#but i am here to tell you that the man LOVES his CLASSICS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pirateprincessblog · 21 days

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in vino veritas

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: hongjoong loves art, wine, and pretty girls. how convenient that on the opening night of his art gallery, as he sips his red wine, his eyes land on you. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!hongjoong x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.1k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: dilf!hongjoong, bratty!reader, artist!hongjoong 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, oral (m receiving), toys, gagging, hint of ddlg

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: divorced parent child, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, swearing 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i always write the reader as inexperienced or innocent, this time i'm trying a different approach hehe hopefully it works!

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔,

𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒚, 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔. 𝒏𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒅, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉. 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒓.

𝒌𝒊𝒎 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈.

it is a challenge to find an outfit appropriate for the evening. you do not wish to go, not since your mother has made it clear she is going only for mr kim. your father, as his best friend since childhood, would be there, and your mother couldn't pass the opportunity to continue her game of jealousy since their separation.

"bold of you to assume that mr kim will even lay his eyes on you." you comment, passing by her room and glancing at her outfit choice. a red dress shorter than her knees with a low neckline. a classic. funnily enough, she used the very same dress to separate your father's then girlfriend from him and took him for herself. she is your mother, but you don't close your eyes at her mistakes. "besides, you're not twenty anymore. that dress doesn't look flattering at all. it's not age appropriate."

"god, just like your father. insults, insults-"

"oh, so when i kiss your ass i am like you, but when i disagree with you, i am like my father? how lovely."

"go to your room and get dressed."

"why do i have to go? you're the one who's trying to get dicked down toni-"

"go to your room!"

defeated, you groan and slam your door shut, then throw yourself on the bed. even with your head buried under your pillows, you still hear her obnoxious voice.

"and don't talk back to me! you've become very rude, and i will not have you embarrass me in front of our friends there! especially not in front of hongjoong."

you don't remember mr kim. you only know that he had a wife, that she also cheated, much like your mother, and since then he only travels and creates art wherever he goes. ever since you got the invitation, you've been trying to find out how he looks now. but all he posts on his social media is the destinations he's visiting, food and sneak peeks of his art. not even a glimpse of him in any picture. come to think of it, your mother's standards are pretty high. your father had your school friends coming over to your house just for him, you can only imagine what mr kim looks like.

deciding on a simple short sweater dress and knee high boots, you put your coat on and head into the autumn evening. your mother trails behind, having difficulties with walking in such high heels. you don't wait, still angry about her plan involving your poor father and an innocent man.

it is only seven in the evening, and something tells you that you'll be here for a very long time. at least midnight. on the bright side, you'll finally see your father. and meet the mystery man behind all the artwork you've been admiring. he doesn't post much of it, but what you've seen, it's pretty damn amazing.

"dad!" you spot him as soon as you enter the crowded space, your father with his recognizable thomas shelby outfit and a glass of whiskey in his hand. you hug him, tight as always, and subconsciously smell him. tobacco, whiskey, and vanilla. home.

"hey, kid." he returns the hug, a little less tight than yours as to not hurt you. "oh you smell great! that the new perfume i got you?"

"oh, i absolutely love it. i bathe in it every day."

"i'm so glad you like it." he gently ruffles your hair, enough to show affection but to not mess it up completely. "now, where's ursula?"

"very mature, calling your ex wife a cartoon villain. what, i put on a few pounds, so what?"

"it's not about the pounds, and you know it."

you turn your head away from your mother, hiding the laugh that is threatening to escape. but she catches the way your father winks your way, and claps her hands, causing a few heads to turn.

"a father and daughter teaming up on her mother. lovely. if you love him more than me, why don't you go live with him?"

you finally look at her, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "you threatened to hurt yourself if you saw me exit the house with a suitcase. you guilt tripped me, called yourself an awful mother and whatnot. what are you on about?"

defeated, she tries to push the glass of whiskey out of your father's hand, and when failing to do so, she groans and stomps down the gallery hall. and yet she calls you two mature sarcastically.

"i truly hope she finds someone crazy enough to handle her, just so you can finally move out and have a life of your own. is she giving you a hard time?"

"i can handle her. usual guilt tripping and nagging, nothing new. how was your trip?"

your father happily tells you all about his recent trip to spain and france, which was mr kim hongjoong's gift to him for birthday. he went on and on about all the food he tried, all the buildings and art he saw, and how fun and informed about everything mr kim was.

"he knew so much that i was ashamed to be walking with him sometimes. i didn't know the difference between baroque and rococo. hell, i didn't know what rococo even was. i'm definitely taking you to see la sagrada familia on my next week off."

"sounds great, dad."

"listen, i'm gonna go find the restroom, too much whiskey," he whispers, "you feel free to walk around and watch. if you see something you like, i'll ask hongjoong for the price and i'll get it for you."

you look at him with a scoff, but when you see that he is dead serious, you raise your eyebrows. "what? you'd buy an art piece worth thousands of pounds?"

"family discount," he winks at you once again, then disappears into the crowd.

"a drink, madam?" someone says next to you.

your eyes land on the tray with glasses of red and sparkling wine, the person holding it dressed in a simple white dress shirt and black slacks, hair slicked back and white gloves on his hands.

"no thanks, i don't drink."

he nods understandingly, then continues his journey towards the arriving guests. you were never one to buy art. well, you weren't exactly one to be really into it. you see a picture, a sculpture or something similar, you think it's neat. do you go out of your way to find out the artist, or search for more? not quite. but walking down the waxed floor under the rich chandeliers and looking at the massive paintings, you might get into it. finally, something that is not minimalism or some picasso-wannabe shit. stunning golden frames, detailed paintings, and harmony of colours on canvas. all of it put together so perfectly, as if it was brought back from the times of renaissance and not painted in an atelier just outside of town earlier this year.

"drink?"

"i said no already, thanks." you reply, not bothering to look at the person.

"just a sip? to loosen up. you look rather stiff."

you turn your head towards the voice, confused as to why the waiter is persistent. but next to you stands a well dressed man, two glasses of red wine in his hands. he wears black slacks, a tight black turtleneck, and a long black coat. his eyes are pools of honey under the yellow chandeliers, and his hair shiny streaks of gold. he looks breath taking, and you almost thank your mother for dragging you here.

he holds the wine glass for you to take, and you do so. he raises his own towards you, then takes a sip of it, not once breaking eye contact with you. you bring yours to your lips, and the alcohol barely touches them before you move it away. you were never a fan of alcoholic drinks. they tasted awful, and brought out the worst in you. you don't want to embarrass your father tonight. or yourself in front of this gorgeous looking man.

"you've spent quite some time looking at this. admiring the work or surprised at the nudity?"

you scoff, looking at the painting again. gradually going down the hall, the art becomes less art and more erotica. how disappointing. "not admiring, that's for sure."

"oh? how so?" he asks, intrigued.

"well, for starters, very unrealistic. such big breasts and such a tiny waist? has that hongjoong ever seen a woman in his life?"

he laughs along with you, taking another sip of his wine. "i heard he paints with live models, so i'm guessing that this woman really exists somewhere."

"alright, i'll let you have that one. what about this? very inaccurate." you walk over to the next painting, pointing out all the things you were dissatisfied with.

"even an art critic isn't this harsh. it's just art, at the end of the day. an artist's way of escaping and creating his own world to get lost in. nothing wrong with that, right? writers and readers have books, gamers have games, chefs have cooking and baking, and artists have art."

"well, if the artist is an old pervert and all his inspiration comes from naked women, then sure. nothing wrong with that."

after a few moments of silence, you look over at him. he stares at the painting, puzzled. you clear your throat, sensing the awkward air enveloping you both. "i would love to continue this conversation, but if i stay i will only become meaner and accidentally insult you, and i certainly wouldn't want that. i'm passionate when it comes to me being right and proving others wrong."

you give him the glass of wine back with a sour grin, and he returns a scoff of disbelief. "charming."

"wasn't trying to be."

and with that, you leave him standing with two glasses of wine again, just like he approached you. you visit the restroom too, taking a look at yourself in the mirror. all the women are gorgeous tonight, wearing classy dresses and heels, and suddenly you feel underdressed.

"oh my god, your boots are so cool!" as if she heard your overthinking, the girl behind you exclaims. "where did you get them?"

"uh, i think it was a sale at zara. very uncomfortable though, i don't recommend." you reply with a laugh.

"that's okay, they look so pretty it's worth it. anyways, love your makeup." then, she exits the restroom.

you look at your boots, plain black with a chunky heel and over the knees. nothing special about them. still, you appreciate the compliment.

it doesn't take long for you to find your father again, this time in front of a sculpture of, again, a half naked woman. how odd.

"there you are! found anything?"

"no," you reply dryly, and refrain yourself from nasty comments because of his friends.

"well, that's a shame. hongjoong, this is my daughter i've been telling you about."

your heart drops when you hear his name, and then drops a little lower when your eyes lock with the familiar brown ones you just abandoned further down the hall.

"oh, i've had the pleasure," he responds, not looking surprised like you. "an informed young woman, for sure."

so much for embarrassing yourself. if he is offended, he doesn't show it. he only extends his hand as a formal greeting, and when you offer him yours to shake, he turns it over and kisses the top of it. you are baffled, unable to do or say anything. you look over at your father, who doesn't blink an eye to the unusual situation you've found yourself in. mr kim releases your hand, but not before holding eye contact with you just a few seconds longer.

"ah, right, hongjoong is a gentleman. also, if you didn't already notice, he loves women. not like that, of course. they're just-"

"they are my biggest muse. this world's biggest and prettiest treasure."

"charming," you repeat his word from earlier.

he smirks, teasingly. you want to slap the smirk off his face. he adjusts the sleeves of his turtleneck, rolling them up to his elbows and showing off his forearms. it is only then that you notice he isn't wearing the coat anymore, and you have the freedom of shamelessly staring at his body. his forearms are big, painted with bulging veins. the turtleneck hugs his waist and chest perfectly, to the point of slightly showing the outline of his abs. he isn't bulky, but built like a greek statue. he holds himself so elegantly, not bothered what anyone has to say about his work. it's a shame, because you still have a lot to say, regardless of how hot and bothered you are for him at the moment.

"ah, let me just clarify something. in case someone thinks that i'm just an old pervert..." he discreetly glances at you, making your jaw drop slightly, "...all these women have come to me and asked to be painted or sculpted. i have never once asked a woman to undress for me, nor did i sexualize her when she did so herself. i see art, not porn material."

your father seems offended that someone could have made such an assumption. little did he know that the culprit was the young woman right next to him, hiding behind his glass of wine.

"say, hongjoong, how does that work? do i have to send you an e-mail? or just show up at your door?"

if you thought that the situation couldn't get more awkward, your mother decided to prove you wrong.

"mom!" you scold, pink spreading on your cheeks as you look at the people surrounding you.

"what? why wouldn't i want to be painted by such a handsome-"

"unfortunately, at the moment i do not take any commissions. the gallery is my priority."

and just like that, mr kim shuts her down. he spares her no glance, in respect towards your father, or simply because he is disgusted by such an idea and behaviour. he is not stupid, that you notice. he seems to know the difference when someone genuinely wants to be painted, and when someone tries to take advantage of the situation and expects something from him.

as the night goes, you notice that kim hongjoong isn't old like you called him. he is your father's age, sure, but he aged like fine wine. it takes a lot of staring and concentration to notice a few gray strands of hair cleverly hidden among the golden brown ones. you notice that he doesn't talk much. he lets the people around him talk, and only engages when they have a question about a work of his.

you also notice his hands. his fingers, specifically. you can't help but imagine his fingers dipped in clay, shaping it the way his mind intended, his focused gaze and messy hair. you wish to see him at work, at least once in your life. just to satisfy your imagination. because to make a move with a man of that age is just absurd, and disrespectful towards your father. and himself. he just said that he doesn't do it for sexual purposes, and you were almost offering him the same thing as your mother.

awful.

you glance at him one more time, and when you find him already staring at you with an intense gaze, you take it as your cue to leave. a look of hatred, curiosity or lust, you didn't know. you only knew that you felt nervous under his stare, sweat emerging on your skin and stomach turning from fear that he read your mind and caught you thinking about him inappropriately.

"it's a bit late, i'll excuse myself."

"oh, already?" your father asks, planting a kiss on your temple. "i suppose it is quite late. do you need me to walk you back home?"

"no, that's fine. you guys have fun though. oh, mr kim."

mr kim looks at you, surprised that you're addressing him after all night of avoiding his gaze. "yes?"

"wonderful works, truly. thank you for the invite." it's the least you can do after shamelessly shitting on his work in front of him.

"why, thank you. i appreciate it, especially coming from my best friend's daughter. let me walk you to the door."

and you don't get a say in it. your father practically pushes you into his best friend, who skillfully grabs your waist and restores your balance. your breathing seems to stop the few seconds he holds you, grip secure and manly on your body. when he releases you, it feels empty. you wish to be held again, manhandled, thrown around, anything by him.

"listen, i'm sorry for what i said." you say, walking towards the door and keeping up with him.

"mhm," he hums, as if it's not a big deal.

"no, really, i just..."

"it's fine." he says, holding your coat in the air for you.

"i sometimes speak before i think," you put one arm in the sleeve, "and i end up hurting someone or embarrassing myself."

"it's really fine." he says, tone calm and low. he helps your other arm in the sleeve, then, as if he knew your newfound weak spot, he places his hands on your waist and turns you towards him. only now, you are so determined to apologize to him that you don't even notice what he is doing.

"in this case, i did both. mr kim, please, accept my apology." he adjusts the collar of the coat, then buttons it up.

"i told you, it's fine." he is persistent.

you are a babbling mess, trying to correct the image of yourself he has created in his head, which couldn't possibly be good. after all, mr kim hongjoong is way too hot to have a bad opinion about you. you continue speaking, and he continues adjusting your clothes. it is not until he firmly grabs your jaw in his big warm hand that you shut your mouth. you look at him, almost startled, and gulp.

"i appreciate honest opinion. you are the only one who didn't kiss my ass tonight, and i appreciate it more than all the compliments i've gotten. so trust me when i say that it is fine. don't ever apologize for your opinions, you're not that kind of girl."

"what kind of girl do you think i am?"

he smirks, then rubs your cheek with his thumb as he brings your face closer to his. "not a good one, that's for sure."

the words shoot arrows to your core, and you suddenly feel hotter than the hottest summer day. you exhale shakily, not knowing what to do with yourself. he looks satisfied with the reaction you gave him, and decides to finally stop teasing.

"watch the road when crossing." he sends you a playful wink, then opens the door for you.

"thank you," you manage to say, and only nod his way before making your way down the street into the chilly autumn night.

the more time you spend with your father, the more you keep hearing about the artist who won't leave your mind anyway. from his stories, mr kim has been spoiling him rotten. no wonder he isn't home anymore. sitting on your father's porch on his swinging chair and taking in the last rays of sunshine before the harsh winter, you can't help but ask about the mystery man.

"how come he's your childhood best friend but i've only met him that evening?"

"well, you were young. you didn't pay any attention to things that aren't crushes, school and gossip."

"wow."

"it's true. you were just a kid, then a teen. and hongjoong wasn't around much during the day. then, he met ramona and moved with her to a different town. and then, while he was trying to save money and start a family, she was jumping on someone else on the bed that he bought with the last savings. they separated, and hongjoong started travelling just so he could be away from the town. he said everything reminds him of the night he found them. and i accompany him, which is really hard for me as you can see."

"oh, you're living a very hard life at the moment, dad. jokes aside, that sucks for him. do i know her?"

your father scrunches his eyebrows, as if he doesn't want to remember the woman. "she's still around. she was at the gallery, that whore."

it surprises you to hear him say such harsh words. he is usually semi-polite with his speech. mr kim must've really gone through something when even your father reacts like this.

"really? why would she come? did she have the invitation?"

"no, of course not. this isn't a big town, words spread faster than anything. she came with her boytoy to make fun of him, but got shat on when she saw how successful he has gotten. she just looked at me, tried to push the statue like a fucking idiot, then left angrily. i don't know what goes on in that woman's mind."

you scoff, then feel relieved that there was a bigger fool than you there. "how did he become an artist?"

"you can ask him that yourself. he doesn't bite, you know."

you take a sip of the peach tea, then set it aside quickly. still scorching. "why would you say that? i'm not scared of him or anything."

"you were running away from him yesterday. i didn't want to ask because i didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but it was a little disrespectful towards him. he was hurt."

"did he tell you that?" you raise an eyebrow.

"no...?"

"he'll live." you simply say, then grab your phone.

you type his name in the social app again, hoping to see a new post. and there it is, a brand new post, just twenty seconds ago. simple pictures from that night, the group posing in front of the museum, then in front of various photos. then, random shots of food, drinks, and finally, you.

you, staring at the photo that you loved the most in the hall, taken from the profile. it looks like something that jumped out of pinterest, and not something that he secretly snapped before approaching you. the photo is so good that you might even post it yourself.

art admiring art, the caption says. you're surely reading too much into it. he doesn't mean it about you. there's multiple people in the photos, for god's sake. but no, your delusional self loves to make an appearance, and thus the filthy thoughts of kim hongjoong resurface again. you've been trying to push it down, especially in front of your father, but one night of insomnia, a fresh image of kim hongjoong in a tight turtle neck grabbing your face, and a hand down your sleepwear, you've fallen into the void.

now, you can't escape it. you fantasize about him, day and night, stalk his accounts, even take the longer route to work just to pass by the museum in hopes of catching a glance of him. but all you've gotten is sore feet and more sexual frustration. nothing helps anymore, not a single toy that you have once neatly packed under the bed and were collecting dust up until recently. so when your father asks you to drop some things over at the atelier, you are happy to do it.

when you hear the word atelier, you expect a cozy little room in an old building with wooden furniture and with the smell of paint. but you forget that kim hongjoong is filthy rich. the address your father has given you takes you to a whole wooden cabin just outside of town, surrounded by a light forest. you gulp, realizing what situation you are in.

you are about to be alone with the most gorgeous man you've ever seen in your life. you are about to walk into his personal space. and you have to keep your thoughts collected, just in case he is a good people reader. and you somehow feel like he is. you are wet just standing outside, holding the bag of items your father has sent him and shamelessly thinking about all possible ways he would fu-

"oh, hi. i thought i saw someone standing there. please, do come in." mr kim calls from the door, wiping his hands with a cloth. you see stains of paint all over them, and paired with his bulging veins, you realize that you aren't the strongest soldier today and that you have to run home to a certain device as soon as possible.

"good evening, sir. i actually just came to drop this off, per my father's request." you hold out the bag for him to take.

he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, still standing at the door. "you can approach, the cabin doesn't bite."

you exhale, trying to calm your heart beat. it feels like it's going to jump out and plunge straight into his face. you finally make your way towards him, trying to avoid his gaze. you don't know if he does it on purpose, but it is so intense that it feels like even your hair is sweating. he is looking you up and down as you approach, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. he takes the bag from your hand, seeing that you don't plan on speaking yet.

"and i don't bite either." he smirks, then goes back inside the cabin.

"i wish you did," you mumble, then follow after him.

the place smells like paint, just how you imagined. and it is much cozier than it looks outside. you finally get a good look at him, now that his attention is on the contents of the bag. he wears a halfway unbuttoned white dress shirt, almost see through, black slacks, and has messy hair. as if he read your thoughts, he runs his fingers through it, taming the golden strands and showing off his finely aged face.

"a drink?" he asks, hand reaching for the wine bottle that sits on the table among the brushes. "ah, right. i forgot."

he pours himself a glass instead. you bite the inside of your cheek. you hate it, you really do. but for him? no, you're not like that. not with your father's friend, god no.

"this one is actually very sweet. it doesn't have that much alcohol in it. want a sip?"

he holds his own glass for you to try. under the warm yellow lights, you see the outline of his lips on the edge of the glass. you feel ashamed that you do take the glass, and press the lips on the same outline. it takes every ounce in you not to jump into his arms and make out with him like there's no tomorrow. but you manage, only taking a sip of the dark liquid before returning the glass to him. you keep the liquid inside your mouth, afraid to let it pour down your throat. you are not ready for the stinging and bitter aftertaste. but the longer you hold it, the more you look like a squirrel with puffy cheeks and your eyes tear up.

mr kim notices, and chuckles. not mockingly, but maybe a bit fondly. he approaches you, taking your jaw into his hand again. you notice the dried paint on his fingers, and his rolled up sleeves again. his eyes look into yours, and if he wasn't holding your head up so you can look at him, you would surely turn around and leave. it is too much, yet you don't have many options at the moment. to look away, or to maintain the eye contact. he seems to be into it, and so you give it to him. you are starting to be into it too.

his thumb rubs your cheek, much like that night. his eyes roam your face, as if he is memorizing every single detail on it. he licks his lips, and his gaze softens. "swallow for me."

in the dead silence, you can almost hear your sanity shatter. you do as he tells you, with no thoughts in your brain. the liquid stings your throat, but the growing lust inside of you overshadows it. you subconsciously lick your lips, mimicking him. he smiles to himself, noticing it.

"good girl."

what you didn't expect is for him to turn around and sit on the wooden stool, rolling his sleeves further up and getting back to his painting. you stand in the middle of the room, red faced, warm and with drenched panties, shocked at his behaviour. does he do this with his models too? gets flirty, then continues his work like nothing happened? is that how he gets such erotic paintings?

"you can sit on the couch if you want, i'll be done soon. i can drive you back."

you sit on the couch, immediately sinking into it. "how did you know i didn't drive here?"

"you always walk," he simply replies, his back still turned towards you and his hands working on the canvas, "i see you every day when you pass by the museum."

oh.

"what do you say? think you can manage with me for half an hour in here? i heard you don't like me much."

your cheeks are redder than ever, lust combined with embarrassment bringing out the worst in you. "i apologized."

you hear him chuckle. "i know. no harm in a little teasing."

minutes feel like hours as you sit upside down on the comfy green couch, legs resting over the backrest and head hanging from the couch above the carpet. he doesn't pay you much attention, but all of your attention is on him. you watch as his back muscles move when he reaches for a certain paint or brush on the high shelves, as his fingers run through his hair to get it out of his face, as his hand rubs the paint into the canvas. you feel a sensation on your clit, seeing his finger rub the paint in such an erotic way that you think it's not a coincidence.

you breathe out, trying to calm yourself again. you could leave, yes. but you don't want to. you're fine. you'll live. you distract yourself with snooping around his drawers next to the couch. you find a clean set of brushes, unused paint, and packages of clay. you play with the brushes, tapping them like drumsticks, then acting out spells from harry potter, and whatnot. until you decide to dim that little spark of dignity you had left.

you glance at hongjoong again, who still sits on the stool and has made progress on the painting. you flip your skirt over, and move your panties aside. using the soft part of the brush, you glide it over your clit, and shudder at the feeling. he stops for a moment, and you hurriedly put the skirt back in place. he doesn't spare you a glance, but simply takes a sip of wine. when he returns to his work, you also return to yours.

your hand reaches for one of the pillows, and gets trapped under your teeth as your other hand continues teasing you with the soft brush. you bite into the poor pillow, tug it and arch your back, all while pleasuring yourself with kim hongjoong's brushes, on his couch, right behind his back. you go painfully slow, as to not make too much noise. you're driving yourself crazy, and you can't help but imagine what wonders he could do to you if he just turned around.

so close to reaching the release, you close your eyes, and throw your head back further, still in the upside down position. the brush works faster, the soft bristles gently but fast brushing against your swollen clit, caressing your nerves just right. so damn close, just a tad bit more, and-

"put that down."

like frost, his voice makes all the heat and lust disappear from your body. you sit still, eyes still closed, hoping that he will just disappear if you do so. that you will get yourself out of the awkward situation.

"i said..." you hear footsteps, and before you can actually listen to him, he grabs you by your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, "...put. that. down."

his eyes are stone cold, eyebrows furrowed. you gulp, feeling so small and miserable under his gaze.

"now."

your hand drops the brush on the couch, then fixes the skirt. you try to sit up straight, but hongjoong's grip on your face is strong. you stay still, waiting for the scolding to begin. you're terrified, you want to disappear. you want to drown in that bucket of paint that sits next to his stool, and never resurface again.

"what the hell do i do with you? first you hate me, then you like me, then you avoid me. now, you ride my painting brushes? how am i supposed to approach this?"

you don't try to speak. you don't trust yourself with words. you can only sound pathetic, begging for forgiveness again. so you decide to keep your mouth shut and let him be disappointed in you. he breaks eye-contact with you, only to have a sip of his wine which he brought over to the couch. he keeps it in his hand, eyes locked on you again. his thumb caresses your bottom lip, while his eyes roam the state of your body. your chest still rises and falls quickly, coming down from an orgasm denial. flushed cheeks, sweaty forehead with hair sticking to it, almost drool covered pillow with bite marks, and your arousal on his brushes and couch.

hongjoong breathes out his nose, a glint visible in his eyes.

"open up." he says, voice raspy and eyes softened.

you do as he says, opening your mouth until his thumb can comfortably sit in it. he massages your tongue, circling it and playing with it. he takes another sip of the dark liquid, then looks at you with that glint again. he removes his thumb, only to bring his head closer and pour the liquid from his mouth into yours. you swallow it without hesitation, too mesmerized and aroused by the situation. never in your life did you think that drinking from someone else's mouth was going to make you almost orgasm.

"good girl," he praises, voice barely a whisper in the silent cabin.

he downs the rest of it, then throws it on the floor aside. the glass cracking makes you twitch, but he is quick to hush you and caress your cheek.

"s-sir-" you finally speak, not even sure what you want to say.

"yes?" the man replies.

"i- i should-" you stutter, trying to come up with anything that will get you out of there, "i should go."

hongjoong raises an eyebrow, believing your words as much as you believe them. his hands fumble with the zipper of his slacks. then, he takes the pillow you had just used and gently puts it under your head.

"comfy?"

"yes...?" you say, confused.

"good."

through the opening of his pants, he pulls himself out, wasting no time in giving it a few slow strokes. your mouth waters at the sight, even if it is upside down. his hard, thick cock leaks above your head, ready to be licked clean.

"open up for me, princess."

you shudder at the nickname, and at the way he gently holds your head so that it is aligned with his cock. you open your mouth once again, slightly sticking your tongue out for him. the man presses the tip against your lips, coating them in pre-cum before pushing past them. he grunts, placing both of his hands on your cheeks to hold your head still. the warm muscle glides against your tongue, kissing the back of your neck. you can't help but imagine how it would glide inside of you, slowly, or fast, gently, or hard. you'll take anything he gives you.

"relax your throat, baby." his voice is raspy and quiet in your ears.

you do as told, trying your best to relax it. as soon as you do, hongjoong seems to lose himself a bit. he slams his hips forwards, the tip of his cock touching the back of your throat and making you gag around him. tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but you don't let them. his hand then reaches over to your skirt, flipping it over and exposing your drenched panties still pulled aside.

his fingers find your entrance without teasing, and he dips his finger in so easily. your walls squelch around him, arousal flooding and coating his digits. due to the position you're in, his rough fingers rub your spongy wall exactly how you need it. you squirm under his touch, feeling overstimulated even though you haven't orgasmed yet. he adds two more fingers, stuffing you almost to the brim. you're full of him, in both holes, and a whiny and squirming mess.

he abuses your mouth, admiring the outline of his cock on your neck.

"rub your pretty clit for me, princess."

hesitantly, your fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing it in circles and guiding yourself closer to an orgasm. hongjoong's fingers are restless in your hole, pumping in and out, making you moan and whine around his cock. the vibrations must feel good for him, because he throws his head back and groans. entirely lost in the pleasure of your tight mouth against him, he can't help but slam his hips harder and faster, and his fingers start matching the rythym.

you try to beg, but all the words are muffled by his equally abused cock.

"what was that, pretty girl?" he looks down at you, pure ecstasy on his face.

"please-" you somehow manage to say it.

"please? do you know what you're begging for?"

you shake your head. you don't, truly. begging for him to speed up? to slow down? to make you orgasm? or not? you have no idea. you just beg him, to give you everything he has to offer.

the moment is shattered when your phone rings, the word dad on the screen making your stomach turn. hongjoong stops, giving you a moment to collect yourself before handing you the phone. he helps you sit up straight, putting a pillow under you so that you are comfortable. you take a deep breath, who knows which one in the row that day. hongjoong caresses your cheek, as if he wasn't deep inside you both ways just seconds ago. charming, he'd say.

"hello?" you answer the phone.

"hey, kid. did you deliver those things to hongjoong?"

"yes, dad."

"great! i was thinking about inviting him for dinner tomorrow. wanna come and help me?"

"sure thing."

"i was thinking steak, with that whiskey sauce you make..."

you are no longer paying attention, because hongjoong is on his knees in front of the couch. he gently spreads your legs, and looks at you with a mischievous look. you shake your head silently, asking him to not do anything. but all falls in water when hongjoong licks a stripe up your slit and you shake under his touch. your legs close reflexively, but the older man is quick to hold your thighs in place as he devours you on his couch. he makes out with your folds, as if he is kissing your real lips. his tongue teases the tip of your clit, spinning it in circles. he sucks it, tugs it and rubs it, all the things that have your fingers grasping his hair and pulling mercilessly.

his fingers find their way inside you again, curling up so that you get maximum pleasure. a whine escapes your lips, and hongjoong stops everything he is doing. you beg him with your eyes not to stop. you can't go home empty handed. but the man only puts his hand over your mouth, and ever so slowly, slides inside of you. you swallow him so easily, arousal leaking all over him and his couch.

"dad, i really have to-" you gasp, feeling his cock brushing against your sweet spot, "i have to go."

"oh? alright then. so, tomorrow?"

hongjoong grabs your waist, not moving his own hips, but instead slamming your body on his cock and bruising your skin with his strong grip. his hair falls over his eyes, loose strands perfectly decorating his face painted with pure pleasure.

"huh? yes, yes! tomorrow. okay, see you!"

you've never ended a call so fast, and you've never thrown your phone so far away.

"don't hold back, darling. let me hear you."

and that's when you let go. you grip his shoulders, moan into his ear, whine, squirm, whatnot. you certainly don't make it easy for him.

"for an old pervert, you sure are having the time of your life." he teases.

you try glaring at him, but you can barely keep your head up. "just fuck me, please."

"you finally know what you're begging for. only you're not asking properly."

"pretty please?"

"no, you can do better."

you think hard, defocusing from the orgasm chasing for a moment. then, it clicks.

"please, daddy."

hongjoong chuckles happily, and snaps his hips harder into you. "that's a good girl."

something about having sex with clothes on drove you crazy, especially since hongjoong was in his natural habitat and clothing. it pushes you over the edge, seeing him brush his hair back and looking at you with such lust. you're shaking harder than ever, clear liquid squirting out of you and all over him and his furniture. you're in shock, trying to reach your breath, while hongjoong still sloppily fucks his cum into you.

he grunts and hums against your lips, not yet kissing you. which you suddenly find very frustrating.

"you should shit on my art more often, eh?"

with a laugh, you try to cover yourself with the blanket. but hongjoong takes it from your hand, then uses it to wipe the liquid off your body. he tosses it aside, then reaches for his own coat to give it to you. hesitantly, you take it. as you put it on, hongjoong examines your face for any traces of regret. when he sees none, he smiles fondly at you, pressing his lips on top of your hand, just like that night.

"you're a very pretty young woman, you know that?"

"thanks," you say awkwardly.

"you wanted to kiss me, i know. but..."

you roll your eyes, acting unphased.

"...i don't think i'm ready yet."

"you just rearranged my guts, and a kiss is a problem for you?"

he laughs, but not because it's funny, but because you are right. he helps you lay down on the couch, then covers you with the spare blanket. "we'll get there, pretty. right now, i want you to take a power nap before i take you home. got it?"

"got it, sir."

"good girl."

688 notes · View notes

ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 13 days

Note

You asked for Spencer Reid and Reader requests, particularly plus size, and I am so down bad for that man! Especially later seasons him.

Could I have one where he and the reader are intellectual peers but also enemies? Like she's on the team and just as wicked smart as him and into old literature and languages but they constantly butt heads? And the team knows they really just have feelings for each other, but they'll never admit it. Maybe the reader admits it to Penelope or someone one night drinking that he's hot but she never thought he'd actually sleep with her bc she's fat, but she'll take his attention any way she can get it. Maybe Spencer overhears and proceeds to show her just how hot he finds her arguing with him? 👀 Thank you in advance, girlie!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

— summary: you and spencer hate each other, that much is obvious... right?

— warnings: very surprisingly crude language in this, self-doubt, implied insecurities, misunderstandings, e2l, they're in love and everyone else knows besides them, i made them dorks i don't apologize, mentions of wet dreams, mentions of male masturbation, dirty thoughts, kissing, stripping, vaginal fingering, spencer's dirty mouth, lots of reassurance 'cause i'm a sap, spencer reid #1 consent king, missionary, unprotected sex, sex god spencer?!?! (he does his research), pleasure dom!spencer, switch r & spencer, heavy praise, and a fluffy ending to tie this all up in a nice little bow!

— wc: 3136

⋆ a/n: okay i do admit that this is RIDICULOUSLY long, but i knew exactly what i was getting into writing this and honestly i had so much fun! i don't think i've ever created such characters that have so much chemistry with each other, so cheers to that! (unedited unfortunately :[)

masterlist | AO3

As soon as you hear Spencer’s voice, you make a point to groan obnoxiously loud.

“And just to think I would be able to go home without a headache today.”

You could feel the glare from said man burning a hole in the back of your head, so you swivel your chair around in order to face the music – in a pleasurable masochist kind of way. His annoyingly handsome face was twisted up in irritation – much to your glee – his eyebrows turned down, and his perfect, plush lips pulled into a deep frown.

You could tell you had interrupted him saying something that he deemed important, most likely a fact that you and him would go back and forth on, and you couldn’t be more pleased with yourself.

“Funny you mention that seeing as though your voice is the cause of mine.” He bit back, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Aw, you think of my voice?” You tease. “Only in my nightmares.” You wink at him. “You still think about me.”.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Luke piped up from his own desk, drawing the attention from your other intrigued co-workers in the bullpen. “Oh here we go.” Tara said in amusement at Luke’s rambling.

“Back when I was a kid there was this girl that I went to school with, and I would always tug on her hair or try to trip her,” His voice was almost reminiscent. “Everyone thought I hated her, when in reality I was just trying to get her attention.”

“Ah,” Matt said with a smile, “The classic ‘boy bullying the girl he likes,’ or in this case, it’s the girl this time.” Your cheeks began to heat and your eyes went wide, Spencer’s own face and the tips of his ears turning an admirable pink hue.

“Absolutely not -”

“What? No -”

Both Spencer and you stumbled over each other to try and defend yourself, but you didn’t have a chance because Emily’s voice cut through whatever was about to be said next, the woman making haste from her office and into the room with the round table.

“Alright you guys, enough. We’ve got a case.”

“To a job well done!” Penelope cheered as she held up her citrusy alcoholic beverage in the air, signaling she wanted to toast.

You smiled indulgently at the woman sitting next to you, clinking your glass with hers noisily and flickering your eyes over to where a disheveled Spencer Reid sat. You didn’t say anything to him though, because you’re a big ol’ softie and like to let the boy wonder rest before you have him back on his toes.

His eyes met yours the same time your glasses collided. You wish you could say that the vibrations from the clinking was the cause of the shiver that forced its way down your spine, but you knew better.

It was like the rest of the bar disappeared, the sound of the others joining in on your rejoicing fell on deaf ears. You could have sworn his dark brown puppy-dog eyes drank you in before he looked away and cleared his throat, taking a rather comically large gulp of his water.

Your eyelashes fluttered like a thousand butterflies wings as you rushed to drink your own beverage.

“Okay, what was that!?” You felt Penelope’s finger poke at your ribs before you actually heard her.

“Ow - fuck! What was what?” You yelped quietly, your hand reaching down to bat away her stabbing digits. “The - the -” She fought to portray her words before her face lit up when she found the correct ones, “The eyefucking!”

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, “Eyefucking? What eyefucking?” You asked with a scoff, hiding your blush behind the rim of your mug.

“Oh, please, don’t give me that.” It was Penelope’s turn to scoff at you. “Everybody knows that you and Spencer like each other.” She said it almost like it was a fact, leaning forward to take a smug sip of her drink through the miniature black straw.

Spencer knew listening in on Penelope and your conversation was inappropriate; but in his defense, you guys weren’t really quiet about what you were talking about.

“I -” He heard you begin, “It’s one-sided.” Was all you said before draining your beer. “So you admit it!” Penelope exclaimed with a gasp.

Spencer felt his eyes go wide at her words, but there was this desperate feeling that spread throughout his body; one that caused his fingers to twitch and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“When you put it like that it sounds childish!” You complained slightly, biting at the meat of your lip. “I… I’m just not his type you know? Like - you know better than anyone that guys don’t pay attention to girls like us, so you have to learn to improvise.” You were cringing at your own words, but the liquid in your cup was enough to loosen your tongue and lower your inhibitions.

“Was me choosing to constantly argue with him the smartest way to try and peak his interest? No, but I knew he liked a challenge and well… it definitely wasn’t the proudest conclusion I ever came to, but what was I supposed to do? It isn’t like Spencer would date me let alone actually want to sleep with me.”

Spencer wanted to argue with you about how wrong you were, to tell you about every thought he’d ever had about you.

He wanted to tell you about how much you frustrate him, how at first, he thought he hated you and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize he hated how badly he wanted you; hated how many dirty dreams he had included you and that plush body of yours. He’d wondered how soft you were, how you smelled and tasted.

Did your moans and whines sound as enchanting as your laugh? Did your eyes twinkle the same way when you were about to cum?

Those thoughts kept him up at night and his hands in his pants, stroking himself to his unlimited imagination all revolved around you. Those were the days that he was more prone to pick fights with you, mostly because he was embarrassed, ashamed, and quite frankly plain ol’ horny.

Spencer thought you were just so sexy, especially when he had managed to light that fire under your ass that really got you going. He wasn’t a sadist or a masochist by any means, but he loved when you yelled at him. So, for you to think so lowly of yourself it almost drove him mad because you didn’t know.

But you were going to.

You were going to kill whoever was bothering you on your day off.

The knocking was unexpected, but so was who was responsible for the noise.

“Spencer?” You asked in surprise.

Usually you were prepared for your exchanges with the man, but if your pajamas were anything to go by, you were anything but. Spencer felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your tits sitting braless in a thin undershirt, your soft tummy slightly straining against the cotton material and a pair of shorts that look like they were practically strangling your thighs.

The only thing he could really say was… “Do you know how infuriating you are?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest, and little did you know the action pressed the tops of your breasts over the hemline. “Excuse me?” You almost scoffed, “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to argue with me.”

“No I - fuck just let me finish.” This was not how he wanted this to go. You looked like you wanted to say something but your curiosity made you choose to stay silent.

“Do you know why you’re so infuriating?” He asked, taking a tentative but careful step towards you. “Because you haunt my every living thought. I see you when I’m awake, I see you when I’m asleep. I can’t… I can’t escape you! I can’t escape how I feel about you.”

Your eyes were wide and your brows were furrowed; it looked like you almost couldn’t breathe.

“But you want to know the worst part?” His hand lands on your cheek and his thumb gently caresses the skin there. “You have the audacity to think that I wouldn’t want you.”

“You want me?” You asked in disbelief. “But I… but I thought you hated me? I mean - I haven’t been all that nice to you.” You attempt to joke weakly, but your body is on fire; your stomach is tangled up in knots. You were trembling in excitement at his words but in disbelief too.

“Do you have any idea how much I love arguing with you?”

You laughed at his words, your lips slipping into a small smirk as you threw your arms around his neck in an act of boldness. “Oh yeah?” You hummed seductively. “You wanna show me how much?”

“Yeah,” He replied breathlessly. “I do.”

And just like that his mouth was on yours and a long leg shot out behind him to shut your front door. The slam made you yelp, but it quickly melted into a giggle against his lips when he reconnected them.

Spencer tugged you closer to him, and God the feeling of your body was so much better than anything his subconscious could have conjured up. You felt so soft and the front part of your torso pressed against his chest in a way that if he didn’t have you naked under him soon he was going to go crazy.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He didn’t want to pull away from you, but he wanted to do this right.

“I didn’t know you were a gentleman, Reid.” You teased with a dazed smile on your face. “There’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me.” You quirked a brow. “Oh really? How about you tell me?”

“Later,” He said with a lazy shake of his head, “Later.”

His hand reached down to cup your ass, your crotch rubbing on the large boner restrained by his pants. You moaned quietly at the feeling, and found yourself saying, “Down the hall and to the left.”

When you arrived, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; they grabbed at your back, ass, waist, hips. There was so much of you that he had no idea where to start. All he knew is that he wanted all of you right now.

“Can I take your shirt off, please?” His words almost came out as a whine and it welcomed a fresh wave of arousal in your panties. “Take off whatever you want, I’m yours.” A reassuring confession that Spencer had no idea he needed to hear.

His lithe, veiny hands tugged at your top first, dragging it over your head and throwing it somewhere random. Your pants and panties were next to go and you couldn’t help but shiver at Spencer's intense stare.

“I’m uh- feeling a little vulnerable here, could you lose a layer or two?”

The man blinked rapidly, his fingers shooting to undo the buttons on his cardigan. “Yes, yeah of course, sorry I -'' You grabbed the shaky digits. “Calm down, take it slow. I’m not going anywhere.” It was a light jab meant to ease his nerves. For a moment he looked unsure but you gave an encouraging smile.

After his clothes disappeared he held you by your waist, walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed. You quickly hurried to scale the mattress until your head hit the pillows.

“God,” Spencer gulped. “This is so much better than what I imagined.” You giggled slightly. “As much as I appreciate your flattery, I want you to fuck me. Now.” You said it with such simplicity that his eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets at your crudeness.

He swallowed his shock. “Whatever the lady wants.”

He hurried to crawl over your leaning body; you cup his cheek in an act of haste, dragging him down to lay on top of you. His own hands didn’t stop their determined trail, tracing the soft planes of your plush body until he reached your wet cunt.

You whine loudly at the feeling of Spencer’s fingers stroking your damp slit.

“So responsive.” He murmured with delighted smirk. You go to say something snarky but you’re quickly cut off when he begins to rub tight circles on your clit. “‘M sensitive.” You gasp against his lips, your back arching and pressing further into him.

His body falls to the side, laying next to your naked one with a cheek balanced on his fist. “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first,” Spencer whispers into your ear. His ring finger entered your warmth slowly and he felt himself choke on his words. You mewled, a hand shooting up to tangle in his long, curly hair, the other grabbed at his wrist.

“Then, I’m gonna make you cum on my cock.” After a few experimental twists of his wrist, his middle finger joins the first. Your breathing speeds up with every movement of his digits.

“Afterwards, ‘m gonna clean you up and take you out to eat.” Your brain could barely process what he was saying, but every word that left his mouth added to the swarming butterflies in your gut – which felt so juvenile seeing as though he was already knuckle deep inside you.

“And when we get home, I’m gonna eat this sweet pussy for dessert.”

Your eyelashes were fluttering rapidly, your hips moving frantically on his fingers in an attempt to try and get him deeper. Spencer must have sensed what you needed, because with a few firm swipes on your sensitive clit sent you spiraling over the edge.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer… I - I -” Your gummy walls squeezed his digits, and the only thing keeping you grounded was the heat coming from his body.

“Wow.” You laughed breathlessly. “Wow indeed.” He mimics with the same amount of amusement.

“Are you okay to keep going?” He asks.

“Are you kidding?” The look on his face was almost laughable, and you gave his naked chest an encouraging pat. “Hell yeah I’m good, how about you?”

“If I told you I could cum just from watching you, would you believe me?” You roll your eyes and snort. “We’ll find out later, loverboy. Get up here.”

He scrambles to get on top of you, but then stops. “Wait, wait,” He reaches behind your head and grabs a pillow. “Lift your hips up for me.” Your eyes go wide, because who in the fuck taught him that? Though you move a bit slowly through your surprise, he manages to get the soft thing under you, your lower back now elevated.

But all excitement dies out when he realizes there might be no protection, he looks like he could almost cry.

“It’s cool, Spence. I’m on the pill and I… I haven’t had sex with anyone in an embarrassingly long time.” You admit shyly, your eyes casting to the side nervously. “I’m clean too. I don’t really remember the last time I’ve had sex either.”

You guys make eye contact and erupt into a fit of giggles, “To relearning the art of sexual intercourse then.” Spencer scrunches his nose up at your wording, but you don’t give him any time to retort because you’ve already placed two hands on his face, tugging his head down to kiss your smile-split lips.

He takes the time to kiss you for a moment before reaching down to line his dick up to your entrance. You both shiver at the sensation. You guys disconnect your lips to watch him enter you, your foreheads pressed together and breaths mingled in anticipation.

You moaned in unison when he slowly but surely seethed himself in you fully, and your body tensed at the long awaited intrusion. “Gimme a sec.” You gulped. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He panted.

You allowed yourself a moment to relax, brushing your fingers through his curls as a way to comfort Spencer as well. After taking a few more seconds to enjoy the raw, intimate moment between the two of you, you said, “Okay. Okay, I’m good.”

Spencer licked his lips and rolled his hips tentatively, and your breath hitched. A string of whimpers were soon to follow with every drag of his cock against your sensitive inner walls, the leftovers of your previous orgasm leaving your body feeling electric.

Your mouth drops open into an ‘o’ shape when his tip brushes your g-spot.

“Right - right there Spence…good boy - fuck - good fucking boy.”

The term of endearment was an accidental slip of the tongue, but it had frayed some nerve in his body, because the groan that left him was guttural and hungry.

“Say -” He huffs. “Say it again, please.” The pace of his thrusts speed up as he begs, and your nails drag down his back. “You’re my good boy, Spencie.” His eyes flutter shut at the praise and he doesn’t bother to be gentle anymore.

“Mphm! More - I need more.”

“Okay, okay.” He rushed to balance on his elbow so that his other arm could slip between the two of your bodies to rub at your clit. Your back arched, and Spencer all but throbbed inside of you, his balls tightening and threatening to cum right then and there; but ever the gentleman, he waited, his stomach sucked in tightly and his body jolting quivering.

“I - I’m gonna cum.”

It didn’t take much to pull you into a kiss. It was sloppy, and messy, and lewd and all of those other wonderful synonyms. Spit dribbled down your chins and with one last hard thrust that almost sent you up the bed, you gripped onto the older man for dear life.

Everything went white as you came; your hearing, your vision, every single cognitive thought you had pretty much flew out the window.

It was Spencer gently wiping the sweat off of your brow that brought you back down to reality, your lungs finally opening up and expanding for that much needed air.

“Hey,” He cooed. “There you are.”

“Hi,” You sighed with a ditzy smile on your face.

There was a moment of silence before you said, “How about we save the oral for breakfast?” Spencer laughed, but nonetheless nodded in agreement. “That sounds perfect.”

“So, what’s for dessert then?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Hm…” You pondered for a moment.

“How about ice cream?”

“I like ice cream.” But then he added, “But I like you more.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You groaned, covering your eyes, but your grin gave you away. “I like you too, I guess.”

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861 notes · View notes

styleswithaseaview · 5 months

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movie night | p.p. x reader

requested: here pairing: tasm!peter parker x shy!reader summary: you want to watch a movie with peter on your first night in your new apartment. he has other plans. wc: 1k of pure fluff note: thanks for requesting!! i tried my best with shy!r but i am very not shy so if it's awkward apologies :)

“It’s a crime.” Your tone of voice is mock-serious, with the face to match, but Peter can tell that there’s a smile creeping on your lips.

“I’m sorry!!” he replies, putting his hands up.

“When Harry Met Sally is a classic, Peter. I watch it at least twice a year.”

“Really? Twice a year?” He’s not seriously questioning your movie-watching habits, but you read it wrong and try to backtrack.

“I mean… I don’t know, it’s a really good movie. I-I don’t know how you haven’t seen it,” you look down at your hands where the DVD sits. You had been unpacking boxes into your and Peter’s new apartment when you stumbled upon it, unable to resist pulling it out.

“I’m sure it is, bug. I trust your judgment. We can watch it tonight, if you wanna?” His reassurance is enough, and you let yourself grin at him unabashedly.

“Can we?” you’re brimming with excitement. It’s not just the film; it’s Peter, it’s the fact that you live together now. You think that you could watch a movie with him every night for the rest of your life and be perfectly content to do so.

A few hours later, the apartment is still not fully unpacked. But you have a couch, and a TV; you decide to have microwave popcorn for dinner and deal with the rest of it in the morning.

You put the movie in and join Peter on the sofa. His arms are open and you happily cuddle up into him, wrapping a blanket around you and munching on your popcorn. His arm is snug around you and you’re leaning into the crook of his neck. He presses soft kisses to the crown of your head when the movie starts. You ignore him, at first, used to his regular affections and thinking he’ll settle in a few minutes.

A few minutes pass and Peter’s hand has now crept into yours. You’re partially too focused on the movie to notice and partially love him too much to care. He starts to toy with your fingers, blatantly not paying attention to the movie anymore and looking at your face.

“Give me a kiss,” he says, under his breath. You oblige, of course, turning away from the movie to press your lips against his. His hand slips from yours and flattens against your waist, trying his best to pull you closer towards him. You pull away.

“Peter, you have to watch. We’re getting to the good part, promise,” you say, detaching his hand from your side and placing it on the back of the couch.

“They don’t even like each other yet… is this a slow burn or no burn, baby? Kinda silly to watch two people not be in love when the girl I’m madly in love with is sitting right here, in just dire need of my attention.” His voice is full of theatrical drama, typical Peter, and he punctures his words with little kisses to your forehead (for emphasis, of course).

“That’s what makes it so good, though! It’s…” You’re distracted by his kisses moving down to your neck and you soften a little in his arms. “They do love each other, they’re just in denial. That’s what makes it so great when they finally get together.”

“Ah. And when will that be?” He looks at you and you both can’t help but giggle.

“You have to be patient, Pete. Good things come with time.”

“I’ve never been a patient man,” he replies and actually uses his strength this time to pull you up and into his lap.

“Peter, you have to watch!” you say, no real urgency behind your voice, and he shakes his head vigorously, pressing a bunch of teeny little kisses all over your face and nuzzling his nose into your neck. You get overwhelmed with all the love, blushing profusely and tipping your head down to try to avoid his affection. It’s a futile attempt, really, and he just lifts your chin up in response, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to your lips.

“Don’t get all shy on me, now, bug,” Peter says when you pull apart.

“Want you to watch the movie.” Your voice is quiet, and you press the top of your head firmly against his chest to prevent any more kisses.

“Well I want to watch you,” he says, rubbing your back sweetly. You can hear the smile in his voice. You lift your head up only to glare daggers at him; you know if you try to say words to him all that will come out is happy, nervous noises (courtesy of his over-the-top and, in your opinion, unwarranted affection). “Okay, fine, fine, fine. I’ll watch. You need to sit on the other side of the couch or something, though, baby. Too distracting.” You smile and oblige, scooting over to sit with your feet facing him, sideways on the sofa.

You last about three minutes in that position before Peter makes a noise akin to a whine.

“Come back over here, I miss you too much. Changed my mind.” He makes grabby hands at you, and you once again comply. You really can never say no to him, especially when he pulls those big brown puppy dog eyes on you. You return to your original position, cuddled up into his side, and he’s grinning at you.

“You’re still not watching the movie, Pete,” you scold with no real malice.

“Okay, okay. Okay. I’ll watch. I do think this Harry guy should just… I dunno, grow a pair and confess, you know?”

“Peter… that wouldn’t make a very good movie, babe.”

“Well it worked out for me, didn’t it?” He grins, kissing your cheek, and you can’t help but preen at his constant affection. Harry and Sally, the movie couple, have nothing on you, you think.

#tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker x you #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield #tasm!peter parker fluff

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ruskaroma · 1 year

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ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name.

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present.

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow.

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows.

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again.

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her.

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him.

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him.

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her.

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly.

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!”

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it.

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women.

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep.

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls.

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off.

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick chapter 4 #john wick x you #john wick 4 #keanu reeves #john wick smut #ochl #my works

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eilidh-eternal · 5 months

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Today may have been a Holy day, but lord am I having some unholy thoughts about Simon and Johnny and their pretty little dancer who doesn't even know she's theirs. 18+ MDNI

Johnny convinces Simon to go to the ballet, Swan Lake specifically, whilst home on leave for the holidays. They spend Christmas and the new year together, even make the trip to London to celebrate with Price and Gaz--just in time for the English National Ballet's opening night of their annual Swan Lake production. There are billboards and advertisements for it everywhere in the city, and Johnny pesters Simon relentlessly, always pointing out the pretty little bird the ballet company chose for their advertising campaign. Always saying "C'mon Si, it's a classic. Just this once, just so I can say I've seen it."

And finally he gives in. Tells him to get tickets and make the arrangements so he'll stop nagging him about it. The night of the ballet they go to a swanky bar at an upscale hotel because Simon needs a bourbon if he's going to spend the rest of the evening with Johnny at the London Coliseum, theater packed with unfamiliar faces that care little to hide their staring or to mind his personal space. And the Bourbon is doing wonders to take the edge off, the burn of the liquor as it slides down his throat warming him from the inside out and blanketing his mind in a similar hazy warmth. It's done the job so well in fact that it takes his brain a moment to catch up with his senses when someone who isn't Johnny presses into the narrow space between them at the bar to flag down the bartender.

You wave them over and step up onto the foot rail to lean across the bar top, half-shouting your order over the noise of the other patrons. When the bartender hurries off to mix your drink you take a step back from the bar to give the two burly men their space but lose your footing when another patron bumps into you unknowingly from behind, and you find yourself nearly falling into Simon's lap.

Johnny has his arm around your waist to hold you up, and a steadying hand on your shoulder. "Nearly took a tumble. Are ye aw'right hen?"

You try to form a response, tell him you're sorry, that you're usually not this clumsy, but the words can't seem to find their way past your lips as your brain stumbles over the sudden warmth in the pit of your stomach and you're left staring up into his concerned eyes.

Another large, warm hand splays across your back between your shoulders and an even deeper voice rumbles from behind, "Are ya hurt, love?"

The bartender appears to deposit your drink, snapping your attention back into startling focus, and you quickly right yourself, pulling away from the embrace of the bright-eyed and sturdily built man you're currently chest to chest with. And if he is sturdy then the only way to describe the man who's hand still lingers at your back is massive, a veritable tower of muscle who's staring down at you with the same concerned pinch of his brows. You wonder at the reasoning for the black surgical mask, but now isn't the time to linger on thoughts of handsome strangers in crowded bars.

"I- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean- "

"No harm done, lass, no need to get yer feathers ruffled. Here," the dark-haired man assures you and kindly passes your drink to you from the bar, eyes traveling over you in appraisal as you take your drink with a shy 'thank you'. "Interesting choice of attire," he says with a gesture to your athletic shoes, yoga pants and oversized jumper.

"I uh... I'm not staying long. Just came for a little liquid courage," you explain.

"That's a shame. 'S not everyday a pretty dove falls into our lap."

Our? You're suddenly aware of the hand still on your back and you feel heat creeping up into your cheeks. Oh- oh. You take a step back as that heat creeps all the way to the tips of your ears. "I'm sure all the- um... I mean- surely you could have your pick of anyone here." He laughs at this and leans over to his... friend?

"Ye hear that Simon? Pretty little bird thinks we'd want just anyone." His friend doesn't say anything, gives no indication he's heard him except for the subtle tilt of his head and the upward cant of a brow as he turns round to see you better.

You're about to apologize, say you hadn't meant it like that, when there's a hand on your elbow and a familiar voice calling your name.

"Come on! We're going to be late for call time!"

You look between your friend, dressed similarly in athletic attire and shouldering a small duffel at her hip, and the two men at the bar. If you don't leave soon you are going to be late and that isn't how you want to start this night. You down the rest of your drink and stretch forward to slide your empty glass on the bar top between them. "I um, I'm gonna be late if I don't- I hope... I hope you two enjoy the rest of your night," you manage to say before your friend is pulling you away by your elbow, leading you towards the lobby.

Johnny watches with quiet amusement as your friend, wearing an identical jumper to yours, drags you away and ushers you out of the bar. He turns to Simon and finds him still watching the same direction you had left in, a hint of shared amusement reflected in his eyes as they meet Johnny’s.

Simon has a hand on Johnny’s back, guiding him through the crowd slowly dispersing from the theater. The ballet hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought it would be. He’d actually quite enjoyed the storytelling of it all and lamented that they hadn’t been able to see the orchestra in the pit. He’d have liked to have been able to watch the musicians, to see how they also moved in time with the music. And though he had certainly never seen the show before, not even on video, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something about it had felt… familiar. Especially when he paid more attention to Odette.

“I dunno how they move like that, it doesnae seem natural,” Johnny rambles as the two of them make their way through the house doors. “I can barely get my leg up and over the hurdles for PT. Cannae imagine gettin it to go above my head, that looks bloody painful-”

Johnny stops speaking abruptly and comes to a halt beside Simon, nearly causing a collision with the older couple behind them. Just as quickly as he’d brought them to a halt he was moving again, but not towards the exit. He was pulling Simon towards a small crowd gathered near the promotional display for the show.

“Johnny, what- where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps pulling Simon through throngs of people, shouldering a path forward until he reaches the edge of the small crowd. He lets go of Simon’s hand to move closer, and his brows furrow in confusion and growing irritation as people paying little attention to their surroundings bump into him.

A flash of movement above the heads of the crowd captures Simon's attention immediately, and his muscles tense, heart hammering in his chest, until he sees what exactly his attention has caught on. Feathers. White feathers. Johnny manages to shoulder his way to the front and Simon swallows his discomfort as he presses in behind him, but the feeling of unease gives way to something else when he see’s why Johnny’s dragged him here.

A dancer poses among the faux scenery, a small-scale recreation of the lake, wearing large, white wings, and smiling for pictures with small children. When the dancer changes position for another photo with another family, Simon sucks in a breath as he glimpses their face—your face.

The children smile and their parents take a few too many photos before scampering off to allow the next family their turn, and you shift from your pose, perched up on your toes with a leg high in the air behind you, akin to a swans tail, back down on two legs again and turn to greet the next family. Your eyes widen, and recognition flashes over your face when you have to look up at Johnny and Simon.

“Hello, little bird.”

Masterlist | Places!

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

#call of duty #simon riley #johnny mactavish #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader #soap x ghost #ghoap x reader #ghoap #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost #soap #soap mactavish #cod fanfic #cod

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crystallinestars · 23 days

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NSFW Alphabet - Argenti

Argenti needs more love, and I am here to deliver. It's surprisingly hard to lewd this man. Argenti my beloved, I'm sorry v_v

Maybe one day I will have it in me to write a nsfw scenario for him.

Argenti x fem!Reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very good at aftercare. The KING of aftercare, even. Argenti pampers you to the moon and back after sex. You want water? Fresh bedsheets? Cuddles and kisses? Be carried to the bathroom for a bath? He’ll do it all and more, you need only ask. He’s so devoted to ensuring you’re happy and comfortable, that he will even neglect his own needs to prioritize yours. If you pamper him in return, his heart will swell with affection, so expect to be trapped in a cuddle for quite a while afterward.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

As a Knight of Beauty, Argenti takes care to make all of himself look beautiful. He values his appearance as a whole, as much as each individual body part. As such, I don’t think he has a favorite body part on himself, but I do think he pays a little extra attention to his face since it’s the only visible body part. He always looks so handsome, you can’t tell me he doesn’t take care to look that good.

As for you, Argenti likes your eyes and lips. He feels most connected to you during lovemaking when he can gaze into your eyes and see the love and joy you feel being this intimate with him. He also adores your lips because he loves to kiss them, especially when he’s buried deep in your pussy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Prefers to ejaculate inside because he’d rather not dirty your pretty skin with his cum. Argenti produces a fair amount of cum because he seldom masturbates.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

The first time Argenti saw you partially nude (walked in on your changing or saw you in a swimsuit, etc), the image of your body was stuck in his mind. He’s usually good at resisting lustful urges, but something about the sight of your figure awakened a desire to place his mouth all over your skin. He wanted to worship your body the way he believed you deserved, to kiss every inch of you, and whisper compliments into your skin.

He wanted to make love to you.

The realization made him feel guilt and shame for thinking of you in such a lustful manner despite you being his partner. The feelings only went away when the two of you finally had sex for the first time. Being able to act on the urges of worshiping your body made your first time an unforgettable experience for him, among other things.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Has no experience. He took up the knightly conduct early in his life and has abstained from worldly pleasures all for the sake of honing his devotion to the path of Beauty. That said, Argenti isn’t clueless about sex and how to please a woman. With some time, he will learn all the ways in which to touch you to make your body sing and your voice come out in wanton moans. He will study your body, memorizing all the ways you like to be touched, where your pleasure spots are, and how fast to go. He is devoted to pleasing you the same way he is devoted to the pursuit of Beauty, so rest assured that he will learn quickly and efficiently. He’ll have you reduced into a moaning mess in no time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Classic missionary because he likes to see your face and make eye contact with you. Plus, it allows him to lift your hips up or hike your legs onto his shoulders for a deeper angle, as well as hold your hand as you both approach orgasm—what’s not to like?

Argenti also enjoys fucking you while standing. Not even with your back braced against a wall, but supporting you in midair while using his hands to move your hips up and down on his cock. You tend to cling to him more tightly this way, which he likes.

He also likes cowgirl in the event you feel like taking charge. The sight of you enjoying yourself with his body is a turn-on for him. Of course, he’ll want to thrust up into you while you ride him but will do his best to remain still if you ask him to.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He tries to be serious, but due to how corny his words can be, the situation can unintentionally become goofy when he tries too hard to praise you. He only wants to tell you how beautiful and enchanting you look while in the throes of passion, but if you laugh at his words, he won’t take offense. If you’re enjoying yourself and having fun, then your smile and laughter are enough even if they weren’t the intended result.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Very well groomed. He has a patch of darker red hair that’s well-maintained at all times.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very romantic. Though it’s novel to a lonesome wanderer like him, Argenti loves the intimacy that sex brings. To him, sex doesn’t just link your bodies, but also your hearts and minds. It’s an ultimate connection, one that happens as a result of your trust and love for one another.

If possible, he likes to set the mood with some candles and rose petals, maybe give you a massage or take a bath together. Argenti likes to take his time and build up towards the main act.

He whispers praises and words of love into your ear as he thrusts into you, presses his lips to your skin and runs his hands along your body as if you were a sacred treasure, and intertwines his fingers with yours the closer you get to orgasm. He practically worships you during lovemaking, and you better believe that he won’t shut up about how much he loves you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Rarely masturbates, if at all. As mentioned, Argenti discarded worldly pleasures when pursuing the path of Beauty, which also includes sexual pleasures. He remained chaste up until he met you. Argenti tried to resist the allure of lust when he started a romantic relationship with you, and was pretty successful. He feels guilty masturbating, feeling that he is breaking some sort of conduct by doing so. Would feel double the guilt for imagining you in sexual situations while jacking off to thoughts of you, finding it like a sacrilege against you, so he abstained from that until you two had sex for the first time. He still avoids masturbating if he can (his self-restraint is godly), but will indulge you if you’re horny.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Despite his chasteness and knightly chivalry, I think Argenti is a kinky beast deep down.

He’s into roleplaying as your devoted knight with you as his princess or noble lady. Is also super into being used for your pleasure, so you can tie him up or give him commands that he’ll be more than happy to follow through. He finds it exciting to give control to you and have you use him to get off.

However, he also finds it equally as exciting to take charge and touch you in the places you like until you’re reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess under him, twitching from overstimulation. It all depends on what you’re into. Argenti is very versatile and open to many things, so as long as you’re getting off, so is he.

He also loves to give and receive praise and body worship. He likes giving a lot more, but is happy to receive your touch and compliments. He especially loves it when you tell him how good you feel or moan for him since it lets him know he’s doing a good job of pleasing you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Somewhere private and comfortable for you, so most of the time the ideal location ends up being the bedroom. He just wants you to rest on something soft for the sake of your comfort, and to avoid having anyone see you in such a vulnerable state without your consent.

He’s open to taking you on the couch or the bath if you’re up for it. Honestly, I think he will make love to you almost anywhere in the house if you say you want him here and now. That said, he’s also open to having sex outdoors, provided you’re in a secluded spot with little chance of being walked in on. He finds the idea of making love to you on a beach or in a field of flowers somewhat romantic.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Argenti’s self-restraint is immense and he can ignore carnal temptations all too easily, so it’s not easy to get him going. What can make that restraint crack is if you whisper in his ear that you want him. You need him to take you, to make love to you. That you want to be closer to him the way only lovers can. Argenti can’t resist the romantic proposition since he wants to please you and connect with you on an even deeper level.

Although he can ignore carnal temptations, he finds it hard to resist the sigh of you in pleasure. If he catches you masturbating or looking needy, it will affect him as your romantic partner. You’re just so cute and enticing, that all he wants is to make you feel good and take you to the heights of pleasure.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Will not hurt you. He’s very worried about your safety and comfort, so Argenti refuses to do extreme things like choke you, or knife play. Also isn’t into watersports, since he finds the act disrespectful.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Argenti prefers to give oral as opposed to receive it. He finds great enjoyment in making you feel good. It arouses him a lot to see your blissed-out expression and hear your moans as he buries his face between your legs. He will concede if you want to blow him, but he would much rather use his mouth on you as opposed to the other way around.

Might be a bit clumsy at the start, but he devotes himself to learning exactly how you like to be eaten out. He experiments quite a bit with how to use his tongue, attentively listening to your feedback and directions for where and when to flatten it or point the tip, how to suck on your folds, and how to tease your clit with his tongue. He becomes a master at it.

He’ll readily get down on his knees to bury his face into your pussy, or have you sit on his face. He’s okay with any position, just please let him make you feel good, princess.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Argenti is very good at reading your cues, so he’s able to deduce if you want it harder or more gentle. He matches whatever it is you want without complaint, since as mentioned, he is all about making you feel good.

If asked for his personal preference, then he would reply that he likes to take it slow and sensual. Argenti doesn’t want to just fulfill a carnal desire—to him, sex is a way to deepen his connection with you on an emotional and spiritual level, so he sees it as an opportunity to make love to you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Personally doesn’t prefer them, but if you’re horny, then he will indulge you. They’re not as good for him since Argenti likes to take his time to show appreciation for you and your body with lots of foreplay and sweet words, plus he has extremely good control of his desires, so he doesn’t see a need for quickies. If you’re desperate for him, though, then who is he to turn you away when you are so needy?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

To an extent, yes. Argenti is no stranger to putting himself at risk due to his occupation as a Knight, so he is open to trying new things with you in the bedroom. He’ll try almost anything once. The only caveat is that he won’t try anything that could hurt you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Argenti can go for as many rounds are your pretty heart desires because his stamina is just that good. You can thank his knightly training for that.

He lasts for quite a while each round. You usually end up climaxing first (multiple times, even) before he achieves his own orgasm. If you want to go again, then he’ll eat you our or finger you until his refractory passes, and he’ll fuck you senseless again.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Doesn’t own any toys, but has no issues if you own and use some on yourself. He’s open to having toys used on him and to use them on you, and derives some enjoyment out of the novelty of the experiences. However, Argenti ultimately prefers to feel your warm and loving touch as opposed to the cold plastic of a sex toy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

No man in Star Rail will cave quicker to your pleas than Argenti. He just can’t deny you when you ask him for something, especially if that something is his love and touch. As such, he doesn’t tease you during sex.

The only exception would be him denying you sex when he considers the timing inopportune, such as if he has to quickly head out to handle a monster or go on a long journey. During such cases, he might unintentionally tease you by giving you passionate kisses and touches but never actually go all the way with you due to how busy he is. He doesn’t experience a need for sex the way you do, so he doesn’t always realize that he might be teasing you with his touches.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

His voice is fairly soft and low when he moans since he’d rather hear your pretty voice moaning for him. Argenti does talk a lot, though. He showers you with praises and compliments, saying how beautiful you look all spread out and needy for him, or how well you take his cock. He’s never crass with his language, instead, he’s more… polite? Regardless, he says everything with reverence because he’s just that enamored by you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Underneath all that armor, Argenti sports quite a few scars from his past battles. He is not ashamed of them, but does find it endearing when you kiss the scarred tissue as if trying to comfort him. Your tender kisses make him feel loved.

However, if there are parts of your body that you are insecure about (cellulite, stretch marks, scars, or extra fat, etc), then Argenti does his best to show love to those areas and tell you that you’re beautiful, no matter how negatively you think of yourself. His words are not just empty compliments because he genuinely means them from the heart. To Argenti, you are beautiful. He will love you no matter what you look like because what he loves most about you is who you are on the inside. He believes that your inner beauty reflects on your outward appearance, too.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Has a very pretty cock. 6 inches in length and 5 in girth, with a reddish tip and a slight curve to the right.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Argenti has a low sex drive. As mentioned previously, Argenti’s self-control is extremely good because he disciplined himself to ignore worldly desires, so he doesn’t desire sex (or at least manages to suppress those desires to the point of not recognizing them). He can happily be in a romantic relationship with you without ever having sex, but can also happily indulge you if that’s something you want.

Once he experiences the pleasures of sex, though, he does worry a little about it affecting his dedication to the Path of Beauty and upholding the knightly conduct.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes Argenti a while to fall asleep. He’s usually not too tired after finishing a session of lovemaking with you and uses the time to cuddle and give you aftercare. If you fall asleep in his arms shortly after, then he’ll smile in endearment and kiss you on the forehead before tucking you in. He tries to stay as long as he can with you before going about his duties or settling in to sleep, as well.

@coreakin-sakarat It's not much, but I tried my best.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #star rail x reader #hsr argenti x reader #argenti x reader #argenti x reader smut

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tapesfrom1980 · 8 months

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dating louis partridge would include..

-london dates. absolutely

-louis loves his city and knows it inside out, he will take you to EVERY spot he knows (if you aren’t from london or unfamiliar with it)

-vice versa, when he visits the US you’ll show him all the places you could visit during his trip

-making fun of each others accents

-“bottah o wota 🤓”

-“oh yeah? howdy partner! gonna rustle up some grub?”

-“i’m not even from the south you idiot!”

-teaching each others lingo

-“why do you call them chips?”

-“why do you call them french fries? you’re not even french”

-“if you call french fries chips, what do you call actual chips?”

-“crisps!”

-visiting him on set <3

-taking pictures of him in his character costume and making him pose

-“oh you look so precious lord tewkesbury”

-he gets all blushy and pretends to hate it

-despite his multiple kissing scenes with millie, you and her are great friends

-“oh y/n, i am so happy to see you on set again! it’s been ages!”

-“oh don’t mind me right here ladies”

-you loved his look as sid, he was a little hesitant about the hair at first but with some flirting and compliments he ended up really liking it

-while you weren’t a big fan of the role itself, he looked incredibly handsome and keeping your hands off of him was more difficult than you thought, especially the scene with him shirtless in a cowboy hat

-“like what you see?”

-“oh please, calm yourself”

-“don’t act like i haven’t seen you yearning for me to kiss you this whole time”

-he was the cockiest little shit when he knew his effect on you

-“whatever”

-(louis is definitely not the jealous type, this is for my delulu girls including myself)

-he’s always liked to be touchy with you at all times, but when you’re at a red carpet with him / premiere or generally just in public and he can tell guys are wanting to talk to you, he’ll kiss you basically every minute

-“y/n, knock knock”

-“who’s there?”

-*smooch*

-you pretend not to know what he’s doing, but it makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy

-he’ll have his arm around you 24/7

-one time when a guy had the confidence to come talk to you while louis was talking to a castmate, he was over in a flash.

-“hey babe! who’s this?”

-“we’ll i’m-

-“oh yeah! anyways, y/n, we have that date for 7:00 tonight. i got us a hotel room for after too. they even have a jacuzzi, can you believe that?”

-the guy had long gone rolled his eyes and walked away

-“you have nothing to worry about louis, trust me”

-“thank y-

-“i specifically told all my secret boyfriends not to come talk to me so you don’t have to see them”

-“haha.”

-PASSIONATE KISSES !!!!!!! (!!!)

-this man will grab your face and kiss you and pull you as close as possible to him

-another classic, he’ll put his hands on your waist and trace his finger tips around it during a deep makeout session

-he KNOWS his effect on you and will take every chance possible to make you flustered

-coming to his model events, who wouldn’t?

-it gets so difficult for him sometimes, he has to ignore his girlfriend in the audience who is silently cheering like crazy and blowing kisses

-you like to bring him bouquets of flowers each time and he loves it, it makes him feel appreciated. especially with how many times he had been rejected as a model for his height (true story, isn’t that crazy??)

-weekend getaways on weeks he isn’t too busy, you go out to a different area each time usually just the two of you

-even when he’s extra busy, he’ll try to still make room for at least a saturday. he doesn’t wanna lose the special connection you have

-he is such a sweetheart. such a sweetheart

-he was raised to be a gentleman and it SHOWS

-if you guys are outside and paparazzi or fans get too rough, he won’t hesitate to raise his voice at them. it’s one thing to overwhelm him, but his girlfriend? never in a million years would he allow that

-same with backlash from fans, he doesn’t care if they don’t “like” your relationship and he’ll publicly speak out about the backlash if it gets too much

-candid pics!!

-he loves taking candid pics of you when he thinks you look pretty (basically every hour of the day)

-tons of polaroid / film photos

-he has them hung up and has his favorite one of you together in his wallet so he can always have you near him

-when you wake up and have bed hair, when you’re doing your skincare / makeup, when you’re eating etc

-he loves buying you outfits or accessories and seeing you in them, especially jewelry

-he never gets you ring finger rings, he wants to get you one when it’ll be only ring you’ll ever wear for the rest of your time

-he’s the best

#tapesfrom1980 #louis partridge #viscount tewksbury #louis partridge x reader #lord tewksbury #louis partridge x y/n #tewksbury x reader

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bruciemilf · 9 months

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Peter B needs a Harry, so have some Parksborn headcanons:

Dumbass bi men who never realized they were dating

Harry had a crush since they met and Peter was so oblivious

They had a "fallout" (break-up) after Peter and MJ divorced, but Harry secretly paid Peter's rent and bought the DB so Peter could keep his job

Harry has a spare key to Peter's apartment (and they were ROOMATES) and cleans up for him sometimes. Peter cries when he finds out

Harry totally knows Peter is Spider-Man. "I mean, he's heroic, brave, kind, funny, and the world's biggest idiot. Who else would it be?"

Miles, Gwen, and Pav meet Harry for the first time and almost lose it. " Uh, all due respect, that's the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life how are you friends. Can he adopt us?

Parent the hell out of the spiderlings. "Okay fine, but don't tell Harry" "Just wait till I tell Peter about this"

Harry: well, you know, he didn't invite me to his wedding, so--

Peter calls Harry 'angel' 1000% thanks bye. Harry calls him Petey ofc. (Peter hates it. He secretly loves it)

Harry still has hoodies that hang off his shoulders most of the time, that smell of pepperoni pizza and tears

Peter is the embodiment of the "saw my roommate kiss guys, am I homophobic?" Reddit Guy

Harry crocheted Mayday's little hat

Ik the classic formula is that Norman wants Peter as a son while constantly undermining Harry, and I want to keep that tension, but

Peter and Norman hating the fuck out of eachother is so goddamn funny to me. Especially if the childhood best friend aspects comes in

Norman is out here beefing with Peter B's 6 year old self and Harry is planning their lego wedding

Probably tried adopting Peter just so he won't be able to marry Harry. "Here's 300$ to stop being friends with my son." "Save that money for our wedding."

Peter has a photo album with just Harry. From age 4 to 30. A collection of polaroids he sleeps with under the pillow like the sap he is

#peter parker #peter b parker #harry osborn #parksborn #parksborne #spiderman #atsv #spiderverse #text #text post #mind you i imagined hugh dancy as harry hehe

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detectivemarvelingcomics · 3 months

Text

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 15]

Alternate Dimension AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Slight Body Horror, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Monstrous Attacks, Gun Use, Weapon Use, Some Talks About Traumatic Incidents, CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here] Genre: Drama, Action, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: Batfamily & Batsis!Reader, OC x Reader YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 11.3K

(15/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [DC Masterlist] | [Not Your Classic Vigilante Masterlist]

Notes: FINALLY SHE'S OUTTTTTTT i'm so sorry for the long wait, loves, I just couldn't for the life of me be satisfied with it until now

Disclaimer: This series is originally by@fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

2005

Your hand was gripped tightly around your mother’s finger. She was one of a few people you’d ever met growing up and, for the longest time, she was the only one you needed. With you on her right hand and with a backpack filled with your things on her left, she knocked rang the doorbell. When there was no response, she rang it again and continued to do so until it finally opened. An older man stood at the door.

“Pardon me, madam, how may I… assist you?” He hesitates slightly. Your mother moves to the side and gently pulls you toward him and there was a spark of realization on his features.

“I need to talk to Bruce Wayne,” she says. The old man looks behind her before opening the door wider.

“Master Bruce will meet you soon,” the old man says after guiding you both to the foyer. Your mother helps you onto the couch before sitting next to you.

“Mom? Where are we? You tugged at her coat and she folds her hands over her lap.

“A safe place,” she says. You looked around.

“Are we moving here?” Your mother looks away for a moment.

“Yes,” she had a tone about her voice. She was lying. One of the first things she taught you was how to tell someone was lying, she always said it was important because of where you lived, and one of the things you had since noticed is that your mother lied alot, especially recently. You’d been noticing it more often now, she’d always look away from you when she lied and that was how you knew. The both of you have been moving around a lot, staying with different people and checking into different motels, it’s been awhile since you’d stayed somewhere longer than a few days. Every time you would move, your mother would say the same thing: “The monsters found us, we have to move before they get here.” And you, afraid of the monsters, would help her pack as quickly as you could and climb into a taxi next to her.

Your mother lied a lot. And nearly every time it was a lie, and only some times was it the truth. Even her being your mother was a lie. But she takes care of you, and if that didn’t make her your mother you didn’t know what did. You’re not supposed to know this. She only told you one night when you woke up after a nightmare and came to her. She was holding a glass filled with a deep red liquid, and she refused to look at you all night. She looked over at you, laughed, and told you that you looked just like your mother and “may she rest in peace.” You don’t think she knows she told you, so you kept quiet.

“What are our three rules, (Y/N)?” She asks. You look at your hands.

“Listen before entering, look in hiding spaces, and don’t overstay our welcome.”

“Very good.”

Before the conversation could continue, the older man returned.

“Master Bruce will see you in his study.”

“Alright, watch her, please,” Selina puts her hand on your shoulder and you hold onto her hand.

“You’re leaving me?” You looked up at her.

“I’ll be right back,” she rubs the top of your head, “where is it?”

“Up the stairs and five doors down.”

“Sure.” Your mother ascends the stairs, and you remained on the couch. The older man sits next to you.

“If I may, what’s your name?” He asks. You look at him and look away slowly.

“My mom says not to talk to strangers,” you muttered.

“A very good principle,” he says. “My name is Alfred.” You puffed your cheeks.

“(Y/N)… (Y/N) Kyle…” you answered.

“(Y/N), that’s a lovely name,” he says. He grabs a box from the table. “Do you like sweets, (Y/N)?” He opens the box and your eyes widen at the chocolates inside. You nodded your head and picked a chocolate, but you hesitated before eating it.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if my mom will be happy if I eat this, mister,” you placed the chocolate back. “She says I shouldn’t eat things from other people…”

“Another good principle,” Alfred takes a chocolate and eats it. “As safe as it is delicious,” he says. With a small smile, you grab the chocolate again and eat it, tasting the sweetness all over your mouth and savoring it as long as you could.

“(Y/N)?” Your mother’s voice drew you away from the box. She descended the stairs and, next to her, was a man with a stern expression on his face. You folded your hands on your lap and looked down. Soon, the man crouched in front of you. “Introduce yourself to her first, she knows not to talk to strangers.”

“Hello, I’m Bruce Wayne,” he says. You squeeze your hands together and your mother sits next to you.

“(Y/N), my dear, this is your father,” your mother introduces you. “You’ve been asking to meet him, remember?” You nodded your head. The man looks at your mother for a brief moment before turning back to you. “Why don’t you say hello?” She asks. You’re silent for a moment.

“Where have you been?” You asked him. The man doesn’t answer.

“He’s been very busy, he couldn’t say hello until now,” she answers for him.

“Why?” You look at your mother.

“I… I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she says. You puffed your cheeks and frowned.

“You have to be nice to him, alright? You’ll be staying here from now on.”

“Just me?”

“Just you.”

“Where will you go?” You looked around.

“Back to the apartment, for now,” she says.

“I don’t want you to leave, though,” you frowned. Your mother sighs and Bruce looks at her.

“(Y/N), do you remember when we first started moving? When the monsters came into our home and destroyed your toys?” She asks. You nodded. “Then you understand why you have to stay here,” she says. You did, kind of.

“But what will I do if there’s a stranger in our bed again?” Though you whispered, it was understood by everyone in the room. That was terrifying, seeing someone you didn’t know just waiting in a place you thought was safe. Selina only shared a quick look with Bruce. “Or… what if I get sick from eating again?” You asked her. You felt terrible that day, nonstop throwing up, nothing was kept down, and you think it was the first time you’d seen your mother cry.

“(Y/N), it’s not safe for you to be with me, but here? You will always be safe,” she says. Tears welled up in your eyes. “Your father will keep you safer than I ever could,” she says.

“But… I don’t know these people,” you said between sniffles.

“You will soon, there’s no one you can trust more than these two,” she rubs your back gently and you wrap your arms around her.

“Even you?” You asked against her coat.

“Especially me,” she responds.

“You have to come visit, okay?”

“Of course,” she holds onto you securely.

“You can stay tonight,” the man says. “It’ll be better for (Y/N), I think,” he says. You held onto your mother tighter.

“… I can’t,” she says. And you turned to her, your expression filled with despair.

“You’re leaving me?” The person you had known your whole life, who took care of you, and who raised you… was leaving you.

“Just for now, (Y/N), you have to trust me, okay?” She stands up and you stood up too, holding onto her legs tighter than you ever have. “(Y/N), let go, have I ever lied to you?” Yes, so many times.

“No,” you lied back.

“It’s only temporary, (Y/N).”

“But… Mom!” Tears streamed down your face. She couldn’t leave you. She took a deep breath. “You can’t leave! I’m so scared!” Your voice pierced the stillness of the manor, and everyone stopped. “What if… what if there’s monsters, what if they get me?!” You hid your face in her thigh. She slowly pulled away from you just enough to crouch to your level.

“They won’t, dear, not here. It’s okay to be afraid,” she coos, “but you have to remember that there are people who will protect you.”

“That’s you, right?”

“Of course,” she sighs, “me, and your dad,” she says. Your glance narrowed at her, and you leaned into her ear to whisper.

“Is he really my dad?” Your voice was so quiet that it strained. You could feel your mother tense as she turned her head to look at you. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“Yes, he is,” she says. “I never forget a face,” she quickly adds.

“Do you promise?”

“I swear it.” She wasn’t lying. She looks up at Bruce now. “There’s no one who will keep you safer than him,” she says while standing up. “Be good, (Y/N).” You didn’t look at her. “Take care of her, please.”

“We will see to it that young Miss Kyle is watched over,” Alfred responds. Your mother holds you to her one more time, wiping the tears from your face and pulling her scarf off, she folds it neatly and hands it to you, which you accept with shaking hands.

“We will see each other again, (Y/N),” she says. “You’re (Y/N) Wayne now, do you understand me?” You could only nod.

“Okay,” you shut your eyes and gripped the scarf. And when you opened them again, your mother was gone, and you were standing in a large room with a bed bigger than you’d ever seen and ceilings taller than you’d known. Your father was nowhere to be seen.

“Until we prepare a better room for you, this will have to do,” Alfred says. You looked around, then you approached the closet, opening it slowly and deeming it empty. The curtains were flushed to the wall and were safe, the desk was open enough for you to know that there would be no way for it to be an effective hiding spot, and that left one more place.

But you couldn’t check there.

“Mr. Alfred?”

“Just Alfred is fine, young miss.”

“Could you check under the bed for me?” Alfred only nodded before walking over to it and lifting the comforter. His head touches the ground, seemingly scanning the underside of the bed for a few moments before standing up again.

“No monsters.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it,” he nods and walks to the door. “Just call if you need anything.”

Then he’s gone too.

It’s cold in here.

2022

“So, what’s the verdict, Drake?” Marion looks over the clipboard Tim was writing on.

“It’s smarter than we thought,” Tim says, “it’s displayed critical thinking, problem solving, and memorization, all the three signifiers of high intelligence,” he looks at the daemon. It’s been two weeks since he and Jason had arrived and, while the progress on finding out how to return home has been slow, it’s been moving forward at the very least. Until then, the hardest part was integrating into this new society as if they’d always been apart of it to avoid suspicion.

Tim, at the very least, had a puzzle to keep him busy.

The daemon looked at him and huffed silently.

“You’re crazy, Drake,” Inigo says, “giving the thing a bath.”

“Sure, yeah, but I still have my head on and we can’t study it with spears in its back,” he shrugs. The beast seems to keep its eye on Tim while he circled it, though it made no moves. “How’s research on the tags?”

“Drawing no significant leads,” Marion sighs. “Nico, when does the Captain return?” Inigo huffs.

“Tomorrow, apparently,” he says, “I know she’s been losing her mind in bed.”

“She has tried to escape a few times,” Tim laughs.

“You would know, huh? She do that often when you were growing up together?” Marion asks.

“Oh plenty,” Tim laughs, “and I genuinely couldn’t tell if our dad knew or not, I mean, he had to! It’s not like she was slick about it, Jason and I always caught her,” he laughs.

“You two ever do anything about it?” Inigo asks.

“Nah, just helped her out,” Tim shrugs.

“Rebel kid turned soldier is a pipeline that should be studied,” Inigo shuts the lever as soon as the daemon was back in its cage. The sound of heavy locks moving into place echoed in the chamber.

“I’m going to go check on her, pretty sure she’s already tried to leave,” Tim hangs his lab coat over a chair and raises his hand and Marion dismisses him.

“Good work today, Drake, tell the Captain we said hello- Oh! And before I forget, hand this to her too,” she says while shoving a sealed box in his hands. “It’s fragile. Be careful with it and, I’m sure you know, Captain’s eyes only.” Tim nods and enters the elevator. He looks down at the box. It was wrapped various times in twine and nailed shut with the words ‘FRAGILE’ stamped on top of it. Sure, he trusted you, there must be some ground breaking item in here that would help with the monster outbreak, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling at the back of his head. He turned the box slowly and looked at the label on the side.

Project βαV. Confidential. Tim’s brows furrow for a moment before taking a deep breath. He’s the one to talk, right? About secrets? He wonders what really went through your head those years ago. There were always things he just couldn’t tell you, things he’s always wanted to, but in the interest of your safety he always decided not to. Him and his siblings, they were always talking amongst themselves about things with the league or with Gotham’s underground and you were just there. If Cass wasn't there then no one would have taken the time to explain things to you.

Meanwhile, you laid in bed and stared at the clock next to you. Two weeks of bedrest, the audacity of these people. A lot can happen in two weeks and with you not active who knows what kind of emergencies have happened without you knowing. Sure, the Brigade kept you relatively up to date and you knew for a fact that Aldryn couldn’t keep a secret from you, but the anxiety that came from sitting still is one you weren’t comfortable with.

“This is so ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Almost as ridiculous as you not reattaching,” Carter laughs next to you. You looked under your hospital gown, still seeing the healing bite wound across your chest. At least it was still together, is your immediate thought. You sat up in bed and looked at the folder on the stand next to you.

“Think it’s anything I should be concerned about?” You ask while rifling through its contents. Field reports, updates on monitored areas, practical scores, all what you expected.

“Are you asking if you suddenly having a normal human body is concerning?”

“And it wasn’t before?”

“Well…” Carter shrugs. “What do you think, (Y/N)?”

“Hm,” you shake your head. “I’m just wondering why it’s failing now of all the times.”

“Think it might have something to do with Alex’s assignment?”

“Probably,” you muttered. “I never once considered distance to be a hinderance, or more accurately it’s never been an issue, but with him as acting Captain I should’ve taken it into account,” you muttered.

“And what does he have to do with your ability?” You both look up and see Damian at the doorway. You sighed.

“I had to tell you eventually,” you gestured for him to sit next to you and, once he did, you took another deep breath. “It was during a monster hunt dispatch. I had done plenty of them before, the three of us together were known as the best when it came down to it, but this one was different. It was a rank builder dispatch, if we completed the mission to its fullest extent then we’d get promoted. And everything went well until the monster we were hunting cornered us,” you started to explain.

“Real quick, everything was not well,” Carter cuts in. “I almost lost a leg.”

“This is isn’t about you,” you held a hand up, but your small smile contradicted your tone. “Either way I almost died again, but for whatever reason the royal family insisted I be kept alive. As a result of some forbidden magic, boom, reattachment with the side effect of telekinesis with one specific person,” you shrugged.

“That person being Alex, I assume,” Damian hums.

“Yeah, there’s nothing other than that, though. It’s related to some powerful magic thing that I guess Alex has been studying for some time now,” you tapped your finger against the bedding. “It’s been like this for, what, two years now?” You looked at Carter, who nodded.

“Give or take,” he shrugs.

“So that ability you told me about,” Damian starts the thought.

“Is different from my reattachment, yes,” you finished his thought, “but I don’t like using it.”

“Left her with a nasty nickname,” Carter says.

“I hate that shit, it pisses me off every time I hear it,” you rolled your eyes, and they settled on the door right as you heard a knock. “It’s open.”

“Hey, (Y/N),” Tim walks in with a paper bag in hand. “Carter, Damian,” he acknowledges the other two, “I got you lunch! To celebrate your freedom from a hospital room,” Tim hands it to you and you pulled out the burger.

“Finally, real food,” you could’ve praised Tim right then and there.

“You’re not really going to jump right back in, right?” Carter asks. “You just recovered.”

“I loathe to think about what I missed while in exile.”

“Oh, relax, you were on bedrest.”

“How’s the daemon, Tim? Any leads?” You switched the subject before you could get the migraine.

“Nothing conclusive, just theories,” Tim grabs another chair. “Marion says ‘hi’ by the way,” he says. You looked at Carter and Damian.

“There’s our cue, come on, Damian, I’ll walk with you,” Carter nudges his head toward the door and Damian groans and looks at you.

“Just go with him, Dami.”

“I can keep secrets, you know.”

“I know,” you gestured for him to follow Carter anyway and he huffed before closing the door behind him. After a short while, Tim spoke again.

“Are you 100% sure that they used to be humans, (Y/N)?”

“Positive. One of the ones we fought even spoke, Tim,” you said.

“Okay, okay, yeah, I tried crossreferencing some fur samples with the missing person’s data base here but nothing, no registered sample matches it,” Tim shakes his head. “So… I was thinking,” he pauses.

“Maybe he’s like us?” You whispered.

“Yeah, dropped off here after some traumatic event, but someone got to him first,” Tim leans on his knees now, head propped up by the palm of his hand.

“Let’s talk about it when Alex comes back. I sent him off to do some investigating on some movements we heard in the distant areas, so he’s been monitoring their movements for two weeks now,” you pushed the sheets down and opened the closet next to you before pulling out your uniform.

“Before I forget,” Tim hands you the box. “From Marion.” You looked at it for a moment before opening it. Inside was a smaller box, also wrapped twenty fold in twine. You said nothing while you packed it into your belt. You pulled out the small note inside of it.

You’re insane, Captain. Whatever you’re planning on using this on I hope you realize what it can do. And for god’s sake, don’t you dare use it on yourself. - Marion

You crumpled the note in your hand and tossed it in the trash.

“What is it, (Y/N)?” Tim asks.

“A last resort,” you shrugged. “I’ve been working on it for some time, I was hoping it would be a good pinch tactic if it came down to it, and with these monsters all over the place I’m starting to think it’s time I expidited its production,” you explained. “It’s nothing crazy, you don’t need to worry yourself about it.”

“If you say so, (Y/N),” Tim clears his throat. He didn’t believe you. But, then again, he wouldn’t exactly approve of what was against your hip right now anyway.

Your senior thesis project, you remembered enough of it to continue it here and perfect it, or make it as close to better as whatever crude version of it you had in Gotham. You and Marion were working on it together for almost a year now with various trials and errors, but if she’s giving you this one then this is the closest you’ll get for now.

“Let’s do some field work, Tim, grab Jason and Damian on the way. The Brigaders are spread out right now so I’m going to have to settle for the family trip.”

2006

“Dad?!” Your voice seemed to echo throughout the manor, bouncing on every which wall before you couldn’t hear it anymore. You’d been living at the manor for a few months now, slowly getting accustomed to the new environment while Alfred helped you anytime a camera would flash at your face. Slowly, bit by bit, you got more accustomed to the man your mother claimed was your father, you learned from him, about him, and through him. He was quiet, you noticed, didn’t smile often and didn’t tend to stick around the house for too long either. Most of your days was spent with Alfred, the butler, who often took you outside the manor and taught you a few things you’d have to know. Like the cameras. You hated those. They got in front of your face, blinded you with their lights, and deafened you with their shutters, but Alfred taught you a way to look through them. It was so simple that you were amazed when he told you.

Look straight at the person taking the picture. And suddenly the cameras weren’t scary anymore. The cameras that followed your father around, they never seemed to cease. He was so different from your mother who ducked out of sight and warned you about them, and that constant line of thoughts was always playing on repeat in your head.

You had already wandered the vast extent of it and you’d almost say that you knew it like the back of your hand, amazingly enough.

The only thing you didn’t know was where your dad went during the night, but Alfred always insisted he went to work. Life must be so hard for a CEO.

Alfred told you that you could be like that too someday, if you so wanted.

The manor was larger than you could ever dream of. Despite you having internally mapped the place, there always seemed to be something new if you had the energy to seek it out. But it seemed too big for three people, let alone you. Your echoing voice was just a reminder of the lack of… anyone, really.

Not to mention, it was always so cold. You shivered slightly, rubbing your arms up and down for warmth.

“Dad?” You called for him again and still, nothing. You wanted to ask him to turn the fire on, and you hadn’t seen Alfred all day. You peered over the railing, looking at the ground floor below. “Oh,” you spotted your scarf hanging on one of the light fixtures attached to the wall next to the railing. Perfect timing. Your mom gave it to you before she left your first night here, it was just a small thing of hers that she wanted you to keep, and you thought you’d lost it after tying it to the end of stick and playing baton with it. Looks like you just flung it over the edge at one point. You stood as close to the rail as you could, reaching your small arms through the poles to grab at the fabric, but each time you got closer to it it seemed to move further. You looked behind you, pulling the chair to the edge and climbing ontop of it. You held onto the rail with one hand and, with the other, you made a grab at the scarf, feeling it’s soft material in your hands. “Yes!” You grinned. Then you felt your hand slip down the rail. Then you were falling. Clutching onto the scarf in your hands like it would do something.

“(Y/N)!” Your dad’s voice was beneath you and in moments he caught you. “What were you doing up there?!” His voice was laced with concern. You held the scarf up and he let out a sigh of relief before shaking his head. “That was very dangerous, next time let me or Alfred know you need help,” he says, placing you down gently.

“Sorry, dad,” you looked at ground.

“It’s okay, you know now not to do that though, right?” He asks. You nodded. “Why were you doing something like that anyway?” He looks up, spotting your makeshift stool.

“I was cold,” you muttered. He sighs above you, then takes your scarf and wraps it around you, securing it well enough to stay on.

“That’s it?” You nodded. “In that case, I’ll turn the fireplace on for you,” he walks off and you followed close behind him, watching the backs of his heels to be sure you didn’t tread on them on accident, and finally you were in the office watching him throw logs into the fireplace.

You’d never seen a real one before, and the wood felt rough under your touch.

“Careful,” your father says. Your hands fly off the log and he tosses the last one in before throwing a match inside. You feel him hold your shoulder and push you behind him only slightly before you heard the crackle of fire. You watched it spark to life before engulfing the pile, and you found yourself flinching back at the suddeness of it. Then, near immediately, warmth. “Don’t stand too close to it, you might burn yourself.”

“Okay.”

“You can stay here as long as you want,” he says. You watched him walk back to his desk, his face growing stern as he read through whatever on his computer. You crossed your legs and sat on the ground, reaching toward the fire with open palms to feel it more. “Here, sit on this here, the ground’s cold. And if you need it I brought a blanket,” he left both items next to you. You didn’t even notice him leave, he didn’t make a single sound. You pulled the ottoman toward you and sat down on it instead while holding the blanket in your hands. It was soft to touch, softer than any motel bed you’d slept on, but not as soft as the scarf around you.

You didn’t want to get it dirty.

2022

“Captain Wayne?” Bruce’s eyebrow arched and the child nodded enthusiastically.

“Yessir! Our little village is usually one of the Brigade’s stops on their way to their campaigns. We’re lucky to even get a glimpse of the captain!” The child grins. “If you stick around long enough you’ll be able to catch a look too.” They ran off after that.

“Constantine,” Bruce called him over, but the man was too preoccupied on the phone to do say much.

“Liverpool! Where the hell are you, lad? You sent me the wrong bloody address!” He shouts. “You’ll be here? What in the blazes does that even mean? Fine, fine, I’ll hold you to it, but I don’t remember when you got so bold to make to teacher wait here.” Constantine hung up the phone and turned back around. “What?”

“What are the odds of running into different vesions of ourselves here?” Dick asks.

“Not impossible, I’ll give you that,” Constantine shrugs. “But pretty unlikely too,” he adds after. “Why?” Just then, a newspaper flies into Constantine’s face and when he peeled it off he quickly read the headline. “Oh…” he mutters and hands it over to the boys.

“In the wake of daemon attacks Captain Wayne says the Brigade has it handled during hospital stay,” Dick reads the opening sentence. “Doesn’t sound like they have it handled.”

“And that’s why I got called here, probably,” he shrugs.

“Constantine,” a new voice enters the conversation.

“Liverpool!” Constantine spreads his arms wide with an even wider grin. “Look at you, lad, Zee says hi, by the way.”

“She here?” Alex leans over to look behind him, but instead makes eye contact with Dick. “Oh no…”

“What?” Constantine looks behind him.

“Alex?!” Dick’s jaw was nearly on the floor.

“Long time no see, Mr. Wayne,” Alex greets Bruce first.

“Alexander,” Bruce clears his throat uncomfortably. Alex’s hand rests on his chest for a moment before he relaxes again.

“We have a bit of a monster problem,�� Alex says quietly. “Let’s go somewhere private,” he nudges inside of one of the homes and the men follow him. “Take a seat anywhere, this is the Knighthood’s outpost,” he says.

“Little shabby,” Constantine wipes the dust off the table.

“Our treasurer got eaten by a daemon,” Alex saids chidingly. He tosses a circular device on the table and a hologram appears from it, displaying a monster they had never before seen. “This is just one variant of them, we have this one in captivity right now and it’s being studied. But it’s traits greatly differ from others we’ve encountered,” he says.

“And how many is that?” Bruce asks.

“Enough,”Alex grimaces. “We haven’t been able to track where they come from, they’ve been found all over the continent razing villages to the ground and taking out whole squadrons. At first we were able to keep it under wraps but recently it happened too close to the capital, now the media’s all over it,” Alex shakes his head.

“Shocking you kept these nightmares out of the public eye for so long,” Constantine mumbles while he leans forward to take a closer look. “Either way these things are new to me,” he says.

“You haven’t the slightest idea on what it is? Science is hardly working on this thing, I was so sure it was magic,” Alex continues.

“It would help me more if I saw it up close,” Constantine says.

“If my theory’s right then you will soon,” Alex says quietly. Constantine straightens.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks gravely. Alex changes the hologram.

“If this pattern of attacks is to be followed then this is the next village they’re going to attack,” he says quietly. Dick steps up.

“What’s the plan then?”

“Wait until the captain gets here,” Alex responds, “our elite squad is spread out right now, but they’re ready to respond to an emergency. Our captain is on the way right now so we’ll discuss it once enough people are here, but I’d say we have a night to prepare. Once I get the manpower I’ll start evacuations, I’ve already sent notice of it to the headwoman so everyone should be preparing now,” Alex reports, his hand over his heart before he beats on it a few times.

“And what should we do?” Constantine asks.

“Help? Watch? Whichever comes naturally,” Alex shrugs.

“Any briefing at all? Weak points? Strengths? Things to avoid?” Dick pressures him.

“Before, yeah, but the daemons have become so specialized that our original modus operandi doesn’t work anymore. It’s like they all mutated overnight,” Alex shakes his head. “This whole monster problem has gotten out of hand, and from the pressure coming from the royal family the entire knighthood is on a tight schedule, and we’re running out of manpower fast, I don’t think we can sustain things by blind fighting anymore, but our strategies are always upended when a new daemon comes in. Just two weeks ago we had one that controlled the weather, for christ’s sake, it almost ripped the captain in half when another daemon suddenly learned empathy and saved us all,” Alex holds a hand to his head now.

“So, you’re desperate,” Constantine says.

“Extremely,” Alex shakes his head. “Onto other matters, why the entourage?”

“I figured a little extra manpower couldn’t hurt,” Constantine shrugs. “Why?”

“Well…” Alex whistles, but is cut off by the sudden roar outside.

2008

You are awoken suddenly by the crash of glass on your floor, and the shock of it all was enough to make you scream. You held onto your blanket, clutching it tight within your hands as you crawled toward the edge of your bed, and in an instant you gasped.

And so did Dick.

“This isn’t my room,” he says between pants. You were quick to rush out of the safety of your covers and to his side. He was covered in bruises and shallow cuts, probably more from the glass than anything else, whatever happened to him. But… you could help. Your mom used to come home with bruises too, she’s walked you through how to help her and what to use, you just wondered if there were any in the manor. Or even Alfred, you could call him for help.

“What happened to you?! Who did this?! I can help you,” you brushed the glass off of him and winced when it cut your hand only slightly.

“Whoa! Careful there, (Y/N),” he takes your hands now, observing the cut.

“What about you?” You pulled your hands out of his grasp and reached over to him, but he caught your hands again instead.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he struggles to stand up and you tried to help him, but he got up himself. You drew your hands back, clasping them in front of you instead. “I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he says. You looked at him now.

“You’re… you’re Robin?” You asked him. You looked at your walls, crude drawings of the boy wonder littered it. You idolized him, Robin, the sidekick to the dark caped crusader all the boys at school raved about, and there you were, becoming a fan of the boy who helped him.

And here Dick was, someone you considered your older brother after two years of living together, beaten up and wearing the iconic insignia.

“It’s… it’s just a costume, (Y/N),” he says. You shook your head and stood up.

“You’re going to lie to me too?” You looked away from him. Everyone lied to you. And you thought at least he wouldn’t.

“I…” he rubs his arm, wincing slightly. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” he says. “I was just playing around with a few friends and we got out of hand, don’t tell Bruce, please.”

“Okay,” you shook your head again, grabbing your blanket that had fallen next to the bed and climbing back on top of it. Dick wiped his face of whatever dirt got on it and looked at you. You pulled your blanket up and over your head.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. You should’ve known. And maybe a part of you did know. When you saw the videos of Robin doing amazing acrobatic feats, the very same Dick would show you, maybe you did know. And when you would tell Dick how much you liked Robin, when you’d show him the drawings, you wondered what he was thinking.

You wondered if your dad knew.

So here you were, eating breakfast with the both of them. Dick across from you, your dad at the head of the table, and you. It had been a few days since the incident, and neither your nor Dick brought it up. Now, though, you can hear him entering his room early in the morning, his room which was right next to yours, and now you check every morning if he was in there.

“So, (Y/N), I hear you have a test today,” Bruce breaks through the silence.

“Yeah,” you nodded, playing with your eggs.

“What’s it on?”

“Spelling,” you mumbled.

“You’re good at that.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Is there something on your mind?” He asks, his eyes sliding to you. You looked up from your eggs and glanced at Dick before looking at him.

“Nope,” you shook your head and chugged down the rest of your milk. “I have to go to the bathroom.” You placed it on the table and folded your hands on your lap.

“You haven’t finished your breakfast.”

“I’m full.”

“(Y/N).”

“And I really need to pee.”

“Okay, go ahead, you’re excused,” he says. You rushed off before you could let the cat out of the bag. You’re lying to your dad, great. Not telling is also lying, your mother always said, but it had to be a little better than just… completely lying, right? Plus, you didn’t want Dick to get in trouble, how many times has he helped you out? You could help him out, even if you were a little mad at him. You hid behind the wall, wanting to catch any conversation they have. “Dick.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good that the two of you get along well, but I hope you know she’s still my daughter,” Bruce says.

“I know.”

“So you understand that I know you two are hiding something, right?” He says. You held your breath and peeked over the wall, his back was still turned to you. “Which is fine, I suspected you two would eventually, as long as it doesn’t hurt her or interrupt that business, it’s fine,” he says. Dick nods, catching your glance only quickly before clearing his throat. Did he know too? Your dad? That Dick was Robin?

“It’s neither of those, sir, I promise,” he looks at the clock on the wall, “and we should probably get going to school too,” he says.

“You’re right, I’ll see you both at home later,” Bruce stands up first and Dick follows. You rushed to the foyer before your dad could catch you eavesdropping and you hauled your book bag up from the floor.

“Whoa, what do you have in there?” Dick walks up behind you and opens the door for you.

“So… many… books,” you threw it into the back seat of the car.

“For school?”

“For fun,” you sighed. You pulled one out and handed it to him.

“American Girl?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Uh… sure, okay,” he shrugs. “Why don’t we keep them in here for now and you can just carry one,” he pulls the stack out of your bag except for one and you reached over and grabbed another.

“Just in case I finish that one,” you say.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. The car slows to a start and Dick glances at the closed window that separated the two of you from the chauffer. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For?”

“For keeping my secret,” he says quietly.

“Yeah…”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, I just got scared,” he says.

“I know, I would’ve been scared too,” you nodded. You played with the handle on your bag. “But if you ever need help… just ask, okay?”

“I should be saying that to you,” he nudges your softly and you smiled.

“Just don’t get hurt too bad, okay? And… and you have to tell me the coolest stories,” your eyes shone.

“What? You still like Robin even though you know I’m him?” He scoffs.

“Are you kidding? I like him even more now!” You defended. “I always thought you were cool, but now you’re even cooler,” your voice was filled with awe.

“Yeah, yeah, you think everything I do is cool,” Dick laughs.

In the front, meanwhile, Bruce seemed to let out a sigh of relief, prompting Alfred to chuckle.

“God, I was so worried it was something worse,” he says.

“As I’ve told you before, Master Bruce, they’re as thick as thieves, those two,” Alfred says. “Although, you don’t think this will become a problem in the future?”

“What? Her knowing Dick’s Robin?”

“Precisely.”

“As long as she doesn’t get into danger,” he says, “there’s no harm from it.”

“But you worked so hard to separate her from the Batman, and here she is with a direct line to him now.”

“Dick knows what he’s doing,” Bruce sighs, “plus, maybe it’s safer for her to know.”

“And will you ever tell her?”

“Eventually, if she hasn’t figured it out already.”

“Do you think she will?”

“She’s a sharp girl. Selena raised her well.”

“I worry about what she had to go through before she came to us,” Alfred looks into the monitor near him, watching Dick tell a story with exaggerated hand movements and you being more engaged in it than he’s ever seen. “She looks happier now.”

“I hope she is,” Bruce doesn’t look up from his phone. Alfred steals a quick glance at it and spots the American Girl dolls on his screen. Alfred couldn’t stop the satisfied chuckle this time.

2022

“Oh we are so fucked,” Jason’s hands drop to his sides when he saw the fires.

“Shit… they’re earlier than we predicted,” you shot a quick text to the other Brigade members. “And we might have another issue on our hands too,” you watched the daemon freeze over the landscape.

“What, the mutants?” Tim shudders.

“No, them,” you nodded forward, spotting Dick electrocute a smaller daemon.

“Shit,” Damien grumbles.

“Shit,” Jason scoffs.

“What’s the plan, (Y/N)?” Tim asks.

“Uh… don’t die,” you shake your head, “and get any survivors out. I’ll rendezous with Alex first and figure out a better plan from there,” you drew your rapier and scanned the field. One, two, three… four of them.

“Captain?” Your earpiece crackled and you pressed down on it.

“Alex, give me a run down,” you watched your brothers each tackle a different daemon.

“One with ice, one normal one, two with super strength, and one with wings.”

“One with wings?” Your face contorted into one of confusion. Until something grabbed you and left you airborne.

“(Y/N)!” Jason called after you.

“Oh fuck,” you grabbed onto the daemon’s claws that dug into your shoulders. Your breathing quickened, the air growing thinner the higher up you got, and you swallowed your thoughts down and reverted to plain instinct. It roared above you and you pulled yourself up and onto its back, looping the rapier around it’s neck and locking it in place with your arm in an attempt to strangle the bird-like monster. Ignoring the stinging pain in your shoulders, the daemon flapped erratically until it took a nosedive, and you held your place as best you could with the wind blowing against you, all you could do was brace for impact. As soon as the bird hit the ground, the earth around it caved in, you felt the shock run through your bones and you felt the fragments inside of your body before they ultimately, painfully, reconnected to each other, and you stood up, dragging your rapier with you and smoothening down your hair. The bird twitched under you and you dug your sword into its heart, pulling the tag from its neck. CH-95. You staggered back, feeling the crunch in your bones and holding back the wince. You never get used to it.

“Just a second!” You held your hand out, catching your breath. This is wrong. Alex was practically right next to you, you should be reattaching with ease, but you weren’t. You were just surviving.

“(Y/N)? Jesus, fuck, holy shit,” Dick let out a string of curses while he helped you up, but he quickly slowed his movements as soon as he had felt the jelly that was your arm. “God, why the hell did Jason bring you here?” He muttered under his breath and you stopped.

“Excuse me?” You looked up at him and pulled your wrist from his grasp, standing up tall and closing your hand into a fist once it had finally finished mending together. You stretched out your fingers now, making sure the mobility was just right. “Like you know what’s going on,” you told him.

“(Y/N) you’re not trained for combat, this is dangerous, hell, one of them just grabbed you and launched you in the sky,” Dick shouts. “Get out before you get hurt,” he eyes your arm, a quick look of confusion danced over his features when he saw it balled into a fist once more.

“Did you not just see how I killed this thing?! What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for three years?! Don’t tell me you bought my bull shit story about that lab! Obviously I was making myself fucking useful!” You didn’t know why you felt the need to argue, now was not the best time to be doing this. “I should be asking you why you’re here!” Maybe it was because you felt like you had something to prove.

“I’m here to bring all of you back home!” Dick shouts. “And instead, somehow, Bruce and I get roped into this monster business and I definitely wasn’t expecting to see the four of you here,” he says. He looks over to the side, seeing Jason and Tim bring one of them down. “You especially, you’re a civilian, (Y/N), get somewhere safe,” he says. You took a deep breath. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know the shit you’ve been through, and you had to be fair towards him because of that. But god is he pissing you off, you didn’t even know how you tolerated this behavior before you died and you definitely don’t want to deal with his holier-than-thou-I’m-the-best-leader attitude now.

“I don’t have the time or the fucking patience to deal with you right now, Dick,” you shook your head.

“Captain!” Alex’s voice was loud and you tore your attention away from Dick who was rambling again about how you shouldn’t be here. Alex tosses you your rifle, something that probably fell from your figure when you were unceremoniously turned into an aircraft. One thing you learned quick, even before the transmigration, was how to tune out sounds you didn’t want to hear. So, just as easily as usual, you loaded the rifle and aimed it toward the daemon that Jason and Damian were struggling with and you took the shot. The bullet pierced through it’s head and the beast as stunned long enough for the two to finish it off.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” Jason shot you a thumbs up and you rolled your eyes while slinging the rifle behind you. You turned back to Dick, no words were exchanged, but the silent conversation was enough for you to figure out what he was thinking. He was pissed. But so were you, so… where did that leave you?

“Got a plan, Lex?” You looked over to Alex.

“I’m going for the ice one, don’t think we can have the newer two on it,” Alex was already running off, joining Constantine in his struggle while Jason had pushed the remnants of a wall off of a few survivors.

“Move over!” You had turned back to Dick to settle the argument, but when you saw the daemon fast approaching you shoved him out of the way instead, and you very nearly got caught in its rampage by just a hair. You ran toward it now, you couldn’t let it run amok any longer with the possibility of heavy civilian casualties, but the stinging pain from your steps was making it hard to focus on anything other than that.

“Help!” The shrill voices of survivors always found a way to be louder than others, and you turned to them quickly, seeing the children hidden behind the broken wooden foundations. Could you even get to them on time in this state? Everyone else is too far to get to them.

And for god’s sake, don’t you dare use it on yourself. Marion’s note appeared in your head. But you’d always meant to use it on yourself, you just couldn’t find the right formula, you couldn’t nail the correct combination that wouldn’t end up with you combusting after taking it. Until now, you fed it to the test specimen and told Marion to keep a close eye on it and, after two months of controlled dosages, the specimen was still alive. But you understood why she was afraid, she was a woman of science and she knew that its boundaries shouldn’t be tested. But you’ve seen it work before, and you knew you could make it better. Hell, you have a degree in this. You have to put it to work at least once, right?

Fuck it. You ripped the package open and pulled out the green vial.

Tim, meanwhile, was the one in shock. βαV, that was the name written on that package, and seeing its effects put two and two together. Bane and Venom.

You never got over that, did you?

“(Y/N)!” He shouted out, not from the recognition, rather, the daemon that had appeared behind you. No time, you moved as far as you could from the monster as it crashed into the wall previously behind you, but it was enough for Tim to run over to you. “Is that-”

“Safe, probably,” you inverted it in your hand. “Safer if I take it than if anyone else did.

“You can’t!” Tim makes a move to take it and you unscrewed the lid, holding it close to your mouth while keeping your sights on him.

“Why not?” You eyed the monster stepping out of the broken building.

“You…” Why couldn’t you? Tim was at a loss. Everything he’s seen, everything he’s observed, pointed to you being the most reasonable choice to drink it especially in this situation. But it just didn’t sit right with him. He held you in this amazing regard, this near unattainable standard that never could’ve been realistic in any universe, one that not even you could uphold. “I never thought that you’d think like him,” Tim mutters. You didn’t answer, instead opting to drink the down quickly.

The world around you rang as you took heavy steps toward the daemon that had regained it’s footing, and as soon as it noticed you it charged with its maw near unhinged, and you caught the daemon’s open jaws between your hands, your hands that were traced with green veins that were clear even through the blur at the edges of your eyes. You took deep breaths, the world around your shifted in and out of focus as if echoing just like the sounds of the battlefield, and once your vision somewhat stabilized you pushed further and ripped the daemon’s jaw in half. You tossed it’s mandible to the side and used your foot to roll it over on its back and you pulled the tag off. DP-82. Your breaths only deepened and you felt your heart rate quicken, like your heart was going to burst out of your chest from the adrenaline. Your hands were shaking, or was that your vision shaking? You felt the venom run through your veins with a burning sensation, threatening to rip your skin open with each pump of your heart. This is insanity, you could barely form a coherent thought.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to take this so suddenly. Or at least, not all of it.

“Shit…” your teeth grinded against each other and you held your head in your hands, trying to get past the searing headache. You could feel your own searing blood run down either side of your face, and whether that was from the daemon or from yourself it was unclear. Then you felt two hands over yours pull them away from your head, and you looked up.

“(Y/N), take deep breaths,” Bruce says. One hand goes to his belt and pulls out a small vial, and he places it in your hands. “Take it.”

“Not yet,” you shake your head, would it even work? Your vision focusing on the daemon who was sprinting toward the both of you. You pushed the vial in your pocket and you pushed him aside, taking heavy steps toward the daemon before slicing your rapier once it got close enough. And the wound it left was so deep it fell back and you climbed on top of it, stabbing the beast repeatedly and even breaking the tag that was on it. In two pieces it landed on the floor with a simple DT-82 engraved on it. That’s four down. You looked around and spotted the ice daemon cornered by Alex. Readjusting your grip on your rapier with a rotate of the hilt around your palm, you charged forward and stopped only when the daemon had the thought to protect it’s frontside with a slate of ice.

Intelligence? Tim had mentioned it but you were wary to believe him considering the data came from the outlier in the basement.

Either way, this one was going to be harder to get rid of. Such was clear when you held your rapier above you to block the blow, instead feeling your boots sinking into the ground. You pushed through and powered the daemon’s fist off of the blade and you surged forward, redirecting the rapier into a crack between the ice armor the monster adorned, and just as fast you were pushed back. You wiped the fluid from your lips and took heavy breaths.

“Hey, Captain,” Constantine caught wind of the situation easily, “try using that rifle of yours against the ice plate, I have an idea,” he says. You nodded, pulling your rifle forward again and aiming it at the intended spot, but your hands wobbled slightly with the dizzying effect that was controlling you. You squinted your eyes, doing your best to make sense of the monster that was now appearing double. Then, you felt your hands stabilize, and you realized that Alex was holding the rifle steady. You aimed it as best as you could and took the shot, the bullet landing on one side of the plate, then you took more successive rounds until it was seconds away from shattering. You could just barely make out the magic circle that appeared on top of it until it pushed into the daemon and left it screaming while it ripped off its own skin. “Now’s your chance!” He shouts. You grabbed your rapier and sprinted forward, the double vision coming back together as you got closer and, with a push of your hand, the daemon’s thrashing stilled until it was no more. You pulled on the tags around it’s neck: CS-03. You pulled the second vial from your pocket, the top had broken off but there was still a sufficient amount of liquid inside of it, enough to drink anyway. And slowly you regained your senses, and slowly you became more aware of the shouts around you, but they all mixed and garbled into one incoherent noise underneath the ringing.

“Thank you, Captain Wayne!” The townspeople, whoever was left, had arrived again, all expressing their thanks in some way and, as you had found out later, due to Damien and Dick’s due diligence the number of casualties were greatly reduced compared to the previous attacks.

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” Alex’s voice rang in your head. “It’s a mess in here.”

“It’s a mess out there. What does my mind look like?”

“Fractured.” His voice was an echo.

“Can you fix it?”

“It’ll fix on its own. Give the antidote time to work.” You nodded your head absently while holding it with one hand. Dick was saying something to you, but you couldn’t hear him. Jason grabbed his shoulder and now it was clear they were arguing but their shouts were incoherent to you. Tim was talking to you now, waving his hands in front of you with his brows knit together while Damian was speaking to your father.

You looked at him.

Your father. Why was he here?

Surely, not for you.

He was looking at you too, walking over slowly and looking into your eyes with a discerning glance. You’d be able to read their lips if not for the blur and the shakiness.

“Get me to Marion.”

“Certainly. Eve’s just arrived.” Speaking of, the woman ran up to you, unceremoniously pushing the boys out of the way as her hands cupped your face and moved it around gently. He seemed to ask what had happened to you, the proximity making her voice somewhat clear. Her hand waves next to her and a portal opens up as she guides you into it and, once again, you found yourself in a hospital room.

“Now this is just bullshit.” You thought to yourself.

“How is it your thoughts are louder at a distance?” You looked down, your hand still over your heart.

“Fuck. Keep me updated on what they do.”

“Sleep well, Cap.”

“I’m killing that Doctor if he puts me on bedrest again.”

“I await the headline.”

“What were those two arguing about?” You said nothing while Eve sat you down on the bed, seemingly calling for help.

“Dick and Jason?”

“Were there others arguing?”

“Not… Necessarily. They were talking about you, of course. I don’t think Dick understands the whole situation yet, they’re explaining it to him now.”

“Great. Maybe I will sleep.”

“Can you blame him? The last you he knew was…”

“Weak?”

“Different.” You pulled your hand off of your chest just as the Doctor entered with Marion in tow. Marion hands you a vial and you drink it, ever so slowly the world quieted down and stabilized.

“How do you feel, (Y/N)?” Eve asks.

“Like I’m human again,” you shook your head.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Marion shouts and your winced. “Did I not leave clear instructions to not use it on yourself? You’re insane, (Y/N), I don’t care if you can reattach, this is your basic biology we’re talking about now. If one calculation was off in our work you could have been like that forever, do you understand?”

“Of course, I understand, I fucking made it,” you grimaced. Marion frowns and slumps her shoulders.

“You talk to her, Dr. Bronte. She’ll listen to you,” Marion grumbles on her way out of the room.

“You know she’s just worried,” Dr. Bronte’s words were obscured by his mask.

Samuel Wyach Bronte was a strange man, brilliant, but strange. He sports a full face mask, a result of a chemical explosion that had occured years prior to your advancement into the role of Captain, leaving only the blue of his eyes clear. He was a tower of a man, standing straight with discipline and holding an air of composure around him. He had been your primary care physician since you started and will probably continue to do so as long as you continued to rip your body apart in combat. But his medical prowess is unmatched, he’s a leader in his field and has since garnered a strong legacy. There is no one more capable of treating your conditions than he is, at the very least.

“But this… this is reckless even for you,” he says, observing your arms. “You have burst blood vessels all along it,” he points at the small patches of red. “What exactly did you take?”

“It’s confidential, and a work in progress still, I wasn’t anticipating those side effects,” you looked at your blistering hands. “You’re not imprisoning me again, are you?”

“Well, that depends on your reattachment.”

“Eve, get Alex over here,” you muttered.

“Right away,” she waves her hand again and the portal opens wide, Alex looks over his shoulder.

“Oh, hello,” he says. Clearly, you just interrupted a conversation he was having with Dick and your dad. “Having trouble?” He asks. Dr. Bronte finds a way to sit up straighter upon seeing the crowd. Alex steps through the portal. “Until next time, Mr. Wayne,” Alex nods his head and Eve shuts the portal.

2014

When you found out that your dad was Batman, you were as over the moon as you were when you found out Dick was Robin. Your dad is a superhero, who wouldn’t be surprised at that? You had heard stories about how the caped crusader was unstoppable, how he kept Gotham safe from the night prowlers, and you were so proud of him, you were so proud to be his daughter.

But slowly you saw the toll it took on him. You saw the toll it took on you. On your brothers, on your sisters, and on this whole family. As you got older you realized the truth behind the mantle and the weight it carried.

But it was probably one event that truly spelled that out for you, the truth of what your dad did at night and its consequences. And when you came home that night, you had no idea there was someone else waiting there. Sure, there was the occasional photographer that somehow got past the front gate but, good god, never did they make it under your bed.

So when you walked into your room, ready for a night’s rest but not before sitting at the edge of your bed to type out a quick text to your then partner, you never could have expected a hand to tap at your ankle. When was the last time you were scared to look under there? Years ago. You jumped away quickly, your back pressed against the door while your shaking hands attempted to open it, and before the intruder had the chance to crawl out from under you had already begun your descent down the stairs, and then further into the cave. It was late, you knew that at least Alfred had to be down in the cave at the very least if not your dad, you never would’ve expected to see someone you’d only seen on the news.

Bane. He said nothing, you said nothing, the only difference now is that aside from your racing heart you felt your fear in your bones. He was terrifying, more so than you could’ve ever imagined even from the pictures and the case studies you had seen. The tubes filled with that dangerous green liquid drained into him quickly with every movement he made, and with every passing second it was clear to you that he was getting stronger. Then he took a step toward you, you took a step back, and this repeated until he was close enough to lunge at you. You were shaking. They were never supposed to get this close, they were never supposed to make it to the manor. This was supposed to be a safe place. What was he going to do to you? You thought back to the stranger under your bed. What would he have done to you? What was he going to do to your father now that he’s seen you? Your mind was in a frenzy and you stumbled, you fell frozen in fear, your legs that had taken you so far were rendered near useless. And this time even the batarang that flew at Bane’s head wasn’t enough to calm you.

“Go!” Your dad’s voice echoed. He was tired, you could tell. This was the first time you’d seen him in weeks after the entirety of Arkham broke out. You couldn’t move. “I said go! Call for help!” You stumbled to your feet, grabbing the comm while you ran out of the cave. Your hands were shaking, you couldn’t see clearly, but you pressed the first contact that was there.

“Bruce? What’s going on?” His voice, as always, was your beacon of hope.

“Dick!” You were out of breath, his name was the only thing that came out despite the jumble of words that plagued your mind.

“(Y/N)?” A new and more concerned tone was clear. “Why are you using the comm?”

“It’s dad, he… you need to come to the cave now!”

“I— What’s going on?”

“I… dammit,” the words weren’t forming. “Bane!” You finally shouted out. You were at the front gate of the manor now, it was as far as your mind could take you, whatever response Dick had said was unknown to you except that he hung up right after and you, still afraid, slid down the side of the column and onto the floor.

You ran. You ran. You should’ve stayed behind, you should’ve helped somehow, anyhow, you’re the daughter of the Batman, for Christ’s sake, why aren’t you doing anything other than holding your head between your hands and trying to control the fear? Would Dick even get there on time? Did your dad have everything handled?

“(Y/N)?” Tim’s voice was distant, and even though you knew he was in front of you, he seemed miles away. “Hey, come on, deep breaths, what happened?” He was trying to pull you back into reality. He grabbed onto your shoulder, squeezing it gently until you felt your breaths steady, and once you had come to your senses, Tim pushed you into the bushes, his hands over your mouth and one finger over his, then he looked over his shoulder. You stood in a tense silence, crouched behind the shrubs and unable to hear the reason why Tim had pushed you in here in the first place. Finally, he pulled you out of the hiding spot and, with no hesitation, you ran back to the cave with Tim close behind. Your mouth felt dry, the words still couldn’t come up while you stared at Dick and your dad.

You often tried not to think about how close death was to this family, very rarely did it take one of you, but never did it leave without leaving a mark.

If only you were stronger.

You thought about that for nights on end, you lost sleep over it even. Stronger, what did it mean? You weren’t an acrobat like Dick, you weren’t strong like Jason, and you weren’t smart like Tim. Everything you had ever owned was because your father had handed it to you. If only there was a snap solution to this, a quick way to become useful.

It had only crossed your mind once. Bane’s Venom, that is. Seeing it work inperson was grotesque, horrific actually.

But… maybe if you could…

You dismissed the thought.

Yet when you saw a vial of it in the cave once, many years after your father had healed and you had gotten older.

Well, how bad can it be?

You took it and took a quick look at it, just going over the basic chemistry of it all one day in your university’s lab long after hours, and it was fascinating. A drop of it had killed a mouse, yet Bane nearly overdoses on it every time he uses it and he’s fine.

If you could change it just enough to avoid the body horror, just enough to avoid the blind rage that came with it, you could very well have a type of a super soldier serum.

You could be stronger. You could help your family. You wouldn’t have to run all the time and get out of their way, you could be one of them, standing at their sides, a true member of what you have heard referred to as the Batfamily.

Then your father would have to acknowledge you.

…

Right?

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