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lightdancer1 · 1 year

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As I've said before, the only difference with my Sandman stories and those Gaiman wrote are that I switch the protagonist:

I use Death as the protagonist instead of Dream, but it's the same cosmology and the overall history is much the same. Gaiman is on record as noting that the same events told from Desire's perspective would have Desire as the hero and Dream as the villain, though I still have problems connecting that with the things Desire actually does in these stories and how you'd turn that into heroism unless we're using the Allan Moore/Mark Millar definition of both actions and their ultimate outcomes.

Death of the Endless is not Dream of the Endless, Death of the Endless also canonically is beyond the ancient rules of the other Endless. This hasn't been specified in the show, as yet, but since so much else is the same with the comics except in a few cases I'm running with it for the sake of the Netflix shows and providing both good reasons for why she ultimately didn't intervene (including repeatedly going to Destiny to be sure if she did she wouldn't create a tremendous mess and Destiny doing his ambiguous 'did he shape events or did his words get taken as fate' thing) and ways where things could have gone wrong if she did because, surprise surprise, she's not a superhero or a trained fighter and going into a hostile situation against people able to hold one such being intact can boomerang badly on another.

She is also established as the most human (which I extend due to setting my stories in the broader DCU for my own reasons to being the most like all life in the DCU, and they would all see her as one of them if they did) of the Endless. As such the main motif that drives her is distinct from Dream, who is caught between various facets of duty, personal life, and the gaps between them.

Death is Life as well as Death and her great frustration is that being the most like mortals leaves her the odd one out among beings like her, with psychological and other barriers nearly insuperable to breach, and where she's also too inhuman to get along with human (insert equivalent turn of phrase for every other sapient species in the broader cosmology).

One careful rule that I follow with all of this is noting that Death is human-like, not human. She will seem human enough until something abruptly happens that serves as a note that no, she's not human, she never was.....and she's fully aware of that fact. Which is one reason for playing with all the different iterations of 'being stuck as one thing and almost that but never quite it gets the full version and handles it far better than the rest of her siblings but unfortunately the universe doesn't allow for this particular thing to stick' as a storyline.

It's also why other Endless appear in the ways they do.

Tales that would switch the protagonist to any of the other Endless would likewise be able to keep the setting fully intact, without changing anything else, and merely switching the kinds of stories it would be. Desire and Despair are the obvious ones, but a Delirium-centric set of stories as a kind of surrealistic Beatnik-style tale of a wandering eldritch entity who's an adorable sister who's a coherent (more or less) seer around her family and casually Wishmastering mortals for LULZ would be just as truthful a perspective flip.

With the youngest Endless in turn defined by being treated as a child when she isn't one and being the most dangerous of all the Endless to cross for being a multiversal reality-warper without any control of her powers or understanding of why turning a person into a glass statue for shits and giggles might be seen as wrong or disturbing.

Literally any and all of the other Endless work like this, I just like Death the most so I use her as the protagonist to explore both perspective flips and how flexible the cosmology and overall narratives of Sandman as a setting actually is.

#death of the endless #writing #death works very well as a protagonist and can and does have an uncanny valley aspect to things #she is human-like but she is not human #I use Lovecraft's Nyarlathotep as a model as Nyarly in the original mythos is a charming affable rogue #and then he casually wrecks Earth from constructive criticism over the equivalent of a powerpoint presentation #Death equally is very human and that includes humanity's flaws and downsides as well as the upsides #she can be petty and vindictive when she wants and has a hair trigger temper #unlike Dream she is somewhat casual about her job and unconcerned if it hitches #very much not Marvel's Death who hires Thanos as a contract killer from being unhappy with superheroes #Death is a good big sister to Dream and within limits to Delirium and past that her relationship with the rest of the family is iffy

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riot-ghost · 6 months

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Commissioner Gordon was ostracized within the Gotham Police department. He knew this was because of his ties to the Bat, his late hours, constant overtime. He knew that even the good officers, while he couldn't tell too much who was who, didn't mean to ostracize him. It happened on accident, he's sure. He picked up some clues from the world's greatest detective. Rumors went around, running rampant about him. He just couldn't care so much about them.

Everyone knew that Commissioner Gordon always took his late dinner at 9:37 at night. Everyone cleared from the break room. Gordon opened the door, taking a heavy breath. He was still expecting the empty room. It felt empty, in a way Gordon had picked up from The Bat. He pulled his burrito out of the fridge, opening the styrofoam container and eating a bite. "You're not going to heat it up?" Gordon barely manages to catch his burrito, his whole soul leaving his body.

"Jesus Christ, kid, you scared me." Gordon lets out a heavy breath, seeing the new detective sitting at a table in the corner. He's eating... Something indescribable. He looks tired, his long black hair bulled back into a high ponytail. His face seems disproportionate, large prominent features. A crooked nose, a wide, thin mouth, large eyes accompanied by large bags. His skin was pale, dusted with faded freckles and litchenburg scarring. The young man- still a boy, practically, shrugged at Gordon's words, eating another bite of the odd food. "No one warned you I'd be in here?" Gordon decided to sit with him.

"No, they warned me. But the past couple of days they've been... Avoiding me." Dr. Fenton, Gordon remembers his file passing over his desk. He could never be a cop- he was a detective-by-hire because of some medical condition. Gordon feels a pang at the emotionless words.

"Ah, they avoid me too." Gordon takes another bite of his cold burrito. "So, how have you been enjoying working here?"

"Well, it's been alright, I guess." Fenton took a drink from his thermos- which has a straw in it. It goes unsaid that this was the only job Fenton could really get. Close to the force, anyways. His medical condition refrained him from being a proper officer, so he wasn't officially a Gotham PD detective. He was an out-contract detective, receiving the same work, pay, and hours as the regular detectives.

"Getting around the town well enough?"

"Well enough, I suppose. Almost got robbed." Fenton held three doctorates- criminology, psychology, and natural sciences. All at the young age of 22.

"Almost?" Gordon snorts a bit at that. "Scared them off with your badge?"

"I don't have a badge. And I don't have a gun, if that's what you're thinking. I guess they just thought I was too pathetic to have much cash." Danny shrugged.

"Oh come on, you're not pathetic." Gordon is a bit taken aback that the boy doesn't carry any weapons. He makes a mental note to get him a badge.

"I looked pathetic enough not to rob."

Gordon feels like he missed something there, because Gotham robbers would rob a kindergartner if they were unattended. Regardless, he and Fenton sat in silence for a good couple of minutes. "What are you eating?" Fenton asks eventually.

"A burrito from the Mexican stand on Westwood."

"Why are you eating it cold?"

"Because if I reheat it, then the sauce becomes a solid liquid and everything gets soggy. What are you eating?"

"It was supposed to be stir fry?" Danny stared down at the leftovers container. "I'm not good at cooking. No videos ever make sense, so they don't turn out right."

"Your parents didn't teach you?" Gordon asks.

"No, they weren't the best chefs. They did pass on the family fudge recipe though. I can make some killer fudge." He laughs a little bit at that.

"I'll bring you lunch in from now on." Gordon says. "Until we can get your cooking sorted out, anyhow. Normally my daughter and I spend Tuesday nights fixing dinner together, so you'll get the best meals Wednesday."

"You don't have to do that." Danny seems a little caught off guard by the kindness.

"I can't have one of my youngest detectives going hungry!" Gordon smiles. "Besides, you're the first person in the precinct to eat dinner with me in nearly twenty years. You keep eating with me, it'll be no problem. I enjoy the company." Danny smiles at him and Gordon is reminded of someone, but he can't remember who.

Over the next couple of weeks, Gordon and Danny get well acquainted in their overlapping shifts. Danny works the nights and sometimes early mornings, similar to what Gordon does. Gordon finds himself feeling fatherly to the young man, who's working and picking up significant overtime to pay off his student loans. He learns that Danny moved here from Illinois- it was the only PD he could work at. He had no formal fighting training, but apparently his mom had taught him some moves. They had yet to overlap in the field, and it was easy for Gordon to forget that the boy was really a detective.

"Danny?" Jim paused, having finally made his way to the crime scene. Danny was crouched over a dead body, using his gloved hands to inspect the wound- the word Joker carved using some sort of knife.

"Gordon?" Despite all insistence, the boy still used his last name.

Jim has to stop himself from asking him why he's here. Danny's eyes shift to a spot behind him and James sighs. "What happened?" Batman's voice startled the last officer in the room, who quickly stuttered an excuse and left.

"The Joker broke in, tortured her, and left." Jim says. "We just have to figure out why."

"No, we don't." Danny looked back at the body, his eyes unfocused. "It was political. Do you see the swelling here on the neck? No lacerations, and no bruising. Allergy, I suppose, or a poison that reacts similarly. No clawing at the neck or face, but heavy rope burns on the wrists and ankles. The cuts were sloppy, and from the bleeding, it was done after she had died. Maybe five, ten minutes after? The window wasn't fully closed when it was broken into, do you see how the glass fractured there at the top?"

Jim blinked, and Danny continued. "It doesn't fit the motive of a mad-man like the Joker to do this. Who you're looking for is a woman, younger than the victim, maybe around twenty or thirty?" His eyes unfocused again. "Hmmm." He snaps back, looking around. He stands, his hands shaking a little. He looks around, eyes landing on the shelf. He scans it, using gentle hands to lift the potted plant. He pulls out a camera, unplugging it. "A Direct Link- model E47C." He sets the camera in an evidence bag.

Batman gives a grunt- and if Jim isn't mistaken it was one of approval? Danny held the camera out to Jim. "That was some fine detective work today, kid." Jim sets his hand on Danny's shoulder. Danny glances off to the side nervously. He locks eyes with Batman. "Danny, this is Batman. Batman, this is Dr. Daniel Fenton, the newest detective on the force."

Batman holds a hand out. "I look forward to working with you." Danny pulls off one of the disposable gloves, reaching out to shake his hand. "You're shaking a little, are you alright?"

"Medical condition." Danny answers. "You're taller than I expected."

"It's the ears." Jim represses a smile. "You go ahead and get your deductions filed. I brought pasta." Jim watches Danny leave. He turns to Batman, who's staring him down with that signature I-know-everything™ face. "What?"

"When are you going to let him know that you're mentoring him?" He says it like a sentence, and was that amusement in his tone?

"I'm not." Jim turns to the window.

"You brought him pasta."

"He never learned to cook."

"So you're teaching him." There was definitely amusement in his tone now.

Jim huffed. "We're getting old." He finally sighs. "We both have full grown kids. Crime and corruption are still thick in this city." Batman is standing next to him with a swoosh in his cape. "Retirement... I could see myself with it. Sipping cocktails on the beach. A beach with sunshine and no broken down carnivals."

Batman is silent for a moment, as if considering this. "So you see Fenton taking your place?"

"Like you see your Robin." Jim admits.

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bowlerhatwearer · 2 years

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Speaking of the grey mane club. Do they directly interact with other groups (like the rkz and the wrath) or do they keep their distance?

Greetings Anon

Although the Grey Mane Club, is known mostly for their contract killing jobs, they are basically...morally grey.

They basically do what they are being told, and what they get paid for, no more and no less.

While they don't interact with other groups by themselves, if said groups would hire them to do a job, any job they would do it.

For example if Commander Grizzly would hire a member of the Grey Mane Club to "exterminate" someone, they would do it.

Would Cupid Hound, for some reason rob his own piggy bank to hire a member of the Grey Mane Club to have a friend for a day because no one else has time...they also would do it...

Just two, theoretical examples that came into my mind.

Yours sincerely

Bowler

#Roadkillerz #RKZ #Cupid Hound #Commander Grizzly #Roadkillerz OC #RKZ OC #Grey Mane Club RKZ #Grey Mane Club #Ask #Anonymous #Anon #This was supposed to be a joke example; but now I can't help myself but think about the scenario; of Cupid hiring a contract killer to be #his friend for the day because no one #else has time #Also Cupid would not know the person he hired is a contract killer.

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brain5can · 1 year

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I HIRED A CONTRACT KILLER •

Aki Kaurismäki - 1990

#i hired a contract killer #aki kaurismäki #jean pierre leaud #margi clarke #french cinema #cinema #movies

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royalsea-art · 10 months

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I'M SO HAPPY

so, last dnd session, it was finally revealed that Diego (my character) is the infamous masked killer that wears a golden mask, the Harlequin of Arca.

I've been trying to hide this reveal from the other players for a year, but finally he revealed his secret identity to the others when things got really ugly. I'm really excited to be able to share more info about him!!!

He's been operating as the Harlequin for over a decade, approx. His main targets are usually nobles from the good part of the capital (Arca Alta), and he only kills for money, meaning someone has to hire his services first. He hasn't had any contracts in the last few months, and when strange, magic-burned bodies started showing up near the port on the lower part of the city, people thought it was the Harlequin's doing.

the last straw was when someone tried to kill the current head of the Empire, and fingers were pointed at the Harlequin again. Frustrated, he decided to leave a message to the people, hanging a scarecrow fashioned after a corpse, with a note stating his innocence.

last session, the other party members were being accused of being involved with the Harlequin, so Diego had to intervene. We left the session at a cliffhanger, and I can't wait to see what happens next!!!!!!

#my art #royalsea art #royalsea oc #dnd art #long post #sorry #mars oc lore #diego lore #i won't shup up about this i'm sorry i'm too excited #mystery of blood and honey #mysbnh

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risuola · 9 months

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RUTHLESS LOVER — F. READER x FUSHIGURO TOJI

Karma is a bitch. That's what they say and yours will be spectacular for the stunt you pulled off. Was it wise to get in the way of the most dangerous contract killer there is? No. Will Toji get his revenge on you? Most likely.

cw: smut, age gap (Toji is about 30 years old, reader is in her twenties), both reader and Toji are contract killers, tiny bit angsty if you squint, violence and blood mentioned, physical abuse on the reader is described briefly (Toji’s angry, okay?), death threats, lovers to enemies and back to lovers kinda situation, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), pet names, reader discretion is advised — 4k words

PROMPTS: 59. Karma is a bitch. 66. I hate trying to put my desire into words when my body knows exactly what to say. Let’s go home. 71. Drop the attitude.

a/n: this piece was requested; I had so much fun writing it! it's long, as usual, because I just love to have some plot in here, hope you don't mind it. enjoy! : D

Being a part of a world of contract killers is something you inherited from your clan. You were given no choice, but to train your strength and skill, build endurance and get rid of most of the human emotions only to become effective as paid murderer. At first, the thought terrified you, even though you were exposed to blood and death from the age as young as five, but seeing it and being responsible for it are two different things. Taking someone’s life was something you couldn’t imagine yourself doing, but you had to – with shaking hands, you shot a man in the head, missing with the first bullet and wasting another one. You were only fourteen, but your hands already were stained red.

Almost a decade later, death doesn’t phase you anymore. Pushing through the trauma, you became one of the very best in the area, almost hundred percent effective, quick and efficient, and what comes with that, very highly demanded and paid. When you turned eighteen, you left your clan and not knowing what to do with your life further, you sticked to one thing you were good at – killing, and you worked on your own from that time on.

"Shit," you mutter under your breath, pressing your back against the cold, rough wall. Your fingers grip the gun tightly and you quickly try to think of a way out. This was supposed to be one of those missions that you were most likely going to fail, and you didn't care as long as you got out alive.

"You were so brave back then and now you're hiding?" male voice bounces off the empty corners of the mansion, echoing in such a way that you're not sure where it's coming from. You can't hear his footsteps, but you know he's on the move. "That's disappointing, are you that frightened?"

"Why would I be frightened, huh?" you ask, checking the nearest hallway and making your way through it, slowly and quietly, careful not to make any unnecessary noise.

Situations like this are usually a complication – when two assassins are assigned the same target by two unrelated parties, it often makes things more difficult, but you're used to dealing with that. You're just faster, better at your job, and you can easily take down a grown man in a hand-to-hand encounter, but not this man. Toji Fushiguro is not a man you can take down, no matter how much force you put into it. He's definitely the most wanted criminal of the present time, infamous with high demands and no limits. He's perfect for the job – ridiculously strong, with a body hard and muscular, but insanely fast at the same time. He's bulletproof, he's unbeatable. The definition of a one-man army, he's said to have succeeded in all but one of his missions. A few years ago, it was the biggest assassination of the century in the history of Japan, a group of important politicians made as the target. With an idiotic amount of money thrown into the job, Toji was easily the most logical choice when it came to who to hire. The spectacular failure had almost cost him his reputation and his job, he was absent from the scene for over a year and it was over a year and it was you who was responsible for the unfortunate ending for him.

You were young at the time, in need to make a living after escaping your clan's clutches, and you took small jobs here and there, trying to make a name for yourself in a world full of respectable assassins. Unknown at the time, you wrapped few people around your finger and found out about the ordered assassination of the politicians. This was it; this was your chance not only to earn some real money, but also to secure your position. The job was long-term, it required a lot of research and observation, but you were well aware of Fushiguro, who was chosen to do it in the first place, so instead of racing with him and risking your life by getting in his way, you stripped yourself of all hitman traits and deliberately crossed paths with him. You became lovers. You made him drop his guard, used your charms to get your name off his list of suspects, which cleared the way for you to learn his work plan and everything he had researched. For a few months you've been with him, spending endless nights beneath his powerful body, and when everything was ready, you just ate the cherry off the top of the cake. You made a few crucial alterations to his notes, as subtle as changing the time by a few minutes, but those few minutes gave you an open door to complete his mission. You killed those politicians with clear, long-range shots to the head, took the money for it and planned to leave after that, but Toji had seen you.

"I don't know, you tell me," his deep voice reaches your ears again and you look back nervously, seeing nothing but empty spaces. You hate the echo in this place and you hate how easily Toji's appearance makes you lose your calm. It doesn't happen often, you're usually very composed, you're a cold thinker and emotions never get the better of you, but you're smart. You know when to act with confidence and when to back off, and this situation is definitely the one to back off from. In a close confrontation, you're no match for Fushiguro. "Oh, you must be scared to death as you're tippy-toeing through these corridors, clutching your little gun like it's going to save you."

"Aren't you a little cocky?" you try to keep your voice steady, but the accuracy with which he described you makes you feel uneasy. You look around once more, pushing your senses to their limits to catch anything in the surroundings that might indicate the direction from which his voice came.

"Oh, hardly. I'm just having fun. I've waited so long to finally meet you again. I must admit, the stunt you pulled on me was quite impressive, I did not see it coming," you can hear the amused tone in his voice, it sounds almost sadistic and you can easily imagine his lips curling into a smirk.

When Toji realized that his little girl, the one he thought would one day become his wife, was the person behind his failure, his blood boiled. He allowed himself to be a pawn in your hands and you took almost everything from him, so he promised revenge and researched you for months. The more he learned, the more it made sense, but it also impressed him in a way. Remembering how easy it is to snap and bend your body to his liking, he couldn't help but be in awe of the fact that you were capable of taking down a gang all by yourself or pull off dangerous missions completely alone. His attraction to you grew the more he got to know about you, and if it weren't for the mistake you made when planning your little mischief, he'd probably propose right away.

"I could have dropped a building on your head and you wouldn't have noticed," you snapped with a little too much courage even for your own liking, and the laughter that followed your little statement only reassured you of how screwed you were.

"A lil' mouthy, aren't we?" He laughs, and once again you turn around at the faint rustle behind you.

"Would you prefer me to shut up?"

"Oh no, speak while you still can," his voice rumbles against the walls again and you are sick of the game. Your own senses betray you and you move forward, almost running, while clutching the weapon he has already pointed out to be useless against him.

"Is the threat to crush my throat on the table, or do you mean my death in general?"

"There are so many delightfully horrible things I could do to you, I am not sure which one to choose."

God, how much you hate this. Pictures of many terrifying, spine-chilling punishments run through your mind, and at this point you give up the job completely.

"To be perfectly honest, I thought you had retired from the field," you tell him, calculating the possibility of outrunning him. "After the most spectacular failure in the history of failures, I assumed you wouldn't be showing up again."

"I wouldn't worry about that, sweetheart. If I were you, I would worry about myself."

"You're just a talker, Fushiguro. I'm not afraid of an old fart like you."

"Drop the attitude."

The split second you had before receiving the hardest blow to the stomach you'd ever experienced was nowhere near enough to react. It sent you flying many meters away, and the impact ripped a hole in the thin wall you hit with your back. Your vision goes blurry as you land on the marble floor, surrounded by luxuriously wallpapered debris, and for a moment you think this is it. Everything hurts, you feel as if all your insides were broken by that one blow. The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth and you cough, turning your body to the side, you feel like throwing up, but only red comes out of your throat.

"Did it hurt?" the man steps through the hole and it's the first time you've seen him since the day you took his job years ago. He looks even taller than you remember, the black short-sleeved shirt clinging to his bulging muscles as he makes his way towards you, and as if your limbs were unconsciously moving, you try to slide away from him. "Poor little thing, not so brave now, are you?" he taunts and you remain silent, aware of how every word can be used against you. "Cat got your tongue?"

You move away, but he grabs your ankle and pulls you in. His long fingers claw at your cheeks as he reaches up and looks at you with amusement, pulling your face in front of his own. "See, sweetheart, karma is a bitch, and yours will be just as spectacular as the stunt you pulled on me."

Helplessly, you grip his thick forearm, hoping to force the dead grip on your face to loosen, but to no avail. His strength is unparalleled and you are damned. You put everything you've got into the kick that lands cleanly on his chest and he lets go of you, unimpressed by the attack. He doesn't even flinch, but with the freedom you've earned, you just run away, desperately trying to put as much distance between you and him as humanly possible. Maybe if you could somehow get to the airport and fly to the other side of the world, you'd be safe for a while?

"Do you really think I'm going to let you run away again?" he grows in front of you out of nowhere and you barely manage to stop yourself before running straight into his chest. With how ripped he is, that alone would probably break a nose. "No, there's no way out for you, princess," his lips are curled into a grin so cold it could freeze the blood in your veins, and before you can turn around, his big hand is wrapped around your neck. He pushes you against the wall, this time it's concrete, but it still cracks from the force he's used. It's getting harder to breathe, you feel like your throat is going to be crushed any second. "You should just say you're sorry and I might consider not strangling you to death."

"I'm sorry," you choke out almost too fast, too desperate, and he laughs out loud.

"You'd do anything I told you to save yourself, wouldn't you?" he mocks, but the hold on your neck loosens just enough to allow the slightest flow of air through your windpipe. "If I told you to suck my dick, would you get down on your knees?"

You don't reply, you don't even know how to reply. The answer is obvious, you would definitely give him a head if it would convince him to spare your life, but you know it wouldn't be a deal breaker. It would just be a power move before he threatens you some more and you don't want to give him the satisfaction of using you if his plan is to torture you further.

"No," you finally mutter, digging your nails into his forearm, but instead of letting go, he tightens his grip around your neck, making you whimper and squint. "T-toji-"

"Look what you've done, that's going to leave a bruise for sure," he chuckles, throwing you to the side like a rag doll. Your weight is nothing to him, but you feel it when it hits the ground.

"Fuck..." you exhale and pull yourself up as fast as you can, both ashamed and angry at how helpless you are against him. Two decades of training, hundreds of men you've taken down with nothing but your bare hands, and now you can't do a goddamn thing. Pathetic.

Fed up with your own behavior, you decide to try and fight. If there's no way he's going to let you out alive, you might as well cause him some trouble. Any trouble. And so, you engage him in hand-to-hand combat, making sure to dodge each of his blows and land yours cleanly. Your fists and kicks hit his body but do no damage. It's as if he's allowing your punches to connect with his form, as if he's having so much fun and it's getting on your nerves. You use everything in your path – dishes fly, doors slam, glass shatters and chairs are thrown, but when the wooden stool breaks, easily stopped by Toji's forearm, you're lost.

Once again you find yourself against the wall, only this time his body is pressed against yours without any additional hurt being inflicted. He keeps you pinned down and you can hear his heartbeat, feel the bulging erection resting on your stomach and you look up to see his face. His black hair hangs loosely over his dark green eyes, his gaze jumping from your eyes to your parted lips as you pant shallowly.

"To be honest, I don't give a fuck about what you did," he finally admits, lowering his head enough to plant a kiss on the corner of your lips. "I want you back. Is that something you'd want, too?"

"Does my life depend on how I answer?" you ask quietly, your hands landing on his sides. You feel the hard muscle that seems to surround his entire body, it's almost too impressive to be real.

"No. I'm not going to kill you. I've already taught you a lesson, you won't mess with me again."

"I won't," you agree, feeling your body deflate. The tension that kept you stiff and afraid almost painfully, leaves your form and you lean into him. "Then I want you back, too."

"Great." Toji's lips fall upon yours and you give in instantly, a soft moan rumbling in your chest as his skilled mouth molds to yours, as if he was created to kiss you. One of your hands cups his face while the other runs through his raven locks, soft as silk, and you grab a handful of them, pulling him away before you get too lost in the feeling. He groans in discontent, looking down at you with the expression of a child whose toy has been taken away. With your thumb, you wipe away the red residue of your blood that remains on his lower lip.

"We should get out of here," you tell him, and he rolls his eyes, but agrees. "And then you'll tell me how much you've missed me."

"I hate trying to put my desire into words when my body knows exactly what to say," he chuckles, scooping you up in his arms as if you're nothing but air. "Let's go home."

The ride home is quick, too quick in fact, not giving you enough time for the pain in your stomach to subside, but you can't focus on that too much when he's all over you as soon as the doors to his apartment close. Toji's hands push your clothes away, pulling and tugging at the many layers of fabric you have on, and you can hear loose buttons bouncing off the wooden floor as he leads you toward the bedroom. You know the place, it's the same one you spent many long months in before you ran away from him.

"Toji," you whisper as he slides his hand down your unbuttoned pants, right into your underwear, and the sudden pressure he deftly applies over your clit makes your body shudder from the unexpected wave of euphoric impulses. He knows your buttons, he knows how to push them to rid you of any composure, and he uses that knowledge to the fullest.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he responds to his name, his lips brushing your ear as you cling to his enormous bicep for dear life. "Talk to me, does it feel good?"

"Oh yes," you mutter, determined not to be the only one stuttering, so you lower your hand, your fingers slipping easily under the waistband of his gray pants and through the fabric of his boxers you feel the shape of his cock. It's rock hard, struggling to find enough room in the trap of his underwear, and as you stroke it with your warm palm, a low growl escapes his mouth. Taking it a step further, you push the cotton down and your breath hitches at the sight of his erection springing free, the sheer heaviness of the girth making it impossible for him to fully stand up.

"Like what you see?" he teases, sliding one of his long fingers through your folds and into your hole, curling it so perfectly that you moan against his muscular chest. With ease, Toji lays you down on the dark sheets on his bed, not stopping his handy work for a split second before hovering over you, his lips glued to the soft skin above your neck. Quickly it's clear that the marks will last for days, but that is the last thing you can worry about when his fingers are stretching you so lovely.

You push your pants down, desperate to give him more space, and he gets the hint, pulling them along with your panties off with a sharp tug of his free hand. Pleased with how eagerly you spread your legs for him, he hums against the dip of your shoulder, a grin painting his expression in amusement as he adds two more fingers. They slip right in, your slick covering them right away, and you whimper, digging your fingernails into his strong arms. All your mind can focus on is the irresistible want to have his dick inside you, you need it and everything that comes with it – the burning pain, the roughness, the bites and bruises. Toji Fushiguro is a ruthless lover, he's able to set all your nerves ablaze, to make your mind blank, make you forget your own name.

The warmth piles up in your stomach, you slowly fall into a trance as he abuses the sweet spot inside you and you don't even notice how he moves down your body. The realization hits you when his tongue flicks against your clit and your whole body shudders at the new layer of pleasure. The satisfied smile never leaves his face as he looks up at your worn-out self while he's working on the nerve bud. His fingers move and twist inside you as he sucks, licks and kisses simultaneously, taking away your breath and any last shred of composure. He's savoring the sweetness, the taste driving him wild and he knows how close you are, the muscles of your insides squeezing his fingers in waves, your thighs trembling against his broad shoulders and your fingers clawing at the sheets with crashing force.

His name rolls off your tongue in a breathy way and he hums against your clit, the vibration sending you over and pulling you under the ocean of endorphins. You come onto his mouth, his fingers covered in white and all you can see is stars. Short pants and broken breaths leave your parted mouth as he presses his own against them in a sloppy, messy kiss. Toji kicks off his own pants and gives himself a few pumps before sliding the head of his cock along your folds.

You whimper into the kiss, slipping your hands under the black t-shirt, desperate to feel his body. With a brief pause, he breaks the connection between your mouths to remove the rest of clothes and you give in, taking the moment to catch your breath.

"Fuck," you cry out, your back arching, your head falling back at the feeling of burning stretch as he pushes his size into you. It hurts, but the pain is delicious, it makes you want more and he gives you just that. He grunts low and gravelly as he collapses onto one of his elbows, overwhelmed by the tight squeeze of your warm hole and as he bottoms out, he takes a second to collect himself. It would be unacceptable if you milk him so quickly, just with the mind-blowing sensation of your cunt.

"So tight," he purrs against your neck, pulling one of your thighs over his hip. Your lips collide again and he rolls his hips for the first time, teasingly pulling all the way out only to push back in one swift motion. He does this several times before finally setting a pace that has you holding onto his shoulders just to steady yourself. With the strength of his body, his thrusts are ruthless, almost violent, but it's the roughness that makes him such a great lover. The intensity of his fat cock almost tearing you in half is what gives you the highest highs and he knows exactly how to use his girth to fuck you stupid.

You're whimpering into his lips, your body shaking beneath him as he rolls his pelvis, angling his hips so he can kiss every sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. The power of his pistons increases. Drinking in your reactions, he feels himself growing, his cock twitching and flexing in your warm embrace, a white coating forming at the base of his cock and he feels lightheaded.

Grabbing both your knees, Toji presses them almost to your ears, your calves hook over his shoulders and as he rams his length into you, you feel like you're going to pass out from the sheer amount of stimulation. With each stroke, his body bounces off your clit, the sound of skin slapping fills the bedroom and you feel yourself squirming as your legs tremble and your breath stutters. You're close and he knows it, the smirk on his lips giving it away as he takes in the sight of you losing every last bit of connection to the real world.

It only takes a few more unforgivable, deep slams of his cock against your sweet spot to have you shaking violently. It's too much, the feeling of him stretching you to the very brink and the heat surges through your veins, setting your body alight as pleasure erupts. The overwhelming wave of euphoria makes drown in the blissful haze as you feel the orgasm unfolding and he thrusts his hips through it, chasing his own release.

As Toji cums inside you, pumping his warm load into you, you come once more, much weaker, but for your overstimulated body it feels like an explosion all over again. A mixture of broken pants fills the room as the wet, sex sounds fade away. Toji pulls out and flips you both over so that you can lie on top of his body instead of him collapsing upon yours, possibly crushing you with his weight.

His demeanor changes completely, with aftercare he's gentle, his hands soft on your skin as he caresses you. “I missed you,” he whispers against your hair, planting soft kisses on the top of your head and you smile.

“I missed you too, Toji.”

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deliciousangelfestival · 2 months

Text

Underworld Insomnia | 4 - B.Barnes

Character : Bucky × Psychiatrist Female!Reader

Summary: As a ruthless contract killer, Bucky is feared in the underworld of criminals. His opponents freeze when they see him, as he is feared among them. However, they don't know that he could be warm to only one person: his psychiatrist. The only person who could make him fall asleep.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 ,-

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

"Frosty longed for companionship, but no matter where he drifted, he found himself alone in the icy wilderness," the soothing voice of the story lulled Bucky into drowsiness. Just as he began to succumb to sleep, he heard your urgent cry, "Bucky!"

His body relaxed upon hearing your voice, but his eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion. As he fought to keep them open, he sensed a peculiar sensation—something cool and tingling on his face. With a struggle, he managed to crack his eyes open, greeted by the sight of a small figure with oversized glasses hovering over him.

Bucky rubbed his eyes in confusion. "You... Ahh!!! What is this?" he exclaimed, noticing Conroy holding a tube of toothpaste.

Conroy, ever matter-of-fact, explained, "Because you're not awake. Seems like your body lack of iron."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Conroy, feeling a mix of amusement and irritation at the kid's audacity. "Bah! I'm still in my prime," he retorted, trying to maintain his tough demeanor despite the situation's absurdity.

You were in another room when you heard an adult male voice, and you approached them, relieved to find that Bucky was no longer asleep. "You're awake," you remarked, noticing the toothpaste under Bucky's eyes. You knew it must be Conroy's doing.

Moving closer to Bucky, you reached for a cloth to wipe away Conroy's prank. "Conroy, you have to apologize to Bucky," you insisted firmly.

Bucky was taken aback by your actions. First, as the best contract killer in the industry, he could evade guns, knives, poisons, and other threats, but he never expected your voice to act as a lethal weapon. Second, he was surprised by the sudden tenderness in your gesture. He had never experienced such care before.

Conroy put his hands on his hips defiantly. "Why? If it's not because of me, he would still be asleep," he argued.

You clicked your tongue, feeling the need to maintain respect for the homeowner who could also protect you both from the group.

Bucky waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine," he assured, standing up to put some distance between himself and you. Perhaps it was your perfume that made his heart race. Clearing his throat, he asked, "How long was I asleep?"

You replied, "12 hours."

Bucky closed his mouth in disbelief. Twelve hours? That was a new record.

Concerned for his health, you suggested, "Bucky, do you need to go to the hospital? Perhaps something is wrong with your health?"

Bucky crossed his arms, feeling a bit irritated that both you and Conroy seemed to underestimate his health. He shook his head. "No. I've been there multiple times, and they found nothing wrong with me. Besides..." His conversation was cut short as he received a call.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Where the heck have you been?" the voice on the other end demanded.

"Sleeping," Bucky replied simply.

"What?! I don't even want to know. Just get your ass over here. Our situation is not good in the Caribbean Sea. Pirates tried to steal our client's ship."

Bucky's response was nonchalant, "Sure. Prepare the plane for me."

"But there's nowhere to land," came the urgent reply.

Bucky smirked, unfazed, "Who said the plane has to land?"

***********

At an altitude of 40,000 feet inside the cargo plane, Bucky surveyed the situation below. Miguel, one of his colleagues, filled him in on the mission details, "Our client hired us to rescue his son. Pirates are attempting to capture the vessel because they know our client is wealthy."

As Bucky prepared his parachute bag and checked his guns, Miguel asked him, "Are you sure you want to go alone?"

Bucky nodded confidently. "Yup. It'll be quick. See you later." With a salute, he jumped from the plane, disappearing into the night sky. Watching his fearless departure, Miguel chuckled and shook his head. "Crazy dude," he muttered to himself.

Once airborne, Bucky opened his parachute and descended gracefully toward the pirate-infested ship below. As he landed on the deck, he swiftly drew his weapons and sprang into action. With precise aim and lightning-fast reflexes, he took down each pirate one by one, dodging their gunfire with ease.

In a matter of seconds, the deck was cleared, and Bucky secured the area before moving to rescue the client's son. Amidst the chaos, he located the young man and ensured his safety, escorting him to a secure location on the ship.

The client's son, shaken but unharmed, looked up at Bucky with gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice trembling with relief.

Bucky's work was clean and efficient, a testament to the positive effects of his recent restful sleep. He nodded in acknowledgment as he received praise from his agency's boss. "Great job."

However, when the boss mentioned wanting to introduce him to someone, Bucky politely declined. "No, I need to head back," he explained. He remembered that you and Conroy were relying on emergency food supplies back at the safe house. While Conroy might have a sharp tongue, Bucky couldn't forget that he was still just a 4-year-old kid.

With a sense of responsibility, Bucky prioritized your well-being and Conroy's comfort over any additional meetings or introductions. He needed to ensure that you both had enough to eat and were safe while he was away.

Bucky returned to the safe house to find you and Conroy engaged in making origami, a sight that amused him. It seemed that neither of you found entertainment in TV or movies.

Upon hearing the door open, you looked up and greeted him, "Welcome back."

"Hm," Bucky acknowledged, feeling a warm sensation at being welcomed home for the first time.

Conroy abandoned his Godzilla origami and rushed over to Bucky. "Is that the same chicken I had?" His hand reached out eagerly for the plastic bag, but Bucky raised it just out of reach, prompting Conroy to pause. "Hey."

Bucky raised an eyebrow playfully. "Don't 'hey' me. Ask me nicely."

Conroy's cheeks puffed up with a pout. "Can I have some of the food, please?"

Bucky chuckled, lowering the bag. "It's all yours."

Conroy dashed to the table, exclaiming, "Yes!"

Left alone with you, Bucky expressed his gratitude. "With 12 hours of sleep, I was able to finish my work quickly. Thanks."

You smiled warmly. "I'm glad I could help."

Bucky glanced around the safe house, noticing the origami creations scattered around. "What are you two making?"

You chuckled softly. "Conroy wanted to learn origami, so we've been practicing."

Bucky observed the colorful paper creations with a hint of admiration. "Looks like he's getting pretty good at it."

You nodded proudly. "He's a quick learner."

Just then, Conroy returned to the table, devouring his fried chicken with gusto. Between bites, he grinned at Bucky. "Thank you for the food!"

Bucky ruffled Conroy's hair affectionately. "You're welcome, kiddo."

As the three of you sat together, enjoying the simple pleasure of a shared meal, Bucky couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging he hadn't experienced in a long time. Despite the dangers lurking in the shadows, there was a sense of peace and camaraderie within the walls of the safe house.

Bucky leaned forward, his eyes focused on you with a seriousness that caught your attention. "Do you have a plan to put Conroy into kindergarten?"

You paused, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. "At the moment, no. With everything that's been happening, it hasn't really crossed my mind."

Bucky nodded, considering your words carefully. "If you want, I know of a safe kindergarten that's highly secretive. It's attended by children of parents in similar lines of work, like myself. To ensure Conroy's safety, we could even consider changing his name."

As you listened to Bucky's suggestion, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his concern. Despite his tough exterior, he genuinely cared about your well-being and Conroy's.

After you answered, Conroy interjected excitedly, "I want to go!!!" He hopped down from his chair and dashed over to Bucky, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. "I want to join the kindergarten. Please,~"

Bucky chuckled at Conroy's sudden burst of energy, finding his eagerness endearing. "You can, if you behave," he replied with a playful grin.

Conroy puffed out his chest proudly. "I am a good kid," he declared, his determination evident in his stance.

You couldn't help but smile at Conroy's excitement, feeling hopeful for his future despite the challenges you faced. With Bucky's support and the promise of a safe place for Conroy to learn and grow, you felt a sense of relief wash over you.

***********

The next day, Bucky continued his day with a brand new energy, grateful for the restful sleep he had gotten. This newfound routine eased his anxiety, allowing him to approach the day with a clearer mind.

He decided to visit the bar, a usual haunt where killers often gathered. As he entered, the dimly lit ambiance greeted him, familiar and somewhat comforting.

To his surprise, his boss approached him, accompanied by a figure clad in a custom suit that exuded an air of mystery and intelligence. The man's demeanor suggested he was no ordinary individual; perhaps a member of the CIA or a special undercover agent. His sharp gaze bore into Bucky, assessing him with keen interest as if dissecting his every move and thought.

The person introduced himself to Bucky with a firm handshake and a confident demeanor. "It's an honor to meet you, Barnes," he began in a voice with authority and a hint of intrigue. "I'm August Walker, and you have something that I want."

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