Hi, I mainly write x readers. I can try to write for any anime/manga but they might be out of character if I donāt know who the character is but Iāll try my best.
I will write for Outlast series, The Magnus Archives, Ghost (band), and Elden Ring, Dead By Daylight, Reverse: 1999, identity V, DC, Gears of War, Dating Killmulator.
I will not write any nsfw unless I let nsfw to be requested.
[ARCHIVED MASTERLISTS]
Also, my requests are currently open. Please be a little descriptive about the request, I will add more seriesā to write about.
ā¼ļøCONTENT WARNINGS : THIRD POV, Gender neutral reader! ,Mentions of Self mutilations, Bruce-centric fic, OOC! Damian Wayne, OOC! Barbara, slight religious themes if you squint, slight medical malpractice, Major injuries.ā¼ļø
Bruceās eyes scanned through Saturdayās paper, searching for a specific column which is his unlikely favorite one. Gotham is [blank], his lips pressed into a thin smile reading the different responses, the different perspectives that formed the responses.
Gotham is Two-faced. Gotham is Killer Croc. Gotham is Batman. Gotham is the Batās city. Batman is sacred. Gotham is cursed.
Bruceās eyes looked at the second to last one with a bit of confusion but brushed it aside. He rolled up the newspaper and walked to the grandfather clock; down to the entrance of the bat cave.
He stepped down the stairs that stretched onto platforms to the batcomputer to work on the ongoing case of a disappearing socialite in Gothamās high society; it led to every dead end as if she had vanished into oblivion with only a name and her fortunes in hand. He pressed his inner comms that he hadnāt taken out yet.
āOracle, do you have any traces of her phone?ā
āSome cell towers in the upper side of Gothaāoh wait.ā Barbaraās typing paused then started once more in a fast paced manner. āNow, sheās moving near the pier. I would suggest moving now before her signal dies.ā
āThanks Oracle.ā
He started dressing in his batsuit, pulling up his suit and adjusting it so it would cover the vulnerable spots that werenāt covered with layers of Kevlar and top grade padding.
He arrived at the pier, Gothamās salty breeze greeted him like a long forgotten friend. He held out his tracker and the red dot that showed that the signal had not moved, it was there; blinking and mocking him.
He looked around and then saw Robin looking down a cramped alleyway.
āFound anything?ā
āThe socialite is down there.ā
He climbed down the rusted down emergency exits that looked too old. Bruce glided down to the alleyway, a shocked expression appeared on his face; the socialite was alive and breathing but she was mutilating herself by tearing at open wounds and pieces of fingers, ears, and a leg was scattered around the damp floor.
Batman instinctively pulled Robin behind him as he went forward to force a sedative injection in her bloodstream. He noticed her bloodied teeth and how the saliva mixture of clotted blood dribbled on the dirty floor. He tightened the tourniquets on areas where it was physically able to.
Hours had passed and the socialite was still unconscious. He watched as the emergency crews were picking up the socialite as he could feel the discomfort and shock melting off of them. They were gone, just like that. He and Robin quickly examined the scene before the area would be swarmed with police and media.
āSame thing, Robin?ā
āThat this wasnāt the actual scene?ā
āYes.ā
Both made it back to the bat cave, Bruce took off his cowl as he watched Damian rummage through the files to see if anything matched with this case but there was none. Not a single one. This was peculiar case, none in Gotham. None in Metropolis.
Bruce sighed, rubbing his temples at the potential that this was simply a case of a wealthy socialite losing their mind but it felt a bitter taste in his mouth.
Sunday had arrived with anticipation as he looked at the morningās paper to see that plastered on the front page was of the socialiteās discovery.
He sat down in the swivel chair in Batcave, staring at the headline in bold letters of a graphic description of the Socialiteās injuries and an image of her wrapped in bandages.
āOracle?ā He pressed his inner comms. āCan you hear me?ā
āYes. What do you need?ā
āThe socialite? Iām stuck in this case.ā He stood up, arms crossed. āAny escapees from Asylum that went unnoticed? This case does not feel rightā¦ā
āNone.ā She typed on her keyboard. āNo escapees. No discharges. Iāwait, look at thisā¦ā
Bruceās eyes widened as the video file was loaded onto the batcomputer, it was an Arkham security guard wheeling out a large rectangular box on a rusted dolly into a rented moving van. The date was stamped with Wednesday June 19th at 01:21.
āOracle, I thought you said that there were no discharges?ā
āIt wasnāt a discharge, it was an item. You know how some people buy paintings or other things made by a resident in Arkham?ā
āThey still do that?ā
āYes.ā
āDidāā
āYup, it was from a comatose resident? Thatās a bitā¦ā
āIāll go check it out. Thanks Oracle.ā
Bruce stood with his arms crossed, brows furrowed in immense frustration in a way that could not be quelled with a single sip of a coffee.
He stood in the socialiteās hospital room that was littered with flowers and balloons; each bigger than the rest trying to overshadow the rest. He placed his bouquet in row with the rest as he sat down on the cushioned chair that was close to the hospital bed that cradled the fading socialite that was now bound by her remaining limbs.
āHow are you?ā
āCould be better,ā she chuckled. āHow are you?ā
āIām doing alright. These flowers are wonderful, which one is your favorite out of them all?ā
āOhā¦this one.ā
She used her remaining finger to point at small dead bouquet with withered flowers.
āWho gave you that one?ā
āAn angelā¦ā she gushed with fanaticism. āYou should have seen themā¦You need to meet them! You must to enterāā
Her mouth moved rapidly and the stitches on her sewn together tongue had ripped open causing blood and the tongue itself to fall onto the floor. Repeating the mess of garbled words of an angel.
He pressed his head against his calloused palms while he drove towards the Asylum. Bruce stepped up the chipped marble steps that had been once used to drag hysterical patients inside.
His eyes looked around to see that the interiorās beauty wasnāt faded and much cleaner than usual when he would come in as Batman. He took in a breath and an exhale.
He sat across from the head director of the Asylum who is a softly smiling middle aged man by the name of Jeremiah Arkham.
āWhat do I own the pleasure, Mr. Wayne?ā
āI have come to purchase something off of one of your residents?ā
āWhich resident, Mr. Wayne?ā
āYouāre not going to believe it but I donāt know the name of the resident.ā Bruce shifted in his chair. āBut I do know a good friend of mine purchased one on Wednesday.ā
āOhā¦thatās.ā Jeremiah chuckled, pulling from a long metal cabinet; looking for one and a thick file that made a loud plop on his wooden desk. āThey specialize in mannequins, quite good. Youād like to order how many?ā
āCan you tell me their name? I would love to meet the artist before I order.ā
āOhā¦ā Jeremiahās face grew into a slight displeased expression. āThat canāt happenā¦ā
āWhy not? Do you not want me to purchase something from here?ā
āYes but it is purely out of concern for your wellbeing, Mr. Wayne.ā
āWhy?ā
āThe artist is heavily medicated and out of safety for you, it would not be good to meet them when they are awake.ā
āOhā¦alright, can I at least know the name of the artist?ā
āItās [Name] Bogoā¦Bogoāmolotovā¦no, itās Bogomolova, I believeāIāll write it down for you so you donāt forget.ā He wrote down the name on a piece of paper and handed it to him. āIs that all, Mr. Wayne?ā
Bruce nodded as he accepted the paper, putting it inside his pocket.
Bruce drove the way back home with an unknown sense of excitement in a way. Finally, a break in the case that was starting to burn away at his brain.
He quickly arrived at the Batcave as he input the name of [Name] Bogomolova in the Arkhamās database that was often lacking in security measures.
He breathed a sigh of relief at the files that unraveled in front of him; the single black and white admission photograph of [Name] with their eyes open, healed scars on both cheeks, another on their forehead and one on the lower jawline.
His eyes scanned the details and noticed that the administration was heavily medicating [Name], almost excessively. His blue eyes noticed how each time they were unmedicated the handwritings of previous doctors would go silent and a new one would appear like a never ending paper trail of a cycle.
ā ā¦keep administration interference to a minimal degree to not fall under the patientās words. Deadly charismatic to the point of self mutilation from interactions with said patient.ā
Another page flip continues with him darting towards the doctorās notes. Another new handwriting.
āAnother doctor lost. We have to start cutting corners, some patients can go without their treatments.ā
Bruce shook his head at the idea of trading one patient treatment for a dozen of others treatments as scapegoats.
āLimit all interactions. Permanent isolation if possible, all administration must wear ear covering when entering their room. Increase dosage, said patient has been heard whispering to inmates from the vents.ā
The doctor notes ended with no further explanation. He scrolled to the next page which was suddenly the unusual newspaper clippings of [Name] translated from their native language to English.
[clipping ripped]āā¦ found in a tragic state. Local authorities deem this a tragedy on both sides.ā
āLocals have been hearing of the Angel, just a myth.ā
āAnother religious statuary found made with rotten corpses during the heavy snowstorm? A miracle or an ominous sign?ā
āLocal aristocrat found dead after suffering sepsis from self-inflicted amputationā¦ā
āā¦The injured wife of a deceased wealthy man claims that an angel told them to do it!ā
Bruce blinked as the files ended like an unsatisfactory ending to a book that was finally finished.
The familiar alert rang to his phone, checking it to see that it was a city alert in bold letters that said,ā WARNING : DEADLY INMATE OF ARKHAM ASYLUM ESCAPED, [Name] BOGOMOLOVA. DO NOT INTERACT IF SPOTTED.ā
Bruce quickly donned his batsuit as Robin eagerly joined him in the Batmobile. He turned to look at Damian with a familiar scowl.
āDamian, you canāt come.ā
āNo, Batman needs a Robin!ā
āItās dangerousāā
āI know that itās dangerous but itās never stopped us.ā
āDamian, get out of the Batmobile. Itās for your own safety. This person is extremely dangerous.ā
āI canāā
āNo, you canāt.ā He gripped the steering wheel.āāThis person is not like the others. Please Damian, get out of the Batmobile. Youā¦ you can have extra time playing that game of yours.ā
āReally?ā
āYup.ā
Bruce smiled softly, seeing the boy scramble out of the Batmobile to eagerly play a game upstairs and out of the Batcave for once. He sighed in relief, driving out of the cave; his fingers hovered over the alerts to signal the other vigilantes that he knew would be prowling the streets of Gotham but he moved his fingers away to continue driving.
He started receiving an alert on his gps located in the Batmobile, it was on the richer side of Gotham as he drove over there with such intensity.
He opened the once beautiful manor that he had recognized during annual hosting galas. His eyes widened at the pure massacre at the blood and fingers, limbs scattered around the entire manor like discarded clothes that would be picked up be a maid or a butler.
Bruce entered the grand living room to only see the once familiar host, drenched in their own blood and missing limbs; hastily shoving large amounts of cash into the burning fireplace that crackled and popped with a hunger that Bruce never heard before. He wanted as the host dragged themselves to the mannequin that was intricately carved; real jewels covered them with a hand on your chest and an arm on the masked forehead.
Bruce pulled away as he stepped down the hall to the grand ballroom, covered in pools of sludges blood and identical mannequins all around the ballroom in different positions; some had their eyes covered, some were positioned in somewhat friendly manner, others had the praying motion. But it was difficult to remain calm when all of his senses were telling him to run, to drop this case like a dog who got shamed.
āThere appeared to them cloven tongues as of fire,ā the rasped voice whispered, āand they began to speak in other tongues.ā
Bruce turned around expecting to see the rouge monologuing behind him that there would a greater plan to the destruction of Gotham. But there was none.
āWe will scourge the flesh from the living carcasses of the rich. Their filthy gold will build our kingdom.ā
The rasped voice continued to whisper into the crevices of Bruceās brain. He shook his head as he stepped away to turn on his bat vision to see that it would be useless and dread; all of the mannequins had bones woven into their structure.
The sharpening of a blade as he turned and saw a person dressed identical to the mannequins, jumping onto him; it ripped. Bruce instinctively rose up his hand to block his face as the blade tore through the layered kelvar, through his hand; noting that there was no right hand but only a blade. He felt the blade slowly leave a scar on the right side of his lower jaw; the blood dribbling down.
He managed to push them off of him as it seemed that they were a relentless storm that never planned on stopping. Each slash, each cut and each whisper echoed through him.
No matter the punch nor the slash, nothing was stopping them. Their golden teeth glimmered in the hallway light and the metallic scent of blood stained the walls of the hallways which he finally recognized to be a symbol, just one symbol; a double layered cross with a circle on the second cross.
He heard the sirens of the police come, they were so close. He realized that they stopped attacking, moving backwards towards the bloodied disaster of the grand ballroom.
āWhy are you doing this, [Name]? Money? Did someone put you up to this?ā
āYou cannot sacrifice with defiled hands.ā
He threw a tether to forcefully plant them in the spot.
Batman watched them enter the back of the Batmobile, he had stuffed his ears with even more earplugs that they could handle.
He began the long drive back to Arkham, still hearing the whispering like nails on the chalkboard.
He could feel as if his grip was slipping in a way, as it wasnāt tight enough gripping the steering wheel. He arrived at the asylum, getting out to hand [Name] over to them but when he opened the latch for the back of the mobile. It had been opened, nobody was in the back.
HI! I LOVE UR FICS AND UR LAYOUT! Are you still taking bakery requests? I'd like to order something for Horropedia! I'd like a cinnamon cake with vanilla frosting and frosted frogs in a pink box ^^
I'm such a sucker for this man and childhood friends to lovers hfisfhsifo
ā DELIVERED ORDER !
To : HORROPEDIA
From : SECRET ADMIRER
Your hands scrambled to grab the cardboard box that had his horror movies despite you not really enjoying them. The mixture of horror movies and horror novels were on the bottom and the top box held files that you needed to take to someone hours ago but he was seemingly more important despite knowing him for years, a bubbling sensation happened when you thought of him.
It was normal, right?
Your aching legs made it to his room and managing the kick the door rather difficult than knocking since your hands were full with a cardboard box filled with media of the horror genre that had been taken from him and really late files.
Horrorpedia appeared out from behind the long rows of silver filing cabinets as he took the bottom box with a childlike grin. He placed the box down, sifting through the horror media to add to his ever growing collection in that worn suitcase that never seemed to run out of space; picking and grabbing some to look in the summaries in the back of the film or book sleeves.
āI have to remind you that jump scares are really outdated, [Name],ā he told you, playfully.
āHorrorpedia,ā you groaned at him.
āSorry, sorry,ā he chuckled. āHey, when youāre done. Iāll get some snacks, drinks and some DVDs to watch. What do you say, [Name]? Interested?ā
āMmhā¦ā you pondered. āPossibly if Iām not tiredā¦ā
āIām choosing!ā He stated, āa goreyāā
āNo, none of the gory ones! We, mainly just me, haven't seen a psychological thriller in a long time.ā
āFineā¦ā
āFine!ā You crossed your arms. āIāll be back soon. You better not start without me orāor our friendship is totally over!ā
Your legs were now throbbing with each step back to the room where he was at now You rubbed your temples while your brain felt it had been turning into mush while working and organizing the files that were late alongside slight scoldings from your superior.
You opened the door, plopped down on the worn down pull out couch that he found somewhere. He had begun to roll out the old television from storage as he popped the vhs tape of a very obscure thriller that even the box cover was heavily faded and held together with clear tape.
Horropedia sat down next to you, you could see glare from his glasses depicting every scene. You looked away from him, feeling the flush of your face as you forced yourself to focus on the movie that was unraveling.
You could hear the footsteps from the television and how the movie pulled you into the atmosphere; the cold chill and a gasp escaped your lips while your hands instinctively latched onto something soft but firm. You squeezed it repeatedly before you pulled yourself from the movie, looking upā
It felt as if steam escaped your ears and you pulled away from him immediately like he had burned you.
ā[Name]?ā
āYes?ā
Your back faced him as you couldnāt bear at all to face him. You still sat down with him on the couch with a long empty space, feeling air wafting towards you. Your eyes slowly looked at him, his hand was outstretched and his face was so flushed.
āDo youā¦?ā
āIā¦I donātā¦know.ā you held his hand; each otherās hands were trembling and fingers interwoven together. āI guessā¦ā
āLike that?ā He blubbered. āWith me?ā
You nodded slowly.
āI like youā¦like that too,ā he confessed. āDo you stillā¦ā
āI wasnāt paying that much attentionā¦ā
āWhat?ā He looked at you. āNow, I have to restart itā¦ā
Sodo x a reader who has really bad panic attacks and he walks in on them having one and it they wonāt even let him touch them at first? (I recently had one this bad and Iām still coming down from it)
Thank you!
-š„
Chat Log Name : By whom all things will be unmade
chat log description : Headcanons of Sodo helping a reader who has severe panic attacks.
online users : Sodo , Gender Neutral! Reader
ā¼ļøCONTENT WARNINGS : Mentions of Panic attacks, Second POV. ā¼ļø
sparkle divider creds to @cursed-carmine
animated pink divider creds to @cafekitsune
Sodo would be curious at first because he wouldnāt be used to seeing someone that he deems as strong to crumble for some unknown reason. But he would try to comfort the reader by bringing them their favorite things to try and calm themselves down.
Sodo just sits next to you and watches because heās a curious ghoul and if bringing your favorite things doesnāt calm you down. Heāll use himself to distract you by using his flames to either warm you up from a distance or burn something that you donāt like.
Sodo does try to make you laugh after your panic attack is over and he will try to reassure you that itās normal and how to slowly ease your back into your routines.
Sodo often gives you free snacks that he steals from the Clergyās cafeteria that he often eats during tours.
chat log description : after what happened on the beach, Florian remembers the small conversation that happened.
online users : Florian Seth, Female! Reader
ā¼ļø CONTENT WARNING : 18+ MDIN, Fingering, Eating out, Praises, Second POV, NO PLOT, Female reader, Female Genitalia for the Reader, OOC! Florian Seth, Fluff if you squint.ā¼ļø
Your swimsuit was still a bit damp from earlier activities that you did with Florian on the way to the apartment but his hand remained around your waist.
āYou can wait in my room,ā you whispered to him.
āIāll go change but Iāll be there when you get back,ā he whispered back.
He nodded, slowly departing to the spare room to change into dry clothes as if trying to not make the floorboards creak or make any other noise that would wake up the rest of the apartment.
You went over to the bathroom to brush your teeth for the night and finished brushing your teeth as you walked back to your room. Florian was sitting on the bed as he got up to help you undress, his fingers pulled down on the striped straps of your swimsuit.
Your lips kissed his cheek as you pulled away to put on your dry clothes. His lips slowly kissed your neck, pulling you into a backwards hug.
āDid you think that you were off the hook?ā He whispered, softly. āItās going to be your turn, remember?ā
You could feel his breath caressing your neck, feeling your face being heavily flushed; the heat radiating from your body. āYou definitely forgot,ā you thought.
āWe donāt have to if you donāt want to,ā he chuckled softly. āI can go back to my room.ā
He pulled away and began walking to leave but you grabbed his arm to pull him away from the door and back to you; that calming sensation appeared like an oasis in a desert.
āIs this the calmness that he feels when heās around me?ā You thought.
His lips kissed yours with such intense softness as if he was on the edge of wanting to devour you entirely but he was holding back with each kiss, each cradling of your face to look at your face before indulging in another kiss of yours.
You were now on the bed and he was lying next to you, his arm pulling you close to his chest. His hand was hovering over your crotch, his fingertips snaked underneath your underwear.
āRemember to be quiet, mmh?ā He whispered. āWouldnāt want them hearing you?ā
You nodded as his fingers were slowly going in and out of your already damp folds. You were moaning into his hand that was clamped around your mouth, his thumb grazed your clit that caused you to squirm slightly.
His thumb began swirling around your clit as his panting was grazing your neck and lips were slowly attacking your neck.
āYouāre so beautiful like this,ā he whispered.
His fingers continued thrusting into your soft walls, he was maintaining a slow pace but he stopped the slow pace when your hips began to eagerly clash to his motions. He readjusted his position; his hands fully pulled down your lower undergarments.
His eyes widened at the sight like a man who was left stranded and wanted to eat the first thing in sight. There was no waiting as he dove into your core; slowly but messily eating you out.
You held in the moans but your mind was hopping around to stay calm and not melt from him. Trying to not become completely putty as his tongue ran over soft crevices that you didnāt know could be so pleasurable. His hands held the side of your hips up as if to get a deeper motion of devouring you.
Chat Log Name : But Iām already gone, Iām gone !
Chat log description : Reader has been having cases of bad luck on their birthday and they hope that they are apart of an actual family rather than being an outsider looking in. Reader finds a way to get to finally be part of a family.
You sat on your stool in your room, looking through the old memories that were now in the trash. You were in worse shape than before yet it seemed that nobody noticed.
Nobody knocked to see how you were feeling after helping the completion of the mission. Nobody viewed your help rather as an unpredictable variable that could not be contained.
The scientific words that were plastered on you by the voices of Tim, Barbara and occasionally others. Only made you feel like you did not belong, that you did not feel human. Just like an experiment by those lab coats who created you in that white sterile lab and made you understand the meanings of ālearned helplessnessā and only to break it down once more to fine dust.
To teach you more about what it means to be an object but you shook your head to distract yourself and you looked at your bed; remembering the comforts that it would provide you and the way it covered you in such warmth.
You wiped away your tears that ached when they dribbled down your face.
āI didnāt ask for this,ā you thought. āIā¦I donāt deserve thisā¦ā
You looked down at your palms, how intensely they were shaking uncontrollably. You gasped with each sob.
āItās not fair,ā you thought.
You didnāt ask for thisāyou did not ask to be randomly scooped up by a billionaire wearing a batsuit who promised to take care of you but never did and seemingly just gave you a supersuit as if to say, āhere, my child whose name I canāt remember fight criminals but donāt really fight criminals.ā
You wiped away your tears, looking at your calendar and seeing a sticker of a birthday cake on today. Itās your birthday.
āJust maybe they can put aside their differences of what happened today to make a birthday,ā you thought. āBirthdays are importantā¦ā
You stepped outside of your room, walking towards the kitchen and hoping for a simple cake or your dessert of choice with the words happy birthday in icing or in a banner like the movies that you watched to try and be somewhat normal and not like a science experiment.
You looked towards the kitchen, seeing nothing. No cake, no nothing. Just a simple crowded kitchen with vigilantes dressed in civilian clothes as if taking a break for the morning.
It made something shatter from within. Something broke. You touched on back of your scalp, no longer feeling the hard thing that you would often try to bring up to Bruce but he seemed to brush it off. You could hear it, the noise of gusting winds and clamoring voices that seemed so distant.
When you blinked, it looked like it had been flipped upside down. You looked at Bruce who had somehow managed to balance himself on the marble island and his hand was outstretched to grab yours. A miniature tornado that kept sucking in items as it finally took you.
ā[Name]!ā He cried out.
You swore that you saw his face contort with such agony but it was seconds being pulled into another universe. Then, another universe and another universe with each flip of your body.
It felt as if hands from every direction were pulling you up, down, left and right.
You let out a loud gasp, your frantic eyes looking around the place. It was a hospital room, a very good one. The room was littered with large bouquets of an assortment of flowers, stuffed animals with a small balloon that says, āGet better soon.ā
You looked at your trembling hands, then touching your face to feel the old scars that littered your face as it was an old self soothing habit that had never been corrected. Your hands fumbled at the identification wristband which has your official name which is āWayne, [Name].ā
You looked up at the person who just came, Duke Thomas, who was holding another stuffed animal with a small balloon that was currently on the floor.
āNo @#!% way!ā He stated. āYouāre awake! Uhāoh!ā
You watched as he went to go hug you and give you the stuffed animal before immediately leaving the room to call for nurses or doctors. You could still feel the excitement radiating from him while you softly smiled.
It seemed as if a flood happened with the visitors coming in and it only made your smile widen with a mixture of excitement and unbridled nervousness from having this amount of attention.
It came out of Stephanieās bag, somehow it wasnāt ruined by anything as it was laid on the table. Your favorite dessert and written on the pastry box was the three simple words that you would imagine.
Happy Birthday, [Name] !
Your eyes watered at those simple words that meant so much to you. Words that meant belonging, love and family.
Your eyes looked over to the rushed footsteps that belong to Bruce Wayne, your adoptive father who was looking at you like a child rather than a nuisance. He managed to somehow squeeze over to your bedside to wrap you in a tight hug, cradling you in his arms. He pulled away to wipe away the tears coming down your scarred cheeks.
āIām so happy that youāre awake, sweetheart,ā he says in a gentle tone. āAnd Happy birthday, [Name].ā
You sobbed in his arms as his arms cradled you and heās soothing you.
āItās okay, youāre okay,ā he coaxed, softly.
ā° USAGE RULES .į Please credit @angeliicide in the post you use my work! You may also credit me in your pinned or somewhere else visible on your blog. Please do not reupload or alter my dividers.
