Bear with me I'm sleep deprived but underground tattoo artist Sam.
In Crime Alley there's a tattoo artist that costs a shitton of money, she brings the shop to the customer, and she is definitely a mad scientist or a meta or something.
The ink she uses is fluorescent, and can respond to the wearers need for the tattoo to be invisible or completely visible.
And rumor has it if she gets paid extra the tattoos will move on their fucking own.
Flowers bloom, animals snarl and blink, galaxies slowly rotate as they dance around the skin they have been confined in.
And Jason loves dramatic shit like that.
But when he tries to hunt her down to request one, he keeps unearthing more and more concerning things.
There are no camera sightings of her. No one can really describe her face.
Then the kicker.
When one of her customers let him have a piece of skin for a diagnostic and Lazarus Water (severely diluted but still) shows up, he knows he has to ask the Bats for assistance in finding a well renowned artist that, for all intents and purposes, doesn't exist.
997 notes
·
View notes
pick your poison
906 notes
·
View notes
if i had one wish it would be for mfs who think calling mizu a woman is misgendering her to stop popping up on my feed with their fuck ass takes and their blatant disregard of why she had to dress/present like a man to begin with-
124 notes
·
View notes
DCxDP Fic Idea: The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord
Martha accidentally engaged Bruce to a higher being when he was two.
It sounds terrible, but she hadn't thought that the man wearing the Time ghost costume at her husband's Halloween Gala wasn't wearing a costume and was actually the physical embodiment of Time.
She just thought he took Halloween very seriously.
Mr. Clockwork was charming and didn't care that she had married from the lower level of first class. Her parents were rich, of course, but they weren't old money, and they certainly didn't have a lot of power to speak of.
Because of that, the elites of Gotham thought she wasn't good enough to be in a family such as the Waynes. It was so lovely not to be dragged into conversations that were thinly concealed insults.
Everyone else at the Gala thought Martha had no right to be there with them. Why was she just a few zeros off from being middle class, and wasn't it just so sad that Thomas would stain his family with her?
Secertly, Martha prayed Bruce would do something wild, like marry a girl from Crime Alley or even adopt kids in lower classes to make them all choke on their pearls.
Her son would be one of the most powerful men in a few years, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of hell he would unleash upon them. She would never push, of course, but it would be a nice fantasy to have every time she had to face passive-aggressive comments from ladies told by their fathers they would be a far better Mrs. Wyane.
" Why, hello there. Aren't you the cutest little thing?" Mr. Clockwork coos, smiling down at Bruce. He clung to his mother's skirt, his matching cowboy costume a miniature version of what she was wearing.
The boy had wandered over in the middle of their conversation once he was bored of coloring at his table. Martha couldn't blame her poor baby. There really wasn't much to do for those his age here.
Thomas had stated that children were usually not brought along due to being loud and distracting.
Martha wouldn't hear any of it, insisting her son would be going with them at the party or there would be no party. The majority of the elites believed children should be seen, not heard, and that boiled her blood something fierce.
Thomas had thankfully known when to pick his battles, so he allowed his wife to drag him to a costume store for a family costume to wear. He currently chatting with a group of investors in all his cowboy glory somewhere on the other side of the gala.
"Say thank you, Bruce," She tells her boy, but he only hides his face more, causing the two adults to chuckle. "Do you have kids, Mr.Clockwork?"
"Yes. Two daughters and a son" The man chuckles "All three are a handleful but I love them dearly."
"Oh, how wonderful. Bruce is my only son, but I want to give him siblings," she tells him warmly. She can picture Bruce chasing after his younger siblings dressed up as the Grey Ghost he loves.
She knows Thomas was worried about their chances of having a second child. He was informed not too long ago that he may suffer from secondary infertility. She didn't mind. If they couldn't have a child of their own by blood they could easily adopt.
Martha worked long and hard to provide good orphanages to the city. Maybe one day, a child from there could be her own. She'll have to speak to her orphanage managers- those in charge of the kids- to see if they could help her find one.
They have successfully been getting kids into good homes (At least she thought the number of children constantly changed, and the kids were never seen again, meaning the families that adopted them loved them enough to never return!)
Mr. Clockwork hums "how about giving him a spouse instead? My girls or boy could be a good partner"
Laughing, she assumes he meant her work on bettering the lives of the gay community- in honor of her brother who passed during the AIDs epidemic. "I'm sure Bruce would be happy to hear Mommy found him a husband."
"Is that a yes?" Clockwork eyes' flashed with an emotion that was gone too quick for her to identify.
"Yes, of course. If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all."
Mr. Clockworks red eyes - contacts? A medical condition?- gleam, and his voice takes on a strange rhythm. "Then so shall it be, my son Danny Fenton shall be married to Bruce Wayne per their Blood Mother and Core Father deal."
Huh. Maybe Mr. Clockwork is a nutcase. Suddenly, she thinks back to her father, who would often tell her that she lived in a delusion because he did not want her to see the horror that Gotham truly is.
Even when you think you're doing good, Gotham has a way of making your work into nightmares.
Was Mr. Clockwork one of those people he warned her about?
Thankfully, he leaves not long after that. He claims he must return to work before his co-workers notice him gone. She doesn't see him for the rest of the night and half wonders if she had been speaking to one of the wait staff they hired as extra help.
Not that she minded, but it made her think his name might not even be Clockwork.
She tells Thomas the story hours after Bruce is put to bed with a candy bucket and the last guests have all slipped home. Thomas is exhausted, having been playing host longer than her because Martha had left around eight to take Bruce trick and treating. Then she got home and put him down for his bedtime.
She got back to the party around eleven but it was a much-needed break from all the hostility that Thomas had been forced to face alone.
"WHAT!?" Thomas booms when she finishes the story. They had just crawled into bed, and Thomas had been rolling to his side for sleep before her words flung him back. "Clockwork!? You're sure you spoke to Clockwork!?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"What did he look like?"
"Um well he was in costume, but red eyes, blue skin, and he was wearing purple robes." She watches as the blood drains from her husband's face. "What is it darling? Who was he?"
"Oh, this isn't good....Alfred! Alfred!" Thomas frantically calls as if the devil had appeared in their bedroom.
Their servant and sometimes lover comes racing into the room, carrying a loaded shotgun. Ever since Thomas had met him overseas when he hired the British man as a personal bodyguard, he fell hard and fast for Alfred but he still deeply loved Martha.
He had sent Martha a letter detailing his feelings for his guard, and only after she had given him permission did he pursue the butler. Alfred had insisted on meeting Thomas' wife to prove that she was okay with him having a lover, so he had followed Wayne back home.
Then he simply never left.
Maybe because he was the best butler Wayne ever had, with his regal training and service in her royal highness' army, but she thinks that her own developed feelings for Alfred convince him to remain.
Alfred insisted that he was only a servant and thus could not be added to their marriage besides a bed partner occasionally. Still, Martha hoped one day they could convince him otherwise.
Bruce already saw him as a second father.
He looks at the pair, dressed in their nightwear in a rather enticing position (Thomas had grabbed Martha by her shoulder, to look into her eyes but that left them rather entangled on the bed) with no visible threat, and raises one brow.
Before he can say anything Thomas is all but rolling out of bed in a frantic leap. He tangles up in the blankets, falling gracelessly over the edge in failing limbs "Martha made a deal with Clockwork!"
At once, Alfred's handsome face drains of blood. "Oh dear, Martha darling, you made a grave mistake."
She can only blink at the men in confusion. "Who is Clockwork?"
"He has many names, but I knew him as Merlin," Alfred informed her evenly. He took her hand in his, the tremble in his fingers revealing his unease. " He had shown interest in Master Thomas before and was the one I protected him from. I barely fought him off and only due to outsmarting him. I would not be able to do it again a second time."
What?
"He is also known as a Fae or incubus in some circles. The kind that steals you away for fun." Thomas babbled from where he was pacing next to the bed, eyes franticly glancing about as if the bogggie man was about to leap out at him from the shadows.
For a moment, Martha wondered why her husband, a man of science and medicine who had never been superstitious, believed this Clockwork was some...some creature of myths.
"Martha, love, what did he ask of you?" Alfred questioned, bringing her hand to his lips as though kissing them would confirm she was safe before him.
"He asked for Bruce to marry his son."
"Oh, gods!" Thomas fretted, speeding up, his long strides becoming far more frantic. "Please say you didn't say yes."
"I-thought it was a joke, I didn't see anything wrong with it, I- said yes."
Alfred closed his eyes, looking like a man who had just been informed his death sentence had been signed by the Queen. "Then all we can do now is pray."
Years later, as Alfred is dusting the portrait of his deceased loves. He allowed his hand to trace the cover of Martha's painted smile and Thomas' strong jaw, mind filled with stolen kisses and sweet nothings that were ripped away that fateful night.
He is still struck by their loss. Every now and then, the knowledge of their death creeps in during his most mundane activities. It's like a kick to the chest every time.
Oh, how he misses them.
Ding Dong
The front doorbell jolts him out of his memories so violently it takes the aged Butler a moment or two to get a hold of his senses. He puts down the duster, climbs down the latter, and quickly makes his way to the door.
Stopping to fix his suit coat, he throws it open with a prepared smile. He expects extra help from the catering company Master Bruce hired for Wayne's annual Halloween Gala.
He was not expecting the two men, one looking nervous around Master Bruce's age and the other sly. His age is hard to gauge, but it may be due to time not affecting him as it did mortals.
Alfred's blood freezes at the sight of those cunning red eyes and smirk. "Merlin."
"Alfred Pennyworth." The demon chuckles. "I prefer Clockwork, as you know, but it's good to see you remember me. Most humans are prone to forgetting in their limited age."
"What are you doing here?"
"Why I came to fulfill the deal between Martha Wayne nee Kane and I"
"Martha is dead. Your contact is void."
Clockwork chuckles again, the sound as deadly as poison. "The contact lives as long as all those involved in it live. You know this."
Alfred presses the panic button on his wristwatch, knowing it sends a message to everyone in the manor to evacuate immediately. He will not live through this battle, but hopefully, it will give Master Bruce time to escape. "You will not lay a hand on Master Bruce."
"Come now, Alfred. We are to be in-laws. Our sons are joining in holy matrimony. Why the hostility-"
"Excuse me what?" The other man-demon? Ghost? Higher-being? cuts in, looking at Clockwork with brows knitted into a frown. "What did you mean holy matrimony?"
"Danny, you're getting married," Clockwork says with a cheerful wave.
"The hell I am!" The man barks, flushing red with anger. Alfred can hardly believe he just yelled at the monster. "I am not marrying some random guy!"
"It is the way things must go for the good of mankind-"
"Oh, go suck on a lemon! We both know that whole "this is fate" is bull!"
"You are embarrassing me in front of our new in-laws, younn man" Clockwork actually waves a finger at the fully grown human. "This is my one chance to marry you off to a good man. We both know that you can't attract a mate on your own."
"What!? Yes, I can! I've had girlfriends and boyfriends before!"
"And yet, no spouse! No wedding! Not even a ring!"
"Moby Dick, I knew this bonding fishing trip was a lie! You can't make me get married because of some contact you made when I was three!"
"It's not permanent! Martha Wayne said If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all. This means you both must want to be together after one year of marriage. See if you like it, and if you don't, I can always find you a new husband."
"This isn't returning a jacket to a store! I can't just see if I like being married Clockwork!" The man hissed running a hand through his hair. "We're going home. I'm so sorry for bothering you today Mr. Alfred."
Alfred blinks at the young man's sheepish smile, wondering if ti's a trick. "No bother at all."
"Danny, if you leave without marriage, Bruce Wayne will die in an hour due to breaking our contract," Clockwork says, crossing his arms. "Honestly, your sisters were far more mature regarding their marriages."
Danny punches him in the face with a glowing hand. The higher being falls like a sack of bricks.
"Right, I'm going to drop this one off at a nursing home, and then I'll return to marry Bruce. Only so the contact doesn't kill him, and I swear I'll only visit every once in a while until our year is up." Throwing- Merlin, holy shit- over his shoulder as if though he weighed nothing, Danny waves at Alfred and scurries away, vanishing into a green portal.
Alfred is left standing at the doorway, utterly flabbergasted. Distantly, he wonders if the hollowing wind is actually Martha laughing herself silly in the afterlife.
Carefully, he reaches up for his com, switching it on to the sound of his family's frantic bickering. They were all worried about him since he sent the alarm and were fighting about following policy or saving him.
"Master Bruce," He says faintly silencing the coms "Please come to have your suit fitted as soon as you can."
"What for?" His son asks, likely looking for a coded message, but Alfred doesn't have the mental capacity to make one.
"Your wedding, sir. It's tonight, courtesy of your mother."
The coms explode into chaos.
2K notes
·
View notes
HEAVEN AND BACK !
—Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor's Mom! Reader
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Genre: Romance
Warnings: Love at first sight, fast paced romance and mentions of domestic ab*se.
Notes: to the anon who requested the platonic Alastor x Mom! Reader it would be part of this:)
Synopsis: In which Alastor's mother went down to hell to oversee the hotel's progress and met the king of hell.
Word count: 4.6k words
PART TWO | NAVIGATION
[Y/n] lived a good and honest life, a simple housewife with one son. After finally separating with her abusive husband, her life with her son, Alastor had become better. Alastor promised that he'll support her through his radio hosting, the boy has become quite popular amongst the folks—with his wits and charm, he was able to make a reputation for himself and earn money better for him and her.
[Y/n] was finally happy, proud of what she and her son have accomplished. She doesn't have to worry about her ex-husband coming home to hurt her or her son.
After the divorce, not a few weeks later, her husband was found dead with several of his body parts missing. She and her son were questioned about it but nothing could connect them to the crime and was proven innocent.
Alastor comforted her about it, promising to protect her if the killer ever hurt her. Which calmed her down as the whole situation did affect her, despite her harboring hatred towards her ex-husband, she felt bad he got murdered in a brutal way possible.
Peace and happiness didn't last long for her unfortunately, some fight happened in the city when she was out for an errand and she got in the middle of the crossfire, getting herself shot twice—on her shoulder and one in her stomach. She bled to death.
[Y/n] briefly remembers a tall black haired man walking towards her, black wings on his back while carrying a large golden scythe on his hand.
“[y/n] [l/n], age is 44 years old, destination is heaven.” the man says with an amused tone in his voice. A smile found its way to her lips, this must be death then? I am sorry Alastor, I can no longer watch over you. She thought sadly, and then suddenly darkness.
[Y/n] woke up with a gasp, her eyes staring at the bright blue skies. Blinking, disoriented about what just happened. She looked at her side to see clouds, clouds everywhere. Even the ground she's lying on is clouds.
“Where... Am I...?” she mutters as she sits, finally turning around to see the gates that are shining ever so brightly, the radiant rays of the sun reflecting against the golden gate.
“Am I... In heaven...?” she asked herself softly, eyes widening as she remembers what happened. The fight in the city, getting shot—twice, bleeding to death.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks, as the reality that she died finally settled in. “No, no, no, no, no!” she said to herself, her hands covering her mouth to stop herself from crying. Her smile now lowering, already tired of keeping it up. She was the one who taught her son to always smile in any situation, but this...? She can't keep it up any longer. So she cried, hysterically. Her cries echoing throughout the skies.
She's dead, that means she won't see her son ever again. Her son will be alone, she can't be there for him!
It took a while for her to finally calm down, with a shaky breath she got off the cloudy grounds and approached the gate. An angel sitting behind the counter at the side of the gate is what she saw.
“Welcome to heaven, can I get your name please?” the man says with a smile, [y/n] stood there nervously, “[y/n] [l/n].” she says softly and watched as the male flipped through his thick book, “[y/n] Alberich, [y/n] Gunnhildr, [y/n] Lawrence [y/n] Kreideprinz, [y/n] Ragnvindr...” the angel mutters as he flips through his book, [y/n] stood awkwardly as she watches him.
The angel's finger finally stopped at a name and his smile became brighter, “Aha! There it is, [y/n] [l/n]... Please, come inside. I Saint Peter, officially welcome you to heaven.” the angel also known as Saint Peter says with a smile, the gates of heaven opening up for her.
[Y/n] nodded and hesitantly walked to the gate, passing by it and finally got inside the heavenly city.
Her new life after death. She hopes her son will join her here when his time comes, for now, she'll enjoy her new life.
It has been a few years, decades even. Still no sign of Alastor, she wonders if Alastor was gifted with a long life, something she didn't have? After getting inside heaven, they are not allowed to check up on their remaining loved ones on earth as they are not allowed to and [y/n] respected that, she'll wait for her son to join her here. She does miss her son, she wonders how he's doing, especially after her death. She can't imagine the pain he felt after her passing. She wonders if he's in purgatory if that place ever exists, she prays that her beloved son isn't in hell. Not her Alastor.
During her time here, she somehow became a well respected angel, becoming a seraphim angel and helping around heaven, overseeing important matters around the heavenly realm. [Y/n] befriended another seraphim angel named Emily, the girl is wonderful to be around with! Very positive and such a kind girl. [Y/n] enjoys having her around.
Recently, a secret has just been revealed during a court meeting with hell's princess, the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar, [y/n] read about him and she believes that the angel didn't do anything wrong, just misunderstood but this belief is something she keeps to herself, in fear of the others throwing her out for that small reason.
All throughout the trial Charlotte Morningstar expressed valid arguments, showing that souls can really improve their ways.
It was revealed that the exorcists were going down to hell to cleanse them, a sugar coated word for killing. The fact that Sera agreed to it was ridiculous but [y/n] can't do anything about it, she is just a mortal soul after all. She can't argue with the high seraphim and risk herself getting thrown out of heaven.
[Y/n] can only pray that Charlie's plan will work.
After that meeting, [y/n] can sensed that high ranking angels trust on Sera significantly lowered.
[Y/n] and Emily spent most of their free time researching, finding ways to help Charlie achieve her dreams for her people.
It has been a day since the cleansing started, [y/n] was in the seraphim office together with Sera and Emily doing important paperwork when suddenly a bright light fills the room and out emerged a familiar snake they [y/n] saw during the court meeting when Charlie was showing Angel Dust, she could briefly remember this snake man to be one of Angel Dust's and Charlie's friend. The one who announced he'll have sex with everyone at the club, she definitely didn't forget about that. The only difference is that the man's color themes changed.
“Huh? Wha...? Where am I?” he says as he looks around the unfamiliar place.
[Y/n] covers her mouth in disbelief while Emily squeaked beside her, turning around to look at the other two seraphim, Sera was in disbelief, [y/n] can't tell what the older woman is feeling right now.
Turning back to look at the new guest, [y/n] gave the man a small wave and the man gave her an awkward smile while waving back, “Oh... Hello!” he says and [y/n] giggles and Emily squeaks beside her.
“Hi! Welcome to heaven!” Emily cheers, the man's eyes widened. “I'm in heaven...?” he says in disbelief and [y/n] nodded, “Yes, this is heaven and you're currently in the office of the Seraphims. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Pentious or dare I say... Sir Redemptious?” [y/n] says with a small and gentle chuckle, chuckling at her own joke. Emily giggled at the joke while Sera remained flabbergasted.
Sir Pentious blinks in confusion, “You know me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
Emily nodded, a bright smile on her face, “Yes! But it is a long story.” she says with a large smile.
“But first, let us introduce ourselves.” [y/n] says with a small smile, a smile that seems awfully familiar to Sir Pentious but less... Threatening.
[Y/n] clears her throat, “It is an honor to meet you, Sir Pentious. I am [y/n] [l/n] one of the seraphims.” she introduces and Emily follows after, “Hi! I am Emily but you can call me Em, Emmy, Ly... It is a pleasure to meet you!” Emily says excitedly, approaching Sir Pentious' side and admiring him, circling him and taking in his new appearance.
“And this,” [y/n] says, extending her arms towards Sera, “This is Sera, the head Seraphim.” [y/n] says which snapped Sera out of her thoughts. Sera cleared her throat, finally back to her authoritative self.
“Greetings, Sir Pentious. I am Sera, the head Seraphim. I would like to formally welcome you to heaven, I hope you'll enjoy your stay.” Sera says and Emily nodded excitedly while [y/n] just gave a small nod with a gentle smile on her face.
“I'm not dreaming...?” Sir Pentious says in disbelief and [y/n] shook her head, “I can assure you that you are not dreaming right now.”
Emily tilts her head in confusion, finally realizing something. “How come he arrived immediately here and not at the gates...?” she asked and [y/n] hummed, she too was baffled by this, placing a hand on her chin as she began to think.
“Perhaps... He's another Seraphim?” [y/n] asked, snapping her fingers and she smirked as she noticed Sera's eye twitches. Interesting... [Y/n] thought, a subtle smirk on her face, finding the situation interesting.
“How about I show you around? I'll let the grownups handle your stay here.” Emily says, Sir Pentious looked at the girl, “I hope that my egg bois are here.” he says with glassy eyes and Emily let's out a small 'aweee' and patting the back of the man, “I am sure they are here.” Emily says as she pulls the man out of the office.
[Y/n] turned to look at Sera, a mischievous grin on her face. Sera sighs, a frown on her face. “Don't say it.” Sera muttered and [y/n] chuckles, “What...? I am not saying anything yet.” she says with a mischievous tone. Sera rolls her eyes at the woman.
“I was in the wrong, the hotel does work.” Sera says, disbelief that it does. “[y/n]. I want you to go down there and make sure that the hotel runs smoothly.” Sera says and [y/n] blinked, confused on what the woman was planning, “Why me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her smile not leaving her face.
“Just do it.” Sera deadpans and [y/n] shrugs, still has a small smile on her face, “Alright, whatever the boss says.” she shrugs.
“Make sure it runs smoothly but don't tell them he's here, I fear it will influence the sinners. I want them to work hard for it, and work hard for something that they are unsure of.” Sera says, walking out of her table, walking across the room and stood in front of the window, gazing outside the office of the Seraphims.
[Y/n] looked at the woman's back, Sera's wings neatly folded behind her. [Y/n] nodded in agreement, understanding where she's coming from.
“Understood, when shall I start?” [y/n] asked, tilting her head in confusion.
“Next week, let them rebuild the hotel. Do you understand your mission, [y/n]?” Sera says, turning around to look at her, [y/n] kneels down gracefully, a hand over her heart.
“Affirmative.” [y/n] says softly and Sera nodded, “Good.”
[Y/n]'s head peaked through the small gap of Sir Pentious' door as she opens it, her eyes soften as she sees Emily and Sir Pentious talking and multiple egg boys asleep on the bed. Knocking to catch their attention, the two looked at the very tall angel woman standing by the door, a gentle smile on her face.
“Hello, Sir Pent. I hope you're comfortable with your new room. I see that Emi is warming up to you which isn't surprising.” [y/n] giggles and Emily smiles and nodded excitedly.
“Speaking of [y/n], she's like a mom to everyone! She's so nice, I hope you two will get along!” Emily says happily, [y/n] presumes that Emily was talking about other angels before she came inside the room. [Y/n] smiles and gives the two a gentle nod, “That is me, if you have any problem... Feel free to approach me okay?” [y/n] says with a closed eyed smile, Sir Pentious eyes sparkled and a small blush on his cheeks as he could literally feel the gentle warmth of the woman.
[Y/n] just smiles and tilts her head before looking at Emily, “Anyways, I just came to check up on you two on how you two are doing. I'll be leaving now, you two have fun okay?” [y/n] says softly and Emily nodded, “Okay! I'll see you later Miss [y/n]!” Emily says and then Sir Pentious nodded and gave a wave to the woman. The two watched the older and taller woman leave the room.
[Y/n] walks away from Sir Pentious' room, walking past multiple doors that decorated the hallway—these are rooms that souls occupy and sooner, Sir Pentious' room will be upgraded since the man is a seraphim after all.. Entering the elevator, [y/n] presses a button—a button to her floor. The door closes.
[Y/n] sighs as she feels the elevator moving upwards, her mind buzzing with multiple thoughts. Taking mental notes on what to bring for her time in hell, she'll have to oversee the hotel after all.
The door opens, [y/n] steps out of the elevator, walking past by multiple doors (but the doors are much lesser than the floor Sir Pentious was in), these hallways are the rooms of the Seraphims.
Her feet stopped, coming to a halt. Holding the doorknob, the symbol of the doorknob glows, signifying that the owner of the room returned and in turn, and unlocked the door.
Stepping inside, she closes the door behind her. Time to pack.
Timeskip a few days later.
[Y/n] stood at the opposite side of Sera's table, her hands holding her luggage, Sera the high Seraphim sat on her seat looking at the taller woman. Emily standing beside Sera, the smaller girl looked at [y/n] with a slight worried look but still had a smile on her face. [Y/n] is proud that Emily continuously applied her teachings, you're never fully dressed without a smile, as what she always tells the girl.
“Goodluck, Miss [y/n]!” Emily says with a grin on her face, [y/n] chuckles at the girl's enthusiasm and nodded nonetheless.
“Do not disappoint us.” Sera says, [y/n]'s eyes narrowed slightly but her smile never faltered. [Y/n] nodded, a charming tone in her voice, “No promises.” she says with a grin and Sera rolls her eyes and then snaps her fingers, opening a portal for the taller angel.
[Y/n] waved goodbye at the two and stepped into the portal.
The bright blue scenario was replaced with a dark red one, a door was in front of her, a glass tinted door depicting apples and snakes.
Placing down her luggage, she curls up her fingers and then knocks on the door.
Loud knocks were heard against the tinted glass doors of the hotel, the sounds momentarily cutting off the conversation the hotel dwellers were having.
Angel Dust raises his eyebrows as he looks at the door, Husk stopping midway of drying up a freshly cleaned glass. Niffty just resumes cleaning the lobby of the hotel, Vaggie and Charlie were on the couch with Charlie's head on Vaggie's lap, Cherri is passed out drunk on the counter of the mini bar, and Alastor was just grinning as he sat on the cushioned chair.
Getting off Vaggie's lap, Charlie Morningstar walked towards the door, getting a very strong sense of deja vu. Opening it and seeing a very tall smiling angel looking down on her, a familiar angel that she saw when she had the court meeting in heaven, she remembers that this woman stood at the opposite side of Emily. Charlie never got to actually meet her or know her.
“Good eveni—” the angel started but was cut off as Charlie closed the door.
Turning around to look at her friends, a look of disbelief on her face. There's an angel in her front door, there is a SERAPHIM ANGEL IN HER FRONT DOOR.
“Vaggie?” Charlie calls out to her girlfriend nervously, Vaggie gave her a raised eyebrow, “What?” she asked.
“There's a seraphim angel at the door.” Charlie says, pointing towards the door. This promptly made everyone freeze.
“Oh my fucking god... I swear, what do they want this time..?” Angel sighs loudly, Vaggie standing up and getting her angelic weapon.
Charlie took a deep breath and opened the door once more, the same tall angel looking down on her with a gentle smile on her face, “May I speak now?” she asked and Charlie nodded nervously with a smile, the angel laughed, though she is experiencing major deja vu at the moment, “Relax, I am not here to cause trouble. Keep smiling darling, you're never fully dressed without one~!” she says with a giggle and Charlie nervously puts a smile on her face.
“Hi... My name is Charlie and you are...?” Charlie introduces herself shyly, a little flustered. The woman was very gorgeous and... Tall...
The angel shakes the girl's hand enthusiastically, “I know, my name is [y/n], it is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Morningstar.” [y/n] says with a giggle but quickly stopping as an angelic spear was pointed at her, Vaggie muttering something in Spanish underneath her breath.
“What is a seraphim angel doing here? Last time I checked, you guys hated us.” Vaggie sneers and [y/n] just smiled, using her pointer finger to push away the spear gently away from her, “Hate you...? No, no, no dearie... It's just Sera, she's... How to say it... An old time bitch.” [y/n] deadpans with a chuckle.
Charlie and Vaggie blinked at her words, in disbelief at how a seraphim can easily say something like that quite easily.
[Y/n] flicked her hand dismissively, “Ugh, I don't like her that much.” she sighs and chuckles, her eyes returning back to look at the two shorter girls.
“Let us forget about her for a moment, the reason I am here is that Sera wanted me to oversee the hotel and keep track if it makes any progress.” [y/n] explained, her pointer finger pointed up as she nodded to herself.
Vaggie narrows her eyes at her but decides not to question it but still held some suspicion of the woman. Vaggie thought that the angel reminds her of someone, but who?
Charlie just looked at the woman, in disbelief that Heaven changed its mind. Though, she too held some slight suspicion but decided not to think too much of it, moving to the side to allow the woman to pass through the tinted glass doors of the hotel.
“Very well then, please come in.” Charlie says and [y/n] gave the girl a curt bow and invited herself in.
[Y/n] admired the interior of the hotel, her eyes sparkling in admiration as she appreciates the design of the building. The interior is filled with so many red, white, gold, and black hues—a contrast to what she was used to in heaven. Charlie closes the door behind them and starts leading the taller woman back to the lobby.
“My, this hotel is very beautiful.” [y/n] says genuinely as she follows the shorter girls as they lead her towards the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel.
Finally arriving at the lobby where the other hotel members were staying, [y/n] surveyed each one of them carefully. The man who resembled a red deer oddly reminded her of someone.
Alastor was quite interested in who the person Charlie was talking to by the door.
His eyes widened, his smile faltering slightly as he saw the woman he's long last seen and the most he has missed.
“Everyone, heaven decided to send someone to oversee the hotel's progress. This is [y/n], she is a seraphim. I hope you treat her with respect.” Charlie says with a small smile. The name makes Alastor's ears ring.
He couldn't stop himself as the words left his lips, “Mother...?” Alastor says with wide eyes and a smile still on his face.
Silence.
Angel Dust's and Husk's jaw dropped. Seeing a new facial reaction of the always smiling man.
[Y/n]'s eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her hands, she was right. Why was he here? Why was her beloved son here in hell?
“Alastor...? My sweetie is that you...?” [y/n] asked shakily, her hands trembling, in disbelief.
Alastor hesitantly nodded, nervous. He didn't expect to reunite with her. How can he explain this to her? How can he explain the reason why he ended in hell?
“No fucking way...” Angel Dust muttered, in disbelief.
Tears began to stream down [y/n]'s cheeks as she let go of her luggage and quickly hugged her son, he looked so different.
“My sweet son, it really is you... Why are you here?!” She asked, cupping Alastor's face comfortingly. Alastor avoided her gaze.
“Mother... It has been awhile, I have done things that lead me down here.” Alastor explained calmly, a smile still on his face but he is fighting back tears. He missed her so much, after her death he was miserable. He found out the reason she died and killed the two men who caused her death.
[Y/n]'s eyes soften and she placed a gentle kiss on her son's forehead, Alastor instinctively closing his eyes at the contact. Warmth, he forgot what comforting warmth felt like.
“Now, now... I'm sure it couldn't be that bad...?” [y/n] says with a small chuckle and failing to notice the other hotel members giving each other a side eye.
Well... It was fun being an overlord. Alastor thought to himself as he took a deep breath and began to explain it to his mother, the reason why he's in hell.
“ALASTOR [L/N] WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME DO YOU MEAN YOU KILLED PEOPLE?!” [Y/n] seethes as she chases after her son, holding her shoe in her hand. Alastor trying to save his own life from his seething mother.
“Mother I can explain—!”
The others just watched as the angelic woman chased the most terrifying demon they know around the hotel.
“This is so fucking funny.” Cherri mutters beside Angel Dust, Husk having a smirk on his face as he watches his boss getting chased around by his mother.
“Well... I hope they'll stop soon or dad will come down to see what the ruckus is about.” Charlie says, nervous that they are causing too much ruckus. She knows her dad needs the quiet time to make his rubber duckies.
Lucifer was in his room writing something on his desk, he just finished making a rubber duckie sometime ago and now he's currently writing plans for the hotel.
Well... Trying to.
His eye twitched as he heard the loud ruckus happening downstairs. With a sigh, he lets go of his fountain pen. Standing up from his seat, curious on what is happening downstairs, he left his room and went downstairs.
What the king of hell didn't expect to see was the annoying radio demon getting scolded by... An angel? And good lord, she's... Tall. Though, he couldn't see her face as her back was facing him.
“I thought I raised you better than this? Good heavens, I thought you were better than this?” the woman sobs and leans against the radio demon, sobbing into his shoulder while Alastor hesitantly comforts her. Lucifer was trying not to laugh as the radio demon gave him the middle finger.
“Who's this?” Lucifer asked and his daughter nervously approached him, “Well, this is [y/n] and heaven thought it would be a good idea to send someone to oversee our progress of the hotel.” Charlie explains and Lucifer's eyebrows are raised in confusion, confused on what changed their mind.
“I am truly sorry mother, it won't happen again,” Alastor says softly, still smiling while his mother lets go of him and flicks the radio demon's forehead making the taller man yelp in pain.
Charlie smiled and clapped her hands together, “Miss [y/n], this is my father and you might as well know him as Lucifer Morningstar.” Charlie says and the woman turns around to look at them.
And oh my devil, none of these thoughts are in the bible.
Lucifer thought as he finally took a good look at the very tall angel. She's gorgeous. Very gorgeous. The white dress she was wearing perfectly captured her figure, complimenting her skin. Her halo glowing above her head like the rays of the sun shining down on her. Absolutely divine. Lucifer blinks, trying to comprehend the beauty of the woman in front of him.
Angel Dust looking at him with a smirk, without him realizing.
[Y/n]'s eyes sparkled, quickly shoving Alastor away as she approached the shorter man, “Oh my stars, really? It's an honor to meet you, I've read about you and quite frankly I don't believe you got the justice you deserved.” [y/n] explains, she has to kneel down as her neck was starting to hurt at looking down.
Lucifer's eyes widened, surprised that an angel held him in such high regard.
“Wait... Huh??” Lucifer says in disbelief making the woman chuckle, and goodness, even her laugh sounds so beautiful.
“I am grateful that you gave us free will, if it weren't for you... Humans couldn't control their own fate, their own actions and for that, thank you.” she says sincerely and unexpectedly, a single tear streamed down Lucifer's cheek. Nobody really cared to say their thanks to him, he just assumed that humanity hated him for his actions, as heaven hated him for it. To see and hear someone say their thanks to him for the first time, may have healed some wounds he was desperately trying to heal with a bandaid.
The angel panicked when she saw the tear, “Oh my stars! Did I offend you?! Oh gosh, I didn't mean to.”
Lucifer began to chuckle and laugh. Amused at the woman's personality.
Charlie wonders if her dad finally went insane.
“Since when did angels be so nice to me?” Lucifer asked in-between chuckles, finally calming down as he offered his hand for a handshake.
“My name's Lucifer, darling. It's a pleasure to meet you...?” Lucifer says with a toothy grin but his charm and confidence were replaced by shyness and embarrassment as the angel opted to kiss his knuckles instead.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lucifer. I am [y/n], a seraphim angel.” she says with a smile, almost smirking, her tone almost sensual.
Lucifer was flabbergasted, flustered. Blinking animatedly, his mind is still trying to comprehend what just happened. So many things are happening at once, the warmth of his cheeks, the loud thumping of his heart against his own ribcage, he prays that she couldn't hear it.
Angel Dust nudges Charlie, giving the girl a knowing smirk. Charlie just gave him a confused look, unsure what he meant, saying something to angel along the lines of, my dad's reaction is valid, have you seen her?
The apple doesn't really fall far from the tree, Angel Dust thought as he cackles in amusement.
Alastor's eyes narrowed slightly at the interaction. Vaggie cautious at the radio demon's reaction.
Well, this is interesting. Husk thought to himself, already prepared of the chaos that's going to happen now with an additional member of the hotel.
TAGLIST:
@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @punching-pentagrams @moonlovers34
2K notes
·
View notes
[3:33 pm]
pairing: neuvillette x reader
fluff, ~600 words
neuvillette doesn't think he's ever been in love.
sure, he knows what love is. he's read all about the emotion, thumbing through book after book in an effort to further understand one of the most complex human emotions that exist. but even though he's gone through the entire library, he still finds himself confused.
as the chief justice, he's also seen some of the worst that fontaine has to offer, and that includes crimes that have been driven by love. he thinks it's interesting, seeing how people let themselves get so overwhelmingly consumed by their emotions that they are driven to take such drastic actions. and all in the name of those they revere.
as a citizen of fontaine, neuvillette has also seen the brightness that love brings to people's lives. although he doesn't fully understand human emotions, observing it in his daily life does help.
he has seen a young mother pull her child onto her lap, a fond smile on her face as she gently wipes the crumbs from his mouth. he has seen the bashful looks exchanged by two teenagers as their pinkies interlock, blushes staining their cheeks as they stroll along the streets of the city. he has also seen the way a woman's face lights up as her husband approaches her, holding out a single marcotte and receiving a kiss in return as she plucks it from his hand.
most recently, neuvillette has seen it in you.
he sees it in the way you take the time to greet each melusine individually when you arrive at work each morning, occasionally bringing in treats you think they'd enjoy. he sees it in the way you come in early on heavier days, making sure that neuvillette's court records are neatly organized just the way he likes it before he even steps into his office. another thing that catches his attention is how you always go out of your way to help others in the office, oftentimes sacrificing your break or lunchtime in order to make someone else's day easier.
he thinks he feels his heart warm when he sees you lift a melusine to reach something on a high shelf.
neuvillette also wonders if some of your love is directed at him. he can't help but notice the way your eyes soften when you see him every morning, gazing after him as he makes sure to greet all the melusine. he pretends not to notice the way you duck your head bashfully when he approaches your desk, wishing you a merry morning before asking how your day has been so far. he averts his eyes from your trembling hands every time you set his teacup on his desk, choosing to take a sip and murmur his appreciation before you slip out of his office with a soft smile. the tea is always brewed to perfection, and he wonders if your attention to detail is just another way you show your affection. (It is.)
he finds himself noticing that the irregularities in his heartbeat only occur whenever you do any of the aforementioned things, and he wonders if he's finally feeling the emotion that has evaded him for so long. the next time you bring in his tea, neuvillette is quick to grab your wrist, gently preventing you from leaving as he asks you to join him for his afternoon break.
and as you take the seat across from him, sending him a shy grin as you grab a teacup for himself, he starts to believe that he might be falling in love for the first time in his life.
reblogs are appreciated <3 thank you for reading!!
3K notes
·
View notes
Long post ahead. My full thoughts on the fallout series. TW for references to Sexual Assault, racism, antisemitism. It's not particularly in depth here- but I do reference specific acts of violence done in the show.
I've had people insinuate I'm only mad because I'm a New Vegas fan, because I think they retconned the lore. I'm not upset at the fallout show for its dubious lore additions and reworks. I think they're quite bad in places, but they're by far the least of the show's problems.
This isn't a case of a New Vegas fan mad they messed with my game in a way I didn't like.
Please refer to literally any of my posts pointing out the racism and antisemitism in the show. They brand a black man in episode 1. They named the enclave scientist after a real life holocaust survivor and then spent most of the show lobbing around his decapitated head like a volleyball.
But I'd like to consider other elements of the show. View it as a whole.
Consider the inherent misogyny of having a female main character whose entire character arc is just her getting abused for 8 episodes. How the trajectory of her character revolves around not giving up on the humanity of the man who waterboarded her and sold her to organ harvesters. A female main character who is raped in the first episode and watches her entire community get brutalized and who comes out of it completely unphased- still as plucky as ever- just worried about her dad.
Consider the horror of having a black woman be the one to drop the bombs. Consider the horror of her leading a council of elites who have infiltrated and taken over the US government. Consider the ways this group is presented and shown, the ways every fault of the US government in the series is offloaded onto a shadowy group of elites.
Consider how the capitalist critique of the show only goes so far as saying there's a secret organization of bad people who must be purged. The antisemitism and conspiratorial nonsense inherent to that premise.
Consider the rampant classism with the show's depiction of Wastelanders as either animalistic monsters or too stupid to live.
Consider the ways the show punishes nearly every act of kindness- the ways the world rewards might-makes-right authoritarians.
Consider the way the NCR collapsed offscreen because a disgruntled husband was mad his wife left him, and how after it collapsed the army immediately became raiders and the survivors became blood drinking cultists. Don't give me "it's just shady sands that collapsed" because the NCR was a developed nation. If one of their cities blew up, they would send aid. They would assist.
Consider the way the show constantly uses sex crimes as comedy and horror- the incest jokes and the "chicken fucker" bit, and the Vault 4 monster impregnation and the main character's rape in the first episode.
Consider the ableism of the treatment of ghouls, how every ghoul is now a ticking time bomb, how Lucy helps free a small dementia-riddled old ghoul woman from a medical torture facility and then is immediately punished with the woman trying to inexplicably murder her. Thaddeus openly talks about ghoul exterminationism and it's never a joke or a bit- he just says it and nobody reacts or says anything.
Consider the way the Vault 33 town councillors use real world progressive talking points about restorative justice and prison abolition and multiculturalism- meanwhile Norm advocates for the death penalty and a closed society. How Norm is shown as good and righteous and the vault dwellers range from deluded to damningly stupid- how the mere concept of restorative justice is made a farce because the NCR raiders are screaming about eating organs and murdering people 24/7.
Consider the way they removed the Boneyard, and the Followers of the Apocalypse by extension. In New Vegas we heard about the Followers operating a university in LA. It's gone now. Not destroyed by bombs- but written out of existence because the Boneyard never existed, and Shady Sands is in its place. Consider what that says about this world- that the group most dedicated to peace and rebuilding has been surgically excised from the narrative- destroyed more wholly than even the NCR- written out of existence entirely.
This is the single most reactionary fallout story that has been produced. By a fucking country mile.
Whatever lore critiques there are should be secondary. The storytelling is reactionary in ways I straight up have not seen from other Bethesda entries in the series. It is cruel to a fault, and depicts a world that is incapable of healing or growing- where the best you can do is hold onto that small spark of goodness while every bit of the society around you tries to murder it out of you. This isn't a story about rebuilding, or about postwar politics, or about society- it's about dueling warlords and might makes right attitudes and grimdark views of the nature of humanity. It's fallout in aesthetics alone- and it's perhaps the most hateful thing I've seen come out of this series outside of the actual neonazis in the fanbase.
Whatever hope there is in Moldaver's final moments looking out over the glittering ruins of LA is undercut by the knowledge of what came before. What was destroyed. And it's undercut by the Brotherhood's totalitarian control. It's not hopeful, it's the bare minimum of survival. It's all the progress of the postwar world, 200 years of humanity and history, reduced to just barely getting the lights back on.
In the intro to fallout 1, "War Never Changes" is used as thematic glue. It ties together two concepts- past wars- and present capitalism and militarism.
Ron Perlman describes the Roman Empire, the Spanish conquests of the Americas, and the Nazi regime- and then he says "war never changes" and uses it to connect those past atrocities to the modern world of the setting- to the war that ended everything. The phrase existed to link the resource wars and their ensuing fallout to all the crimes of empire prior. War never changes wasn't a hard and fast rule of human nature- it was a specific condemnation of America.
Lonesome Road even ends with the phrase refuted. War Never Changes. But men do, through the roads they walk. There is hope. That's what this series has always been about. The Master died at the end of fallout 1 and said "leave while you still have hope."
In this show, the black woman Vault Tec exec who ends the world says the phrase. It's stripped of all meaning. Just a generic throwback because it's a famous phrase in the series' history. It's not a condemnation of America, it's a celebratory thing. Vault Tec toasting to the end of the world.
What a thing to see this series become. What a thing to see celebrated.
872 notes
·
View notes
Suicide: मनचले के खौफ में विवाहिता ने की आत्महत्या, परिजनों ने अंतिम संस्कार से किया इनकार, पुलिस पर लगाए आरोप
Suicide: मनचले के खौफ में विवाहिता ने की आत्महत्या, परिजनों ने अंतिम संस्कार से किया इनकार, पुलिस पर लगाए आरोप
उत्तर प्रदेश के मुजफ्फरनगर के थाना सिविल लाइन के मोहल्ला जनकपुरी में मनचले और उसके साथियों से परेशान व फोन पर पति और सास की हत्या की धमकी दिए जाने से आहत विवाहिता पूजा ने फांसी लगाकर आत्महत्या कर ली। पुलिस ने तीन आरोपियों के खिलाफ मामला दर्ज कर लिया है। वहीं विवाहिता पूजा पाल का परिजनों ने शव का अंतिम संस्कार करने से इनकार कर दिया है। परिवार का कहना है कि आरोपी की गिरफ्तारी होने तक अंतिम संस्कार…
View On WordPress
1 note
·
View note
Your best guess is that you've been in this time loop for something north of 15 years. You've lived that day, April 9th, 1997, something like 6000 times. You think... The second most ironic thing about being in this time loop* is that you have ADHD, and time blindness has always been something you've suffered with.
The time loop hasn't helped. You'll really get into a book, and don't look up from it until it's yesterday. Or, earlier today? Or tomorrow, it's all the same day. You wake up in your bed at 8:27, having slept through your alarm, no matter what happens. You've had plenty of time to do all the classic time loop things: told everyone (they forget the next day), kissed everyone (a surprising number of people turn out to be up for itl), tried to run (you made it all the way to Memphis one day, but it didn't make any difference), tried to make everything perfect and right (harder than you'd think, and there's nothing obvious that needs fixing), and gotten yourself exploded and shot and run over. You even made it into orbit once, NASA still swearing at you on the radio the whole way up. You've robbed all the local banks, kidnapped the mayor, and stolen half the stuff in the town, just to see what people have. Why not? It's hard to have a sense of morality when there are no repercussions to any actions, at least none that last more than 24 hours.
You convinced a scientist to shoot neutrinos at you once, thanks to something you'd read in a book on time. Didn't seem to make any difference, though you could swear the next day felt different, in some hard to define way.
You've gotten into a rhythm of starting each day and just walking out your front door, to visit a different place in the city, and knock on their door. If they're home, you ask questions, then use the answers next time to get further. If not, you let yourself in and see what their house looks like from the inside.
Even their shocking crimes no longer can shock you. Mr. Stevens is a burgler, Jenny J. is halfway through murdering her husband, Alex over on 5th street has a basement full of photos they shouldn't have, and more neighbors than you'd think are cooking meth or growing cannabis in their little backyard sheds or closets.
You can go to the police, you can confront them, you can explose them, or you can get a weapon and go all vigilante on them... It doesn't matter in the long run (and for you, the long run is very short indeed). They'll be fine the next morning, back at it again like nothing happened.
You wake up that same Wednesday morning, put on some clothes, and walk out the door. You got into a gimmick of crossing the road with your eyes closed: you know where the cars are, and if you keep the same pace, they definitely won't hit you. Besides, if you do, you wake up back in your bed. Big woop.
But you don't make it to the road this time. You trip, falling on the hard concrete of the sidewalk. What the hell? Your arms ache from catching yourself, and you have to suppress the time-looper instinct of "I hurt. Restart the loop!",at least until you figure out what happened.
You look back and there's a sneaker sitting on the sidewalk. A perfectly normal shoe, just a little skuffed up. A bit down the sidewalk, there's another, the other foot presumably.
You have a moment of equal parts panic and elation. You're out of the loop? You're out of the loop! This might be Thursday.
You gather yourself from the sidewalk and run back up the path to your door. You open the newspaper... April 9th. This is still the same day. You look back at the road, seeing the patterns of crossing cars you've seen thousands of times before. You listen, and your neighborhood sounds right. You can hear Timothy down the road yelling about baseball, so it's not 9:14 yet.
This isn't a new day. This is the day. This is your day. So why is something different? What, a partial time loop? And almost time loop? Most things are the same, but not all? It makes no sense.
You hear yelling down the road. You jog towards it, as an out of place sound just doesn't happen in your day. Around the corner there's a police officer shouting at a woman who is rapidly disrobing and flinging her discarded clothes at the officer, who is shouting at her and his radio. So far, she seems to be winning, but she's about out of linen ammunition.
You realize you don't recognize her. She's not one of the people you know, and you know everyone. She's someone new, the very anthesis of what a time loop is about. That, combined with recognizing that charicatistic disdain for consequences makes you gasp. My God... She's another time looper. She's done this day before, and it's just repeated, and now she's doing everything to see what happens. You're not alone in this crowded city anymore! You run towards her, eager to introduce yourself.
* Themost ironic thing about being in this time loop is that every copy of Groundhog Day at your local Blockbuster is checked out.
2K notes
·
View notes
𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆! 𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅 ˖ ࣪⭑
Elijah was an angel sent from heaven, the perfect man. Even when the two of you still had the beginning titles of 'boyfriend & girlfriend', his intense devotion toward you never failed to shine through. He is an incredibly straight forward man that has no problem in showing you all of the ways he can provide for you, take care of you, love you. He wants you to know that his life purpose is to constantly be by your side, and that the two of you were perfectly crafted for each other.
When the two of you are in bed together, he loves nothing more than to praise you until you're a melting mess for him, he can't help himself. Elijah is all about eye contact and constantly having his soft, honey colored lips on yours. He understands how you can get a bit flustered whilst he whispers about how much he loves you and your warm pussy, but, he needs you to look him in the eyes as he fucks you into the mattress. He brackets your head with his arms as he kisses you sloppily, hardly caring on how his own spit dribbles onto his chin. Meanwhile, your eyes are brimming with tears of overstimulation and you can't even kiss him back properly as his thrusts are practically taking your breath away.
Elijah wears a golden pendant of your first initial around his neck.
His idea of a perfect date is whatever you're in the mood for that day. You want him to reserve a table for the two of you at a highly rated restaurant? You've got it. You want to go to a cafe with him after a rainstorm has passed and the neon lights of the city are shining down onto each and every puddle? Oddly specific, but he'll do it.
From the moment he laid his eyes on you, he desired you in a way that would immediately frighten any sane person in sight. The idea of marriage was engraved into his mind since the first time he spoke to you, but he knew he had to take it slower than he'd preferred to. Every day the two of you spent together was anything and everything you could've desired,
Elijah is the best person to comfort you when you're not feeling like usual yourself. He'll draw you a bath, softly rub soap and essential oils into your delicate skin, wrap your body into a warm towel before settling you onto your shared bed and gently speaking to you about what you're feeling so upset about.
"what's got you all worked up, hm? It's not stupid if it's making you cry, cariño, digame. Oh, I know, I know, sweetheart." He gently wipes tears off of your warmed face before arranging a peaceful day out for the two of you.
It's not that long that the two of you are dating before he takes you to his home country in order for you to meet his parents. He books the two of you tickets to the western beauty of Guadalajara. Not only is he excited to reminisce on the wonderful memories of his childhood and for you to meet his parents, but, he's also excited for you to witness the city in which he grew up. When the two of you finally arrive at the house he spent most of his life in, not only are his parents there with open arms, but his entire family. The night was filled with laughter, stories of him as a young boy that he deemed 'embarrassing', the aroma of food that was made with love and his family's approval for you.
The morning after, he takes you to an incredibly well known plaza and shows you his favorite things. He purchases coconuts for the two of you to drink, savory snacks and a few 'paletas de arroz' from an ice cream man that was stationed nearby.
If Elijah has to stay late at work for whatever reason, he makes sure to never arrive home empty handed. Like always, he'll find that you stayed up waiting for him, a lovely smile will spread across his face before handing you a bag of pastries he'd manage to buy before the bakery close to your house closed for the night.
He is the type of husband to always sit down to watch your current favorite show with you. He'll especially enjoy it if it's a true crime as he can critic and almost mock some of the people involved.
"Did he really think he wouldn't get caught? I mean his fingerprints were on her phone for fucks sake..."
His commentary is usually always much more entertaining than the show or movie itself.
Hello everyone! I'm glad to finally be back to writing and get something out for you guys. I'm always happy to incorporate latin characters into my writing as it's a chance to write about my own culture at times.
1K notes
·
View notes
yandere!holy knight with saintess!reader scenario [epilogue]
Hey guys and welcome back to the finale of the scenario! It's been a pleasure to work with @deathmetalunicorn1 again, and we really hope you've enjoyed reading this as we have writing it. I am still working on a couple of potential concepts, one that you might seen a sneak peek at on here, but stay tuned! If you would like to be added to the taglist, I'll leave the link to that here, So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's enjoy the show :)
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
On the southeastern coast of the Helux Empire, Brentstall Harbor is a bustling and beautiful city built on its canals. Every day there are goods being imported and exported to all corners of the world, vendors showing off their wares on the cobblestone streets before they are shipped off elsewhere. Ferrymen transport visitors and locals alike in their boats to wherever they wish to for a fee. It was no small wonder why it is considered a popular place by the nobility to settle down here when the social season was off, vacationing in summer homes or doing business to keep themselves occupied. At least it was a much livelier place than where Cosette was
Yandere!Holy Knight still believed Cosette Lovelace’s punishment was still light, in his opinion.
Confinement in the palace dungeons with no contact to the outside world and ostracized from high society? He would have preferred that she would be burned at the stake for her crimes against the Holy Temple of Aesir, but such an execution was no longer acceptable. Furthermore, it was by the Emperor’s will. Yandere! Holy Knight did not want to jeopardize the amiable relationship between the Empire and the Holy Church just because he wished the heathen to disappear from existence entirely. You had worked too hard, too long, to let it be gone in a single night. He could only hope that being away from the temple would allow you to relax your mind and soul and find solace in Aesir’s arms through prayer. But this trip was not a sabbatical where you would visit and bless the people; this was, in fact, your honeymoon. Yes, that is right. You were now a married woman under His Eyes. Married to him, a paladin.
No one knew how or why except on the day of the heathen’s condemnation, after she had been escorted out of the temple by the palace guards, a bright light filtered through the stained glass windows behind the High Priest, thinning and branching into two strings that tied his ring finger and yours, creating a pair of rings that matched your robes before it disappeared entirely. The High Priest immediately recognized this phenomenon as a sign of Aesir’s Blessing. Their Lord has seen your future with His Eyes, and wishes to unite the two of you in marriage.
With the Emperor and the members of the congregation as witnesses to this ceremony, sworn to secrecy by the High Priest, Yandere!Holy Knight had become your husband, and you had become his wife. While he was quite overwhelmed with the entirety of this event, his stomach twisting and coiling from anxiety and happiness, Yandere!Holy Knight saw that you had taken everything calmly, telling the High Priest that you were to embark immediately for a trip away from the Temple. You did not know when you would return, but…you wanted your husband to take some time and relax after going through such a traumatic ordeal, and you wished to be left alone for a while.
Now, here the two of you were, having just arrived at an inn, dressed as plainly as possible. Your mother-of-pearl robes and blindfold would immediately give away your identity to the public, and you had implicitly expressed that you had no desire to visit a temple yet. When it is time to return to your duties as the Reverend Sister, Aesir will give you a sign. You are His Eyes, after all.
However, there was the matter of…consummating the marriage to make it official. The thought made Yandere Holy Knight’s heart hammer against his ribcage as he stuttered out his concern to you, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. He felt like a fool for asking this, but he needed to know your thoughts on it! Marriage is sacred in this country, and by not consummating it, there was a chance that you could be taken away from someone else whom Aesir might deem as a more suitable partner for you!
“You are correct in that consummating a marriage is what legitimizes the union between two parties, though such a rule was originally contrived by the nobility, not by the Holy Temple. A marriage in the eyes of Aesir is to cherish one another reverently, discreetly, and not as a means to solidify power nor to satisfy all carnal desires.” You said, jeweled eyes peering at him over your shoulder. You were putting away your belongings when he asked you this question. “And I, for one, will not force you to do anything you do not want. Especially…after what you had been through.”
Yandere!Holy Knight was stunned. You would not push him to solidify your marriage to him? He could remain pure, thereby still abiding by his Vow of Chasity as a paladin. Although he was deeply humbled by your concern for his well-being, it still felt wrong. Like he was denying any happiness that a husband would and should provide for his wife because of his beliefs.
Instead of finding the right words to convey his emotions towards you, Yandere!Holy Knight coiled his arms around you from behind in a tight, warm embrace. You were surprised, if only for a moment before a silvery laugh left your mouth, though it was so faint that he almost missed it.
When you placed your hands on top of his own, Yandere! Holy Knight felt happiness and anxiety bubble beneath his skin followed by more questions. How was it that Aesir believed he was the best marriage partner for you? What would happen if another man took interest and tried to take you away from him?
No. He could not allow that to happen. He would never allow it. You were his wife, his beloved, the person who had been created to be his companion in life and death.
Wherever you went, he would follow gladly.
Taglist: @sweetbatherodonkey @lxdymoon0357 @certifiedsimpinggalore @queenmimis @mochinon-yah @tonightwrites @thatstrangesheep @faux-ecrivain @navierkalani @yandere-dark-cupid @swallowtail-lotus @abelheilonwife @aiimee9 @ixchelhernandez4 @justcressida
631 notes
·
View notes
— late
This was completely inspired by a conversation I had with my friend about her kids.
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.
Warnings: girl dad!Bakugou, established relationship, not proof-read as always.
Word Count: 1.1k.
Juggling family as a Pro-Hero in the top 10 is never easy. No matter what you do to ensure your plans go smoothly, crime doesn’t sleep— especially not when it’s your daughters fifth birthday.
“I hate you!” Is the last thing Bakugou hears before his daughters bedroom door is slammed shut, the silence after is deafening as you watch the colour drain from your husbands face.
His chest still heaving from the speed in which he rushed home, dirt and grime stain his skin as he stands dejected in the middle of the living room. Boots that are usually abandoned at the door trudge filth through your home as Bakugou stands statuesque in place.
“Baby,” You hum, reaching around his frame to bring him closer to you as you rest your chin on his chest to stare up at him, “You know she doesn’t mean that—”
“Course she does,” He rasps, “She said she fuckin’ hates me.”
You can tell from the slight lilt to his gruff voice that your big, strong husband is on the verge of tears. Bringing his arm up to rub at his blackened eyes with the ball of his hand, smearing the eyeliner along his cheekbones.
Bakugou was used to being hated, from the public to the media and the Hero Commission. It was usually something he could brush off with ease, laughing off angry emails or poorly written articles. But it was a different kind of hurt when the words had come from his own daughter.
“She’s hurting right now,” You soothe, tightening your grip on him as his Adam’s apple bobs, “She was just excited for you to be at the party, but she understands—”
Bakugou had booked this day off a year in advance, it was always the first thing he looked at on the calendar, even before your birthday. It was his daughters special day, and he was determined for it to be perfect. Fully embracing whatever theme she’d decided on for her celebrations— this year had been a Barbie theme that had left your home embellished in vibrant pink and glitter that would probably stay embedded into your plush carpets until her next birthday.
He’d spent the previous night carefully wrapping a custom Barbie doll in pretty pink paper as you prepared the house for her party. Bakugou had even picked out an entire hero outfit that was an on brand Barbie pink, instead of his usual colours that he was planning on surprising his daughter with.
But even with all these plans in place, and even arranging backup from his dutiful sidekicks at the agency— the life of a Pro-Hero is never easy. And just as Bakugou was preparing to change into his outfit for his daughters party, he was called into work. An emergency that superseded anyone working at his agency today, as the Hero Commission requested his presence in the field.
It’s not the first time it’s happened, and Bakugou knows it won’t be the last. Even a last minute phone call to Deku to take the lead wasn’t enough to save his day, as the Commission ended up calling both heroes to the scene.
Hours later, he was explosive and inconsolable. Telling the authorities to fuck the crime scene reports and statements as he shoved an unwitting reporter out of his face as their camera crashed to the floor, certain his PR team would be in his inbox about that incident first thing tomorrow morning. But he was completely uninterested in humouring any of them today, not when he could’ve been at home with his family.
Coming in through the front door as he finally realised just how late it was when the house was completely empty besides you and his daughter.
“I should’ve been here, she needed me—”
“The city still needs Dynamight,” You murmured, “What was the situation?”
“Bad,” He grumbled, “Shithead derailed a train in the city, had a group of school kids on it. One almost— the look in his eyes when he was fallin’.“
He trailed off, scrunching his nose as he thought back to the scene. You felt his arms wrap around your shoulders as he clung to you, leaning into your warmth as he tried to calm his racing heart.
“But he didn’t, right?”
He shook his head as you smiled, breathing in the scent of smoke and ash from his quirk as soot covered his body.
“Because Dynamight is a hero.”
“But not to my own daughter.”
“You’ll always be her hero, baby.” You soothe as he leans down to bury his face in the curve of your neck, deeply inhaling the scent of you.
“I’m a terrible dad,” His breath tickles your neck as you pull back to frown at him.
“Don’t you dare say that,” You scrunch your nose in irritation, “You’re the best dad, Kats.”
“If I was, I woulda been here for her.” He scoffs.
“You’re out there keeping us safe, keeping other kids safe. Making sure they get to go home to their dads too.” You cradle his face in your palms to press a soft kiss to his chapped lips.
The sound of little feet coming down the stairs breaks him away from you as you turn to see your daughter, still dressed in her full party outfit, standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey, is that my little princess?” Bakugou rasps as she comes towards you both, crouching down to her height and adjusting the pink tiara that sits on top of her head.
“Barbie princess.” She whispers, holding a piece of pink paper out to him as he takes it.
“Barbie princess.” He corrects himself, moving his attention to the words words etched onto the page as he unfolds it.
‘I’m sorry I wouldn’t trade you for any other daddy in the world.’
A smile spreads across your face at the cute sentence as you feel the muscles in Bakugou’s back immediately relax, reaching down to lift your daughter up to hold her to his chest as her small arms immediately circle his neck.
“I’m sorry I missed your party, sweetheart,” He rasps, smoothing her wild hair down.
“I’m sorry too,” She sniffs, “I don’t hate you, daddy.”
Bakugou’s lips curl into a soft smile as he leans forward to press a kiss onto her cheek.
“I love you, princess.” He whispers, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.
“Love you too, daddy.” She smiles.
“But you know you can’t trade me anyway, right?” He frowns, pulling back to meet her gaze, “I’m your daddy and I always will be.”
1K notes
·
View notes
His Most Prized Possession
Pairing || Dark!Mob!Bucky x Wife!Reader
Summary || You’re the wife of the most feared man in all of New York City, James Buchanan Barnes, the mob boss of the biggest mafia in town. Your his—his girl, his beauty, his love, his property, his most prized possession. He will torture and kill anyone who dares to make any advances on his woman, and he won’t hesitate to show them who you belong to in the most sinful way possible before their end…
Word Count || 8876
Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Smut, Angst, Dark Themes — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, slight dub-con, Dark!Jealous!Possessive!Bucky, angry/vicious!Bucky, soft!Bucky, mob/mafia business, mention of drugs/alcohol, violence, implied use of weapons, implied torture, blood, murder, crying, use of force, graphic/explicit content/language, pet names (doll, baby, babe, princess + others), unprotected vaginal sex, exhibition kink, forced voyeurism, daddy kink, spit kink, degradation & praise kink, use of the word whore, dom/sub dynamics, oral (m & f receiving), teasing, begging, face/throat fucking, gagging, fingering, spanking, choking, rough fucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing, creampie, mention of bodily fluids, aftercare.
Authors Note || After a lot of work it’s finally done! I’m so proud of this! Please enjoy this twisted and sinful journey! Feedback would be so much appreciated on this piece <3 I want to know what you think!
Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!
Mob!Bucky Masterlist
I don’t do taglists anymore so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!
The Underground Lounge
It was the most high-profile club in all of New York City. A place for criminals, the filthy rich, politicians and like-minded people to converge in secrecy for whatever they desire with no repercussions, whether that be alcohol, drugs, women, sex or just a fun time. Everything and anything went down here.
The club was nestled deep below The Blend nightclub, which acted as a cover for the underworld of crime below.
They were both owned by James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky amongst friends and loved ones. The most feared man in all of the city and the mob boss of the biggest and baddest mafia in town. He was also your husband. Your dangerous, vicious and sexy husband.
You and Bucky would usually be at the club on the weekends for some party and fun, which you were right now.
The VIP area that was only reserved for Bucky and company was slightly elevated over the rest of the club—giving Bucky the best view to look over his domain. It also showed the guests that they were nothing compared to the boss sitting on the high throne. The VIP area had an abundance of seating places—fitting several people. All compacted in a sizeable curved couch with a low circular table in the middle to put drinks on or other substances, for that matter. There was also enough space for Bucky’s security to keep a lookout over the club and its activities.
Today it was only you and Bucky attending. No friends, no other company, except for your security detail.
With a good percentage of alcohol in your system, you and he were all over each other—lips sloppily crashing into one another as you moaned and groaned into each other's mouths and hands roamed both your bodies.
You'd unbuttoned a few buttons of his white long-sleeved shirt—wanting to feel his collarbone and chest underneath your fingertips as you made out. His dark blue velvet dress jacket was tossed to the side long ago. Your other hand rested delicately on top of his covered bulge—palming him ever so often.
Bucky’s hand kept a tight grip on your naked upper thigh; the short little dress you wore barely covered anything, giving him easy access to your skin. His other held your throat gently in his grasp, making it impossible to move away from him not that you wanted to.
Ever so slightly, he inches his way higher up your thigh, hicking your dress up with his moves, as he caressed your delicate skin with his rough hands, making you moan and whimper into his mouth. His end goal was to get into your panties—wanting to force his fingers knuckle-deep into you and have you make a mess all over them.
It wasn't unusual for him and you to get a little naughty together in the club. On multiple occasions, you'd have his fingers deep inside your pussy or straddle his lap to grind yourself on his clothed cock. And occasionally giving him a handjob here and there.
You'd think he would be against having you so exposed to everyone’s prying eyes since he was always so protective and possessive over you in day-to-day life. But on the contrary, he loved showing you off here. It gave him the power to assert his dominance over you and make everyone know that you're his—his girl, his beauty, his love, his property and his most prized possession.
This was his club—his rules—his everything. Everyone knew not to mess with the mob boss's precious wife. Not unless they had a death wish.
Your body tingled in anticipation of having his digits buried deep inside you. You were so ready for it. So needy for it, but… God, did you really have to pee now, urgently.
“Bucky.”
His name came out in a moan rather than a plea for him to stop with his touches, making him think you wanted more. He swiped your damp panties with his thumb while his lips assaulted your neck with licks, kisses and bites, making you whine even more.
“Bucky!”
You placed your hands on his chest, shoving him lightly off you, making him stop with his kisses and retract his hand from under your dress.
“What!”
An annoyed tone was laced in his voice, but that quickly turned into concern as he thought something was wrong.
“What is it, baby?”
His thumb caressed your cheek lovingly as he tried to search your face for any discomfort. There was none, so he didn’t understand why you'd make him stop.
“I just really need to go pee.”
He nodded his head in understanding and was about to call for one of the security to accompany you, but you stopped him before he could.
“No! I can go on my own.”
“Doll…”
He cocked his head to the side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t want you going on your own.
Although the club was a safe space for you to wander around due to everyone knowing who you were and not daring to approach you under any circumstances, Bucky still wanted you looked after due to the reason that occasionally a rouge and unwanted person managed to get into the club, despite the tight security, and cause chaos and bothering the other club patrons. But that rarely happened, and right now, you just wanted to go on your own without having anyone on your tail all the time.
“Please, Bucky,” you pleaded with those puppy-dog eyes you knew he couldn't resist, “if I'm not back in 15 minutes, you can come and find me.”
“Alright, princess,” he pecked your lips, “but hurry back to me, baby,” and once more, “because I need to bury my fingers in your tight little pussy….”
He cupped your core harsh, making you moan out at the roughness. Bucky groaned out as he touched what belonged to him.
“... my tight little pussy.”
He growled in your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand and your core pulsate at his filthy words.
“I’ll be right back, babe.”
You gave him one last peck before you got up and fixed your dress—the material had bundled up your hips entirely. Bucky gave you a light tap on your ass before you walked away in search of the bathroom.
You did your business in the bathroom and freshened up before walking out to the club’s main area.
Bucky hadn't left his positing from the VIP area. His leg was crossed over the other, and his arms rested on the back of the couch while he looked calm and relaxed. You wanted to take advantage of your freedom and decided to get a quick drink at the bar before returning to him.
You made your way to the bar that was settled in the middle of the club while swaying your hips to the music playing. Luckily, the bar wasn't packed, so it should be a quick deal.
You order the drink and make yourself comfortable with your elbows on the bar counter, squeezing your breasts together, almost exposing them entirely. Your ass poked out behind you—the dress so tiny and short that it almost showed your entire ass.
You knew everyone had their eyes on you, thirsting and yearning for you—for something they knew they could never have, and that's what you loved so much about it. In this club, you loved being a little cock-tease to everyone—it made you feel powerful.
While waiting for your drink, you scanned and observed the club’s guests. Most of them you'd seen before and recognised—politicians with their mistresses, criminals making shady deals with each other, and some new faces you'd never seen before. Everyone looked to be in great spirit and having fun tonight.
“My, my… don't you look pretty tonight.”
A deep, smooth voice murmured in your ear, making you jump out of your skin a little at the roughness of it. You thought it was Bucky for a second, but the voice didn’t match quite right. When you spun around, you found yourself caught in an intense gaze by a man. Usually, you'd back away and decline any stranger like that, but something about him just made your whole being scream in need.
The man oozed danger, sex and confidence—all things you loved and had gotten so used to with Bucky. So you couldn't help yourself when you got ensnared in this stranger's trap. You knew you shouldn't talk to this man. Bucky would be pissed if he found out. But Bucky wasn't here right now, and the drink should be done any second, so you decided to play along and then would politely decline once it was time. Bucky would never know.
“Well, hello to you, stranger.”
You batted your eyelashes at him and gave him your most appetising smile and gestures you could muster up, popping your hip out and tilting your head to the side, wanting to play a bit dirty and rile him up.
“My, you're the prettiest little thing in this whole club.”
He came closer, almost pinning you against the bar with his massive frame. He licked his lips as his eyes travelled across your whole body. This man was playing a dangerous game in approaching you like that—intentions clearly sexual.
He presented his hand, and you took it gladly, shaking it.
“The names Roman,” he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it while maintaining eye contact, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Roman?
Roman?
You'd heard that name before, but you couldn't quite put your finger on who he was. It was such an unusual name that you would think with such a name, you'd remember who it belonged to, but your mind was completely blank. It must be the alcohol and the intense surge of sexual energy you were experiencing.
“The pleasure is all mine, Roman,” you gave him your name, which made him smirk when he heard it.
“That's a beautiful name, princess. What brings you to this club, sweet thing?”
“Oh, I-”
The conversation was cut abruptly by someone grabbing Roman’s shoulder and pulling him away from you, turning him to face whoever it was.
You gasped.
Shit. It was Bucky.
His face was stone cold as he stared Roman down with absolute dark rage in his eyes. His fists clenched by his side—knuckles turning white.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Roman?” Bucky spat out while getting all up in his face.
Wait?
Bucky knew him?
Oh…
Oh!
Oh, no…
He was that Roman.
Shit. Now you remember.
He's the man that betrayed Bucky about a year ago and went to be with Bucky’s number one rivals instead. You remember at the time what kind of a toll it had taken on Bucky to be so gruesomely crossed.
This was not good. You felt so horrible and guilty now with the later knowledge of know this man was. How could you have forgotten him? Forgotten what he's done? You should have brushed him off instead of instigating his actions further.
You couldn't hear what they were saying because they were so up in each other's faces, but you could tell that it was a heated argument. You wondered what was being said. What kind of complications and events this would all lead to.
Suddenly, Bucky shoved him hard, and it looked like he would fight him right then and there. But he didn’t…
“You’re fucking dead, Roman,” Bucky uttered through gritted teeth.
Bucky came to your side and grabbed your arm hard. So hard that it hurt, and you winced and tossed to try and get out of his harsh grip, but he wouldn't budge. He pulled you back to the VIP area and ordered you to sit on the couch.
“Don't fucking move.”
His words were like poison, making you flinch at the absolute anger in his voice. Your eyes were becoming glossy—tears threatening to spill at any moment. You wrapped your arms around yourself for comfort.
How could you be so stupid? You should have just said no to Roman instead of acting like a fucking brat and whore—wanting to be a little cock tease for a man that wasn't even your man. You should have just been an obedient little wife and returned to your husband like you were supposed to.
Bucky was furiously talking to one of his men for several minutes. You saw how stressed, angry and fearful his demeanour was. His hand ran through his short hair multiple times. It was rare to see Bucky in this state. He was usually tough and determined, not bothered by what people said and did, and always in control of things. But it looked like Roman had really struck a sensitive nerve—said something that had put Bucky out of check.
When he was done conversing, he came back to you and took your hand, gently this time, and pulled you with him out of the main club area, not saying a thing. It looks like you were leaving. You went through the backdoor that was only used for you and Bucky and a selected few other people.
Once in the elevator, Bucky wrapped a protective arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his torso, still not saying anything. You wanted to say something. To plead for his forgiveness, but you felt awkward doing it in this tight place when you weren't alone. You would try and talk to him in the car when it was just the two of you.
Bucky ushered you into the backseat of the black luxury car, him getting in behind you. You weren't sure where you were going—home, most likely. The screen divider that separated the backseats and driver seat was up, so you were all alone, and you could finally try to talk to him.
“Bucky?”
You tried in a sweet and calm voice.
Nothing.
He pulled his phone out when it pinged with a message. His mouth remained in a thin line, eyebrows furrowed, with no emotions in his eyes as he typed on his phone before placing it inside his jacket.
“Bu-Bucky?”
Your weak voice cracked as his name came out in a sob this time.
“I-I’m so s-sorry. I-I shou-” You sobbed even more, unable to finish your sentence. You were about to cry any second, knowing that Bucky was mad and disappointed in you for being so stupid and reckless. You turned your head away from him, unable to look at his stern face.
“Doll…”
His voice was sweet compared to the poisonous one he used with you in the Underground. You thought he would yell at you once in the car. But it was the opposite. His loving and caring side surfaced—your wonderful husband that loved you beyond words.
“Baby…”
He grabbed your chin with his fingers and turned your head towards his. His eyes held nothing but love and adoration for you—his wife. His heart broke when he saw a few tears roll down your cheeks, your lips quivering.
“P-please d-don't be mad a-at me, Bucky.”
“Oh, baby… come here.”
He pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his strong arms around your waist. His head nuzzled in your neck as he laid tender kisses on the soft skin to try and soothe you,
“Mad at you? No, doll. I could never be mad at you, and I’m sorry it came across that way. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you like that, my sweet love.”
“Bu-but, you seemed s-so angry at me. Angry for what I’d done and who I was talking to. I swear, Bucky, I forgot who he was, and I-I just-”
“Doll.” He made you rest your forehead on his. His piercing blue eyes focused deep into yours—showing you that he spoke the truth. “I’m not mad at you at all. Please don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s not your fault. Not even the slightest, ok? I love you, babydoll.”
“O-ok. I-I love you t-too, Bucky.”
He dried your tears while giving you a warm smile. “My precious girl.” He cradled your face in his hands and laid a light, comforting kiss on your lips. The kiss slowly progressed to a more passionate one—neediness and love poured into it.
The moment was quickly interrupted by Bucky’s phone pinging with a message in his jacket. He groaned as he fished it out to read it. You caught a glimpse and gasped when you saw what it said.
It's done.
You knew what it meant. It was the worst possible outcome following the events that unfolded in the club.
“Is, is he d-dead?”
“No, no, doll. They only questioned him, that's all.” Bucky tried to reassure you.
You knew what questioned meant. It meant that they had beaten the shit out of him, almost to the point of death. And although Bucky spoke the truth that Roman wasn't dead, he would be soon. Bucky never let something like what happened at the club go unpunished—people trying to cross his line. Certainly not when it comes to you. He would torture and kill anyone who made any advances on you, especially when they were fully aware of who you were and belonged to. And Roman most certainly knew what he was doing when he approached you. He wanted to provoke Bucky and test his limits. And now he would pay for it.
Maybe he didn’t think it through enough? Perhaps he thought he was safe because he was under the protection of Bucky’s rivals?
But one should never underestimate Bucky. He didn’t give a fuck who anyone belonged to, enemies or friends. If provoked, he would have you severely punished or, in the worst case, killed.
You shook your head—not wanting to think about it anymore. Instead, you lay your head on Bucky’s shoulder and close your eyes for the remaining car ride. His fingertips delicately caressing your arm lulled you to a relaxed and sleepy state…
———
“Doll,” his soothing voice murmured in your ear, pulling you out from the light sleep, “baby, we’re here.”
You softly moaned as you lifted your head and saw that you’d pulled into the garage of your penthouse—you were indeed home now. Luckily, because you were ready to cuddle up with your husband in bed and go to sleep in his loving and protective embrace.
“You want me to carry you?”
“N-no, I can go on my own.”
Once in the elevator, Bucky pressed the button for the roof terrace, not the apartment like you thought we would. You looked up at him. A confused expression on your face—eyebrows furrowed.
“Are we not going to bed yet?”
“Not yet,” he wrapped his arms around your shoulder, pulling you close to him, and kissed your head, “I have something I want to show you.”
What did he have to show you on the rooftop?
When the elevator arrived, Bucky took your hand and led you to the patio overlooking the light-filled city. Nothing looked unusual. Everything looked as it always did. There was no thing to show. So why did he bring you here?
“Bucky, what are we doing here?”
“Come.”
He led you to the very edge of the fence and wrapped his arms around you from behind. His head rested on your shoulder, and you leaned yours on his.
“Do you see, doll?”
“See what, Bucky?”
“The city!”
“Your city, babe.”
“Our city, baby girl. All of this is for you. Everything I do is for you. You and my undying love for you influence every decision I make in life.”
“James… you know I don't need any of this. I appreciate it, baby, you know that, but… I just need you.”
“I know, I only need you as well, but I just wanted you to know that we’re in this together. We can always count on each other. We will always have one another. Our love is powerful and unbreakable.”
“You know it, Bucky.”
You stood for a while longer. Staring out over your city as you swayed to imaginary music. Bucky’s lips graced your cheek as he whispered sweet nothings that had your heart burst with warmth, love and security.
Words can’t describe how much you loved this man. This vicious, menacing, murderous, but also affectionate, warm and joyous man. One would think such words couldn’t be combined to describe a man—that it doesn't fit. But Bucky was all those, and you wouldn’t change him for the world.
Your sweet bubble was interrupted by another notification on Bucky’s phone, making him groan in annoyance. He held one arm around your waist while the other retrieved his phone.
You couldn't see what it said this time, but he let out a groan of approval and then pulled you with him back to the elevator once he read it.
“Where are we going now? More surprises?”
“We’re just going to our room.”
Ah, finally. As much as you loved Bucky for bringing you up here and expressing his undying love for you, you really just wanted to snuggle up to him in bed now.
But once you arrived at your room, one of Bucky’s men was waiting by the door, which was highly unusual. You wondered what was going on. It probably had something to do about Bucky’s recent text message. Probably an update on Roman and his current… situation. But no matter what it was, you hoped it would be able to wait till the morning. You just wanted Bucky all to yourself now.
“Wait here, doll.”
You stood in place while Bucky approached his man. He whispered something to Bucky, and Bucky nodded before he called you over. The man bid you good night, and then it was finally just you and your husband.
“What was that all about, babe?”
“My love…”
He lay his hands on your shoulders, staring deep into your eyes with seriousness written all over his face.
What was going on?
Why was he acting so… strange?
“Yes, my dear?”
“Do you trust me?”
“I do, Bucky, with my life.”
“Would you do anything I ask of you?”
You didn’t like to admit it, but you would kill for this man if the situation ever occurred.
“I-I… yes.”
“Then come with me,” he presented his hand, and you took it without hesitation, “don't be alarmed.”
Alarmed?
He opened the door to your shared master bedroom. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Although you trusted Bucky, his behaviour was more abnormal than usual, which scared you slightly.
You expected to be met with something significant while walking into the room, but there was nothing in the dim-lit room. It was a little hard to see with the lights out, so you scanned the entire space to try and find the abnormality—from the huge windows lining the outer wall, to the bed, and finally, the other side of the room. And that's when you saw it.
You gasped out loud in horror, eyes wide like saucers when you saw a person in the darkened corner of your room. It was a man—beaten, bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair. His scream was muffled by something shoved into his mouth.
Oh my god… it was Roman…
“B-Bucky, wha-”
What was happening? This was wrong. This was so wrong on so many levels. Bucky never brought any of his mob business into your home. He always tried to shield you from that gruesome aspect of his world as best as possible. So what was he doing?
You backed away slowly but were stopped by colliding into Bucky’s chest. He grabbed your upper arms to keep your shaking form in place. His breath fanned your face while he whispered in your ear.
“Don’t be scared, my love.”
You were very much horrified by the sight of a bloodied and bruised man bound tight in your room. I mean, who wouldn't be?
“Wh-what i-is going o-on?”
You contemplated screaming and running away. If that's what you wanted, Bucky would have let you go—he would never force you into doing something you absolutely didn’t want. But you didn’t move a muscle. This situation intrigued you. Bucky’s vicious and twisted mind fascinated you.
Although you were the innocent and sweet one in the relationship, you had a slight devious nature to you as well. So you wanted to see what kind of plans Bucky had in store for bringing Roman into your privacy. What kind of things does he want to do. So you let go of all your worries and went with the flow.
With Bucky’s hand secured around your neck, craning your chin up to make you look at Roman. Bucky spoke, loud enough for Roman to hear as well, the most sinful, possessive and immoral words he's ever uttered—making you shamelessly aroused and almost crumble to the floor.
“He’s gonna watch us, doll, all powerless tied up in that chair as I do with you as I please. He’s gonna watch as I undress you and expose your beautiful flesh to his eyes. He’s gonna watch as I kiss, lick, suck and bite all over your skin. He’s gonna watch and hear as I make you moan, whimper and scream. He’s gonna watch as I fuck you hard, my wife. Claiming your body and soul as mine, and mine only.”
Fuck.
You were all in.
Bucky circled his arms around your waist and brought you closer to his firm chest. Very delicately, he started leaving kisses on your exposed shoulder, making you purr in delight. His feather-light kisses made goosebumps erupt on your skin. You craned your neck to the side, giving his lips more space to continue their journey further up. A loud moan of satisfaction escaped you as he became rougher with it—licking and sucking on your tender sweet spot.
In a swift motion, he removed your little dress—leaving you in your pretty underwear. His hands started roaming all over your exposed body, paying close attention to all your curves with his fingers—hips, waist and breasts—especially your breasts. He palmed them in his grasp and pinched your nipple through the material of your bra, making you wince out at the slight pain.
While one of his hands palmed your breast, the other ran down your stomach and found its way into your panties, making you gasp once his expert fingers found your aching core. He ran his fingers through your slick folds, groaning deeply in your ear, making the hairs at the back of your neck stand.
“Fuck, baby, already so wet and messy for me, huh? Did that turn you on, princess? My little speech about fucking you and claiming you as mine while he watches all helpless?”
“U-uh, huh.”
You were revelling in the pleasure your twisted and loving husband provided you that there was no way to form any coherent words, let alone sentences. It made Bucky chuckle in a sinister way at how absolute speechless he could make you with such simple touches.
Then it all stopped—his touches and kisses. You whined out in protest and were starting to turn around to see what was going on, but he stopped you by grabbing your upper arms and turning you towards Roman again.
“Stay still, baby.”
Thankfully, his delicate touches returned to your skin. His fingers ran from your shoulder and down until they met the clasp of your bra—unclasping it with no difficulty. The bra straps ran down your arms and hit the floor with a soft thud. Your breasts fully exposed to the two men.
With Bucky’s hands caressing your waist, he descended to the floor behind you. His fingers hooked into your panties and pulled them down your legs. Now, you were fully exposed; your parts that Bucky was so protective and possessive over came to light.
He left a wet kiss on each of your ass cheeks before travelling the kisses upward your naked back—until he stood straight up and wrapped his hand around your throat again, making you yelp and pay full attention to the man tied to the chair. Bucky spoke loud again for him to hear as well.
“This here is all mine. My body—my tits, my ass, my pussy,” he groped your wet and naked core, making you gasp out, “Only I will get to touch and take all of her as I please. Isn’t that right, baby girl?”
“I-it’s yours, B-Bucky, I-I belong to y-you.”
He turned you around and pulled your naked body flush into his clothed one. His hand grasped the back of your neck and brought your lips to his—hungrily kissing you, tongues caressing one another as you moaned and groaned into the heated and needy kiss. His other hand took hold of your ass cheek—altering between squeezing hard and delivering slaps to the plump flesh, which made you whimper into his mouth each time he did.
While still keeping your lips connected, Bucky manoeuvred you to the foot of the bed and removed his jacket while you helped with unbuttoning his white shirt—tearing it off his muscular body.
You roamed your hands all over his hard chest and stomach, moaning as you felt every curve and dip of his delicious muscles. While you touched him, Bucky went to work on getting his pants off.
“Let me.”
You descended to your knees, finding a comfortable place on the marble floor, and helped him tug his pants and underwear down. A satisfied gasp slips from your mouth as his hard cock springs to life—slapping against his belly.
“This cock belongs to me, doesn't it, daddy?” You mutter as you take a firm grasp on his base, and kitten lick his tip while looking up at him.
Bucky chuckled at your possessive nature, licking his lips. You could be just as possessive over Bucky as he was over you, and he loved it. He belonged to you as much as you belonged to him.
“You know it does, baby,” his hand cradled your face, “all of me belongs to you, body and soul.”
You pushed him down to sit on the foot of the bed, his hands on the mattress keeping his weight up. His eyes were fixated on your kneeling form as you nestled between his spread legs. The palm of your hands caressed his thighs up and down as you stared at his entire cock—your mouth watering at how delicious it looked.
“I’m so hungry for your cock, daddy.”
“Yeah? You gonna show him what a little cock-whore you are, baby?”
“Yes,” a glob of your spit fell on him, making him groan as your hand jerked him and spread the saliva all over his length, “I’m a little cock-whore that wants your cock in my mouth.”
He twitched at your lewd words.
“Take all of me then.”
With his hand at the back of your head, he guided and encouraged you to take him whole. With no hesitation, you engulfed his length immediately—too cock-hungry to tease and toy with him until he begged for you. You desperately needed his length deep in your throat.
You gagged around him as he tickled the back of your throat. The vibrations made him shudder where he sat. With each hand cradling your face, he forced your head up and down on him, thrusting his hips upwards to meet your moves.
Tears pooled in your eyes, and saliva dribbled out of your mouth as he forced his way down your throat. It was so messy and erotic—sloppy sounds filled the room.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he concentrated on how your warm and wet mouth felt on his throbbing cock. Guttural groans rumbled in his throat.
“Fuck, you take my cock so well, baby.”
He removed you from him, which made you whine in protest—missing the feel of him choking you with it. Your hand wrapped around him and jerked his length in long strokes as you presented your tongue—showing him how absolute needy you were for his cock shoved deep in your cavity.
With his fingers holding your jaw, he leaned down till he was level with your face and gifted you a glob of his spit on your awaiting tongue. “Fucking whore, you know that?” You nod your head. The degrading action and words had your pussy flutter. You rolled your tongue into your mouth and leaned down to retake him, bobbing your head while Bucky supported his weight on his hands, allowing you to take control of his cock as he sat and enjoyed the lewd performance.
“I bet you’re fucking jealous now.” Bucky sneered at Roman as the corner of his mouth turned up in a sinister smirk.
Your hand accompanied your mouth—stroking his base while your mouth paid attention to his sensitive head—finding a perfect rhythm to bring Bucky over the edge. The other hand cupped his balls to fondle them.
“Look at me….”
You peered up at him through your thick lashes while you had your mouth and hands full of his cock and balls. Drool and tears covering all of you.
“...fucking shit, doll, you’re gonna make me come.” A few seconds later, he grunted as he reached his climax. His hand gripping your shoulder hard to brace himself.
Watching his face contour in pure pleasure, moaning, groaning and grunting while his thick load shoots down your throat must be one of the most pornographic scenes you’d ever witnessed. Your pussy fluttered at the sight and vocalisation of him—slickness running down your inner thighs.
Holy fucking shit.
You worked him thoroughly through his intense orgasm to make him feel as good as possible. Not letting a single drop of him go to waste—all of it trickled down your throat.
Once he had come down from his high, you pulled him out from your mouth, making his head leave with a pop. Bucky hisses as his sensitive cock is freed from your expert hold.
You were a mess—drool covering your face, hands and tits, but to Bucky, it was the most stunning you’d ever looked.
“Oh, baby. So beautiful and messy for me.”
With his hand holding your throat, he leaned down to give you a sloppy kiss which you whimpered into.
“Get on the bed.”
All giddy, you switched places with him. Your elbows supported your weight as you spread your legs for him, showing him your glistening and needy pussy.
“Fucking gorgeous.”
“Are you gonna fuck me, daddy?”
Bucky tugged your legs, pulling you further towards him—till your ass was right by the edge of your bed.
“Not yet, babydoll. I need to taste that pussy first.”
He finds a comfortable place on his knees between your spread legs so he can go to work in worshipping all of you, like the Goddess you are. His face is inches from where you so desperately need him, feeling his breath on you, making your pussy ache for him. You arch into his face, your hand running over his short hair, begging for him to taste you, touch you, do anything to you. To eat you out until he shatters your existence.
“Please, Bucky,” you pathetically plead.
“You want it, baby?”
The tip of his tongue flickers your nub. That simple touch has your whole body convulse on the bed and a soft whimper escaping you.
God, you were so needy.
“P-please.”
“I’ll make you feel so fucking good, princess,” he laid a simple kiss on your wet folds, making you convulse once more, “but first, I need to clean up this mess you’ve made, baby.” He was referring to the slickness that had spilt from you, running down your inner thighs.
While his hands caressed the side of your waist, making delicious tingles erupt on your skin, he went to work on cleaning you up with his tongue—licking up the mess you’ve made, moaning at your taste. “Your taste is outstanding, baby.” Your whimper in pain and pleasure as he nips the skin of your inner thigh with his teeth—his tongue soothing the sting after.
“You have the prettiest pussy; you know that, baby? I’m so lucky that I’m the only man who will ever get to see it, to taste it,” he licks your outer lips, which has you arch into him for more, “and to fuck this needy little cunt.”
Finally, he places his mouth where you desperately need it to be. He drags his broad tongue through your folds and flicks the tip of it on your clit. The action has you arch your back, and your eyes flutter shut.
“O-oh…”
A glob of his saliva hits your clit, trickling down your folds. He groans as he watches his mess mix with your own—making your pussy look like the most delicious five-star meal he’s ever seen.
“Look at him, baby. Look at him while I eat your pussy.”
You turned your head to look at the man bound in his chair. It’s fucked up to admit it, but it turned you on to have Bucky between your thighs while a beaten-down man watched. You could see him shaking in his chair, shock overloading his system while his bloodied face pleaded for mercy—for his hurt and misery to end.
Fuck, this was hot.
You moaned loudly as Bucky went to work on devouring your pussy like a starved man that hasn’t had a decent meal in forever. He drags his tongue through your slit multiple times to get all of your flavours. His groan against your pussy at the taste has you quiver on the mattress and a loud cry emitting from you.
He lewdly spits on your pussy to claim ownership over it before his lips wrap around your raw nub—altering between sucking and licking the sensitive nerve. You try to keep your focus on Roman, but your eyes flutter at the pleasure, your mind and vision becoming blurry.
Two fingers penetrate your velvet walls, stretching you out and reaching knuckle deep, making you wail out. Their tips brush against the spot that has you absolutely lose it, making you writhe on the bed. The other works your breast—palming the supple flesh in his grasp, pinching and pulling on your sensitive nipple. You're nothing but cries of pleasure—moaning, groaning and whimpering as Bucky works you to perfection.
You feel kind of embarrassed at how noisy and pathetic you sound, so you bite your bottom lip hard to try and keep yourself down. Bucky didn’t like that at all.
“No, no,” he releases your clit from his hold, “let him hear. Let him hear all your pretty noises, baby.”
He quickly returned his assaults on your swollen clit that throbbed in need. His fingers moved in and out of you at an expert pace, and his other hand worked your breast.
Upon his wishes, you let your cries of satisfaction flow freely—filling up the bedroom. Your breathing hitched in your throat as the buildup was nearing its breaking point, so close to shattering your whole existence—body and soul.
Both your hands are placed at the back of his head, keeping him there so that he cannot move away and deny you your pleasure under no circumstances. Your hips rock into his vicious mouth as you chase your orgasm—it’s right there, so close.
“Bucky,” you cry as you come hard, your toes curling and your whole body convulsing on the bed. You try keeping your gaze on Roman as the coil in your stomach snaps, but your eyes cross. The surge of intense pleasure on your mind and body is almost indescribable—you’ve never come so hard in your entire life. As stars blur your vision, you feel like you're floating on a cloud.
Bucky groans as he works through your orgasm, your clit throbbing in his mouth and your tight walls fluttering around his digits. He’s in awe as he watches you fall apart like you’ve never done before, and he doesn't stop pleasuring you until you are all but satisfied.
You sob from sensitivity as his mouth and fingers leave your used and abused pussy. You’re a panting and heaving mess as you try and come back to your senses.
“You have no idea how sexy and breathtaking you are when you come like that, baby,” he says before kissing your mound, making you twitch. He proceeds with his kisses up your stomach and gives each of your nipples a lick; each touch has you spasm on the bed at how overly sensitive your whole body feels. He comes to face you—gently laying a kiss on your lips so you can taste yourself.
“I really fucked you up, didn’t I? I’m the only one that can make you come like that, huh?”
All you can do is nod while babbling unfinished words as you still haven’t recovered from your high.
Bucky chuckled at your distant and fucked out state.
“I’ll fuck you up some more, doll. He’s gonna watch as I absolutely wreck you.”
He pulls you further up the bed until you’re both in the middle of it.
With his hard cock in hand, he taps the head on your swollen clit, making you twitch and sob; a weak no falls from your lips as you place your hand on his hip to try and push him off.
You can’t. You’re so overly sensitive that it hurts. You can’t take anymore. But Bucky didn’t seem to give a fuck. He wasn’t done with you.
“I-I c-can’t.”
“Yes, you can, baby.” He speaks through gritted teeth.
He takes your hand off him and pins it down on the mattress.
Again he taps your clit, pulling out the same reaction from you as before. He glides his leaking tip through your wet folds. Gradually, his cock gliding on your tingling nub feels fucking incredible, and you’re ready for him to wreck you with his length.
“Please, daddy, fuck me.”
He groaned out at your neediness for him and lined his tip with your quivering entrance. Slowly, inch by inch, he penetrates your tight velvet walls with his cock, making you whimper at the slight ache. His hands grasp the back of your thighs as he forces his way inside you, guttural groans rumbling in his throat as your warm and tight walls engulf him. The last bit of him he forcefully pushes inside you, slamming into your pelvis, making you sob a cry, and your eyes roll back—showing white. The feeling of fullness has you blabbering pleas for him to destroy and fuck you senseless.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight.”
His voice is so deep and husky, making your walls flutter around his length, pulling out a heavy moan from him.
“I’ll fuck you so good, doll.”
He pulls out and then forces himself hard into you again, making you jolt and cry on the mattress. He does it a few times, being rough and abusive with it, before he starts fucking your tightness in deep and powerful strokes, slapping his skin against yours.
He hoists your legs on his shoulder, pinning them against his front, as he thrusts into you, his tip brushing your sweet spot each time he reaches deep inside you. You’re nothing but a moaning, whimpering mess as you take it all. Your hands grip the sheets to brace yourself, your eyes cross as he fucks you into oblivion, and your breasts bounce with each abusive thrust he delivers.
“My pussy. Mine, mine, mine, mine,” he grunts between each hard thrust, watching his length disappear through your walls.
There's nothing on your brain other than his cock—nothing but earth-shattering pleasure that it's giving.
You convey that you want him closer with grabby hands as you’re entirely speechless with how he’s fucking you.
Answering your pleas, he drops your legs on each side before lowering his body till his naked chest meets yours, holding his weight up so he won’t completely crush your sensitive body. His forehead rests on yours as his warm breath hits your face.
“So needy for my cock, huh? So needy for all of me?”
You can only let out a sound of approval.
“Good fucking girl.”
With the rolls of his hips, he manages to reach even deeper inside you, making you wail in pleasure. You wrap your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck, clinging to him with your weak strength. The buildup was fast due to your last orgasm, and you were ready to explode with pleasure once more.
“I-I-I’m go….”
You couldn't even form a coherent sentence, making Bucky chuckle at how good he was fucking your brains.
“You gonna come, baby?”
“U-uh, huh.”
“Look at him, baby,” with his fingers on your jaw; he turned your head to look at Roman, “look at him as you cream and make a mess all over my cock, you fucking whore. Look at him while I stuff your little cunt.”
You try to keep your focus on him, but it was near impossible with the way Bucky was fucking you, clouding your every sense.
A few more brutal thrusts, and you come hard, toes curling, almost blacking out at the intensity. Silent noises escape your open mouth, and your eyes roll as you explode around his cock—your walls viciously pulsating around his length and making a mess all over him. Tears streamed down your face as it became too much, too hard, but you wanted more; you wanted his cum to fill you so badly, so you pulled him in tighter with your weak legs, wanting him to spill his warm seed inside you.
With a heavy grunt, he spurts ropes after ropes of his cum inside you, decorating your walls. His hips snapped rapidly against you as he filled you up to the brim, emptying himself entirely and not stopping until you were both fucked out and satisfied.
“Good girl. Good fucking girl taking all of me.”
He stilled inside once he was done, making a breath of relief and satisfaction escape you, and a deep groan came from him at the aftershocks. He peppers kisses on your clammy neck and collarbone, whispering sweet praises and affirmation after being so dominant and rough with you. You hold him close, nuzzling your face into his short hair as you hum and sigh in contentment at being stuffed full of his cum.
A whimper falls from you as his body leaves yours, leaving you cold, followed by a sob as his cock leaves your used and abused hole, leaving you unfulfilled.
“Look at that, baby,” Bucky was fascinated with his cum trickling out of your quivering hole, ”such a pretty sight.” He collected all of the cum with his tip and pushed himself hard into you again, making you squeal. After giving you a few more strokes, he pulled out, making the cum flow out once more. He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek, followed by some words that made your breath hitch.
“Stay still, baby. I need to show him.”
He what?
You were still and spread out like he requested, your body too sensitive and sore to move anyways. With hooded eyes, you watch Bucky’s naked behind as he walks away from you and over to the man bound tight in the corner.
Bucky removes the gag from Roman’s mouth, and you can hear him coughing blood and saliva as his voice is freed. He tries to say something, but it comes out as a gurgling sound.
“Did you really fucking think I would let you go unpunished from my club, you fucking filth?”
Bucky’s fist connects with Roman’s bloodied and bruised face—the noise of skin punching skin and the crackling of Roman’s teeth at the force of it is the most uncomfortable sound you’ve ever heard. You shut your eyes tight as Bucky hits him again, and then a last time.
“Did you really fucking think I would let you speak about my wife like that without me having your head for it?”
You still didn’t know what Roman had said to Bucky in the club, but it was obviously triggering. So Bucky had gone to this extent in showing him, and others for that matter, what happens when someone spoke about his possessions.
Bucky removed his restraints and pulled Roman by his hair over to you on the bed—propping him up so he rested on his knees, his bruised face close to your pussy.
You were lost for words at what was happening, at what Bucky was doing. You just closed your eyes tight and hoped that whatever was going to happen would be over soon.
“Look at that, huh. Look at it. Isn’t it so fucking beautiful?”
Bucky was referring to his cum seeping out of your quivering hole—making a beautiful mess.
Roman looked with hooded eyes and tried to say something, but his words came out strained and unclear.
“Fucking LOOK AT IT!”
Bucky yelled in his face. It startled you and made tears roll down your cheek. This feels so degrading… but my God, also so fucking hot at the same time—to have someone being forced to look at your most intimate part that’s just been used and abused and stuffed full of cum.
Roman looks with wide eyes now, well, one at least; the other one is too bruised to open fully. He makes a painful noise as Bucky pulls his head up by his hair.
“This is mine. My pussy,” Bucky spreads your lips, “this is my girl, my fucking wife, and that’s my fucking cum that’s claimed her. You will never ever get to touch her. Touch what rightfully belongs to me. How dare you come into my club and use your filthy disgusting words on my wife, especially after betraying me like that, you worthless piece of shit.”
Bucky tosses him to the ground, his body hitting the hard floor in a loud thud while he groans in pain.
“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky spat at him.
Bucky retrieves his phone from his jacket, and you hear his thumbs moving across the keyboard—typing a message. You’re unsure what’s happening and too tired and slightly traumatised to ask questions.
A few seconds later, there’s a knock on the bedroom door, and Bucky stands with his back, all tall and broad, to you, blocking your body so whoever is on the other end can’t see you fully exposed. Bucky doesn’t care about his own nudity in the slightest.
Whoever entered the room didn’t say anything, but you could hear them come closer and stop by Roman, waiting for Bucky to give them instructions.
“Dispose of him,” Bucky utters in a deep and sinister voice.
“Yes, Sir.”
You hear Roman getting pulled away, never to be seen again, and then a door closes, leaving only you and Bucky in your bedroom.
“Baby.”
His sweet and caring voice was back; his protective and warm touches were back—your loving husband. He cleans you off with his shirt and then cradles your body, making you sit on his lap as he wraps his tender, soft arms around your frame. You nuzzle your face into his sweaty neck, a tired sigh leaving you as his fingers run delicately on your clammy skin, soothing your aching flesh and lulling you to sleep.
“Are you ok, doll?” He takes your tired face in his hands, making you look at his concerned one, searching yours for any sign of stress or discomfort. “Was that too much? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, doll, you had to see that, to hear that. That I had to put you through that.”
You honestly didn’t know what to say at what just unfolded—too tired and sore to process the whole event properly, but you were ok, for now. You were just happy to finally have your husband to yourself after such a pleasurable and vicious evening. All you wanted now was to fall asleep in his protective embrace.
All worries and questions about tonight could wait until the morning.
“I-I’m o-ok, James, just tired,” you yawn.
“Oh, baby…”
He scoots you up the bed—until you both rest your heads on the fluffy pillows, facing each other.
“... come here.”
You make yourself small and vulnerable as you nuzzle and cling to the embrace of your vicious lover and protector—his arms and legs holding you close. A content sigh breathes through you as your head tucks into his chest; listening to the calming beats of his heart—this was your home, where you wanted to be forever; despite Bucky’s brutal nature at times, you never ever wanted to leave his side.
Bucky’s murderous hands treat your skin like it's the most delicate thing in the world—softly stroking your back, making you shudder and purr in delight. Sweet words of affirmation are whispered against your hair, followed by a hum of a pleasant tune that slowly lulls you to sleep.
The last thing you hear are words that solidify your love and trust for your husband.
“You’re mine, mine only, my everything, and I love you beyond words, my sweet love….”
Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!
10K notes
·
View notes
कौशांबी: पिता ने ही किया अपनी नाबालिग बेटी से दुष्कर्म, पीड़िता की मां ने दर्ज कराया पति पर मुकदमा
कौशांबी: पिता ने ही किया अपनी नाबालिग बेटी से दुष्कर्म, पीड़िता की मां ने दर्ज कराया पति पर मुकदमा
कौशांबी. उत्तर प्रदेश के कौशांबी जिले से एक शर्मनाक घटना सामने आई है. यहां के कोखराज थाना क्षेत्र के एक गांव में एक व्यक्ति द्वारा अपनी ही नाबालिग बेटी के साथ कथित तौर पर दुष्कर्म किए जाने का मामला सामने आया है. एक पुलिस अधिकारी ने रविवार को यह जानकारी दी. इस घटना के बाद पीड़िता की मां की तहरीर पर आरोपी पिता के खिलाफ दुष्कर्म का मामला दर्ज किया गया है.
कौशांबी के अपर पुलिस अधीक्षक (एएसपी) समर…
View On WordPress
0 notes
THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)
Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.
[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]
Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.
Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader
Word Count: 7378
Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.
A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!
Masterlist
Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.
It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.
It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.
So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.
Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five. Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.
But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.
It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.
Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.
In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.
When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.
Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.
The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.
For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.
By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.
All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.
You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson’s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.
What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.
“Can I help you, lovely?”
You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”
“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”
“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect.
“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”
“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.”
She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”
Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.
You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.
You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.
But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.
It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).
“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.
“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”
“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”
“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”
He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”
“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”
“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”
“I never met your father.”
“But he’s your dad too.”
“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”
“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”
You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”
“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”
“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”
“What happens if you do that?”
“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.
“Who taught you all this?”
“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”
“It would be easier that way.”
“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”
Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.
And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach.
You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth.
It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you.
You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.
“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards.
“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!”
You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”
“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?”
“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”
“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”
Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”
“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?”
“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily.
“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.”
No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time.
“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.
“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”
“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”
“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”
“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”
“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it.
An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion.
Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch.
Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within.
You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.
Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy.
Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only.
“You’re here.”
You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.
Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”
And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.
It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse.
You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing.
You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls.
He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.
Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”
His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly.
When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.
The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.
You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you.
“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”
“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur.
“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”
Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?”
“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.”
You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.
You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser.
“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back.
You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.
Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.”
He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”
You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”
“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”
“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”
“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin.
“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”
“Seems overly complicated.”
“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”
He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”
“We’re together now.”
“Which means they lost.”
Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate.
You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”
“I thought it was your plan.”
“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”
“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red.
“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”
“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”
“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”
“Then it was definitely your plan.”
You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”
“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?”
You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”
“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”
Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you.
You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.
This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.
It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”
He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”
“Remember? Training?”
“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”
“Sickly.”
“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily.
It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.”
Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest.
You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”
“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match.
“You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”
“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”
“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.”
“You should be nicer to me.”
“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”
“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”
He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.”
“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.”
“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”
“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison.
“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”
“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”
“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”
“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”
He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.
Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment.
“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.”
And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.
In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen.
“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed.
“Orange isn’t really my colour.”
He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.”
You wave your hand through the air.
“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat.
“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.”
You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”
“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”
“Wonderful?”
“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.”
You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.
“Where does it come from? The nickname.”
“Sweetness?”
He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”
“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”
“You like popping candy?”
“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?
Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.
“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.
“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”
“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”
“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”
“You have been listening to me!”
“Hard not to.”
“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.
“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”
You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.
“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”
You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy.
You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.
You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head.
After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it.
He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things.
Maybe that's what you need now – time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it.
But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”
“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.
“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”
“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”
“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”
“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”
“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”
Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”
“He’s twelve.”
“He’s the son of Poseidon.”
“He’s twelve.”
“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”
“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”
“You’re going to follow me?”
Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”
“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”
“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”
“You’re sure he’ll join us?”
“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”
He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?”
“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”
Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”
But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.
Like lightning and popping candy.
Tag List:
@emelia07 @star611 @7s3ven @kissingyourgrl @myxticmoon @shermanno @moonsficrec @soleilgrec
408 notes
·
View notes
Hi. Um... i have been craving angst
👀 and my angsty mind has been making up... scenarios, but like would love them typed out so i can read 💀 i live your work, p.s. <3
anyways, would like to ask for something along these lines:
reader is a batsibling
is kidnapped
fam cant find her for a few days and is panicked
they find her somewhere, blindfolded and tied up, on the ground and caked in blood
they get her some med stuff and whatever
and they're like how did this happen so they somehow get cctv or duke uses his powers or something and finds out that they've been beaten for info
and they get like really angry and all that jazz
:D rest up to you!
would be great if you did it 🥺
but i understand if it's too much
love youuuu 💖/platonic ehe
okay, i will excuse myself from your asks now. byeee
Loaded Silence
hello hello! Thanks for requesting. This was super angsty, but as you put I crave it too... ❤️
Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture (not very graphic), fear, medical scenes.
Word Count: 1.5k
⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤
It had happened unexpectedly. You were there one second and gone the next. In a blink of an eye. Nothing more nothing less. That was all it took for you to slip away. Damian could have sworn he was only gone for a minute. To stretch his legs and grab something to eat. But that was all it took for them to sneak in. Quiet as a mouse they crept in, splitting through the open window at the back of the room. Leaving it open had been a careless mistake, but who was to think that you would have been taken in the safety of your own home?
They grabbed you roughly from behind. A set of rough hands pinning you to the sofa, clamped tightly over your mouth as another worked to tie a heavy bandage around your eyes. You had squirmed feebly trying to gain some leverage. Your training desperately tried to kick in but at that moment, you were not a vigilante. You were Y/N Wayne: A citizen, child to the wealthiest man in Gotham and utterly fucked.
You had no choice after that than to allow them to drag you downtown, you had kicked and cried blindly, desperate for one of your brothers to chase after you. But whoever was gripping you tight enough to bruise was clearly experienced and you knew that they stood no chance so unexpectedly.
When they tossed you down on the ground, you thought it would offer some relief. The room was dank, dusty and smelt of water rot and mould. This was the part where they would send a ransom note to Bruce and he and your brothers would come charging in sooner or later. But you had never been more wrong.
“We know who you are, Wayne.” A voice spoke. Feminine but not soft spoken. Threatening. “Or would you prefer Raven?”
Your stomach dropped as bile burned the back of your throat. You knew you could fight now, but you were defenceless weaponless with your hands and feet bound together.
“The fuck do you want?” You spat, though the effect of the venom in your words was lost for you looked so helpless.
“Bold of you to speak to me that way, given your predicament.” The woman chuckled, prodding you with her foot. “You’re here as a sort of…payment.” She mused. “I suppose you could call it that.”
“What?”
“My husband.” She started, moving away from you. You could hear her pacing around the room but you could only conjure up images in your mind. “Leader of the greatest crime suricate in Gotham. And now, he’s dead. Rotting in some coffin in the ground, thanks to your father.”
She moved closer again. Her heels clattered against the floor.
“He took away the only thing that ever mattered to me!” She gripped your wrist, lifting you up off the floor and leaning into your face. “So now, I’m going to take away one of his toys until someone tells me how to get him out! His precious little girl. Oh how I can’t wait to see the look on all of their faces when they see you. That is of course…after we have a little fun.”
~
There was still no sign of you. And it felt as if they had searched every inch of the city. The high and the low but still nothing. No one had slept much in the three days you had been missing. Their nights were either spent searching for you on patrol or laying awake staring blankly at the ceiling as their minds conjured up the worst. None of them said it outloud but the possibility that you were dead loomed over them. But no one ever said anything. They just continued to search in silence. It seemed like Babs and Tim hadn’t torn their eyes away from the screens since Damian came barging into the room three days ago, doubled over and panting as he revealed the news. The only time they ever moved was to head to the bathroom or to make another mug of lukewarm coffee.
The rest of the family were out on patrol. That was what they were calling it anyway. Really they were looking for you. And still there had been no sign until Dick stumbled upon a window. It was low down to his feet covered by concrete as though the building had just sunk into the concrete. And when he tried to peer inside, it seemed to be covered by something on the inside.
It could have been nothing.
But Dick was desperate.
He called over the other vigilantes with a signal on his com. They all came tricking over towards him silently through the city. Some bubbling with hope and anticipation, but all dreading the worst.
Moving around the back of the house, Dick pushed open the door.
~
You had never been more scared in your entire life. Everything ached, burned or stung. From what you could feel there didn’t seem to be a single inch of your skin that wasn’t covered in blood. It clung sticky to your skin, cracking every time you managed to bring yourself to shift against the floor.
She had continued her onslaught for hours, trying to force answers that she knew you would never be able to give her from your chapped lips. She would leave every once in a while, returning silently to catch you off guard with another round of pain. You couldn’t see her: the blindfold still remained firmly around your eyes, so you had to anticipate when she would return as you cowered against the back wall in a pool of your own blood. You were unsure how long it had been since she tossed you into the room. Without the relief of sunlight, your woozy mind had lost track of time.
And then a pair of hands gripped your shoulders. And you screamed, trying to recoil away from them. You didn’t make it far. Your body was too weak.
“No! No please! No more!” You begged, tears dribbling down your cheeks to mingle among the dirt and blood. “I already told you I-I don’t know anything! Please!”
“Woah, woah.” It was Dick’s voice that broke through to you, though they had all called out to you. It was him who had reached out to you in the first place, hesitant that the smallest touch would break you. As soon as they were met with resistance they knew you were here. And they fought as fast as they could to get to you. Praying that they wouldn’t find you as you had. Sprawled out across the floor in a pool of your own blood as you struggled to breathe. “It’s us.”
“We’re here, Kid.” Jason leaned forwards to remove the blindfold from your eyes as Dick tried to support you in his arms. You squiremed weakly, still untrusting. But the minute the blindfold was off and you had finished adjusting to the onslaught of light. You broke.
You collapsed into Dicks arms, sobbing and shaking. He cupped the back of your head with his hands and held you, giving Jason and Duke a nervous glance. Your blood had already begun to stain the front of his suit as you whimpered in his arms, clinging to him tightly.
When he tried to shift you, you let out a sob and clung to him tighter. He wasn’t sure if it was because he had hurt you or because you were scared he was going to leave you. Probably both.
“Y/N?” Jason whispered, moving to crouch by your side. “ We’re here now. We’re going to get you home okay? Can you tell us what happened?”
You shook your head and buried your face into Dicks chest trying to block out the pain.
Eyes turned to Duke who watched you with sad eyes. They observed as he surveyed the room, taking in the horrors that the light revealed. And he couldn’t help the gasp that slipped out of his lips.
He paled at what he saw. Winced at the way your face contorted with pain as the woman towered over you, tossing you about the room like a ragdoll and slashing you with various tools as she screamed at you. He saw how she would catch you off guard by sneaking up on you in the dark as some cruel game to satisfy her sick amusement. He felt sick.
In the time it took for him to see the echo of your agonies, Dick had managed to coax enough for him to stand so they could bring you out of the room and get you urgently to medical attention.
The two looked at him expectantly. And once he had managed to stutter out what he had seen, Jason was tensely clenching his jaw and fists.
Someone was going to bleed tonight. He was going to make sure of that.
Taglist:
@aestheticdaisies
@hell-o-kittys
@xxrougefangxx
@mamapucket
@hearts4robs
@harleycao
417 notes
·
View notes