#nothing has truly scratched this itch

[pineapple-lover-boy]

Listen I know it was forever ago but what if after lesson 16, whenever the brothers mention how much MC reminds them of Lilith Mc is like, “Who?”

They’re grateful for what she did and honestly I love the thought of them being the only one to see her ghost and they’re besties but like

This is to piss the brothers off and stop them from comparing. They can talk about her. But not compare. Lilith supports this and does not want her greatx70 grandchild to be a walking memory.

[eilidh-eternal]

Touch Up

Part of the Martyr in the Making series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| 18 + MDNI | TattooArtist!Ghost x f!reader | cw for dub con/non con themes and heavy implications of grooming |

There's an insatiable itch beneath your skin that has nothing to do with the fresh ink and plasma that seeps from punctured flesh, and everything to do with a smug bastard named Simon fucking Riley.

Five days earlier…

“How ya doin’ sweetheart?” He has no right to sound this way. No right to let honey and smoke mix in his throat and spill from his lips in dark, dulcet tones. You blame the buzzing in your head, ricocheting off of your skull with each searing stroke of the needle he wields.

“Fine,” you say in a whispery breath. The hum of the needle goes quiet. That’s okay. The trilling heart in your chest is doing a fine job of replacing it. 

Pools of liquid amber, dark and rich like brandy, slide from the nearly finished linework to your face, half hidden in your hoodie, and flood your gaze with an intoxicating warmth. There’s no running from it, from the fire he’s started. The flames he fans and tends to with each murmuration of praise licks up your spine in searing tendrils, smothers the remnants of a fragmented rationale in a blanket of smoldering cinders.

A pierced brow glides up towards the fraying hem of his black knit cap as he straightens from his hunched over position. “I’ll ask one more time, an’ I expect an honest answer—d’ya need a break?” Amber petrifies under his scrutiny, as if you’re some antediluvian creature, suspended in the thrall of his gaze. Something pretty to perch on a shelf and marvel at.

Your eyes dart away, searching the patterns in the woodgrain of the cabinets for answers, divining particle board like a tarot spread. As if any of them would sound less pathetic than the truth. 

His hand slides, branding weight upon your skin, away from your waist and you fight the whine clawing up your throat. Swallow it down with the rest of the bad ideas right behind it. Plastic wheels scuff across fading concrete floors and the frayed edges of distressed denim replaces wood. Black, like everything else he wears, down to the powdery gloves and surgical mask. Bet his boxers are black, too.

When your eyes dare to meet his again the flames licking up your spine splutter, send sparks dancing up your vertebrae in shivery, glittering plumes. “I’m okay. Could use some water,” you settle on. It’s a shaky truth, flimsy and liable to crumble, but a truth nonetheless. You’d rather suffer whatever consequence comes with lying to him than lay yourself bare.

As if you aren’t already half naked in front of the man. As if he hasn't been toying with the waistband of your thong the entire session.

Your admission seems to mollify him, but the black titanium bar curving through a dusting of blond twitches. Remains cocked as he rocks back, leans across the counter in a truly obscene display, long tee clinging to every dip and curve, and plucks your water bottle from your bag.

It looks silly and small in his hand, dented metal covered in a collage of overlapping stickers, no trace of the scratched black paint besides the exposed underside. The tendons in his forearms shift beneath fabric as he turns it over to study the sticker Gaz had given you, ‘141 collective’ printed in a gothic font. There’s a similar font inked across the sliver of skin peeking out at his wrist, black ink still richly pigmented even though it looks to be more than a few years old. Must not get a lot of sun.

“Open.” You blink, several times, and come to the hazy realization that while your eyes have been busy mapping every groove and plane, tracing the prominent veins on the back of the hand draped over his knee, he’s maneuvered the water bottle to your lips. 

They part at the subtle pressure of the spout, and he tips it forward, pressing plastic between chapped lips that close around it to take a hesitant sip.

“Another,” he demands, and you try not to notice the way his focus settles on your throat, tracking each contraction of delicate muscle as you drink. “Good girl.”

You nearly choke.

And he pays it no mind. Gives no pause to the widening of your eyes, pupils flared to the limbus, or the palpable heat radiating from your skin. He merely sets the bottle back on the counter and folds his arms over the bulk of his chest.

“Just water?” he questions, and you start to nod in answer, but quickly remember your—or rather, his—rules. 

“Just water,” you echo in confirmation, and it’s received with a critical grunt. Like he can see through the paper thin restraints you cling to, the only thing keeping your lips from speaking on behalf of those between your legs.

He shifts back to his tray of inks with a glint in his eye that makes you wonder if maybe you should have said something more. Feigned hunger or fatigue.

“Just this section here–” He taps at the remaining carbon stenciling over your hip. “–and we’ll move on to shading.”

“Okay,” you mumble, and a gloved thumb brushes over raw, freshly tattooed skin. Traces his work in a gesture akin to reverence, sweetened by the lingering sting left in its wake—and you fail to stifle the moan that’s been building in the back of your throat for several hours.

When he repeats the motion and receives an identical response, the mask stretches over his face, pulls taut over the prominent bridge of his nose, and he curls his fingers into your hip. His chest rumbles with muted laughter at the whine that punches out of you, thighs clenching around the pillow wedged between them. 

“Gonna need ya a bit closer,” he croons, and gives you no warning before he hooks his fingers through the elastic pulled taut over your waist, giving it a sharp tug. “C’mon, on your tummy for me…atta girl.” He takes to arranging your limbs how he wants them, left leg practically in his lap to keep the skin from creasing, ass on full display.

You bury your face in the pillow and crook of your own arm, vehemently ignoring the way he grips your backside to work on the remaining outline, and the surge of wanton arousal warming your neck and cheeks.

Present… 

Delicate, looping letters, woven seamlessly into the outline. Hardly noticeable if you aren’t looking for them. 

They glare at you in the mirror, the memory of strong hands a phantom touch against the surrounding tender skin.

S.R.

Simon fucking Riley.

It’s not enough that he’s under your skin, he has to be inked on it too.

“Well, angel, I know you come often, but I didn’t expect to see—”

“—Where’s Simon?” You cut John off, in no mood for his dilatory remarks, and he cants a quizzical brow.

“He’s finishing up a consult right now, is there—”

“—I need to speak with him. Now,” you demand, trembling fingers curling into fists at your side. 

You couldn’t care less what he’s doing presently. You’ll drag him off the studio floor by that stupid spiked bar in his damn brow. He’s going to—

“Hey, hunny bunny!” Kyle appears behind him, walking out of what you assume to be an office with a tablet in hand and his usual sunny disposition. Rhinestones and pointed canines catch in the studio lighting when he smiles and tucks his tablet under his arm, coming to stand beside John. His gaze dips to the healing skin of your thigh. “That the piece Si did?” It’s barely visible below the hemline of your skirt.

“Yeah,” you grit through your teeth, jaw tense with the effort to maintain a modicum of decorum. “It needs touching up in a few places.”

His eyes catch on something behind you, and you’re about to reiterate your demand, but you fall short when an all too familiar weight settles on your nape. 

“‘S all this fussing about?” Simon questions, and you jerk away from his grasp.

Your first mistake.

“You—” you hiss and lift the hem of your skirt, “—need to fix this.”

He tilts his head to study the healing tattoo. “What about it?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” You know he does because the smug bastard is smirking beneath his mask, fabric stretched tight over his jaw and eyes narrowed in amusement.

He motions towards the hallway, “Let’s have a look, then,” and doesn’t wait to see if you follow him. Knows that you’re on his heels as he leads you back to the same private room. You don’t sit on the chair, electing to stand beside it instead with your arms folded tight to your chest, and you scowl at where he leans against the counter, posture mirroring yours in a decidedly mocking manner. “What’s got ya all riled up sweetheart?”

Definitely mocking

“This isn’t the design I agreed to,” you huff indignantly.

“Sure it is.”

“No, it isn’t.” You take a step closer, the toes of your sneakers nearly touching his beat up combat boots. “I never fucking agreed to have your name tattooed on me. I’m not some tramp for you to—”

“—‘S not my name,” he corrects, and you don’t know what heats your blood more; the fact that he has the gall to correct you or that he isn’t even trying to deny what he’s done. “Jus’ my initials.”

“Same fucking thing,” you seethe, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

Your second, and final, mistake.

Calloused fingers curl around your wrist and pull, yanking you further into his space until you’re standing chest to chest. He holds you there by your wrist and the firm grasp he has on your jaw, cheeks pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Someone needs a reminder about manners,” he tuts, and you whine against the pressure on your jaw. “A reminder about her rules.” His hand drops from your face to settle on your shoulder and the scathing retort coiled on your tongue withers to ash amid disbelief when he pushes down against your shoulder, forcing you onto the stool beside the chair. “Stay,” he warns when you shift forward, already halfway onto your feet again, and the undercurrent of a growl is warning enough.

“What are the rules I gave you last time?” He leans back against the counter again, arms folded loosely over his chest, and his fingers tap rhythmically against his bicep, staring down at you expectantly. 

You glare up at him, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt on top of your thighs, and he cocks that stupid pierced brow.

This is ridiculous. 

But if there’s any chance at getting him to erase the brand he’s inked into your skin…

“Give a verbal answer,” you bite out.

“And?”

“Tell you what I need.”

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He stalks forward to press a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his when you don’t deign to look at him. Amid the infuriating rush of warmth to your core, you briefly consider what would happen if you were to rear back and bite him.

“No,” you admit reluctantly, and he hums low in his chest, clearly pleased with your answer. 

“So tell me what you need.” His thumb sweeps over your chin, traces the contour of your bottom lip, and you press your legs further together. 

All the anger, hot and swirling in your chest, mixes with the smoky whorls of his words until you can't distinguish between the two. Can’t untangle the intrepid need to rebel from the desire to yield in supplication to the enigmatic man towering over you. 

“I- I want…” Your words get tangled up with it, coming out in a stuttering mess. “Fix it.”

“Fix what, sweetheart?” The way he stares into your eyes is nothing short of maddening. Fathomless pools of amber, beckoning you to bathe in their warmth, and like a moth to a flame you go willingly.

“Fix me,” you croak, and he shakes his head. “Please.” 

“Don’t need to fix ya, sweetheart. You’re mine–” He crouches down before you and slides a roughened palm over your knee, up your thigh to the tender skin beneath your skirt. “–Says so, right here.” He traces each letter of his initials inked onto your skin. “And what’s mine is perfect. Just the way it is. Understand?”

No. But you nod anyway.

“Words,” he insists. “Need to hear it.”

“I understand,” you murmur, still sifting through the haze in his eyes.

“Good girl,” he croons, sickeningly sweet, and pets a hand over your hair, thumb tracing the shell of your ear and sending a shiver skittering down your spine. “All soft and sweet for me, told ya we’d get ya there. Just need a little training, hm? Gonna let me train that pretty, empty head, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you respond absently, and his eyes flare with a molten, ravenous desire.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[leviathans-watching]

can I request a gn mc asking the brothers (and maybe dateables too if you want) to play with their wings/tail? I’ve always had the urge to just mess with Mammons wings and Levi’s tail especially

it’s okay if you don’t want to do it tho! Thank you :) 💙

touching the brothers' tails/horns/etc.

includes: the brothers x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .7k | rated t | m.list | pt 2

a/n: wow i almost want to explore lucifer's a lot further </3 anyway i hope you enjoy and ty for requesting! my inbox is open to chat, leave feedback, or req so come stop by!!

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

➳ lucifer stiffens as he feels your hands gently running through the feathers of his wings. you slow, but when he reminds silent, pick up the action again, every movement intentional and soft. it feels so good. lucifer cannot remember the last time someone other than himself had touched his wings. after he became a devil, they were something he was ashamed of for a long time and his brothers quickly learned they were no longer to touch them, and by the time he’d be okay with it, it was too late. but your touch feels like heaven, and lucifer’s afraid to look at your face out of fear of revulsion, he can’t find himself to pull away either.

➳ mammon yelps when he feels a touch on his wings, turning quickly. you yank your hand back, apologetic. “you’re good to touch them,” he says, “i was just surprised.” taking his invitation, you stroke the bones, following them from the bottom up, moving to the skin on his back. he shivers as you trace your way across his veins, feeling oddly exposed. but it also feels kind of nice, like you’re scratching an itch he hadn’t realized he had.

➳ levi flushes when his tail lashes, bumping against your leg. “sorry, it has a mind of its own,” he says, and you laugh. without asking, you run a hand down the scales, scratching your fingernails carefully over the smooth surface. “that feels good,” levi whispers, and you smile, continuing to run your hand up and down and up and down. honestly, the touch is more soothing that he’d have thought, and before he knows it, he’s half asleep, leaning against your side.

➳ satan wakes up with his head in your lap. he must have fallen asleep reading. as he gets his thoughts in order, he realizes he’s in his demon form, and you’re gently scratching his head, running your hands across his horns in a slow, repetitive motion. nobody’s ever touched his horns like that before. with his brothers, they were merely a place to grab onto when they scuffled, and he himself had never paid much attention to them, simply accepting them as part of his appearance, but your touch is making him reevaluate everything. content to stay where and as he is, he lets his eyes slip shut once more but doesn't sleep, simply reveling in your touch.

➳ asmo giggles as he feels you stroke his wing. “that tickles!” you chuckle, smearing lotion across the course skin, making sure to get every wrinkle and fold. asmo’d never been able to reach all of his wings himself, and only was able to convince one of his brothers to help once in a blue moon, so hanging out around to help him groom and moisturize was truly amazing. especially since you were so gentle and careful, your attention to detail showing in every movement. your hands felt nothing like his brothers’, and for that, asmo was immensely grateful.

➳ beel shivers as your fingers follow the striped birthmarks that go down his neck and collarbone. your fingers are slightly cold, especially considering he runs warm, and the touch feels almost ghostly with how light your touch is. it’s amazing, really, as you make every part of him feel special, including the parts he'd never cared about before, like his markings. your hands dips lower for a brief moment, to his chest, and he inhales slightly, but it doesn’t linger, moving back up before he knows it. his heart pounds behind his ribs and he’s sure that if your fingers were to explore the area over it, you’d be able to tell.

➳ belphie flinches as you touch his tail. “i know it looks soft but there are thorns in there,” he says, striving for casualness. “so don’t complain if you get pricked.” your hands slow down slightly, but you don’t pull away, combing out the hair at the end of it. it’s frightfully tangled but you’re patient and belphie knows that when you finish it will be fully untangled and neat. your administrations feel kind of nice, actually, but he wouldn’t dare admit it. (something in him tells him you know that already anyway, so what’s the point?)

[buoyant-breeze]

I think u were sent by the heavens BECAUSE THE HICKEYS/NECK KISSES ONE WAS TOP TIER?? (mwah 😩👌) I WAS PRACTICALLY DYING WHILE READING THEM, CAN U PLEASE DO KAZUHA AND SCARAMOUCHE I WOULD LITTERALLY BUILD A SHRINE FOR YOU 🧎🧎

part one (albedo, thoma, xiao)

authors note ⊱ sorry this took me so long ive had this in my drafts for months (crying)

characters ⊱ kazuha, scaramouche

warnings ⊱ completely safe! enjoy!

rating ⊱ themes of smut, mdni / view discretion advised

kazuha

he thinks neck kisses are sweet, romantic, intimate; all three being things he enjoys. and it also leaves him a little heated, itching with desire

the moment your mouth is over his throat he’s letting out an airy giggle, finding your lips ticklish. he always eagerly tilts his chin up, offering his neck over like it’s nothing, even though it truly isn’t; it’s a very vulnerable place, but perhaps that is why he gives it so easily

but it isn’t long before he gets a little noisy, breathy sighs turning into soft “ah”s, shivering with every wet noise, shaking with every suck

he sometimes bites his lip, but his entire face will always flush a rosy red

and this is certainly one way to get him riled up, but he isn’t really much of a pillow princess unless you order him to be

the moment you start displaying actions like this, he’s seeking you out, too, eager for more, wanting to touch

he’ll brush hair behind your face, cradle your head as you sink your teeth and he gasps, or whine as you press a leg between his thighs

but the best part is when he can find an opening to do the same, bringing one of your arms to his mouth, kissing sensually at your wrist, turning the tables until it’s your throat against his lips

he loves, loves, loves being marked, and is not embarrassed about them

he will be a little shy and blush, but he’s not ashamed of them at all. if anything, he looks a little pleased someone noticed, given he’s pretty proud of you and your relationship with him

scaramouche

the thing about scaramouche + neck kisses is that usually it = biting

and he’s the one biting you most of the time, if you allow it

don’t get it all wrong; it can just as easily be affectionate as it can be erotic. he has a habit of nipping idly at your fingertips and then sucking them, staring up at you through strands of soft hair and pretty lashes, eyes sometimes set into a piercing glare

it’s almost like a ‘stimming’ action: he wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder just to feel it, or to bite up the length of your throat just to fixate on the suction of your skin in his mouth or the marks that he can taste along his tongue; memorizing how it feels, almost desperate

neck kisses on their own, towards him, though: well, he wants to be bitten back

you have to be rough with him. this isn’t some pretty little fairytale where you can make him melt with just an affectionate peck to the throat. no, no. it has to be sensual. you have to work for it.

if you want to leave him gasping and shuddering into you, grasping for you with his fingernails, leaving scratches along your arms, then you have to kiss and suck and bite like he’s your last meal, like you’re trying to seduce him, or else all you’re getting is a blank face and a shrug; he doesn’t respond otherwise

he’s not the type that just will get kissed and then, boom, you have him melting over your lap. 

it needs a little more: he needs the depth of the interaction, he needs teeth and he needs tongue, he needs you to suck his skin like you mean it, like you’re trying to eat him alive, in a way that is nearly romantic, and painfully intimate, but in a way that hurts (which is what he wants)

talk dirty to him, rough by his ear, and it adds onto it

mouth at his collarbone with the intensity of someone eating him out, and he’s shaking; dig into his throat, and he’s rocking his hips into yours with a grunted growl between his teeth

and if you’re not leaving hickeys, what’s the point? he wants you to go all in or don’t go for it at all

no one really notices when he has any, since he wears sleeveless turtlenecks, which covers the general hotspots; if anyone did notice, though, he gets unexpectedly angry and grumpy and embarrassed, all at once

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ You better lock your door and look at me a little more (we both know I'm worth waitin' for) ❞

Vander x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW, slight angst | there's some plot at the end | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | versatile. bottom. reader | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5k

warnings: r! is a prostitute, brothel mentioned, mentions of addiction, spanking, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like boypussy, pussy, boycunt, cunt are used)

masterlist;

authors note: you guys have @strayjester to thank for this because of the thirst we had for this fine-ass single dad...

*song on repeat: Billie Boss Nova by Billie Eilish *YN is described as being shorter than Vander in this fic.

He’s getting that itch under his skin again. Muscles aching and throat begging for the soothing burn of addictive smoke. Vander tosses a rag on his shoulder, scratching at his beard as he fixes his posture. His skin feels stretched thin, aching for a salve to fill the crevices and drought; his ears muffle the bar, and the song playing floats into his ears.

The playful percussions, the whispering tone of the singer, and the sighs of the adlibs remind him of the fairytales of fairies, sirens, and boys in masks in nothing but a see-through robe.

Vander straightens up, briefly glancing over at the doors of the bar. The underground doesn’t get sunlight, but like a dog, he knows when people are starting to head back home. The crowd in here was mostly gone, some were passed out in the booths and some intently eating sunflower seeds in their corner. He’d have to clean it up and make sure the tables weren’t sticky, and the floor needed a good sweep too.

Impatientness grows in him. Vander sighs, pouring himself a shot of something to reinvigorate him, and slams the glass down. It startles the man at the bar enough to have him reach for his coins, the rest get the same hint.

“You look like you need a nightcap," Spider mutters. Vander thinks it’s ridiculous for people to call the seamstress such an intimidating name when she vehemently despises the arachnids, but it stuck and she has no choice but to embrace it. She has the courtesy of bringing her bowl of opened sunflower seeds and an empty glass to him instead of just stumbling off.

But Vander knows it isn’t exactly out of the kindness of her heart.

It flatters him that she finds him attractive. Really, it does. She was a beautiful woman and a capable one too. But Vander is tired and truly, he doesn’t want his rendezvous to be chattered on about everywhere. His kids didn’t need to hear about any of it.

“Aye’, that I do. Thankfully, I own a bar,” she chuckles and reaches forward to swat at his shoulder. Vander just smiles, taking her dishes and placing them elsewhere so his back is turned to her. “It’s not good practice to drink your own stock,” Spider places her elbows on the table and Vander doesn’t need to spare a glance to know her breasts are on display too. This isn’t the first time she’s done this, and most likely won’t be the last.

The song ends with a soothing croon from the singer and Vander’s cock twitches in his pants as he spots the business card stuck between the frame of the mirror.

“Ya’ sober enough to make your way back safe?” Spider’s brows pinch and she mutters, gluing her gaze on Vander’s face as he pulls the rag down to wipe the table. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Vander nodded, bidding her a good night she simply replied with a wave. She was the last to leave through the front door and Vander manages to not groan in relief at the click he hears.

‘ Hurry! ‘ A voice tells him. It’s early in the morning now, the window is closing but he can’t possibly leave the bar in this state. He’ll be the one regretting it when he opens tonight. Vander imagines he must’ve looked a bit dumb as he stares at the state of the bar when Vi appears at the top of the stairs.

“What?” Vi tilts her head at him but gestures loosely to the tables and chairs. “I said I can clean it, you look...tired.”

He sighs, squeezing the back of his neck. “What’re you doing up so early, Vi?” she shrugs which is a non-answer but pushes through the doorway and meanders behind the bar. Her head pops out and she places the iron bucket of cleaning supplies. Vander walks to her, handing her the rag as he reaches for a broom.

“Vander, I can clean the place just fine,” she huffs. “All by yer’self? S’gonna take ya’ forever,” he’s jesting but she finds no humor in it. The girl crosses her arms as she glares up at him. A part of him wants nothing more than to dash out of here, to find that salve he desperately is aching for, but there was no way he could leave his daughter to clean up by herself just because he wanted to get his dick wet.

“Dude, just go,” Vi grabs the bucket and rag and marches to the tables. He frowns a bit, crossing his arms as he contemplates it.

“Ya’ couldn’t sleep?” Vi shakes her head. “Nope! Milo was snoring and Claggor kept moving in his sleep. Powder must be tired because she’s sleeping through it with no problem.” Vi’s always been a light sleeper. Most of the people in the underground were. But Vander just needs to ask; “Ya’ sure it wasn’t the nightmares?” Vi pauses in her wiping and Vander watches her face as she sends him a pouty expression.

“Yes, I’m sure. I haven’t had one of those in forever anyway — just go rest, old man. I can wipe down tables and sweep floors by myself.”

“Are you sure — “

“Dude!”

The path he takes is always quiet. Hidden between tight alleyways and old wires hung too low — he rarely saw characters here other than the occasional cat or shady hooded figure but that was a normal sight anywhere.

The back of the building is less glamorous than the front but not out of neglect. It was purposefully made that way — fewer lights, fewer signs, and fewer girls spilling from the door. But he peeks up from the hood of his jacket and he sees the voyeuristicly lit windows. The shadows of bodies behind the thin curtains, the seductive glow and thrum of the others. The back door is not locked, it's just made to look that way so people feel dirtier pushing the heavy door open.

He hears a whistle and his cock honestly to god jumps at the sight of your naked shoulders. Your mask was askew, your hair messed up, and smears of lipstick on your lips, and your skin; Vander is envious of the cigarette holder you have in your grip.

When your lips wrap around it he feels the exhaustion melt away. Plumes of purple smoke pour out from your mouth; “Had a feeling you’d be comin’ over."

Vander laughs, moving to the door with his eyes still on you. “Yeah? Just knew, did ya’?”

You nod, placing your chin in your palm as he opens the door.

“Yeah. My ass has been wanting a good stretch the whole day, only gets that way when you’re comin’ over.”

' Coming over ', you make it sound like he’s a teenage boy sneaking through your window. Vander says nothing as he walks in and you grin at it. His silence was good — it meant he was going to give it to you just how you wanted. You finish the cigarette and slip the curtains close.

Vander liked his privacy after all.

The hallways are familiar, but he still thinks the wallpaper is a bit too busy and the creak in the floorboards should have been fixed. Saying it out loud feels a bit shameful. After all, how often would he have to come over to recognize these things?

He passes by a doorway guarded with beaded curtains and he ignores the moans of the woman who is being devoured by another. The doorway next to it has the sounds of leather rubbing against leather so he peeks as he passes by to see it shines under the low lights.

Reaching the stairs, Vander is greeted by Sevika lip-locked with another woman. He lowered his head, hoping she was too busy fingering her to notice. At the landing, there’s a wall of hooks, and on each of them held a mask of an animal. They differed in all sorts of sizes, and materials, each handcrafted by different artists. Customers wear them if they’d like but it was a must for employees.

The allure, the secrecy, the seductive notion of masked strangers sucking your cock, blah blah blah.

He grabs the wolf mask, slipping it on with ease, as he climbs the rest of the stairs. He misses Sevika staring at his back with squinted eyes.

“D’you know him?” she asks. The girl in the doe mask pants but eyes Vander’s frame through the wooden bars of the stairs. “Him? Oh, he’s a regular. Secretive, and never lets anyone else see his face other than the Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

That makes Sevika snort. “(Y/N)? He only comes here for him?” She can’t exactly blame the man. You were a talented little beast. Hands, mouth, feet, cunt, ass — every part of you was made with pleasure in mind. She enjoys having you in a headlock as she pounds into your asshole, enjoys your tongue inside of her and your filthy little words.

But just for you? This pleasure house had a gaggle of beasts for him to lay with. Hairy beasts with cocks just as big as their arms who enjoy plowing and being plowed. Demure little nymphs with a talent to make people beg for their cocks to be stepped on or to cry in pleasure. Tall beasts, short beasts, catering to every need and fetish a man could have.

“There’s a betting pool,” the Doe says. Sevika turns to face her as the masked man enters the hallway leading to your room. “About?” Sevika pulls her fingers out to pull away the negligee and kneads at her small breast. She shudders, arching her back into her but continues; “The Wolf and The Fox. That he’s smitten, maybe even a bit obsessed.” Sevika scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pinches Doe's perk nipple between her fingers,

"Poor bastard."

"I think it's — ah — cute," Doe retorts as she squeezes Sevika's biceps. "To you maybe, a smitten customer gets you more coin," Sevika grunts out, her tone light despite it.

"Falling in love with a whore is just stupid."

"You saying you don't love me, Daddy?" Doe pouts her lips. Sevika chuckles as she lowers her head to nibble on it. "I'll love you tonight, baby. Think that'll be enough?"

The door has the symbol of your mask, painted in gold. It's ajar, a sliver of light lighting the carpeted floors and Vander rolls his shoulders as he pushes the door open.

Your room is heavy with the smell of incense. There's thudding against the walls, moans of pleasure echoing despite it being muffled. Vander's shoes make no noise. The carpets on the floor provide more than just comfort. Discretion. This room and the others on this floor are all for high-paying customers.

He closes and locks the door behind him. He reaches for his mask but your voice stops him.

"Keep it on," you push yourself off the door frame, the beads clattering softly, and Vander tits his head at your sashay. Your mask was left on the bed, leaving your face bare, and Vander cocks a brow as he looks down at you.

"One of those nights?" His hands settle on your waist. The size of them, the roughness that's felt through the silk of your robe, it makes your grin stretch wider. "You got other ideas, Vander?" you muse. "Was hopin' to kiss ya'," he huffs.

The grip on your ass lurches you forward further into his broad chest. Vander's eyes are heavy, the shadows attempt to hide the desire but it's futile. He's kneading, hitching you up higher until you're barely on your toes.

Head tilting, he leans in. Your head floats away, hands still gripped onto his shirt as he chases and you don't give in.

"(Y/N)," his tone suggests a warning. But it's amusing. Here you are, in his arms. His strength keeps you in place and in the air; the mask is akin to a muzzle. Except he's fully capable of taking it off if he wishes.

The fact that you asked for him to keep it on is not lost to you. Your words alone held so much power over him. You place his neck between the gap of your thumb and pointer finger, barely there pressure keeping him still despite the yearning in his eyes.

"You're exhausted, big guy. Long day, yeah?" Vander nods at your words.

"Lay down on the bed. I'll make you feel good."

He hesitates for a moment. But your feet find the floor again and he begrudgingly parts. When he walks past you, you follow behind him. He pauses when you reach for the front of his pants, looking at you from over his shoulder.

"Take off your clothes for me, baby."

Your bed is shaped in a semi-circle. The curtain around it was drawn all the way back. There's a mountain of pillows and bolsters that welcome Vander's naked frame as he settles on it.

The trail of his clothes on the floor has your silk robes accompanying you as you stand at the end of the bed.

Vander tilts his head, widening his legs and stroking his hairy thighs. Leading your eyes to the thick dick that's already at full mast.

"Damn," you whistle. The bed dipped under the weight of your knee. "I know I'm good looking but you can't be that hard from just 5 seconds of laying your eyes on me."

He can't tear his gaze from you. From the marks on your face to the state of your hair; the bare skin that he loves to bruise and mark up — despite being told by you it's not exactly encouraged — Vander is convinced you're not real sometimes.

The arcane has been long gone now. Yet, here you are. Living, breathing, proof that its remnants linger in pumping hearts and honey-sweet skin. With just your voice, you make his knees buckle and his cock strain through the material of his pants.

Just the whisper of your name has his entire day derailed as he thinks and thinks and thinks of you.

Oh, (Y/N).

You're his undoing.

Gooseflesh spread at your touch and Vander groans as you settle yourself between his legs. That haunting touch makes its way to his crotch, ghosting along his aching rod, up his soft stomach, and towards his chest. It rests there and his heart threatens to escape his ribcage. The heat from your cunt has him sighing and settling his hands on the arch of your back. It makes you chuckle.

"Please, darlin'," he begs, "I been needing you so badly. All day."

There's no way you can deny him. Not when your cock jumps at the airy tone he has, that gravelly husk that comes with it. It peeks up, just as hard as his. He can feel it drag along his own and he tightens his grip on you.

"Yeah?" You nose at his neck, trailing your painted lips down. The hairs on his chest tickle your cheek when you place your face there, breathing against his perk nipples.

"Shit, yeah. Can't you feel me?" He grows a bit bolder in his next move. Urging your hips forward so he can feel your wet folds, forcing your stiff cock to rub up. The motion makes your eyes flutter close, sighing against his pebbling nub.

"For such a big man, you're such a teddy bear," you lift your hips, lining his thick head with your needy cunt. He laughs, his masked face tilting downwards as his blue-grey eyes all but glow in excitement.

"I've been told I am a bear," his words end a moan when you slip him inside. The bowl of condoms littered just about everywhere outside this room wasn’t there for decoration. They were there for the John’s and Jane’s who needed them.

But you know Vander. You’ve been the only thing he’s been hitting and you make sure the rest of your clients are always wrapped up.

Everything about him is thick so it’s no surprise you feel the twinge of discomfort as you accommodate to his size. It lingers briefly but once the mushroom tip of his dick is inside pleasure runs up your spine.

“Oh fuck yes,” you wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest together. He instantly embraces you, adjusting his grip to your ass again so he can help you straddle his legs.

“Fuck, baby. Your dick is so big,” and for once you’re not lying about it.

Vander’s a big boy. His thick arms, square jaw, the delicious shape of his nose; his wide chest and sturdy shoulders, and his soft but firm stomach. Fuck, everything about Vander makes your head fill warm.

His dick twitches inside you as you slide down. The snout of the wooden mask bumps into your forehead and you laugh as he leans in.

“S’fuckin’ needy,” he has no protests. You reach for the bottom of the mask and push it up, blinding him but rewarding him with your lips. His beard is soft. As you feel through it, you cup his jaw and he groans into the kiss.

More of him inches inside of you and halfway down, you’re pulling away to breathe. His fingers are going to leave handprints with how roughly he holds you; flesh spilling from the gaps of his greedy digits.

“Fuck, (Y/N).”

“Yeah, say my name, baby.”

Vander grunts when you fix the mask into place. When you lean back, he takes in the sight of the bump on your stomach.

“Perv.” His dick twitches again. So you laugh.

“Absolutely rotten.”

Your eyes slip close as you let gravity take over. Fuck, the way your hips buck up and twitch as he fills you up has his toes curling. You’re dripping wet, the thick and clear liquid travelling down his balls.

“You’re so fuckin’ hard,” he thumbs at your cock. When he uses his knuckles to stroke it, his mouth goes dry at the way it twitches and righteously stands tall.

“All ‘cus of you,” you purr. Vander groans, now idly touching the bump of his dick and you sigh as he presses down on it.

“Ooooh fuck, Vander.”

He rolls your hips, moving to ground his heels into the bed but you beat him to it. Your hands brace his knees and you lift up and up and up — his tip bumping into yours in the brief time it’s out of you — then slipping him all the way inside again.

Vander curses, his accent thickening as you throw his head back.

You chew on your bottom lips, savouring the explosion of pleasure behind your eyelids. As you look at his heaving chest, you cannot stop the sharp grin that crawls onto your face.

Placing one hand on his shoulder, you put your thighs to work. Vander is at your mercy. Panting and moaning behind the mask as he watches your work on his cock. Riding him, grinding down on him, using his thick dick for your pleasure.

Your other hand leads his own to a surprise.

Between your ass that he adores so much, he bucks up when he feels the base of a plug inside of your ass.

“Oh, you liked that,” you moan. All high and airy as you slow down into grinding, thighs burning. Vander is tugging onto the plug and your rim stretches as he teases it in and out.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he growls out.

“You’ll die happy, don’t — mngh — duh-don’t...Shit, Vander. Baby. Oh fuuuck.”

The exhaustion of the day has seeped out from him it seems. He’s leaning forward, caging you between his raised knees and firm front.

In one smooth movement, your back bounces on the bed and he’s on top of you. The acoustic of the wooden mask makes him sound like an animal as he growls above you, he huffs and pants like a proper wolf.

You share a long look, even as he rocks in and out of you and you feel your heavy eyelids threaten to squeeze shut. He braces onto his elbows, his weight on you making you whine and keen.

He takes the reigns and smiles when you reach to take his mask off. It thuds onto the carpet, mere inches away from your own mask.

“Hey, handsome.” You stroke over his cheekbones, gasping into his mouth as he kisses you. A particularly deep thrust makes you arch off the bed and it distracts you from his deft hands pulling out your plug.

“Your cunts got me all nice and wet,” he growls into your ear. “Perfect for fucking your ass then,” you whisper back.

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” He slips out and you whimper at the loss. You’re not empty for long. He taps his tip onto your winking hole and you chew on the insides of your cheeks in anticipation.

“C’mon, baby. Fuck me.”

“Yes, sir,” he purrs with a devillishly handsome smile.

He rights his posture, holding your ankles in one grip and folding your legs so your knees are nearly at your chest.

The stretch makes you toss your head to the side, cunt gaping as he fixates on the sight of your greedy holes.

Vander spits onto your hole and pushes in deeper. It makes you sing like a proper whore. Clutching onto the sheets while your chest heaves.

God, when he takes over like this — it makes you fantasize about how good it’d feel to wake up in his bed for once — but fantasies like that are dangerous. Vander is smarter than that, he’d know better than to bring a whore back home. Especially a whore like you.

His heavy balls slap against your ass. It knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, tears pricking your eyes when he strokes your dick. Vander splits your thighs and he holds your face with so much care you feel your heart pound our of your chest.

“(Y/N),” when he moans your name you want nothing more than to keep him here with you forever.

When he fucks up into your ass, you inch forward with every strong thrust. So he holds you down, keeping you in place as he stretches out your ass. The friction on your dick makes you even wetter. But you still hiss in discomfort as your rim clenches around him. Vander pants above you, slowing to a stop.

“Lube, darlin’?”

You nod, gesturing to the nightstand. Vander kisses you, pulling out as he turns and grabs the strawberry-scented bottle. You lay out on the bed, breathing heavily as you recompose yourself.

Vander lubes his dick up, eyeing your cunt a little too hungrily for your liking. So you knock your knees together, staring at him pointedly when he blinks innocently at you. “No double dipping,” you warn. Vander scoffs, grinning loosely.

“I know that, boy.” “D’you?”

Your expression makes him snort. He parts your legs again, smearing some lube on your hole before he presses his heavy cock inside of you again.

“‘Course I do. Your cunt’s just so sexy, can’t help but stare.”

“Yeah? Should I call another client and make him fuck my pussy while you fuck my ass?” You’re goading him. He realizes that. But the flash of jealousy that comes across his face is not something he can control.

Vander doesn’t respond. Merely grunting as he fucks into you. You yelp at the strength he’s using, cursing as you’re dragged onto his dick. Helpless as he uses you.

“Yuh - You pissed?” he glares at you but shakes his head.

“No.”

“Yer' a shitty liar.” You moan out his name as he turns you over onto your stomach, barely having time to process his movements as he pulls you onto your knees. He’s bruising you with his grip and when he spanks your ass, you know it’ll be sore till the next day. Every spank makes you tighten up around him. He presses between your shoulder blades and you are keen as he reaches deeper than before.

“M’just joking, Vander,” you pant out. “It’s all yours, all of it — all of me.“

Vander vengeance is in his hips. An unrelenting force that turns your body into nothing but a conduit of pleasure. Your gummy walls are torn between pushing him out and keeping him in — it doesn't matter, in the end, the one with power over you was him. There's bliss in relinquishing control. It's a whisper of voices, serenading you to a high that even the strongest drugs could barely scratch.

Or maybe you were just an addict for sex — or just Vander.

No seasoned whore lets their guard down with a client. There's a degree of trust needed. It's surface level. The bond between you and Vander — there's something oddly binding about it. You've heard of the religions scattered around the world. Of monks who abstain from worldly pleasures, those who worship an entire militia of gods, and those who only believed in one Maker; they spoke with such certainty of their beliefs. The punishment and euphoria waiting for them at the end of the line.

Fucking Vander feels like religion. When he makes your body burn from the inside out with a lust only he can quench — you're doomed and there's no one to blame but yourself.

That's a lie, you bite down on the bedsheets as you feel his balls slap against your cunt and dick. There's someone to blame for putting Vander in your way, (Y/N).

"Shit, sweetheart. I'm close," Vander groans. You moan, forcing yourself to reach back so you can kiss him. Vander feels his heart hammering, reaching to pinch your cock between his fingers to distract himself from these bubbling emotions.

Loving you was a freedom he had long forgotten about. Hearing you moan out his name, digging your nails into his skin and kissing him so deeply. He aches for you — his veins burn when he even thinks he sees you in the crowd.

He loves you.

Vander murmurs something on your lips that you don't catch. But you're too far gone to acknowledge your senses. You're so close to unraveling. Teetering on that edge of bliss as Vander holds you like he wants your bodies to become moulded together like clay.

"Vander, Vander — "

He slips his fingers inside your cunt. You gasp, feeling yourself clench around him like a vice as you squirt onto his fingers and cum around his dick. Vander is close behind, growling out your name as he thrusts in balls deep and floods your ass with his thick ropes of cum.

The both of you ride off the orgasm. His hips still fucking in and out of you in shallow motions that have your breath hitching with every drag and poke. Vander slips his fingers out and brings it to your lips — you chuckle softly, letting them inside as you clean his talented digits.

"How much did you pay the madame?" You nuzzle into his neck, relying on him to hold you up. He kisses your shoulders, his beard tickling your skin as his hands roam your front.

"Long enough. You sick of me already, darling?"

Don't think that's possible, you thought with a loose grin. Vander groans into your mouth as you grab his chin and kiss him.

"Don't flatter yourself, baby."

Vander looks younger when he rests. Not like a boy again, just younger. The lines on his face were less prominent and the softness of his body was more inviting. You're tracing mindless shapes into his chest, chastising the city of Zaun for beginning its morning cycle. The noises from beyond the window are beginning to shift from the noisy nightlife of hookers calling for Johns and booming music from clubs to the food stalls opening and wagons being pulled along the worn-down roads.

You can hear the thudding of Vander's heart under your ear. It squeezes your own so you lift your head and gaze down at him, just taking him in from a new angle. The door clicks and Vander's brows pinch but he does not stir. He trusts you enough to rest. For you to keep vigil over him.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" his voice drawls like a thick caramel. A seductive purr with a certain husk that tingles your senses. The tall, lanky, man enters the room and he is shameless as he takes the both of you in.

"He paid for the whole night, not the day." Silco comments. "He gets a pass on good behavior. What do you need?" Vander's hand is carefully guided to hold one of the pillows and you carefully move to stand.

Silco takes in the sight of you. Moving forward, he grasps your chin in his hand and tilts your head back; "He's always been such a possessive man."

"Yeah? He marked you up like this too?" He regards you with a tepid glance. "Sir," you add smoothly. Giving him a half-hearted grin.

It works. Silco's eyes soften, just slightly but it's a crutch you're leaning on. He likes you more than he'd like to admit and you're beginning to feel guilty for all these emotions brewing inside of you for these two brothers-in-arms.

"Did you learn anything from tonight, (Y/N)?" Silco looks past you to Vander. Turning his voice into a whispering tone that feels more romantic than he probably intended it to.

You contemplate telling him. Pursing your lips for a second before you lean in and embrace Silco, pressing your lips up his jaw and whispering in his ear.

"He's friends with the Sheriff. Grayson. But he worries." "About?" Silco's hands wrap around your waist, shadowing Vander's marks with his own. "He worries about the fresh meat she has on her team. Piltover's steady now but one incident and he doubts he'll be able to keep the peace, no matter how hard Grayson tries. The children," you pause and he turns his head to look at you. You gulp thickly, then continue: "The eldest daughter, Vi, she's getting restless. Dangle bait and she'll bite."

Silco stares for a moment. You take him in, unable to stop the grin that crawls on your face as he presses a long kiss to your lips.

"Well done, (Y/N)." His praise had once been something akin to a drug to you, a high you desperately needed to keep your doubts at bay. A soothing coolness that'll keep this rage inside of you to a lukewarm temperature; the promise that Piltover will soon fall to its knees to Zaun had been your motivation to live for years now.

Yet, your chest tightens and your stomach twists as his words wash over you.

"Of course, sir."

[14thgalerie]

home

"In a chilling twist of events, you find your walls marred with splatters of crimson red, and at the epicenter stands your fiancé, a haunting nonchalance in his gaze."

• pairing: tom riddle x reader

• now playing: nfwmb by hozier

• word count: 4.2k

• genre: angst

“What have you done?” You ask, voice breaking in trepidation.

A heavy sense of unease permeated the air, leaving no doubt that what may come out of his mouth will only confirm your worst fears, yet, you still ask. Grappling at the little hope, that fading light, that maybe you might be wrong.

There was no response. The only audible noise was the eerie ruffling of the trees outside, swaying terrifyingly from the storm, paired with the endless ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of your entrance hall.

Hands turning cold and clammy, itching to scratch at the blockage in your throat. To plead with him to answer you truthfully, for once in the entire 10 years you’ve known each other. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” He finally speaks. 

Maybe it was a false light. One that he deliberately put himself in order for you to believe that he was still worthy of your time, of your saviour acts. 

“Did I ruin your act, huh?” You entertain this show of his, one last time. Letting him believe that he still holds the reins. But his piercing dark eyes that are brazenly fixed on you with such a deep intensity urge you to cower back against the door.

“No, I was just surprised, is all.” He puts on that god-awful mask— making you wonder how painfully stupid you were before to not realise you were being played as a fool. The one that he quickly plasters on as he walked the hallways of Hogwarts back then. A gentle smile that mirrors the one in his eyes, inviting and comfortable. “Let’s go outside, shall we?”

He reached out his pale hands, fingers decorated by silver rings, one of which was a gift from you years ago. His hands that always housed themselves above your thigh, tracing mindlessly despite the evident warmth that followed it. 

The normalcy that laced his visage made you want to throw up the bile that had been bubbling in the pit of your stomach since your nose registered the metallic smell that permeated the living room air. It makes you sick that he is capable of such atrocities.

“No.” 

You let a moment of silence occur, watching the mask crack, his perfect smile flinching. You have got to give it to him. He was able to send waves of fear through you, willing you to succumb to his every whim. Even now, as the blood paints the once cream-coloured walls. The walls that you spent hours meticulously covering.

“Let’s talk here, instead.” 

He nods slowly, for the first time, you see how the state of being unsure of your next actions leaves him unsettled and tense. Eyebrows creasing ever so slightly, the bulwark he built around himself getting thicker. 

“Did you honestly think you could get away with this?” You ask, puzzled at his gall. “To pretend that you can barely even see the original colour of our walls now because of-“

Your breath hitches at the thought, unable to speak the words out loud. To do so is to acknowledge that someone has brutally died in the very place that you planned to raise your child in. Somewhere that should have been a safe haven for you.

“Nothing a little magic couldn’t fix, Darling.”

“Are you dense? I don’t care for the walls!” You shout, unable to keep your wits on you anymore.

“Then why are you complaining about it then?”

“I’m talking about how you just killed, no, murdered somebody in our house. Our home. the one place that I should feel safe in.”

“And you are…anywhere you are as long as you’re with me.”

Raising your hands to your pursed lips, dragging it down in exasperation. It truly baffles you how unstirred he is in this situation. You knew he had a qualm for unusual habits, but never did you think that this would be one of those.

“How am I supposed to feel safe when you are the reason for this? The reason why someone would be left wondering where their loved one has gone missing?” The irritation poisoned your speech, but the alarm wasn’t veiled by it. “He could’ve been a father, a sibling, or whatever!”

“Do you really think I didn’t take the time to snuff out every possible hindrance to this? What do you think of me?” He says, almost offendedly. Although you weren’t even sure why. As if that made it any better.

“I don’t know. My fiancé, who works diligently as an auror for the Ministry and wouldn’t do such a terrible thing?” You sarcastically reply.

“Well you got the first part right but don’t act like this wasn’t all because of you.” He points at you with that long, slender finger. It reminded you of your father’s back when he used to reprimand your mother for whatever mistake she had supposedly made.

You glare at him through your eyelashes. “Don’t twist this around, Tom.” A snarl escaped you and you could feel a twinge of anger coursing through you at his words. In your confused and irritated mind, you don’t notice how he flinches at the sound of his name. He forces himself to believe that it was just a slip of the tongue.

“I’m not. I am honestly delighted that I did such a great job, dismembering his face enough that you can’t even recognise this man.” He says as he steps over the body that lies unconscious with its limbs twisted in unnatural ways. Blood covered the canvas of his face, his eyes welled up into dark circles, and from your view, seemed to have been missing a few front teeth. “I want to say I’m sorry that I had to take away the pretty face that you were so enamoured with, but that would be a lie because I hadn’t enjoyed my time like I did while doing so.”

You finally dare to look directly at the body, at the unfortunate person who runs out of luck, and a tiny light bulb in the back of your mind sparks. Yet, you still couldn’t quite put a finger on it. By a few breaths, you calm yourself enough to continue observing the broken figure. 

From the corner of your eyes, a warm golden ring hits your vision. The shape was distinct enough that your brain made quick work to make the connection. 

It was like a pin dropped in the still silence. 

The realisation of who it was sent you spiralling even further into the hollow space in your mind. Cowering in the darkest corner of the space.

He is leaning against the marble counter in your kitchen, where you are still within clear eyesight for him. His body was lined with tension, like a spring coiled to a point of painful traction and you were just waiting for it to snap back.

“Tom…” There it is again.

“Yes, hun?” He takes a tasteful sip of the amber liquid. Savouring the taste of every last drop. The sight honestly distracts you for a second before you forcefully pull yourself back. Horrified at the thought of being aroused when a body lies cold on your carpet.

“Is this-”

“The man from the bar?” He hums, “Yes. Yes, that is him.”

A wicked grin paints his face, cruel malevolence dancing in his eyes. The glint in his eyes flickered with genuine delight as if he was presented with a chance to show off his new toy.

“It was an easy catch, I will tell you that. I was expecting him to put up a bit of a fight seeing as he was all macho with you.” He divulges. Leisurely walking back to the living room, stopping at the person’s head, giving it a nudge with his speck clean leather shoes.

“Why did you do it?” You cut him off. Your mind was reeling at his words as an endless pit formed in your stomach. Talking about it as if it was something mundane.

But he ignores you and continues as if your words were only a gust of wind. While he expectedly should not be a fan of your blatant disregard for him, he doesn’t say a thing about it.

“I followed him the day after, tracking him for a while, noting if there was something else that would hit him harder but seeing him regularly forget he has a family by flirting with young women day and night…it was only right that I rid the world of vermin.”

“You mean to tell me that you had tortured this man to his death all because of his proclivity for cheating on his wife?”

He looks to you, and for the first time that night, a semblance of something else appears on his face. A cocktail of disdain and hatred. “Is that something not worthy of punishment? To swear your vows to a person you declared to be your love and then blatantly lie to their faces about your nightly habits. To forget that your children are waiting for you to pick them up from kindergarten so he could get his cock wet.”

Tom kept his eyes on you, his face breaking into pieces of anger and confusion. “Tell me. Is he not worthy of such when he deliberately chooses women who are half his age? All the while knowing his age gives him power over them?”

You shook your head, tears welling and blurring your vision. You blinked to keep them away as you didn’t want to appear weak in front of him. The way your emotions have dipped and hiked in the past hour has already been too much, leaving you utterly confused about what is even happening anymore.

“I don’t know anymore, Tom. I have no idea what to think, what to focus on and scorn you in particular. Your blatant disregard for our home, using it as your fucking slaughterhouse, now that we mention it, should be something to talk about. You just killed a person, no, you tortured somebody with pure malice.”

“He should’ve been hung, strangled, and quartered!” He pauses, realising his voice has turned a lot louder than he intended. “I’m sorry. But it’s true, Y/N, even if he has done nothing to you, he deserves all of those things and no less.”

His thumbs soothed over your knuckles that have turned pale from their tight clench, easing your hands until your palms are open to him. The twinge of pain from the pink crescent moons on the surface alleviated with his gentle touch.

He leans down, lips tenderly kissing the hand secured in his grasp, before twisting his head to press with the same gentleness on your other hand.

“I am well aware that you abhor these kinds of actions. It’s why I worked hard to keep it from you, I never wanted for you to think of me as some person who reverted to violence for no reason.” He kneels down next to your seated figure to level your eyes. “You are somebody special to me, and not a single word that I know of would be enough to perfectly explain that to you. Nothing in this world, in this reality, could take you away from me unless you wish it yourself. But please, I beg you to understand that I did this out of pure concern and love only.”

Tom raises one of his hands, letting it sit gingerly on your knees that, without your control, has succumbed to your habit of bouncing it in moments of tension. Pressing it with just the right balance of force and gentleness to calm you.

He swallows hard, his chestnut brown eyes flickering back and forth between your own. The previous edge in them is long gone as he looks up at you, instead, a hint of desperation takes its place.

“You love me, don’t you? I know you do and I never for a second have doubted that. I feel the same, and possibly even more than you do and it scares me. I was never made to know love nor ever experience it so when I met you, I swore that there would be nothing in existence that can forcefully keep you away from me.” He says in one breath until his body finally forces him to take one, then he continues. “When I told you how my mind and soul is yours only, I meant it. You are the sole person who can tell me that we are done but please. I will beg on my knees until they are bleeding so that you understand that.”

You finally look at him, actually, look at him. Not one of fleeting glance only. Stomach twisting.

“No law or morality will stop me.”

This is what worried you.

You were sure to tell him off. Take him up on his offer to be away from him without a hint of resistance. At least, more than halfway sure already, but those eyes. Those fucking eyes. You were worried that if you looked at them, every nerve in you that was ready to run would relax. That you would be catapulted into your foolishness, and all the right senses would be nothing.

To see that there isn’t an inkling of malicious ambition in those eyes, but instead, there was only unabashed determination and genuineness behind his words. An openness only reserved for you.

Your heart immediately starts hammering against your rib cage, and you try to resist the urge to give in to him. Forcefully diverting your mind to the monstrosity he committed in your home.

Tom sees this. He always did. He knows you better than you ever will.

“I won’t promise that this would be the last time because that would be a lie and I promised to you that that is something I will never do to you. But I can promise you that you won’t ever have to see this ever again, also because I don’t want you to.”

When he sees that you have finally cooled down, he slowly moves to sit next to you. Making sure that there is still enough space between the two of you so that you don’t feel uncomfortable.

“Tom…” You call out in a meek voice. He hums, patiently waiting for you to continue.

“I get the reason why, as much as it still baffles me, but you didn’t have to go through this much.” Exhaling shakily. “You didn’t have to beat him until he saw the pyres of hell. Report him to the proper authorities for his crimes! That should’ve been the first thing that popped into your head, for Merlin’s sake!”

Your torso swivels to face him, eyes wide as you let everything out. Emotions pouring out of you in the form of tears, staining your cheeks wet again. Tom wanted nothing more than to wipe them away and pull you to his chest, but he knew that you were like this because of him and he didn’t want to push further away from him.

“Why did you have to drag him into our home? Tainting our home with this kind of violence, hell Tom! This is supposed to be where our child would be raised, where they would be spending their lives and now I don’t even know if they should be.” You shouted, waving your arms around wildly.

“They can, darling. This is the safest place they would be in, I would make sure of that. If there is anything that I will prioritise more than anything is your safety and our future kid.” He assures you.

“I don’t want them to witness these kinds of violence.”

“And they never will, just as you never will also. Tonight was an unfortunate mistake for me, one that I will never make again. And I am sorry that you had to, please forgive me.”

“I don’t know.” A murmur, one that could have been passed for a breath. But his sharp ears strained to pick it up.

He was angry. Enraged at himself. This wasn’t how he planned tonight to go, it was supposed to be an easy work and toss. He hadn’t expected you to be a part of the equation, planning the events of the night around yours to ensure that you wouldn’t have a clue of what transpired in your home.

In all fairness, it was a dangerous game that he played. Taking that piece of disgusting waste to your home was a step that he had to take so that he wouldn’t be disturbed by nosy strangers. Taking the off chance that you wouldn’t be home by then.

He was angry at himself that he had broken the unsaid promise to keep this side of him away from you. A small part of him was terrified that you would turn your back on him just as the people before you did. Taking the life that he could have only dreamt of back then with you. The thought curses away the ridiculous calm facade that he has kept when around you.

“No.” Vehemently shaking his head back and forth, dropping your hands on the softcover of your couch as he jumps up to pace in front of you. Trying to calm himself at the prospect of his worst fear turning into a reality. “I’m sorry, okay. I really am. We could move far away, build the house of our dreams and forget that this happened. But I need you to forgive me, Y/N. Please.”

To your utter surprise, he harshly drops onto his knees. Taking your hands back in his trembling hands.

“Tom.” You begin before you are cut off, “You need to stop calling me that.”

“What do you mean? That’s your name.” You confusedly ask.

“Call me darling again, call me anything but that. It’s almost as if you gave up already and that can’t happen, please. I need to know that I'm not alone in this. Please, I’m so sorry.” He says, a slight tremor in his voice.

Your heart breaks at the sight in front of you. The once strong and unwavering countenance he puts on every day was nowhere in sight. Instead, there was a man who was unknown to you, placing his vulnerable self all out for you to see. In a sense that you’ve never before seen, he was gentle to you, yes, but never like this.

Tears lined his waterline until it couldn’t be controlled anymore and they were slipping down his cheeks like a torrential downpour. He was inconsolable.

No time would be enough for you to understand the emotions twirling behind those dark eyes. Overwhelming you to the point of giving in. There was anger, pain, sorrow, and all of it. And you knew he was trying his best to control it, evident by the way his hands were tensing, not wanting to fist them.

“I’m so sorry, ok, and I know that saying it repeatedly for the rest of our days together wouldn’t be enough, but I need you to know that I am. Words are the only thing I can give you right now, however, if you let me…I would prove it to you every day in any way possible to man.”

“I’m pregnant.”

A pause in the beat of sound.

His ears were ringing.

He had no idea if time had paused and his mind was left wondering in the abyss of time if he was hearing things that weren’t true.

“I’m about three weeks pregnant already.”

It was only when your tiny voice permeated through the silent room that he realised he wasn’t being delusional. His ears had not fooled him.

“You…you are?” He asks, with hesitation lining every syllable. 

“I am. I found out today which is why I came home.”

If he was confused by the torrent of emotions and thoughts that waved over him earlier, now it was like he couldn’t comprehend a single exhale anymore. It was only at your touch and call that he let his lungs feel a wave of oxygen.

“I already had my suspicions earlier this week, but I wanted to be sure before I told you, hence why I made a plan with a friend to go to the doctor today. I kept it a secret so I wouldn’t get your hopes up, I know we have been talking about it for a while now so I didn’t want it to be a false alarm.” You explain.

“So here I was, so excited when the doctor told me that I was indeed pregnant with our child that I forgot to tell you I was coming home. I assumed that you were making dinner and I wanted to make it a surprise, so I got ourselves a cake to celebrate.” 

A single chuckle leaves you. “Well, obviously that didn’t go well.” You said as you looked at the box of ruined dessert by the door from when you dropped it.

Although his mind was still haywire from what you had announced, he still made an effort to let you know he was listening intently. Giving you a gentle squeeze in the hand.

“I want them to have a normal life, one that is far from the atrocities of the world and I know that is a child’s prayer, a romantic dream, but I will try my very best to achieve that. That includes taking them far away from this home, from their father, if need be.”

He looked at you as he moved to sit back next to you, keeping hold of your hand still, an unfamiliar look in his expression. 

“Y/N…darling, forget what I said earlier. I would never put a hand on another person again if it meant there wouldn’t even be someone for me to do it for. I will control myself, take the sessions you told me about.” He declares, with a finality in his voice that shows his determination to prove he was being true.

It was a lie, and you knew that. A little, white lie. You’ve been with Tom since 5th year, and now you are at the age of 24, if anybody knew his body language better than anyone, it would be you. 

He would only be more cautious now, making sure that every grainy detail is there in its proper places. Ensure that he would never make the mistake of making you see what he is capable of.

You look at the dormant body that has long passed in the middle of your living room. Mind reeling back to what he mentioned earlier. Now that you have calmed down, you realise that your outburst was more because of shock and less of that piece of trash. He did indeed make you uncomfortable, and if Tom hadn’t been there, you had no idea of your fate then. Added on by the fact that this was apparently a pattern he does to other women.

In all honesty, you didn’t really know what to feel at the moment after all that had happened in the span of an hour. You suppose you should be livid, upset, hell, even guilty that you’re somewhat relieved that someone had enacted an act of revenge on a disgraceful human being.

Tonight was a whirlwind of emotions, to say the least, and you couldn’t trust yourself to make a just and coherent decision.

“If-“ His breath hitches, the thought that flashed behind his eyes making him gasp for air. “If I lose control again, I will never force you to stay with me.”

“Tom, I am not asking you to do all of that. Though, it would be great for yourself and for your mental well-being because you need to find more healthy ways to deal with your problems.” You sigh. “I just ask you to please never let our child see whatever violence you inflict on others, I don’t want him to grow up thinking that this is the answer to everything. They should grow up with the proper mindset that you didn’t that I know you want also.”

“I know but I’ll still try to better myself, for myself. I can’t promise it would be fast, nor can I even promise it would work, but I’ll try.”

“I’ll go stay at an inn tonight while you deal with this-“ Waving your hand around unfashionably. “mess. I’ll call you in the morning and please?”

“What is it?” He asks.

“Take another day off because we need to look at a new house immediately, I cannot stand to breathe in another particle from this place anymore.”

“Whatever the wife wants.” He smiles and pushes a whisper of a kiss against your soft lips. “Still a few more months, Mr. Riddle. I’m tired so I'll go now. Let’s talk more tomorrow because I don’t think I can last another second staying awake.”

“I’ll drive you there, I don’t want you apparating anymore.” 

“No complaints here,” You mumble against his lips that gently press onto yours.  Wanting to say the three words that you loved to say but before you could, 

“I love you, too.”

— hello there ! moved my notes here becuase the intro was too long. this initially had a whole back story that lead up to the events here but i cut it out because that part was taking too much time to complete. also hello, i'm finally writing for my og crush in harry potter but uh i decided to use the tom hughes fancast since this is set way after they graduated.

masterlist

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Just A Little Bit Jealous - Logan Howlett X GN Reader

Title: Just A Little Bit Jealous

Logan Howlett X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Charles (Mentioned), Hank, Co-workers, Scott (Mentioned), Random bar people, and Rogue (Mentioned)

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 4,927

Warnings: Jealousy, slight violence, slight suggestiveness, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, bars, alcohol (beer) mentioned, unwanted flirting and physical touch (nothing major), Reader has Telekinesis (and other unspecified mutations), minimal cursing, men being jerks, blood briefly mentioned, angst, and fluff

Logan wasn't the best with emotions. Or at expressing them really. However, in certain situations, the emotions that did seem to shine through were not the most positive ones. Especially as Logan found himself standing at the entrance of the X-Mansion kitchen; raging, for a lack of better words.

His vision was green. A dark haze settled over his eyes. It was a look that only Logan could achieve. The anger in his gut was beginning to bowl over. He needed to calm down, but how? 

Seeing you, looking the way you did, absolutely gorgeous in that outfit - the one that made you feel confident - it wasn’t even anything fancy, just your usual attire; something more laidback for the weekend. The way that you seemed to be oblivious to the way that Hank was looking at you. Logan understood. You looked stunning, as always. 

Even though Logan knew that he shouldn't be feeling such... Well, jealousy. Hank was a long-time friend of both of yours, and you and Logan had been together for well over a year at this point. But, he couldn't help it. It was like an itch under his skin that he couldn’t reach to scratch. Logan felt protective. As he usually felt for those he truly cared about. And even though he knew that he didn't need to worry, again, he couldn't help it. Logan knew Hank, and he knew him long enough to know that he was a good guy. Hank wouldn't try and steal you from him, not that you were something to steal. Logan didn't own you, if you so wished, you could leave him. You could do whatever you wanted. You could leave and forget all about him.

Though, that just might've been Logan's insecurities talking. 

At some point, while Logan was stuck in his head, his eyes still glaring holes into the side of Hank's head. Logan was not paying much attention to your conversation, but whatever it was about, Hank made you laugh. Another wave of jealousy rippled out of Logan. But, thankfully for Logan - and Hank - the conversation between you and Hank ended.

"Have a good night, Y/N," Hank spoke, grabbing his coke can from the kitchen counter.

"Goodnight, Hank." You replied, noticing Logan at the kitchen entrance, leaning against the wall; his arms crossed. 

Hank turned and paused, also noticing Logan, giving the man a grin. "Good evening, Logan."

"Evening," Logan grumbled, eyeing the man as Hank awkwardly passed him and left the room; escaping down the hall. 

You huffed, turning to lean against the kitchen counter, pressing the palms of your hands against the edge of it. You stared at Logan, inspecting his body language, trying to get a feel for how he was feeling, and Logan stared right back at you. You mimicked him, moving your arms to cross them over your chest, and at his eyebrow raise, you raised yours. His frown slowly slipped into a small grin at your actions, making your lips tug upwards in response. You moved towards him. "Hey..." Your voice was soft, yet full of curiosity. You looked up at him, taking him in fully once again.

Logan leaned forward slightly, his crossed arms dropping, and his hands coming to rest on your waist, "Hey..." He mimicked your greeting, making you huff again.

Raising your hands, you placed them on his own waist, your pointer fingers looping into his blue Jeans belt loops. "What's up with you?" You asked, tilting your head back a bit to look up at him. "Something on your mind?" You pressed on, pulling yourself closer to him.

"Hmm..." Logan hummed softly, gazing down at you for a moment - just admiring you, your eyes shining as bright as ever, looking up at him with such love and admiration - before lowering his face to meet yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. The kiss was slow but passionate. It sent shivers down your spine. One of your hands left his waist, cupping the back of his neck, the tips of your fingers running through the soft, brown hair at the nape of his neck. Your head was in the clouds, lost in Logan’s lips against yours. Logan felt all the anger and jealousy just wash away, leaving nothing but the love he felt for you burning inside of him. With each kiss and every touch, he felt a little bit lighter. 

You slowly pulled away from the intoxicating kiss, your eyes feeling heavy and your heart full, you couldn't stop your smile from growing as your whole body felt warm. You bit your bottom lip as you watched Logan chase your lips, before gently pressing his forehead against yours. 

You sighed, shutting your eyes once more, "I hope you didn't think that kissing me would get you out of answering." You lightly teased, feeling Logan's warm breath waft against your face as he let out a sigh of his own.

Logan's hands tightened around your waist, the warmth from his hands seeping through your shirt and onto your flesh. “Nothin' much on my mind, bub," Logan spoke, letting out one more sigh before letting his shoulders fall slightly, "Jus' a bit tired."

You hummed, nudging your nose gently against his before pulling your forehead from his, glancing at the kitchen clock on the wall. "It is almost seven." You turned to look back up at him, seeing that he was already looking right back down at you. "Kind of early to be tired, eh, old man?" You continued to tease, though Logan gave you a look and a small chuckle, you know that something else was swimming in that head of his; and you decided to let him just tell you whatever it was when he was ready.

Logan's grin turned into a smirk, blinking down at you tiredly, his hands on your waist tugging you back into him; your hands coming up to rest against his chest. "I put the 'grand' in 'grandpa'." He spoke. 

At that, you let out a snort, and the two of you started laughing quietly. It took a few moments before you quieted down, your hand coming up to your mouth as you looked at Logan; your eyes squinted slightly, trying to contain your giggles. "Either, you've been spending way too much time with Charles, or you really are tired." You giggled out, your laughter slowly subsiding.

Logan's chest heaved lightly as he chuckled once more, "Maybe both." 

As the both of you started to head up to your shared bedroom, Logan almost forgot what he was all upset over. Almost. 

~~~

Logan had once again found himself watching from afar as some guy - a co-worker - talked to you. You somehow convinced Logan to be your plus one for a work party that your job was hosting. Logan didn't want to go, but with your little pout - and Puss In Boots eyes - he caved, knowing that he wouldn’t win against you. You even convinced him to dress somewhat rather nicely, in black slacks, his boots, and his red flannel rolled up past his elbows. Yes, he looked nice, but he really wanted to wear his Jeans.

Logan disliked parties. Parties were different from bars though, you didn't have to interact with others. And with most parties, there was an expectation to mingle with others. Logan, however, did not want to mingle with others. He was a loner after all. 

He stood next to the table of snacks and refreshments, holding a small red solo cup of fruit punch for you; sadly for Logan, the party didn't have any alcohol. He could've really gone for a beer or two, but no. No, instead he had to stick to his own cup of fruit punch that he held in his other hand. 

But he watched, watched as you spoke to that co-worker of yours. Again, similar to Hank, the man said something to make you laugh - though, Logan knew you incredibly well enough to know that it was not a genuine laugh; the man even had the gall to reach out with his free hand to hold your upper arm for a moment. And Logan did what he could to push the jealousy that he was feeling down. Walking over, he skillfully maneuvered around some other people, making his way over to you. 

You nodded your head, letting out another fake laugh before you noticed Logan walking towards you in the corner of your eye. Turning your head, a real smile graced your features as you waved him over. "Logan! This is Henri."

"With an 'I'," Henri raised his cup in the air slightly with the inflection, giving Logan a grin, and offering his free hand out to the Wolverine. "Henri French."

Logan stared at him, with a hardened look, handing you your cup of punch without even looking at you. Taking Henri's offered hand, he shook it firmly - possibly enough to warn the guy to keep his fingers off of you. "Logan." He spoke simply, his voice gruff and low; letting go of Henri's hand, stuffing it into his slack's pocket. He turned his gaze back towards you, seeing your eyebrows knit together, and the confusion written across your face, your eyes searching his, though you quickly turned to look back at Henri with a smile; your hand curling around Logan's upper arm, the tips of your fingers brushing under the rolled sleeve of his flannel. At the touch of your chilled skin on his, Logan felt himself breathing out a deep sigh from his nose, you always knew how to calm him.

At Logan's nothing-but-short introduction, Henri let out a small laugh, "I know, Y/N said that was your name." He joked. "They seem to never shut up about you." Though Logan felt a sense of pride wash over him - making the corner of his lips twitch at the thought of you rambling about him to your co-workers - he also felt slightly off when Henri said that, the tone unnerved him. 

You huffed, rolling your eyes before you turned to look up at Logan with a sweet smile. "Lo, honey, could you hold my drink for me, please? I spotted Anna. I'll be back in a jiffy." And with that, your punch cup was back in his hand, and he was left alone to deal with Henri all by himself. 

Logan watched as you left, seeing you weave around a few people, waving to another co-worker of yours; an older woman with black hair and large glasses. Turning to look back at Henri, he noticed his gaze on you. And, in fact, Logan didn't like how Henri was looking at you. He was staring at you like he wanted you - the guy was even biting his lip, his eyes trailing up and down your body - Logan didn't like that one bit.

Letting out a small chuckle, Henri turned back to Logan, taking a sip of his punch. "You got a fine piece of ace there." Logan's brows furrowed, he wasn't exactly fond of how this conversation was going. 

"Excuse me?" Logan's voice deepened - a growl almost leaving his throat - as if he was warning Henri, feeling a burning feeling bubbling up inside him, but Henri just raised an eyebrow, brushing his short, blonde curls away from his forehead.

"Can't help a guy for being a bit curious, can you?" Logan pursed his lips, and Henri took the chance to continue, "So, how did you catch them? I've worked with them for three years now, and they never took me up on anything. I mean, come on, give a guy a break. What’s a guy gotta do to get some action around here?" He chuckled, and Logan felt his hands grip the cups of punch a bit tighter, the plastic of the cups crinkling slightly as the pressure. "You've got to tell me how you won them over. Did they play hard to get with you too?"

Logan wanted to lash out, but he knew how important this was for you, and he didn’t want to cause a scene in front of you and all of your co-workers… But, Logan was pretty close to punching this guy’s teeth in. "I don't have to tell ya nothin'," Logan finally growled, making Henri raise his hands in defense as he chuckled lightly. 

"Okay! Relax, buddy! Don't have to be so hostile, man, I'm just curious how good they are in-" Suddenly, Henri paused mid sentence, his own hand holding his cup of punch moving up in a swift motion. In confusion - and bewilderment - Logan watched as Henri moved the cup above his head, his body seemingly moving involuntarily. All the while, Henri's eyes were wide, his mouth agape as he blabbered nonsense in horror and confusion, before the cup flipped upside down, drenching himself in his own punch. The couple of people around both men stopped their conversations, turning to witness Henri as he slowly brought his hand down, his mouth opening and closing; his blonde curls wet and sticking to his forehead. "I- uh," He stammered out, "I- I don't know why I did that." He spoke out, sounding incredibly embarrassed.

Turning his head to look over in your direction, seeing you already looking over at him, a small, mischievous grin and a knowing look in your eyes. He matched your grin, knowing full well that this was your doing. 

~~~

When Logan said that he was going to go out on his bike, he wasn't expecting you to ask to come along. He was just going to a bar that was a couple of miles away, but the more the merrier; and Logan was actually meaning to show you the bar - that surprisingly didn't sell crap beer, at some point. When the world let the both of you, you and Logan would just ride around, sometimes for hours, just enjoying each other's company; the wind blowing through your hair, and the scenic views.

So, you and Logan drove off on his - Scott's - motorcycle, heading off to that bar that he told you all about. You weren’t all for bars, finding them a bit too loud and the lights a bit too dim. But, you had been curious ever since the many times Logan spoke about it when he got back to the Mansion. And even though Logan couldn't get drunk, you convinced him to let you drive the both of you home. Which was always fun for you. So, this was technically a win-win for both of you. Logan got to go to his bar, you got to drive home, and you both got to spend some quality time together.

When you pulled up to the bar, you slipped off of the bike, looking at the bar with your hands on your hips as Logan kicked the kickstand and slid off the bike. Looking around the exterior of the place, you noted how loud it seemed, even from the outside. You were in for a headache in the morning, and it wasn't going to be from the alcohol. 

"Ya good, bub?" Logan asked, his hand pressing the small of your back, his words breaking you out of your thoughts. 

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I am," You nodded your head, glancing up at him, "I will admit, I am slightly nervous."

Logan nodded, turning his head to look at the bar, "I get it, but don't worry. I ain't gonna leave your side." Pulling you into his side, he gave you his signature grin, "Plus, they got the best fries."

"I like fries." You grinned right back up at him, "Lead the way."

"Sure thin', darlin'."

As Logan pushed the door open for you, you were immediately greeted by the smell of beer, sweat, and smoke; and the loud music that you heard outside, blasting overhead.

Logan’s hand was protectively placed on your lower back as he led you to the bar at the far end of the room. As you both walked, you took the time to look around and spied a couple of men playing pool to the right, and a handful of tables filled with all sorts of people to your left; drinking, smoking, and talking. At the far end of the bar, you found several men sitting on the bar's stools, watching the TV in the corner of the room; a football game was on. You were thankful that the bar wasn't full of just men, having spotted a couple of women here and there; with their partners, friends, etcetera. 

Finding a couple of empty stools at the bar, you and Logan took your seats, the bartender sliding over from behind the bar; cleaning a glass with a cloth. He was a burly man, with a well-trimmed beard and mustache - and a bunch of tattoos littering his arms. He gave Logan a nod, glancing at you before speaking.

"What can I get you two?" He asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the music. His voice was deeper than what you had thought it was going to be, as he sat the glass and cloth down.

"Beer," Logan answered, and the bartender nodded, then turned to you.

You waved a dismissive hand, letting out an awkward chuckle, "I'll just take some fries. Thanks!" 

"Yeah," Logan spoke up, "Thanks, Charlie." And this Charlie nodded once more, leaving to get Logan's beer and your fries. 

Turning in his seat, Logan leaned his arm against the bar - close enough for you to be able to hear him over everything - giving you a grin, amusement in his eyes, "Well, wha' d'ya think?" 

"What do I think?" You asked, resting your own elbow against the bartop, leaning your cheek against your hand, "It’s not too bad. Honestly, it's a bit loud."

Logan chuckled, "All bars are loud, bub." 

You huffed, playfully rolling your eyes, "Well, it's certainly not the worst."

For the next thirty minutes or so, you and Logan talked, about everything and anything as you ate your fries and Logan drank his second beer. It was very enjoyable, really. You were honestly impressed by the bar, its fries were amazing; crisp outside that was sprinkled with cinnamon and paprika; it was interesting, but you liked it. When Charlie came out of the kitchen with a plate full of stacked fries. The sight of all that food made you salivate slightly, your stomach growling in hunger.

As Logan finished off his tall glass of beer, he gained your attention, "I gotta piss, I'll be righ' back."

You felt a slight rush of nervousness but nodded anyway. With a gentle squeeze of your thigh, Logan slid off of the bar stool and over to the far left corner where you supposed the bathroom was located. Turning back to the bar, you picked up a fry from your plate, twisting it between your fingers before plopping it in your mouth. Chewing, you glanced at the many drinks lining a shelf behind the bar. You were quickly growing bored, and you soon found yourself reading the labels of the alcoholic bottles; well, the ones that you could make out.

"What's someone like you doing in a beat-up place like this?" You heard a voice from beside you, where Logan used to be. Huffing, you mentally rolled your eyes. Ignoring the voice, you continued to stare straight ahead, and continued to eat your fries; maybe the guy would just go away, if you were lucky. "Come on, sweet thing, give me your name?" The guy spoke again, this time, much closer to you.

"Not interested." You answered plainly, becoming irritated. 

"Awe, don't be like that!" The guy exclaimed, taking the stool that Logan had occupied. "I just want to get to know you, sweet cheeks."

You didn't even glance at him as you answered with the same tone, "I got a boyfriend."

"A boyfriend?" The man asked, scoffing, seemingly thinking that your answer was ridiculous. "If I was your boyfriend, I'd never leave you all alone in some bar." He tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing, "I don't think I could keep my eyes off you - much less my hands." 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. How typical. "Look, if you're done being creepy, I’d like you to leave me be - I'd like to eat my fries in peace while I wait for my boyfriend." You were this close to just using part of your mutation to physically make him leave you alone, but you didn’t want to bring much attention to yourself. “And, honestly, I’m doing you a favor. You won’t like whatever happens when he gets back.”

"Hmph," The man hummed, narrowing his eyes playfully - he liked a challenge - "Then why don’t you and I leave now before he gets back?" You then felt pressure on your thigh, making you snap your gaze from in front of you, to your thigh, and finally to the man. "I can show you a good time."

And before you could do anything, you heard his voice, "Hands. Off. Of. Them." And thankfully, at Logan's growl, the man took his hand from off of your thigh; as if you had burned him. 

Letting out a deep breath of relief, you looked up at Logan - who stood tall beside you, his dark eyes almost glowing with anger - his face showing pure fury, and his fists balled at his sides; his claws just threatening to escape his knuckles. 

"I was just fooling around, dude," The guy brought up the courage to speak, reaching out to steal a fry from off of your plate, "Just having some fun." But as he began to pull the fry from your plate, a metal claw suddenly stabbed the fry down, pinning it to the table with a loud ‘thud.’ The man froze, staring at the three claws as they pierced the wooden bartop. He gulped, obvious by his Adam's apple bobbing as he dropped the fry, his fingers only centimeters from the sharp claws. 

You chuckled, narrowing your eyes as you smirked, “I told you.” You taunted as the man slowly looked up at Logan, who continued to glare daggers at him; the man's eyes widened before he quickly stumbled off of the bar stool and ran away. Logan watched him go, slowly retracting his claws back into his knuckles, his blood staining them before they quickly healed. You huffed as Logan continued to watch until the man was out the bar door; your hand coming up to grab his arm. "Lo," You spoke up, gaining his attention, his head turning. You gave him a soft grin, gesturing to the bar stool, "Sit, hon." And he did, taking his seat, you could tell that he was still seething, though, less so than moments before. Taking his hand in yours, you curled his hand back into a fist, shutting your eyes as you pressed a couple of light kisses to his bloody knuckles. Pressing a last kiss to his knuckles, you sighed, opening your eyes; your eyes meeting his brown ones. "Thank you," You whispered quietly. He let out a long sigh, nodding as he looked away, but you reached out with your free hand, cupping his chin, and turning his head to face you. "Want to go home?"

He stared at you, a frown still on his face as he nodded. And so, you and Logan left the bar - leaving a couple of dollars for the drinks and fries - and then some for the slightly damaged bartop. Hopping onto the bike, you held onto the handles, feeling Logan's hands slip around your waist - protectively, his face digging into the side of your neck as you started the bike up. 

Driving down the road, you felt yourself smile as Logan's lips pressed gently against your skin, feeling his beard scratch lightly across your throat as he kissed your skin; instant goosebumps. The chill breeze was welcoming as the bike sped along the slightly bumpy roads, and you were excited to get home and sleep. And you could tell that Logan was tired too; mentally and emotionally. It wasn't until the bike pulled into the X-Mansion garage that you and Logan could finally let out a sigh. 

"Home sweet home," You said, the both of you slipping off of the bike. "I'm exhausted."

Logan only grumbled as the both of you headed into the Mansion. 

You hummed tiredly, looking down at the watch on your wrist, "It's almost seven." You took Logan's hand, interlacing your fingers with his as you walked down the Mansion halls, "Kind of early to be tired, eh, old man?"

You asked the same question from more than a week ago, your smile widened as you saw Logan's tired frown turn into a slight smile, "Yeah, yeah," Logan grumbled, amused, "Let's jus' get ta bed."

You nodded, chuckling, "You don't have to tell me twice."

~~~

Finally, some peace, and quiet; alone with you. With your head on his shoulder, and his arm wrapped around you, Logan finally felt content. Content with just spending a quiet night in with you. No missions, no work parties, no bars - though Logan did have a beer on the coffee table - or waiting for you to get done with teaching. Just the both of you, watching a movie. And it was some fantasy movie that you got the VHS tape for. It was interesting, enough to keep Logan somewhat entertained, but not a lot. He kept finding himself looking at you for most of the movie. 

In fact, he was doing just that. The TV illuminated your face, perfectly highlighting your features. He found himself unable to focus on the movie at hand - he was too focused on you. His eyes followed your every movement - watching every little detail as you shifted. You wore a slight smile on your lips; your hand laying softly on his thigh, rubbing soothing circles onto the material of his jeans. Logan found himself smiling as he watched your actions. His own fingers absentmindedly played with the soft strands of your hair, occasionally scratching your scalp. His chest felt warm - fuzzy. 

But, then Logan noticed something. The expression on your face changed... Changed into one that you only gave him. Logan's eyebrows furrowed, watching as you let out a soft sigh, your eyes glued to the screen. Turning his head, he spotted the reason for your dreamy sigh and love-sick eyes. The man on the screen, dressed in the attire that was appropriate for the type of movie he was in, was dancing gracefully around a crowded ballroom of masked masqueraders. The man was beautiful, Logan had to admit. Beautiful, graceful, and ethereal. 

And you seemed to have thought so too, as you let out another dreamy sigh. 

Turning to look back at you, you glanced up at him, at the screen, and back at him. "What?" You asked, smiling lightly, noticing the odd look on his face.

"You're sighin,'" Logan spoke simply, making you frown slightly and raise an eyebrow.

"I'm sighing?" You asked, blindly grabbing the TV remote and pausing the movie.

Logan tilted his head slightly, raising his own eyebrow as his chocolate eyes stared into yours, "You did the same sigh when you first met me." He recalled, making you huff out a little laugh, incredulously. 

"What are you talking about?" You asked, turning your body slightly towards him.

"Rogue said that ya sighed, just like that, when ya firs' met me." Logan pointed out, teasing lightly - his chest feeling warm in the process. "She said ya were starstruck."

You snorted, "Of course I was starstruck, I mean, look at you! You're gorgeous! You're tall, dark, and handsome!" You explained, pausing for a moment. "And you do have a nice butt." You added, as if it was common knowledge at this point, and it was - you praised his behind often.

Your flattery made Logan grin mischievously, "That's all ya like me fo’? My looks?" He joked, making you lightly slap his thigh in response. 

"Lo, of course not, you know that!" You spoke before becoming a bit serious as you made eye contact - Logan gulped lightly - "When I first met you, aside from your dashingly good looks, Logan, I fell for your character.” You glanced away briefly, the memories filling your mind, “You’re funny, fiercely loyal, passionate, intelligent, and a very strong-willed man." You found yourself rambling, "There's a whole lot more I could say, but it would take hours." You breathed out a small chuckle, running a hand through your hair.

Logan couldn't fight the blush that crept up his cheeks, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips as you spoke; his eyes softening. "I could say the same 'bout you." He spoke honestly - fondly - his voice low and husky; almost speechless.

You hummed, leaning up with the hand on his thigh to press a quick peck to his cheek before turning back to the movie with one last tap to his leg. “I know these past months have been crazy. Work parties and loud bars… But, you don't have to worry. My fictional crush doesn't hold a candle to you."

"Fictional crush?" He muttered, glancing at the TV screen as you unpaused your movie.

 A smirk played on your lips as you turned your attention back on the TV, "I can smell the jealousy rolling off of you, hon,"

"Jealousy? I ain't jealous, bub." Logan shook his head, his arm returning to wrap around you. "Just… Surprised is all."

"Suit yourself."

---

Main Masterlist | X-Men Masterlist

[gay-dorito-dust]

I have fallen deep down the mortal kombat rabbit hole and I have no intention of climbing out. Could you possibly write a smoke x reader where she can sense that Bi-Han will betray them before the mission the brothers go on and she and smoke get in a big fight about it. When they reunite she isn't even angry about the fight at seeing how heartbroken he is? Just lots of fluff at the end. You're amazing!

Needless to say you never trust Bi-Han, you couldn’t explain why but you just couldn’t bring yourself to trust the guy. The ice cold man always looked as though he was on the verge of betraying his own kin if it meant ascending himself and the Lin Kuei to a higher position of power. Bi-Han was always a condescending fucker in your eyes, who took great pleasure in reminding Tomas that his blood wasn’t ever Lin Kuei on a consistent basis; A statement of which you found as stupid as it was harmful.

Ounce upon a time Tomas looked up to Bi-Han but upon realising that the cryomancer wanted nothing to do with him, never less ever return the gesture, Tomas would then look for what he wanted from Bi-Han in Kuai Liang instead. Now Kuai Liang on the other hand was nothing like his brother, he was warm in not only abilities but in personality also. The best way you could go about describing Kuai Liang was that he was akin to that of a cozy fireplace, one where you could comfortably cuddled up with a loved one when cold and in need of respite.

You were happy that Tomas had finally came to his senses and -in your opinion- began looking up to the better brother, seeing as how Kuai Liang didn’t hesitate in treating Tomas as though he was his own flesh and blood, even going so far as to openly remind him that despite not actually being blood related; he was still his brother through and through. You could easily tell that was what Tomas had always wanted to hear come from Bi-Han’s mouth just from the way his eyes glossed over, as though he were on the verge of crying and the way he tried to fight back a wide smile, for Kuai Liang had single-handedly put to rest every insecurity that had burdened him since being taken into the Lin Kuei.

And you couldn’t be happier for him and be eternally grateful for Kuai Liang for doing what Bi-Han actively chose not to out of pride and self righteousness.

So when Tomas had informed you that him and his brothers were setting off to stop Shang Tsung, you felt a sense of unease overcome you, an itch you couldn’t scratch. They may leave as brothers but you had a gut feeling that only two would come back, broken by inevitable betrayal. Naturally you wanted to warn both Tomas and Kuai Liang about your assumption without Bi-Han nearby to eavesdrop, firmly believing the cryomancer to have all the plausible motivators for deception; After all he thinks that the Lin Kuei has become a ghost of it’s former self, a subservient laughing stock and wanted nothing more then to restore it’s rightful purpose, even if that meant betraying all he had been raised to uphold.

Without sparing a single second, you rushed to Tomas as to warn him, only for him to believe that you were instead spreading lies.

‘You think Bi-Han is going to betray myself and Kuai Liang?!’ Tomas asked in disbelief. ‘I can’t exactly put me trust in your assumptions when he has never shown signs of ever betraying us, betraying tradition.’ Apparently Tomas’ loyalty to his brothers knew no bounds, even if one of them in particular had treated him like shit throughout his entire life. It truly baffled you as to why he bothered defending a man who’d feed him to the wolves at any given moment. ‘Then signs all point towards him throwing away the values, upon which the Lin Kuei were founded upon by your father.’ You deliberately pointed out to him.

‘So of course i would firmly put trust into my own assumptions because they’ve never once proven me wrong, Tomas. Bi-Han can and will betray you and Kuai Liang.’ You finished but upon seeing his unchanging stance, you knew that your rebuttal was getting nowhere through to Tomas. It hurt not having him believe you, not even a little bit, but you had to keep trying and make him see reason, so you continued. ‘Bi-Han is growing ambitious and is more than willing to forsake tradition for a shot at gaining power, just so that the Lin Kuei may never be under anyone’s foot ever again. Don’t you see Tomas?’ You stepped towards him, watching his every expression morph into one of anger, hurt and denial. He knew you were right but was just too scared to admit that such a thing could be possible.

‘Under Bi-Han’s rule the Lin Kuei will be seen as a threat. He’ll become a tyrant of his own making.’ You were just about to place your hands upon his arms when Tomas took a step back, retching himself from your grasp, causing the hurt to strike itself even further into your heart.

‘You know nothing about my brother.’ Tomas snapped, something he very rarely did. ‘So don’t go pretending that you know him better then I do, like you know his character and then go and boldly accuse him of high treason just because you had a hunch. I’d much rather prefer you admit that you disliked Bi-Han and left it at that.’ Tomas then looked at you with utter disgust before showing you his back. ‘But I guess that too much of a tall ask. I’m going on that mission, and when I get back I don’t want you waiting for me, I want you gone.’ He said before then making his exit out the room, leaving you no opportunity to speak as you then collapsed onto the floor, placing your hand where your heart lied within you; desperate to stop it from shattering as you silently wept.

‘I’m sorry Tomas but I am not leaving until til I know you’re okay.’ You whispered before leaving the room yourself and headed off to bed to sleep the away the disaster that had been today…

‘You we’re right. Bi-Han betrayed us. Kuai Liang confined in me that he even admitted to willingly letting our father die.’ Tomas was happy that you didn’t actually leave, he knew you wouldn’t but some part of him had thought that you would’ve tempted the idea, given how horrid he had treated you. He wouldn’t even blame you if he had came back to a cold and empty home, he truly didn’t deserve you, not even a little bit. If he could go back and smack some sense into himself and tell him to put more faith in you and your words he would, but he guessed that was the whole point to life. ‘I’m sorry.’ Tomas said as he looked towards you with his sad puppy eyes. ‘I should’ve listened to you but instead i dismissed you and said some things that you should never say to a loved one. There’s no excuse for how I acted but I can only hope that in due time you’ll come to forgive me.’

Whilst furious as you were that he didn’t listen, you couldn’t bring yourself to express your disappointment, you did not want to kick him when he’s already down. ‘It’s nice of you to acknowledge when you’re wrong, but i must admit that I too am sorry for the way I acted during our fight.’ Tomas furrowed his brows as he placed one of his hands onto yours, squeezing it. ‘What do you mean? Everything you’ve said about Bi-Han was proven true. He was an ambitious tyrant who was biding his time to show his true colours.’ He then sighed, bowing his head before muttering under his breath. ‘He even gave Kuai Liang a scar as a reminder of his deceit.’ The way the words left his mouth, so full of venom and unbridled anger was enough to tell you that Tomas felt partially responsible for Bi-Han’s betrayal.

Even though he wasn’t here to torment him, Bi-Han still found a way to get inside Tomas’ head and you fucking hated it. However you managed to kept yourself composed for this wasn’t about you, but instead about Tomas and comforting him. ‘You didn’t know any better and you were defending your brother like any good sibling should.’ You told him, grasping onto his hand tightly. ‘Admittedly I had crossed the line, forgetting how closely you held Kuai Liang and Bi-Han to your chest. They’re your family and I went ahead and insulted that, all because I had grown worried for you and Kuai Liang. So much so that I had forgotten that Bi-Han is your brother too.’

‘Was.’

You looked at Tomas, who was staring straight forwards now. ‘Bi-Han was my brother but not anymore.’

‘You don’t mean that Tomas.’ You uttered softly, reaching a free hand out to grasp the side of his face and gently guided his head so that he was looking at you. ‘I do’ he told you, tired eyes looking deep into your own. ‘For all I’m aware Bi-Han is dead to me. I don’t understand why he would do such a thing, why he would betray tradition, betray us, his own brothers!’ At this point Tomas had begun sobbing and without missing a beat, you held him tightly into your chest as his strong arms held you in place, holding on ever tighter despite your hushed whispers of never leaving him. You continued to stroke his hair as his voice- while muffled- kept saying things along the lines of, ‘Why?’ Or ‘Why did you do it Bi-Han?’ Yet the longer this continued for the more you heard things along the lines of, ‘Was it something I did?’ But the one that broke your heart the most was; ‘Was I not a good enough brother for you?’

You remained silent through it all, only wanting for Tomas to release everything that had had been wanting to say to Bi-Han for a very long time. You even pressed a couple of kisses to his hair as to remind him that you were with him no matter how rough the road ahead looked. You didn’t care whether you had fights in the future because that was a natural part of life, you’re not always going to get along or stay in the honeymoon period forever; you’re both humans who had flaws, how had tempers, who had moments of weakness and vulnerability but that’s the beauty of being human. You may wish to take away all of Tomas’ pain but you also come to realise that he must experience pain to overcome it.

Which he would, you thought to yourself as you continued to soothingly rub his broad back, kiss his face and head whilst whispering words of comfort into his ear as his arms continued to tighten their hold on your waist, afraid that you might disappear on him. ‘I’m not going anywhere Tomas, not now, not ever.’ You reminded him as he pulled his head away from your chest, red eyed and with tear streaked cheeks.

‘You mean that?’ He croaked, desperate to hear you say that you’ll never leave him, he needed you in his time of need, he quite literally needed you to properly function at this point.

‘Yes.’ You replied without an ounce of hesitation before pressing your head up against his, feeling his uneven breaths brush against your face. ‘You’re safe with me Tomas. I promise, we’ll get our revenge on Bi-Han for all that he has done to you and Kuai Liang, his deeds won’t go unpunished.’

‘I love you.’ Tomas said sweetly, making you smile for the first time that night.

‘I love you too Tomas.’ You replied in kind, watching as his face visibly relaxed from your words, his eyes fluttered shut as a small smile graced his lips. For a man who had been crying just moments earlier, he sure as hell looked ethereal in his brief happiness. Now if only you could make that happiness last for a lifetime.

[strawberrystepmom]

fukuzawa x f!reader. cw alcohol is mentioned, age gap insinuated. i'm back with another weird will they or won't they situationship, everyone. wc 1.3k | divider by cafekitsune like usualllll

“Hello?”

Yukichi’s greeting nearly catches in his throat during the scramble to press his phone against his ear, cold tips of his fingers touching the heat of his earlobe. The warmth only began after he recognized your name on the device’s screen

“I’m surprised you picked up,” you tease from the other end of the phone. Stepping into your apartment, you bend your calf and lean downward to unbuckle the tiny strap of your heeled shoe while leaning against the wall. Sighing, you let the balls and arches of your feet touch the ground and your next words come out in a tipsy flutter, something you simply cannot help. “What are you doing?”

He can almost smell the subtle and clean apple and lemon notes of your favorite wine if he closes his eyes and tries hard enough. The pair of you have shared a bottle on more than one occasion and he only stopped accepting your invitation to drink when he realized he struggled to control himself with each sip and minute passed staring at the fullness of your lips. You made him vulnerable in a way he will never be able to afford being. There is no reason he should’ve answered your call but here he is, eyes glancing downward while he considers what to say next.

“Working, as always.”

You giggle at his answer and he can tell you are probably at least four glasses of wine deep solely based on the pitch of your laughter. The sound of the gradual removal of all of your clothing is audible through the speaker of his phone and he sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Fukuzawa has been around the block long enough to be familiar with what the rustle of clothing, the lowering of zippers, and the swish of bare thighs rubbing against one another sounds like. 

“And here I was hoping you were having a little fun tonight,” you tease while plopping down on your sofa in nothing but your panties. Not that he knows that (and not that you’ll tell him) but it only further increases the hazy glow of your good mood and you kick your legs behind you while resting on your stomach. “What are you working on, Fukuzawa-san?”

Letting go of the bridge of his nose and dropping his hand back down to rest atop his desk, he debates simply hanging up and ending your game before it can truly begin. The man is well aware of what you are attempting to do with this call and as much as he is a man, he is a professional first. He does not want to get drunk with you, he doesn’t want to spend time outside of professional settings with you, yet…

“You know I cannot give you that information.”

A defeated groan from you makes the man chuckle and he shakes his head. This call needs to end if not now then in the next thirty seconds and his foot taps impatiently while he tries to come up with an excuse. You are too forthcoming, although you make a paltry attempt to seem respectable when you aren’t wine soaked and clearly eager to talk to him. It makes it hard to tell you no because you will simply pout then further disarm him with another borderline intrusive question he isn’t sure he wants to answer. You are an itch he wants to scratch but it would be an indulgence to do so, for better or worse. 

“Awww, come on. I worked at the agency too.” Shaking his head again, he eyes the paperwork in front of him. Your time at the agency was both a spring breeze and a period of great stress for its President. “You were a temporary secretary who has never had a right to know privileged information.”

The staffing agency you worked for requested your return for another assignment and you parted from the Armed Detective Agency with bouquets of flowers and requests for future meetings or dinners with everyone working there nearly a year ago. You also slipped a thank you note containing glowing words for Fukuzawa and his staff with your phone number written at the bottom for good measure, in case the glimmer of interest you caught was just that.  Now here you both are, interchangeably wondering what the other thinks while keeping all the unsaid to yourselves.

Yukichi changes the subject rather than bothering to linger in the gray area of the unspoken.

“What are you up to? That seems like the more fascinating question to ask.”

Sighing, you shift and he hears it. He has never been to your apartment but given how relaxed he has seen you become at his home, he imagines you’re sprawled out somewhere or curled up in a pile of blankets, like a spoiled house cat which you tipsily admitted you felt you were more fit to be than a grown woman during your last catch up many months ago.

You’ve shared many, many things with him during tipsy evenings - your dreams of someday doing something meaningful with your life than fill-in secretary work, the past you’ve left behind, and your undeniable attraction to him being what encouraged you to poorly attempt to court him in the first place. All the reasons he decided to leave you be all those months ago.

“Oh, hmm…I had a few glasses of wine with a friend and on the way home, decided I wanted to catch up with you.”

A little piece of him wants to ask you to elaborate on the friend part although he isn’t entitled to such information. He reminds himself that he’s the one who decided to create distance between the two of you. This simple fact alone means he has no right to presume or ask or wonder.

“Lucky me,” he mutters sarcastically and you laugh raucously. He can picture the crinkle in your nose and your big smile all too easily and once more, he needs a reason to end this call. Can he pretend there is interference? Does that still work? 

“I won’t keep you if you’re busy, I just missed the sound of your voice.” Another one of those terribly honest tipsy confessions and his grip tightens around his phone. Damn that loose tongue of yours. “I know we haven’t seen each other in a bit but I would love to catch up if you ever have the time.”

He hums and you know you are asking for more than he will give you, as usual. He took his space and you should have respected it despite the many occasions where your thumb lingered over his name. The temptation to call him and talk to someone who makes you feel understood has been almost too strong to overcome on several occasions, you've still managed to overcome. A lapse in judgment is all tonight was and his silence speaks volumes.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, I hope you have a good night and take care of yourself.”

Your voice grows distant while you yank the phone from your ear but noise from the other end makes you pause, raising a brow.

“Wait a minute.” You hear Fukuzawa’s request clear as day and stop from hanging up, gingerly pressing the phone back against your ear. “You don’t have to go but I would rather hear about you than talk about me.”

His mind is already filling in the blanks of your pout, remembering that you dislike being told no although it’s mostly for show. 

“If you insist, Fukuzawa-san.” 

Sighing, he wishes you’d stop using the formality. He wishes you’d stop calling, giggling, tempting yet he leans back in his chair with his eyes closed, mind greeting him with the vision of you.

A temptation he can’t afford yet is reluctant to deny himself.

[sapphiresterreart]

Inspired by this post: where Shadow finds Super Sonic and ONLY Super Sonic attractive. Sonic's normal self is not wanted.

It made me cackle because I couldn't help but picture Shadow deciding to explore this gay awakening in the most convoluted way possible. Cue me getting carried away with the idea and scribbling a rough scene.

Stuffed under the Read More.

At one point after seeing Sonic's glow-up into Super a few times, Shadow's brain latches onto an idea and goes insane until he scratches the metaphorical itch.

He zooms around the entire planet to collect the 7 Chaos Emeralds AND the maximum amount of rings a single person can hold.

Randomly shows up at Tails’ workshop/house one day, looking particularly deranged to the poor fox because the guy's spent the past month running himself ragged and is now gunning for his older brother for some unfathomable reason. Eggman couldn’t possibly have recovered from the last beat down in such short time! Something’s clearly wrong.

Shadow’s carefully manicured quills are in utter disarray. Gunk and grease coat his muzzle. Gloves notably tattered and inhibitor rings tarnished. There’s a suspicious smearing of red all over his typically immaculate chest fluff. Worst of it all are his eyes: near feral in their intensity as they pin the fox in his computer chair from afar.

The surly hedgehog snarls. “Where’s Sonic?”

All the while, Shadow has to keep ahold of the seven emeralds that prolly act like magnets and want to repel away from each other. His sanity’s hanging on a thread. 

Luckily Sonic shows up soon (instead of late? First time for everything! What a relief) after a brief, albeit frantic call from his lil bro.

Sonic does not expect Shadow to look like such a wreck. He does not expect his usually composed rival to yank an absurd amount of rings from the pocket dimension everyone had in their feathers, fur, or otherwise back part of their body. He does not expect those same rings to be shoved into his hands and quills, forcibly stuffing them into his own ‘inventory’ of a pocket dimension. 

He does not expect the rings to keep coming until he can’t hold anymore.

He does not expect the Seven Chaos Emeralds to immediately follow after.

“Shad–” Sonic tries, absolutely baffled.

“Transform.” Shadow gives him nothing except a haggard sort of desperation. “Now.”

And. Well. When asked like that? Damn. He won’t say no but that’s some voice his rival has on him. Hmm. Still. He doesn’t go super just yet because there’s only so long a transformation can last and he’d like some of the facts first. Especially if the situation’s as dire as Shadow’s making it out to be.

“What’s up?” He tosses out a tense smirk and a quip to lighten the mood. “Got yourself in trouble with the law again, Shads? Need me to use your own money to bail–“

“Transform.” Shadow staggers and oh no he’s gonna pass out isn’t he? He straightens before he can truly fall. 

Sonic lets the smirk fall. This is too unusual. “Not until you tell me what’s going on! What the heck Shadow?”

The glare intensifies. He looks weirdly… hungry? Oh. He hopes that's not some alien DNA comin’ out to play. Sonic’s not in the mood to be eaten. At least… not in the way his shoot-first-questions-later friend would likely consider.

“…Transform first and then I’ll tell you.” 

What an oh-so generous counter-offer. Sonic’s tempted to refuse on principle but the guy looks ready to collapse and there’s only so long Sonic himself can hold all seven emeralds at once before they launch outta his grip. 

He sighs. “Yeah, alright.”

Sonic closes his eyes. Concentrates. Feels the power humming in the gems, lets them push away from him with him as their center of gravity to orbit. Momentum builds as they whirl around him. His focus deepens. A zen sort of calm settles over him like a familiar cloak as he pulls the gems back into his core sense of being. A spark ignites and he’s set aflame.

His feet leave the floor as the power repels him against the planet. Feels the gems thrumming alongside his veins as he opens his eyes. The world glitters a beautiful gold but he doesn’t have time to smell the roses. Rings are burning like a candlestick’s wick, after all.

“Start talking.”

Shadow does not start talking. Instead he stares. Only stares. It’s… kind of concerning, actually. 

“Shadow?” Super Sonic frowns, spending more energy concentrating on maintaining the sheer power humming in his soul than on coming up with a funny joke. “Are you alright?”

Shadow doesn’t make a sound. Is he even breathing? Super Sonic’s brow furrows and gently glides from near the ceiling to hover in front of his rival. Red eyes track the movement like a predator intent on its prey but Super’s not worried about that. Not right now, at least.

Keeping his expression soft, yet unwittingly focused, Super examines his rival’s disheveled state. For the Ultimate Lifeform, he looks ultimately wrecked. He smirks, just a lil, and Shadow hones in on it like a laser beam. Super blinks, smirk twisting into a puzzled smile as he tilts his head, before slowly grasping Shadow by the shoulder. 

“C’mon focus, Shadow. You with me?” Wide, red eyes blink dumbly and Super huffs a laugh. “How can I help?”

Shadow. Doesn’t respond. Merely gapes at him like he’s drinking in the sight. It’d be flattering at any other time but right now it’s just frustrating.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s goin’ on. On a time limit here–“

“You have full inventory.” 

Finally! He speaks! But lacks sense. “What?”

“Rings.” Shadows answers though that doesn’t answer much. Choosing instead to fall silent once more and continue staring.

Super doesn’t know what to do with any of this so he turns to someone who might. “Tails? Any clues?”

“N-no…” His lil bro trots over to them, visibly disturbed. Good. Glad he’s not the only one confused here.

“I’m burnin’ rings.” Super settles for instead. “Thought you said it was urgent?”

“I thought it was.” Tails gestures at the catatonic state of their friend. “I mean look at him! What was I supposed to say?”

“Well.” Super starts strong only to trail off.

He pivots in the air, still hovering in front them both. Cups his chin with a thoughtful frown. Absently skims the cluttered workshop as he slowly spins in place before re-centering with a shrug. It’s surprisingly hard to keep focus and maintain the super form when there’s no imminent threat. Without anything to go on, he's just wasting power. So. His gaze returns to his battered rival.

“If nothing else I could try this?”

He drifts closer to the still stunned speechless ‘hog. Frowns slightly at the white part of Shadow’s eyes. They’d reddened significantly. Had he blinked once in the past minute or two? Nothing worth worrying over, he supposed. Not if this worked.

Super reaches a hand, still glowing a vibrant gold and soft flames of light emanating off him, and gently braces a palm against the side of Shadow’s face. Shadow doesn’t even move as Super closes his eyes.

Tails shifts beside them. “Try what?”

Super hums. “We’ll see if it works first, buddy.”

The sound vibrates in his chest and makes its way down the arm connecting him to his rival. The rings are burning slower than usual but once he starts this, they start burning like they would in battle. 

Super focuses the gem’s energy from their raw state of chaotic power into something he can channel into another person. He smoothes corrosive edges, softens acidic potency, gentles the sheer intensity of it all and funnels them through his own energy. Pours bits of his own chaos mixed with the gem’s through that funnel in his palm. Pushes it from there into Shadow’s own energy.

Shadow doesn’t do anything more than gasp sharply and let him do his thing. Super mentally shrugs, privately delighted by the fact Shadow was letting him touch him at all especially his face, and continues his foray into healing via chaos energy. 

The rings are gone even faster than in battle and soon after the last wound has closed and Super’s pulled away, the power keeping him aloft drains completely. The golden glow fades from his quills and they drop back into blue as he returns to the ground, his normal self once again. His grasp on the chaos emeralds slacken and the tension that had been building between the seven finally releases. The gems launch themselves harmlessly out of him like a slingshot and scatter once more.

He bounces a step from the residue energy crackling inside him and beams at his rival. “So now that that’s over with, mind telling us why you came all this way looking like you crawled outta a dumpster caught on fire?”

That of all things has Shadow snapping back to himself. Any awe lingering in his rival’s face vanishes. Fully returns to his normally composed self as he straightens and crosses his arms with a muted huff.

“Merely an experiment. Good day.” Whirls on a heel with shoes revving, dips his head in what might’ve been a polite farewell at his lil bro. “Prower.”

And leaves. He leaves. The cryptic jerk leaves.

Sonic gawks. “Whuh–? What was that?” He spins to face his brother. “Did you see that? Did you see?”

“I saw.”

“Didn’t even say goodbye to me! Me! He was the one who asked me to come all this way! I was next in line for brainiac dogs over in Spagonia, you know. Not as good as chili dogs but it was buy one get one free day! What the heck?”

His younger brother can only shrug helplessly with a puzzled smile, twin tails swishing behind him. “Don’t know, big bro. He did say it was an experiment.”

“Experiment in driving me insane, maybe! Now I’m gonna go crazy trying to figure him out.”

“You mean you weren’t already?”

“Tails!” He grins and hooks an arm around his annoyingly adorable baby bro. “I’ll show you who’s crazy!”

His bro only laughs and swats at the fist digging into his hair. Futilely fighting against the inevitable noogie but he's got him secured by the shoulders. “Have mercy! I’m not the one who spent the past month looking for seven whole emeralds and an entire inventory’s worth of rings.”

“I’ll give ya that!” Sonic cackles and lets him free. “What was up with that anyway?”

Elsewhere, unbeknownst to the brothers, one Shadow the Hedgehog was having a crisis of epic proportions. He had discovered a new, albeit incredibly difficult goal in life: to have Sonic turn Super more often than not because wow did he look alluring with a face of focused intensity framed by golden hues.

[cryoux]

Alhaitham with reader who has chronic pain (from Eleazar)

Pain was a constant thing in your life. As far back as you could remember, you'd felt pain every day of your life. Sometimes, it was on the surface, manifesting in an itch that hurt to scratch but was agonizing to leave alone. Or it could come as a pounding headache, threatening to knock you to the ground with each new wave. There was even pain in your very bones, the supposedly solid structure of your skeleton suddenly feeling brittle and frankly useless. 

Pondering thusly: if you felt pain each waking hour and even seeping into your sleep, did you really feel the pain at all?

It would be nice to consider these fascinating questions, maybe write an essay about it - if only you could find yourself mobile enough to hold a pen.

Today, it was your wrists. Stiff, brittle, useless. There was no hope of doing anything today, or even tomorrow, for that matter. It was all you could do to lift a cup of water to your lips. Archons, you hated this feeling. Most days were completely fine, you could almost forget about the lifelong agony, the torture of merely existing. Not this time.

Still, you refused to wallow in bed. Instead you unwrapped the binding bandages over your arms, closed all the windows, locked the door, and tried to do anything to pass the time. Solitaire, a game of chess (playing as two nonpartisan people, of course), cleaning dishes (you only broke two!), and sweeping until the floor was spotless. At some point, you'd stupidly tried to wash the floor on your hands and knees, only to be stuck there in agony for fifteen minutes.

Useless. You felt so useless, not only to yourself, but everyone around you. Constantly asking for deadline extensions, unable to finish in-class assignments, incapable of doing the simplest household chores. Here you sat, here you stayed, and only here you allowed the silent tears to fall.

A knock on the door startled you, and you reeled in shock before hurriedly wiping your eyes dry. Could it be your research partner, wondering why you hadn't met with them today? Or maybe it was your neighbor, who saw all the closed blinds and wanted to make sure you were alright.

For some reason, the actual answer surprised you more than the other two unlikely events. You rolled the sleeves of your jacket down before you opened the door and peeked out, but it appeared there was never a need for the secrecy. There at the door stood Alhaitham, solemnly meeting your gaze. 

Though he didn't speak, you could feel the questions burning into you. You both loved and loathed how easily he could read you; it made for easy communication on your part, but you could never hide anything.

Maintaining the silence was a simple task. You turned away from him, retreating into the darkened house without even closing the door - you knew Alhaitham would take care of it. Did you particularly want him here right now? No, not like this. Not with how vulnerable you felt.

"You didn't call for me."

You flinched at the sudden rumble of his voice. There was more intrigue than concern in his voice, while his expression gave nothing. The only thing that you could deduce was that he wasn't entirely happy with you.

"No, because I'm fine." A lie. Both of you knew it, and Alhaitham sighed to indicate as such. 

"You're not fine. And frankly, it's insulting that you'd assume I would believe that." He wasn't mean about it, he was simply telling you to cut the shit. You knew he wasn't truly insulted; there were plenty of other things to stroke his ego.

You scoffed. "Maybe I am this time. You can't dictate how I'm feeling." The argument was ridiculous as you said it, and you could hear the exasperation building in Alhaitham.

"Your bandages are off, meaning you haven't left the house, nor do you plan to. The blinds are all closed because you don't want to risk anyone seeing you right now, the chess board is one move away from checkmate, you haven't put your books away," Alhaitham strode through the living room as he pointed out each miniscule detail that you had long since given up on. "The counter is wet," he nodded toward the kitchen, where water was sitting all over the counter, "There's this bit you forgot to clean up," he lifted a small piece of the porcelain plate that had met its demise earlier that day. "And there is a straw in your cup." He finished his little walk through, circling back around to stand in front of you. You couldn't quite meet his gaze. "Shall I continue?"

The more he had pointed out, the worse you felt - seeing as you couldn't, he would have to clean most of these things. Adding chores to his schedule was the last thing you wanted to do. You shook your head, unable to keep the words in any longer.

"I didn't mean to leave everything out. I was just trying to pass the time, and everything I tried went wrong. I couldn't even stay asleep long enough for a nap, and the bed isn't made, the laundry is still outside, the floor is half clean, I broke two dishes not just the one, I dropped my hair brush in the bathroom, I can't make food for myself, I'm-"

You were silenced by a firm grasp on your aching wrists - firm, but not the slightest bit harsh, and you dared to raise your eyes up to meet his.

"Honestly," he huffed, "You're impossible." How had he known where you were going with that? How could he tell you were spiraling before even you realized it? Alhaitham gently tugged you to the couch, sitting you both down. The sleeves of your jacket were gently rolled back up, exposing the horrid sight of them. You tried to pull your accursed hands away, but to absolutely no avail. Instead, the green of Alhaitham's Dendro vision began to glow, and a faint light emanated from his hands on your wrists.

Within moments, the pain in your arms began to ebb, and you felt warm as sunlight on a lovely spring day. Shocked, you stared at where he held you, watching the scaly appearance of your skin reverse its effect ever so slightly. What in Teyvat was this?

You opened your mouth to inquire as such, but he silenced you almost immediately. "I encountered Tighnari today. He recently wrote a comprehensive analysis of The Withering occuring throughout Sumeru. Eleazar is linked to it almost directly; it seems he even has some firsthand experience." Alhaitham never met your gaze, as if he was just a little shy. "Since dendro seems to temporarily reverse the effects of Withering, I thought I should try…" in a rare moment of uncertainty, he paused. "...something."

His words were truthfully the only cure you needed.

After a bout of silence disturbed only by internal thought, you cracked a smile. "So you thought if you infused your hands with dendro, you'd take some of the pain away." These words seemed to be correct as Alhaitham's green eyes narrowed, almost reminiscent of a pout. How cute.

"It was only my hypothesis." He grumbled.

"Well it was correct." Your smile was soft, as soft as the grip he had on your hands. Beneath the layers of sarcasm and apathy, every now and then a spark of emotion would shine through, and you lived for each one of those moments, where you could finally see Alhaitham's humanity once more.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere “Perfect” Househusband Loves When…

Yandere "Perfect" Househusband loves when you scold him when you come home from work. Despite what many would want, W3zley delights in your annoyance. Which is great because the things he loves doing the most seems to incite that response. You’re such a gorgeous stone-faced character it excites him to get a response from you at all. 

“You released a deadly gas at a block party!?”

“Don’t be such a prude (Y/n), it was only a small neighborhood anyway.”

Yandere "Perfect" Househusband loves when you fall for old tricks. Long before his semi-forced commitment to the househusband role he’s been at odds with you for the longest time; usually ending with you winning in the grand scheme of things. But when you’re at home your especially vulnerable. You so easily fall into the nuance of domesticity forgetting his true nature. Which leads you susceptible to spiked drinks, hidden aphrodisiacs, flowers with nefarious purposes, the list goes on. He won’t do anything too wild or too often , you’d notice too fast but he can indulge in his deeper fantasies. The ones you don’t always let him get away with. It’s not usually on the level of his worst habits: health-code violation calls, assault, battery, framing people genocide, inter-dimensional destruction, or mass-vaporizing blasts so you’re not going to stop him for this. That is if you ever find out. Usually his little excursions are nothing but little things that result in lapses of your judgement; which make unforced affection all the more possible.

“Ah~you’re so soft, you’d never let me touch you this way if you were lucid.”

Yandere "Perfect" Househusband loves when he can successfully carry out his underground “smoothie” business. You’ve caught him before and he got quite the lashing but he just can’t stop. When you’re locking him down for whatever punishable offense he’s committed, he feels unfullfilled. He has an itch. He’s got to scratch it. And it has do with the gorey ingredients and the magic that has him having a growing consumer base in the underground market. Even those outside the underground community have heard of his business. Which truly becomes his outlet for his violent tendencies. 

“These humans are so easy! This will surely keep me entertained.”

Yandere "Perfect" Househusband loves when he catches you off-guard. Similar to when you’re angry, any break in your tolerable mask makes his heart flutter. He often uses being a house-husband to do just that. He’s doing his job as your husband so well you’re supposed to praise him right? Look he’s made you, your favorite dish! Now won’t you let him feed it to you, say ‘ah’! Oh now look he’s cooking for you with the apron you got him! Ooops, I meant to say ‘only’ the apron on! 

“Now don’t overheat, (Y/n)! Your husband asked you for a kiss and you’ll give it to me right? Right?”

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

Hellooooo? Is anyone alive? Is ok if you do... A part two of the yandere fierce deity? Please?

Order up!

Ngl this was actually really difficult to write! Y’all seemed to like Part one, so here’s the continuation!

Tw: Described murder and violence, obsession

Hope you enjoy~

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The sigil had since faded from the back wall of your home. It had taken many moons and many storms before the blood had truly faded. But it wasn’t gone. You picked up on the marking more and more, the swooping V shape with two lines intercepting. You saw it carved into the trees you tapped for sap, in the bones of the elks still left at your door and —perhaps most concerning— scratched into your skin. You awoke to it after awaking from a nap, and it came with a sense of all-consuming numbness. You bled, despite no knife piercing your skin and felt a hollow pain looking at the wound… but the gash itself was not painful. The scab on your palm itched as you walked through the markets, and despite switching the hand that held the basket, it only seemed to worsen. An itch is not bad so much as it is annoying. An instinctive feeling to pick and prod until a disturbance is removed. But the sensation has festered into thorns digging into your nerve with every graze of another’s hand.

“That’ll be… 300 total” The farmer handed over the produce youd carefully picked out, a frown of dismay pulling at your lips.

“That’s double last time” His smile faltered and his eyes darted far behind you, glassing over for a moment. He breathed out until his lungs had no more to give and his lips fell shut. It was only when you were about to turn around to see what had enraptured him that his tongue farted over his lips and he picked back up where he’d left off

“Sorry you must understand, it’s-“ His voice faded into the chatter of the crowd, a low hum fading into the back of your mind with a throbbing pain. So much for living here all your life, there was no reason for produce to cost half your wages. It’s not like anyone in this hamlet made much, nor was there any reason for one to struggle. The is community held up on its ties, it's only as useful as its people make it.

“Keep- Just keep it.” You would’ve felt bad at the way he sunk in on his feet with upset, but it was beyond your responsibility to help. Not without proper food in your stomach. You’d need to forage if you had near any hopes of not starving through the week. And so, basket in hand, you returned to the eerie empty of the wood.

The thicket was empty. The berry bushels had since been picked clean by the birds and the wild sprouts trampled or rotted in the soil. It was foolish of you to hope that perhaps whoever kept leaving you meat —your only source of sustenance— could provide you with something that could possibly go with it. Your spice cupboard is beginning to run dry and you had nothing aside from the carcass left behind to prepare.

“If only I had some potatoes… carrots… something- anything!” You threw your wicker basket to the ground, the thin fibres crackling. Anger burned within the humid draws of your breath, seeping into your lungs and through your blood and settling among your being. Thunder rolled in the far distance, but the wind had already made its way to you. The whispery gusts combed through the long grasses and shook the old trees, the wood croaking and groaning. The path back home was no different than it had been recently. No humdrum that followed life, only the cawing of crows. But, rather disappointingly, even they had disappeared as of late. The shadowing of the storm mounted atop your already heavy-hung gloom. It seemed as if every living thing, even those that surpassed mortality had vacated the forest. And as you pushed inward to the unkempt of the wild, you could only feel like you were leaving yourself to the execution block. Your legs faltered and trampled, your limbs felt stiff. And like a corpse of those slaughtered, you fell.

The deity knew that mortals were cruel. He didn’t need much knowledge about the world to know that fact. With such a gift of consciousness, Hylia’s creations were tainted with such bitter malice. That is what made them mortal. Their innate ability to surpass their better moral to kill and to hurt. He saw it every time someone used the likeness of his face. He saw the blood. He felt their drive— to stick cool, unforgiving metal within another. To crack and break and destroy the fragility of the world. The fragility of other people. Hunt or be hunted as it was. There was no matter for if they were above animalistic intent, for they were every bit predator and prey as the wolves and the rabbits. That is why he is so keen on protecting you. Only you have been so kind and pure —A divine among mortals, he’s certain— and such purity can only be tainted within a world so vile. The mortals even admit to it. Making their societies guard such fragility from the maw of itself. It was only himself he could trust to be your guard. Only he could be trusted to deliver you from such a system. He knew the cruelty of mortals upon one another. But for you to be denied sustenance? That was sacrilegious. Did they not understand that they were blessed to have been with you? If that was such a case then perhaps they weren’t worth the salvation you offered. The wretched mortals should bow at your feet, stumble over eachother and themselves to leave you offerings. For one to deny themselves such a right is to deny one’s god. And so, as the twists of his blade delicately carved out the heart of the worthless farm boy, he hoped this would serve a sufficient offering. He could afford to spend more time with you tonight with the storm’s onset. The rain would do most of the work cleaning the blood. The body would mingle from the earth from whence it came and be no more. Maybe if the damned was lucky, his blood could nurture the soil to make plants that you could eat from. Maybe then he’d have paid penance for his sins. Heart and produce in hand, he displayed them all lovingly in your discarded wicker basket and left it looped around the elk horn. He held his offering in one arm and your limp body in the other, carrying you the way to your little temple. The basket was hastily discarded upon the porch —though he doubted you cared much about the presentation— and he tucked you into bed. On his exit he wrangled the body so it would be easier for your untrained limbs to carry indoors. Offerings should be prepared to the highest degree— and you only deserved the best. He’d deliver the world to you exactly as you’d expected of him. Although the procurement of spices would certainly take a while longer, he’d meet your demands in full. Such is what’s expected of him as he’s courting you. Such is the way of devotion.

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

If the Sky Comes Falling Down (For You)

First posted: January 25, 2019

Focuses on: Jason Todd and his various siblings

Favorite bookmark: "A variety of permutations and flavors of Robin h/c featuring Jason! The Baskin Robins of BatFam h/c, if you will."

Second favorite bookmark: "and so, step by step, the prodigal stray coaxes himself home."

Tier: #3 in hits & kudos & subscriptions, #4 in comment threads, #2 in bookmarks

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Individual chapter notations below the cuts.

Chapter One

First, to note, the title came last and is from "Hey Brother" by Avicii because it was already on my BatFam playlist and gave me strong sibling feels, so it worked!

Okay if I remember correctly, this fic came about because 1) I had jotted down story ideas, all surrounding Jason, that were all just a bit too similar for me to feel comfortable doing them as one-offs, and 2) it was late 2018 when I start writing so I was deep in 5+1 IronDad fics.

This fic was so deeply indulgent from start to finish, which I think might be why people liked it so much? Like, if you're into the tropes into this fic, you're really into them. It scratches the itch just right, because it's my itch and I wrote it for me.

The plan was to do like I did for my other multi-chapter fics (except Nature and Nurture, RIP me) and write it all out before posting anything, so I could be sure that I would actually finish. I don't have that kind of self-restraint anymore. But it was a fun challenge to figure out what should happen to whom and in what order.

Jason didn’t sleep much anymore. He’d always been a rough sleeper, his years spent in low-security public housing and then on the street grinding away at his ability to rest with ease. He slept lightly, his consciousness skimming just below the surface, ready to spring awake at the softest noise.

As I've said before, sometimes I have an idea for a fic but then, when trying to start it, a sentence pops up immediately as my opener. That's always a wild ride because sometimes it seems to have nothing at all to do with where I want to go, so then I have to backtrack and figure out but why tho????

Moving to the Manor had helped some, after he’d assured himself that no one was going to scratch at his door or steal his shoes. The cold mornings had been the best, spent curled under a mound of the softest blankets imaginable atop a mattress so perfectly contoured to his bones that it’d felt like floating on the surface of a pool. He’d slept, truly slept, at the Manor.

I like the idea of, even at Jason's most toxic and vitriolic, the Manor itself still representing safety and comfort. Maybe sometimes he would twist it into stifling or grossly indulgent, but I think deep in his stomach he would know that distortion was a lie. The Manor was safer than anywhere else, even with his mom.

Those days of rest were long gone. The Pit had done a number on his brain—intensifying and altering his emotions, erasing some old habits and dialing up others, leaving dark chasms where memories should be.

I've seen other fics play with the idea of the trauma of Jason's injuries, death, resurrection, and the Pit all combining to some degree or another to swiss-cheese his brain (a phrase I lovingly borrow from Quantum Leap.) And that of course leaves a bunch of really fun room to play with—how much does Jason know he's missing vs. how much is gone or totally distorted without him even being aware? (Again, another thing I tease out in various fics like N&N.)

It was like someone had jammed a stick in his skull and given his brain a good stir. Or maybe that was just the crowbar. Ha.

I made myself snicker with that one. It's so voiceily Jason but also that ha is so guttural and specific in my head, you all will never know.

He was making progress with his budding criminal empire—splashy progress, as displayed on the crusting cuffs of his sleeves and the splattered toes of his boots, but also more subtle progress, too. The subtle form was harder, so much harder, but he knew its changes would be more permanent, in the long run. Splashy got people talking. Subtle got them bowing.

Jason! Todd! Is! No! Thug! He is smart and cunning and uses violence to make an impact and that's that on that.

And though he’d heard her speak before in the careful neutral of the middle-class, the sounds being beat out of her now were Crime Alley crooked.

I like the idea of Steph and Jason growing up in the same neighborhood. It's not a hill I'd die on, but it makes for some interesting fic.

The girl put up a good fight. She was rough, no finesse, no real training. All knuckles and elbows and feet and knees. He spotted some of the Bat basics pop up in the way she ducked and spun, but she wasn’t lithe like Nightwing or crafty like the Replacement. She was a brawler. And she was losing.

She is who he might have been, without Bruce and Alfred and Dick. A decent fighter, stubborn, willing to brawl it out, but ultimately destined to lose.

It sucked in an abstract way, the way it sucked that someone was going hungry halfway around the world, the way it sucked when a stranger missed his bus. It sucked, but it wasn’t Jason’s problem, and he couldn’t really bring himself to care. B needed to learn to pick up his toys.

Starting with Steph made the most sense to me. She wasn't (and isn't) a member I know super well, with so much of her canon backstory being things I have no interest in, and she's part of the Family but in that awkward "we're maybe siblings but also I have a mom and also I dated one of you too??" ways, so she's got a little bit of distance, for me as a writer and also Jason. She doesn't have the emotional heat of the others. He doesn't hate her, just what she represents. He also doesn't care what happens to her, except—

The knife glinted in the amber streetlight and cast a shadow across the yellow emblem on her chest.

She's not Batman. She's not a Robin. She's Batgirl. And that's a different thing entirely.

Jason knew what they saw when they looked at him. He was big now, broad-shouldered and massive in a way he had only ever dreamed of being as a scrawny, malnourished street kid. His helmet was blood-red and gleaming, its angles sculpted to subtly suggest a skull. And his clothes were still stained with actual blood. He was an Alley myth, a nightmare with more bite than the Bat, because he wasn’t afraid to do real damage. He was death.

Jason Peter Todd is scary smart, and he knows how to make the exact impact he wants.

“I don’t know you, but I know your colors. You’re Ibanescu’s boys.”

I had to google Gotham crime families. I know literally nothing other than the name.

It was one thing to let her get the snot beat out of her. And even if someone else had taken a shot at her, he wouldn’t have minded. But he couldn’t. Not in that suit.

:3

“It’s not about you,” Jason repeated, his voice gravelly and rough. He pointed toward the yellow symbol on her chest, the symbol that, in the world he’d left, the world he remembered, belonged to someone else. “I owe her a debt. And now it’s paid.” Jason was a murderer. A thief. A criminal. A drug lord. He had no illusions as to his own goodness anymore, no hope for redemption or grace. But he had his values, the few precious things that he would not allow. One of those, it seemed, was watch a man restrain and stab a Batgirl while he did nothing.

Someday I'll write more about that. The partner and friend and maybe mentor who was still reeling from trauma and hadn't yet found her way when Jason was snuffed out of existence.

Jason was tired, but the night was just beginning.

So that's where it starts. Jason tired, literally caked with dried blood, stepping in not because of love or hate or curiosity or concern but because he felt he owed a debt to someone else and that debt instead landed on the person in front of him.

[distort-opia]

are there any examples of batjokes being gentle? i guess? with each other? other than bruce carrying joker bridal style or in TBWL when he held joker after he shot himself

Depends on your definition of "gentle", I suppose. If that includes Bruce saving Joker's life, often in dramatic ways and holding/carrying Joker bridal-style, he's done that a lot-- not just in Batman Who Laughs. But besides that... they do have quieter moments. They're rarer and not necessarily divorced from violence, because (to quote a line from Hannibal), violence is the language they best understand. But they're there.

The most obvious one is the ending of The Killing Joke, Bruce offering Joker his help and telling him he isn't alone, and then them laughing together while clinging to each other:

-- Batman: The Killing Joke

Another underrated moment that I'm personally very fond of comes from Legends of the Dark Knight (2012), and an arc called "Haunted Arkham". In it, the ghost of a little girl who was killed by the current head psychiatrist at Arkham begins to take over the residents, invoked by the head psychiatrist himself. Bruce realizes what must've happened to the little girl, who (of course) possesses Joker as her main avatar of revenge. She uses Joker to kill her tormentor, and after it happens, Bruce and Joker have this poignant scene:

-- Legends of the Dark Knight (2012) #21

That sock puppet Joker gives Bruce is the shape the little girl had taken to talk to Joker in previous issues, and he just accepts it. Bruce doesn't attack Joker either for killing the guy. They both clearly... felt for the child. (And don't even get me started on the meta aspect of it all, because what Joker's describing here is in many ways his own approach to loving Batman, hurting him so that he'd always pay attention to him and never forget him; which is why the little girl latches onto Batman too, and waits for him through Joker after the murder, because of the implied understanding.)

I'd also count Fool's Errand as a gentler moment. It's the anniversary of Jason Todd's death, and a child is missing (with only Joker having the information needed to save her, because he caused her kidnapping to happen), so you can imagine the kind of projection and grief that Bruce has got going on.

Joker covers it up as another ploy to get under Bruce's skin, but it doesn't entirely read like that. It reads like part of Joker compensates for Jason's death and lets Bruce have this win, this moment where he does manage to get there in time and save the child. ("Why? Just... because." And then he comes up with a reason Bruce would believe.)

-- Detective Comics (1937) #726

Though, maybe one of their most gentle moments is during their amnesiac time. After Batman: Endgame... and does dying together the way they did count as gentle? Either way, the implication of Capullo's unused cover for that last issue is striking:

-- Batman: Endgame

So they die, likely in each other's arms, but are brought back to life without their memories by the dionesium. And then (because the Universe apparently always brings these two together) amnesiac Bruce and Joker meet on a bench and have this iconic moment, in which Joker pretty much asks Bruce not to become Batman again and let them both rest:

-- Batman (2011) #48

The whole issue is beautiful, but my favorite is Joker (the champion of "nothing matters") telling Bruce (the champion of "everything matters") that it's okay for things to not have a point, that being alive and present is enough. Truly tragic that Bruce doesn't remember this.

Then there's a moment during the Rebirth Wedding arc, when Joker finds out about Bruce and Selina being engaged, and goes after them:

-- Batman (2016) #48

It's another instance of a deep understanding between them, an island of quiet within a river of violence.

Man, this got way longer than I thought! I'm sure there's other examples that might qualify, but I'll leave it as it is. Hope this scratched the itch, Anon.