#should i add the trigger warning in the tags too?

[fishareglorious]

So. Yanfei’s antlers and shedding season. You’ve might have had it as a passing thought, you might not have.

It probably is a massive shock to see her without her iconic antlers to the Liyue locals not used to it, but then she could really just pay a craftsman to make a headband with her old shed antlers and just wear and hide it under her hat or something.

But that’s not the point I’m making.

See, have you seen a deer with velvet covering its antlers?

Well, now you have.

Thing is, at some point, the deer need to shed all that fuzzy stuff to expose their antlers in all of their, well, horny glory I guess. While the process isn’t painful to them, it gets kinda bloody. The velvet is the one that supplies the nutrients to help them antlers grow, so expect a lotta blood vessels in there.

So yeah. Imagine being a client walking in her office to see that.

Or maybe you’re Yelan dropping by in the dead of night to check on her, and you almost have a heart attack at the sight of Yanfei looking like she gored someone to death with her antlers and won.

For anyone who wants to see what a deer shedding velvet looks like (TW: for Gore and Blood):

[factual-fantasy]

Where there any side effects after Mario got revived by the 1-up

Like any markings or anything?

Mario has no physical mark or scar from the injury that killed him. Thanks to the power of the 1-Up mushroom, Mario’s body has 100% healed itself. Every last cell was put right back where it should be..

But the 1-Up mushroom couldn’t heal Mario’s mind. And sometimes during times of stress or exhaustion.. he feels a sort of.. phantom pain. Due to the trauma of the whole event.

Its usually a hot pain that forms right where the gashes happened. And Mario has a relatively high pain tolerance. So its really frustrating for him- and actually embarrassing for him when he immediately crumples under the pain. He doesn’t like being seen as weak. He doesn’t want Luigi to see him as weak. He needs to always be seen as strong. For Luigi.

But of course Luigi doesn’t see him like that. He never sees Mario as weak during these times. All it does is it just.. its makes Luigi really sad. To see his brother hurting like this. Knowing there isn’t really much else he can do other than get him a cold rag and wait it out..

[ultramarine-spirit]

I was reading the novel and this time something caught my attention that I don't know why I had overlooked it before, and that is how Athy talks about her life in the orphanage. Athy says that the children in the orphanage knew things that the children should not know, that she had to fight for what she wanted and that when she left that place she felt a kind of freedom.

To me, that screams abuse.

It bothers me that the fandom so overlooked the fact that Athy was abused not only in her first life (neglect) but also in her second life and I'm sure it must have been hell. I wish the manhwa had put more emphasis on this because many fans overlook Athy's trauma when she is literally the character who suffered the most.

Yes, to me it's canon that Athy was heavily abused in her second life. Adding to what you said, I remember her mentioning having to literally fight for food (a bowl of rice), or how they got a single sad birthday celebration per month. That's also where her initial fixiations with candy, money and her genuine love for studying come from, as Athy herself admits, she never had those kinds of luxuries (she mentions having to eat expired food in a "haha funny" way, but if you think about it for two seconds, it's just tragic. Like, she died from overdosing on sleeping pills to deal with the cold). I know a thing or two about how orphanages operate from my field of work and acquaintances, and kids in those institutions suffer from abuse in all sorts of ways while being completely ignored by society. I'm not from Korea, but going by what Plutus wrote and reading about the subject, the situation seems to be similar or even worse.

If I want to get overanalytical, part of her depression while living alone could be a consequence of the treatment she received at the orphanage. It's super common for kids in those situations to end up with depression, PTSD, having issues forming emotional connections, facing prejudice, etc. It's also canon that she was verbally and physically abused at her workplace. Athy treats her death as an accident, but in my opinion it's implied that it was a suicide, perhaps not in an "active way", but her behavior was edging the line. Which is again, common for people with that background. I think this plot point is interesting, as to my knowledge suicide is a taboo subject in East Asia. Most manhwas don't have their FL reincarnate after that.

I get what you mean, that part of Athy's trauma is often overlooked, but it probably has to do with most people not reading the novel and with Athy herself not really acknowledging it. She mentions her life as Lee Jihye at the beginning of the story, and then very rarely brings it up. But if anything, that's pretty consistent with how Athy deals with her trauma and negative emotions, refusing to acknowledge they exist until their weight is too heavy for her to endure. I like this piece of characterization a lot, but it leaves us with many questions that are hard to answer when Athy herself doesn't remember or actively tries to forget the trauma from her past lives. You could draw some parallels with Lucas and Claude's respective ways of dealing with trauma, loss and trying to forget (but Athy's mindset is more healthy and not so self-destructive lol).

Also yes, to me Athy is the character that has suffered the most by far. Not like this is a competition, but *gestures at LP* and the fact that she was a working class woman in Korea while the other characters (sans Lucas and Diana, I guess) are and always have been rich aristocrats in pseudo-France says enough /hj.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Tuesday! Ugh.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s nearly midnight in Norway by the time you’re free of the airport. The train station isn’t far; it’s part of the airport. You wait on a bench between the rails as your boarding is two hours away. You sit with your luggage and mope. This new land only adds to the gloom clinging to you. 

You shiver as a draft flows down the tunnel. Not only is grey and grim, but it’s cold. It’s almost June but the weather is more akin to the cusp of winter and spring back home.  

Your weeks of research couldn’t prepare you for the real things. All that anticipation could never compare to that moment of desolation; alone in this far land, away from everything you knew. Everything around you is new and foreign and unwelcoming. 

When the train pulls up, you wait in queue with the other passengers. Some are native, speaking in lilted English or indecipherable Norwegian. Duolingo hasn’t done much for you as you catch only scraps of pronouns and verbs. Others are new arrivals like yourself but they seem much more certain of themselves. You feel utterly lost. 

You show your ticket and board. You tuck your bag away with the larger pieces kept at the front of the carriage and hug your carry-on in your lap. You stare out the window as the train begins to roll on the tracks, screeching as it pulls out into the black night of this strange land. 

The subtle rumble of the locomotive lulls you into a half-sleep. Your head is wrought with the ache of your building hangover and twisted visions of the life left behind. You hear Steve’s final goodbye, you feel the hug that was snugger on your end than his, and you feel the razor of Peggy’s spiteful eye. Even in a stupour, you can’t forget it. You hope Sam is right and that it will fade with time, yet you fear it might all be gone for good. 

You wake as the automated voice announces your stop as the next one. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. You’re trying to be optimistic. Just focus on work. That’s what this is all about. Everyone keeps saying it and you haven’t heard any of them. This is a great opportunity. What you’ve been hoping for all these years. How did you forget that?  

You disembark and drag your bag behind your heavy feet. You’re exhausted but you still have a trek to go. Everything looks so different than back home. Small differences but enough to reinforce your displacement. 

You find the rental car kiosk at the other end of the station and show your reservation. Work is paying for that too. Apparently, you’ll need it to get to the site. Another harbinger of desolation. 

You hook up your phone to the built-in bluetooth and tap the address already saved in your maps. The app takes a moment to recenter and finally, you’re off. You wonder if you should even be driving. You’re definitely not drunk anymore but you’re barely awake. 

It’s only an hours ride across the city, just along the ridges that look off onto the coast. It’s beautiful. You can see that even through your melancholy.  

The morning rises as you get your key to the blue paneled townhouse. You should try to stay up to reset your clock but you’re jet lagged to the bone. The moment the door is locked, you let your bags fall to the floor and stumble through to the first piece of furniture you see. You collapse face first onto the couch, unable to feel the impact as you plummet into a deep sleep. 

Time, space, and all your pain disappears. There is only the endless void of fatigue. Your mind is too tired to summon nightmares or nonsensical visions. Your body is so drained that even your brain is empty. 

You wake on your arm, fingers tingling painfully as your shoulder muscles burn. You hiss and sit up. The bend of your fingers and a shaky attempt to move your elbow make you whine. Ugh. You rub feeling back into the limb as you lean against the back of the couch. 

You look around, finally able to take it all in. The house is neat and sleek. White plaster and pale wood finishes. The couch you sit on is a sectional and there’s a match ottoman across from you. The TV mounted on the wall reflects the shadow of the archway behind you and the tall lamp in the corner and the stone and marble ornaments. 

You rise, wobbling on your legs, and put your arms out to get your bearings. You meander through the townhouse. You can hardly admire the furnished interior as it underlines your loneliness. All this space for just you. 

There’s a kitchen at the rear of the house, a large wooden island standing center to a fridge with a glass door and polished counters carved in granite. The tiles are pristinely placed diamonds in hexagons and a large window looks out into the rain-soaked yard. It’s night again, or maybe that’s what the daylight looks like here. 

Upstairs, there’s a bedroom and a bathroom. A full tub and separate shower, two sinks set into a sparkling counter, and a wall of mirrors above them. It truly is a dream but why doesn’t it feel like it? 

You amble down stairs and fish out your phone. The battery is at eight percent. You have several texts. All from Sam. You only remember then why you don’t see any from Steve. No, you won’t check. 

You quickly type that you’ve landed safely and set the cell down. You’ll let it die before you plug back in. You need time. You need to get yourself straight. You need to accept that this is all real. You made this choice.  

You’re starting over. It’s a new life and there’s no room for your heart here. 

💟

You have the night to unpack, more than just your luggage. Still, there are things you can’t let out. Not yet. As much as the blade twists in your chest, taking it out will mean a deluge you can’t quell. For now, you just won’t think about it. 

You sleep a few more hours and wake just before six. You have your bag ready to go for the day. You tie on your boots and pull on a lined jacket before braving the Norwegian summer. You lock the door behind you and yawn into the brisk air. 

Before you head for the site, you stop at a cafe you see along the way. You get an egg biscuit and a coffee with extra espresso. You’re sure to add on a snack to eat between your work. 

You drive towards the greater mountains and turn onto the road that angles up the side. You follow the curved ledge as the GPS guides you through the car speakers. The drive is two hours up, maybe a bit quicker on the way down. Suddenly, a ping sounds from the system and you glance at the screen; ‘signal lost’. Shoot. It’s okay. You think you’re almost there. 

You pull over, not that there’s much space to do so. You have the physical maps you’ll use for the work itself. You find yourself amid the lines and symbols and memorise the path forward. You continue on cautiously, reassured as you’re met with a sign that delineates the site. The plot has already been closed off with a fence. 

‘Grant land. No trespassing.’ 

You park just outside the fencing and grab your bag and your breakfast. You sit on the hood and eat as you look over the muddy site. You read the grant report. It’s here they think there was a settlement. Not a very big one but an important one.  

The rock wall hugs the site in an almost perfect basin as the slick land is barren of almost any growth. You’ll start with gridding it all out, both with string and on paper. You clap your hands off and get up to begin. The process will keep your distracted. 

You put your earbud in and set to task. You pause to sip coffee and mark the paper between planting the stakes and the string the twine to divvy it all up in squares. You watch where you put each step, the mud sucking at your treads. A wet site is never an easy one. 

It takes the first day just to prep for digging and you don’t even think you’re done. You’re tired and achy and ready to go home. It’ll take you nearly three hours back by your guess. The night will be a short one as you figure you’ll need to head out earlier, especially if you hope to take advantage of the fleeting sunlight. 

As you get back to the townhouse, it’s night again. You walk down to a fish restaurant just a block away. The faces are friendly and the food is good, but it all seems so bland. You eat and go back to your accommodation. Not home, just a place to lay your head. 

You check your phone. Back amid the world of the living, you have a dozen messages; Sam, Bucky, your mom, Arturo. You respond to each of them in turn, assuring them that all is well. You don’t have the energy for much more. 

Yet it isn’t up to you. Your phone chimes at you as you near the bed, sitting on the edge as you answer. You know with Sam that ignoring him will only make him worse. 

“Hey,” you answer with an unrestrained yawn. 

“Yo, how ya feeling?” he asks. 

“Erm, tired,” you lean forward, crossing and arm over your knees. “How are things there?” 

“Eh, usual. So, uh, did that paradise punch knock you on your ass too or am I getting old?” He chuckles. 

“Heh, yeah, no I’m feeling it still,” you mutter. 

“Mm, it’s late there...” he says, “sorry, if I’m keeping you up.” 

“No, it’s fine. Just... a lot of driving.” 

“Oh? You worked today?” 

“Wanted to get a head start,” you shrug as you play with the fold of your pajamas across your knee. 

“How is it? Is it bleak? Cold? Are the men gruff?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Grey. Bit chilly but it’s not bad around noon,” you say dully, “haven’t seen much of the locals. With how long it takes me to get up the mountain...” 

“Oh, a mountain,” he echoes enthusiastically, “that’s exciting.” 

“I guess. Eats away the day.” 

“I’m sure,” he agrees glumly, “hey, don’t forget to treat yourself. Take a weekend off and hit that spa.” 

“I will. I just got here.” 

“Well, we all miss you,” he says. “Bucky especially. We got in a huge blow out the other day over the string in his hoodie.” 

“Of course you did,” you can’t help but laugh. 

“Really, I didn’t do anything. I was trying to fix it and it just... slipped inside, I don’t know. I don’t think it was about the string,” he snickers. “Probably having to deal with Steve and his--” Sam stops himself, “sorry.” 

“What? No, it’s fine. Really. I came out here to get away but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.” 

“I know but you’re tryna forget him. Like you should,” Sam insists. “And he’ll realise soon enough what he missed out on all these years. And you need to do the same. Go out, explore, enjoy it. You’ll need to have some good stories to bring back to us here, we’re dying of boredom without you.” 

“Yeah, uh, I’ll try,” you grumble, “anyway, I gotta head out early for the dig so I should let you go.” 

“Right, of course,” he agrees, “don’t be a stranger.” 

“I won’t. Promise.” 

“Night,” he says. 

You return a ‘good night’ and hang up. You toss your phone onto the pillow and heave as you clutch your head. You hate this. Why did you come all this way just to suffer? You should have just stuck it out. Sat on the sidelines like you always did and just swallow it all down. This is worse. Being so alone.  

There’s no going back. Not now. So you just need to get through this and after... after you’ll just have to face Mr. and Mrs. Rogers with a fake smile and broken heart. 

💟

The next week goes by much like your first days there. You wake up, drive up the mountain, plot, dig, clean up, and drive back. You sleep almost as soon as you sit down. You don’t have time to mull over what you left behind, not as you catalogue every bone and bead you come across. 

You check in with Arturo when you can, just to confirm that everything is going according to plan. Often, you’re asleep when anyone else calls. You wake up to notifications from your mom and Sam and even Bucky. You should call them back but you just can’t. You can’t put on a fake voice for them. Not yet. 

You take a day off. Only after Arturo insists. You know you should. You may as well have a proper grocery shop. You can’t keep living off the cafe and fish shop.  

The shop feels more like a market. You pick through produce and meats, and get what’s easy. You’ll cook it all and package it up so you can just heat it up later. Some muffins to eat on your way up the mountain and maybe a few protein bars. 

As you trawl the grocery store aisles, you pull out your phone. You have a pile of unread notifications from Insta. You don’t often check it anyway but your curious and a little homesick. 

You see your mom’s post about her trip to the vineyard with her book club pals and Sam’s story with a very agitated looking Bucky. That makes you laugh. You scroll by some crafting videos and the pages you follow of castle curators living your aspirational goals. 

Then you stop. You pull the cart still and go rigid as you stare at the screen. The image of Steve and Peggy burns into your retinas like a blinding light. It’s there engagement announcement. He has her in his arms, kissing her, as she holds out her hand to the camera to show off the diamond. 

You can’t breathe. Your chest is on fire and your ears are ringing. It’s like salt in the wound and you don’t doubt it's intentional, at least on Peggy’s part.  

Your hands shake as you grip the phone tightly and tap on Steve’s username. You ignore the rest of his profile and the pictures you know will only add to the turmoil brewing in your stomach. You hit the button in the corner and tap again and again. ‘You are about to block ‘starsnstripes18, are you sure’. Yes and yes! 

You lock the screen and drop the phone into your purse, nestled into the basket of the cart. You grasp the bar and push the cart forward, steadying your steps with it. You look between the shelves and exhale. 

You need to go cold turkey. No more Steve, no more Peggy, no more New York. You stood still so long, it feels good to run away from it all. 

[lomlhwa]

get out of my head (c.yj)

pairing: soulmate!yeonjun x soulmate!reader

preview: when you turn 18, you can hear your soulmate's voice in your head. you have to work to find each other, no matter the distance.

tags/warnings: fem reader, ITALICS IS YEONJUN IN READER'S HEAD + BOLD IS READER TALKING BACK TO YEONJUN, lots of dirty talk, monster cock!yeonjun (it's me, what do you expect), oral (m.receiving), face fucking, crying, pussy slapping, pet names (baby, pretty girl, good girl), unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie

trigger warnings: n/a

wc: 1.6k

song recs for this fic: yes, and? by ariana grande, 3d by jungkook, nonesense by sabrina carpenter

a/n: hey guys.... it's been a long time T-T hope you didn't forget about me. this is my first time writing a fic in a WHILE. hope you like it and i hope to post more maybe idk

“3! 2! 1! happy birthday!” your friends cry out at midnight on your birthday. you blow out the glowing candles on your birthday cake eagerly. you make a silent wish for your soulmate to be hot. 

your friends look at you expectantly. “has he said anything?” one of them says. you shake your head. your brain is still dead silent. no soulmate talking to you. “it is literally midnight, so he could be sleeping,” you shrug. your friends murmur among themselves as you slink down your chair.

“hellooo? anyone there yet?” a male voice appears in your head and you jump at the sound. your friends look at you concerned. “hello?” you sit in silence for a moment again, your friends remain unmoving. “fucking finally. took you long enough to turn 18.” you laugh and your friends relax. 

“he sounds pretty,” you say to your friends. they shake their heads. you’re the last one out of your friends to turn 18, therefore you’re the last one to hear your soulmate. your friends have been with their soulmates for months at this point. 

“my bad, i have a late birthday,” you respond to the voice in your head. your friends disperse through your house to let you talk to your soulmate for a few moments. 

“what’s your name? mine’s yeonjun. are you pretty? where do you live” you chew on your bottom lip while you listen to him talk to you. “my name is y/n,” your leg bounces as you answer the first question. “my friends think i’m pretty,” you add. 

you stay silent, debating if you should tell him exactly where you live or just the general area. saying you live ‘around seoul’ is too broad though. “well? where do you live?” you shake your head and just decide to give him the general area. 

“i live in busan.”

________________________________________

you stand outside a cafe nervously checking your phone every minute. you’re waiting for yeonjun. you’re meeting your soulmate. how terrifying. 

“i’m almost there. are you outside?” you jump when his voice rings out in your head. you’re still not used to having a whole other person in your head.

“yeah, i’m just waiting,” you lean against the wall behind you and observe your surroundings. yeonjun picked a really cute cafe to meet at. you watch as people walk mindlessly past you.

you look down at your phone until you hear yeonjun’s voice again. “what color are you wearing?” you look down at your outfit before replying. “pink.”

before you can say anything else, you feel a presence in front of you. you look up and make eye contact with one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. he gives you a smile that lights up his entire face. 

“y/n.” it’s his voice. it’s his voice but outside your head. he’s in front of you. your mouth hangs agape as you realize this beautiful man is your soulmate. you flatten your hair and smooth out your outfit before you speak. “yeonjun.” 

________________________________________

before you know it, you’re back at his place with your back crashed against his front door. your date didn’t last long. he wanted you as soon as he saw you.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” his lips are attached to yours. being able to speak to each other telepathically really comes in handy when your mouth is otherwise occupied. 

his hands grip your hips and guide them to grind against him. he groans into your mouth. you can feel his hardening length through his jeans. it’s huge. 

“are you big?” you feel him smile against your lips at the question.

he grabs your hand and drags you towards his bedroom. “does the pretty girl wanna find out?” yeonjun says before pushing you down onto his bed. he stands between your legs, just looking at you. your face turns bright red under his dominant gaze. he’s basically fucking you with his eyes. 

“shirt.” his voice is commanding and you find your hands moving with a mind of their own to take your shirt off. you throw it on the floor next to his bed. you’re left in your pretty white bra and your pretty pink skirt. 

“fuck, so pretty,” his voice in your head makes you blush. he hasn’t even touched you yet and your panties are practically soaked through. 

he trails his big hands up your thighs, lifting your skirt in the process. he licks his lips at the sight of your soaked panties. he runs his long index finger over the wet patch, causing your hips to jerk. 

“you’re soaked. i haven’t even done anything, baby.” yeonjun’s tone is full of fake pity.

out of nowhere, he grabs you by the hips and forces you onto the floor. you’re on your knees in front of him. the tent in his pants is massive and you can tell that it probably feels unbearable. 

he undoes his belt and pulls his jeans down to his knees. he pulls his boxers down the same length and his cock flies out. it almost smacks you in the face. you look at it in pure shock. how is this natural?

“suck,” he orders. your jaw falls open and you welcome his length into your mouth. you take it slow and steady to try and prep your throat for his monster cock. you can tell that he’s getting impatient within just a few moments.

“please let me fuck your mouth, pretty girl.” the question sets something off in you and you feel like you would do anything for him. you stop all your ministrations and go limp. “do it.”

yeonjun gathers all your hair into a ponytail and uses it to move your head back and forth. you open your throat as much as you can but you could never manage to take all of him. there’s just too much.

his hips snap to meet the movements his making with your head. you cough and choke around him. saliva drips out of your mouth and onto the floor, creating a puddle. your eyes water and threaten to ruin your makeup. 

you look up at him with teary eyes and you can tell that he’s close, even through your blurry vision. “cum down my throat, jjunie.” your words in his head mixed with your teary gaze causes him to finish almost immediately. you choke a final time before he pulls out and watches you swallow. 

he lifts you off the ground with a foreign softness compared to his length in your throat. he lays you down and wastes no time in removing your panties. he leaves your skirt and bra, finding them particularly cute. 

he forces your legs apart to full take in your glistening pussy. he runs his palm over it before bringing his hand down and slapping it. you squeak, jerking back. your pussy continues to drip, so he does it again. 

“jun, please, need you,” you whine. your legs close to try and keep him from bringing his hand down again. tears well in your eyes out of the desperate need for pleasure. your core is throbbing.

yeonjun pries your knees apart and settles between your thighs, his cock brushing your core. “are you ready, baby? can you take it?” your eyes flicker down to his member, slight fear coursing through you. you nod hesitantly.

he brings his hand down to stroke himself before lining up with your weeping hole. “deep breaths pretty girl.” he pushes his cock in slowly, inch by inch. the stretch is painfully intoxicating. your eyes cross as he bottoms out.

“baby, breathe,” yeonjun says. you had been holding your breath while he pushed into you. you breathe sharply, trying to keep yourself from falling apart on his cock immediately.

“please, move jjunie,” you beg. you dig your nails into his forearms as he pulls all the way out and slams back in, balls slapping against your ass. you choke out a moan, throwing your head back into his pillow. 

“you suck me in so beautifully,” his voice rings out in your mind through the buzz of pleasure. you look at him to find his mouth slightly open, whines of pleasure escaping. his sweaty hair hangs over his eyes deliciously. you could cum just from seeing him like this. 

you clench around him, pleasure building up quickly. his fast pace thrusting into you has your mind going numb. you remove your hands from his forearms and grab him by the hair, forcing his lips to yours. he meets you in a feverish kiss, his thrusts becoming sloppier.

“i’m gonna cum, please fill me up jun,” you run your tongue over his bottom lip as he nods in acknowledgement. you wrap your legs around his waist as he uses your hole to get off.

your arms fall limp on the bed by your head and yeonjun takes the opportunity to hold your hands with his. he intertwines his fingers with yours in an attempt to ground himself.

“c-cum-” you stutter as your walls close in on him for a final time before you hit your high. he finishes immediately after you, your clenching becoming too much for him. his hips stutter and he lets out a high pitched whine as he spurts white hot cum into you. 

you pant, trying to catch your breath. you squeeze his hands gently. he collapses onto you, nuzzling his face into your neck. you brush your hair out of your face, finding that it’s sticking to your forehead.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers before kissing your neck gently. you giggle, biting your swollen bottom lip.

“my perfect soulmate.”

© lomlhwa 2024

[j0kers-light]

hi bae, ik youve been going thru a rough patch i hope(in fact ik) you’ll bounce back harder.🫶🏻

i really wanted to make a request for a long long time now, no pressure write it whenever u feel like it i am just going to drop it here.

for me J has always been a Lana del rey song specially the ultra violence album, he’s shades of blue, he’s ultraviolenec, smts hes even brooklyn baby. Can you write something dark, like real dark where hes possessive, violent, exatcly like he was in TDK. Pulling stunts and dropping hints. maybe he kidnappes the reader or smt like that, he’s acting all crazy and violent but something inside him just makes him slip to a lil caring or loving side every now and then, which eventually leads to some serious SMUT 😏😏

the reader could be his enemy’s daughter(maybe even batman’s daughter lol i am going wild) he tortures her,loves her, takes care of her then tortures her a lil more but make no mistake the reader is a fireball she gives him that lil fight they have in her which makes J even more attached to her.

ik i am just blabbing and making no sense, but i hope ukwim. i am also attaching a link to my fav J edit ever which might give u an outline of what i am trying to say. maybe even add J’s POV.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CqyP1PdveA9/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

okay ill shut up now. feel better love you 🫶🏻

His Lighthouse: Broken Dolls (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Broken Dolls - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

I feel ashamed that you had to wait so long for this request. Forgive me times a thousand @heathisbae !! I still love you and I got carried away with the word count. (10,500 words!!) I promise you that my blood, sweat, and tears went into this request. You should've let me stay in my enclosure. I LOVE DARK requests and I was in a dark and lonely place when I wrote this. The perfect mood for Broken Dolls.

Gather round children it’s time to go over some legal stuff. I usually do not care about trigger warnings. You are responsible for your own reading pleasure, BUT I’ll add a TW: List because yall gone need it. Chaos had a lil bit too much fun writing this one.. 👀😬

TW! Dark!Joker. rape, knife, blood, impact, choking, power play, dacryphilia, spitting, biting kinks, unprotected sex, overstimulation if you squint, degradation, no prep (foreplay is important kids) uhhhh… I’m missing something. 🤔 It’s canon Joker people. He’s a walking trigger warning.

Just be careful if you decide to read this one. I know I went overboard but your mental health is always my top priority. Enjoy or not. It’s entirely up to you. Since its a dark request, I decided not to tag anyone except @heathisbae Read at your own risk 🖤✨

Your father made it virtually impossible for anyone to find out. By fate’s design, you looked nothing like the iconic figure you called “father”, and you were forever grateful for that. 

Your skin complexion, eye, and hair color masked you from the surname that was your birthright. You were the rumored Wayne heiress that Gotham City whispered about. Many far and wide longed to meet you to strengthen their businesses by marriage, whereas others flat out questioned your conception.  

Bruce Wayne had neither confirmed nor denied the mother of any of his children to the world. Not like he ever would. There were only a few secrets Bruce had left in this world: you being the most important one.  

Your life would be in danger if anyone were to find out you were a Wayne or worse, the precious daughter of Batman.  

Many were adopted into the bat family, but you were blood to Bruce. A last-ditch effort he made to secure his family’s legacy; He hired a surrogate.  

Should Batman ever fall in combat, you could pick up the torch and continue the Wayne legacy.  

At an early age you wanted to make your father proud and wisely decided not to follow in his footsteps moonlighting as a vigilante. The eldest boys, Dick and Jason, celebrated for days. They loved their half-sister and supported every decision you make, but they would’ve put their foot down should you have wished to don a bat suit.  

Instead of violence, you dedicated your life to education. Only the best schools with full ride scholarships—your cv was lengthy as it was profound. You spoke multiple foreign languages, held many accreditations issued from all over the globe, and excelled at virtually every extra-curricular skill you could think of.  

You were a hardworking, driven woman with a no-nonsense attitude. That much, you got from your mother. 

You dominated any boardroom you entered, and your famous e/c eyes could make or break contracts with a single look. Now that was all your father’s genes. You gave the phrase, beauty and brains, a living breathing, mascot and Bruce couldn’t be prouder.  

That unfortunately made you a target.  

You shied away from public humanitarian appearances to avoid being recognized as a Wayne. Too many similarities with Bruce would make people curious. Instead, you worked behind a smokescreen and attended the many charities and sponsorship parties as a third-party spectator to oversee your work.  

That way, you got to see your hard work being implemented into the community—far better results than your father’s monetary donations provided.  

You took pride knowing your hard work was creating a change in Gotham City. With the safeguards Bruce and the boys had in place; it would take an actual genius to put the numerous clues together to uncover your identity. You could live in relative peace while still making a difference.  

Sadly, your long forgotten surrogate mother would soon threaten life as you knew it.  

Joker prided himself in being a vigilant man. Nothing, not even the smallest of details, went unnoticed by him and when it came to his best friend Batman, J took extra care to notice every little thing.  

The level of surveillance Joker did on the dark knight bordered on obsession but in a way, he was. Joker strived to be twelve steps ahead of his arch-nemesis in order to maintain his freedom. Being shipped back to Arkham was not an option, so he took information gathering very seriously.  

Joker knew that Batman was Bruce Wayne for years. He was surprised other Gotham villains or just the local law enforcement didn’t put the clues together. It was so obvious. 

There was no point in telling the world Batman’s not so little secret, but when Joker studied the daily life of Bruce Wayne a bit further, now that was a blackmail gold mine. Having a one up on Bats just felt good and especially when Joker discovered the perfect weapon that would break the man once and for all.  

You. 

Tucked away and hidden in plain sight; Y/n Wayne, the perfect tool for Joker’s plans.  

A father’s worst nightmare, seeing their child in distress, Joker looked forward to scaring Bruce with this latest prank. All he had to do was get close enough to steal you away, but Bruce kept you protected twenty-four seven. Smart man and Joker didn’t blame his bestie for being a protective father.  

There were dangerous people out there who would dream of your demise if they knew the truth! 

No, it was much easier to track down your mother and it was mere child’s play to make her talk. Joker thoroughly enjoyed extracting as much information from the woman before her untimely demise.  

He found it was unfair that she was virtually defenseless while you had security tighter than most world leaders. It wasn’t fair in Joker’s book, so he set out to put your safeguards to the test.  

And what achievement it was to outsmart Batman at his own game.  

You should’ve known better. Dad drilled it into your brain time and time again to always be aware of your surroundings.  

There was no such thing as a coincidence. Things happened for a reason, and it was up to you to detect any signs of danger at any given time.  

The same could be said for that fateful night. You were feeling a bit overwhelmed by a journalist at a charity event. She kept asking probing questions—a few hitting too close for comfort about your identity.  

How ironic that you attended every event the rumored Wayne heiress organized and knew so much about her personal affairs. What a coincidence how reporters asked you questions like you were the boss..  

The curious woman would not leave you alone! Her mindless chitchat felt more like an interrogation by the minute. You feared your identity was compromised after one of her questions rang true, but she simply laughed it off and said that if you were indeed a Wayne, “You’d be way prettier.”  

Whatever that meant.  

Perhaps the comment hit hard since your longtime friend/rival, Lana, stole attention from the fund raiser with her scandalous outfit. The brunette reeked of new money and had an ego the size of Metropolis, demanding attention wherever she went.  

Her appearance ruined your event for helping orphaned kids and turned it into a mini Met Gala. You had every right for storming out to scream into the back alley. She never failed at ruining things!  

You were really letting your frustration be heard when a whistle nearby startled you. 

“Listen to the pipes on that one.”  

You quickly stopped screaming once you realized that you weren’t alone. A lone male was smoking in the same alley, and he locked eyes with you once he caught your attention.  

They were an unnatural green that felt familiar however, you couldn’t place where you might’ve seen them before.  

“By all means... don’t let me keep ya from your.. uhh temper tantrum.” He blew a long puff of smoke into the night air.  

At first you were in shock, but that reaction soon turned into irritation. Just who did he think he was talking to you like that? “I am not having a tantrum thank you very much a-and... you can’t smoke here!”  

He simply chuckled while taking another drag. You crossed your arms and tapped your heels on the concrete as you waited for a response. This guy was something else.  

“Hello? Did you hear me?” You added.  

“Yup.” He popped the letter p, “Loud n’ clear. Pretty sure this area is ah... employees only. Ya wouldn’t catch me smokin’ if ya weren’t out here being a brat, hm?”  

He had a point, but you still scoffed at his choice of words. You had the idea of using your title as the boss of this event to get him fired; yet he would surely talk and by morning, Gotham City would know that you’re a Wayne. That was the last thing you wanted; however, it was worth the hassle if it got rid of him.  

For now, all you could do was shake your head at this strange man breaking your employee’s no smoking rule. You personally selected all the staff for the event and your security team performed background checks on everyone to ensure your safety.  

The gentlemen sitting before you did not jog your memory.  

His presence made you uneasy and you took a step back, “Do I know you?”  

He snorted, smoke emerging from his nostrils in comical puffs. “Uh no, but I knoooo~ooow you.” 

The blood in your veins ran cold when the stranger stood up and stepped into the light. “Didn’t your dad tell ya not to talk to strangers Miss Wayne?” He said mockingly.  

You took one look at The Joker’s grotesque scars and turned to run.  

Joker grinned and let you have a running start although you didn’t get far. Your feet got caught in your dress fabric and made his job relatively easy. The two of you tumbled to the ground, Joker landing on your back, but that quickly changed with a sharp elbow to his nose.  

You didn’t stick around to see if your hit landed, you just scrambled to your feet and tried to reach for the back door when a hand grabbing your ankle disrupted your sense of balance. One second you were upright, the next, you were on the ground seeing double vision.  

Joker didn’t think you’d put up much of a fight. His research into you was limited, but he doubted that you had any of the fighting skills your father was notorious for.  

Technically he was right. You had taken up self defense training from Jason and he reported that you sucked at it.  

Despite your lack of skills and concussion, you weren’t going down without a fight. One of your nails scratched Joker’s elongated smile causing it to bleed and suddenly, he had enough of your little games.  

You were making too much noise, and his window of opportunity to kidnap you was running out. If he didn’t move you soon, his plan would be ruined. You just had to make things difficult for him.  

“Alrighty Y/n, time for a little nap. Shhhhh... shh easy now.” Joker dodged your wild punch to his face as he dug a syringe out of his pocket.  

The sight of it made you panic and fight back harder but your scream of help was drowned out by a roar of applause from inside. The auction must’ve ended with a success. Joker pierced your skin and watched the milky white substance disappear into your system.  

It was cold seeping into your veins as you still tried to fight back.  

“Aht ahttttt don’t fight it. Let it happen.” Joker crooned into your ear; not like you could hear him. Your body felt so heavy, you lost function of your limbs so suddenly it was terrifying.  

The Joker’s obnoxious laugh sounded miles away from you. When your eyelashes fluttered closed, Joker knew victory was his.  

The environment that you woke up in was dark and cold.  

Your limbs were still groggy with whatever The Joker had injected you with and after a few test stretches, you still had motion in them. Although it would do you no good. The distinctive sound of metal on metal gave away your current predicament. 

You were chained to something.  

You tried not to panic but you were unable to see anything a few inches in front of you much less see how far the chain allowed you to move. You felt something solid underneath you and concluded that it was some sort of mattress or padding. It was a small comfort while being confined in total darkness.  

Wherever you were, The Joker was to blame, and you weren’t going to let him have this much power over you. You had to find a way out before he started his sick form of entertainment.  

Every citizen of Gotham knew Joker’s M.O. You didn’t want to be tortured to death all for a laugh.  

You waited until your eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings before exploring how much freedom you truly had.  

You felt around in the darkness until your hands bumped into something solid. It was a surface with nothing that could help you escape on it, so you moved on. Minutes felt like hours as you stumbled through the dark, searching for anything useful. Just when you thought you were painting a clear picture of the room in your head, a door opened beside you.  

The blinding light was nothing compared to the searing pain of the door hitting you square in the face or that of the trauma caused by falling to the ground.  

The room was still spinning when your loudmouth got the better of you. 

“What’s your f__king problem?!” You cried out. You feared that your nose was broken, it sure felt like it with the amount of blood you felt gushing out. The Joker didn’t seem phased by the display.  

Instead, he stepped right over you and flicked on a light, blinding you in the process. “Errr let’s see... problems. MY problem.. Social injustice? Global warming…uhhh rush hour traffic?” Joker paused for dramatic effect and slowly turned to face you. You froze, feeling his emerald eyes rake over your form hungrily.  

The unnatural hue seemed to suck you in the longer you stared. “You.” Joker purred. 

“M-Me?” How were you a problem? He abducted you not the other way round! 

You had never crossed paths with the Clown Prince of Crime until tonight. The two of you couldn’t be more worlds apart. You stayed nose deep in your humanitarian work and out of any trouble whereas The Joker was trouble personified.  

The only thing that linked you to Joker was your father, yet you doubted the clown was smart enough to put all the puzzle pieces together to uncover that.  

You prayed that this was all some sort of misunderstanding but judging how The Joker was staring, your hopes began to shatter one by one.  

You instinctively shielded your body from the known threat and in doing so, your skin brushed against unknown material. The formal dress you originally wore for the evening was gone and replaced by a thin t-shirt and baggy men’s pants. The implications were not lost on you. 

You turned to glare at the madman before you. “Who changed my clothes!?” If you were able to blush, you knew you’d be redder than a tomato.  

This man obviously had no respect for women. He simply threw his head back and laughed, “The pleasure is allllllllllll mine.”  

You failed at hiding your full body shudder and even worse, you were unable to silence yourself from talking trash. “Screw you.” You regretted saying it the moment you opened your mouth.  

The room suddenly got quiet. Joker sauntered his way over to your mattress and crouched down so he could be eye level with you. He admired the fire burning within your e/c eyes for a time. Such a strong wielded fire, it was beautiful to behold. If Joker had his way, there would only be smoking embers after he had his fun. He would make sure of it.  

The Joker always had an air of drama about him, and it took center stage as he spoke to you. “Ya wanna.. know something? You should be lucK-yyyy my boys didn’t change ya. They would’ve loved to uh.. what did ya say? Screw you.” 

His choice of words held more meaning as he tried to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. You shut down that idea by chomping at his fingers the second they were within your reach.  

You refused to sit around like some damsel in destress until dad or one of the boys came to rescue you. You would fight back even if it killed you. 

To Joker, your little stunt was comical. You could rebel all you wanted; your antics would never compare to what he had in store for you.  

He simply wagged his paint-stained fingers at you like a scolding parent and insulted you further. “Mm, feisty! I like thaT. But that’s no way to behave while you’re here. No noooo. No. You are a verry special guest, Y/n!” 

Joker walked over to the table that you found earlier. You watched as he pulled out a tripod and took the time to set up a camera in your general direction. Once it was positioned to his liking, he mashed a button—and to your horror, a red light began to blink. 

“Tada! May I present.... Y/n, my lead-ing lady in this uh.. short film of mine! The title you ask? Why it’s, How to Break Batman’s Little Girl 101!”  

Joker’s words were like a sucker punch to your gut. They bounced off the thick walls of the room and echoed back in your eardrum's times a hundred. Your worst nightmare was happening right before your eyes. Not only did someone know who you were, but dad’s long kept secret was out—and his arch-nemesis of all people, knew about it.  

You were blinking a mile a minute and Joker thought your lips flailing like a fish was oh so adorable. Kissable really but he shook that odd thought away.  

He hyped up his performance so much, you weren’t sure if he was addressing you or the camera at this point.  

“Oh come now, Y/n. Don’t act so sur-prised! I knew Bats’ secret for years now. We are friends ya know.... Mmm on second thought. Ya might wanna work on the security Batsy.. I just so happened to waltz in and steal your precious.... and might I add.... beau-ti-ful daughter away easy peasy. Did I mention she’s verrrry beautiful?”  

You snapped out of your panic by Joker’s fingers grazing your cheek. Your response was instinctive by slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch me!”  

Joker wasted no time reacting to your outburst. His gentle touch turned cruel and struck your face hard enough to turn it sideways right into the wall.  

He quickly grabbed ahold of your jaw and yanked you back upright. You were forced to bear witness to his self-inflicted scars, all jagged and swollen up close. It was a permanent reminder just how insane this man truly was. Joker’s nails dug into your cheek and for a split second, you genuinely feared this man.  

His green eyes were almost electric staring into your soul. “You’re mine now and I’ll touch ya however I want. Got thaT?”  

Joker saw the insult queuing up in your brain and squeezed your face tighter in his grasp. You whined but still managed to part your lips to respond. “I’m not yours.” You growled.  

A brief staring contest ensued. Green verses your e/c.  

Joker admired your bravery; you questioned his sanity. He dressed the part of a gentleman with his three-piece suit and coattails (despite the outlandish colors) yet he was so far removed from the title. He was unpredictable in every sense of the word that you weren’t sure if you would survive a moment longer in his presence. 

You were confident that someone would come save you, Joker thought you were too naïve to understand the gravity of your situation. In any case, he would have ample time to extinguish the fire blazing in your eyes before someone started searching for you.  

He was so caught up crafting his mental plans, he didn’t notice the glint in your eye right before you bit his hand.  

It hardly phased him and for your efforts you received a rough shove towards the ground. Thankfully the mattress softened the blow however you still had the strength to glare at The Joker in disdain. 

“Let’s see how long that feisty streak of yours last hmm?” Joker chuckled under his breath and walked over to the door.  

The sudden change in brightness blinded you again but this time you caught a glimpse of a bulky man guarding the door before he and Joker disappeared from sight. 

Finally you were alone with your thoughts. The first thing you did was let out a shaky sigh and glance at the camera still recording you. The Joker didn’t turn it off and you concluded its sole purpose was to monitor you and collect material for the ransom cd your dad would receive. 

You choked back a sob just thinking about dad. He would be beside himself knowing you were abducted. Finding out that his greatest enemy took you would be a low blow—one you hoped he would overcome in order to rescue you. Dick and Jason would steer the detective in the right direction but with every hour that passed, you knew dad would slowly lose his mind. He knew firsthand what Joker was capable of. Your nose throbbed bitterly as a harsh reminder.  

There was nothing stopping the clown from killing you if he simply became bored.  

If only you took dad’s words to heart and abided by his strict security measures. You had snuck away from your detail for a bit of privacy. Now you regretted that dumb decision. You were in Joker’s clutches with no chance of escape, and it was all your fault.  

He chained you to a bedpost like some animal and now that there was light in the room, you could see it in its entirety.  

It was a mini prison right down to the bare necessities. The Joker had every intention of keeping you here, cut off from Gotham City, most likely below ground to disrupt the bat tracker embedded in you since childhood.  

You scratched at your wrist, praying that it miraculously still worked despite the odds. Surely your father, the world’s greatest detective, could locate his daughter with much less. 

It was the only reassurance you had.  

You were getting tired overthinking your predicament. There was nothing you could do at present, so with one last hesitant glance at the video recorder, you tried your best to get comfortable on the mattress and fall asleep. 

That became your routine. Time held no value anymore.  

Was it a few days? Weeks? Longer? How were you to know? You were confined to four concrete walls with no form of contact, save for the ever present blinking red light watching your every move.  

You were forced to use the horrendous facilities they called a bathroom, and meals (which were surprisingly great) were brought to your room like clockwork while you were asleep.  

You began to look forward to the tray that would magically appear on your table. It was the only connection to the outside world you had, and you didn’t take it for granted.  

There was always a special treat on your dinner plate and it never failed at putting a smile on your face regardless of being a prisoner. You tried to keep a grip on your sanity with these small bouts of happiness, but it was obvious what angle Joker was playing at.  

He was using isolation to mentally break you and it was working. 

You thought being locked away all alone would be easy, but the constant silence was unbearable and before long you began to fear when Joker would return.  

Not fearing him specifically, but of what you might do for a sliver of human interaction.  

That visit came unexpectedly. You woke up from a nap sensing a presence inside your room. Sadly, you had embraced having hallucinations during your lengthy stay here, but this one felt a little too real.  

Something didn’t feel right. “H-Hello?”  

The door was still closed with the lights dimmed and there wasn’t a tray of food dropped by, so you glanced near the bathroom area on pure instincts. Nothing was inside the room except that camera that you loathed so much. Its constant flashing light both annoyed and comforted you. At least you weren’t completely alone.  

You sighed to yourself and was about to fall back asleep when you felt something move behind you. Joker’s laugh blended in with your scream as you tried to scramble away.  

You didn’t get far given that Joker dragged you back towards him.  

The last thing you expected after waking up was a man lying in the same bed as you. It was a natural response to freak out, especially since it was The Joker pinning you to the mattress. “YOU SICK F__K! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?”  

You didn’t see the way Joker's eyes glazed over or the way his hands tightened around you before he grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Have I lost my… have I.. losT my mind?”   

You tried to pry his hands off you, but Joker was just too strong as he continued to repeat your question over and over. His manic laughter was deafening in your ear. “Have I lost my mind, Y/n? Or have you?”  

You looked up into pools of jade that glinted mockingly down at you. “What are you...?” 

Joker cut you off by directing your gaze to the camera in the room. “Did ya forget I’ve been watching you this entire time doll? Talking to yourself, your uh... hopeless words of affirmation? Oh Dad will come, he’ll come save me! Hang in there, Y/n! You’re so braaaaaave and strong!”’ 

Joker’s imitation of your voice was cringeworthy as he repeated your own words out loud. He mocked your defiant spirit and hopes of escape as if it was a joke. Strangely enough, Joker’s tone softened, and he sounded sincere with his next angle of attack.  

“You just don’t get iT. Daddy’s not coming Y/n. No one knows you’re missing, and nooo one cares either. It’s been a month now doll. If Daddy Bats really cared about his precious daughter, he would’ve rescued you by now don’tcha think?” 

Joker was just messing with you. This was another tactic of his to break you down. He was a master of manipulation and his way with words was just as dangerous as his work with knives. His sole existence was to harm others and yet with your fragile state of mind, a part of you believed him.  

You couldn’t believe that a month had passed with no one trying to find you. Was Joker telling the truth?  

It was too absurd to believe. “N-No....  no dad cares about me. He wouldn't.... he wouldn’t give up..” You whispered. You didn’t know who you were trying to convince here, you or The Joker.  

He must’ve seen the doubt starting to creep in for he pushed you a little further. “Are you sure, Y/n? He’s a uh, busy bat! Fighting crime always comes first, you know that better than anyyyyy one. He’s never had time for you...” Joker smiled, watching you blink back tears.  

He enjoyed every minute of tearing down your defenses one lie at a time.  

He leaned away and bit back a smile when you followed, seeking his contact. You were making this child’s play for him.  

“Bats always sent ya away when you were younger. Never letting you err.. blossom to your fullest. He hid you away because you were a failure to him. A mistake. He never cared about you! But guess whaT?”  

Joker waited until you looked up into his grassy green eyes. Were they always so expressive or was it your imagination that made them sparkle? It was the first source of human contact you had in who knows how long. You felt special to have The Joker staring at you the way he was.  

The air in the room was filled with static energy as you waited for Joker’s next words. You craved validation, acceptance, and attention at a time like this. The Joker had starved you for far too long in isolation.  

His hand raised up and softly caressed the side of your face and you missed how his eyes lingered on your lips longer than intended.  

“I care Y/n.” He chuckled seeing you pout, “I mean iT! I’ve been so ah.. cruel to ya. I should’ve treated you better. You want me to treat ya better doll?” 

Joker leaned forward and kissed both of your cheeks. The contact made you jump and blink up at him in shock. If he couldn’t hear your heart beating wildly, then he was deaf.  

You soaked up his form of human contact like a sponge. How long had you been wasting away in this room?  

Was it really a month like Joker had said? Right as Joker was leaning down to kiss you properly, you had a moment of clarity.  

Who was to blame for you being trapped in here? Why were you here in the first place? The answer was right in front of you, buttering you up with sweet lies and fake affection. Joker was playing you like a fiddle, and you were weak enough to fall for it.  

Not anymore.  

The Joker was the enemy. He was full of lies. Dad would never abandon you so why were so inclined to believe this green haired clown? No amount of isolation, no form of torture, could break you to believe such. You couldn’t give up so easily. You were a Wayne. You were born a fighter.  

Joker’s scarred lips ghosted against yours as you shoved him away. “You are nothing but a liar.”  

You enjoyed his brief moment of shock before his eyes cooled into the hard emeralds that they were. 

And just like that the act was over. One second you were in the comfort of Joker’s arms, the next you were tossed aside like trash and his true colors were revealed.  

He towered over you like a titan as you tried to back away but there was simply nowhere to go. You were at Joker’s mercy, and he spared you none. Each kick to your body made you cry out for Joker to stop but he didn’t listen, rather he laughed and kicked harder.  

You grabbed his ankle and begged him to stop but he jerked free and stomped on your wrist in retaliation. The audible crack was background noise to your earsplitting scream— yet it was all music to Joker’s ears.  

He enjoyed the pain of others and yours was icing on the cake.  

You sounded so pretty, so helpless and filled with anguish. He wanted to hear more. He was obsessed. How far could he push you until you gave under pressure? 

Two knocks on the door stole Joker’s attention and his eyes watched as another person entered the room. Joker knew who it was. Anyone else wouldn’t dare enter while he had his fun.  

Frost took one look at you sobbing on the floor before he focused his attention back on his boss. “We got trouble.”  

Joker rolled his eyes at Frost for interrupting his fun although it was probably for the best. He didn’t want to break you just yet. Slow and steady won the race and he had all he time in the world to do so.  

He might’ve went overboard today judging by how you visibly flinched when he moved in your direction, but he knew you’d bounce back defiant as ever. You had to.   

“You’ll have to uhh, excuse me Y/n. It seems.. I’m needed elsewhere. Don’t. You. Move.” He patted your head and laughed all the way out the door.  

The heavy sound of it closing did little to silence your tears.  

The pain was nothing. You were more upset with yourself for not being stronger. Joker was destroying your fighting spirit in record time and you were powerless to stop him.  

The bruises never faded, and it made sleeping even more difficult on your worn mattress.  

Sure, Joker was considerate enough to cast your broken wrist, but it was a small gesture compared to the verbal and added physical abuse he bestowed upon you daily.  

You became Joker’s personal punching bag and there was no end in sight to your suffering.  

Each time the door opened, you were forced to endure Joker’s twisted mind games or his heavy hand. It didn’t matter that you were a woman, in his eyes you deserved every ounce of pain that he inflicted. And when he finally left you bleeding and holding back tears, your own thoughts tortured you some more. 

Did father really abandon you? How was the world’s greatest detective, renowned for his state-of-the-art technology and gadgets, unable to locate his only daughter?  

The days blended together and all the hope you originally had of being rescued, diminished.  

The Joker enjoyed his daily visits with you but he could tell that it wasn’t enough. Your body was obviously battered yet your mind remained intact.  

You still possessed a thread of hope that made you defiant to the end. You spat in Joker's face whenever he was in range, and you rolled your eyes at his half-hearted jokes about killing you.  

“Then do it.” Your snide remarks often led to more beatings that did little to fulfill Joker’s goal.  

Nothing seemed to be working to ultimately break you, so he decided to try a different angle. 

You woke up to the smell of food in the air. Your stomach growled in want, but the reset of your body hurt too much to move. You debated skipping eating all together in favor of rest however that choice was made for you.  

“Sit up.” 

His voice. The root of all of your problems. You didn’t have the strength to be bothered with him today.  

Joker waited for you to move yet when you remained lying down, he became agitated. “I won’T re-peat myself doll.” 

Your voice cracked with your response. “I can’t. It hurts.” You just wanted to be left alone, to hurt in peace but Joker controlled everything here. As if you had a choice to begin with. 

“Lemme help you.” 

Just hearing the offer gave you the strength to flip over to face him. Surely he was joking. He wanted to help you?! After all he did? Screw the consequences, you had to speak your mind. 

“Help me? You want to help me? Okay then. Go away! Far… far away and leave me alone! Or even better! Let me go!  What’s the point of keeping me here? What do you want from me?!”  

During your speech you began to cry and Joker (for the first time in his life) felt guilty. Your timeless beauty was marred by cuts and bruises that he caused, and he couldn’t justify his actions for creating them.  

Somewhere along the way Joker lost focus of the mission.  

It was all a game— to get at Batman but along the way Joker saw how strong you truly were. Anything he tossed your way, you deflected it with ease. You never faltered, never lost hope. Even now as you lay weak and hungry, your eyes set him ablaze.  

You had won, he just didn’t know at what.  

Joker didn’t know what else to do with this failed experiment of his. One thing was certain, he wasn’t letting you go. There was something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on.  

Your rant fizzled off as you stared at Joker.  

There was an odd gleam in his eyes that you were wary of. He looked lost in thought and when he snapped to, you were shocked to see a genuine smile appear on his lips.  

You feared what his thoughts could lead to.  

To mask your fear, you rolled your eyes at his lack of an answer and reached for your dinner tray. Your groan of pain made Joker wince. Were you really in that much pain?  

Without thinking, he smacked your hand away and stabbed a portion of food with the provided fork. The two of you stared at each other in silence waiting for the other to make a move.  

“I can feed myself.” You grumbled.  

Joker gave you an, ‘are you sure about that’ look and tapped the fork to your lips.  

Just thinking about moving used up too much energy and your muscles begged for you to take him up on the offer. The Joker, Gotham City’s notorious criminal, wanted to feed you dinner; who were you to deny him?  

You begrudgingly opened your mouth while looking away from his smug green eyes.  

The act was so demoralizing, but you kept your cool while chewing in silence and opening your mouth for the next morsel.  

Just to be cheeky, you closed your lips around the fork and refused to let go. Joker didn’t think it was funny but he entertained your bratty behavior nonetheless. He considered stabbing your tongue—but thought against it. There was no need to be violent.  

He was trying a different angle to this whole hostage situation he created. Your defenses were down tonight and he would be a fool not to take advantage of them.  

A quick glance to his right confirmed that the video camera was still recording. Perhaps it was time to send a message to daddy dearest and make some progress.  

You were under the impression that Joker was taking pity on you with his nice guy act. He was patient, feeding you bites of food and not shoving it down your throat like he’d done in the past when you tried starving yourself.  

He was being.. (dare you say it) nice. You should’ve known it was too good to be true.  

He finished feeding you and you thought he was moving onto the slice of cake that was on the tray. You had been eyeing it since Joker uncovered it and you licked your lips thinking about the delectable treat.  

It would have to wait. There was an ominous shift in the air that completely blindsided you.  

Joker didn’t know what came over him. He didn’t have any plans when he entered your room tonight. It was supposed to be a simple food drop—nothing more, but the moment his eyes landed on you curled up on the mattress resting so beautifully, what left of his demented mind, checked out early.  

This past month and a half was filled with harsh lessons and far too many close calls. Batman and his ban of birds did everything in their power to find you and they almost succeeded once or twice. 

Thankfully Joker was smart enough to place you inside a shipping container so you could always be mobile and out of reach. You hardly noticed the frequent moves since he coordinated them during your sleeping hours. It also ensured your meals were always hot and fresh since they could just travel to wherever Joker deemed fit to your standards.  

Everything was planned down to the smallest detail, everything except developing feelings for you.  

Now that was out of Joker’s control.  

Underneath the clown façade, Joker was still a man and you were absolutely stunning with your aristocratic beauty and educated mind.  

Your fierce personality drew him in despite you being a means to an end. You were supposed to be a form of entertainment, a toy until Joker got bored and let Batman have his daughter back but over time, Joker became attached to you in an unhealthy way. 

You were Joker’s property, his special secret hidden from the world to do with as he so pleased.  

He stopped hitting you and allowed you time to heal due to some unknown form of guilt. More and more tasty desserts were included with your meals to make up for his abusive behavior, and unbeknownst to you, Joker watched you sleep every night.  

There was something soothing watching you blissfully unaware of the monster in your bed. He could slit your throat in your sleep but he didn’t. No, that would be a waste.  

Joker found it better to sleep beside you and hold you close. He knew you would freak out if you knew all the liberties that he took while you were asleep.  

From tracing your major arteries with a knife to leaving lipstick marks all over your skin—his feelings for you were disturbing and perfectly justified in his opinion.  

Joker didn’t want the traditional lovey dovey crap most couples shared because he wasn’t normal. He wanted to own, to control, to destroy you completely and then protect the broken pieces that remained. 

There was no concept of love in Joker’s mind and there never would be. Seeing you so docile as he fed you was the breaking point. He got a taste of your submissive side and craved more.  

Why couldn’t you just give in and break already? You brought this upon yourself. You forced Joker to do this. 

He blocked out the sound of your cries and wrestled your arms down to onto the mattress. His only goal was to get you naked and when you began to struggle more, he took matters into his own hands. 

Joker grabbed the army knife from his pocket and sliced your clothes off. One motion caught your skin and you howled as the sharp metal tore it open. Joker saw red bubble to the surface and dove down to lick you clean.  

He didn’t like hearing your voice filled with pain. It distracted him from getting hard and after staring you in the eye, you quickly got the message. Keep quiet or else.  

You tried not to make a sound louder than your whimpers. You didn’t want to provoke Joker’s wrath.  

“Much better. So pretty.” Joker hummed to himself when you were laid bare beneath him although he frowned seeing tears staining your cheeks. “Shhhhhh, hey hey. Look at me... Behave and it won’t hurT.”  

He watched your lip wobble as you remained quiet. Your wrists were being held down by Joker’s hand, leaving you powerless to squirm away and he loved the power scale tipping in his favor. Good. You would always be beneath him.  

He struggled a bit to unzip his fly but managed to get his cock out without letting you go. A shame you were being bratty and didn’t prepare yourself for this. He really had to do everything around here.  

Joker spat on his hand and worked it up and down his cock, groaning to himself at the feeling. His eyes roamed over his doll and admired your beauty mid stoke. You had curves in all the right places that begged to be fondled. He wanted to touch them, but if he let go of your hands, you would act out.  

He could see the fire burning in your eyes. If he gave you an inch, you’d take a mile.  

Yet it was criminal not to mark you up the way he wanted.  

Joker sighed as he lined himself up with your pussy. You panicked and tried moving away from his tip tapping your opening with heavy slaps to no avail.  

“Are ya gonna behave doll?” 

He shifted his weight and applied more pressure on your healing broken wrist when you continued to rebel. The searing pain made you bite your lip and cease struggling altogether.  

“Now. Are you gonna be a errr.. good doll for me n’ stay realllllllly still?” Joker sang.  

Your lip curled back, ready to cuss him out, instead a loud scream took escaped your lips as Joker began to force his way inside your dry entrance.  

It burned. It ached. He was tearing you apart and you shook your head in agony as it continued without end. You didn’t think about the consequences, you bucked your hips away from the unwanted invasion.  

You knew you were in trouble the moment Joker said your name in warning. 

“What. Did. I just say doll? Dumb b___h.” 

Joker let go of your wrists to hold your hips instead. Once he found purchase, he began thrusting in and out of your pussy. His pleasure was your torment. Your silent tears spurred him on and he swatted your hands away that tried to push him off.  

Nothing would stop him after he got a taste of you. He was an idiot for not taking you sooner. 

“Haha, you’re grippin’ me soooooo tight doll. Ease up for me!” Joker groaned louder to drown out your pathetic pleas. He would not slow down; you were too perfect to stop now.  

He noticed the camera in the corner and got an idea. “Are ya enjoying yourself, doll? Why don’tcha give the ah.. a-audience a good show? Go on. Tell him how you feel.”   

You forgot all about the recorder in the room! Your sharp gasp was music to his ears. You tried to turn away, but Joker would have none of that. He grabbed your jaw and forcibly turned your face towards the lens. Your tears were a paid actor for his production.  

“Ya see that Bats? ThaT, oh f__k... t-that is the face of your failure. She’s all mine and I’m gonna take ahaha.. verrry good care of her. All mine.. d__n it..” Joker choked back a moan and licked the tears from your face as he sped up his thrusts. If he kept this up, he would cum before the fun really started. Although he shouldn’t have to be the only one getting off.  

With a smug grin, he snaked a hand down to rub messy circles on your clit.  

The response was instantaneous. You threw your head back with a mewl on your tongue. He felt the result of his adventurous touch the same time you let out an unexpected moan. “Oh? Ya like that doll?” He mocked.  

He laughed at you trying to deny deny deny but your body was speaking on your behalf.  

You tightened around him and he felt the slick begin to coat his cock. He arched an eyebrow at the sudden turn of events. You really were enjoying this. He wondered... 

He stroked your clit faster and was rewarded by another sweet moan gracing his ears. His doll made the prettiest sounds under distress. He could see the confusion dancing across your features.  

“Ohhhhhh Bats! You have a naughty.. naughty girl! Enjoying my touch after begging me to stop just minutes ago? Ah.. mmm, it's okay doll! M-Moan louder. Enjoy ittt, I know I am. Mm, you feel better the uh wetter you become.” 

Joker stopped mid thrust when you clenched down unexpectedly on him. Were you trying to crush him to death?  

He wondered if you could feel him throbbing in your pussy. Your tiny fists were beating on his clothed chest but there was no point in pretending.  

You were enjoying yourself and if he was correct to assume, you were getting close. You just needed a little push and Joker had just the thing.  

“I knew you were secretly a whore. Only dirty sluts get off on being used like a toy. Hehe. It's a-always the quiet ones f__k!” Joker chuckled to himself followed by a shuddering groan. You were very close. He had to act fast.  

Without warning he bit down hard on your shoulder. You moaned out before covering your mouth with your hand. It was too late; Joker already knew what kind of woman you were. He bit harder and rejoiced as blood bubbled up to the surface to coat his lips. Finally, he was marking you up the way you deserved.  

He sped up his thrusts, laughing at the sloppy sound of wet skin on skin in the room. His cock happily slid in and out of your pussy now that you were horny.  

You were shaking your head in denial even as your legs shivered on Joker’s shoulders. He licked the fresh bite mark clean before whispering in your ear.  

“Let go Y/n. Shatter into a thousand tiny lit-tle pieces— and when you snap them back together, I'll be righT here to ruin you all over again. And again. And again. I will always break you just the way you need. The way you deserve. So go on. Do itttt. B-Break for me.... For us.”  

Joker thought you were beautiful before, seeing you admit defeat and cum was a vision from heaven.  

Your cheeks darkened in color as your lips parted like the sea to allow carnal bliss to fall from its depths. You twitched uncontrollably in Joker’s hold, and he was more than happy to pull you in close as you fell apart on his cock.  

You rode the wave of pleasure and swept Joker along with the force. He was caught off guard by your tightening cunt and came with your name a whisper on his lips.  

No drug could ever compare to the high you gave him.  

He saw new sounds and heard colors that he couldn’t name. His breath came in short pants as he came down. Words failed him, his head was still too foggy to process the world around him.  

What could one say after an orgasm that intense? He just came inside your quivering hole, and he already wanted to do it again.   

He couldn’t find the energy to even think coherently! All he could do was flop down next to you and sort out his senses in the right categories.  

His paint-stained hands wandered aimlessly and began playing with the ends of your hair, much to your horror. While Joker floated in post-coital bliss, you fell back to your harsh reality.  

You let this monster have sex with you and even worse, you enjoyed it.  

You felt dirty, cheap, a literal failure. You allowed The Joker to touch you, to make you feel good. You came from his ministrations. God, you could feel him softening inside your used pussy. Your inner thighs felt sticky, and you shuddered realizing that The Joker came inside you. The room began to spin as you spiraled into a panic attack.  

What would dad think when he found out? What if you became pregnant with this monster’s child. You felt sick to your stomach and feeling Joker playing with your hair, as if nothing was wrong, tipped you over the edge.  

“Don’t touch me!” You wailed. Your shout made Joker come to and instinctively hold you closer to his chest. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on inside your head, but you didn’t have to be so loud. 

“Doll... I ahh uh, already touched ya.” He rubbed up and down your back despite you flinching from his touch.  

You made eye contact with the video recorder in the corner and Joker curiously followed your gaze. Oh. That would explain your sour mood. You were smart and deduced what he would do with the footage. “Listen Y/n..” 

A knock at the door interrupted Joker’s sentence. He didn’t move an inch as he granted whomever on the other side entry.  

You tried maintaining your modesty but it was a useless effort. You were bare as the day you were born in Joker’s arms and he wasn’t letting you go. 

Joker’s henchman walked in and struck a conversation with the clown, pretended as if you didn’t exist. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die you were so embarrassed.  

You didn’t notice what was going on until Joker snapped his fingers in your face. “Huh?” 

Joker rolled his eyes at your lack of awareness. He sat up straight and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I said..... take a bath while I’m gone. I uh.. took your chain off for ya.”  

He pointed at your bare ankle that was in fact free of the heavy metal. You twisted your leg, feeling the freedom granted to you.  

You wanted to thank Joker but he was already walking out the door with his henchman. And just like that, you were alone. The silence was unbearable as the full reality hit you full force.  

You didn’t fight back. Why did you give in so easily? Why did you miss the warmth of Joker body against yours? Just what was wrong with you for craving his touch?  

Screw taking a bath, you ran straight towards the toilet to empty your stomach.  

Sleep did not come to you when your mind was abuzz with doubt. 

You paced the room while biting your nails and reliving your time spent with Joker over and over. You were beyond restless thinking about your uncertain future. What would Joker do now that he got what he wanted? 

Would you be killed off and discarded like trash? Would your family be given the chance to mourn your passing? Would they even know what became of you? There were too many questions and not enough answers. One thing was for certain, you refused to sit around and wait for your fate.  

For some unknown reason Joker removed your chain. It was a sliver of hope that you planned on exploiting.  

The heavy metal door loomed in the distance. Before it served as a reminder of how trapped you were; now it was a shining beacon of hope. Either coincidental or simply a miracle, Joker also took the elusive camera with him. Nothing was stopping you from running, and nothing was holding you back.  

Joker had slashed your clothes to ribbons but the woolen blanket on the mattress was still intact for you to wrap around your body.  

It left you feeling far too exposed, but you had no other option available. Once covered, you padded over to the door and turned the handle to freedom. 

The hallway was dark and ominous before you.  

You weren’t sure if you wanted to venture into the unknown. You looked at the barren cell you were forced to inhabit and back into the dark void, weighing the odds.  

You took the first step, then another, and another until you were walking with haste—desperately searching for an exit.  

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as you stumbled across a door with light poking out underneath the frame. It was the only lead you had so far towards an exit. You slowly pushed it open and regretted it instantly.  

The room full of men all stopped their various conversations to stare you caught like a deer in headlights in the doorway. You quite literally walked into a den of wolves.  

“Well well. Look what we have here!” One guy catcalled.  

They all leered at your body poorly wrapped up in a blanket. It was obvious your purpose here at their hideout. Free entertainment.  

The door slammed shut behind you, trapping you again, only this time in far more hostile conditions. You berated yourself for leaving the safety of your cell if this was the cost. You could barely defend yourself against Joker. There were too many men here to even consider escaping.  

You backtracked right into a broad chest and the male laughed at you already cowering in fear.  

He roughly pulled your hair while another pair of hands ripped your blanket away to knead your breasts. Whistles and laughter broke out in the room at the sight. “The Boss been keepin’ this from us!? Look! She’s freshly used too!”  

You screamed as fingers stabbed their way into your cunt and explored inside. Their hands weren't like Jokers. There was no pleasure to be gained here and unlike before, your body did not warm up to the stimuli.  

You were in pain as they groped and fondled your body and despite Joker being the origin to all your problems, you cried out his name to save you. 

Someone yanked your hair again before shattering all your hopes with a handful of words. “Ya think the boss is gonna help you? You are nuthin’ to him! Just a warm hole for him to use. And now it's our turn.” 

You closed your eyes to block out the pain. The last of your fighting spirit faded away as a lone tear rolled down your cheek. 

Frost and Joker were waking back towards your room when they heard the loud commotion coming from the common room.  

It was well in the night and nothing of note should’ve excited the men to be so rowdy. Most of them should’ve been on patrols in the first place.  

Frost merely shrugged his shoulders and followed his Boss.  

Curiosity killed the cat, but Joker was not so simple minded. He knew something was wrong. He wasn't religious by any means, but he prayed that this didn’t involve you.  

He barged into the common room ready to scold his men when his worst fears came to light.  

Joker didn’t think, he simply acted until nothing else stood in his way to get to you. Frost could handle the aftermath of his rage—you were the only constant in Joker’s mind the second he opened the door and saw you in distress.  

He left you just a few hours prior, safe and accounted for in your room. He left to prepare better accommodations to reflect your newfound status in his life. Joker took great care of his possessions, and you deserved better than being tucked away in some dingy shipping container. You didn’t belong on the floor like a cheap whore. No, you were worthy to be displayed, dressed up like the doll Joker wanted you to be. 

 Never did he imagine he would return to this. 

He fought his way to your side and fell to his knees by your side. His green eyes were wide with an unknown emotion as they took in your battered form.  

He didn’t want to touch and accidentally hurt you any further yet something about the thousand-yard stare in your eyes told him you were no longer here to feel anything at all. Joker knew how ruthless his men were, but this was barbaric.  

He didn’t regret killing them after what they done. His only remorse was not making them suffer more before death.  

Joker gathered you up in his arms and tried shaking you back into focus. “Y/n? Y/n, c'mon doll! Look at me.. s-say something!?” He pleaded.  

You mumbled something inaudible and curled up into a ball.  

Rage. Guilt and surprisingly shame. Joker’s mind was wild with this flood of new emotions.  

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a single cell of compassion in his body, yet the sight of his newest toy utterly broken (and not of his own doing) had him feeling remorseful.  

“I... I don’T.. I...” Joker gathered his thoughts with a deep inhale.  

Frost watched the intimate scene while kicking over a body. It was a bloody mess in here; however, that had to wait.  

Frost could tell his Boss needed some assistance. “I’ll run a bath.” Frost said offhandedly.  

It would point Joker in the right direction at least rather than rocking you back and forth on the floor to no avail. The comment snapped Joker out of his musing.  

Emerald eyes roamed over your sleeping form. “Bath. Y-Yeah uh she needs a uh.. bath.” 

He nodded to himself and slowly rose to his feet to carry you out of the common room. He passed up your old room in favor of his own that had more privacy. Not like it would matter. You had yet to speak.  

This was not the outcome Joker had planned. Even after he washed you clean and tucked you into bed— he sat by your side contemplating his next move.  

You were no longer the shiny doll he wanted on his shelf. His own men had ruined you. They took away your feisty demeanor and all conscience thought from you that made this game fun.  

Joker tried to get you to speak, to react to anything, but you remained stagnant, blinking owlishly at the wall until sleep finally took you.  Nothing of the defiant Y/n that Joker had grown to like remained.  

You left him with no other alternative. He got what he wanted, and it was time to move on.  

In three more days, it would mark your two-month long disappearance. Bruce would be a liar if he said he didn’t count the days if not the minutes that you were gone.  

He blamed himself for your capture and the boys tried their hardest to steer him in the right direction and not spiral into depression. Bruce loved all his children, but you were his by blood. You held a special place in Bruce’s heart and as such, he spent every waking second trying to find you. 

No expenses were spared, and any lead (no matter how small) were investigated. Joker was smart, but Bruce was smarter. He would find you.  

Dick and Tim investigated a possible lead and discovered where you were originally being held. You still had a sweet tooth and your favorite bakery recognized your custom order being placed and tipped off Wayne Enterprises about the person who picked it up. 

Unfortunately, The Joker moved you before Batman could arrive at the location but now they knew you were still alive. It strengthened their hopes in finding you safe and sound.  

Numerous rescue attempts were thwarted in the following weeks, but they never gave up. There would be another lead, they would have another chance to save you.  

All hope was not lost. 

Their patience was rewarded the day the Batcomputer picked up a signal on your tracker. It was finally online for the first time in months. Everyone scrambled to assemble at the pinned location. Bruce was ready for a fight and mentally prepared himself to do anything necessary to get you back.  

None of the boys were prepared to arrive at the back of your office building. It seemed to be a mistake, it had to be. Was Joker sending them on a wild goose chase? Bruce scanned the area but there was only one faint heat signature detected. His nerves were on edge, already assuming the worst.  

Bruce’s heart stopped beating when he saw a body lying in the delivery drop-off/ loading area. He didn’t wait for the others to secure the area. His father instincts were in overdrive as he rushed to your side, calling out your name.  

You were unresponsive with only a tattered blanket covering your shivering form. That’s when Bruce saw the bruises painting your body and the cast still present on your wrist. He didn’t want to believe that this battered woman was his spit-fire daughter.  

You were a shell of your former self when Bruce finally roused you awake. The fire that once blazed intently within your e/c eyes was gone and it was evident what The Joker did to you.  

“Bruce, look.” Dick said as he picked up something near your feet.  

Scattered around your body was a deck of playing cards. On the joker card a note was written in red.  

You can have her back Bats; I don’t like broken dolls. 

[regregregulusblack]

My official intro post . ⋆✮ ˚ . ✩°｡⋆｡

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘. My name is Regulus Black, and no, you are NOT allowed to call me Reg or Reggie.

A photo my friend Evan took of me without my permission. I will never forgive you, @barbie-wants-to-be-me-fr !!!

I am intersex and I go by he/they pronouns. I don’t like to label myself, but at least I am not straight. I am single and not looking for anyone at all at the moment. I am also autistic and have ADHD. NOT the wild sort. The fucking-tired-bitch-stfu-sort.

My interests:

• Art

• Quidditch (I’m a seeker)

• Poetry (both reading and writing)

• Reading books

• Defence of the Dark Arts

• Analysing every single lyric in every single Taylor Swift song and crying about it

• Makeup

On this blog I will be posting quotes, poetry, art, photographs and selfies and just silly little things that I feel like sharing. If I see any posts about me, I will read them and BEWARE, I will be critical. So you might see me around :) You have been warned.

You will also probably see me having chats with my friends, @remus-lupin-offical is one of them but I’m still waiting for my other idiot friends to finish making their bloody accounts. I will add them here as soon as I can! Update: Took as them long enough, but now they’re also on Tumblr! People you will see me interacting with:

• @sirius-thesstar (Ew)

• @remus-lupin-offical (Why’d you choose my idiot brother as your boyfriend? You’re better than this.)

• @the-real-marls-mckinnon

• @xxcassiexx Dorcas Meadows, a Slytherin I have deep respect for. Say hi to Dorcas!

• @barty-not-barry (My batshit crazy friend)

• @pandora-notyetalovegood (Fellow Slytherin, say hi!)

• @lily-evans-for-ya (In a world of annoying people you are a nice person. Take it as a compliment or don’t. It’s up to you.)

• @captainjamespotter (Annoying Gryffindor)

• @stolemyheelsfromlegolas (DO NOT CALL ME REGIANO FFS) (MARY YOU HEAR ME?!)

• @barbie-wants-to-be-me-fr (Another lovely Slytherin asshole, he and Barty should just shut up and kiss by the way)

• @ur-local-peter-pettigrew (Gryffindor)

• @itty-bitty-bella (Cousin)

• @therealcissyblack (Cousin who loves me :))

• @andro-black (Cousin AS WELL)

• @the-best-slytherin (Luna, a fellow Slytherin)

• @yourfavouritehufflepuffgirl (Ew Hufflepuffs) (Ooc: I love Hufflepuffs)

You will see me arguing with my brother, @sirius-thesstar. Like, a lot. Don’t mind Sirius, he’s an idiot. If we’re arguing in French, do NOT translate if you’re a scaredy cat…

Do not interact if:

• You’re Sirius and you’re mad at me

• You’re a Gryffindor (yeah that goes for you too Sirius) (Slytherin is the best Hogwarts house)

• You’re transphobic

• You’re homophobic

• You don’t like me for some other reason

• You’re a Taylor Swift hater

I love Taylor. Don’t you ever disrespect her. Her new album only further proves that she’s a true poet. Even @sirius-thesstar agrees with me on that.

Other things I love are:

• Cats (I dream of having two black cats and naming them Phoebe and Ruby)

• The sea (It’s so calming to watch, but I HATE swimming. It’s too cold. And wet. Yuck.)

• The rain

• Conan Gray (No one can take his album “Superache” from me. Don’t ever try or I’ll bite you.)

Hope I’ll see you around! (Or not. Depending on my mood)

My tags: #regregregulusreg, #thetorturedpoetofthecave, #regussy, #regulussy

Random edit: Ooc: Eh so I’m a minor and I’m a victim of actual physical and mental abuse and I’m still going through stuff, so eh, “Reggie” might be talking jokingly about abusive parents and a tough upbringing on here and stuff like that… just know that that is my fucked up coping mechanism okay, and I don’t mean any harm, and please if you’re joking around with me about abuse don’t take it too far since it might be triggering for me. Thank you.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3658

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains background themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

3. Cream filled Sponge Cakes (with chemicals)

Bucky

They plan out what they’re going to do when they get to the hospital on the car ride over.

“I think it’s best if you wait outside at first,” Bucky says, glancing away from the road for a second to try and gauge Steve’s reaction to this. He looks neutral. “Just because she’s already pissed,” he adds. “And it’ll probably be overwhelming having one person telling her they’re taking custody, let alone two.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “That makes sense.”

Bucky holds his hand out over the center console, waiting for Steve to take it. He does, and Bucky grips his hand tight. “I’ll get the initial stuff out of the way. I’m sure there’s gonna be a ton of paperwork.”

“What if she refuses?” Steve worries. “She can, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah. I don’t have any legal hold on her. Yet. I’ll just have to try and talk sense into her, get her to see that we’re better than the alternative.”

Steve gives his hand a squeeze back. “You can do it.”

Bucky sighs. “I hope so. I really do.” Inside though, he’s already not so sure.

They get to the hospital about forty-five minutes after Bucky’d hung up from the phone call with the police officer. He spots a cruiser parked outside when they approach the emergency room, and it rankles his nerves to think of Mary being forcibly shoved into the back seat of said car.

He goes to the check in desk with Steve and asks for Officer Santiago. “I got a call about an involuntary hold. My submissive,” he says. 

The woman at the desk does a double take at that, looking up and down Bucky where he stands like she’s just realized he’s a different species. “Oh,” she says. “You're one of those?” 

Bucky ignores it, but he can sense Steve tensing up by his side, indignant on his behalf. “Yes,” he says. “I am.” He’s not going to waste time getting on his spiel about mental illness and stigmatization. They’ve got bigger problems right now. “I’m going to need her records,” he says, injecting authority into his tone. “And any paperwork for transfer of custody. The cops brought her in. Name’s Mary.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to look self-assured while he waits, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the woman demands a last name.

It takes her several minutes to gather everything up for Bucky. She hands it all over to him and says, “That’s the paperwork for custody. The attending physician should be able to provide you with her medical workup.” She points to a set of double doors. “You go down that hallway and to the left. Bed number four.”

Bucky nods and thanks her, then turns to Steve.

“I know,” Steve says, putting on a brave smile. “I’ll wait here.”

“Baby.” Bucky steps close, pulling him into his arms. Steve’s physically just a little bigger than him, and Bucky has always liked the novelty of that. He kisses him gently and then rests their foreheads together for a moment, letting Steve feel their connection. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You’re the best thing I could ever hope for, you know that?”

Steve’s smile is more natural, now. “Yeah I know it.” He gives Bucky another kiss and stands back. “Hey, what about this?” He knocks on Bucky’s shoulder—the metal one. “She know about that?”

Bucky realizes that he’s not wearing his glove, and tries to remember if he’d had it on at the café. He frowns. “Oh well. I don’t think that’s going to be her main focus, not after I explain everything to her.”

“Yeah.” Steve gives him a light push. “I Love you. Now on and get the hard part over with. I’ll be here when you need me.” 

Bucky nods. He knows he will. He goes back to the check in desk, one last question on his mind. “Is there a food court or something around here?”

Mary

Mary’s taken a break from saying pissy things to the cop who’s guarding her. She’s been so angry, she’s felt like her skin’s boiling. But now she’s starting to get tired, too. She hadn’t slept last night, just stayed up and gabbed on the phone to that crisis counselor. 

She grits her teeth as she fumes about that, feeling betrayed all over again. That bitch had called the cops on her!

“You can tell me anything you want to. I’m here to listen, remember?”

Liar!

“I hope you know I don’t have insurance,” Mary snaps at the officer. He’s sitting in a chair in her little curtained off area. He regards her coolly, saying nothing, and she jerks her head to indicate the emergency room. “And I’m not paying a single red cent for any of this.” So far, they’ve taken her blood, her pulse, an EKG, and sent in nurses, a resident, and several shrinks. They’d tried to put an IV in her but she’d ripped it out as soon as nobody was looking. “I’m suing the hospital,” she adds. “And you. I’m suing the whole police department.”

“Okay,” Santiago says, annoyingly calm.

Mary growls, rattling her hand where it’s cuffed to the bed rail. “This is unconstitutional!”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing, and then the curtain to their area is being pulled aside. Mary’s eyes go wide when she sees who it is. “You?!”

Bucky smiles politely at her. “Me.” He steps into the curtained room, a little snack bag in his hand. He holds it up to show her, and she sees the Hostess logo. It’s a bag of little … sponge cake pastries. “Best I could do on such short notice. They’re for you, if you behave,” he says, talking to her like a pet being offered a treat.

Mary wrinkles her nose. “Pass. D’you even know all the chemicals they put in those things?”

Bucky shrugs and turns to offer them to officer Santiago, who more than happily accepts. Mary pouts as she watches him rip open the bag and stuff one in his mouth.

“How are you doing, Mary?”

She turns her attention to Bucky and scowls at the way he uses her name like he knows her. “Awful,” she says. She jerks her head at Santiago. “Officer Dickwad over here won’t let me have my phone.”

“Language,” Santiago says dispassionately, through a mouthful of cake. 

“Shut up and eat your fucking donut, Rent’a’cop.”

Bucky

He puts his foot down once she starts flinging curses and insults at the officer. As a paramedic, Steve is always in and out of emergency rooms, often working in coordination with law enforcement to deal with uncooperative patients. So Bucky knows just how much drama and belligerence these guys have to deal with on the regular. 

“Hey,” he says sternly. “Don’t disrespect him. He’s just doing his job.” He’s not mean about it, but it’s verging on what Steve likes to call his “Dom” voice, and Bucky can see how it affects Mary. She freezes up, all of her focus on him. For a few seconds, she even forgets to be angry. Bucky takes the opportunity to step close to the bed. He eyes where she’s cuffed to the rail. “Mary,” he says gently. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you’re angry.”

“You’re damn right I am,” she growls. “They just showed up and threw me in a cop car! Didn’t even give me a choice!”

Bucky reaches out and places his hand atop her cuffed wrist. It’s his metal hand. Her eyes widen when she sees it, but she doesn’t pull away. “I know,” Bucky says. “And I’m sorry it happened that way. But do you understand why people were concerned for your safety?”

Her face tenses up as she tries to hold back some emotion (something tells Bucky it isn’t anger, this time). “They called the cops,” she pouts. “They lied to me.”

“They did,” Bucky agrees, wanting to placate her. “But you were hurting yourself, honey. And you were talking about doing worse, weren’t you?”

She can’t meet his eyes, instead staring at where he’s holding her wrist. “I … I talked about a lot of things,” she mumbles. “It was just talk. I don't even remember half of it. I didn’t … I wasn’t really gonna do anything.”

“Can you show me where you hurt yourself?” Bucky asks, careful to keep his voice gentle. “I want to see how bad it is.”

Mary shivers, shaking her head sadly. Her hair is loose and hanging messy around her face, so Bucky reaches up to tuck it behind her ear. He hears her give a quiet, shaky inhale. “Come on now,” he coaxes. “Let me see.”

For a long moment, it seems like she won’t obey, but then her shoulders sink down and she takes a deep breath and lets it out, whispering a tiny little. “... kay,” as her hands creep down to take hold of the tee shirt she’s wearing. It’s extra large, going all the way to her knees, and it’s all she’s wearing. Bucky doesn’t know if the police brought her in that way, or if it’s something the hospital gave her to put on after being examined, but either way, he schools his expression as she edges the tee shirt up her leg, higher and higher, until it becomes apparent that she is wearing underwear, and she’s bared her hip to him.

Cutting, then.

Bucky looks her over, not as upset by the fresh cuts so much as the old ones. They litter the skin of her upper thigh and hip—some so old they’re scars, some still in various stages of healing. Bucky forces himself not to touch, even though his brain is screaming at him to fix fix fix! There’s nothing here that can be fixed easily—certainly not with a bandaid. Bucky takes a moment to calm himself down before he asks, “How long have you been doing this, honey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispers. She shoves the tee shirt back down and meets his eyes. “Why are you here?”

Moment of truth, Bucky thinks. “The police called me. They got my number from your phone. They wanted to call your Dom to come get you.”

She frowns, looking confused. “But … you’re not—”

“Officer Santiago,” Bucky says quickly, cutting her off. “Could you give us a moment alone please?”

“Sure.” Santiago gets up and takes his bag of cakes with him. “Just a couple’a minutes,” he warns, then steps outside the curtain and pulls it shut. Bucky can see as his shoes walk away.

“You told them you were my Dom?!” Mary hisses.

Bucky looks at her sternly. “No. They assumed I was. You had me in your phone.”

“I … I did?”

Bucky’s mouth quirks. “Yeah, you did.”

“Well that doesn’t mean anything,” she huffs. “I’m not even submissive.”

“I think you know that’s not true,” Bucky says. He reaches up and gathers her hair back in one fist and pulls—gently, just enough to put the barest of pressure on her scalp—forcing her to raise her chin. She visibly reacts to it, softening into his grip, eyes slipping closed and features going slack. “You like that,” Bucky says, making it a statement rather than a question, because it’s obvious she does.

Her eyes open slowly. “S’nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He releases her hair, cupping the back of her neck instead. He grips her firmly in his hand, and this time she nearly moans, lips parting and the sound coming out before she can fully stifle it. Bucky’s mouth curls and he hums. “And that? Is that ‘nothing’ too?”

“Please.” She’s having a hard time maintaining eye contact, which is typical. There’s a little pinch between her eyebrows that’s so sweet and needy, Bucky wants to kiss it. It makes her look like she might cry, and that thrills him too. “Please,” she whispers. “I just wanna go home.”

“You’re not going home, Honey,” he tells her, keeping the grip on her neck steady and petting at her hair with his other hand. She’s going down a little, likely so easily because of the alcohol in her system, because of how deprived she’s been until now. She whines a little at his words and he shushes her. “They won’t let you. You’re either gonna have to let me take you, or else stay here in the hospital, in the psych ward.”

Mary whimpers. “No.”

“Shhh,” he soothes. “I know. I don’t want that for you either, but you have to make the choice. If you want to leave here, then you have to sign the paperwork that gives me custody of you.” He tilts her chin up. “Look at me now, Honey.” She’s sluggish, so it takes a second, but her eyes come up as she obeys. They’re a little glossy, pupils blown wide, and Bucky gives her neck an encouraging squeeze. “Good girl,” he praises.

She practically melts at hearing that. “Please …” she says again. 

Bucky would bet money that she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. He does, though. He knows down to the marrow of his bones what a ‘please’ like that means. “Don’t worry, Doll. I’ll take care of you. I will.” He bends and pecks a kiss to her forehead, then steps away. She makes a weak noise of protest and he shushes her. 

“I’m just gonna go get officer Santiago back. … And my husband, Steve.”

She blinks at the word ‘husband’. “Steve?” she repeats, shoulders shrinking as she pulls into herself. “But—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky promises. “He’s a very nice man. You’ll like him.”

Mary looks unsure. Bucky’s glad she’s down, otherwise he’s fairly certain she’d be arguing by now, maybe even pitching a fit and cursing. Instead, what comes out of her mouth is a hesitant little, “... He’s like you?” 

“No. No he’s not designated. He’s—”

“Normal.” She says it so sadly, sounds so demoralized. Bucky has to fight the urge to correct her, to give her a speech about how, ‘just because they’re designated, it doesn’t make them abnormal’. He bites his tongue. What’s more important right now is that she’s making progress in accepting the reality that she’s almost certainly submissive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Steve’s not like us. But I wanted him to come in here and meet you. Do you think you can do that for me, Sweetie?” The pet names come naturally, are a part of his dynamic as a Dom, and Bucky can tell that she responds favorably to them. “Hm? Answer me, Mary.”

(And of course, the use of her name gets instant attention and obedience.)

“Okay,” she says. “Yes.”

He smiles and gives her a heartfelt, “Good girl,” wanting to show her that he’s pleased, that she’s doing well. “I’m gonna go get him, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Steve

Steve is equal parts excited and nervous to meet the woman Bucky has found, the woman they’re going to be taking care of. … Maybe more, if things work out. 

He holds Bucky’s hand as he’s led back to where the emergency room beds are. Bucky draws back the curtain and Steve sees the cop sitting there, looking bored, … and her.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Hey.”

She’s pretty—which is saying a lot, because that’s Steve’s first thought, despite the state of her. She’s got goo gobs of dark eye makeup that it looks like she put on once she was already drunk, and by now it’s been smeared to kingdom come by tears and her own hands. Her hair sits messy and unbrushed around her shoulders, and her eyes are glazed and tired from a high that’s probably going to wear off soon and leave her looking even more exhausted than she already does. 

“Hey,” Steve says, eyes flicking up and down her body where she’s sitting on the bed. She’s wearing nothing but a big tee shirt, and Steve allows himself one glance down at her shapely legs, then resolutely keeps his eyes trained upwards. She’s a disheveled mess, but even like that, Steve can see how she drew Bucky’s attention, that day in the café.

“Hi,” Mary says.

Steve smiles hopefully. By his side, Bucky squeezes his hand in encouragement, and offers, “Mary, this is Steve, my husband.”

Steve watches her face, curious to know what she thinks of Bucky being married. He’s expecting displeasure maybe, imagining that a submissive would feel jealous or upset, if their prospective Dom was already attached to someone else.

But she seems to stay calm, sitting there and taking Steve in with slow blinks, even looking a little bit shy herself. “... You’re big,” she eventually says. “I thought you’d be smaller than him.”

Steve grins and he hears Bucky’s scoffed, “Size has nothing to do with our dynamic.”

Steve knows he’s got half an inch on Bucky, more muscle mass too, but he’s never felt bigger than his husband. Bucky’s personality, his dominance, is larger than Steve.

Mary’s still staring at him, a thoughtful little pinch between her eyebrows. Steve waits in expectation of a question, but none comes. “What?” he asks. He pulls up the room’s extra plastic chair and sits close to the bed, offering her his hand. He’s surprised when she takes it. Steve stares thoughtfully at his hand as she drags her fingers over his fingers, his palm, still not saying anything. He looks over at Bucky, concerned. “Did they give her drugs?”

Thankfully, Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s down,” he explains.

Oh. Okay. That’d explain her calm affect. Steve had come in here halfway expecting a screaming hellcat. He hadn’t expected this. He turns back to Mary, giving her a friendly look. “Did you have questions you wanted to ask me?”

She bites her lip, clearly working something out in her head. “Bucky said you two have a ‘dynamic’.”

“He did.”

“But he said you’re normal.”

Steve’s lips thin once he figures out what she means. “We’re all normal,” he scolds. “But no, I don’t have ‘Dominant or Submissive Personality Disorder’, if that’s what you mean.” He puts sarcastic quotes around words to clearly convey his distaste for the classification. He wants her to know how ridiculous he finds it.

“Babe,” Bucky warns quietly from behind. “We’re not getting political right now, okay? Just focus on her, on what we have to do.”

“Right, sorry.” He knows that Bucky’s right, so he tries again, telling Mary, “I’m ‘normal’, but Bucky and I still have a very intimate relationship together. We’re husbands. So yeah, we’ve developed our own dynamic. When I’m with him I tend to follow his lead, so to speak.” He smiles and shrugs. “It works for us.”

Mary looks like she’s thinking this new information over. There’s a slowness to her, a dreaminess in her expressions and her reactions.Steve figures it’s a combination of her being down, and not being sober. In fact, he can smell the vodka leaking out of her pores. It’s actually pretty horrible. “So does that make sense?” he prods her gently. “Mary?”

“… Yeah, I think so.” She eyes him up and down, looking back and forth between him and Bucky. “What will you do?” she asks Steve. She blushes a little from asking the question, so he deduces that she’s asking what he’ll do with her; what their dynamic together will be, outside of her and Bucky.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, because that’s all he knows for sure, and he wants her to feel safe. Steve knows that it’s absolutely crucial for this woman to feel safe right now, if they’re going to take her home with them. “Bucky and I both will.” He holds her hand—the one that isn’t cuffed to the bed—enveloping it between his. “It’ll be much better than staying here,” he promises. “You’ll be so safe. And much happier.”

Mary’s body draws in, seems to actually get smaller as she pulls back into herself. “I’m never happy,” she says mournfully. It hurts Steve’s heart to see it, so he knows it must be killing Bucky, given his overly protective instincts. Steve glances over at him. “Babe?”

Bucky has a clipboard full of papers, which Steve knows must be the custody orders. “Here, Honey,” he tells Mary, handing her the clipboard and the pen. “This is what you have to sign to be able to come home with us.”

It kind of bothers Steve that Bucky doesn’t encourage her to read through the documents more thoroughly, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows they have only the best intentions for her. She’ll be safe with them. He watches as she signs her signature in the places Bucky points out, trying to scan some of the fine print as she goes. Anxiety is written across her face and she starts to bite at the chapped skin on her bottom lip. “But, um … what if I’m not what you think?” she worried, not looking at either of them. 

Bucky pets her hair and reassures her. “You are, sweetheart. Trust me. And we’re gonna take you to a therapist anyway, to get an official diagnosis.”

Normally Steve would be scoffing at the word “diagnosis,” but he’s too busy watching the two of them together. There’s a strange feeling in his gut, at seeing his husband touch Mary like that, at hearing him call her pet names and calmly take control of her. Steve’s never seen Bucky dom another person before, and he … he kind of doesn’t hate it. In fact, it’s actually making him feel all the more attracted to Bucky, and curious about Mary. Like he wants to help, wants to get to know her.

She signs the rest of the documents without making a fuss, so Steve figures he’ll be getting that chance.

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Square G5: Dom!Bucky Barnes

[takami-takami]

TRIGGER WARNING: Hawks x reader. Minors DNI. Trauma. Pedophilia/incest. Comfort/support for that. Do not add any harmful comments or tags. Subject matter is not for everyone, so please ONLY read if this will not trigger you, as I will be making no attempt to censor this or any explicitness.

"Is there something wrong with me," you ask.

Those words are the last to leave your lips. Putting your secrets to words feels as if you've allowed the fluid that filled the cavity of your chest to spill; that fluid being a sacrilegious amalgamation of sorts, an unholy blend of suicidal dread and utterly childlike rage.

Keigo catches them. He picks them up like he does your hands in the cradle of his palms. 

You could count the creases in those palms just as easily as you could Keigo's smile lines, or the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when you make him laugh from his belly. You could sketch Keigo's fingerprints from memory, you're positively sure.

"There's something wrong with what happened to you," Keigo answers. "But no. There's nothing wrong with you."

For once, you feel no obligation to correct him. His emphasis on happened is deliberate, and you allow it. After years of gentle coaxing, from the first time he nearly cried the word baby the first time you told him, you feel no need to compare what didn't happen to what did. You feel no desire to hide in shame of what could have been worse. You feel no obligation to inscribe a caveat into your own experience.

You feel no performance in your childhood death.

If anyone understands the intricacies and complexities that line a traumatic past, if there's anyone you can trust, it's him. His voice crackles with empathy like candlelight in the dim of your shared bedroom. 

Try as you might to find it, there is no pity in his words. They are neither rehearsed nor forced. 

Keigo's words are perfect, and they are for you.

"Is this okay," he further asks before he lifts your hand to his cheeks; and it cracks your shell down its center. You nod and you mean it.

Simple, unfamiliar words; finally, finally, finally uttered by someone who should be saying them to you. A person unrelated to you by blood, a man of the appropriate age promises to crawl inside your body and it's so innocent and sweet. His words taste of sugarcane and smell like the pinkest sakura petals, dancing as they fall like stars and landing with a comparable delicateness.

Keigo's words remind you of the morning he tried cooking you pancake stacks with whipped cream and strawberries. They remind you of how the edges of the batter crisped golden brown with char because he was too distracted by the way you laughed at his quips that came to his throat easily.

From your chest, a giggle— another word you can say now, with him. 

Giggle. Neighborhood. One day, when you and Keigo raise your own little ones and watch them tussle and toddle trying to carry the weight of their untainted wings, you're sure you will be able to say the word family again.

For now, his chaste kiss to your bruised yet healing knuckles is enough.

[theokusgallery]

#if you had any hope nick could ever be redeemable here's your sign that that's just not gonna happen

Bold of you to assume we don't want to make him worse

LMAO that's the spirit

[im-not-samantha-im-samanta]

Request by: @jellibean2018

Hello, Jelli! About two months ago you sent in a request, however my tumbl did me dirty, and I ended up with your ask, and the entire fic deleted! (Though, much to my relief, I found screenshots of the fic in a chat with my friend who was reviewing it. Thank god).

So, I have to tag you, and remind you what you wanted.

From what I remember, you wanted a fic with a female sinner Reader who was once a victim of Alastor's, and the two ending up meeting again in hell. You also wanted an unsettling vibe with Alastor reveling in the memory of killing Reader.

I also want to add that I apologize for how long you had to wait for this fic to be done. I haven't been doing well with fics lately, so this was a struggle. And my mental health started going shit too which is why I stopped posting for so long...

Anyways, I really started to struggle with writing fics, so I ended up experimenting with this one - it's kind of written with huge metaphor kind of style? Hope that's okay with you...

Anyways, hope you'll enjoy reading this at least a little, and I once again apologize.

_

🎙️// The sweet history we share... //🎙️

{Alastor x female!Reader}

___________________________________________

Type: Fanfic

Settings: Not specified

Genre: Unsettling? Can't tell if it actually gives that vibe though,

!TRIGGER WARNING!: Mentions of cannibalism, murder, violence, blood, saliva, dead bodies, Alastor revels in the memory of killing Reader, possible yandere vibes? Alastor sees Reader as nothing but a meal, but he puts her on a pedestal - that's probably some kind of fucked up attachment that surely has a name? I'd say the vibe is quite unsettling, but I can't say that for sure, Angel indirectly suggests the use of drugs and hints at sex related activities (but it's just a single line), and that's probably all?

Sidenote: Reader is written as a female just as requested,

Sidenote: I have no idea if I wrote Alastor well... but it feels like I really made him ooc as fuck and ruined the whole request,

Sidenote: Rereading this I think everyone is ooc as fuck even if they have minimum dialogue,

_

That should be all,

Hope you'll enjoy,

___________________________________________

Ah, nostalgia. Ah that sweet nostalgia. And that embrace of her.

She comes in unannounced, an unexpected guest. But oh is she welcome.

And oh so welcome are those treats she brings to the table.

She easily settles in, making herself at home. And into a cup, a bunch of memories she pours.

And that demon, the radio demon as he's called - he drinks from that cup greedily.

And like a man dying of thirst, he can't help but ask for another cup to be poured.

His senses feel high, his body tingling. A feeling of addiction is what fills him.

And he can't get enough of those sweet memories, so, he downs one cup after the other.

But with each greedy little sip, the thirst only grows and grows - he's not had his fill still.

So, the demon goes on and on, tasting one memory after the other.

And his mouth waters a big deal the more he can taste, and he savours each and every one.

Ah, and he can't tell which one of the sips of memories he enjoys the most, which one is the most saliva inducing one.

Is it maybe the giddy old memory of how he followed you through the town?

With you completely unaware? Naively trusting those poorly enlightened streets?

Trusting that a bit of weak light will keep you safe?

Or perhaps it could be the sweet memory of the thrilling chase through the forest?

That one forest where thousands of dead bodies laid buried deep in the ground?

Those dead bodies in whose footsteps you followed suit?

Oh! And what about that memory of how you so desperately tried to navigate around and hide, escape his clutches?

Even if he could hear your sharp breaths as clear as the day?

Oh! Or maybe his favourite one could be the moment of when he tackled you down?

Pinning your body under his, finally cutting the chase so the real fun can begin?

And that beautiful moment of how you hopelessly dug your nails into his skin til blood trailed down his arms?

That one beautiful moment engraved into his head of how you desperately clawed at those lanky hands of his?

His hands that trailed, squeezed and pinched at your body, feeling you up like a winning prize, like a fine piece of venison?

Ah, it was so hard to pick which one was the most treasured one!

Hell, it could even be the simple memory of the melodious sounds of your cries.

That melodious, angelic sound of your pleading, whimpering, sobbing and screaming.

Especially those sounds you made when he bit down onto your flesh.

Oh, and that taste that hit his taste buds back then...

He still remembers it like it was yesterday.

And his tongue still tingles, and saliva still floods his mouth every time he thinks of just how tasty you were back then.

And now his mouth waters as he silently wonders... would you still have such taste even now?

Or did becoming a demon change the sweet, addictive flavour of your fragile flesh and thick blood?

Oh, how his senses urge him - beg him - to just grab you and take at least one single little bite...

I'd be really easy too, now that you're a part of the hotel staff.

Silly little you, you didn't flee when you were faced with the fact that he - the one who took your life - also works for the hell's princess now.

You didn't take the more than gracious chance to turn on your trail, run and never return while you still could.

No, you are too stubborn, and you insist on staying, even despite how frightening seeing him on the daily is for you.

Silly little you! Don't you realize how easily he could snatch you away and repeat history?

All it would take is a single moment of when you're alone and-

Ah, but he can't do that - at least not yet...

Where would be the fun in that?

It sure would be a shame to end your lovely reunion this fast and early on, no?

Not to mention the odd, messed up attachment the deer demon feels towards you...

Now, not to be mistaken! What he feels isn't the usual attachment one would think of!

It definitely isn't the good or healthy kind either...

So, we shall not be mistaken, let's not get our hopes up and think he cares - for he doesn't.

You mean nothing to him - at least as far as it comes to you as a person.

Your value could be most likely compared to something of a sentimental value, a plaything at best if you will.

Still, no matter what you are to him - you are by far his most favourite one at that.

That's what can be said for a fact.

And for reasons beyond us and even Alastor, those memories he shares with you are put on a pedestal - put way above the rest.

There were so many faces that twisted in fear, so many names he kept tabs on, so many tastes he's tried, and so many lives he's taken.

But very vast portion of them is long forgotten, not really standing out all that much.

Nor holding any real value. Barely any of them mattered...

But you, on the other hand - oh, he could never forget about that one lovely night you shared...

And even when more victims - more faces, more names, more tastes - came, they couldn't compare.

No, they never could.

Those memories of you and your taste were always stuck in the back of the radio demon's head no matter what new person was on the menu - what new dish was on his plate...

So, one can only imagine just what he feels now that you're back within his grasp.

Oh, not even his wildest fantasies could've come up with or prepare him for such sweet moment!

This was like a gift from the Devil himself!

Yes, a gift - one that Alastor would make sure to cherish greatly...

Ah yes, he would cherish you so.

He'd take his time unwrapping you like the perfect little gift that you are - he would savour you.

And only when he'd get tired of messing with you, only then he'd get to the real deal.

Oh, and when he'll finally do, it'll be like a starving man plunging onto bread crumbs!

It'll be such a beautiful, satisfactorily moment - Alastor can almost feel himself drooling at the mere thought of the moment.

Oh, how he just can't wait for the very moment!

The moment is so close, and yet so far - and every little glance your way is like a test.

A test of how long he can resist the temptation.

Every little move you make, every little noise that leaves you, every little expression your face twists into.

Oh, he can barely hold himself back!

His body feels so restless, and his thoughts are all over the place.

And no matter how much he reminds himself to be patient, to not cut straight to the chase just yet.

He still can barely keep himself in check.

His thoughts are going to dangerous places, and your familiar, sweet scent teases his nose.

Oh, and you're so within reach too!

It'd really just take a single little moment and-

"Geez, that perv's still at it?".

Oh, that's right.

He's almost forgotten about those curious eyes watching him from afar.

Watching, and trying to see inside his head...

But judging by the response Vaggie's hateful comment receives, it seems she's the only one to see right through him.

The only one to see the real danger behind that wide smile he always wears...

"Ya-uh! His eyes have not left her ever since she's joined the hotel staff!".

Ah, Charlie. Dear, sweet Charlie - now she's something else.

She's completely different from her girlfriend - she's quite naively trusting and optimistic.

Fully believing that there's a piece of good in everyone.

And hence not being concerned for your safety when the deer demon started to show an interest in you.

Ah, that sweet, silly little thing.

Caught up in trying to see only the best in people and their intentions...

It's amusing - and truly adorable.

And oh, does it play into Alastor's favour oh so well...

"Okay, that's like so sick and totally-".

Oh, Vaggie - she tries, she really tried to warn the others.

Make them see Alastor for what he truly is.

But aside from Husk, nobody really listens to Vaggie's concerns.

No, she's not all that listened to when she voices her opinions on the deer demon.

Not even when she expresses her concerns for how the latter constantly follows your every single step no matter the time of the day, no matter where you go...

And to think she has quite enough of a say in things as the hotel's manager, as well as the princess' girlfriend!

Oh, that poor little thing - it must be such an awful feeling.

How humorous!

And oh, how unfortunate...

"Ah! Do you think he's-?".

Niffty is completely on board with Charlie.

Similarly to the princess - she too doesn't see the real harm in Alastor's advances towards you.

Seeing his behaviour as nothing other than subtle romantic gestures.

The little demoness' version of romance sure is rather twisted...

And yet, it's still quite surprising Niffty doesn't see the harm in things.

After all, she herself knows Alastor just as well as Husk does...

"Yeah! Strawberry pimp totally got the hots for that one!".

Angel was caught up in the spiderweb of romanticizing the same thing as well.

Just like Charlie and Niffty, he couldn't see the truth...

"What? No! Are you all crazy?! That's not the case at all! How can you all not see that?!".

Oh, Vaggie - again and again, she really tries and tries.

But the result is always the same - nobody pays her warnings or concerns any thought.

And yet she still keeps on going.

What a miserable little thing she is.

"Oh my- I have like the best idea!".

Not even Charlie notices how Vaggie nearly begs for them all to see things from her point of view.

None of them can see things for what they really are.

Alastor's got them all right where he wants them.

Without even having to try much...

"We should totally get the two to have some alone time!".

Charlie is quick to naively play into the radio demon's games.

Without even knowing she's doing that.

She can't see this all is exactly what the deer demon wants...

And neither can Angel or Niffty.

Aw, those naive little fools...

"Yes! We should- like- create some really romantic atmosphere and leave them to it!".

Niffty follows through in Charlie's steps.

She too plays right into what Alastor wants.

Though whether or not she's aware of it is up for a debate...

"We should lock 'em up in a closet together or somethin', or even give them a little... somethin'... to just... ya know, set just the right mood in.".

And angel is quick to fall for Alastor's games too...

Ah, those silly fools...

Unaware they're making all this much easier than it should've been.

They're sealing your doom - the inevitable end you're ought to meet at his clutches.

They're making this all too easy...

They're shoving the little mouse right into the lion's den.

What unfortunate silly fools.

And what an unfortunate little you.

Your friends are serving you to him on a silver platter.

All of them - or nearly all of them - thinking they're doing you a favour.

Thinking they're simply helping a mere fool in love gain the heart of his love interest.

When in reality, they're actually helping a starving predator get closer to his chosen prey...

It was rather humorous - a good source of entertainment for sure.

So, Alastor would humour the group.

He'd indulge in their schemes of trying to set you up with him.

He'd gladly play along and lead them to think he's interested in you.

Well, interested in you they way they think he is, not the way he actually is...

No, they can't know what he actually wants from you.

They won't know.

He'll make sure of it.

They won't know until the very last moment, until the deed's already done.

Or, he'll lead them to think your disappearance has nothing to do with him.

After all, the sudden disappearance of a poor little sinner like you would be nothing new in hell.

You'd just be added to the endlessly growing numbers of hell inhabitants going missing.

Your disappearance would be just a part of the mere statistics.

Well, he'll see.

All depends on which option would prove to bring more benefit.

As well as which one would prove to be more entertaining.

That's what, to the deer demon, matters the most at the end of the day.

For now, he'll just go with the flow and let the situation progress by itself.

With the occasional shove to the right direction, of course.

But it doesn't seem like he needs to wait for that long for everything to be set in motion...

"Hey, Al, you got a minute?".

Yeah, he really doesn't need to wait for that long...

___________________________________________

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To a Tea 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary:  A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character:  Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don’t @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved. 

You don’t often miss work, but that week, a burst pipe throws everything off. A morning spent waiting on your landlord, then the next few hours for a plumber, has things a bit off kilter. Even the next day, you’re not quite back on point. 

The patched wall next to fridge reminds you of the disaster and a dingy smell persists. You hope it doesn’t cling to you as you set off for your shift that day. If you can, you want to pick up some hours from others if their up for grabs. Harry doesn’t like Saturday’s, maybe he’ll hand over some. 

You try to leave your problems behind as you catch a bus down to the city centre. You get to the tea shop five minutes before the hour. Jenna’s wrapping up the opening tasks as you go to leave your things in the back. You tie on your apron and unlock the front door for the first customers of the day. 

At first, it’s a trickle. Never very much at all. The early risers who often come alone or if they aren’t, they don’t speak much or very loudly. The smell of fresh baking and the slow rising sun add to the lazy din. 

“Thought the special was strawberry today,” you comment as you transfer macarons from a cooled tray to the display. 

“Eh, it was but we didn’t have enough jam,” she shrugs. “Changed the sign, is all.” 

“Ah, thought my mind was lagging again. Everything’s been off since yesterday.” 

“Eh, how’s the apartment, anyhow? Marilyn said it was something about a leak?” 

“Burst pipe,” you explain, “they took out the wall above the sink, buncha clanging all day. When I tell you this place is like heaven.” 

She chuckles, “can be.” 

“There’s a formal tea booked in the Marigold Room at noon,” she intones, “forgot to mention that. With Mother’s day coming up, suppose we’ll get more bookings.” 

“Suppose,” you go to check the schedule hanging on the wall. “Party of twelve, wow.” 

“I’ll man the till. Honest, since those ladies at New Years, I’ve hated doing them.” 

“No problem, Harry should be here, shouldn’t he?” 

“Well, he’s... called in.” 

“Again?” You whine as you face her. 

“Are you really surprised?” She scoffs. 

“No one else to cover? Not even Louisa?” 

“Nah, she’s on holiday still.” 

You huff, “fine. Not much of a choose then, is it?” 

🫖

The tea room is as close to raucous as you’ve ever heard it. You have your back to the rest of the shop as you balance the stacked serving trays with an array of sponge cake, fruit, and biscuits. It’s the typical assortment for a tea party booking. 

You’ve already served the tea and the sandwiches, and dessert is the last bit, along with any further pots needed to be steeped throughout. With a partner, it isn’t hard to keep up, but alone, it’s rather overwhelming. Jenna does her best to assist but there aren’t many lulls around lunch time. 

Beyond that, the tourists are chatty. You could hardly get away to fetch each course as they wanted to chat about the culture and your suggestions of what they should do next. It’s nice that they’re friendly but still stressful. 

You put the trays on the cart and roll it around the counter. As you do, you nearly skid to a halt. In the rush, you hadn’t noticed him. Your eyes meet Raymond’s as he watches you. Intent, intense. You give an apologetic smile and nod in acknowledgement. Jenna wanted to deal with the main room, she’ll have to wipe down his table and do her best. 

You roll behind the wall and into the Marigold room. You present the tray and grab it by the ring at the top, lifting it onto the centre of the table. You roll around to gather the empty plates and cups, taking two pots for refill. 

You come back out and see Raymond standing, just as he was. He sees you too. Watching, hands folded, knuckles white, jaw set. He’s usually patient but you don’t know how long he’s been waiting. 

You roll behind the counter and sigh, clearing off the cart as Jenna steams a tea latte. 

“Can you wipe Raymond’s table?” You ask. 

“Who?” She furrows her brow. 

You glance over your shoulder toward the man in question and she follows. She rolls her eyes, “I tried, I wiped the the table. He didn’t sit.” 

“Hm, well... did you wash your hands first?” 

“Christ Almighty, what is he a child?” 

“Jen, he’s just... you know, my mom’s the same. He can’t help it.” 

“You can deal with him. I won’t be arsed,” she sniffs, “he was rude and you know I don’t got time for those ones.” 

“Jenna, I’m kinda up to my eyes,” you dump the used bags from a pot. “I know he can be prickly but just wash your hands and redo the table.” 

“Ugh, fine,” she sneers, “but you owe me.” 

“Let’s call it even,” you retort as you pour boiling water into the pots mouth. 

She shakes her head and huffs, “guess it is.” 

🫖

It’s nearly three in the afternoon. It’s quiet. Harry’s on his phone instead of doing the cups and your wiping the empty tables to keep yourself moving. The door opens and you glance over to make sure Harry’s alert. He’s not. 

Doesn’t matter. It’s him. Raymond. You stand and clutch the cloth tight in your hand as you greet him. 

“Be right with you, Raymond,” you assure him. 

He barely looks at you as he goes to wait next to his table. You go behind the counter and mutter under your breath in Harry’s direction, “...dirty cups.” You wash your hands and make sure to clink some of the empty porcelain in an effort to draw your coworker’s attention. He’s still entranced by his phone. 

You take the disinfectant wipes and go back out. You approach Raymond as he checks his watch. 

“How are you today?” You ask. 

He grumbles and shrugs, “fine.” 

“English Breakfast, black,” you declares as you finish wiping up, “usual.” 

“So you remember,” he challenges as he steps close, closer than ever, before sidling around to sit. 

“Of course, I always do,” you smile. 

“And last time?” 

“Last time...” 

“Twice.” 

You’re confused. What is he talking about? 

“I came on Tuesday and you weren’t here. Then on Thursday, you didn’t even say hello.” 

“Oh, well, I’m sorry, Raymond, it was a busy day. Tuesday, I had a personal emergency so I didn’t even know you’d been in--” 

“I’ll have my tea now,” he interjects tersely. 

“Right, tea,” you confirm and spin around. 

“Crooked strings,” he remarks dully, “again.” 

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt 5

Gif not mine

A/N: I.... as always, don't know how I feel about this chapter. Anything involving the 'horror' theme is... not my forte.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, ongoing adult child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-4 here

You weren’t quite sure what woke you up later that evening, only that you found yourself staring at the opposite wall, and unable to go back to sleep. It didn’t happen often since coming to live with Wanda, but in the past, a nice warm cup of tea would help put you back to sleep, so you decided that would be your best bet.

As you quietly got out of bed, being careful not to disturb the witch, a light caught the corner of your eye: Wanda's phone. It was connected to the charger and blinking with a new notification. You couldn't help but feel curious. Shortly after arriving here, Wanda had informed you that due to her magic, there was almost no network connectivity available, whether cellular or wifi. None of your gaming devices or cellphone had any network connectivity, so you had to rely on Wanda to update anything for you whenever she left your home. Because of this, you tried not to bother her too much. After all, you didn't really need the most up-to-date patches since you couldn't play online with anyone anyway.

You were confused about why her cellphone had a new notification if none of your devices had network connectivity. You assumed she would have checked her notifications since the last time she went out, which was at least a week ago. Personally, you couldn't stand having any of those little banner notifications and always cleared them as soon as they appeared, even if it was just by swiping them away from the notifications bar without actually reading them. So, the sudden appearance of a new notification on her phone puzzled you. There shouldn’t be any service for it to have come in recently. At least, not if you trusted what Wanda had been telling you...

A heavy, gnawing sensation settled in the pit of your stomach, creating a sense of unease. Undoubtedly, it was a breach of trust. Surely Wanda, of all people, didn't deserve for you to go snooping through her phone. She had always been kind, helpful, and loving towards you. Yet, despite her unwavering support, at the first sign of something that didn't quite add up, you found yourself doubting her. Why didn't you simply ask her instead?

But.. was it the first time? You were having flashbacks to all those moments of deja vu.

Haltingly, you took slow, hesitating steps towards Wanda’s nightstand where her phone lay. You didn’t understand this feeling of dread within you. You wanted to attribute it to your general mistrust of the human race as a whole, but your gut was telling you this was something more. You were in danger, you just didn’t know how or exactly where, but it had to do with the witch who's been sleeping next to you.

Shaky hands picked up her phone, and with your thumb, you pressed the power button to turn on the screen. Unsure of exactly what you would find, and the notification was innocuous enough - a news article regarding some superhero. What caught your attention was the date - it was listed almost ten months since you and Wanda had left your parents’ house. To your knowledge, it’s only been a month or so.

This couldn’t be right. Ten months? No. That wasn’t possible. Did time flow differently here maybe? You wanted so badly to give Wanda the benefit of the doubt, but now that you had opened Pandora’s box, you had to keep going. Hoping you wouldn’t accidentally awaken the witch, you held the phone in front of her face, and it unlocked recognizing her biometrics.

You should probably go to the bathroom to view this without risking waking Wanda up, but your feet refuse to move. Instead, you remained standing there, opening article after article, all of which displayed the same date. Curiosity led you to check the calendar app for today's date, and you had to stifle a gasp as it confirmed what the articles had stated. While you thought it had only been a month or so, Wanda had kept you here for ten months, employing fantasies and electronics to prevent you from questioning her.

Your grip on the phone waivered as you began recalling those moments of déjà vu. As you concentrated and tried to break through the fog of those memories, clarity emerged. You had asked for freedom. Wanda had yelled at you. You had yelled back. Then, Wanda had used her magic to make you fall asleep and erase your memories, essentially starting over and preventing you from realizing how much time was actually passing. How many times had that happened?

Wanda was not keeping you here to help you; she was your captor. The need to escape fought violently against your desire to stay with the woman you had come to adore, even if she had kidnapped and lied to you.

You place the phone back quietly, trying to make your way out of the room as silently as possible. It dawns on you that you should probably pack a bag or something. You have no idea where you are exactly, but if you don't leave now, there's a chance you may never escape.

Quietly, you escape the confines of the house, and head out of the grounds. You aren’t sure exactly where you are going, but you know you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other until you reach civilization. Previously during your numerous strolls across the grounds, you had noticed a vague perimeter, but never had the witch allowed you to go too far. Now you were intent on heading beyond the boundaries she had set, and you were in the dark on what you would find.

Speaking of the dark, even though the moon and stars were visible on this clear night, you had forgotten to grab a flashlight. Or rather, you had elected not to bother looking for one in your hurry to flee. Consequently, the darkness felt more overwhelming than you were accustomed to. You stumbled multiple times, each instance you were praying that you wouldn't accidentally sprain or break something. You weren't sure what was worse - the possibility of facing Wanda's wrath if she should catch you, or dying from the elements if you were to injure yourself and be unable to continue.

As you approached the tree line that marked the boundary Wanda had set, you paused. This was the farthest you had ever been. In truth, you had never even been this close before. Whenever you got within about ten paces, the witch would always give you a gentle warning. Curiosity tickled your thoughts as to what would happen next. Not all of Wanda's magic was mere illusion; she had the power to alter reality itself. What would occur when you crossed the tree line? Would you plunge off the side of Mount Wundagore to a grisly demise, or would you simply step into the woods as they appeared to be?

Either option had to be better to take the risk than to remain a prisoner in what you once believed to be the safety of your own home. Summoning your courage, you stepped into the forest and were surprised to find solid ground. As you continued, each step affirmed that this transformation by Wanda was real - the mountain had truly become a beautiful countryside. Perhaps there was a chance to escape after all. Without hesitation, you ventured further into the forest, hoping to reach civilization on the other side or find a safe hiding spot within before Wanda woke up.

Unknown to you, Wanda had set up protective barriers to alert her if you ever ventured too far. True to form, the moment you stepped beyond the tree line into the woods, her eyes snapped open, blazing with anger. You were leaving. Despite everything she had done for you. Despite the bond you two shared. The witch swiftly leapt out of bed, conjuring a portal not far behind you, determined to catch up with you. Did you really think you could escape her? You would dare? She would teach you. You belonged to her, and she was growing weary of this back-and-forth game you were playing.

As you fled through the forest, it grew denser, blocking out the moonlight. Initially, it seemed easy enough to navigate, but as you continued, the underbrush became thick, causing you to trip every few feet. The seemingly safe forest now loomed around you ominously, your paranoia starting to take over as you heard the skittering of various creatures around you. Logically, you knew they were probably just as startled as you, given how loudly you were thundering through their home. Still, that didn't stop you from feeling eyes on you the further you went, and you began to question if this had been a good idea after all. Unfortunately, it was too late to turn back, and you came to the uncomfortable realization that you didn't even know which direction home was.

A branch snapped somewhere to your left, causing you to turn your head so fast that you wouldn't be surprised if you woke up tomorrow with a crick in your neck. That is, if you managed to survive tonight. You froze in place, your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing loud in your ears as you strained to hear the source of the noise.

It was extremely unsettling for you to realize that the entire forest had suddenly fallen into complete and utter silence. No birds, no animals, nothing at all...

A leaf crunched. This time closer.

Fear seized your heart and you willed yourself to do something. Anything. Run. Hide. Just, something.

Suddenly, you became aware of a low growling sound approaching, and it became clear you were in serious trouble. Why hadn't you stayed inside the house? There must have been a logical explanation for the date change, and Wanda had always been kind to you. Maybe you were just remembering those arguments incorrectly. Now for your misplaced distrust, you were facing imminent death at the hands of something that likely had sharp teeth. Gods, how you despised sharp teeth.

A snarl to your left startled you, freezing you in place as your eyes frantically scanned the forest for whatever had made the noise. You could vaguely make out the silhouette of a creature on all fours not far from you, and your blood felt like it had frozen in your veins. Why hadn't you just gone back to bed next to Wanda?

As you witnessed the shape hurtling towards you from the darkness, a red streak intercepted it, accompanied by the yelp of an injured animal. You blinked and observed a fatally wounded wolf on the ground nearby. Your gaze followed the trajectory from which the red streak had come, revealing Wanda in her pajamas, her hands outstretched with red magic flowing through them, rushing towards you.

"Y/N, are you okay?!" Her voice was tinged with alarm. One hand extinguished her magic to gently hold your arm, while the other remained prepared for any possible threats. With a caring eye, she inspected you for any serious injuries, but found none. Satisfied that you were relatively unscathed, she finally registered your shocked face as you remained silent.

“Y/N what’s wrong? Why are you out here? Talk to me, please?” Wanda extinguished the remaining magic and took your hand, her ire at you dissipating at the fear of you having just been in danger that wasn’t from her.

“I- I had a nightmare. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just had to run.” You figured that would be believable enough - your night terrors sometimes had you fleeing for your life, you just usually accidentally woke up Wanda in the process before you could get too far. This would be the first time you would have made it out of the bed without waking her up.

Your gaze drifted back to the deceased wolf on the forest floor, and you couldn’t seem to shake the state of shock you were in. Wanda didn’t think anything more of your explanation, your night terrors happened often enough, and you didn't seem to be fleeing from her. It was the only thing that made sense to her. After all, everything had been okay earlier, there was nothing to indicate you were unhappy or would try to leave her.

Relieved that you were unharmed, and not attempting to escape, the witch focused on trying to calm you, as she could see telltale signs of you beginning to disassociate. Gently, she placed a hand to your cheek, tilting your face until you were making eye contact with her. “Don’t look at it, dorogoya, it’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let’s go home, okay?”

In that moment, all you wanted was for Wanda to handle all your thinking. Anything else required too much effort, and honestly, you were too exhausted for anything else. You nodded and leaned into her touch, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as you embraced the sense of security she provided. Your hand reached up to cover hers on your cheek, interlocking your fingers with hers.

You heard more than saw the portal she summoned to take you both home, and blindly followed her through it back into your room. Hands still interlinked; she led you into the adjoining bathroom. At this point you had mentally checked out, completely overwhelmed by the night’s events. Under normal circumstances you would be mortified that Wanda was about to see you naked in this state - filthy, covered in scratches from your stumble through the woods, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. It didn’t help that you had entered a non-verbal state.

Wanda made it easier for you. Although this wasn't how she had imagined the first time she would see you naked, her main concern was to clean your wounds and ensure your comfort so you could fall back asleep. Tenderly, she assisted you in undressing, her eyes never lingering or straying where they shouldn't. She only took quick glances to assess any damage. You were grateful for her magic, which meant you didn't have to wait for the water to heat up to the perfect temperature.

She didn't bother undressing herself, but simply helped you into the shower under the falling water and followed in after. First, she helped wet your hair and then lathered it with shampoo before rinsing. The sensation of her blunt nails against your scalp was so soothing that you almost fell asleep. Then, Wanda took the washcloth, lathered it with soap, and started gently washing your body, beginning with your face. As gently as possible, the red head cleansed your wounds and removed the blood and dirt from your skin.

After deeming you sufficiently cleaned, Wanda turned off the water and began toweling you off, wrapping you up in a towel. She then discarded her own waterlogged clothing and began drying herself. While you stood there, feeling useless, Wanda grabbed pajamas for both of you and helped you put them on. After, she then put on her own pajamas before leading you back to bed.

“Do you want to talk about it, Y/N/N?”

You shook your head and climbed into bed after Wanda. Instead of the usual routine where she held you from behind as the big spoon, you surprised her by snuggling into her arms, facing her, and resting your head in the crook of her neck. Although you still had questions about the cell service on her phone and the months you were supposedly missing, Wanda has been kind to you, and she just saved your life. Those questions can be addressed another day. Finally feeling safe again, you allowed your exhaustion to consume you.

[redsrooftopprincess]

💚 Master Post 💚

So you've found your way here! Welcome welcome, from me and the Bruiser. 😁

Here you will find fics about Big Red. All the boys, et al, are a combination of a lot of different canons, as well as my own personal headcanons. Visually, however, they are Bayverse because...

(Thank you ILM, for all that you do. 🥵)

I have some spicy stuff, and I do repost things that are spicy. I will do my best to put warnings on anything that needs it, but if you see something that may trigger someone and there isn't a warning, please lmk so I can fix it.

Also, my style will occasionally change. I've never written narratively before now (just some poetry here and there), so congratulations! You get to watch me learn how to write in real time! 😅

That being said, I'm not your mommy (well, not *yours*, anyway 😏), so if you're a minor, GTFO. I'm responsible for neither your trauma, nor your deviancy, and that will not be changing. So either go away or don't get caught.

Anyway, without further guilding of my very tarnished lily.....

Links for joy and pain below the cut!

Fics

(there is an overall story happening loosely and in out of order pieces that will eventually be cleaned up and combined into one. Expect continuity errors, which is why I'm posting them as one shots. 😅)

Raphael x Reader (GN unless noted otherwise)

Nightmare

Damn it

Sunlight

Assassin (Fem Reader) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Gravity - Part 1 . Part 2 . Part 3

Asks/Oneshots

Where There's Smoke 🌶️🌶️🌶️ (AFAB Reader)

Christmas in August

Headcanons

Disabilities ♥️💙💜🧡

Secret Swiftie ♥️

Sleeping ♥️💙💜🧡

....

Asks are closed until I catch up (holy crap you guys, you have a WAY too much faith in me). I'm working through my box, please be patient. I am a grown up that has to do grown up things and for some reason just casually writing stories about giant anthropomorphic reptiles falling in love with you is... not financially sustainable? I feel like it should be.

If you want to be on the tag list, just let me know and I'll add you! Thanks for dropping by, and for all the love you've been showing my little psychosis.

Much love, from me and the big guy. 🥰

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 5}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: A busy Friday night always has its ups and downs, but never this bad.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: triggers associated with the food industry, workplace tension, language, argumentative dialogue, degrading language, power dynamics (due to job rankings), attempted assault, man on woman violence, shoving, pushing, non con touching, non con manhandling, mentions of eating disorder, vomiting, reader has a lot of panic attack symptoms, reader goes nonverbal for a moment, symptoms of shock, minor injuries, smoking, cigarettes, alcohol, alcohol consumption

A/N: i realize this chapter has a lot going on, i've tried to tag it appropriately, if i missed something please let me know and i can add or alter.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

Tommy’s smile was bright as you approached, the hum of the dining room fading out as you looked from him to the young woman across from him.

“Well look who it is, the only girl brave enough to call Joel a meanie to his face!”

“At your service.” You tipped your head, going along with the banter from the jovial man. He had cleaned up rather nice, a dark button down and slacks in lieu of the plain t-shirt and jeans he had worn to the bar all those nights ago. “Chef sent this over.”

“Name’s Tommy, not sure if we actually got acquainted the other night in all the chaos. And this lovely young woman is my company for the night, Sarah.”

“Only because you had a reservation and dad would’ve killed you if you didn’t make it.” The young woman had the same dimple that Joel did, a decoration on the right cheek. Same furrowing brow, now aimed at her uncle across from her. She was beautiful, from the carefully arranged kinky hair atop her head to the caramel of her skin.

“It’s not my fault my date bailed.”

“Of course, of course.” She waved him off as smiled at you in a conspiratorial way, pulling you effortlessly into the conversation. One you weren’t too sure you even wanted to be a part of. There was a heavy weight that had settled in your chest, insecurity and anxiety such a familiar feeling as it flared. “My Uncle Tommy doesn’t have the best luck with the ladies.”

“You’re Chef Miller’s daughter?” You asked for confirmation as politely and professionally as you could, setting the wine glasses down in front of each of them. Introducing yourself as you watched her nod enthusiastically. While using the wine tool, you felt Tommy’s eyes rove over your expression, a collected smile on your lips as the feeling in your chest began to gnaw and move up into your throat. Nausea was rolling deep in your stomach, and you wanted nothing more than to excuse yourself. But you were a professional and had been tasked with delivering them their drinks.

Tommy must’ve clocked the slight shift in tone, definitely the way you referred to Joel. His smile faltered a little, but he was aware enough not to ask you anything too personal in present company. Hell, even in the restaurant setting, not wanting to cause a stir with whatever was going on with you.

“One and only!” She chirped as lifted her now full glass to her lips and took a sip. The saccharine sweet scent of the wine did not help to settle your stomach as you poured the appropriate serving into Tommy’s glass. “Well, by blood at least.”

You hadn’t responded, unsure of what to say. Not knowing what to say to the daughter of the man who had begun to fill the void in your life you had let form. So you fell back on the practiced skills that allowed you the job you did. You prattled on about the wine, from the notes that should be detectable to the perfect pairings on the menu that they could consider.

The universe seemed to take pity on you, because someone was sidling up next to you as you set the bottle of wine on the table. Millie placed a hand on your upper arm, leaning in to speak to you quietly.

“Need help on expo, Mary’s orders.” Her words were a blessing and you quickly excused yourself from the table.

“Appetizer for 38, chef.” Someone announced as a dish slid onto the expo line. Joel turned from where he was tending to a steak, keeping it braised with the butter that was browning in the pan alongside sprigs of rosemary.

“Run it.” His eyes locked with yours through the line.

“I’m here to expo, not run dishes.” You focused on wiping the edges of the dish with a towel, ensuring no sauce or herbs or fingerprints tarnished the ceramic. You double checked the hanging ticket and when it looked good to go you were calling out. You projected your voice, keeping it professional. “Can I get hands please?”

“You have hands.”

“I’m on expo, Mary said.”

“And I’m tellin’ you to run it, what’s your problem?” The cast iron skillet in his hand clunked to the burner, flat as he disengaged the flame, and turned his full attention on you.

“Think your daughter would like it if you brought the appetizer out, chef.” You shot back at him, aware that eyes were shifting from you both at the exchange as the servers flitted around grabbing refills for drinks and plates to preset tables. Something flickered behind his eyes, but he reigned it in as quickly as it appeared.

“Expo helps runs dishes.”

“I’m well aware of my job responsi-“

“Apparently not. The dish is dying. Run. It.”

Locked in a heated glare with the man across from you, the tension of the kitchen and the dining room and having to sneak around, of your professor coming back to the restaurant, to the feeling that you didn’t want to think about every time you saw the crinkle of his eyes when his lips pulled into a smile.

Chest hurting, panging in such a harsh way you felt your breathing begin to deepen. Full breaths expanding and exhaling visible moving your chest. His eyes softened the slightest bit but whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the dining room door opening with more force than necessary.

“I am so sorry! I thought Mary said to get you for expo, she said to get you back on the well and I run expo.”

“This needs hands.” Was all you said to the flustered girl before setting the towel down and rushing out of the kitchen.

“Somebody run the goddamn dish!” Joel’s raised voice had you picking up your pace and you tried not to burst through the door as you entered the dining room.

The bar was busy, a line of tickets stuck together where the printer didn’t tear them completely and they hung down to the floor mats at your feet. Making quick work of them and running them to their respective tables to help out the swamped looking servers, you were just about to the bar when you noticed that Joel was out in the dining room. He was standing beside table 38, with his family. As you passed by on the way back to the bar, you caught a snippet of their conversation.

“Congratulations, baby girl, I am so proud of you.” Joel leaned down to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her into his side as he stood beside her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, flattening the kinky curls there with the action. She swatted at him, though her easy laughter sounded in the air. Another young girl had joined them a beer you vaguely remember pouring in her grip. She was fairer skinned than the rest of them, but it was family, their dynamic too familiar and jovial with each other to be otherwise. You ignored the table completely as you passed it, pretending it was just another happy father and their child, a good evening to be surprised at work by family. The bathroom door slammed behind you and you beelined for the nearest stall and locked it with shaking hands.

You vomited the breakfast you had managed to eat and the bites of recipes you had tried while prepping earlier that day. Coughing as the acid burned in your throat, you tore far too many sheets from the toilet paper roll and raised them to wipe at your mouth. Breathing heavily through your nose, your chest felt tight, and the phantom feel of a man’s large hand on your back had you holding back sobs. Eyes stinging as you fought off tears, you tried to keep as quiet as possible as the bathroom door opened, and the click of heels could be heard from the newcomer. The scuff of boots on the tile signaled another.

“So who do you think it is? The old man could not stop smiling the other day and he does fuck all except work so it has to be somebody here.”

“I dunno, maybe another manager? Everyone here is so young.”

“Yeah, but age is just a number. You’re dating someone older.”

“But dad doesn’t know about that.” Her tone sounded vaguely threatening. But a cackle decorated the air and then giggles. The two girls dissolving into easy going laughter before exiting the room.

After making yourself presentable, you exited the bathroom and made your way back to the dining room. As soon as you were back behind the bar one of the girls who had been waiting for a date must’ve come to terms with being stood up, she was tracking a ride home on an open app on her phone. She waved at you to close out and you took the card from her offered hand, checking the way she was a little too loose in her movements.

“Hey, Mary!” You called out, seeing the woman walking along the length of the bar and helping to refill water glasses for the nearby tables. “I’m gonna run someone out for a ride pick up, that cool?”

“Of course, I’ll let the servers know there will be a wait for drinks.”

“Thanks.” A grateful smile and a signed receipt later, you found yourself waiting on the curb outside the front door with a chatty girl.

Someone was standing to the side, smoking a cigarette but the minimal light didn’t allow you much of a hint of who they were, probably just a patron waiting on a table or stepping away from dinner for a moment. Just as you were helping the girl into her ride, double checking that the person and car matched the description the person put out their cigarette. Making sure the car was driving safely through the parking lot you and taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air, you heard the steps of the person as they made their way back toward the entrance.

Suddenly a hand was grabbing you while another was ushering you away from the immediate front of the building, back by where they had been standing to smoke. They were too strong, causing you to stumble on your feet as you were swept away.

“Yo, what the actual fu-“

“You need to shut up.” Your blood turned cold, and you let out a shout as your back collided roughly with the brick of the building. The action caused the clip your hair was being held in to snap and break apart, the jagged pieced of plastic tangling in your hair and pressing into your scalp. Another shout pulled from your chest at the pain.

A hand was shoved over your mouth and you tried to kick out at the man in front of you and swipe your hands out at him, but he pressed the entirety of his body up against yours. Your nails caught on his figure, tangling in his jacket as you tried to push him away. His own hands yanked them free, breaking two of your nails in the process. Grunting in pain at the throbbing that stemmed from them against his hand.

Through the blood rushing in your ear and the blurry image of blonde hair clouding your vision you bite down as hard as you could on the palm of the hand against you. The man cursed, stepping back in his shock and you pushed at him again with everything you had.

He stumbled, the light catching his face and allowing you to see that it was the man from the bar all those nights ago.

“Fuck!” Your voice squeaked out as you rushed away from his reaching hands. You reached up and brushed what was left of your hair clip away, not wanting to draw attention to anything amiss as you neared the door, for once you were through the threshold. His steps and presence were heavy behind you but the second your hand gripped the handle for the door he seemed to collect himself.

Trying to keep a composed air about you, you weaved your way through the dining room, eyes focused solely on the swinging door that led into the kitchen. Everything was a silent hush around you, mind not picking up on the absent chatter of the dining room or the clinking of silverware as people continued their nights like normal. As soon as you were through the door, you let go of your composure.

You were rushing toward the office with quick steps, your heart beating painfully in your chest and your ears roaring with the sound of blood rushing. Ignoring the way Joel’s head followed you as you sped through the kitchen, you pushed through the way your skin felt like it was itching, too tight over your body. You reached for the closed handle and turned it, stepping inside without thinking and the door clicked behind you as you leaned back onto it. Your breathing was heavy, and your hands were shaking and when you looked up to see Mary in her desk chair, a bite of food frozen midway to her mouth you let out a stuttering gasp.

“Oh no, honey, what’s wrong?” Food forgotten, she stood up and ushered you into Joel’s chair beside her own.

The words you wanted to say wouldn’t come out, stuck in your still burning throat and you feared you would throw up again in the middle of the small office. The longer you tried to force the words, the more your chest hurt, the more strangled noises sounded into the air. Reaching up to lay a palm flat over your chest, you could feel the rapid pace your heart was beating at, and you just shook your head as your skin continued to feel too tight and your temple began to throb in time with your rapid pulse.

“Oh, oh gosh. Okay, just, honey please calm down.” Her hands were on her knees as she knelt down in front of you. She took your hands in her own, pausing slightly at the sight of your broken nails, and urged you gently, “Just breath, one deep breath for me okay?”

A knock on the door startled you so bad you nearly jumped out of the seat. The grip Mary had on your hands tightened as she watched your breathing take on a hurried staccato, her eyes holding so much worry as she looked over you before turned to face the door.

“What the hell is goin’ on? I got the barback running from expo because the lead server said there was a commotion at the bar and-“ Joel’s deep baritone was too loud in the small office as he hadn’t waited for an answer and shouldered his way through the now open door. His words cut off abruptly as he took in the scene before him. You couldn’t bear to look at him, too focused on not tipping over into full panic attack mode. 

“We have a bit of a situation, Joel.” Mary reached out and smoothed a hand down one of your arms, having picked up on the slight trembling your body was doing with the door open. “Please close the door, she’s overwhelmed.”

“What’s going on?” His voice was tempered, arms coming to cross over his broad chest. He was trying to take control of the situation, trying to figure out what had upset you so much you basically abandoned the bar. You could feel his eyes on you even as you kept your head down and gaze focused on your hands tangled up with Mary’s.

“I’m trying to figure that out, she’s frozen, can’t get any words out.”

“Spit it out.”

“Joel!”

“Well! She’s the one with the problem, so she’s the one who had to let us know.”

“Honey, please talk to us. You can tell us, we won’t judge you. Did something happen? Was it a customer?”

You shook your head, tears hot as they trailed down your cheeks. The spike of fear you had felt when the man had reached for you had you scrunching your eyes shut as you took a shuddering breath. Joel was there last time, he had helped you then. Wrestled the man to the bar top and away from you, it had been so easy for him. It wasn’t fair, you could only do so much, you didn’t have the same intimidation factor that Joel did merely existing.

You lifted your head and met Joel’s eyes, the brown dark in the way that displayed how angry he was, unsure of what was going on and falling back on his gruff nature. But your words softened them, something that flashed too quickly for anyone else to see.

“The man from the bar, he’s here.”

He was gone in the blink of an eye, steps loud as he stalked through the kitchen. The sound of the swinging door creaking on its hinges audible even in the office. If Mary thought anything of your words she didn’t let it show, focusing her attention on helping to calm you down. After a few moments, his steps could be heard as he made his way back to the office. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, face set in a scowl as he tried to process the situation.

“Did he touch you again?” Joel’s voice was dark, his words a dangerous thing that cradled a threat in every syllable. You shuddered as they washed over you, even if the sentiment wasn’t meant to be aimed at you, it was because of you. For you, he spoke with such ferocity.

You could only nod, unable to get any more words out. Mary’s hand tightened over your own before she stood.

“Joel, we need to call security and give them a description. I want whoever it is out of the restaurant. I know you’re the owner, but this-“

“I want him out, but I’m calling the cops. Not just security.” Thick fingers already digging his cell phone from a pants pocket. He brought it up to his ear as the line began to ring, having punched it in quickly.

“Everything is going to be okay, we’re going to keep you here in the office until the police get here and then one of us will take you home.” She was trying to continue to sooth you, but half her attention was on the phone in her hand as she contacted the security company employed by the restaurant. She was messaging them, letting them know there had been an attempted sexual assault on the premises.

Those words burned into your retinas, bright as if they were a neon sign even when you clenched your eyes shut. Joel’s steps were solid as he left the room, phone still to his ear as he waited on the line until officers arrived on site, wanting as clear communication as possible. He returned a few moments later with a steaming mug.

Mary detangled her fingers and let you know she was going to go and manage the front of house, to ensure that things were still running and let the girls know to not go outside on any breaks for the time being. Joel took up her abandoned seat, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down atop the desk.

Using his feet to maneuver the rolling chair closer to you, he carefully removed your hands from where you had begun to grip the fabric of your jeans. He molded them around the warm mug, his own around them and he just looked at you. His concerned eyes took in the way your hair was mused, no longer contained in the clip you had showed up to work in. The way your eyes were rimmed red, cheeks stained with tear tracks, the way you were trembling slightly, eyes unfocused as you stared at your lap. You wouldn’t raise your head to meet his gaze head on, no words were being spoken, it was…disconcerting to him to see you so locked up.

“Darlin’,” Was all he said as he raised the mug up toward your lips. “Please take a sip of this, it’s bone broth, it’ll help ease your nerves a little.”

You only intended to take the smallest sip to appease him and get him to back off, still mad about finding out he was a father and that he didn’t tell you his daughter would be coming to the restaurant. Sending you to her table without a thought in the world how you would feel or react to such a revelation. But the second the warm liquid washed over your tongue, you were taking consistent sips until the mug was empty and placed off to the side on the desk beside his phone.

He sat with you in silence, not sure what to say that would break the spell you were under, the shock you were under. He hadn’t seen this side of you, knew that everyone reacted to these things differently, that it wasn’t an easily overcome thing, if overcome at all. You wanted to reach out and take his hands in your own, to feel the warmth of him but you fought back the urge, the happy face of his daughter flashing in your minds eye.

You reached a hand up to press against a pain on the back of your neck, as soon as your fingers touched the skin there underneath your hairline, you hissed out a deep breath. Your hand came away bloodied, shaking as you looked at it with wide eyes. Joel was on his feet instantly, one hand cradling your face as he moved your hair carefully from your neck. You felt his warm exhalations on your shoulder as he leaned in, the faint scent of an earlier cigarette on his breath mixed with the spearmint gum he chewed while on the line. His fingers gently reached for something you couldn’t see, flinching slightly as something tugged at the back of your neck. In his hand was a broken shard of your hair clip, blood bright on the turquoise of it. Fresh tears welled up and blurred your vision as they fell over your lash line and over his hand still cradling your cheek.

“Fuck, you’ve got some pretty deep cuts back here. I’m so sorry, baby.”

“D-don’t call me that.”

Anything he was about to say was cut off as a voice trilled over the phone call still going on his phone.

“Mr. Miller, sir? Dispatch here, officers are pulling up right now.”

He removed his hands from you, a weird look about him as he moved to pick his phone back up, “Thank you, I’ll go meet them out front.”

“Will you-“

Nodding your head, you couldn’t bear to look up at him.  

“Okay.” He nodded at you, his eyes trying to catch yours to make sure but you had ducked your head again. He reached over to get the small first aid kit from where it was stashed atop the shelve over the desk. It wasn’t as stocked or official as the one in the kitchen, but it had stuff you could clean your injury with. “I’d offer to clean it, but I don’t want to push you. Please, at least drag some antiseptic over the back of your neck.”

The rest of the night was a blur, the restaurant closing two hours earlier than posted hours. Mary insisted on driving you home, some of the girls from the front of house parroting her offer. Joel had silenced them all with thanks for being so kind and willing to help, but as the owner and the one who was ultimately responsible for everyone’s safety. He put his proverbial foot down and said he would be making sure you got home safe. A good cover, you thought bitterly to yourself as he walked back into the office sans apron.

“Alright, Mary is gonna close up once everyone is finished cleaning. Do you have your keys? Figured I’d drive your truck so you have it there at your apartment. My brother can meet us there and bring me back for mine.”

He kept his distance as he walked with you toward the staff parking lot at the back of the restaurant. He was quiet as you stopped by the lockers to get your bag, his own on his shoulder he had swiped from the office. You had stayed there while the cops had talked with Joel, with Mary, to security. The man had been long gone, rushing away from the security guards that had quickly rounded the front of the building when you had shouted out. But they had been seconds too late and you paid the price. The cops had asked you for your statement, Joel standing behind you the whole time, providing details from the night at the bar as well.

The truck was silent as Joel held the door open for the passenger seat, making sure you were situated before he closed it as gently as he could. Once he adjusted the driver’s seat from your settings, he climbed in as well, the cab of the truck tense as he looked over at you and you looked out the window.  

“I’m sorry.” Your words were so low, a whisper barely heard over the running engine and hush of the other cars on the road.

“For what darlin’?” Not answering him right away, you reached into your bag and pulled out a cigarette, moving on to dig into your pockets for a lighter. You froze when you couldn’t find it, realizing it must’ve fallen out when… punching a finger to activate the lighter built into the dash you chanced a look over at him. He was focused on the road, his large hands around the steering wheel and his brow furrowed. His bottom lip looked a bit irritated, like he had been worrying at it with his teeth.

“All those reservations, all that business.” Was your quiet response, reaching for the lighter when it jutted out from the dash to signal that it was ready to use. You lifted it to the end of your cigarette, inhaling deep once the ember glow encompassed it. He looked over, but you had already turned toward the cracked window, watching the smoke billow out in wispy curls.

“I ain’t worried about a few hours lost. The most important thing is that you’re okay.” His fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel, you could hear the crinkling of the leather in the small space. He flicked the turn signal on and reached up to hit the gate control you had attached to the visor as your building came into view. It was easy enough for him to pull into one of the spots that ran parallel to the building. It was only two stories, four apartments on each floor. Two more exactly like it on either side within the secure gate. He watched it close completely before he turned the truck off, turning to face you.

“Look, about the table, it was supposed to be for Tommy and a date of his.”

Shaking your head, you made to open the door and get out. With a sigh, he followed suit, rounding the bed of the truck to hold the door open for you while you stepped out. With one last pull, you put out the spent cigarette and dropped it into the bed of the truck. Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you began to walk across the small parking lot toward the outdoor stairs that led up to your apartment. Joel was behind you, your keys in his hand as he made sure the vehicle was locked, the beeping sound loud in the quiet of the early evening.

“I was going to tell you, it’s just-“ You watched as he opened the security door and then the front door, shouldering past him you dropped your bag on the couch underneath the window. The click of the security door deadbolt echoed between you, but all you felt was exhaustion being back in your space.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now, not – not tonight, please.” Walking away from where he stood just inside the door, into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He followed you further into the space, into the living room, closing the main door behind him, locking it to make sure your space was safe and sealed away from the world.

“Joel, I was so scared.” The words were a quiet confession as they left your lips on a shaky exhale, hands clenching at your sides as you tried to fight the urge to reach for him now that you were back in the living room beside him. He was so close already, but it wasn’t enough. You needed, no, wanted him to be the one to pull you for once, to let you know that he cared. You looked up at him, bottom lip trembling.

His arms were enveloping you, pulling you into his chest. He buried his face in your hair, and you could feel the way his own breath was shaky as you. You turned so your cheek was resting right over his strong heartbeat, a faint slightly delirious chuckle shaking your body before you were crying into his chest. His hold on you tightened and you reached your hands around him to hold him in return, hands digging into the fabric of his shirt at his sides.

You silently guided him towards your room, needing to get off your feet and melt into the full embrace of the man you were already entangled with. He followed you, kicking off his shoes to leave in the living room. He let go of his hold long enough to turn around and let you change without his eyes roving over you, not wanting to overstep anything. You were grateful, still too worked up to do much else other than hold each other. Once you were in a baggy shirt and a soft pair of sleep shorts, you reached your hands to grab ahold of the back of his shirt.

He turned around, the fabric twisting up, allowing you a flash of the dark trail of hair that ran from his belly button to disappear down below the belt holding up his work pants. Scrunching your nose at the idea of his dirty pants on your clean sheets, he ducked his head to make eye contact with you.

“What’s that lil bunny nose for, huh?” He boldly kissed the tip of your nose, pulling a surprised huff of laughter from you around soft sniffles as your fingers latched into his belt loops and weakly tugged at them. He made a sound deep in his chest, hands coming to wrap around your own. “Darlin’-“

“Just don’t want them on my sheets, that’s all.”

“Okay, only if you’re comfortable. That’s all I want right now, okay?”

You helped him, rather uselessly, to unbuckle the belt while he shucked the fabric down his legs. He stepped out of them, clad the clean shirt he had changed into at work and a pair of dark boxer briefs. He let you run your hands underneath his shirt and grab at him, he let you push your face back into his chest. And in return you let him wrap you back up in his arms and guide you to the bed. It took a few moments of shifting to get comfortable, but you ended up laying your upper half over his, his arms on your lower back and your legs tangled together where they stretched out. Your face was pressed into his neck, and you were sure he could feel the wetness of your lashes against his skin.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay, darlin’.”

He was reassuring you as much as he was himself.

previous chapter || next chapter

dividers by the lovely @saradika

[the-little-ewok]

Hard at work

Santiago Garcia X F!Reader

Rating : E/18+

Word count : 3800 (ish)

Warnings : SMUT, office setting (power play dynamics), PIV, unprotected sex, fingering, Dom!Santi (pretty soft), oral (f/receiving), lil bit dirty talk, reader wears a skirt, fluff, semi public sex (I guess. But not really?), Marking, *additional warnings under the fic at the end because spoilers ( nothing bad)

Prompts / summary : “I’m afraid I can no longer remain professional.”, "I think I've made my intentions clear", "Noone needs to know" / Santiago Garcia is your boss. And you should absolutely not be fucking your boss on his desk during the work day…

A/N : I've chosen to put some warnings at the end of the fic as I want to keep a couple of surprises. Nothing bad or super triggering I promise. But if you are worried please check before you read.

Thank you Vi for the hilarious tongue in cheek title 😂 and to the anon who requested!

Please if you read take time to reblog and maybe leave a comment or a couple of tags! The only way writers keep writing is if they hear from you.

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Ping

S. Gacia: I need to talk to you in my office. Now.

You stare at the message on your computer screen, debating if you could think of a good enough excuse not to go, unsure if you could keep your composure when you were alone with your boss today.

It wasn't that you were avoiding him exactly. You liked your boss, you really did. He was hard working, fair, supportive, maybe a little demanding at times, well, actually demanding all the time, but he was hot, in a sort of 'your daughter calls me daddy too' kinda way. He had the eye of every girl in the office, yours included. Most people would be glad to have a boss like him.

The problem was he always seemed to find an excuse to be inappropriate with you — pressing up against you as he leans over you to get a coffee mug out of the cupboard in the break room, brushing his hand against your thigh during meetings, looking at you, and not just a normal look, a complete undressing eye fuck that made your face heat and your thighs press together. He made you want him all the damn time.

And while so far nothing has happened at work, everyone else in the office has noticed the growing situation between you. Disappearing away from your pc to meet with him would only add fuel to the fire.

Ping.

S. Garcia : When I say now, I mean now.

With no good excuses coming to mind you get up with a sigh, smoothing down your skirt and making your way over to his office.

The door is pushed open already, Santiago sitting at his desk, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the top few buttons undone, giving an air of relaxedness, but you can tell he's anything but. Your heart gives a now all too familiar flutter in your chest.

"Mr Garcia?"

You tap the door lightly to get his attention. He gestures you in with a silent wave of his hand, barely looking away from the laptop as you step into the room.

"One moment, and shut the door" he instructs you, tapping away at the keys and muttering in Spanish to himself. You swallow hard as you close the door behind you.

Eventually, your boss sighs, rubbing his hands down his face and shutting his laptop.

"Is everything okay?" You venture inquisitively. Perhaps whatever has frustrated him is the reason he called you in here? Maybe he needs your help with work?

Santiago gets up from his desk, coming around to stand in front of you, just a few steps from where you awkwardly shuffle your feet, waiting for him to speak.

"We need to talk."

You can't help but go through a mental rolodex of things you might have done that you need to talk about with him, but nothing comes to mind.

"I'm afraid I can no longer remain professional," he continues, leaning back against the polished wood with a sigh, as though it's your fault, as though you've done something to encourage him. Perhaps you have. You did specifically pick this outfit today, hoping it would spark his attention, and as his eyes roam a slow trail from your toes to your face, licking his lips, you know it worked, but maybe a little too well.

You choose the innocence card, pretending there hasn't been an underlying tension since you started working together.

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

He doesn't even hesitate for a second before he answers, clearly expecting your response. His dark eyes bore into yours, blatant desire shining through.

"I think you are."

You swallow hard. Sure you might have hoped to get a reaction out of him, but you hadn't actually expected it to work. Especially not when there were specific rules in place about office relationships, especially during work hours.

"No one needs to know," he offers slickly, like putting a deal on the table, some form of forbidden contract. He steps towards you, then around you, coming to stand at your back, close enough that you can feel the warmth from his body.

He leans into you, gripping your upper arms and then slowly allowing his palms to slide down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers.

"It's just us in here. Nobodys going to know what happens here today." His hands ghost over the tips of your fingers, continuing down, stepping closer so his body is pressed up against yours.

"Mr Garcia, I don't think this is the time. We have…we have… work to do." You stutter out as his hands map the curve of your hips, pressing himself against your back. Even as you speak your body leans back against him, tilting your head back onto his shoulder, betraying your every thought about him. You can almost feel the smug smile he's probably wearing, knowing he was right in his assumption that this isn't one sided, and that you really aren't thinking about the work piled on your desk.

Your eyes flutter closed as he presses a trail of kisses down your neck, before his tongue licks its way back up to take your earlobe in his teeth, tugging gently.

"Work can wait. I think I've made my intentions clear," he breathes against your skin. He says it like you have a choice about what happens next. Like there's any possible world in which you would say no.

But you aren't going to let him have the upper hand entirely. You can't just collapse into his arms and beg him to fuck you. He might be your boss, but that doesn't mean you can't have your own fun too.

"I'm really not sure I understand what you mean? Perhaps you'll have to be a little more direct, sir."

There's a hitch in his breath that lets you know the sir hit exactly the way you expected it to.

What you aren't quite expecting is the way he nudges you forward before pressing a hand between your shoulders, forcing you down, bending over his desk. The touch isn't violent or forceful, he isn't the sort of man to do that, but it's commanding enough for you to willingly follow the direction.

Taking both your hands in his he presses them down onto the desk, leaning over you.

"I can make my intentions as clear as you need," he growls, standing back up. "Don't move, or you're fired."

You'd like to think you know him well enough that it's probably an empty threat, but damn does it make your pussy flutter anyway. You press your palms harder against the cool wood, resigned to let him do as he wills with you.

His hands slip across your hips and down over your ass, admiring your position, before he hooks his fingers under the edge of your skirt and raises it, just a little. He's testing you. It's a silent request about how far you want this to go.

You don't move to stop him, so he lifts your skirt the rest of the way, almost delicately slowly, hitching it up over your hips.

He gives a soft hum of appreciation at the pretty lace panties you're wearing, the ones already starting to soak through with your arousal at the fact your boss has you bent over his desk, admiring your ass.

"Pretty," he drawls, pulling back the elastic and letting it snap against your skin, giving a stinging bite and making you gasp. "Not very work appropriate though."

You open your mouth to offer a sarcastic response that people at work don't usually see your panties, but the words catch in your throat as he slides his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down quickly, letting them fall the rest of the way, fully exposing you.

Not satisfied with that, he uses his foot to tap your ankle, encouraging you to lift first one foot, then the other, stepping out of your panties before he kicks them to one side.

"Spread your legs."

If you weren't wet before the gush of arousal you have at his words certainly soaks you now. It isn't a question, it isn't a request, it's an instruction, a command. You spread your legs just a little.

Santiago nudges them further apart with his foot, spreading you for his benefit, before he grabs your ass, squeezing as he surveys you with a groan.

"You're practically dripping on my carpet," he comments, making your face heat.

You hear the whisper of fabric and glancing behind you you see him kneel on the floor, his hands dropping to your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh.

He meets your shocked gaze.

"Now let me be very, very clear in what I want."

The broken noise that leaves your throat as he licks a hot stripe through your folds isn't one you've ever made before, your body jolting forward on the desk.

Your rational brain tells you this is a bad idea. You should be working, not letting your boss eat you out on his desk of all places. But then he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard, and you can't seem to care about work anymore.

You quickly realise he's too good at this, too good at making you tremble all too quickly, taking long slow laps at your clit, pressing his hot tongue deep inside you, growling and groaning as though you were the best thing he's tasted. He has you on the edge of a climax in no time.

Your fingers dig into the hardwood, curling around the edge of the desk, biting out a curse as his tongue completes another slow circle around your clit.

You wish you could see him, tangle your fingers in his short curls, direct him how to throw you over the edge, but you suspect he knows exactly how, and he's dragging this out for his own pleasure.

"Mr Garcia…Santiago…" you hiccup pleadingly, barely able to get enough air in your lungs.

You don't know if it's mercy or torture when his mouth leaves you, giving a playful bite to your ass before he gets to his feet, gently tugging you up, unpeeling you off the desk, his hands on your waist, steadying you on wobbling legs as he spins you to face him.

"Clear now?" He asks, almost impatiently. His eyes are dark, your slick still shining on his chin as he makes a show of licking his lips.

"That was…pretty clear," you breathe shakily.

He smirks as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding you still as he presses his lips to yours, allowing you to taste yourself as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It's not the type of kiss you're expecting from him. He kisses you sensually, tenderly, it's slow and decadent. He lets go of your chin in order to slide his hand around the back of your neck, holding you to him as his tongue slides against yours, drawing soft little moans from you.

When he pulls away your lips are kiss swollen and your fingers are tangled in his curls the way you wanted to do only moments ago.

"I want to fuck you here, on my desk," he whispers against your lips. "I want to stain the wood with your cum so there's always a part of you in here with me."

Oh fuck.

You don't answer initially, forcing down the moan of desire that tries to escape. Instead, you lift yourself up onto the desk, feeling the cool wood against your heated skin, before you curl your fingers around the white collar of his shirt, pulling him close to you. You're done waiting. You're done playing. You're done being professional.

"So fuck me already."

His mouth crashes into yours, kissing you hard as you both scramble to unbuckle his pants. He's barely shoved them down before his hands are gripping your thighs, tugging you roughly forward to the edge of the desk, lining himself up at your entrance, his actions messy and impatient.

Even so, he presses into you slowly, allowing you to adjust to the stretch that borders pleasure and pain, swallowing each of your moans with his kisses, letting out a low groan as he bottoms out, giving a soft nip of his teeth to your bottom lip.

"Fuck, you feel so good. Pussy is so wet for me," he slurs, taking your chin back in his fingers, forcing you to look at him. "How much have you thought about fucking your boss you filthy girl?"

Ring. Ring.

The sharp trill of the phone cuts in, making you both pause, turning to look at it mocking you from its space next to the laptop.

Shit. No. Not now. The timing could not be any worse. You need this. You've waited too long for this.

Santiago looks at you, his gaze questioning. You shake your head, silently pleading with him not to answer, not to put an end to this yet.

He lets out a soft curse, glancing over to the phone and reading the caller ID.

"Be quiet," he hisses, leaning over you and to your shock, clicking the answer button.

You don't quite know how to react as he grabs one of your thighs, hoisting it up over his hip, forcing his cock deeper as he starts to thrust into you. It steals the breath from your lungs and you let out a choked noise, throwing a hand over your mouth to smother it, still shocked he's actually taking this call.

Santiago lets out a quiet laugh at your reaction as he speaks on the phone, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Fish, what's up?"

"Just checking in on how things are going," the man on the phone answers easily, clearly unaware of the position your boss was in.

"Hard at work," Santiago answers, thrusting deeply into you with the last word, and you squeeze your eyes shut, desperately muffling your moans of pleasure.

You can't believe he's doing this, casually carrying on a conversation as he leisurely rocks into you. Your mind can't really keep up with the discussion— something about a BBQ on the weekend — too distracted in concentrating on keeping quiet, and hoping the wet squelch of your pussy isn't being picked up on the call.

You bury your face into his neck, trying not to allow the pleasure threading through you to give you both away. It's an uphill battle. Each steady thrust pushes you closer, your pussy already sensitive from his earlier ministrations.

You're not expecting it when he turns his head, his teeth biting down on your pulse point. It's just enough to send a shock through your system, making your eyes snap open, and your pussy clamp down on his cock.

Santiago's eyes go wide and it's him that lets out a choked moan, clearly far louder than he intended to. There's a beat of silence in the conversation as he scrambles for the phone receiver.

You have a moment of smug satisfaction at his panic, but the joy is fleeting, as when his eyes are back on you, smouldering and dark, phone in his hand, you realise you are in trouble. A lot of trouble.

"I'll call you back."

Click. With the press of a button the phone call ends, the receiver clattering noisily back onto the desk. Santiago's hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough there will be marks.

"You shouldn't have done that."

You have a moment of panic that he's going to end this, leave you on the edge, unsatisfied, and send you back to your desk desperate and needy. But instead, he pulls almost all the way out of you, before slamming his hips into yours.

You let out a strangled moan. Every time you think he can't possibly go deeper, he angles his hips and sinks in further. You want to scramble back on the desk, give yourself a moment to breathe, to think, to process the bliss, but Santiago's hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as you fall back on your elbows, splayed out across his desk, being used solely for his pleasure.

Santiago follows your movement, bending himself over you, causing the angle of his thrusts to change just slightly and hit something bright inside you. Pens and papers clatter noisily to the floor as the desk rocks with you. In a desperate attempt to stop yourself from suddenly being pushed over the other side, you grab onto his shoulders, holding yourself in place.

There's a growing blissful ache in your pussy and muscles that lets you know you'll still feel this tomorrow.

But you don't care, you can't care. All you care about is the knot in your stomach tightening, your muscles straining, your vision whiting out. All you care about is the pleasure careening through you.

Your pussy clamps down around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as your climax bursts through you. You give all pretence at being quiet, throwing your head back as you all but scream his name, uncaring who hears.

"Fuck, Santiago!"

The clench of your pussy drags him over the edge with you, and he muffles a growl into your neck, filling you with hot bursts of cum.

He pauses there, buried deep inside you, your pussy still pulsing as you come down. Lifting his head he captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his hands tenderly massaging your thighs, slipping up your back to pull you to sit up, holding you against him.

When he eventually pulls away, his eyes roam your face, taking in your dishevelled appearance, pressing a final gentle kiss to your lips, before he slips out of you, pulls his pants back up and disappears around the other side of the desk.

You slide off shakily, your skirt still bunched up around your waist, turning to watch him throw himself down into the office chair, your panties dangling from his fingers like a hard won prize, back to his cocky, self assured, smug self. All traces of the softness he had only moments ago, wiped away.

"You won't be needing these back," he grins, opening his top drawer to drop your panties inside, before snapping it shut, his gaze daring you to protest as you stand open mouthed.

"Can I at least have something to clean-"

"No." He cuts you off, going back to clicking through his emails on his computer.

You have the realisation that he expects you to walk back to your desk with his cum still dripping down your thighs. You imagine the stain on your skirt, on your chair, one that probably won't ever fully come out, the stain like the one currently staring at you from the wood of his desk, a constant reminder of this day.

It shouldn't make your pussy clench the way it does.

You swallow, pulling down your skirt, ignoring the slick already coating your thighs, and give him a defiant stare.

"Very well. Will that be all Mr Garcia?" You mock sarcastically. If he was going to go back to professional, then so were you.

He doesn't even glance at you as he answers, dismissing you as though nothing has happened.

"For now. But don't go far. I don't think it will be long before I need to see you again."

You suppress a smile as you leave.

~

"Still working hard?"

Looking up from the document you've barely typed a word on all afternoon, you meet the gentle gaze of your boyfriend.

His eyes crinkle as he smiles warmly at you.

"Yeah, I haven't really managed to get much done," you sigh, glancing back to the half written document, knowing it's a lost cause for now.

"You look tired, baby. Your boss working you too hard?"

"He's pretty unforgiving," you hum, rubbing your eyes, your body aching with exhaustion. "Three times he had me in his office today."

Your boyfriend lets out a low impressed whistle.

"Harsh. Well, how about you leave whatever you're doing for now? I'm sure your boss will be okay with it being finished tomorrow. I'll run you a bath, make some dinner, then we can relax in front of the TV? Your choice of movie."

"That actually sounds perfect," you smile, logging out of the pc and getting to your feet, stretching your cramped muscles.

He holds his hand out to you as you come around the desk, pulling you into his arms and giving you a sweet kiss.

"I told you having two home offices would be fun," Santiago grins, his eyes bright.

Giggling, you shake your head.

"Yes, but I don't think we got any work done!"

Santiago shrugs nonchalantly.

"Guess that's the perks of being with the boss. I'll let you get away with it and make it up tomorrow." He winks and you laugh, knowing you both have a huge amount of work to catch up on now.

When he'd suggested you work with him you'd been hesitant for this exact reason. But he'd promised to keep quiet about your relationship initially, while you settled into the job, and for the most part, Santiago was professional in the office, although your colleagues had started to notice his almost blatant eye fucks. If you were honest, you didn't help the situation, sending him filthy chat messages, knowing he couldn't have you until you made it home. It turned out professionalism when you wanted to fuck your boss, was hard work.

You squeeze his hand as he leads you to the bathroom.

"Santi, can I have my panties back?"

"Nope," he grins positively merrily. "I'm going to frame them and put them next to the stain on my desk."

You roll your eyes, unsure if he's joking or not, but judging by the look on his face, you think not.

—----

Additional warnings (ending spoilers):

*illusions to infidelity/cheating (it's not I promise)/ role playing

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