get clean needles. And when you wanna get clean he'll help. He'll kill your abuser, your rapist. Not JUST for you, because he will do it for you. But not only for you, but for anyone else that person could hurt.

Also ppl in fanon make it so that cass would hate him (and she probably might but not for what they think), but i think he'd despise her moral code just as much.

Her empathy for (1) singular individual has eroded her ability to empathize with any victim of any crime of any magnitude hereafter to ease her own sense of guilt.

Jason's entire moral code rides on doing whatever it takes to make sure that victims are safe and comfortable. Sometimes you aren't comfortable until the monster that stalks your nightmares is dead.

But they won't let him or other victims have that. They let people live in that nauseating perpetuity of "will they hurt me again?" And their only moral leg to stand on is that they don't kill. Like a prolonged death from extreme violence is any better.

I think cass would hate him for the moral dilemma he presents FOR HER. How does she grapple with the fact that the lives taken/hurt by the persons she CHOOSE to let live, is infinitely more than it would be if she killed like jason. (Didn't she break into a prison to free a serial child rapist on death row??? I cannot remember the exact comic but feel free to correct me)

Also people act like jason kills indiscriminantly, which he doesn't. We know he targets persons who target women, children, and people who enact sexual violence.

Idk i think the way people view jason moral code is a direct reflection of how they see real victims of crime and bad circumstances. They're quick to say violence isn't the answer but sometimes it's the only option between life and death. And its not wrong to want to live

- 🪼

!!!!

You can tell that some people have no fucking clue what harm reduction is based on the way they talk about Jason. Like “he was a crime lord he dealt drugs!!” BUDDY HIS ENTRANCE ONTO THE SCENE WAS “DON’T DEAL TO KIDS”

There’s something to be said about Jason doing anything to make a victim comfortable vs Cass doing anything to prevent death

I do find it interesting that people are always like “Cass should hate Jason” but never addressed the fact that Jason would hate her right back.

Aoughhhhh something about Cass only viewing herself as a murderer and Jason being a victim of murder and how it shaped their ideology in different directions is soooooo.

I also think that Cass’ moral code is one of the most fascinating. Because it goes beyond not playing Judge jury and executioner. Cause like you said, she broke that guy out of prison. He was on death row. Aside from my feelings on the death penalty. (Abolish it) the judge, and the jury had made a decision. And it wasn’t even like she went to the governor and beat him up until this guy was given a stay of execution. She took justice into her own hands like Jason is condemned for doing just in the opposite direction.

Like Cass’ no killing goes farrrrrr beyond Bruce’s and I don’t see that talked about enough

I do wanna say that I fact checked with my Cass friend, the guy she broke out just killed someone he was not a rapist.

But you’re so right about how people like to view Jason through real world lenses. It’s insufferable sometimes.

All that is to say honestly? I fear Cass’ moral code is not the bastion of purity people treat it as.

[nana-mania]

"GLITCHED DESIRE" he will always chase after you.

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot

࿐*ೃ feat : mr. scarletella

࿐*ೃ fandom : homicipher

࿐*ೃ extra : fem! reader, fluff

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ Flickering lights buzzed above you as you made your way through the dilapidated corridors of the building. You'd long since stopped hoping to find an easy way out—this was a mysterious building, and escape was rarely straightforward. Still, you refused to give up. Each door, each hallway, could hold a glimmer of hope. Or a trap.

Your steps echoed faintly, swallowed by the oppressive silence that surrounded you. You were focused on the cracked map in your hand, one you had drawn yourself, trying to decipher its faded markings when that familiar, unnerving sensation crept up your spine.

Someone was watching you. Someone was following you.

You turned quickly, scanning the barely lit hallway behind you. Nothing. No sign of movement, no shift in the shadows. But you felt it. You always felt it before he appeared.

With a sharp exhale, you turned back to your map, trying to focus on the task at hand. But when you did, he was there—Mr. Scarletella, mere inches from your face. His presence distorted reality, the air around him rippling like a corrupted video file. His eyes, void-like and unblinking, bore into yours, and the world felt like it had stopped.

You flinched instinctively, a shiver running down your spine. “Really? Again?” you muttered, more exasperated than afraid. You had gotten used to his tricks, his sudden appearances meant to jolt you into fear. By now, it was more annoying than terrifying.

Mr. Scarletella tilted his head, a slight smirk curling his lips. “What, you do?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.

You didn’t even bother looking up as you replied casually, “Way out.” Your tone was deliberately flat, your attention divided between the map and the faint sound of a creaking door somewhere far off.

He didn’t seem deterred by your lack of interest. If anything, it only seemed to amuse him. “So focused,” he murmured, his voice almost a purr. “So serious. Why, escape?”

You ignored him, taking a step forward to investigate the faint sound. But as soon as you moved, he glitched again. One moment, he was behind you; the next, he was directly in front of you, blocking your path. His smirk widened, and his eyes sparkled with mischief—or something far darker.

“Excuse me,” you said, attempting to sidestep him.

He mirrored your movement effortlessly, leaning in just enough to invade your space. “Don't be cold.” His voice dropped to a near whisper.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I, am?” His tone shifted, playful yet persistent. “You, waste time. Not me, darling.”

The sudden endearment made you falter for a split second, your focus breaking. Where did he learn that?

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. His grin grew sharper, and he leaned closer.

“Surprise?” he teased, his voice a velvet caress. “Don't run. Stay here, with me.”

You forced yourself to look away, your heart pounding—not from fear, but from something you couldn’t quite place. Annoyance? Frustration? No. It was something more dangerous. You didn’t want to acknowledge it, so you kept walking, determined to shake him off.

But, as always, he followed. Like a shadow, like a curse, he trailed behind you, his steps unnervingly quiet. His demeanor shifted as he walked, from predatory to almost... eager. Like a puppy following its owner.

“You,” he started again, “Me, can help. But, I don't. Why?”

“Because you’re bored.”

He chuckled, a low, melodic sound that made your skin prickle. “Wrong. Me, you, interested, (Y/n)."

You sighed, stopping at a locked door and fiddling with its rusted handle. “If I’m so interesting, why don’t you do something useful for once? Open this door.”

“Hmm...” He tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “What, in return?”

“Peace and quiet,” you shot back.

He laughed again, a genuine sound that caught you off guard. It was rare to hear anything from him that wasn’t dripping with menace or mockery. “Funny,” he said. "Me, like you.”

Ignoring him, you moved to another door, only to find it locked as well. He leaned against the wall beside you, watching your every move with unnerving intensity. You could feel his gaze burning into you, even when you refused to meet it.

“You enjoy, right?” he said after a moment, his voice soft, almost contemplative, “Our, little game. Me, chase you.”

You turned to glare at him, finally snapping. “Enjoy? You delusional. You’re the reason I’m stuck here in the first place!”

He shrugged, unbothered by your outburst. “Maybe. Me like you, a lot. Want you, stay here.”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in an instant, his face mere inches from yours. His smile was gone, replaced by something darker. “Tell me,” he said, his voice a low murmur, “You can escape..will you, leave? Will you, miss me?”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You wanted to snap at him, to push him away, to deny whatever game he was playing. But his eyes, those endless voids, held you captive.

“I—” The words caught in your throat, and you turned sharply, forcing yourself to walk away. Your footsteps echoed louder this time, as if trying to drown out the sound of your racing heart.

He didn’t follow immediately, but you could feel his presence lingering, his gaze heavy on your back. And then, just as you reached the end of the hallway, his voice called out to you, soft but insistent.

“Run, darling,” he said. “You come back. Always do.”

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. But his words stayed with you, echoing in your mind long after his presence had faded.

࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Aemond X Wife!Reader: Words of comfort

Warning: fluff, Aemond being a good husband, talk of pregnancy, fear of faliure, reader is a bit self consious, no use of y/n, gn reader

Word count: 970

You stared into the mirror, face twisted into a concentrated expression as you tried, for the third time, to finish your hairstyle. Normally a maid would help you do your hair but you’d sent her to help Heleana with her children. There never seemed to be enough people to help the twins when they got fussy. Heleana did her best of course but sometimes it was to much for the young mother to handle. 

You groaned in frustration, watching as your hair began to unravel on its own. Aemond watched you twist your arms behind your back in an attempt to grab a chunk of hair that was missing from your braid. A small smile tugged at his lips. You were quite amusing like this. He could have watched you in silence for the rest of the day but your eyes caught him in the reflection causing you to turn to face him.

“Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. I merely wanted to sit with you.”

“Well then, make yourself comfortable.”

Aemond began to walk around the room. You turned back to the mirror, focusing on the task at hand once more. Aemond stared out the window of your room, his eyes moving over the world outside with little interest. He was far more interested in the small rage filled noises you kept letting out. 

“Oh I give up.”

You groaned, placing your hairbrush on the table in aggravation. You placed your head in your hands, sighing in defeat. Aemond made his way towards you, his hands moving to rest on your shoulders. He moved his palms against your body in a comforting manner. You let out a small sound, raising your head so you could see him. It was silly that something so simple had managed to get tears from your eyes but Aemond knew you weren’t crying about your hair. There was something more to it, and he would find out what.

“Want me to help?”

“I’m sure you have other matters to attend to. More important matters.”

“No matter is more important than the joy of my wife.”

You smiled at him, placing your hand on top of his. Aemond moved to sit behind you, fingers moving against your hair. You watched him unbraid your hair before grabbing the hairbrush of the table. He brushed your hair thoroughly, making sure there were knots. Once he was satisfied he placed the hairbrush down and began to braid your hair. His slim fingers moved over your locks gently. He looked so focused that you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him.

“How many do you want?”

“Two. And then you tie them together.”

Aemond gave you a hum moving to do the hairstyle you had requested. He’d seen you in it loads of times, it was your go to hairdo. It took him a while to get it just right, the amount of hair you had was quite large. Once he was done he rested his hand on your shoulders, observing as you took in his work. You turned your head so you could look at him straight on.

“It’s perfect. Thank you husband.”

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Want to braid mine?”

“Yes.”

Aemond switched positions with you, allowing you to become face to face with his hair. You knew he would remove the small braids you filled his hair with after he left the room but you didn’t mind. Messing with his hair calmed you down and Aemond knew that better then anyone.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong?”

You let out a sigh moving to start another small braid. Aemond waited for you to start talking, his eye watching your lips quiver for a moment. When you finally started to speak he could tell you were trying very hard to hold back tears.

“I can’t do anything right. I can’t thread my corsets alone. I can’t braid my hair. The last time i tried to embroider my dress I stained it with red because I kept pricking my finger with the needle.”

These were all things that bothered you but Aemond knew there was something else. Something bigger. You bit into your lip, sighing once more before closing your eyes. 

“I can’t get pregnant.” 

There it was. The real root of the problem.

“How am i supposed to be a good wife to you if i can’t even perform my duties correctly.”

Aemond turned around, his hair slipping from your fingers as he did so. He placed a palm on your cheek. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Aemond its my one-”

“I do not care. You are my wife and I love you. It doesn't matter if you can’t get pregnant right now, we have time.”

“And if I do get pregnant, what if…what if I'm not a good mother?”

“That isn’t possible. I’ve seen you with Heleana's kids. They adore you. There isn't a bad bone inside your body. You will make a fine mother. Just as you make a fine wife.”

Aemond’s thumb moved to wipe away your tears before placing a small kiss to your temple. You moved forward, allowing Aemond to tug you into his embrace. His hands moved over your hair, tracing over the braids he’d made moments ago.

“And another thing. I quite enjoy the process of making a baby.”

“Aemond!”

You gave him a playful slap to the arm, feeling his chest move as he laughed. You couldn’t help but laugh as well, Aemond had a way of always seeing the very best in you. You loved him for it. You raised your head from his chest, placing a kiss to his lips. He rested his head against your forehead, closing his eyes.

“I love you Aemond.”

“I love you more.”

[fallingdownhell]

i love your recent posts but can i request hurt/comfort genshin impact xiao, wanderer, cyno where like they get into an argument about the reader being weak or something like that

although they didn't mean it, but after a few days after the argument, they see reader like training hard for them because of the fight.

<3

Mhh, always. You know I love me a good dose of angst! And I'm sorry, but I only included two of the requested characters, because otherwise this would haven gotten way too out of hand and too much to read. Hope you're okay with that.

Characters Included: Xiao; Wanderer

Content: gender neutral reader; angst; comfort; hurt/comfort; established relationship; arguments between them and reader; shouting and cursing at reader in wanderer's scenario; Kunikuzushi/Kuni is being used for Wanderer

Word count: 2,2k words

Enjoy the read!

Xiao

You have to understand him. He's just looking out for you!

There is a clear, natural difference in strength between you and him!

He's an adeptus after all, and you're just a human! Sure, you possess a vision and you know perfectly well how to utilize it to your advantage in battle, but he's still your boyfriend! Let him be worried about you!

Honestly, he really just had your best interest and saftey in mind when he approached you one day, offering to train with you and possibly make you stronger, since he noticed your form to be a bit lacking when he watched you train.

The problem was, he told you exactly what he was thinking, no filter whatsoever. Which in turn caused you to get a bit defensive with him. That didn't sit right with Xiao, because in his eyes, he was only trying to help you.

This then resulted in a huge argument, where neither of you wanted to back down against the other.

"(Name), for the love of the Archons. Can't you see I'm only trying to help you here?"

"By berating me and telling me all the things I'm doing wrong? Without offering any advise at all? Yeah, great help.", you scoff as you turn your back to your boyfriend, trying to resume your exercise in peace. You were hoping that he would get the hint, to leave you alone. But he didn't.

"I'm really only looking out for you. You lack basic knowledge with the sword and you lack stamina as well. You're moving around too much, you make so many unnecassary movements. The hold you have on your weapon is too loose. Anyone could easily knock it out of your hand. Also-!"

"Okay! I got it!", you suddenly burst out as Xiao keeps on listing the things you're doing wrong in his eyes. It not only frustrated you, but it also made you feel so inferior.. to him and basically everyone else. You know that everyone starts out at some point. Everyone has to learn from the beginning. So why is he being so mean to you? Shouldn't he be more supporting of you as your boyfriend?

"I get it. You've made your point very clear."

You speak again, while Xiao just stares at you, mouth still hanging open. He didn't expect for you to raise your voice like this. You were usually so soft spoken.

You stared into each others eyes for a few more seconds, before you let out a sigh and placed your sword back into its sheat.

"I'm going home.", you announce as you go to grab your stuff. You collect everything and put it in your back, leaving without taking another look at him.

Suddenly, Xiao got the feeling that he made a huge mistake. Not only by "helping" you out with your training, but also as he let you go like this without having a talk with you, but something told him to let you be for the time being.

.....

Well... did he regret letting you just go like that. It has been almost a week since he last saw you, because you refused to call his name like you usually did on a daily basis.

And he was afraid of seeking you out himself, since he feared to only further sour your mood with an unannounced visit from his side. But he wanted to see you again so badly...

When the one week mark was reached without hearing anything from you, Xiao has had enough. He needed to make sure that you were okay. He was certain you would have called his name if you were in mortal danger, despite the argument at hand, but it's better to be safe than sorry. He needed to know you were still alive..

So, he teleported to your home, waiting for a few seconds in front of the door, gathering courage, before knocking on the door. He waited and waited, but nothing happened. He knocked again, but still nothing.

Xiao was about to leave again, scolding himself in his head, because of course you wouldn't open, you obviously didn't want to see him right now, when he heard noises coming from a bit further away.

Deciding to investigate, he followed the noises. And what he saw did shock him a bit..

He saw you, standing in a circle of training dummys, practicing different moves and tactics. He could tell that your hold on the blade has gotten better over the week you have been apart. In fact, everything he had critiqued about your skills seems to have improved...

Have you been training relentlessly this entire time??

This made him feel even more bad about this entire argument. He wanted to help you, not make you overexert yourself like this, just to prove something to him..

Deciding that it was finally time to talk, he approached you. You heard the footsteps coming your direction and turned towards them. Surprised to see Xiao there, you stopped in the middle of your session, facing him.

It was quiet for a few seconds as he arrived in front of you, and when you couldn't take it anymore, you decided to speak up again.

"What? Here to berate me even more?" It sounded way more sarcastic and hurtful than you had intended it to, and you saw Xiao flinch the slightest bit at your words, but you didn't back down from them.

"No..", Xiao answered weakly.

"I'm here to apologize." His words left you surprised, not expecting this at all.

"I didn't realize how much my words were hurting you. That was never my intention, (Name). I.. I'm just worried about you. There is a clear difference in skill, after all, but I shouldn't have been like this to you. I sincerely apologize for the way I treated you."

You have been with Xiao long enough to know two things. First, he was being completely honest with you. You could tell by the tone in his voice and the way he tried to look into your eyes, while also trying to avoid them at the same time, feeling embarrassed about being this vulnerable with someone.

Second, you knew just how hard it was for him to be honest and vulnerable with you. Saying this must have caused so much for him to do, yet he did it anyway.. for you.

For a second, you stood there and stared at him, before sighing and walking over to him, wrapping your arms around his body in a warm, comfortable hug. He did not hesitate for a second before doing the same, having missed this feeling dearly for the past week.

"I don't mind you helping me or giving me advise.. but maybe don't be so brash and insulting about it. Okay?"

He nodded, promising you to be more careful with his words from now on.

Wanderer

You sighed with relief as the Ruin guard in front of you collapsed and shattered into its parts, the cut on your side hurting a bit when you breathed, but it wasn't bleeding too bad, so the wound must not be too bad, either.

You were usually not that easy to surprise, but for some reason, you overlooked that particular ancient machine, resulting in it getting a hit on you before it was taken down.

Though, you were not the one responsible for taking it down. The actual reason was flying in from behind it, your boyfriend, Kuni. And while you were smiling at him, wanting to thank him for his help, he had a scowl on your face as he landed in front of you.

"What the hell were you thinking, Idiot? You would be dead now if it weren't for me being here!", he shouted as soon as he landed, not letting you get a word in.

You were taken aback by his harsh words and tone, staring at him, which only made him even more agitated.

"The hell? You don't even have an excuse! How can you be so fucking careless? I know you're weak but I wouldn't have thought of you being this stupid as well!"

You heard each and every single one of his words, and they all stung right in your chest. You were aware of the difference in power between you two, but that didn't mean you were incompetent with your polearm. You've trained long and hard to get to the point where you are now, and you were proud of yourself for it.

When you looked into his eyes again, you could see a bit of shock behind them, like he was surprised himself that the words actually left his lips.

You waited a few seconds, to see if he would apologize to you or take them back, but nothing came. Kuni's pride hindered him from doing the right thing..

"I see. If that's what you think of me, I won't be in your way again."

The words sounded cold when they left your lips, and Kunikuzushi flinched ever so slightly when hearing them, but you didn't react to it. Instead, you turned and walked away from him without acknowledging his presence any longer.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing? Where are you going?", he shouted after you, but no response. Then, he chased after you, but when he noticed that you were still ignoring him, he gave up on it, figuring that it would be best to leave you alone for the time being.

Surely, you would come crawling back to him soon enough... right?

....

....

Two weeks.

The incident has happened two weeks ago. And for those two weeks, he did not hear or see anything of you, whatsoever.

He was so sure that you wouldn't even survive a week without him before coming back and apologizing, but it seemed like he was wrong this time.

And he hated to admit this, even to himself, but.. he missed you. Missed your stupid, cheerful smile, your laugh and the way you always made his day better, just by spending time with him.

After about a week and a half, he began to think, that maybe, this time, he was actually the one in the wrong. That maybe, he took it too far with his words this time around.

Maybe.. he should be the one to apologize to you.

And yet, it took him a few more days to overcome his stupidly high pride and actually follow through with his thoughts.

Nahida, who knew all about the situation from Kuni himself, smiled and nodded proudly as the puppet went to leave the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

He first searched for you at your home, but you couldn't be found there. Then, he went on a stroll through the city, hoping to run into you along the way, but that too, proofed to be without success.

His last hope was the adventurers guild, and that someone hopefully has seen you there.

And luck was on his side this time, as some other members told him about how you have constantly been taking commission after commission for the past few days.

Feeling his worries for you rise again, he went to the locations given to him, hoping to find you there.

About an hour or so later, he spotted you at the location of the third commission you took, standing next to a defeated ruin drake while facing another one head on.

He had half a mind to rush over and take care of it for you, but something in him told him to let you handle it yourself. So he watched with bated breath as you easily took care of the machine, letting it fall to the ground while you remained completely unharmed.

That's when he really realized what his words might have caused for you. You are by no means a sheltered human, you're capable of defending yourself, and very well so.

As you were checking the defeated drakes for useful stuff, he came out of his 'hiding spot', walking directly to you. You noticed him approaching but chose to ignore him still. In fact, you've noticed his presence in the middle of the fight, but decided not to call him out and see what he would do.

When he arrived, he just stood next to you in silence for a while, watching you. But when you still wouldn't acknowledge him, he decided to speak up.

"(Name)... I... I'm sorry..", he mumbled quietly. He felt embarrassed, not used to acting like the bigger person, but he was in the wrong here, so he had to do this, no matter what.

The words out of Kuni's mouth caught you by surprise, your head swirling around to look at him, finally.

Kunikuzushi didn't know what else to say right now, so he stayed silent, hoping you would understand how difficult this was for him right now.

"..I'm not weak.", you answered him quietly as well, fully facing him now, but your posture and tone seemed a bit more open and calmer now.

"..I know."

He may not be the best with words, but somehow, you always understood what he wanted to say, anyways. It has always been this way between you. It was one of the many things he loved so much about you.

And that's how it was this time, too. He quietly thanked the Gods when he pulled you into his arms again, holding you for the first time in what had felt like an eternity.

[talkbycolor]

I deserve this

A/N; at this point its obvious that i inspire in rebzyyx songs

Pairing; "Your Boyfriend" x AFAB!Reader (cus people are scared of the word trans)

CW; reader becomes willing at the end i swear / unhealthy, obsessive and possesive love / sensitive topics such as mental health, depression, anxiety, fear of abandonment, dissociation, suicidal thoughts / a crazy concept: he talks about his emotions!! / non-con, violence, like, i cry while i masturbate

It's quite blurry trying to remember how it all started, it seemed harmless to accept a date from a stranger, he gave you a beautiful rose and was quite kind to you.

Feeling that people could like you, that someone could be romantically interested in you, because of who you are, your personality, that they knew your… desires?

Because you had dreams, of course.

…

Your dream was to live, to live a quiet life, a stable, pleasant job, with good pay, a normal and peaceful life, where the deep emptiness in your heart was non-existent, years had passed and the monotonous feeling did not disappear, you had already accepted the pain, after all, if you felt that constantly it was probably because you did something wrong at some point, right?

But that was a personal dream that would never be shared.

And it's not like that matters now, not when you're in… A room, that's funny, your last memory is of Peter slamming you against the table to tie your limbs since their last date didn't end as expected and It was time to go home.

Return to an empty home, for what? Peter was more than willing to take care of you, why was he so scary? Accepting it would have made things easier, but you ruined everything by trying to run away, you even fought tooth and nail, that was too pathetic now that you remember it, maybe you DO deserve all the shit that is happening.

You could have saved yourself so much terror and attacks.

"PETER ENOUGH! PLEASE! LET ME GO! NO! NO! FUCK, PLEASE!" You tore out your throat with terrified screams and tried to claw at his skin until your fingers were bloody, biting the hands that tried to stop your screams, hitting his face with your elbows and kicking him away, crawling like a dying animal away from him. "PETER!" You sobbed sharply before losing consciousness.

But nothing worked, resisting only made all that shit worse and now you were tied up, in Your boyfriend's old clothes.

You barely remember how you got to that place, or if time passed, anyway that doesn't matter anymore, from one day to the next you find a very small piece of clothing that turned out to be yours, time passed, your body grew but your mind didn't, they keep lying but you know that your life will depend on how well you do it.

And you're not doing it right, you tried to adopt toxic happiness but you couldn't even maintain it for a while before exploding, sadness was already an everyday thing and you just weren't feeling it anymore.

"Dear?"

Just peace please, how hard could that be? It was annoying, you even felt angry for feeling so empty, because people were so rude and the constant rejection killed you socially.

It was hard to breathe, wasn't it?

"Love? Do you hear me?"

It feels like the end, your soul is bleeding, you wish your stupid job made you feel a little more alive and motivated to continue.

And now you have done so many things to escape from that monster that pulls you back to the room to devour you under the bed.

"Darling!" Your boyfriend's voice echoed through the room, making you look at him once and for all, your eyes tired despite having been unconscious most of the time.

"…" You wanted to respond, really, but what were you supposed to say?

"You must be exhausted, you didn't even touch dinner" It was a tricky phrase, he had tried to feed you since you were tied up.

"Peter-…"

"I already told you that I prefer to be called other way, honey" He responded with a smile and a definitely not irritated tone.

"I want to sleep" He left your lips, he was being so caring, taking care of your health.

He kidnapped you.

And you couldn't even thank him for it.

He knocked you out.

You really were an ungrateful shit, weren't you?

He locked you up.

You wanted to return the signs of affection.

Soon the ropes left your body, Peter helped you stand up and you both walked to the bedroom, he was still carrying a small plate with a light dinner, he refused to let you go to bed without having eaten dinner.

Once in bed, he made sure that you had a proper dinner, and he helped you change your clothes so that you would be comfortable in bed, he also did the same with his attire and now you were both lying down. It always made your stomach churn when he looked at your half-naked body.

"Dear" He murmured next to you while you tried to sleep as soon as possible, so many things had happened those last few days that the only way out was to sleep, you had probably already been fired from your job for not showing up. "Honey, love, darling," he said sweetly as his hand went up to your cheek, he simply looked at you with a huge and probably painful smile on his face, almost tattooed, you made him so happy with your mere presence.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, your mind still cloudy enough to refuse anything, so you just went up to kiss him, the room was very dark and there weren't even crickets echoing at night, the amount of silence was overwhelming… of course, that didn't count the lip-smacking they shared.

So it continued.

For a long time.

"Pet-…uhm, I mean, honey, I'm tired and I want to sleep" You interrupted the honey session.

"Please, you don't have to do anything, just let me love you, darling" his voice was soft, soothing to that darkness but not to the painful weight in your heart and the knot in your stomach, his touches felt strange.

You know that's wrong, you don't like it.

You didn't stop him, just like he said, you let him love you as you closed your eyes and a buzzing sound echoed in your head, like television static, your bottom clothes had disappeared, but that didn't matter.

You couldn't hear anything, you didn't see anything, your body reacted but your mind was very far from that place, you wandered through your memories, fantasies of a life you were never going to have.

It was really digging into your cunt, huh? Even when your mind wanted to flee somewhere else, it was undeniable how he held your thighs and you gasped heavily with each thrust.

His member was still dripping his seed, did he use protection? You don't know, you don't care.

It doesn't matter.

B e cau se s oon y o u w il l b e d ea d.

"Honey? Didn't you enjoy it?" Peter asked with a worried frown.

What the hell is wrong with you? Do you no longer have respect for yourself? You know it's going to hurt you.

Don't you mind dying? You lost hope and you don't even try to help yourself anymore, damned and pathetic attempt at being human, really unnecessary.

"Honey…" Peter caressed your cheeks and brought his forehead to yours, sighing softly and carrying your body to the bathroom in the room.

You didn't say anything either, you just felt how it was cleaning your body, the water was warm, the bathtub full of bubbles, and it smelled pretty good, like coconut soap. Peter hummed quietly as he treated your body with the utmost affection, you were sure he was whispering things in your ear but you were barely aware of your surroundings.

When your eyes finally focused on something you could see the ceiling of the room thanks to the moonlight, Peter was behind you, hugging your body, caressing your hair, and sniffing the soapy fragrance.

"You are so sweet, so unique, so kind, so special to me, a truly exceptional person, I will do everything to make you feel comfortable, darling, I love you so much, my adorable-…"

"Peter"

"… Yes love?" This time he didn't argue about that name, you were finally talking and that was good.

"I'm sorry I feel so alone, I know you're here but…" You wish you could give him an answer but that was something even you hadn't figured out yet.

"It's okay, honey, I'll be with you to hold you, forever."

♡

[silvermarley]

can u do Sanemi or giyuu fucking reader stupid because she said his scar or eyes were beautiful

Love this idea 🫶🫶 this seems more on the Sanemi side of things, so I’m gonna do him!! :)

Beauty in Your Scars

Sanemi x Reader

Warnings: smut, rough (but passionate), cursing, unprotected sex, fem!reader, modern-ish but demon slaying is still a thing, a hint of a breeding kink, dirty talk

WC: 2.8k (I got carried away)

Sanemi isn’t the type to receive compliments often, as his appearance intimidates most resulting in him not getting used to them. Even when he got with you, he became a flustered mess.

His scars were something that pushed most away. He was by no means ashamed of them, but he didn’t exactly find them the most appealing either.

Sanemi did like the fear that came with them though, and how even some demons would hesitate to attack just looking at them.

You two have been together for over a year, and you hadn’t yet talked about his scars. You didn’t know if it was a touchy subject or anything, so you never pushed.

Even so, you couldn’t help but admire the way it makes him look so much more masculine. Something about them never failed to attract you more. That being said, it wasn’t good seeing new ones when he would come home from a particularly difficult mission.

You were a retired demon slayer, so you understood getting injured comes with the job, even if it wasn’t ideal. Although, it’s not too often he gets injured because of his immense power and skill in wind breathing.

You were “retired” because after Sanemi had gotten attached to you, he quickly began insisting you leave the corps. Saying “it’s for your own good,” or anything he could think of to get you to leave. Eventually, you did. And he couldn’t be happier (he would never tell you that though).

Now, he gets to do the dirty work while his beloved stays at home and greets him when he comes back. Although you two have been together for a long time, he still struggles at expressing his love, so he can come off as strong sometimes. Not that you mind.

One afternoon, he comes home after a stressing mission. “I’m home.” He calls out as usual.

You peek from around the corner of the hallway and walk to him. “Hey, ‘Nemi! How did your mission go?”

He grunts, placing his katana in its place on the wall. “Fucking stressful.” He sighs, his voice laced with frustration.

Though, he couldn’t stay upset when he was finally home. When he finally gets to see you. The one who then kiss his cheek in response, “Ah.. sorry to hear that. Do you want me to make your favorite?” You grin.

The corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly as he nods. When he’s upset, he becomes more quiet as to avoid saying something he would regret to you. If there was anyone he would never want to hurt with his attitude, it’s you. He finds his way into the living room and with a (what felt like a) heavy body, he plops onto the couch.

You happily go into the kitchen to gather the materials for ohagi. You knew the recipe like the back of your hand at this point. It was your favorite thing to do for him after his missions.

After making it, you place them on a plate and make it look presentable. You hum to yourself, before carrying it to where Sanemi was sitting.

“Here you go!” You hand it over to him and then sit yourself next to him.

He quickly takes a bite and sighs contentedly. He can’t help his small but noticeable smile as he chows down on the food. You just cuddled up next to him, occasionally looking up to admire him. The show on tv wasn’t all too interesting to you now as you were enamored by his beauty even while eating.

Once he finished his meal, he placed the plate to the side table. “It’s always good.” He remarks as he moves his hand to your waist, pulling you closer to his side.

“‘m glad you think so.” You manage to snap yourself out of it as you reply.

He looks down at you as you stare at him. “Something wrong?” He asks.

You shake your head. “Just admiring you.”

His cheeks turned a rosy hue. “..Is that so?” He cleared his throat.

“Mhm,” you say as your hands trace some of the scars on his arm, “I was just thinking about how beautiful these make you look.”

There’s silence from him for a moment. As you glanced up once more to see if you said something wrong, you see something in his demeanor had changed. “..’Nemi?”

His grip tightens on your waist. “Don’t say things like that all of a sudden..” he muttered.

You caught on to his tone, how it was warning you, not just telling you. “Why? It’s true.. they’re pretty.” You assured.

He mumbles a “Fuck..” as he is suddenly on top of you, breathing heavily with a prominent blush on his cheeks. “I warned you, didn’t I?” His eyes were cloudy as he spoke with a sensual voice. Hearing your praise for his scars did something to him.

With a bite of your lip, you stare up at him. “Mhm.. but I really do think so.” You shuddered as his rough palms grazed your sides.

His lips quickly met yours in a heated kiss. Your tongues danced with passion as he pushed his hips into yours. Your words were playing with fire. He wanted to hear them over and over. Something about you saying that made him feel hot all over.

As soon as you part for breath, his lips are latched on your neck. Dark hickeys were made in every spot he kissed. After properly marking your neck, he makes quick work of your shirt, to which he takes the new exposed skin into his mouth to make more marks. While doing so, his hands glide to unclip your (f/c) bra. You lifted yourself slightly to allow him to so.

He groans at the sight of your perked up nipples. He throws your bra across the room, turning his attention back to you. “Perfect..” He murmurs.

His tongue swirls around one nipple, before sucking and repeating the process. Then he pays some attention to the other. The stimulation just from this made soft gasps escape your mouth. That only fueled the ever growing fire.

A few minutes pass, and he pulls away from your chest. His fingers skillfully pull down your pants with haste. His cock twitches in his pants at the sight of your panties, and the patch of your desire that was making it stick to your pussy.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy.. you know that?” He inquires with a lustful stare, but he wasn’t expecting an answer. Especially when you know it.

His thumbs rub your waist as he studied your already dazed expression. He hums, as his gaze falls back to your clothed core. He’s hit with the urge to taste you, to make you come undone with his tongue. And he’s not a patient man. He takes what he wants. And right now, he wants nothing more than to taste your essence.

He was already patient enough to take everything else off of you, but he couldn’t stop himself from tearing the panties you still had on off of you. He wouldn’t hear the end of it later, but he didn’t care. As soon as your wet pussy is exposed to him, his tongue begins to explore it.

Just the taste of you has his mind reeling. He licks and sucks at your clit messily. Pulling whine after whine from you. It was almost like he wasn’t doing this for you anymore. Your hands tug at his wild white hair as you mewl in pleasure.

“Just l-like that ‘Nemi—ah..—feels so good.” You moan, slightly bucking your hips up to get more friction. From the stimulation of his tongue alone, it has your back arching.

Soon, he pushes a thick finger into your entrance, pumping it in and out in tune with his actions on your clit. You couldn’t control your voice as it increased in volume, especially not when he adds another. His mind felt fuzzy as he lapped at you and fucked you with his fingers.

Sanemi still had your compliment in mind as he brought you to cloud nine. He didn’t care how messy he would get from this, he just wanted you to cum on his face. Your sweet moans only encouraged him to bring you to the brink faster.

Your pussy tightens around his fingers as you feel yourself coming closer and closer to the edge. A few more movements of his hands had you cumming all over his face and fingers. He greedily licked you clean as you twitched in overstimulation.

He lifts himself up once more. You see the bottom half of his face covered in your juices and his own saliva, causing you to blush more from embarrassment. He notices, smirking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Still think I’m beautiful?” He questions. You look away from him, in a sudden sense of bashfulness. His eyes never leaves your face as he demands an answer. “Look at me. Tell me baby, do you think I still look pretty?” His breathing quickens once again at his own words.

Your eyes slowly return back up to his as you nod. “Mhm.. so pretty.” Without a doubt, he was prettier in your eyes now than before. Even with the bottom of his face still glistening with your essence.

He mutters a few curses before undressing himself as fast as he could. You ogle his well built figure, scarred and sculpted from years of slaying demons. No matter how many times you see it, you’re still just as enamored.

Normally, he would poke fun at you for staring at him, but he wanted to be in you, and he wanted it badly. He hovers over you again, peering down to grab hold of his leaking cock. He rubs himself against you a few times, until he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He needed to feel the warmth, and he needed it now.

He slips inside you, which is made easy by his prep and the wetness seeping out of your cunt. He lets out a husky groan as he slowly pushes in. The delicious stretch as he filled you up made you squeeze around him. He hisses, and grips tightly underneath your knees to gradually push them to your chest. This only made him push deeper into you, almost making you forget to breathe.

A mutual moan is shared as he bottoms out. After a moment, he pulls back his hips to slam into you again, knocking the air out of you once again. Your hands frantically move to his shoulders.

“Fuck.. pussy’s squeezin’ me tight..” he groans. His mind felt foggy from lust and the feeling of you around him. Never has he felt this pussy whipped. Did your words have more of an effect than he originally thought? Of course it did. Such a compliment coming from your pretty lips; Moreover about his scars, had him reeling from the start.

He continues to thrust deep into you, hitting places you didn’t think he could reach. Everything felt.. different this time. You’d never seen this man act like this over something so simple.

Each thrust had you letting out whines and moans, and you could feel every bit of his cock as it slid in and out of you. Each movement was deep and fast. As if he was a dog in heat. As if he were in a rut, and you were the only person who could help him through it. The pleasure you felt from it was almost too much. Your nails dug into his scarred shoulders, earning a grunt from him. His lip was tucked under his teeth, though he wasn’t going to let you hear just how desperate he was. But god, did it feel so good.

“K-Keep going.. plea—ah! Please, ‘Nemi!” You whimper, your back arching more as you felt yourself get closer by the second.

“Yeah? Just like this?” He smirks as he was loving the sight underneath him. You losing yourself in pleasure, face contorting into an expression he adores after a long day like this.

“Fuck! Y-yes..” you respond in broken moans, clenching on him.

He bit his lip harder. It wasn’t normal for him to get close already. But your pussy was gripping him like a vice each and every time he hit that one spot that had your eyes rolling back.

Before you could warn him of your incoming release, you saw white as you made a mess on his cock. Sanemi growled and let out a few low moans as he pushed into you a few more times before cumming himself. He kept his dick in you and bent down to catch his breath on your shoulder. “Shit..” he says between his scattered breaths.

The orgasm you both felt was powerful. And he wanted more. He wasn’t going to be satisfied with just one round. He craved to feel that again. Your hands fell to your sides as you recovered from cumming that hard.

That was, you were recovering from it. Because now, he was pushing you over on your stomach. You knew what he wanted so you braced yourself on your forearms and knees. You arched your back temptingly, which wasn’t missed by him. He slaps your ass, you were just too tempting and so pliant just for him. And he couldn’t wait to plunge into you again.

His cock forces its way into you again, and he wastes no time in fucking you again with conviction. He was once again fast and desperate in the way he moved his hips. “C-Can’t get enough of this..” he murmurs into the back of your neck just as he pushes the top of his torso against your back. This, in turn, made him go further into you. His voice, still occasionally cracking from the intense overstimulation, continued to murmur dirty sentences into your ear.

You were still feeling sensitive from your last orgasm, and so was he, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to keep going. Your drenched and quivering hole sucked him in so perfectly, almost like it never wanted him to leave, so why would he stop now? “Fuck.. I can never control myself with you—shit— you’re fucking addicting..” he nearly whines in the back of your neck, as he sucks a purple hickey into it.

His words only helped to sink you further into euphoric depths of desire. It seemed like that little comment earlier took away any filter he usually had when you two fucked previously. Something about this really was different. More eager, and full of need along with an overwhelming sense of desperation.

Sanemi’s sloppy but deep thrusts, in addition to you already being sensitive, pushed you surprisingly quickly to the brink. To the point you couldn’t even warn him about it, just like before. He growled loudly as he felt you cum again. His mouth spilled out endless curses and downright nasty words as he bucked into your twitching pussy.

“T-Too sensitive, ‘Nemi!” You practically screamed as he kept hitting the same spot that has been making you see stars.

“Just a b-bit more.-agh..come on baby..” He leans further down on you, his firm chest hitting your back completely. His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head as he rolled his hips into you wildly. Your eyes watered, feeling his hips stutter in their thrusts until he bursts inside you for the second time. It warms your insides as it fills you to the brim, and then leaks out down your thighs.

The both of you catch your breath for a few minutes until he pulls himself out. This causes more of his seed to drip out from your hole at the emptiness. You fall flat on your stomach out of exhaustion. Meanwhile, his eyes were enraptured by the view of it all. He was tempted in that moment to go again, but he held that back for now. Maybe at a later time would he do it, but jesus, was it tempting..

Sanemi’s hands rub your lower back and ass comfortingly, which he then stops after you speak. “..I take it you like what I said earlier, huh?” You chucked breathlessly, watching as he laid beside you.

“Maybe a little too much.” He murmured, and you could see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. Totally different from the man who was just rearranging your insides.

You lips meet his in a short and gentle kiss. “Who knows, I might just say it more often..” you suggest playfully when you pull away.

His breath hitched for just a second. “I suggest you be careful with what you say..” his voice tinged with a teasing but demanding tone.

You giggled, your head moves to lay on his chest. Even with his attempted serious expression, his hands told a different story. They weaved through your hair softly. It was then that he wished this could last forever, a peaceful time where he’s not out there fighting. No demons, no annoying slayers to bother him, just the two of you in post-sex clarity and tranquility. And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.