Pink haired (for real, i dye my hair like every 2 months) fan of mr. terrific, a few characters from hoyoverse and crk and selective random characters that doesnt make sens but i like them
(This is going to be a smut request cause I need this man so bad hello)
Ok so, Michael Holt with a praise/degradation kink, cause I can totally see him masterfully walking the line between praise and degradation, being both condescending and actually sweet with the reader (hope it makes sense)
To specify the reader pronouns i'd say gn if it's fine 💓
Can be headcanons, drabble, one shot, whatever inspires you more!
Thanks in advance and I hope you have a great day! Or night!
Mr Terrific x GN!Reader, word count: 650
i can confidently say that if anyone as beautiful and intelligent as this fucking majestic boy said any words to me, praise or otherwise, i would melt into a puddle, so this was MWAH perfect request anon!!
request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist
minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: flirting, teasing, definite condescension and playing into a suggested degradation kink, some praise
Front desk work at the Hall of Justice was an odd job, but one with an extensive list of privileges. Least of all, the ability to be the welcoming face that the Justice Gang would see when they returned from yet another world-saving mission, walking up the stairs and into the security of their sanctuary, leaving the crowds of adoring fans behind the soundproofed doors. Only your smile and welcoming voice to bring them back down to Earth.
"Congratulations! Well done! Amazing job as usual."
You congratulated them as they walked by, stuttering on your words as Mister Terrific walked past you, trailing slightly behind the rest of the group. His face was stern, serious, but you could see his eyes lighten as you singled him out quietly.
"Especially you, Mr Holt- Uh… Michael." You remembered his previous insistence that you refer to him by his first name, as you were his colleague after all. "I… I was watching it live on the news. You really are amazing."
Michael forced the smallest of smiles across his blackened lips, as though he felt he needed to offer you something in return for your compliment. He hated to admit it, but sometimes he understood Guy's bravado, his egotistical consumption of every accolade he could find. It did feel nice to be appreciated.
"Everyone plays their part. We work together to make it happen."
You blushed at the smile, feeling the sincerity in the weight of his words.
"No, not like you do."
Deciding to take a leaf out of his colleague's book, not that he would ever let him know that, Michael decided to play into the praise.
"Well, of course not quite like I do. I'm Mister Terrific."
Your cheeks blushed redder and you let out a soft giggle that felt more like a choked moan. He found himself intrigued by your response, the sweetness of the moment, the ability he seemed to have over you. So he decided to see how far he could go with it, offering some gratitude back to you.
"You do a good job too. You might just be sitting behind that desk looking good for most of the day, but that really does help."
Michael swallowed the lump of nerves in his throat. He worried that he had pushed it too far with the condescension, that his tone was painfully patronising. But luckily, your response was obvious and immediate, and he realised that this might be somewhat symbiotic. Your cheeks were bright red now, your teeth gently chewing on your bottom lip, and the way you had shifted in your chair suggested to Michael that you were pressing your thighs together under your desk. Michael leaned on it, talking to you in a low, soft voice.
"Actually, I would argue you do a lot more than that. For me at least."
"R-really? For you?"
"Sure. It really gets to me how everyone is far less intelligent than me. It's annoying- no. It's infuriating. But you? You at least seem to be aware of how much smarter than you I am. And how amazing I am. I mean, you do think I'm amazing, right?"
His raised eyebrow and far more explicit grin, playful and mischievous, seemed to make you even stupider, as you struggled to find the words to reply.
"I… I… uh… I-I… Uh… Y-yes! Of course I do! In fact, I think you're pretty terrific."
You let out an audible groan, cringing painfully at your own shitty attempt at a flirtatious joke, but Michael's smile never faded.
"See. You are pretty clever. Maybe more pretty than clever, though."
And with that, he walked away, leaving you sweating and tensed and trying to make it through the rest of the day without worrying about having to change your underwear.
I imagine that once J'onn is comfortable in relationship with you he will act like a cuddly cat. Like you will lay in you back in bed and he will levitate to you just to lay ontop of you.
Summary: "The girl across from him was now speaking to Alfred in that easy way adults did when they had known each other for a long time. He hated how normal it was. He hated how he liked the tea. He hated even more that Alfred looked lighter than he had in days."
-> Bruce Wayne x vigilante!reader , Dc x Marvel crossover, recounting of old memories, jail breakout,
III <-IV -> V
Damian looked like he was about to say something deeply insulting.
That was, unfortunately, also the look he made when he was one second away from forming a catastrophic opinion.
The girl watched him carefully, still very much standing in the middle of her own apartment with her coffee forgotten on the table and Alfred beside her like this was all perfectly normal, which somehow made the whole thing even more alarming.
Damian’s eyes narrowed.
His chin tipped up.
His little shoulders squared like he was preparing for battle.
And then Alfred, with the effortless grace of a man who had raised the Batfamily into functional chaos, reached out and covered Damian’s mouth with one hand.
The boy made a muffled sound of outrage.
“Alfred,” Damian snapped once he was free, glaring up at him with all the fury of a badly disciplined cat, “that was unnecessary.”
“Was it?” Alfred asked serenely.
“Yes.”
“No, it was efficient.”
The girl blinked, then looked between them with slowly rising disbelief.
“Okay,” she said carefully, “I clearly missed some kind of briefing.”
Alfred smiled at her with that same composed warmth that always made everything feel a little less sharp around the edges.
“How are you doing today on this lovely day?”
She stared at him.
Then at Damian.
Then back at him.
“...Well, as it can go,” she replied, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I’m guessing Bruce doesn’t know about this?”
Alfred’s expression didn’t change much, but the tiny shift at the corner of his mouth told her everything she needed to know.
“He is currently occupied with an interview regarding his,” Alfred said delicately, “personal life.”
The girl made a face.
“Ah.”
That tone from Alfred alone told her Bruce was probably being dragged through some sort of corporate and public relations nightmare. That was... irritatingly on brand.
She glanced back at Damian, who was now glaring at her like he had personally been slighted by the laws of reality.
Then she looked at Alfred again. “May I ask why his son joined as well?”
Damian’s eyes sharpened at that.
Son.
The word landed strangely in his chest.
Not wrong.
Just unfamiliar.
He had been prepared for her to be hostile, or fake, or sentimental in that annoying way adults sometimes were when they met him and thought he was a child to be pitied.
Instead she looked wary.
Alert.
Curious.
Not afraid.
Not disgusted.
And that somehow made him feel even more suspicious.
She was different from the way people usually reacted when they saw him.
Most people fell into one of two categories.
They either tried too hard to flatter him.
Or they acted like he was dangerous.
She did neither.
Instead she looked at him like she was assessing a problem with actual thought behind it.
Damian did not know what to do with that.
Alfred, meanwhile, answered her question as though this entire situation had been arranged over afternoon tea.
“Master Damian insisted on accompanying me.”
Damian crossed his arms. “I am not in need of supervision.”
She raised a brow. “And yet here you are.”
He glared.
She stared right back.
There was a beat of silence.
Then, to Damian’s absolute irritation, her mouth twitched like she was fighting off a smile.
Alfred saw it immediately.
Of course he did.
He stepped farther inside with the ease of someone who clearly knew this apartment better than he should have and placed the small tray he’d brought onto the kitchen counter. It had various snacks. But most of them were her favorite. Of course Alfred would still remember it.
“I brought tea,” he said. “And a few things for breakfast.”
The girl’s face softened instantly. “Alfred, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I disagree.”
“You need to rest too.”
“I am quite rested, thank you.”
She gave him a look that Damian immediately recognized as one people gave when they knew someone was lying and were deciding whether to argue.
Alfred simply looked back at her with complete composure.
She pointed at him.
“No.”
Alfred’s brow rose. “No?”
“You are not allowed to pretend you are fine and then do everything for everyone else.”
The old man looked mildly amused by this.
Damian’s eyes narrowed further.
She had done that without hesitation.
Not with reverence.
Not with fear.
Like she had full right to scold Alfred Pennyworth.
That alone was strange enough to make Damian’s mind trip over itself.
Alfred set a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Miss, I am wounded.”
“Good.”
“Cruel woman.”
“You made your bed.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You absolutely did.”
Damian watched their exchange in growing silence.
Because somehow, against every instinct he had developed over the years, he could tell Alfred was pleased.
Not merely polite.
Pleased.
That was worse.
Much worse.
The girl looked toward the couch and then gestured lightly with one hand.
“Sit,” she said. “Both of you. I’m not serving tea while you stand there like I’m about to interrogate you.”
“I would never assume that,” Alfred said.
Damian muttered, “I would.”
She shot him a glance. “And yet I’m still the one making tea.”
Damian opened his mouth, probably to say something aggravating, but Alfred smoothly guided him toward the sitting area before the boy could start a war.
Once they were all seated, the apartment settled into something almost peaceful.
Almost.
The girl moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, collecting cups, pouring tea, pulling out the food Alfred had brought, and setting everything down with the kind of familiarity that suggested she belonged in this space even after years away.
Damian didn’t understand why that bothered him.
He narrowed his eyes as she leaned one hip against the counter and looked over at Alfred.
“So,” she said, voice lighter now, “how bad is he?”
Alfred gave a long-suffering sigh. “Which one?”
She deadpanned. “That bad, huh?”
Damian’s eyes flicked to her face.
She was teasing.
Not mocking.
Not cruel.
Teasing like she had known Alfred long enough to have earned that right.
That was somehow more irritating than if she’d been smug.
“He is, as one might expect,” Alfred said carefully, “working himself into the ground.”
The girl’s expression changed almost immediately.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for most people to notice.
But Damian did.
He saw the flicker of concern before she forced it down.
“Still?” she asked quietly.
Alfred nodded once.
Damian watched her look away toward the window.
For a brief moment, her expression went distant.
Not upset.
Just thoughtful.
He knew that look.
It was the face people wore when they were trying not to think too hard about something that already hurt.
She asked softly, “He’s really not sleeping, is he?”
Alfred said nothing immediately.
Which was answer enough.
The girl exhaled through her nose.
“Of course.”
Damian scoffed under his breath before he could stop himself. “He is fine.”
The words came out sharper than he intended.
Both of them looked at him.
He straightened in his seat, chin lifting. “Father is not in danger.”
The girl turned slightly toward him.
Not defensive.
Just attentive.
It made him even more suspicious.
“He is overworking himself because he believes that is what is expected of him,” Damian continued. “That does not mean he is in danger.”
She studied him for a beat.
Then asked, “And do you think that’s healthy?”
Damian frowned. “That is irrelevant.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very sure of that.”
“I usually am.”
She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, as if filing that away for later.
Damian did not like that one bit.
Not because she was rude.
Not because she was threatening.
Because she was listening.
Actually listening.
And she had not interrupted him once.
It was disorienting.
He was not used to adults letting him finish a thought unless they intended to patronize him afterward.
She didn’t.
She just waited.
That was somehow more unsettling than if she had argued.
Damian looked away first.
He hated that.
While Alfred poured tea, the girl asked him questions in between casual conversation with Alfred.
Not invasive ones.
Not “how old are you, child warrior of the night, and why are you in my apartment.”
No.
Simple things.
“What do you eat when Alfred isn’t around?”
“Do you sleep at all?”
“Do you actually like fruit or just pretend to be difficult?”
Damian answered the first two with complete scorn and the third with visible offense.
“I am not difficult.”
She sipped her tea. “That is a lie.”
“I am a straightforward person.”
Alfred murmured, “That is also a lie.”
Damian looked betrayed on principle.
The girl laughed softly into her cup.
The sound did something deeply irritating to his brain because it made the apartment feel less like a room full of strangers and more like somewhere people had lived before.
Together.
Too easily.
Damian didn’t understand it.
Why was he comfortable?
Why was Alfred comfortable?
Why did the girl feel somehow familiar despite the fact he had never met her before?
He narrowed his eyes and reached for his phone under the table.
Then, with the very solemn air of a child documenting evidence in a criminal case, he opened the group chat.
'Don’t Tell Bruce'
Rabid Chihuahua:
Why is Pennyworth so comfortable with her?
DihForBrains:
Wait— you’re there too?
Rabid Chihuahua:
Yes. I am protecting him.
BrainCellHolder:
I don’t think he would need any protection.
Overworked Intern:WAIT WTF IS HAPPENING?? SOMEONE EXPLAIN
DihForBrains:Alfred went to visit his favorite bat and Damian thinks he’d be in danger with mom.
Rabid Chihuahua:
Yes, keep up Drake. And Grayson, she doesn’t look like someone who would have any motherly instinct.
There was a beat.
Then the chat exploded.
Hoodrat:
Take that shit back right now. At least she thought us better than your mother ever did, Damian.
Damian’s eyes narrowed instantly.
He typed back with great precision.
Rabid Chihuahua:
That was unnecessary Todd.
BrainCellHolder:
Okay, let’s all calm down.
Barbie Bat:
WAIT THEIR LIKE HANGING OUT??
Shadow Gremlin:
:)
Walking Flashlight:
I KNEW IT
Overworked Intern:
I’m sorry, I need context. Why is she with Alfred and why does Damian sound like he’s being held hostage?
Damian glared at his screen.
He did not appreciate the accuracy.
DihForBrains:
I still think Alfred favors her more...
BrainCellHolder:
Because Alfred likes her.
Hoodrat:
Because Alfred has good taste.
Damian stared at the message with a scowl.
The girl across from him was now speaking to Alfred in that easy way adults did when they had known each other for a long time.
He hated how normal it was.
He hated how he liked the tea.
He hated even more that Alfred looked lighter than he had in days.
The girl glanced up and caught him staring at the screen.
She raised a brow.
Damian immediately locked his phone.
“Are you planning to stab me?” she asked.
“No.”
She looked unconvinced.
“Not yet,” he added.
Alfred sighed. “Damian.”
The boy looked away with clear annoyance.
The girl, infuriatingly, looked amused.
She took a sip of tea and then asked Alfred, “But actually. How bad has it gotten?”
“Do you mean Master Bruce or Gotham?”
She pointed at him. “That bad, huh.”
Alfred smiled faintly. “Both, if I’m honest.”
She nodded once. “That sounds about right.”
Damian’s eyes flicked up at the mention of his father.
She had asked about Bruce.
Not with the intensity of a strategist.
Not with the flat curiosity of a stranger.
With actual concern.
That felt wrong.
Did she know?
How much did she know?
Did she know where he was right now?
Did she know that Bruce had been quieter than usual lately?
Damian scoffed internally.
Father was always quiet.
But Alfred seemed to notice her expression shift the second Bruce’s name entered the conversation.
The room changed.
Just slightly.
Her hand tightened around the teacup.
Damian saw it.
Alfred saw it too, though he didn’t comment immediately.
She cleared her throat once and looked toward the window.
“Still overworking himself, then?”
Alfred’s answer came gently.
“More than is ideal.”
She let out a breath through her nose. “Of course he is.”
“You sound unsurprised.”
“Why would I be?”
The words came out lighter than they should have.
Damian could tell that was intentional.
Alfred gave her a long look.
She did not meet it.
Damian suddenly realized she was not asking because she didn’t know.
She was asking because she did.
Because she still cared.
That was... irritating.
Why should she care?
She left.
Father had not asked her to stay.
At least, Damian assumed that was the case.
He didn’t know the details.
Only the fragments everyone around him carried like wounds.
She had been gone before he joined the family.
A ghost story.
A name in passing.
A memory in Alfred’s voice when he thought no one was listening.
And now she was here, sitting in a chair in front of him, drinking tea and talking to Alfred like she had never left.
Damian hated how much it unsettled him.
He pulled out his phone again.
Rabid Chihuahua:
She asked about Father.
Overworked Intern:
WHAT
DihForBrains:
NO WAY
Hoodrat:
ohohhoho
BrainCellHolder:
Damian don’t start something
Rabid Chihuahua:
I did not start anything.
Barbie Bat:
No but you definitely look like you’re about to.
Shadow Gremlin:
:)
Walking Flashlight:
PLEASE take a photo
Damian stared at that message.
Absolutely not.
He looked up just as the girl was speaking to Alfred again, her tone quiet.
Damian caught only the end of it.
“...not sleeping again?”
Alfred’s answer came with a soft sigh.
“I’m afraid not.”
The girl leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a brief second.
Then she murmured, “Idiot.”
Damian blinked.
That was—
Oddly satisfying.
Not because she insulted his father.
Because she said it like she knew him.
Which, of course, she did.
Damian frowned again.
Why was he so aware of her?
Why did his brain keep filing away details like the tone of her voice and the fact that she never interrupted anyone and the way her eyes softened when Alfred laughed?
He did not like it.
He also did not not like it.
That made him even more irritated.
.
.
.
MEANWHILE AT THE BATCAVE AROUND THE SAME TIME:
Clark Kent had made peace with a lot of things in his life.
The existence of aliens.
The fact that Batman’s coffee tasted like it had been brewed in a crypt.
The unsettling habit the League had of turning ordinary meetings into existential crises.
What he had not yet made peace with was the way Bruce Wayne looked at him like he was one bad sentence away from getting shoved off a cliff.
“I brought fruit,” Clark said carefully, holding up the peace offering like it might save him.
Bruce’s expression did not change.
“That was unnecessary.”
Clark, still standing very carefully beside the Batcomputer, thought about saying that all of this was unnecessary.
He did not say it.
Instead he placed the fruit basket on the worktable with the kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred objects and took a step back.
The Batcave was dim and enormous and somehow colder than Gotham deserved.
The giant screen before them was full of League updates, tactical files, and half-finished reports about everything from post-Blip global reconstruction to the still deeply annoying political chaos left in the wake of Thanos.
Clark had come for a League matter.
Mostly.
He had also come because he had needed a break from Lois and Perry and the endless demands of Metropolis for approximately one night.
This had seemed manageable.
Right until Bruce started looking like he wanted to throw the fruit basket into the abyss.
Clark glanced at the giant screen.
“We can start with the political fallout again if you want.”
Bruce was silent for too long.
Then, curtly, “Continue.”
Clark did.
They had already gone through the logistics of several displaced populations, aid distribution, and the astronomical mess left by half the universe disappearing and then suddenly reappearing five years later.
It was never a pleasant topic.
It was also never easy to talk about around people who had lived through it.
The League had all been affected in different ways.
Bruce, though, had not said a lot.
Too quiet.
Too focused.
Clark could tell something was off even before they reached the part about the final battle with Thanos.
When they did, Bruce’s face hardened so subtly most people would have missed it.
Clark did not.
The others on the call continued discussing strategy and recovery measures.
Wakanda’s role in emergency support.
The Avengers’ public status.
The way the battle had unfolded.
The civilians.
The damage.
The casualties.
The recovery.
Then the focus shifted to the people who had actually been there.
And inevitably, the conversation drifted to the Avengers.
To Captain America.
To Thor.
To Wanda.
To Stark.
To Natasha.
To Bucky.
And then—
her.
Clark knew the name the moment it was spoken.
Not because Bruce reacted.
Bruce did not.
Not outwardly.
But the room changed anyway.
One of the League members had asked about the woman who had been fighting alongside the Avengers for years now. The one who had always seemed to appear in the worst places at the right time. The one with the black-and-red suit. The one whose name had come up in reports from New York, Sokovia, Europe, and the half-dozen tiny crises the world never fully documented because she always seemed to move just under the radar.
The one they were all now talking about with a level of interest Clark instantly regretted.
“She was there for the entire assault,” one of them said.
“She didn’t stop moving.”
“She kept pulling injured people out from the line.”
“She was injured herself.”
Clark watched Bruce’s jaw flex once.
Then again.
He said nothing.
The discussion kept going.
And then, as if sensing they had struck something dangerous and interesting at the same time, the focus shifted even more.
Clark’s eyes narrowed slightly.
They were talking about her specifically now.
The way she fought.
The way she moved.
The way she refused to stop even while bleeding.
The way she had helped take down Thanos’s forces and still kept getting back up when she should have collapsed.
The way she had stood beside the other Avengers when the world needed her.
Clark glanced at Bruce out of the corner of his eye.
The man had gone very still.
Not the kind of stillness that came from calm.
The kind that came from being held together by sheer discipline and a refusal to break in front of other people.
Clark had seen it before.
Just not like this.
Bruce stood abruptly and turned away from the screen.
Clark frowned. “Bruce?”
No response.
The others on the call kept talking, but Bruce was already moving across the cave.
Clark followed the line of his gaze.
Toward the display wall.
Toward the old suits.
Toward the section where Batman’s armor had been placed in careful order over the years.
And beside it—
another suit.
Black.
Red accents.
Layered armor.
A cowl and equipment that did not match the rest of the cave but had clearly belonged there once.
The suit of someone Clark had never seen in person.
But Bruce clearly had.
Clark’s brows rose slightly.
“Whose suit is that?”
Bruce didn’t answer.
He just stood there, staring.
Clark looked from the display to Bruce and back again.
That suit was old.
Not the kind of old that meant forgotten.
The kind of old that meant preserved.
Important.
Loved.
His thoughts were interrupted when an alarm suddenly blared across the cave.
Clark straightened instantly.
Bruce moved with machine precision back to the monitor.
Arkham alert.
Joker had escaped.
Again.
Clark exhaled through his nose. “Of course he did.”
Bruce’s response was immediate. “Show me.”
The monitor flickered.
News footage appeared.
GCPD barricades.
Press.
Police units trying to manage the chaos.
Commissioner Gordon standing in front of a containment perimeter, looking older than he had any right to.
Clark barely had time to register the noise before a figure dropped out of the sky behind Gordon.
He stared.
Black and red.
Layered suit.
Utility belt.
Domino mask.
Hood.
Clark’s eyes widened.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
Bruce’s spine went rigid.
Clark looked from the screen to Bruce, then back again.
He knew that stance.
He knew that mask.
He had seen the same silhouette before, on a very different kind of battlefield.
That was her.
The woman they had discussed in passing.
The Ghost of Gotham.
The Avenger.
Bruce, apparently, had already gone beyond the stage of words.
Clark watched the Batman go utterly still.
Gordon on the screen turned at the exact right moment and began giving quick instructions to the officers nearby, but Clark barely heard any of it.
The press was shouting.
The civilians were reacting.
Cameras were flashing.
And she stood there like the entire city had already accepted that she belonged in the middle of disaster.
Then another figure landed nearby.
Red Hood.
Clark didn’t know the name instantly.
But he knew enough of Gotham’s family tree to understand from Bruce’s reaction that this was not good.
Bruce physically stepped back.
Just one step.
But Clark saw it.
He saw the way Bruce’s hands curled slightly at his sides.
The way he looked like he had been hit by something invisible.
The way his entire body seemed to register something complicated and painful all at once.
Clark’s gaze snapped to Bruce again.
“Bruce?”
Bruce said nothing.
He was staring at the screen.
At her.
Clark followed his line of sight and then back again.
And then it hit him—
not just that Bruce knew her.
Not just that Bruce cared.
It was much worse than that.
Clark couldn’t name the exact shape of it, but it was there in the silence.
History.
Something old and deep and unresolved.
Something that had not gone away just because time had passed.
The kind of thing that could fracture a person if looked at too directly.
On the screen, Gordon was talking to her now.
She nodded in quick response, clearly already understanding the situation before anyone finished explaining.
The reporters kept shouting.
The civilians looked half-thrilled and half-terrified.
She ignored all of it.
Clark’s attention flicked back to Bruce as the man silently put his walls back up.
Fast.
Efficient.
Too fast.
He coughed once and straightened.
“Continue the meeting.”
Clark blinked. “What?”
Bruce’s voice was colder now. Controlled. “Continue.”
Clark stared at him for a second.
Then the alarm on the screen, the broadcast, the reaction, the newly arrived vigilante, the unmistakable tension in the cave—all of it suddenly clicked into place in a way he did not yet fully understand but absolutely did not like.
Bruce was not surprised by her presence.
Bruce was devastated by it.
Clark opened his mouth to ask a question, then stopped.
Whatever this was, it clearly was not a conversation Bruce was ready to have in front of League members.
So instead he did what he always did when Gotham became emotionally impossible.
He stayed quiet.
A/N: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH YEARNING BRUCE BUT FROM SOMEONE ELSES POV. Why do we think Bruce was ready to throw Clark of the roof? Also I will be giving us a name from next chapter onward because of how HARD it is to maintain it whiteout one. (Also yes I kinda want us to be the PREVIUS BATWOMAN before we changed out name or maybe now idk yet) Hope you enjoyed it :)
Summary: "Every muscle in his body went stiff with shock. And then he broke. Not in a dramatic way. Not loudly. Just enough that when he tried to pull himself together, his throat closed hard and he had to blink fast because the pressure behind his eyes was suddenly unbearable."
-> Bruce Wayne x vigilante!reader , Dc x Marvel crossover, recounting of old memories, jail breakout, reunion, description of violence
IV <- V->VI
Red Hood was shaking.
Not on the outside.
Not where anyone could see it.
Inside.
Where it mattered.
Where it hurt.
He stood on the slick rooftop across from the children’s hospital, rain from an earlier storm still clinging to the ledges and draining in silver threads down the brick walls. Gotham’s night air was sharp and cold, full of sirens in the distance and the faint, ugly smell of smoke drifting up from somewhere lower in the city. The hospital glowed across the block like a giant pale lantern, all clean windows and warm light that seemed almost offensive in a city like this.
Joker had chosen it for exactly that reason.
Of course he had.
Jason’s hands tightened around the grips of his guns as he watched the building.
A children’s hospital.
He wanted to set the entire city on fire.
He wanted to tear Joker apart with his bare hands.
He wanted—
No.
Not now.
He swallowed hard and dragged in a breath that did absolutely nothing to steady him.
Because she was here.
Standing beside him.
Alive.
Real.
And she had no idea who he was.
That part hit worse than the rest.
It hit in tiny, precise cuts.
Every time she turned her head and called him “Red Hood” instead of “JayBird.”
Every time her voice carried that same familiar warmth but never the recognition he desperately wanted.
Every time she looked at him like he was only a dangerous ally and not the child she had once patched up in her kitchen while telling him to stop trying to die on her.
He had missed her so much it made his teeth ache.
He had missed her laugh.
Her hands on his armor when she was adjusting his stance.
Her sarcasm.
The way she used to flick him in the forehead whenever he got too cocky.
The way she would call Bruce “an emotionally constipated menace” when she thought no one was listening.
Jason had loved her before he ever understood what that love was.
And now she was here, in Gotham, at his side, and she didn’t even know it was him.
It almost broke him.
Almost.
He saw her glance at the hospital entrance, jaw clenched, shoulders tight beneath the black-and-red tactical layers of her suit. The hood she wore shadowed most of her face, and the domino mask only made her expression sharper, more unreadable. The utility belt sat snug at her waist, packed with gear Jason knew she was already mentally counting.
She always counted exits.
Always.
His chest hurt.
He heard her breathe out slowly.
Then she spoke under her breath, too low for anyone else to hear.
“Too many cameras.”
Jason’s head turned slightly toward her.
She wasn’t talking to him.
She was muttering to herself.
Jason almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the hospital doors burst open two stories below them and the night exploded into movement.
Joker’s goons flooded the entrance in bright, ugly masks and mismatched gear, all of them moving with the frantic energy of men who knew they were expendable. One of them shouted something obscene. Another kicked over a tray cart. Somewhere inside, a child screamed.
Jason moved on instinct.
The girl moved with him.
He dropped from the rooftop ledge first, landing in a crouch on the concrete steps below. She hit the ground half a second after him with barely a sound, cape flaring behind her before settling against her back.
The first thing she did was look at him.
Not the building.
Not the men.
Him.
Assessing.
Measuring.
Then she glanced back toward the doors and said, “I can clear the west hall.”
Jason gave her a flat look. “I can help.”
She immediately shook her head. “Absolutely not. I can handle Joker alone.”
Jason stared at her for a long second.
There it was again.
That tiny flicker.
The one he’d seen before whenever he tried to help and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the offer.
Not distrust.
Not rejection.
Something sadder.
Older.
He saw her jaw tighten a fraction.
Her shoulders stayed square, but not loose. Not relaxed. Like the idea of anyone standing too close to her in a fight still made part of her body lock up before she forced it to cooperate.
Jason knew that hesitation.
Knew it in his bones.
It wasn’t about capability.
She could kill every goon in front of her without breaking a sweat.
It was about the act of letting someone in beside her.
That was the part she still didn’t do easily.
Not after what happened to him.
That was the part Gotham had taught both of them to treat like a weakness.
Jason kept his voice steady.
“Yeah,” he said. “You can.”
She looked suspiciously at him.
He tilted his head toward the doors. “And you’re still not doing it alone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re very stubborn.”
“First day on the job?”
“I hate that you said that.”
“I know.”
She huffed a breath, nearly a laugh, but it didn’t fully reach her eyes.
Jason noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He took one step closer, lowering his voice.
“Listen to me,” he said. “We don’t know how many men he’s got in there. We don’t know how many kids are already inside. We don’t know if he’s wired the place.”
Her stare didn’t move from his.
Jason continued, softer now. “You don’t go in alone.”
The wind shifted.
A faint metallic clatter came from somewhere on the roofline behind them.
She looked back at the hospital, then at the street, then at the building again as if weighing the options against every old instinct screaming in her head.
Jason could see the answer forming before she said it.
Not because she wanted to agree.
Because she knew he was right.
Her jaw worked once.
Then she exhaled through her nose.
“Fine,” she said tightly. “But if you slow me down, I’m leaving you in a closet.”
Jason snorted. “That’s the spirit.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He actually smiled at that, just a little.
Then she was moving.
She fired a grapnel line up to the second-floor fire escape and launched herself toward the side of the building with elegant force. Jason followed an instant later, boots striking metal as he climbed after her.
Inside the hospital, alarms had already started blaring.
Red lights flashed across polished floors.
Somewhere deeper in the building, a nurse screamed.
Jason pushed the door open with his shoulder and slipped into the corridor behind her.
The smell hit first.
Antiseptic.
Smoke.
Blood.
The sterile scent of a place built to heal now smeared with chaos.
Joker’s goons were everywhere.
Two at the far end of the hall.
Three near the nurses’ station.
One with a shotgun who looked up just in time to see Jason draw his pistol.
He dropped before he could fire.
The girl moved like a shadow beside him, all sharp angles and ruthless efficiency. She disarmed one man with a strike to the wrist and buried her elbow into another’s throat before he could shout. Her boots barely made a sound against the linoleum as she crossed the hallway, yanking a knife from her belt and slashing the strap of a gun holster off one of the guards with surgical precision.
Jason stared for half a second.
Then he heard her mutter, “Your stance is wrong.”
He blinked. “What?”
She ducked beneath a swinging crowbar and snapped her leg into the attacker’s knee. “Your weight is too far back. You’ll lose balance if you keep shooting from there.”
Jason shot the next man in the shoulder and frowned at her. “I’m in the middle of a fight.”
“And I’m helping.”
He barked a short laugh despite himself. “You always talk like this?”
“Only when I’m right.”
“Pain in the ass.”
“Extremely.”
Another goon rushed from the side corridor.
Jason turned, but she was already there, hook-kicking the man into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.
“Better,” she said.
Jason stared at her. “You just corrected my combat form while we’re in a pediatric war zone.”
She slid a smoke pellet between her fingers and smirked faintly. “And you’re still standing, so it seems to be working.”
He should not have found that funny.
He did.
Barely.
Joker’s laughter crackled through the intercom system at the end of the hall.
Every light in the corridor flickered.
Jason’s entire spine went rigid.
There.
That voice.
Every muscle in his body went hot with rage.
The girl heard it too.
She went still for half a heartbeat before her expression flattened into something colder.
“The clown’s upstairs,” Jason pointed it out casually.
“I gathered.”
“Try not to say it like you’re disappointed.”
She glanced at him. “I’m saving that for later.”
Then she moved.
They advanced room by room.
Each hallway was a fight.
Each corner another ambush.
The hospital had too many hiding places and too many civilians trapped in the wrong places. Somewhere on the second floor a frightened child cried out for their mother. Somewhere else, glass shattered. Jason took out two guards in rapid succession while she reached over his shoulder to jam a blade into a security panel and disable the automatic locking system before Joker could seal off another wing.
He saw the way she handled the kids they passed.
Gentle without slowing.
A hand on a trembling shoulder.
A soft “Keep low, sweetheart.”
An urgent “Stay behind the nurses.”
No hesitation.
No fear.
The same woman he remembered.
Just older.
Sharper around the edges.
Too many years had passed and somehow she was still exactly the kind of person who would risk herself for children she had just met.
Jason’s chest tightened.
“You know,” he said while kicking a thug’s weapon away, “you could at least pretend this is new for you.”
“Why?”
“You make it look too easy.”
She glanced sideways at him while ducking under a pipe and sweeping a man’s legs out from under him.
“It is easy.”
Jason stared.
She immediately corrected herself with a flat look. “For me.”
He let out a rough laugh and nearly got clipped across the ribs by a pipe wrench for his trouble.
She saved him with a knife to the guy’s wrist.
Jason looked at her.
She looked back.
Then she muttered, “Focus.”
He tilted his head while spreading his arms out dramatically. Grinning like an idiot under his mask.
He just knew she was rolling her eyes at his behavior.
And that, somehow, made the whole thing feel worse.
Not because it was bad.
Because it was good.
Too good.
Like some part of them had always known how to move together even when they didn’t have names for the feeling.
They reached the main ward entrance and stopped short.
Too many men.
At least a dozen.
Joker’s guys were barricading the entrance, and behind them Jason could hear panicked voices and the sharp, frightened cries of children trying not to cry too loudly.
One of the goons looked up.
“Red Hood!”
Another spotted her.
“There’s two of them!”
Gunfire erupted instantly.
Jason swore.
She grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him down behind the wall as bullets ripped into the frame beside them.
“We need to regroup and think of a plan,” she said, ducking another burst of fire.
Jason glanced around wildly. “Where would we even hide?”
She pointed upward.
The vent.
He stared.
Then at the men.
Then back at her.
She already had a smoke pellet in her hand.
Jason’s mouth twitched. “You cannot be serious.”
She tossed the pellet directly into the center of the hall.
Smoke flooded the air in a thick white surge.
Gunfire coughed out in confusion.
She was already moving.
Jason cursed and followed her.
They pulled the vent cover off with a sharp clang and climbed into the tight metal duct just as the first screams of frustration echoed below.
Jason crawled after her, trying not to curse every time his armor scraped the metal edges.
He looked ahead through the narrow darkness.
“You do this a lot?” he muttered.
“Use vents?”
“Break into hospitals.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Only when the world gives me no other choice.”
Jason snorted. “That’s Gotham for you.”
“Unfortunately.”
The vent opened into a maintenance corridor lined with cleaning carts and supply lockers.
The second they dropped down, both of them froze.
Because the people in the corridor—
were dressed like nurses.
Jason stared.
She stared.
Then slowly turned toward him.
He slowly turned toward her.
A beat.
Then both of them had the exact same thought at the exact same time.
Jason spoke first.
“I hate that this makes sense.”
She was already moving toward the nearest supply closet. “Less talking. More disguising.”
Five minutes later, Jason found himself standing in a stolen nurse uniform that looked absurdly wrong over his armor while she had somehow managed to slip into a matching set of scrubs with a surgical mask pulled over her mouth.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Then she motioned at his helmet.
“You need to take that off.”
Jason’s entire body locked.
He looked at the floor.
Then back at her.
“You’re joking.”
She crossed her arms. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“A little, yes.”
She stared at him with that same infuriatingly direct expression that had once made him confess things he had not planned to say out loud.
He swallowed.
Because this was where it got dangerous.
This was the part where he had to trust that she wouldn’t recognize him before he was ready.
The part where everything could shatter.
He looked toward the closet door, then back at her.
“Bruce is gonna kill me for this.”
The words came out quieter than he meant.
She blinked.
Then her expression shifted.
Not in the obvious way.
Not immediately.
But Jason saw the tiny crack in her calm.
Saw the tenderness trying not to show.
He reached up slowly and removed the helmet.
The second he did, the air changed.
Her face went utterly still.
Jason’s own breath caught.
The surgical mask covered half her face, but her eyes—
her eyes widened first.
Then softened.
Then filled.
No words came out right away.
Neither of them moved.
Jason thought, stupidly and helplessly, that this was what it felt like when a door you had left open for years suddenly opened again from the other side.
Then she inhaled sharply and crossed the room in three fast steps.
The next second she had both arms around him.
Jason froze.
Every muscle in his body went stiff with shock.
And then he broke.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not loudly.
Just enough that when he tried to pull himself together, his throat closed hard and he had to blink fast because the pressure behind his eyes was suddenly unbearable.
Her hand was on the back of his head.
Her other arm had tightened around him like she was afraid he would disappear again if she let go.
“Jason,” she whispered.
God.
He had not realized how much he needed to hear his name from her until now.
Not Hood.
Not Red Hood.
Jason.
He let himself fold into the hug, forehead dropping briefly against her shoulder.
For a second neither of them said anything.
Then her voice shook very slightly when she spoke again.
“You’re alive.”
Jason made a weak, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”
Her grip tightened.
“I knew there was something wrong about the way you held your knife.”
That made him laugh properly this time, though it came out rough and broken.
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I noticed.”
“You noticed my knife stance?”
She drew back just enough to look at him, eyes wet now, and gave him a look that was equal parts devastated and furious.
“I noticed a lot of things.”
Jason’s chest hurt.
She reached up and touched his face with one hand like she was verifying he was real.
Then her expression changed.
The warmth in her face hardened instantly into something dangerous.
Jason immediately knew exactly where this was going.
“Wait,” she said slowly. “Did Bruce know?”
Jason went still.
He tried to look away.
She saw it instantly.
“Jason.”
“Don’t.”
“Did he know?”
“Can we not do this right now?”
“Jason.”
That tone.
That look.
She had always done that to him.
And Bruce too.
That calm, terrible stare that meant she already knew the answer and was deciding how much violence she was going to unleash about it.
Jason lasted exactly two seconds.
Then he folded.
He looked at the floor.
She went very still.
“Oh my God,” she said quietly.
Jason winced.
She stared at him like she could not decide whether to cry or kill someone first.
“He knew.”
Jason didn’t answer.
She let out one sharp, disbelieving breath and put a hand over her mouth.
Then the hand dropped.
And the fury arrived.
Full force.
“I am going to kill him.”
Jason flinched despite himself.
She looked up at him, eyes blazing now. “He knew, and no one TRIED TELLING ME?"
Jason raised both hands defensively. “I was trying to tell you the plan—”
“The plan,” she repeated, glaring.
“Yes, the plan.”
“The plan where all of you apparently thought I would just fall into line and trust everyone’s weird little emotional hostage situation?”
Jason winced harder.
Because yes.
That was exactly the plan.
And she was right to be angry.
And this was very, very bad.
Because her being angry at Bruce now meant the entire emotional reunion setup he and the others had been trying to build for weeks had just gone up in flames.
He saw it all too clearly.
Dick was going to be miserable.
Barbara was going to curse for a week straight.
Tim-well honestly he didn't know how Tim would react.
Damian was going to become personally offended by the existence of consequences.
And Bruce—
Bruce was going to have an apocalypse-level nervous breakdown.
Jason shut his eyes briefly.
“Great,” he muttered. “This is going fantastically.”
She folded her arms. “You should be worried about Bruce.”
“I am worried about Bruce.”
“No, I mean you should be worried because I am going to tell him exactly what I think of him.”
Jason made a sound halfway between a cough and a plea for mercy.
She nodded once, satisfied that the universe had become correct again, then turned sharply back to the mission.
“Later,” she said. “We finish this first.”
Jason stared at her.
Then let out a breath and nodded.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We finish this.”
They got moving again.
This time with helmets and masks back on, bodies hidden again beneath the anonymity of the mission.
But something had shifted.
Jason could feel it in the way she moved beside him now.
Less distant.
Less careful.
As though she had finally let herself remember who he was under the armor.
They took down the next line of goons disguised in hospital gear with brutal efficiency.
One by one.
Silent.
Fast.
Jason caught on quickly to her signals.
She used hand motions that he recognized from years ago before she had even realized she was doing them.
Left shoulder meaning go.
Fingers brushing her belt meaning smoke.
Two taps at his wrist meaning cover her line of sight.
He followed each one instinctively.
Because somehow, after everything, they still worked like this.
A man rounded the corner and saw them in the doorway.
Too late.
Jason struck first, knocking the weapon out of his hands.
She finished the takedown.
Another came after her from behind.
Jason shot out his leg to trip him.
She twisted, grabbed the man’s collar, and slammed him into the wall hard enough to rattle the light fixtures.
“Nice,” Jason muttered.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am a little.”
She gave him a look over the top edge of her mask. “Don’t make me regret mentoring you.”
Jason barked out a laugh.
They reached the final ward just as Joker’s voice blasted through the hospital speakers again.
“Oh, this is delicious! Children, hide your tears! Heroes, hide your heads! Daddy’s here for the fun part!”
Jason’s whole body went rigid.
He heard her inhale sharply beside him.
Her knuckles cracked around the weapon in her hand.
Then they kicked the ward doors open.
Joker was there.
Standing in the center of the room amid overturned beds, broken toys, and terrified children huddled behind the nurses’ station.
He turned slowly, grin spreading impossibly wide.
“Well, well,” he crooned. “If it isn’t Gotham’s favorite little resurrection project and one of its old bats.”
Jason moved before the man could finish the sentence.
The fight exploded.
It was brutal.
Fast.
Ugly.
Joker’s men tried to swarm them, but it didn’t matter.
Jason was all rage and precision.
She was all control and fury.
Together they carved through the room like a storm.
Jason heard her calling out directions to the children.
“Under the beds!”
“Stay low!”
“Do not look at him!”
He nearly smiled despite the blood pounding in his ears.
Joker tried to slip toward the back emergency exit.
Jason went after him.
One of the goons intercepted him and got thrown bodily into a medical cart.
She appeared beside him an instant later, knocking the knife out of another thug’s hand.
“Left!” Jason shouted.
She ducked.
A blade missed her cheek by a hair.
Then she drove her elbow into the attacker’s throat and moved on without breaking stride.
Joker made one last desperate lunge toward a detonator clipped to the wall.
Jason fired.
The shot knocked it free before his fingers could touch it.
The resulting spark was enough to send the man stumbling back into the center of the room.
She was already there.
The takedown was fast.
Merciless.
Precise.
When it was over, Joker lay on the floor groaning and swearing while his remaining men were unconscious, tied, or trying desperately not to cry.
The children were safe.
The nurses were shaken.
The room had gone quiet except for the faint hum of emergency lights.
Jason stood breathing hard in the middle of the wreckage.
Then one of the children peeked from behind the nurse’s station.
A little girl.
Maybe seven.
She stared at Jason.
Then at the girl beside him.
Then at the clown sprawled on the floor.
And very carefully said, “Are you the good guys?”
Jason looked at the girl beside him.
She looked back.
Then she crouched slightly so the child could see her better and said, in the softest voice he had heard her use all night, “Yes, sweetheart. We’re the good guys.”
The little girl took another cautious step.
Then several more kids came out from hiding.
One boy with a stuffed rabbit clutched to his chest stared up at Jason with enormous eyes.
“You’re scary.”
Jason gave him a flat look. “Thanks.”
The boy considered this.
Then nodded. “You too.”
The girl made a sound that was very clearly a laugh trying not to be loud.
Jason looked at her.
Even with the mask, he could see the warmth in her eyes.
The one he remembered.
The one he had missed.
He realized then that the mission had shifted without him noticing.
It was over.
The danger had passed.
What remained was the aftermath.
And somehow that was the most dangerous part of all.
Because when the kids started asking questions, they had to answer.
And when the nurses started thanking them, they had to stand there and take it.
And when the hospital doors finally opened and the police came rushing in with Gordon at the front, the whole world was about to become far too interested.
Gordon stopped dead when he saw her.
Jason saw it immediately.
The way the commissioner’s face changed from tired to shocked to deeply, deeply pleased in the span of about one second.
He looked like he wanted to say a thousand things.
Instead he just exhaled.
“Well,” Gordon said, staring at them. “You two sure know how to make an entrance to a party.”
Jason tilted his head. “You’re welcome.”
Gordon shook his head and turned toward the nurses, already taking control of the scene.
The children, however, had other ideas.
One of them latched onto Jason’s leg.
Another grabbed the edge of her suit.
“Don’t go,” the first little girl whispered.
Jason froze.
The girl beside him lowered herself to one knee again and gently rested a hand on the child’s shoulder.
“We have to go check the rest of the hospital,” she said softly.
The child’s lower lip wobbled. “But you came back.”
The room went very still.
Jason looked at her.
Her expression had changed.
Something tender and broken and nearly unbearable crossed her face before she smoothed it away.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I came back.”
Jason’s throat tightened.
Then the second child, a boy with bandaged fingers, looked up at Jason and asked the question that made everyone in the hallway stop breathing.
“Are you coming back too?”
Jason felt the whole room tilt.
He had no answer.
The girl beside him answered first.
She put her hand on his shoulder.
And said, “Yes.”
Jason looked at her.
She looked straight ahead at the children.
But when she spoke again, the words felt like they were meant for him too.
“We’re coming back.”
And for a moment, just for a moment, Jason believed it.
Bruce heard the news alert before the Batcomputer even finished loading the feed.
Arkham escape.
Children’s hospital.
Joker.
Red Hood and a black-and-red vigilante on scene.
He was already moving before the system stabilized.
The monitor in the cave flickered to life.
The live news feed came up first.
Gordon on camera outside the hospital, rain still wet on his coat.
Police barricades.
Ambulances.
Civilians crowding behind the tape.
And then the camera caught movement.
Bruce stopped dead.
Her.
She came out of the hospital with a small cluster of children trailing after her like a flock of frightened ducklings, one little girl holding onto the side of her jacket as if she were afraid she might vanish if she let go.
Jason was beside her.
Alive.
Visible.
Too alive.
Too visible.
Bruce’s hands curled at his sides.
His first thought was fury.
White-hot, immediate fury.
Jason had gone in without clearance.
Jason had gone in with her.
Jason had clearly not told her who he was.
And Bruce was going to have a very serious conversation with him that involved several deeply unpleasant words and possibly a wall.
Then the camera shifted again.
The children were laughing now.
Not all of them.
Some were still crying.
Some looked stunned.
But they were moving.
Escorted.
Alive.
Safe.
His anger faltered just enough to let the rest of the scene hit.
She had gotten them out.
She had taken down Joker in a children’s hospital and gotten every single one of those kids out alive.
Bruce’s jaw clenched painfully.
Of course she had.
Of course she would.
He watched her crouch to speak to one of the children, saw the softness in her posture, the care in the way she kept her body angled so the kid could stand closer without fear.
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
Because he knew that posture.
Knew that version of her.
Knew how many times she had done that in Gotham before she ever left.
He knew it the way one knew a song they had spent years trying not to hear.
Jason said something to her on the sidewalk.
She looked at him.
Bruce saw the exchange but not the words.
Then Jason did the thing Bruce should have known he would do the second he was overwhelmed.
He hugged her.
Not a casual bump.
Not a rough one-armed gesture.
A full, sudden, devastatingly real hug.
Bruce’s entire body went still.
The rage came back instantly.
Because Jason Todd had the audacity—after disappearing, after surviving, after returning, after everything—to hug her in front of a live camera like this was normal.
Bruce stared.
And then, because his life had apparently become a cruel joke, he realized something even worse.
He could not decide whether he wanted to strangle Jason or pull him closer.
The silence inside the Batcave stretched so long it turned brittle.
Then the live feed shifted again.
The camera zoomed in.
Someone from the press shouted a question.
“Can you tell us who you are?”
Another voice called, “Are you officially working with Batman again?”
A third asked, “Is this your return to Gotham?”
Bruce watched as she turned her head slightly toward the crowd.
Even at a distance, even through the grainy broadcast, he knew the exact expression on her face.
The one that said she had already decided this was too much.
The one that meant she was about to leave.
Then one of the reporters edged closer.
“Is it true you’ve been in Gotham for days? Are you here to stay?”
She stared at the microphone for one long second.
Bruce felt every muscle in his body lock.
A fraction of a second later, she shot a line to the rooftop beside the hospital and disappeared upward in a spray of motion and red-black blur.
The reporter yelped.
The camera jerked.
The broadcast lost her immediately.
Bruce exhaled once through his nose, sharp and disbelieving.
Clark, who had only just been halfway out of the cave after the earlier meeting, paused with his coat in hand and watched the screen with obvious interest.
“You know her,” he said carefully.
Bruce didn’t look at him.
The monitor showed the rooftop where she had vanished.
“Continue the interview?” Clark asked.
Bruce’s voice was too controlled to be healthy.
“No.”
Clark frowned. “Bruce—”
“She is not available.”
That made Clark pause.
He glanced at the screen, then at Bruce, clearly deciding not to push.
Probably wise.
Meanwhile the second screen in the cave lit up with Gotham’s emergency news ticker.
Live updates.
Footage.
Reaction.
Headlines.
And, because Gotham could never let a thing remain simple for even thirty seconds, the broadcast began showing edited clips from the hospital as citizens started flooding social media with shaky phone footage of her leaving the scene.
Children waving.
Gordon smiling.
Jason standing beside her in Red Hood gear with a posture that made him look like he had just been hit by a truck and had somehow decided this was still the best day of his life.
Bruce turned away from the screen before he could react too visibly.
Then the Batfamily group chat began exploding.
'Don’t Tell Bruce'
DihForBrains:
WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED
BrainCellHolder:
I need everyone to stay calm.
Overworked Intern:
I am NOT calm.
Barbie Bat:
DID HE HUG HER???
Shadow Gremlin:
:)
Walking Flashlight:
I just watched live footage of a civilian child ask if she was coming back?? WHAT IS THIS EMOTIONAL DAMAGE
Hoodrat:
She knows.
Silence.
Then immediately:
BrainCellHolder:
Jason what do you mean she knows
Hoodrat:
She knows I’m alive.
DihForBrains:
OH MY GOD
Overworked Intern:
WAIT WAIT WAIT did you tell her???
Hoodrat:No.
Barbie Bat:
JASON.
Hoodrat:I PANICKED.
Shadow Gremlin:
:)
Walking Flashlight:
Did she freak out???
Hoodrat:A little.
DihForBrains:
“A little” as in emotionally devastated or as in “I am going to murder Bruce Wayne” because those are different levels.
Hoodrat
Both.
BrainCellHolder:
Oh no.
Overworked Intern:
OH FOR FUCKS SAKE
Barbie Bat:
Is Bruce alive
Hoodrat:Probably not for long.
Yeah Bruce was fucked.
A/N: Unironicly this took way to long cus I rewrote it like 5 times - Anywho hope you all enjoyed it and I hope you all have a lovely day! Any suggestions yall would like to see lmk Im open for em :)
Summary: Justice League having to work with the demon! reader that they accidently summoned. It's proving to be very hard, but they wouldn't have it any other way.
TW: Rape very very briefly mentioned. Reader kills one. So beware?. I wouldn't say this is nsfw, but reader does make sex jokes. Reader is just very immature in general.
To you, the Justice League’s official handbook is nothing more than toilet paper.
you don't do "stealth," and you certainly don't do "holding back." Your entire combat strategy is a mess which drives the heavy hitters up the wall because it actually works.
The biggest point of contention is, obviously, the "no kill" rule. You understand the concept of morality about as well as Batman understands a joke. To you, taking out the trash is just more efficient
Because why would anyone want to keep a rapist alive???
Batman's tried to explain the whole "it'll lead you down the dark path" thing but you're straight from hell. So it doesn't really get any darker than that. Also, that ship is far sailed.
The Watchtower’s comms are frequently treated to the exact same argument every single week.
Batman will be brooding at the monitor "Reader. I explicitly said you cannot kill the cartel leaders. We needed them for interrogation."
You will literally pout, crossing your arms "But Bruce! They hurt kids! I did the world a favor. You should be thanking me, you're WELCOME, Reader" you mock
The League eventually had to create a literal "Days Since Reader Committed Mid-Tier Homicide" whiteboard in the cafeteria.
It rarely makes it past three.
Superman usually just sighs, rubs his temples, and says, "At least they're filtering for the genuinely horrific ones…" while Batman ages a good decade from sheer stress.
Being a demon means you possess an almost unfair supernatural level of physical attractiveness that breaks human brains too
You know it, you abuse it, and you use it as a shortcut for everything.
Why spend three hours hacking a mainframe or staging a complex stakeout when you can just look at a security guard, and have them handing over their keycards
and credit cards, which the league doesn't need to know about. You've got a very expensive shopping habit to pay for. It's your human hobby.
The Flash will be running around trying to evacuate a collapsing building, and he’ll look over to see you leaning against a piece of rubble, casually twirling your hair, and giving a terrified but intensely aroused mother your number.
"Hey babe, if we survive the alien invasion, you should show me around Gotham. I hear the villains suck, but I suck harder"
Your loudest and most frequent complaint while lounging around the Watchtower is the utter lack of "spiciness" in the universe
You will literally crash a high-level briefing about Darkseid just to groan loudly into the table
"Ugh, Bruce, this planet is dry. Where are the sluts? Why is everyone so repressed? I went to Central City yesterday and the most exciting thing I saw was an ankle. I'm starving. I need a real, degenerate night out or I'm going to start biting people."
Your approach to conflict resolution makes Batman want to launch himself into the sun
BATMAN: " Joker has secured three bombs across the tri-state area. We need a three-pronged approach to dismantle the triggers simultaneously…"
READER, swiveling in chair: "Or… I could just make him fall
in love with me, Bruce. We don't need to do all of that."
BATMAN: "He is a homicidal psychopath."
READER: "Sounds like a great lay"
You have tried this on multiple villains.
You once casually mentioned that Poison Ivy "could get it if she stopped trying to kill everyone for a few hours," which led to an incredibly awkward silence where Green Arrow had to physically restrain a disgusted but slightly flattered Ivy.
You also treat comms like something to talk about your day to
Half the time, Martian Manhunter has to mute your feed because you're broadcasting graphic descriptions of what you want to do to various famous people (Black Canary, Richard Grayson, Oliver Queen, the list goes on)
"I want to *@#%^&*@#&^%@!%6 on that table &^*#@^% night along, %$^&*@#$ she's so hot, the way I'd %$^*$%^"
Diana is absolutely horrified.
Batman finds a way to string your ass from the ceiling for telling him you'd bang his oldest son.
You're strung up again once you let him know that you'd also do the second.
You're either talking pure thirst on comms, or you're narrating your experience with human foods
"Guys, I ate something called a 'Chipotle burrito' and I think my stomach plans to explode. Clark, if I die, tell that cute barista on 5th street I loved her. And the guy who deals drugs in Crime Alley. He gave me some free coke. Oh! And the pretty girl at the mall. Please. And the fling from the bar. And the--"
"Reader, how many people are you dating at the same time ??"
You refuse to wear a standard uniform. "Spandex makes my ass look flat and it suffocates my energy," you claim
Which is not an issue for Nightwing, but you're not him unfortunately.
Instead, you fight crime in outfits that look like they were stolen from a high-end lingerie boutique or a heavy metal video shoot.
Diana spends half her time trying to adjust your top so you don't give the evening news a completely different kind of show during a live press conference
Despite the fact that you are a walking HR violation and PR disaste you are completely indispensable
When the chips are down, your demonic magic bypasses standard physics
You can rip open portals through hell dimensions to bypass alien shield
Your raw strength rivals Wonder Woman's when you're angry, and you have a weirdly fierce loyalty to the League.
You might call Batman a "repressed old virgin" to his face every morning, but the second someone tries to take a swing at him from behind, you will literally tear their soul out through their throat before they can blink.
Pairing: Vergil/(Fem)Reader.
Content/Warnings: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex (Fem Receiving), Cunnilingus, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Rough Sex, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Sin Devil Trigger Sex, Monster Fucking.
Word Count: 9,569.
Summary: Honestly, you really should’ve expected your first time having sex with Vergil would end up like that.
A/N: my manifesto on how bad i wanna fuck vergil's sdt form.
Devil May Cry Masterlist
You thought you had gotten your fair share of relationship advice from all of your snooping women family members and friends as you had grown up, and you were completely set when it came down to the romantic aspect of your life. Though nothing could’ve really prepared you for one of the only real and serious relationships you actually ended up in. Your mother and aunts had nothing on how to date a damn half-demon.
Or how to engage in sex with a half-demon.
On your behalf you figured it was just the same as having sex with a… human (it sounded so odd when you said it aloud), your half-demon looked like a ‘regular’ man – if you could count white hair, standing at six-foot-five, carrying around katana everywhere, and a stare that could make lesser strong-willed people piss themselves… Actually, you were completely wrong to think it was the same.
A relationship with Vergil was… interesting at times, but you were no quitter. Granted the two of yours relationship was ridiculously rocky at the beginning, but it came to a heads and you were later able to learn after jumping him and making out with him you two had been evidently pining for one and another so hard it made Dante sick and he’d been doing everything in his power to get you both laid and to stop eye-fucking each other every five minutes. Dante had been the one to warn you of getting into something like that with his elder brother, Nero almost looking traumatized when you had gotten around to telling him – “Hey, me and your dad? Yeah, we’re in a relationship, but we haven’t fucked yet so don’t worry.” – and told you maybe it was difficult to be with someone like him but sending you his best wishes otherwise. But of course, you were not a quitter.
Such as when you wanted to finally have sex with him, and when you finally did.
Perhaps you should’ve thought it through more; Vergil could lift a car with one hand and fling it more than one-hundred yards if he wanted to, he could rip a demon’s head off with one hand, kick a solid hole into a concrete wall, and not to mention all other demon abilities that he possessed. Such as what they called Devil Trigger. You had seen it before: a huge, blue, hulking beast full of scales, clawed nails, a long tail with the slicing tip, wings with a width span rivaling that of some sort of fairytale dragon, horns that executed a burn of blue fire (?), and the maw of sharp teeth that you had seen a handful of times whenever out on the field. However, you didn’t give it too much thought since you figured he only transformed during a fight and was always in control of it.
That was probably another case of poor judgement on your behalf.
Vergil was dominant through and through and practiced keeping himself composed above of all else, though at times it was you that was able to break that exterior and got him to loosen up – whether it was in the bedroom or not. At first you hadn’t been confident enough to push him like that, but when you were able to observe his eyes linger on your thighs if you wore any clothing exposing them, a vein rise from his temple that one time you wore that blue dress he liked with the slit up the leg and when you moved a certain way that revealed your panties, or when you had left the top three buttons undone of your shirt and watched his Adam’s apple bob with the deep swallow he made when you bent over in front of his face, it was enough to get you to try and get his attention to let him know you wanted him sexually as well as the way you already had him.
Vergil may have acted all stoic but the times you caught him just stripping out of nowhere in front of you and stretching a leg out until he could flex a thigh was enough to let you know the feeling was probably mutual. Often times he’d purposefully brush up against your back when you were in front of him, his hands drifting across your waist and trailing down your hips as he did so before ghosting away when you tried and lean back into his touch or turn around and look at him. He wanted you just as bad as you wanted him, though you had no idea why he would hold himself back.
More than often you found yourself on top of Vergil or underneath him as you both engaged in one of your many sessions of making-out and dry-humping, the trysts getting hot and heavy to the point you’d pull at his belt or snag a hand down the front of his pants in an unsaid beg for wanting him to just get inside of you once and for all. However it never ended up the way you wanted, Vergil would let out a hiss you had never really heard or knew he could do and roll away from you, chest heaving and nearly ripping the bedsheet apart from how hard he clutched it. Back then, you hadn’t known he was trying to control himself.
From what? Well…
Maybe you should have paid more attention to when his eyes would glow a haunting cat-like blue, or when you found shreds in your shirt from when his nails grew into talons, or that one time his tongue grew and slithered past your uvula in some form metaphorical oral sex as he made it thrust in, out and all around your mouth while it felt grooved. You were ashamed to admit that it made you cum from the feeling while you thought about how good it would feel eating you out as he did it.
Still, he never pushed it any further than foreplay and you would often go to bed with soaked underwear and him with an erection. Part of you thought he just didn’t want to, and another part of you had been afraid that from the way you gyrated your hips away on his erection and felt the size of him that you’d be unable to take him. But you were not a quitter and were horny beyond belief for him to just indent you into your mattress for once and all, and given how he’d grunt, groan and hiss into your mouth and skin, you knew the feeling was mutual.
So when the time came and you finally got him to actually fuck you and not just grind up on your clothed cunt or tease you with his fingers, nothing really prepared you for what happened. Looking back on it you found it funny, but in the heat of the moment you figured just why he would pull away from your dry-fucking moments.
(You knew a Devil Trigger could be caused by a state of heightened emotions… but not like Vergil had done during the first time you two had sex.)
In had started like that again, you two were alone at the shop again – you figured Vergil only engaged in intimacy like that when he knew Dante or Trish weren’t around to hear you both – and it was late at night while you two did your usual limbo. You couldn’t quite remember when he decided to say fuck it and push his cock inside of you. Maybe it was when you told him you were so wet that you were sure you could take all of him at once as he was two fingers deep in you, or when you struck his ego by saying if he couldn’t get you to cum like that he couldn’t get you to cum while actually inside of you as you rolled your soaked shorts up against his hard, clothed cock.
If you had to guess it was a mixture, the former being almost actual truth when he slid in with little to no resistance and the latter ticking him off so bad he tore shreds into your clothes while hissing at you in your ear and threatening to fuck you until you were begging for relief. Too bad for him that had been your plan.
That’s how you found yourself clutching the pillow underneath your head for dear life as Vergil’s cock was all but hitting your cervix while his hands had a near death grip on your hips in the process.
You shouldn’t have pushed his buttons, but damn, if that was what you got in return?
You’d keep doing it.
Your legs took purchase in one curling around his waist in attempts to hold on and the other hitched up on top of his shoulder, the ankle of the leg around his waist pressing into his skin and your heel against his lower back following in it as it curved and curled each time he fucked into you. The temperature in the room was boiling, perspiration lining your bodies down from the forehead to the conjunction of where both of your bodies were currently smacking into one and another. The only sounds you were really able to make out was the smacking of his skin into yours, the headboard of your shared bed knocking into the thinned wallpaper you desperately wanted to change, and your gasped out moans all jumbled in words varying of his name and praises from the ferocity of his movements.
Vergil’s face was probably a God-given sight to see; all flushed and his eyebrows knotted together in ecstasy as he kept his jaw clenched to keep his poorly concealed grunts in his mouth, but alas he kept his lovely expression nearly face down in the pillow you were clasping onto that your head rested on as well. It didn’t help you were talking filthy in his ear either, the loud exhales growling and the grip on your hips bruising every time you moaned out his name driving him forward push and stretch your insides as much as he could.
Unclutching the fabric of the pillow you slid your hands out to dig your nails into his back, earning you a grunt and a particular hard thrust as he pulled out back far enough until his tip was resting on your opening before diving back in. It was insane on how good he felt, your toes curling as that ball of fire behind your naval burned further towards your eventual release whenever he fucked into you harder.
There had been a time you thought ‘How the fuck did someone like him have a son?’, but from the way he was fucking you then… It wasn’t hard to see how it happened.
He was feral, unrestrained and – dare you say it – desperate.
You panted out again as your body rocked underneath his in unison to his hips, mouth finding his ear again to push at his resolve more, “If I would’ve known you – mmmGod – known you’d be like this, I would’ve – fuckrightthere – would’ve begged you more.”
…Was something pinching the skin of your hips?
You didn’t get to look and check when Vergil abruptly let go of your hips and let them land on the headboard above you two, his upper body moving slightly away from yours as the new position allowed him to pick up his speed. You let your eyes finally feast in looking up at his face, an electrifying tingle finding itself into your clit whenever his expression was just like you thought it would be. He looked like he was holding some poorly concealed agitation in, though you knew it was just a mix of his arousal and concentration. You didn’t know what he was so concentrated on, but if it was keeping him to literally rearrange your entire pelvic region… you were fine with it.
Vergil’s eyes fluttered open for a moment when you squeezed around him, a quick peek of his eyes showing you the icy grey you loved to look was bordering on a vivid azure with his pupils dilating back inwards and letting his irises take over. His lips pulled down in a deeper frown when he let a grunt slip by his lips, his pace growing harder and faster as if he wasn’t already balls deep in your pussy and slamming up into your innermost reach. A keening moan of his name caused his eyebrows to furrow greater and his jaw to clench harder as you jerked from the new sound from above you.
It was a scratching noise, almost like a cat was taking it’s claws onto a scratching post but instead it was on your headboard. You paused in your nearly drunken-stupor from clawing at his back in nicks that were already healing and your loud moaning to tilt your head backwards for a look, yet one of Vergil’s hands was quick to grab ahold of your chin and angle your head back towards him.
His eyes nearly made you want to shy away from how intense they were staring down into your own, the shining azure color taking them over and all but glowing in the moonlight shining down into your room. When your eyes shut and you tightened up around his cock once more, he squeezed your cheeks together and an amused huff fell out of him, “What’s the matter? You were so adamant in getting me inside of you, and now you’re suddenly shy?” a hum left him as he slowed to a mouthwatering roll and abruptly the air felt… static-like, his oddly rough hand falling from your face for two of his fingers to press down hard onto your clit.
The jolt of pleasure was nearly mind-numbing whenever the rough exterior of his fingers began to rub your swollen clit in intervals of up and down, back and forth, and sometimes rolling the area and pinching it between his fingertips. You were starting to squirm then because holy shit, why did his fingers feel so fucking rough but so good, and the way they were massaging your clit in swipes had you rolling your eyes back and mouth gaping from how fucking good it felt. There was slight angle of pain but it was quickly overwhelmed and mixed in with the pleasure he was giving you, the knot behind your naval just building, building, and building.
“OhmyGod, Vergil pleasegofaster,” you babbled out in-between the excessive amount of moans and whines as your hands made way to scrape at his chest.
Vergil bent lower, a low groan slipping out again whenever the angle pushed his cock deeper into your warmth and you could’ve swore his own eyes spun back a fraction, until his face was close for his lips to close around one of your nipples. Him biting and sucking at your breasts was one thing, but feeling that fucking ribbed tongue swirling around the expanse of your areola and the highest point of your nipple – oh Jesus fuck why was he so good at it? You didn’t care nor give it any thought that the man was slowly changing right before your very eyes, your frontal lobe only focusing on the slope you were sliding down for your orgasm and just Vergil, Vergil, Vergil.
The mantra in your mind was repeated past your tongue as he bit at your tit one last time and then that sinful tongue was sliding up past your chest, over your throat, along your jaw, before his mouth found way for your ear again. His teeth felt sharper than normal as he took your earlobe between them until he decided to latch off and bless you with his voice that was slowly beginning to lose its composure.
“Are you begging now? How indecent of you, it’s almost pathetic how desperate you sound.”
…Why did his voice sound like that? It was a near sort of echo, the underlining of his usual nasally voice was there but it was twinged with something else that you couldn’t put your finger on. It felt like that static ambience still wrapped around you two, though he almost sounded… like not himself, but still was him.
Whatever it was it twisted around into your bones and muscles, turning the former into mush and the latter tensing as it vibrated your body from the top of your head sliding down your spine until your toes were curling again over the respective parts of his body. You were nearly ashamed at how much you liked it when he spoke to you like that, the fact in that matter not lost on him when you reared up back at it and clenched around his throbbing cock once more as your sense of reasoning began to slowly fall from you.
You weren’t about to let him off the hook for verbal assault, not when you could feel how hot he was growing inside of you and how his dick was beginning to swell almost as if it was growing from your actions. Not only that, you mused as you intertwined your fingers into his deliberately falling hair, the noises he was making that nearly had you cumming on the spot were enough to let you know he wasn’t as reserved as he was letting himself out to be.
You jerked his head back so that his face was level with yours and both of lips were skimming across each other, relishing in the harsh thrust from the action and when his fingers rolling your clit fell off for a brief moment as a hiss pushed past his plumped lips, “You’re one to talk since you can barely keep it together,” you arched your back to push him as deep as you could and watched his nostrils flare when your cunt seemed to swallow him whole, “I know you wanna let loose, so why don’t you?”
Vergil’s expression scrunched up in a full-blown scowl then, his hip bones slamming into yours faster and harder as you heard…a growl leave his chest, “Stop talking.”
His fingers on your clit sped up after that, the movements of the rubbing matching your poor excuse of grinding to keep up with him and the scratching noise above you picking back up again. Your thigh was burning from the stretch of your leg over his shoulder, but the blurring line between pain and pleasure was long gone since you were gradually beginning to lose all hold you had on holding back from cumming. He was getting tough in letting his cock kiss that sensitive region inside of you, pulling his cockhead all the way out of you and delivering a harsh push back to hit as far as he could. Each push and pull had you reeling, eyes rolling back and broken moans leaving you as you struggled to keep up and form a coherent sentence to drive back at him.
You weren’t finished egging him on, you wanted him to fulfill that threat (promise?) he had said before.
Your fingers were slowly losing the grip they had on his hair as your body bounced and slid up on the bed underneath his body, “I know this issss’t all you can do, I wanna feel it,” a high-pitched gasp left you when his fingers pinched your clit, “don’tdothat, I’mgonnacum – I want you to cum inside of me –”
“Don’t.”
“Vergil please, you have me already. I wanna feel you. I want it all.” Your head was getting fuzzy, the stretch in your lower abdomen pulling to its full extent as his cock grew hotter and began throbbing longer pulsing into your cunt. You wanted it so bad, you wanted him so bad and you were clawing more at his chest as that coil began to unravel.
Vergil rose up away from you onto his knees, your leg on his shoulder falling off to land uselessly onto the mattress as you watched in pleasure-filled vision his head tilt backwards and his Adam’s apple bob from the bitter swallow he took. His hand on the headboard fell to curl up underneath your lower back to push your hips upwards off the bed to dig deeper into you, his fingers moving faster as his chest started to heave. The new angle left you breathless as his thick shaft began to feel as if it was ramming its way into your intestines, another round of babbles and mewls leaving you when his hips pushed desperately into your body.
His thumb was digging itself into your lower spine as he grunted out his next words, no doubt a bruise going to be left behind, “Damn you. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
A warning was going off in the back of your mind, a strong shift in the air as Vergil’s breathing grew louder, combining with a hissing that was bordering on sounding like one of the demons you hunted had gotten into your bedroom. Maybe you should’ve paid attention to the scales beginning to form up on his arm and start to take over the left side of his face, and maybe you should’ve noticed the twinkling blue sparks beginning to fleck off and around him. But you were too focused on what he was doing to you too care, but fuck you were just right there and you were about to cum because his fingers combined with the sheer size of his cock alone were spiraling you into your personal haven and God just right there, right there, rightthererightthererightthere –
You made one last ditch effort to push at him as a long-winding moan of his name bubbled from you, your hands fisting into the sheets and nearly ripping them as Vergil was on the cusp of losing control, “I can take it, please, jus’ do what you said you were gonna do earlier.”
That got his attention, his fingers pausing their wrath on your clit as his shoulders tensed; he knew what you were talking about. “Be quiet,” his tone sounded cold, but the steady rhythm of his thrusting and his fingers rolling vigorously on you was enough to let you know you almost had him.
And he almost had you cumming all over his dick as the last of your resolve was pushed out in a hair-raising moan and some fast chattering to finally feel him once and for all, “God just fuck me, Vergil. Fuck me so hard I’m begging for relief from you from how much you fill me up ohholyfuck –”
Your sentence trailed off as a snarling groan took over the sound in the room and his pace kicked into a destructive speed, a distorted curse spitting off his tongue as something popped and a shuttering noise flew into your ears while the inside of you felt briefly stunned from the action. After that, your body was suddenly uncoiling itself in the throes of your orgasm with a gasping whine of his name.
Your cunt constricted around his cock in a poor effort to hold on, but the action had you spasming in one of the most intense orgasms you had ever experienced. The others paled in comparison from those late nights fingering yourself at the thought of him, your body feeling electrified from the intensity of it and your limbs jerking to find any part of his body to hold on to as you rushed through it. You didn’t know why your cunt and his dick felt like they were buzzing and vibrating from the release, but the heightened stimulation had you squirming throwing your head back onto the pillow with a gaping mouth and eyes spinning into your mind while the hairs on your body rose from the change in the atmosphere. You were well aware you had gushed all over his cock as your legs jerked from the pleasure, and in the back of your mind you were only vaguely aware that something about him shifted.
Something as in his entire appearance.
The static was back as it curled itself around your body and left you feeling frazzled and your limbs exhausted, and you were only densely conscious enough to realize that the skin you had curled your one leg around didn’t feel like skin any longer. Your chest was heaving as you felt a new wave of sweat line up on your forehead and down your pelvis, fingers bunching up the sheets as you tried to slow your breathing and heart rate down, and a warped, huffing mixed sound of growling rolled out above you. Your bedroom felt hotter than before and after a few moments of blinking back into clarity, you rose your head to look back at Vergil to see why he hadn’t made any noise or indication of cumming –
You froze.
Gone was the gorgeous, ivory-colored skin, icy grey eyes, and silver-white hair, instead in its place was that hulking beast you had only seen a handful of times. You traced your eyes towards where you two were still conjoined, over the glowing ‘V’ on his chest, and finally up towards his face where you were only able to make out that luminescent blue where his eyes were supposed to be. Had he –
He.. triggered instead.. of cumming? You didn’t know whether to feel proud or suffer a blow to your ego over that.
You stared at him, blinking a couple of times.
Vergil… stared back – you think anyway – and you weren’t entirely too sure if he could even blink in that form.
You swallowed after a few moments and let your already hoarse voice break the silence, “Vergil, what… Are you – I mean,” you wiggled for a brief second as his newly-formed, scaled hand came to press down onto your lower abdomen to cease any other movement from you, “Did you mean to do this or…?”
The noise he made nearly sounded like a chuff tigers made, a movement from his backside letting you see his tail whip up into the air before it slithered up around your thigh next to his jutted hip. You watched curiously as the scaled appendage curled around said part, the bladed tip of it knocking against your skin in an action that was bizarrely reminiscent of cat slowly tapping the tip of its tail onto a surface. Vergil still hadn’t spoke, which you knew he was able to in that form, and you had half a mind to just ask if he went into some type of demonic state where he was more Devil than man (more than just his appearance, mind you).
However you knew better than that, Vergil was still Vergil in that manner and his standing still action with him remaining inside of you not making a single movement was a key factor that he was being precautious. You supposed you weren’t really thinking too hard whenever you were egging him to finally give in and let loose, but you always didn’t think it would end up with just… triggering.
Nevertheless… it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was still Vergil; especially since you were pretty fucking sure he had grown bigger inside of you.
You got your answer when you shifted again and okay, yeah, he was just as big and hulking as his new form as he was down there, and Jesus fuck you were pretty sure he was in your stomach then. Letting out a winding exhale you gripped at his wrist onto your lower abdomen when what you guessed was his cockhead angled upwards inside of you, “Vergil, just –” the weight from his hand pressed down harder and your eyes crossed when a new shock of ecstasy fluttered inside of you. God, you felt fucking stuffed, but the new tingling in your clit was something you couldn’t ignore and since you felt not one essence of his cum inside of you… You waved your other hand in the air.
“Just – just keep going, it’s fine.” You sounded so out of breath, but it was to be expected when you had his literal fat monster cock in you. “I mean, always up for new things right?” ‘Up for new things’, this was the first time you two were having sex.
(Though you didn’t think it could’ve qualified as ‘sex’, what you two ended up doing was just straight nasty fucking after months of piled up sexual tension and frustration. Perhaps not the smartest decision to do it in his Devil Trigger, but hey, first time for everything.)
After all, if you were going to commit to liking someone with a dual form like that then you were going to have to buckle down into the possible monster fucking because if you didn’t… did you even love them?
Vergil, more or less, above you seemed at a fork in the road but when he pushed his hips forward and watched your face wince up from the expanding stretch and felt your pussy tighten at a near painful degree he knew was for you, he was pulling out. A high-pitched, indignant noise left you at his loss and the sting from which he pulled himself from so abruptly, and he was quick to snag your ankle of the leg that wasn’t currently wounded by his tail when you tried to coercer him back to you. You paid no mind that perhaps he was completely coated in your cum and that his cock was not the same one you saw earlier – sans human skin and instead something probably a little more rigid and dangerous-looking and blue – but you really didn’t mind once more since you were fighting a fire for more stimulation.
You didn’t have to wait long either for it, Vergil finally broke out of his silence as a claw-tipped finger tapped onto your ankle bone and his voice was that same distortion from before that sent vibrations throughout the bed and you.
“I’ll have another, then after that I’ll have my way with you.”
Another? “What do you mean another – ACK –” you didn’t get to finish that question when Vergil used the hold he had on you to swiftly flip your body over, a yelp falling out of your mouth when he gripped your hips and positioned you in the way he wanted you. Said position was on your hands and knees with his tail holding your thigh lifting your one leg into the air slightly as a hand came up under you to splay over your lower abdomen to keep you balanced. Your fingers gripped into your sheets hard as the other clawed hand was clutching the thigh not currently suspended into the air and you felt a humid waft of air from his maw blow over your horribly exposed pussy. Your cheeks warmed as you realized the gravity of the situation.
Was he going to –
“For now, I’ll have a taste of what your dripping with.”
You didn’t get a chance to answer to that sinful statement, as for Vergil’s serpentine tongue was already slithering out of his jaws and taking one slow lick up your soaked folds. You were ashamed when your one leg placed onto the bed already starting shaking from it the action, though you couldn’t blame yourself too much since you were still sensitive from cumming mere minutes beforehand and that Vergil’s tongue was of that same ribbed exterior that day you felt him in your mouth. It felt like… God, you didn’t even know, but God it felt good. A shaky exhale left you as the grip on your thigh left to press down onto your lower back, the weight causing you to fall onto your elbows for the position to expose yourself more to his greedy tongue.
Vergil wasn’t one the beat around the bush you learned once he really set his mind to something, and that something at that time was eating your pussy out. If you had to explain it, it was as if your brain all but fried when the grooved tip on his tongue spread and pushed through your folds until the length of the appendage was wiggling up inside of your cunt and whatthefuck –
“Vergil, holy shit, your tongue –” you whimpered out the rest of your mumble as you leant down to pressed your face into your sheets.
The only answer you got was a hot exhale combined with a rumbling growl, his hands on your respective areas sluggishly beginning to rock you back and forth on his tongue. The noise that left you was something out of a hardcore porno, your sweaty forehead digging into the mattress as you felt each grooved lining on his organ run up against your walls and urging you to swing your hips back and forth, to and from his face. You did just that, moans and whines of all caliber falling desperately as you rolled yourself in intervals to get a feel for every dip and dart of his tongue against your soft insides.
You were already well on your way to falling for another orgasm when you started to push back against his face harder, your toes curling as he hitched your leg higher and a grunt escaping when you decided to clench and unclench around his tongue as much as you could. He picked up the pace in his swirling to taste every inch of your cunt and coat your walls with as much of his saliva as he could while he licked up the expanse of you. The knot behind your naval then felt heavier, your back arching further inwards as his grunts and growls kept up with your own moans and pants.
“Fuck, just like that. Keep go-going,” you paused as your knee on the bed started to shake more with the intensity building back up inside your cunt and your clit feeling pressurized even though nothing was arousing it that time, his tongue slithering up and inside your leaking cunt enough to push you towards your release. “It feels so good please… I’m gonna cum again.”
The response you got was a louder, eager grumble from deep within his chest, the claws he sported slightly pricking your flesh as the fleeting pinch of pain only added on to you doubling down into your orgasm. His tail coiled around your thigh tighter and the slicing tip was wriggling out into the air next to your skin, his eagerness showing his in subtle actions to get you to come on his tongue that time. And fuck, if you had spilled out all in your panties whenever he swiped that slick organ around your mouth and down your throat as he rocked his boner into you nearly a week ago, you would have no problem doing it for him then.
The force in which your hips were rocking back into his face was bordering on desperate as you were nearing your peak, your cunt already beginning spasm while he continued to literally tongue-fuck you. The hot huffs from his open maw grew louder and faster against your ass, the pulsing hums he was letting roll off his slick appendage vibrating the inside of you as you desperately clawed at the sheets while your back arched dangerously. You squealed and whined whenever his tongue slipped out of you for a brief moment to run the fat of it along the entire outer parts your pussy, starting with the tip teasing your clit in fast nudges, and the brute of it flattening itself along your folds to catch the fluids so keenly dripping out of your gaping opening.
When Vergil darted back inside your drenched cunt to swipe at your innermost wall faster and harder before, you were all but done. “Vergil!” was your last keening cry as his hand on your lower abdomen pushed up further into your guts, the coil holding your second release together snapping while he continued to tongue-fuck you through the entirety of your orgasm.
That time around your eyes crossed as your vision busted into a different world of colors, your pussy canal nearly acting like a bottle of wine losing its cork as you squirted out and around his tongue. A white-hot tingle shot from your cranial nerve down into your toes had you jerking and squirming about as your cunt trembled and clenched around his tongue for retribution. You didn’t mind too much you had embarrassingly squirted into his face, the evidence of so slipping past his mouth and dribbling onto the sheets next to your quivering knee as you fought to keep balance from the mind-blowing orgasm. Vergil didn’t mind at all, the groan leaving him downright sinful as he let his tongue slip out and wipe up any excess of your cum and fluid that had passed by his mouth. You were thankful for his hands still on your body holding you up and his tail began slowly lowering your other leg back onto the bed as he finished his licking to clean you up while your body shook and you fought back through clarity of from cumming so hard.
A sigh left you when you felt him pull away from your cunt, the body part throbbing excessively and so goddamn sensitive you were sure a single touch would have you reeling back into pleasure once more. It was hot and everything smelled like him as you tried to catch your breath through heaving once more, however your knees were beginning to slide outwards as your nerves were too wired to keep yourself together. You would’ve fallen down onto the bed if he hadn’t caught you by the hips while he angled you back upwards into the way he liked. His tail unfurled from your thigh, though the accessory wriggled around underneath where your abdomen was in slow strokes afterwards as its tip grazed along past your breasts and along your naval making you shudder.
It seemed he wasn’t about to waste any more time, his cock heavy with the need to just finally cum and have you the way he wanted.
Vergil didn’t give any warning that he was ready shove his cock back in you, the only way you knew from your position was when his bulked, scaled pelvis knocked into your ass and another loud exhale of hot air blew across your back. Granted he was slow as he eased into you, but that didn’t stop you from gasping at how fucking far he was stretching your insides that time by just only a few inches of him and your body was involuntarily sliding up forward away from him. The sheer sting was the cause of that reaction, as it nearly felt like his dick was expanding your pelvic bones entirely to accommodate room for him.
“Stay,” was the only word grumbled out from him at first, a hand skimming down your spine in an unspoken word of comfort. He let you wiggle around for a few moments until a long breath left you as you loosened up, and then he was sliding himself back all the way in, relishing in the way you immediately moaned and tightened up around him at the easy entrance. “So wet, so easy; almost like you were just made for this. Are you so desperate to please me that you’ll let me use you as I want?”
His words alone had you moaning again, the mere tone of them and the hissing edge they held letting you grip up harder on him and rock back into his hips, “Don’t act so high and mighty, earlier you were fighting to not lose control and now look at you.” Yeah you said in a fight to bite back at his words, but God if you didn’t feel like telling him to outright fuck you into the mattress or just fuck yourself back onto him because his dick was sitting fat and heavy inside of you and you desperately wanted to just move to let you feel the full brute of him rearranging your guts.
You knew you shouldn’t have pushed a feral Vergil, especially since earlier you had proclaimed you wanted him to fuck you until you were begging for relief and full of his cum because…
Fuck you he did.
You heard another snarling grunt from behind you, his hands tightening on your hips as he almost lethargically pulled his shaft out until his cockhead was kissing your folds and then with one quick snap he was seated back inside of you and setting himself in a maddening, torturous pace.
You had managed a choked moan from that, your breath being knocked out of you as you bounced back and forth from his steady, deep, somewhat slow movements as your ass smacked against his hardened, jutted hip bones. The noise of both of your bodies was incredibly obscene when you combined the sound your backside harshly slapping into his pelvis, while you could hear the squish of your pussy overwhelmed with your cum and fluids every time he pulled back far enough and diving back in.
It wasn’t enough though, the deep dives were gut-wrenching and had you gasping more than moaning but you knew it was his own form of punishment against you for your bratty behavior.
From the ferocity of his thrusts jolting your body, your words began to line in tune with each time he pushed into you and pulled out, “God Vergil – you’re – driving me – insane! Oh fuck… c’mon – fuck me – harder.”
His hand came down and smacked onto your ass, something he had never done before in the months you had been together, and you yelped from the sting as you fell back down onto your elbows. He kept one hand digging into your hip but the other was pushing your back farther into an arch for his cock to hit a new angle that almost made you drool. Once he got you there it was another deliberate pull out and snapping back into you as his hand glided around the press onto your lower abdomen –
OH.
Fuck.
Was that even possible? Shit, who cares it feels so good. So good that Vergil was groaning in a hiss as you squeezed him whenever you felt him bulge through the lower part of your body. His slick, hot tongue was lapping up your spine in a tease to taste the sweat lining your back before you felt him lower down near your ear to speak again.
“Tell me again what you want.”
Bastard. Though as he said that, he was literally beginning to give you what you really wanted.
Gone was the sluggish, deep strokes, in their place a faster speed making you bounce faster as he leant back up away from you. Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt another orgasm on the brink, your brain nearly blocking out what he had whispered into your ear as you started to just focus on the pleasure you were receiving. However, your lover wasn’t so merciful to let you off the hook.
Vergil’s hand came back down to slap at your ass again as you moaned from the newfound stimulation it gave, “Answer me, brat.”
Your eyes rolled back as you tried to buck your hips to fuck back into him, your nails beginning to claw into the sheets below you, “I – Mmm, I want –”
His tail was sliding up one of your thighs again, “What want? Speak clearly.”
His cock was hard and hot in you, “Shit – Vergil, please.”
His pace picked up, the headboard of the bed knocking obscenely loud into the wall rough enough to crack it, “Begging now? You should see yourself crying out for me like some whore,” the mattress shifted and in your peripheral vision you could see one of his clawed raptor-looking feet you usually laughed at come to balance himself on it, and then his tail was sliding up around your back, “You’re maddening.” His voice was teetering onto a fine, sharp edge, the movements of his ferocious thrusting becoming jagged as his resolve seemed to turn on him and you knew then he was getting close to cumming.
However because of Vergil’s newfound realization he was heading towards his own end, he found a means to better fuck you, or to better use you for both of your enjoyment.
His tail wrapped around your abdomen.
Your first instinct was to grab ahold of the accessory with one of your hands, a gasp falling out of you from how he coiled it around tight enough to keep you where he wanted you but not enough to hurt you. Your second instinct was to arch harder and then your third was to –
You didn’t give it much thought, because Vergil had decided to go from fucking you to using his tail to pull your body back and forth onto his cock in hurried movements, and –
“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod,” you chanted out in a mewl of a babble, both of your hands gripping to the scaled appendage wrapped around you as it kept you in the position he wanted. Your brain was surely mush then, your cunt unclenching and clenching in a hasty fashion as the new pace and angle crossed your eyes and careened you down further into cumming all over his cock again.
Your cheek found itself pushed into your bed as he pressed you down further with a rough palm, his distorted voice then sounded more choked up and losing its composure, “You like this, don’t you? Being used like this by a demon?”
All of your sense and reasoning was out of the window, another harsh moan leaving you as you listened to him speak, “Mmmm, I love it!”
Vergil’s hold on your hips grew to bruising as he started to fuck back into your bouncing body while continuing to use his tail as leverage to pull you into him, an air of desperation about him while more grunts left him, “If you love it so much, tell me what you want me to do.”
You were about to cum, his dick stretching you out so much and slamming into practically your cervix as your nerves lit up and any discomfort from the rough treatment exploded into full-blown pleasure. He continued to hit that one spot that had you keening and your teeth biting into the sheet as well, hissing as your sounds grew louder and your pussy impossibly wet and tighter. He knew you were about to cum, and with that knowledge a rough fingertip was grazing across your swollen clit in a means to get you to finally unravel and screaming to him of what you wanted.
“Say it.”
The reaction was instantaneous, your muscles bunching up, eyes watering as the pressure in your cunt grew tenfold, his rough movements, and your rapidly approaching orgasm let the words flow freely from your mouth.
“Vergil, please, I want you to cum in me! Just –” a louder whine fell out of you when he pushed you down in retaliation for more of your pleas, struggling to take his hard thrusts as you finally felt yourself let go and felt your cunt gush and squeeze one last time as you rambled the rest of your begs in a high-pitched cry.
“More.”
“I’m yours, Vergil! Fuck me full of your cum… Mmf, breed me, Vergil!"
The answering snarl was devastating, his tail heaving you upwards onto your knees for your back to press against his scalding front side as his tongue slid back out of his mouth licking up the expanse of your throat until it found itself into your mouth. You eagerly accepted the crude mean as a replacement for a kiss, your eyes rolling back into your head as you sucked around the appendage and your hips sporadically jerked into his still thrusting cock as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. It was the same as before with your vision bursting into colors behind your eyelids and your frontal lobe feebly chasing that emotion of endorphins released into your veins as you came undone in front of him for the third time that night.
Your third release left you feeling spent and exhausted, legs quivering in their place as your moans fell into huffing noises with your body falling back onto the bed as Vergil hissed, snarled and groaned his way to finally giving you both what you asked for. The gush of air and new shadow expanding behind told you that his wings had unfurled, the last of his composure leaving him whenever he pushed back into you with a ferocious jab that cracked the wall above your bed and a long-uttering satisfied groan vibrated the entire room.
Your eyes spun back when you felt the warm spurts of his cum shoot inside of your awaiting cunt and literally stuff you full as a feeling of mild electrification prickled the hair on your body. It nearly felt as if he never was going to stop, the new heat in your pussy sliding down throughout the inside of you. You could feel the thick girth of the liquid passing through your cervix and into your womb as Vergil’s hips rocked slowly with each new spray into you until finally he came to a full stop with his cock sitting snugly inside of you to hold all of his cum in your cunt for the time being. His fingers flexed as they returned to both grasping your hips with a hissing exhale that you felt deep into your stomach, and meanwhile you tried to force your mind and body to leave that fucking high and try to at least find yourself into some clarity from probably the best fucking and orgasms you had ever felt.
It was a few moments of catching your breath and letting your heart calm down on both ends when Vergil slowly started to slide out of you, the full feeling in your lower abdomen leaving you like air slowly being let out of a balloon until his cockhead was kissing your folds. Vaguely you were aware of your cunt clenching and throbbing around nothing for the loss of him, your opening gaping as you felt the remains of what he fucked into you start to ooze out until he was pushing his dick back in with a slow roll to fuck his cum back into you. You whimpered as you clutched the sheets again, your insides entirely too sensitive and used for any other stimulation for that time while he continued until he was sure you were, indeed, fucked full.
“Easy.” Yeah okay, it was easy for him to say that since he was the one that didn’t get their pelvic region bottomed out.
Vergil granted you that break finally, his cock along with the whole of his body leaving after he was satisfied with his work. His tail unfurled from around you and the loss of what was the only thing that was holding you up on your useless legs caused you to almost fall into the mattress completely if it wasn’t for his arm wrapping up under your breasts to hold until you both fell onto the bed together.
His human arm.
That static in the air was gone, the feeling of like you were on the cusp of being shocked gone while the heat in the room began to dissipate into the normal temperature of the shop. The back of your head found a spot onto his shoulder while your legs entwined with one and another’s as you continued still to calm your heaving down while Vergil’s thumb stroked a gentle pass on your sternum. His breathing seemed to notch back down after he left his triggered form and buried his nose into your hair, but the deep inhales and exhales were signs he was too still suffering from the aftermath.
Briefly, you wondered when the last time he had sex was. Then you decided that from his feral behavior: a long time ago.
“Your pulse is still racing,” he spoke after a while of you both staring up at the dark ceiling, voice slightly croaky and out of breath.
Gee, I wonder why. You threw up a hand and let it fall onto his chest in a gentle tap, “Well I mean, I did just get the shit fucked out of me. And I think you literally might’ve shifted the bones in my pelvis and hips around.”
The back of his hand came up to wipe at the sweat on your forehead, “…I apologize if I caused you any discomfort,” he mumbled into your hair, almost so quietly that you nearly missed it.
The first thing you said was a tease, “Vergil? Apologizing? If pussy gets you like this then we should’ve done this sooner.”
He pinched your nipple.
You squealed and wiggled against him until he let up, his hand returning to sit at your sternum, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry!”
“Brat.”
You sighed as you really thought about his words; was he honestly thinking you might’ve not liked it after you begged him for it? Sure you probably would be bowlegged the next day, and yeah he literally cracked the wall and nearly broke the headboard and clawed the Hell out of it, and okay maybe you would have some little bruises on your hips where he held you, but he was being foolish to think you didn’t want it. You had wanted him physically like that for a long time aside to having him emotionally and mentally, and it was even better than you imagined for a man who looked like he’d rather eat dirt than have any physical contact with people.
It’s always the quiet ones.
You didn’t like it, you loved it.
“You didn’t hurt me, at least not in the way I might’ve wanted,” you eventually answered, feeling an amused huff blew into your hair. He didn’t answer you after that, the silence stretching between you two as you finally calmed down enough and came to your senses – your senses being bothering him as much as you could. His face was still buried into your hair whenever your usual annoying antics came back as you both basked in that post-coital bliss.
“I have a serious question.”
Vergil only grunted.
“Soo, I noticed before that when you triggered before that you couldn’t actually see your dick in that form. Does it, y’know, have its own little sheathe?” ‘Little’ was probably an understatement.
He was still for a few moments until you felt the bed shift and his body move away until you were given sight to him leaning up over you and staring down at you with the blankest face you had ever seen on the man. Vergil’s hair had fallen from its usual slicked back fashion, a feat you only got to saw when he slept for the night and when it was wet, and the silver of his eyes were barely visible through the white-grey strands but you could still feel the brute of his piercing stare.
Vergil only stared down at you.
“I’m being serious, but if you don’t wanna answer you don’t have to. Probably a sensitive topic since you can’t literally cockfight Dante in that form like you two normally do.”
You watched his eyes narrow.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s true.”
Evidently he had enough of your little prattle, his body moving way too swiftly for someone that just had sex so roughly as he rolled himself on top and pinched both of your cheeks between his fingers.
“You have no filter, do you? You just spout whatever comes to mind that you can use to demean me in your own childish way.”
“Mmmsorry, ow!”
His hips wormed their way in-between your thighs once more, your lower abdomen curling at the feeling, “Perhaps I should find better ways to keep your mouth occupied.”
“Is that a dig at wanting a blowjob?”
A hum left him and you jolted when you felt the press of his cock against your clit, a pleading gasp falling from your squished cheeks as you bucked against him, “Not exactly, I quite like it when you’re begging.”
He wasn’t… Already?! “Again?”
Vergil’s hands left your face and one was already curling around your thigh to hitch it around his hip as the other balanced onto the mattress next to you, one of his rare, devilish smirks on his face as he watched you grow flustered, “Again.”
A gasp mixed together with a moan fell out of you when he slid back inside of your still warm and wet cunt with absolutely no problems, your hands coming up to clutch at his forearms as he started off into a slow grind for the second round. Another hum rumbled deep from within his chest as he bent down and languidly kissed you when you started to sigh from the gentle movements, only breaking off the lip lock to mumble his new resolve against your mouth.
“After all, weren’t you the one that said you wanted yourself full of me until you were begging for relief?”
Honestly, you really should’ve expected your first time having sex with Vergil would end up like that.
Saiki knows this is bad; he's aware of the deep hole he's digging himself, and yet, he can't get himself to stop.
You're too good to give up.
The moment you had pulled him inside of your consciousness, the way silence had enveloped his whole being. It felt like a deep ocean keeping him in its embrace, suffocating—comforting.
In you, there was no noise; in you, he could drown in static.
how would Vergil react if u got a tramp stamp thats dedicated to him? Maybe like a 'V' or smth (tramp stamps are so cute idc)
probably likes it a little too much... (i think they're cute too, no one can tell me otherwise and i'd definitely get one for him)
Goosebumps prickled across your skin as you lifted the back of your shirt to lather ointment on your new insignia; an anniversary gift for Vergil you decided on last minute when you couldn't think of anything else to get him (other than books and chocolate, but he'd had enough of all of that). A very proud and inky black V adorned your lower back, something you'd smirked over when you'd got it done, but at the moment you were having the worst time taking care of it and you weren't about to call Vergil for help when it was supposed to be a surprise. For once you were going to get the drop on him and surprise him with something he wouldn't even think of, blowing him away and getting your turn to rile him up...
Of course, that was the plan... Until you only blinked once and Vergil was standing right behind you in the mirror with his eyes focused completely on the damn V on your lower back. Fuck.
You felt the low rumble in his throat before you heard it, slick with satisfaction as you tried to ignore him since he was so nosey he had spoil his own surprise. "This is... interesting," his voice slithered off his tongue and into your ears like a snake dipped in sin, already feeling your body beginning to warm up before he'd even got close enough to touch you.
"You weren't supposed to see it so soon. It's still healing," you grumbled out at him, glaring and rolling your eyes at him through the mirror to let him know how annoyed you were.
He didn't care.
"Oh? A surprise then?"
You nearly jumped ten feet in the air whenever his fingers began to lather the ointment you’d smeared on your tattoo instead, spine curving at his gentle touch as your body burned starting from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. He knew exactly what he was doing and what it was doing to you, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink when he went as far as to lightly trace the burning flesh with his nails, a purr at your shiver making your body cave in and the first pitiful sigh left you moments after. It certainly didn’t help he’d taken to running his nose along your ear until his lips were pressed against your lobe.
"Sensitive?"
Very. He had your toes curling in your shoes as you fought off the moans and jerked your ass back into his pelvis instead — clearly, he was very affected by the tattoo. Still, you remained defiant, not so eager to let Vergil win the game he wanted to play. "...No."
"Mm, you lie,” his nose dropped to trace the throbbing pulse in your neck, his hum making your skin erupt with your wired nerves while his warm breath ghosted teasingly against your flesh. You didn't get to have another word when his fingers traced the sensitive flesh of your new tattoo, his thumbs digging into your lower back in measured circles before he used the hold he had on you to bend you completely over the bathroom sink.
You couldn't help the squeal when his hand jerked your shirt up, fully exposing your lower back to him the same time his hips caged you into the counter and his feet kicked yours apart to allow him more room. Vergil only lowered his torso enough to let his lips caress your ear, fingers still rubbing along the tattoo of his initial as your knees buckled and your ears burned with his haughty chuckle.
𖹭.ᐟ synopsis: ur his favorite alongside Superman, got a bit too obsessive than idolising. Now he has you pinned against a wall at a rooftop of all places (Deffo did NOT stalk you and sweet talk to get in ur pants)
𖹭.ᐟ warnings: semi-public sex? Idk. He's a bit over the top here, (／０￣)
𖹭.ᐟ message: I want him to headlock me while he does me from the back dats all Nyways this is not proofread
Superboy Prime believes he deserves you.
Clark Kent from Earth-Prime— he always prided himself with the fact that he was named after his favorite superhero. Idolising Superman, trying to live up to his ideals and morals. To be just like him.
It was obvious Superman was his favorite. That didn't mean you weren't his favorite too... even if it meant him obsessing over you in a different way. He remembers the very first day he read about you. Hearing about another hero debuting under DC after a small appearance in a Batman issue.
Since then, he was glued onto you. Not because of your strength and powers— I mean, sure, he did like it. One of the many reasons he latched onto you. But the main reason? Probably something he'd never admit to anyone other than in a subreddit dedicated to you.
First, your face. It was the artist's fault, drawing you so gorgeous and captivating— it made his eyes twitch with every panel you spawned in.
Then his gaze went lower, your body. It made him feel guilty. He had vowed to himself that he'd never stoop as low as those rancid perverts who only liked characters for their physical appeal back then.
Swearing to God that he'd value what every hero brought to the table:
Their morals and how they fought for the greater good.
Apparently, when he saw you, all of that was thrown out of the window.
He'd screenshot any appearance you made, whether it be in your own runs or you in a single panel in an issue in someone else's run. Saving it to a folder just to stare at it later.
He bought merch of you, didn't care if it was cute, normal, or lewd. But naturally, he'd even gravitate towards the more lewder ones... much to his dismay. Even considered buying a body pillow of you once.
Then it dawned to him. Were you one of those characters made for fanservice?
You had a decent backstory, OP abilities—but some of the situations you ended up in? The poses you were drawn into?
Eh, who cares. Every character had those moments.
What matters now was that you were in front of him.
Living.
Breathing.
Real.
This was fate. The universe had brought you together! He’d read every issue where you appeared! Even wrote fanfiction in his notebook! This was the universe's way of rewarding him for being a good boy and following through his redemption arc.
His cape was doing a half-assed job at hiding you both as he dry-humped you against a wall. Your moans ringing in his ears as he pressed his bulge deliciously in the area between your thighs.
He deepened the kiss instantly—more confident now, less frantic—and this time added his tongue. Smiling smugly as he laved your mouth with his saliva.
It wasn't gentle or romantic like in the movies. This was Superboy Prime claiming what he believed—as delusional as it may be—what was rightfully his.
His other hand slid down from your neck, your shoulder, then lower.
Until it hovered at the curve of your hip—the softest part of that perfectly sculpted body he’d drooled over for months through comic panels and pixelated fanart prints taped above his bed on Earth-Prime. Squeezing your ass appreciatively and giving it a good slap, earning a noise from you.
"You'll let me fuck you out in the open, on a rooftop like this?" He pulled away, licking his lips. Eyes half-lidded and full of lust. "So fucking easy—" He chuckles, punctuating it with a sudden grind. Then moved his palm to cradle your breast over fabric first. Testing weight and shape, then pressed in slightly as if memorizing every curve.
It filled his palm snugly, like it was made to be groped just by him—the same hand he used to fist his cock into while he dreamed of you riding him.
"What's next? I bet you'll spread your legs out like the whore you are..." His voice was low against your ear, sending an unwilling thrill down your spine. "... You don't know how long I've waited to get my hands on you."
His hand creeps to your nape, brushing over the skin, threading into the roots of your heart before gripping harshly and tilting your head back. Licking a long, wet stripe of saliva against your throat—the warm pressure of the flat of his tongue drags from your collarbone to the side of your neck.
Clark bit hard, rolling his hips into yours as he did so. His touches felt thick and hot, you could only respond with moans and heavy breathing.
The sound of your moans went straight to his dick.
Fuck.
Suddenly, kissing wasn't enough.
The transition was fast—one second he was kissing you, the next he’d lifted you effortlessly and pinned you against the wall. His hands were everywhere at once:
Gripping your thighs to hitch them around his waist, squeezing your ass as he ground his hips into yours with zero patience left.
Clothes got in the way, so in between frantic kisses, he yanked his pants down, did the same to you, and pulled your panties to the side.
A curse escaped from him as he finally shoved inside, burying himself deep with a groan that sounded almost pained from how long this had been building up in him.
Your legs shook as he slid inside, filling you up to the hilt. Eyes blown wide at the feel of the stretch. "Superboy—"
He thrusts sharply, getting you to shut up. "Drop the formal stuff when I'm balls-deep in you. Call me Clark."
"Okay... Calm down—" You stutter. Focusing on adjusting to his size. A sweat rolling down your brow.
"I wanna take you home." He mutters, burying his face into your neck. He breathes you in, dragging his cock out slowly. "First round here, second at my apartment. Deal?"
When he got no response, he pulled out and pounded into you. Making you sputter at the force. "Deal?" He repeats, clearly not wanting to ask again.
"D-Deal." You nod absent-mindedly, trying to spread your legs open for him.
Okay.... I don't know why I came up with this idea or where it came from. Maybe I really am a pervert 😅. I also need to start writing some headcanons to get some practice.
⚠️ S/O has large breasts, 18+ content, scenes alluding to sex, fluffy moments, some swearing
❤ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄
♦Okay, let's get one thing straight. Dante is the type of guy who will stare at your breasts without shame.
"Dante, my eyes are here."
"Hm? Sorry, babe. I couldn't help. Your tits look so fine, damn."
"Dante, You're pervert."
♦Sure, Dante loves you just the way you are. He doesn't love you just because of your appearance; that's not who he is.
♦When Dante sees someone staring at you shamelessly, he looks unfazed. He walks up to you, puts his arm around you, shielding you, and tells the guy he's about to get his ass kicked. Your comfort is important to him. He'll even give you his jacket if you want.
"Are you looking at my girlfriend? I know, she's beautiful and sexy. But... you're making my girl uncomfortable. So get the fuck out or I'll punch you in the face."
♦Dante loves watching your breasts move with every movement, how they look when you wear a low-cut shirt or a dress.
♦And when you wear a lace bra? He'll have to try hard not to touch your breasts because he won't keep his hands off you.
♦However, when Dante is tired or having a bad day, he immediately rests his head on your chest. He loves the way you stroke his hair and the softness of your breasts.
♦And in sex? Dante loves the feeling of his cock between your soft tits. He loves seeing your breasts covered in his seed. And when he makes love to you, he can't help but bury his face in your breasts. And after it's all over, he lies cuddled into your chest like a baby.
"Hey, baby?"
"Yes, Dante?"
"I love you so much."
"I love you too, you big baby."
💙 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐋
🔷 Vergil, unlike his twin brother, is more collected and doesn't stare at you like a pervert. And no, he still stares. But discreetly.
🔷 Vergil doesn't think you're beautiful just because of your appearance. In fact, he thinks you're physically beautiful. But he values your intelligence, your feelings, and your fighting skills.
🔷 Unlike Dante, Vergil is discreetly looking at you. Of course, he's not going to admit it.
🔷 For example, when your back hurts or your breasts are sore, Vergil is happy to help with massages. After all, Vergil cares about his S/O.
🔷 Of course, when Vergil sees someone staring at you shamelessly, he reacts with possessiveness and protection towards you.
"You better take your eyes from my S/O. Or I will make sure you will lost your head."
🔷 When you offer Vergil to lay his head on your chest, he hesitates at first. But he finally gives in. As he lies on your chest, your fingers running through his hair, he feels his heart tighten. He's reminded of childhood moments when his mother would hug him when he was sad.
🔷 When you wear clothes that show off your breasts, he's not an asshole telling you you look like a slut. He respects your choices and isn't ashamed of you. He loves you just the way you are.
🔷 During sex, Vergil sometimes gets carried away by demonic emotions, especially possessiveness. The sight of your breasts marked by him makes him feel proud.
"You look beautiful, my love. So marked by me."
🖤 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐎
◼️Nero blushes like a teenager every time he looks at your breasts. He really doesn't want to look like a pervert or like the type who only loves your breasts. He really loves you.
◼️Nero tries not to look like a horny teenager every time he looks at you. But of course, he's not very successful, and you laugh every time you see his red face.
◼️When someone stares at you shamelessly or makes perverted comments about you, Nero immediately reacts standing in front of you.
"Say something like that to her again and I'll break your nose, fucker."
◼️Nero used to feel awkward when he laid his head on your chest at first. But now, when he lies on your soft breasts, when he's tired or having a bad day, he falls asleep immediately. You've had to push him off of you more than once.
"Nero, get off me."
"Mmm... No."
◼️During sex, when you ride him, he can't take his eyes off your breasts as they bounce, and he can't keep his hands off your breasts, feeling their softness. Like Vergil, he likes to occasionally leave hickeys on your breasts or leave teeth marks. It's his demonic blood.
"Mmm... I'm sorry, baby. I can't help."
◼️Afterwards, he falls asleep cuddled up to you, not letting go of you.
Hiiiii can you do clark x polish fem reader??? Maybe she's exchange student or sth love your works🎀🎀🎀
this is such a cute idea. i opened it up to a neutral exchange student so everyone might insert themselves... hope you like <333
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📍drabble… clark kent x fem!exchangestudent!reader
wc: approx 1k | ao3
Being Clark’s exchange student…
entailed the usual cultural introductions. Well, his cultural introductions. The kindness, the warmth, the homegrown manners. Clark was the first kid to arrive at the student center on campus, holding a name card with your name and a bouquet of flowers. All he had of you was a photograph and a typed letter, and from those two things he gleaned where you came from, that you struggled with your English, that you loved reading and American film, and wanted very badly to discover what American college was like.
When the exchange department head walked you in along with the group of visiting students, Clark suddenly felt as though no picture, moving or not, could do your face justice. He handed you the flowers and pronounced your name exactly as was intended– hours and hours of practicing– and flashed you one of his crooked-tooth grins. You flushed and took the flowers, and managed a concentrated, “It is very nice to meet you, Clark.” His heart did a somersault as you looked up at him from under those curling eyelashes, and in the most desperate way, he hoped one day he would discover every range and tone of voice through which he could get you to say his name again.
Being Clark’s exchange student…
meant that you were never left to learn something alone. He was adamant on walking you to your classes for the first three weeks, even though you had the campus routes at MetU down within your first three days; you didn't express a desire for him to stop, though, because to have the most handsome man on campus chauffeuring you personally was… a win to say the least. Or, you thought so, and that was all that mattered.
Clark dropped in on you every night to be sure you were settling in at your dorm, even though it was on the block near the reservoir and his was all the way across town. There was no reason for it, because you were rooming with another girl from your home country who could understand you without English just fine. Once, you asked why he came all that way every time when he could just call, and he just flushed a bit as he leaned in your doorway and mumbled, “I just feel better seeing you doing okay.”
Every upcoming test, every project, he was there to help you study. Clark never missed a meeting with the exchange committee, and he always talked you up far more than necessary– how hard you worked, how intelligent, how inspiring, how wonderful you were. He adored you visibly and vocally, and it made a mess of you without any translation necessary.
Being Clark’s exchange student…
made your English better, and his second language broader. He made you write in English, and he would copy your work down in your native tongue as a test of his own practice, just to make you read it back again. If you were able to correct his mistakes, he knew you had everything memorized, and he was learning right by you. You thought it was cute, how hard he worked to learn your language. The back and forth helped you acclimate to thinking in two voices.
He also made an extraordinary effort to find the two places in Metropolis that made food you were familiar with, and he took you out to both of them– only to be disappointed with the results. This caused him to make a deal with one of the cafeteria workers who allowed him access to the kitchens after hours, where he practiced cooking with you. You taught him the words for the ingredients, and together you spent hours down there, sharing food and stories. You painted the picture of home for him; your family and friends, your favorite spots, the way things were better or worse, different or the same. He soaked up your every word. He promised to take you home to Kent Farm when spring break came around, so you could get a taste of what his home was like. He told his mom about you often, but you didn’t know that yet.
Being Clark’s exchange student…
helped you fall in love. When the semester ended and your student visa was up, Clark personally packed your things for you and drove you to the airport. He refused to let you take the shuttle from the school with the others. He had his claws in. You sat in the passenger seat of his truck and watched the joint of his jaw roll, the flickering of his eyes toward you in the rearview mirror, the way he avoided pushing over the speed limit whatsoever.
He was an anxious, miserable wreck. He had fallen so head over heels in love with you. He took you home to meet his parents. He was competent enough in your first language to hold semi-conducive conversations, and he read more of his books every night just to improve. He spent so many nights in your dorm room while your roommate was out with friends. He took you around the city, bought you flowers, helped you pass your classes, and he took you to the exchange ball with a corsage and everything. He kissed your cheek on the dance floor, which was so juvenile for two college kids, but he was so careful about you that it was the most revelatory experience in the world. And now you had to go. He was breaking apart.
Clark walked you all the way through the airport to security, never letting you roll your suitcase, and when you met with the other exchange students, he gripped your hand hard. He was sick with grief. To watch you go now after meeting you, liking you, loving you… he dragged you into a crushing hug, and you melted into his arms.
“Please call me when you land,” he said, and you responded in a much smoother manner than you could when you arrived, “I will, I promise.”
Clark then cupped your face, gazing down at you, and he kissed you. Right there in the line for security. People were skirting around you with disgruntled complaints, but he didn’t care. He kissed you until he couldn’t breathe, and in the warmest, gentlest tone he had ever used, you heard three fluent words roll off his tongue in the language you would be bombarded with when you got back home: “I love you.”
You flushed and kissed him again, and you smiled, because you knew something he didn’t. “I love you, too, Clark,” you whispered, “and I purchased a ticket to Kansas in August.”
Being Clark’s exchange student was the best thing that ever happened to you. And the next two months could be torture until you made it back to the States, just to be with him.
Being Clark’s girlfriend meant you called when you landed, and he picked up on the first ring.
Damian who thought he knew the palest person in the world (Tim), but then he met you.
Damian who doesn’t make fun of you for being translucent, but it does amuse him. Obviously, he’s a beautiful colour all year round, and he can’t understand how you cannot tan. At all. “What, so, if you have sunburn, it doesn’t turn tan before it heals?”
Damian who smirks when he holds your hand, because the contrast is just hilarious.
Damian who doesn’t find it funny when you say stuff like “i’m the nea and you’re the politan” “together, we make caramel. Aww, isn’t that sweet?” He only laughs because it’s stupid.
Damian who if you get an artificial tan, at first he says “You look healthy.” and really likes it, but then he doesn’t get used to it and asks you not to get it again. “You don’t look like you.”
Damian who one day takes you to Nanda Parbat and buys you factor 100+ sun cream and applies it for you every hour. He has to do it so none of you gets burnt or worse — every mole, every beauty mark, every freckle.
sorry if this post is super self indulgent but i thought it was a funny little drabble for the pale ahh girlies 💗 i hope this doesn’t offend anyone i mean no offence
cw: AFAB! Reader , mentions of toy use, overstim, fingering..
a/n: first post not very good… I don’t really write smut soooo lmk ^^
ROY HARPER
Roy Harper, he is NASTY, his need for you is basically an unquenchable thirst for the sweetness of your cunt, eating you out with a certain type of fervour that knows neither time nor decorum. He is a connoisseur of need, his tongue a devotee to the wet of your cunt or even the curve of your ass, not a picky man by any means. Honestly it’s a little concerning how much he enjoys going down on you.
He likes having you on top, riding his face, your hips swaying back and foruth, grinding upon his eager mouth as if it were your throne. His fingers, always strong and unyielding, clasp your thighs, parting them like the leaves of some forbidden tome, he’s under any skirt you have, any table. When he’s under you, of course his own arousal stirs, half hard cock grinding down on the mattress, a testament to his own exquisite torment as he goes down. He always starts with languid, teasing strokes, his tongue traces long, deliberate paths along your folds, only to yield to impatience's sharp spur—plunging deeper, a single digit invading your warmth to speed up your orgasm. And you can bet that he love a squirter, lapping at the flood with the desperation of a man parched in the desert, as if your release was the cure to some uncurable illness.
And the audacity he has wity his words! He talks to your pussy as one might with a muse—'She's fuckin’ dripping for me, isn't she, sweetheart?' he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. 'There, that's my good girl, come for me..’
WALLY WEST
Wally west ever the overstimulator, even as your going through your second climax, one which causes your whole body to shake and shudder, through you, he lifts his gaze, those wide, adoring eyes drunk on the sight and taste of your pussy, and dives once more into you, undeterred by your quivering body. When you, no doubt, come again, he persists, his tongue delving ever deeper into your core, a hand splayed upon your abdomen to anchor you as your back arches impossibly. He loves the hold your fingers have in his hair, the instinctive grind of your hips seeking more, drawing him somehow closer.
His thumb, basically a vibrator, is honestly glued to your clit. He always has one or two fingers curling within you, He adores the look on your face—eyes glazed, lips parted in silent pleas. His favourite position? Your legs draped over his shoulders, pulling him into an intimacy that defies reason, your words dissolving incoherent babbles, your body betrays you completely. Such desperation, such raw need, ignites something primal within him.
MICHEAL HOLT
In the world of Michael Holt's meticulous existence, control and precision are things he thrives on. They both extend to the most intimate subject parts of his life. Unlike his counterparts, who might succumb to the abandon of impulse, Micheal approaches the act of eating you out with a type of calculated grace. Each flick and delve a deliberate tick in the science of all this. He wastes no time, he sees no need to, he plunges into the silken folds of your cunt, savouring every drop of you.
Yet, at times he’ll indulge in the cruelty that is edging. He is basically the epitome of self-control, his own sexual desires leashed with iron discipline, even as he coaxes you, almost mocking in nature. 'You can take a little more,' he murmurs, his voice a velvet lash, laced with that insidious sweetness. 'Just hold it a little longer, baby, I know you can.' And the true kicker: 'Surely you can hold on just a little longer?’ Delivered with such nonchalance, as if your unraveling was just a particularly hard formula.
And no, despite popular belief, the sterile confines of his laboratory hold no place for such activities; Our wonderful Mr Terrific isn’t one for the stigma of publicity, preferring the shadowed intimacy of your shared home, where the world fades to nothing. There, in the veil of domestic comfort, he arranges you upon the bed like a Renaissance painting, limbs splayed in an intimatly vulnerable way, your pussy laid bare as an offering to his discerning gaze. Simplicity is his creed—his mouth upon you, unrelenting and profound—though on occasion, he likes to introduce toys, to keep things interesting, a slender vibrator humming incessantly, its vibrations syncing with his rhythmic assaults to amplify what he can get out of you, drawing forth whimpers that echo throughout the room.
