Low voices, paper shufflin', da soft buzz of da wall display, chairs bein' pulled out an’ boots shufflin' on tile.
Logan’s leanin' against da far wall wit’ his arms crossed. Scott’s standin' stiff as ever, listenin' ta Magneto wit’ his ear practically pressed up against his ass, damn couyon. Fool.
Everythang’s exactly how it usually be, 'cept her.
She on da table. Ain’t at it, on it.
Perched near da edge, legs swangin' like she don't notice or jus’ don't care. A massive hoodie swallowin' her frame, hands tucked inside. Da hood itself ‘s down an' her hair's tied up messy, lil pieces fallin' loose framin' her face.
She also ain't in uniform, unlike everyone else. So o’ course Remy clocks her, ‘cause she stands out.
I mean everyone else ready, all geared up, slick, an' she look like she wandered in from a nap. Yet here she be, sittin' right beside Magneto, still perched on da table. How odd.
She ain't even speakin' or engagin' wit’ anyone either. Hands go up, voice’s chime in, even Remy throws in his two cents every once in o’ while.
He looks over again an' her body's curled in. Her posture loose, her face unreadable for da most part. He can’t tell what she doin’. Why she here?
An' Magneto don't look at her, he don't acknowledge her presence in da slightest. Nah, he keeps talkin' ta Scott, pointin' at somethin’ on da holo display, his voice low an' clipped, hands gesturin’ here an' there, she jus' stays put… Remy don't even think she payin' attention ta da meetin'.
So he don't think hard about it. It ain't like it a big deal but still he can’t help but note da way she shifts a lil closer when Scott leans in… or da way Magneto’s cape brushes her arm an' she actually reaches out ta grab it, fidgetin' wit’ it in her hands, like Magneto ain’t addressin’ da entire room right now. He don't even move ta stop her. Mag-ne-to, of all people!
Yeah… he’s payin' more attention than he thought but she new… excu'se enough right?
I mean da girl’s only been 'round a few months.
She da quiet type, a bit strange, like sittin' on tables, strange.
Remy ain't even aware of what she can do. What’s her spark, her ya know... contribution ta da team? Maybe he ain't da only one who ain't payin' attention in briefin's.
He caught up in his own thang, other people... other women.
But right now? Da way she sittin' here like she belongs an’ don't, all at da same time. It sticks wit’ him, if he honest. Enough ta make him glance over one more time before da briefin' wraps up an’ wonder, how da hell that came ta be…
was playing around with his voice/accent i think it's too much idk
Papa V Perpetua talks tea and sugar with his very fancy girlfriend.
He is enamored, watching as she bustles about the kitchen in socked feet. Fifteen tins of tea, she said, and his eyebrows raise when she opens the cabinet above the stove. Even from his place beneath the archway leading into the hall, he could tell the tea is meticulously organized. Black on the bottom, green on the middle shelf, and herbal at the top, and knowing her - in order by frequency of use.
She turns to look over her shoulder, beaming at him with clear delight as she plucks a tin off the bottom shelf. “English Breakfast,” she says, nodding very seriously. “It isn’t breakfast time, but that shouldn’t matter, should it?”
“No. Besides, it isn’t even tea when you’re done with it,” V says, picking up the rapidly dwindling bag of sugar. She snatches it from his hand, her lips forming a little pout. V laughs, a quiet thing, and he lifts a hand to brush his thumb against her bottom lip. “I’m kidding, honey. I like the way you take your tea.” His fingers shift to pull her lip up, exposing her front teeth. “But I am concerned about your teeth.”
She turns her head sharply, dislodging his fingers. “Vincens!” She whines, turning back to the task at hand, although aggressively. “I don’t like the taste without copious amounts of cream and sugar. I know I’m insulting the tea gods.”
V places his hands firmly at her hips, squeezing the soft curves there. He dips his head, dropping a kiss to the skin just below her ear. “I know,” he soothes. “Sweetheart, if you don’t like the taste, you don’t have to drink it.” She shivers, leaning back against him, and he kisses her again. His hands slide around to her front, one just to hold, the other rubbing soothing circles into her belly.
“I like being fancy,” she sighs, her lashes fluttering shut. Her head turns, his nose bumping into her cheek. A perfect opportunity for nuzzling, and he presses it harder into her skin. He hums, gently amused by her comment. “You are very fancy,” he acquiesces, voice pitching lower. “I won’t tell anyone your dreadful, horrible secret.”
She turns in his arms, and he scoops her closer again, burying his nose in her neck. She giggles, and he makes a small sound from the warmth that fills his chest. “You keep all my secrets,” she says happily. He trails kisses up her neck and along her jawline, smiling against her skin with a short, “Mhm.”
Her fingers slip beneath his chin and redirect him to her lips, and he kisses her like a man possessed. His lips don’t merely kiss; they cradle, nip, suck. Envelop her mouth with his devotion. She’s pink, lips puffy when he pulls back, and still she chases him, wanting another. He laughs. “You flatter an old man, you know,” he murmurs, granting her a more chaste kiss. He reminds her. “We were making tea.”
She shakes her head, tugging him closer again. “You taste better.”
Good day~ May I please request “i–i have a day off tomorrow, do you want go somewhere?” “i just want to be in your arms, no matter where.” (from “i wanna be closer to you" prompts) with Ardyn (FFXV) and reader? Thank you kindly~
I guess I should also add “thylacine”, right?
Ardyn had all but tuned out the world except for Y/N. At this point, hearing them ramble about menial palace tasks was a godsend compared to the drudgery of Aldercapt's war room, surrounded by old men so eager to send their youth off to die. Then again, Ardyn wasn't so different from them, except for being 2,000 years their senior, minus the sagging skin and wrinkles. That, in itself, was amusing.
Still, the war between Niflheim and Lucis had dragged on long enough. He was growing impatient. He needed to hasten its end to achieve what he had long planned against his kin, but so far, opportunities were limited.
And, of course, he had been distracted.
That distraction took the form of the meandering fool at his side, who nearly walked straight into an imperial statue had Ardyn not intervened at the last second. He responded to their bashful thanks with a hum and a snort before letting the one-sided conversation continue.
To be perfectly honest, he'd found them annoying at first—much like a young chocobo: eager to follow the lead bird, a little rebellious, cute in their own way, and an unspeakable pain to break in.
Cute.
He landed on that word again, as he had so many times before. He growled under his breath.
"Chancellor?"
"Hm?"
"You just...growled."
His eyes widened slightly before returning to neutral. He sighed at being caught.
"So I did."
"Did I say something to offend you?" Y/N asked, cautious now.
He hated it when they gave him that look—that spark of innocence behind their eyes. It reminded him of her, his Aera, once upon a time.
"I have the day off tomorrow," Ardyn said abruptly, turning to face them. "Do you want to go somewhere?"
"A—beg your pardon?"
"Tomorrow," he repeated more firmly. "Do you want to go somewhere with me?"
"I mean, sure! That sounds nice, but…"
"Yes?" His brow arched.
"Is that allowed?" they asked with a nervous chuckle, gesturing between themself and Ardyn. "I mean, you're you, and I'm—"
"The help," he teased, lips twitching.
"I was going to say imperial counsel, but since you seem to be having an off day, I'll let you have that one."
He noticed the way they swallowed, and the gleam in his eye sharpened.
"You needn't worry," Ardyn said, indulging himself by resting a hand on their shoulder. "If anyone has anything to say about it, I can always have their tongues snipped."
When their eyes widened, he chortled darkly and shook his head.
“I merely jest.” He withdrew his hand, offered a sincere if mischievous smile, and walked ahead of them. "I'll expect to see you an hour after dawn, then!"
He didn't give them the chance to protest, let alone ask questions—already long gone from the corridor before their voice could reach him.
He furrowed his brows as he exited the grand hall, scowling at himself. He couldn't believe he'd given in to the impulse to connect with another human. Still, strangely as it were, the daemons inside him, constantly scratching, always hungering, seemed calm at the idea as much as his contempt tried to argue otherwise. Even if he wanted to walk away from it, Ardyn knew it was too late. He didn't need to see Y/N's face to know they were smiling from ear to ear.
The next day passed in the blink of an eye. Needless to say, he found himself enjoying Y/N's company far more than he had expected.
They began at the imperial library, where he retrieved a weathered tome from his own era while learning about Y/N's fondness for several genres. He pretended not to care at first, keeping his nose buried in the pages, content with the quiet halls and lack of patrons this early. But soon enough, Y/N's controversial takes got under his skin in a good way. The book stayed closed at his side as he gave them his full attention, bantering back and forth until the two were practically arguing, followed by laughter echoing off the shelves and earning a few hushes.
Ridiculous. Immature. Stupid, really.
But he'd be lying if he said he didn't love it.
The library gave way to the market district. Their banter continued, culminating in a visit to the theater. Ardyn had seen The Goddess's Fall: The Tale of Shiva—hundreds of times. He knew the lines by heart and had never cared for them. Even as a young man, the story hadn't impressed him, but this time, he didn't watch the play; he watched Y/N, observing the way awe danced in their eyes during sincere moments, the grimace they made during the fights, the way they seemed to lean forward, trying to guess the ending. It reminded him of when Y/N was first assigned to his counsel, Verstael's idea of a joke to "take the edge off" Ardyn by pairing him with some green imperial with a welcoming face and a gentle way with words, someone who could tamper down his anger. He'd loathed Verstael for it, but when Y/N's smile widened at the play's bittersweet end, Ardyn might've silently thanked him.
Once. Maybe twice.
Dinner was a quiet affair that both parties graciously welcomed. At least it seemed that way to Ardyn, given how Y/N matched his energy, something he didn't take for granted then. Contrary to popular belief, Ardyn wasn't always the extroverted, charismatic figurehead his public image portrayed. Or as he put it to Y/N over wine and dessert, "a chocobo in a clown suit.", making them laugh, forgetting for the moment how he wished he could still taste food—enjoy the tartness of lemon cake without the scourge dulling his senses. For a moment, he almost swore he could when Y/N said it felt good to be around him. To be around someone who wasn't always trying to play to the cameras.
He wanted to reach across the table and take their hand, but he shook the thought away. He was going off script, and it spooked him.
By the time they wandered into the imperial gardens, night had fallen. A waterfall glowed in the distance, its artificial cascade catching moonlight and the lanterns nearby. Ardyn stared into the rushing water and tried to forget the day, to forget how good it had felt to let his guard down, but the more he tried, the louder the daemons became.
"A gil for your thoughts?" Y/N asked gently.
"Haven't you heard enough of those today?" he teased, not hiding the weariness in his tone. A slight smirk tugged at his lips when Y/N laughed.
"Listening's part of my job," they said. "Even off the clock, I don't mind. You're a lot more fascinating than I expected."
"Is that an insult or a compliment?" Ardyn raised a brow.
"Er—" Y/N grimaced, their blush deepening as Ardyn chuckled darkly.
"However you want to take it?"
"Well, since you've kept me thoroughly entertained, I'll take it as a compliment and spare you the consequences."
They both laughed, but as the sound faded, the silence that followed felt heavier. Ardyn drifted somewhere far away, back to memories of Aera, of long nights filled with hope. Of a time before the gods abandoned him. Before the daemons crawled beneath his skin like bugs.
This was all wrong.
"Chanc—Ardyn," Y/N corrected, remembering his request to skip formalities today. "What happens after tonight?"
"Pardon?" he blinked, pulled from the haze.
"What happens when we go back to being chancellor and counsel?"
"Well," he said slowly, realizing he hadn't given it much thought. His eyes glowed faintly beneath the stars. "We go back to being chancellor and counsel. With a few perks."
"Perks? What do you—?"
"I want to be closer to you," he interrupted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He cursed himself silently. Too direct. Too real. He bit the inside of his cheek and made a fist.
"I'm...not used to this." He gestured between them. "This relationship we seem to be in the midst of developing—friends or otherwise."
A sigh escaped him. "And to be transparent...I don't think it'll last."
"But?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing again. "But I'd like to see what happens. If only for research purposes."
Y/N laughed. Ardyn smiled solemnly.
Then it grew quiet again, and in the stillness, Ardyn felt something stir in his chest, something foreign and familiar. He couldn't place it until Y/N stepped forward and wrapped their arms around him.
Ardyn froze, wide-eyed, and then, after a moment, he allowed his old instincts to guide him as his arms came around Y/N's waist, pulling them close. So close, he could capture their scent; feel their warmth seep through his clothes and touch his cold skin. He remembered distantly what it was like to hold someone without blood on his hands. Gods be damned, he had a thousand thoughts, a million questions, but none of them mattered. Not when Y/N whispered against him:
"I just want to be in your arms, no matter where. Colleagues, friends...whatever this is."
And just like that, the scourge had shut up. For the first time in centuries, the darkness went quiet.
Ardyn knew how this story would end, knew his fate — the blinding rage and fire that would one day consume Eos, with him as its harbinger, how he'd force gods and kings to their knees before getting the last laugh. Even the damned gods ordained it so. But for now?
For now, he'd allow himself to feel this, let himself remember what it was like to be a mortal, an ordinary man who wanted to be seen, to be explored, to be needed, long before gods and kin abandoned him.
If you like my work and feel generous, feel free to donate to my ko-fi account or my cash app account!
𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.
well, i do feel better now that you're here.
Leslie Vernon
Notes: third person reader. Part of my Amorous August series. Contains some mild spice, general feelings of unease. Never forget that Leslie is a killer and schemer.
--
The back door is unlocked.
She’s standing there, hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The smell of blueberry wafts up as she watches the door waver slightly, pushed inwards by the wind that’s just picked up. Shaking, she moves to close it, practically slamming the lock in place, doublechecking it to be sure that it’s locked before she retreats into the kitchen. The radio on the counter is playing an emergency weather report, which is rather redundant at the moment, since the wind is starting to howl.
Shivering even though it’s not even cold, she goes to check one of the counter drawers, hands shaking as she rifles through it. This isn’t the first time that something like this has happened. Weird things have been happening around the house lately and since she lives alone in the middle of nowhere, it’s been putting her on edge. Some of her clothes have been going missing. Doors are unlocked or open when they shouldn’t be. Someone left an apple on the passenger seat of her locked car.
And now all of her big knives are missing.
The screech of the wind drowns out her own little cry of terror. The mug of tea is knocked over as she scrambles to grab her phone, praying that the call gets through. There’s only one person she can call right now and when he answers, she nearly starts sobbing out of relief.
“Leslie, oh thank god you’re home. Can you please come over? Something weird is happening and I’m so scared…”
His voice is warm at the other end of the line. “I’ll be right over.”
--
The wind is screaming when Leslie shows up on her porch, holding a battery operated lantern in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “I brought ice cream,” he says as a greeting, their bodies brushing together as he goes inside at the same time she moves to close the door. The locks are triple checked and she even jams a chair under the knob to be sure. “So, how are you feeling?”
“Well, I do feel better now that you're here.” She smiles awkwardly, hugging herself. “It’s just…I can’t believe this is happening to me. Whatever this exactly is.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m here and I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
--
Of course, that entails being in the same room. Just to be extra safe, the room is the bedroom, because no one can sneak up on them there and there is an ensuite bathroom, so they don’t have to leave the room. There’s only one bed, obviously, but that’s fine. It’s more than fine.
She kisses him first, tentative and nervous. The lights are flickering as she presses her lips against his and they go out for good when Leslie kisses her back. Tree branches scratch against the window as they fall back onto them mattress, no longer listening to the radio. They’re gasping into each other’s mouths, hungry for something that only the other could provide as lightning illuminates the room. She’s wet, he’s hard and fear is somehow working as an aphrodisiac, so it pushes them forward.
Afterwards, she falls asleep, a little smile on her face. Leslie watches her for a few moments before he gets up to head downstairs. Looks like he won’t need to mess with the basement door now. Things went better than expected tonight. Leslie had only intended to scare her a little, get her to call and for them to just spend the night together in a literal, platonic sense.
Tomorrow morning, before she wakes up, he’ll get the bag of knives from under the shed and put them by the back door. If it scares her enough for her to want to spend the night at his place, he’s not going to complain.
Whumptober 2021: #17. Field Care 101, #18. The Doctor Is In, #19. Stabbing, #21. Blood Matted Hair
Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Damian Wayne
Word Count: 1718
TW: accidental violence against a 10-year-old
“Help! Please, somebody help!”
Jason just happened to be passing by the open entrance to the Batcave when he heard his youngest brother’s desperate cries floating up the stairs. The sound stopped him dead in his tracks as a cold chill ran down his spine. Damian may still be just a kid, but he tried so hard to make everyone else forget that fact. He hid behind his patronizing snarky attitude and never let others see his vulnerable side. So, if his sobbing pleas were any indication, something must be terribly, terribly wrong…
Tearing down the stairs of the Batcave, Jason stumbled to a halt when he saw what had caused the commotion. Damian was kneeling on the training mat, tears streaming down his face, grasping his twin’s hand for dear life. A katana towered over her tiny form, one end protruding from her stomach and the other end pinning her to the floor. Even from this distance, Jason could hear her ragged gasps as she struggled to catch her breath. He was by her side in seconds, noticing a second katana laying discarded just out of reach of her hand. Damian looked up at him, his face twisted in anguish, “We were practicing. She was supposed to block my advance, but an alarm went off and she became distracted. Todd…. Please help her.”
Jason opened his mouth but flinched as he looked down to see his sister weakly grasping his fingers. “Not Dami’s fault…. I should have- have paid attention.”
Jason squeezed her hand back, trying to muster up a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. It was an accident. It was nobody’s fault. But don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up real soon.”
He gently pulled his hand out of her clutches and hurled himself at the intercom on the wall. He wanted to remain calm for both of the twins’ sakes, but the sight of his sister’s tiny body lying in a growing pool of her own blood was too much for him. Slamming down the button, Jason frantically screamed, “We need emergency medical assistance in the cave! Dick! Alfred!..... BRUCE! Get your asses down here now!”
Dick materialized next to him in seconds. He knew if Jason called for Bruce’s help, something dire had to have happened. And it appeared his assumption was not wrong. As he tried to grasp the scene before him, Dick’s gaze rapidly shifted from his sister to Damian to Jason back to his sister to the sword embedded in her stomach to his sister again, each change of focus leaving him gaping like a fish out of water.
Alfred arrived next. He had seen many terrible things both during his time in the military and since Master Bruce had started his nightly crusade, but the sight of the pale, wheezing form of his beloved ten-year-old charge laying at his feet was one of the worst. Without a word, he knelt down and began examining the wound around the blade. Checking her pulse, he was relieved to find it strong, if slightly irregular.
A flutter of a cape announced Bruce’s arrival. He had just been preparing to go join Tim on patrol, so he was currently in his batsuit minus the cowl. He immediately fell to his knees next to his daughter, his face pinched in a pained grimace. He began stroking her hair where it was splayed haphazardly across the mat.
Damian tried to explain what had happened. “Father, it was an accident. We were just sparing like we always do but she looked away for a moment. I did not –”
“Not now Damian.” Bruce coldly snapped as he refused to look at the trembling boy.
Damian’s already teary eyes grew wide at this harsh rebuff and Dick pulled him into a hug. For once, Damian didn’t resist. “It’s okay. He’s just scared. He didn’t mean it.” Dick murmured into his hair, but Damian remained stiff in his arms.
Glancing up, the young girl once again managed a soft, “Father…. It’s not Dami’s fault… Don’t blame him.”
Bruce just nodded at her slightly, lips pressed into a firm, hard line. Looking up at Alfred, he asked, “Well?”
“We’ll have to carry her to the medical facility before I can do anything. However, the sword seems to be pinning her to the floor so it will have to be removed before we can transfer her.”
All the boys immediately blanched at the idea of being the one to remove the sword, a fact that did not escape Alfred’s notice. With a sigh, he took charge of the situation. “This has to be done as quickly as possible since there is a good chance she will begin to bleed profusely once we remove the blade. Master Jason, go to the other room and get all my supplies set up.” Jason grunted and hurried off to do as he was told.
Alfred picked up the towel that was lying next to the mat and tossed it to Dick. “Master Dick, when I pull the blade out, I need you to press this into the wound as quickly and as tightly as possible.” Dick nodded, biting his lip slightly as he stepped away from Damian and moved closer to his sister.
“Master Bruce, as soon as she is no longer trapped, you need to carry her as quickly but as carefully as possible over to the medical facility.” Bruce began to say something, but one stern look from the butler shut him up quickly. Damian noticed that he had not been given a job to do so he just silently moved out of the way as his family prepared to try to fix his mistake.
As everyone got into position, Bruce soothingly whispered to his daughter, “Okay, my little one. I am sorry, but this next part is going to hurt. I need you to stay as still as you possibly can.”
She gazed up at her father through half-lidded eyes, “S’okay …. It doesn't hurt anymore….” Bruce and Dick exchanged worried glances but silently prepared themselves.
On the count of three, Alfred pulled the sword from the girl’s stomach in one swift, fluid motion. Her body spasmed as her agony-filled scream echoed throughout the cave. Dick slammed the towel into the wound as a fountain of blood sprayed into the air. In seconds, she was a moaning, shaking mess in Bruce’s arms as he bolted to the medical facility.
Damian slowly sunk to his knees on the bloody mat. Each one of his sister’s screams or sobs from the other room was like a physical punch to the gut. He had done this to her, accidently or not. He was the cause of her suffering. She was the one person who had been by his side every day of his life. She was the one person who truly knew everything he had endured both with the League of Shadows and with the Bats. She was the one person he could trust without hesitation, and yet he had done this to her.
As another wail tore through him, Damian folded over until his head was pressed firmly against the mat, not caring as her blood soaked into his hair. He pressed his hands tightly over his ears attempting to drown out her cries and the frantic voices of their family as they tried desperately to save her. It did little to block the sounds and he was soon rocking back and forth on his knees, tears streaming down his face, silently begging for it all to stop.
And then it did. Damian had thought the noise had been torture, but he soon realized it was nothing compared to the sudden uncertainty of the silence. He froze, terrified at what this newfound stillness meant. Damian felt a hand gently rest on his back and then Dick was pulling him into his chest. When his brother quietly murmured, “She’s going to be alright.”, Damian let loose a heart-wrenching sob.
After holding the small boy for a few minutes, Dick helped Damian stand and he walked him into the other room. Their sister was lying on the bed, stomach wrapped in thick bandages, oxygen tube in her nose, IV in her arm. Though unconscious, her face was still pinched in pain but at least Damian can see her chest steadily rising and falling.
Jason was in the corner of the room, pacing back and forth, fingers subconsciously twitching at his hip. Normally when he was this agitated, he would just shoot his problems, but he knew in this situation, his guns were useless. Alfred was cleaning the bloody instruments on the table next to the bed, but he gave Damian a small smile and nod when he entered. Bruce was holding one of his daughter’s hands and staring unblinkingly at her face. Everyone always joked about how little the twins were but seeing her lying here like this, he thought she had never seemed smaller, more fragile.
A soft sniff behind him alerted Bruce to Damian’s presence. As the young boy approached his father’s side, his eyes were trained meekly on the floor. “Father, I am so sorry for injuring her. I did not mean to, but it was still my blade, my hand that did this. I am willing to accept whatever punishment you deem is appropriate.”
Bruce sighed and pulled his son into his chest, arms encircling him in a hug. Damian stiffened in surprise. “It’s okay, son. It was an accident. And…. I’m sorry for how I treated you earlier.” He glanced at the sleeping form in the bed. “I was scared for your sister, but I still shouldn’t have brushed you off like that. She was right. It wasn’t your fault.”
At these words, Damian collapsed into his father’s embrace. He still felt responsible for his sister’s current state, but he felt a wave of relief wash over him with the knowledge that his father was not angry with him.
Eventually, Damian gently pulled away from his father so he could approach the bedside. As he grasped her hand tightly, he watched his twin’s face soften slightly, as if calmed by his presence. In that moment, Damian swore that he would never let anyone hurt his sister like this ever again.
In which Vergil searches for a way to cheer up his partner after a long and challenging day.
Here it is! My ko-fi commission for @themorrigan99! I do really hope you enjoy it!
You can also read it on AO3 here!
Rating: E
Vergil/Reader (Third Person)
Soft!Vergil Goodness
Vergil knew something was wrong the second she walked through the door. Everything about her screamed “I had a terrible day”. Her back was slumped as she trudged through the doorway. Her hair, which was normally fashioned into a tight, perfect bun for work, was a mess in every way possible. Her eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and she let her bag fall off her shoulders in an unceremonious heap beside its usual hanging spot when she usually yelled at him for not hanging his jacket up in the right place. A loud sigh filled the room as she leaned against the doorway.
“Rough shift?” Vergil said as he sat his book down.
“You can say that again,” She muttered as she shoved herself off the doorway and moved to his side.
“Rough shift?” Vergil repeated. He saw a flicker of a smile as she weakly swatted at his shoulder before plopping down on the couch beside him.
“Jerk.”
“Indeed.”
That time, he got a small chuckle before her face twisted into a scowl. “You would think people around our age would have an ounce of human decency by now.”
“That bad?”
“Absolutely miserable,” She said. “The manager abandoned me four hours before closing time, and my co-worker was…” She paused. “Unhelpful.” Vergil snorted. That was the closest she’d ever gotten to insulting her co-workers in front of him. But Vergil, who had met most of them, knew exactly what she meant. ‘Unhelpful’ was a mild term, to say the least. “So basically,” She continued, “I’m exhausted. Hungry. Irritable. I have a terrible headache, I’m stiff as a board, and my night is probably ruined.”
Vergil hummed in what he hoped was reassurance. “There’s still a few hours left.”
“Indeed,” She repeated in the same tone as him. Vergil glared at her, but it was gentle, easing at the first sign of a small, weary smile. “You’re right though,” She said as she slid her knees under herself and turned to face him. “This day can maybe probably still be saved.”
Her forehead fell against his shoulder. and Vergil ran his hands along her side. “Do you have something in mind?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Her eyes drifted shut. “I’ll be honest, Vergil. I don’t want to think about anything right now.”
Vergil hummed in thought as his hand rubbed along her spine. She shivered - a typical reaction to such ministrations - and relaxed even more against him. “You don’t have to any longer,” He whispered in what she called his “sultry voice”. That elicited another shiver, and he didn’t miss the near silent groan against his shoulder. Once he reached her hip, he wrapped his arm around and pulled gently. She shifted to straddle his leg and earned a kiss on the cheek for her laborious efforts. “In fact,” Vergil whispered as his lips brushed her ear. “You can let go whenever you’d like. I ‘m always here to catch you.”
She sighed again, but Vergil heard a small break in the sound; a very quiet and genuine sob. The day had gotten to her more than he thought. No matter. Vergil could remedy that if she wanted him to. So, he quietly hushed her as he rubbed his hands along her sides. “It’s alright,” He said. “You’re home now, my love. Leave everything to me.”
For a moment, she said nothing. So, Vergil waited, running his hands along her sides and back endless circles as she let herself go. She wasn’t crying, per say. Never that. His love was strong in both mind and body, even in her weakest moments. She’d taught him more about humanity in the year they’d been together then he’d figured out over his entire life. He was always willing to wait however long she needed him to. He wanted to shoulder all of the problems she couldn’t handle on her own, or the ones that he didn’t want her to.
But finally, after a few quiet minutes, he heard her take a calm and steady breath. “I will,” she whispered. “I’m all yours.”
On most days, Vergil would take that cue and carry her straight to their room. But this time, he nudged her shoulder and said, “look at me.” And when she did, meeting his gaze as he stroked her cheek, he whispered, “What do you want?”
Her head tilted at that, but Vergil didn’t think it was in thought. Instead, she reached for his hand and pulled it toward her chest. Without a word, she slowly peeled the glove off, finger by finger, gently massaging each one as she worked. Vergil kept his eyes on hers, taking a quiet breath to relax. It had taken time for him to get this comfortable with her. Romance was always difficult for Vergil, as he didn’t always understand it (something else that had taken him far too long to admit, if only to himself). Soft love-making hadn’t been a thing between them, which, looking back on it now, was a severe oversight on Vergil’s part. Every session, Vergil had been in control and she had always responded with overwhelming excitement. She’d always called his name when he needed her to the most, told him she loved him long before he had the courage to say the same.
All it had taken was a single night and frustrating demon hunt for him to realize that he didn’t need to be in control all of the time. And if he was, it didn’t have to be rough. When it was her promising to make him happy, and her showing him the soft and sensual side of it all, Vergil realized that’s what he’d been missing out on. Now there was significantly more… balance in the romantic side of their life. And, over time, he learned that asking was significantly more “sexy” (as she called it) then just fumbling around until he figured it out.
Of course, he would never use the word “fumbling”… but that wasn’t important right now.
After she brushed her lips along the inside of his now bare palm, she settled it on her hip and moved to the other hand. “It’s been a long day,” She said as she worked on the second glove. “And I spent all of it overwhelmed and alone.” She tossed the glove away and rested his hand on her cheek. “I want to feel loved.”
Vergil brushed his lips along her neck, nibbling lightly at the spots he knew she loved the most. She slid her hands up under his coat, and he shrugged it off with little effort. “If that’s what you want,” he murmured, making certain that his breath brushed along her ear. “Then I am happy to oblige.”
He was always fascinated at how quickly her eyes turned cloudy at the simplest of gestures. “Go on then,” She whispered with a coy smile as she shifted to straddle him completly. “Hopefully you’ll take very good care of me.”
Vergil huffed as he slid his hands under her shirt, pulling it up to the base of her bra. She let him pull it off and caught his lips with surprising speed considering how tired she was, and Vergil chuckled as he clipped off her bra and let it fall into his lap. “Someone’s excited,” He said as he squeezed her breast and kissed along her collar bone.
She laughed as she shifted forward on the growing mound in his lap. “Could say the same about…” She gasped as he nibbled on her nipple, leaving the smallest of marks behind as he moved to the other. “You,” She finished, breathless as he moved back to her neck. His hands fell to her waist and gently helped her rock against him. Even through her rather thick pants, he could already smell her arousal; a sweet, addictive scent that only entranced him the longer they were together. And while it would be very easy to get lost in the moment - very easy to chase his pleasure above her own- Vergil held that part of him back, content to roll their hips together as he painted her body with marks of his own.
No matter what, she was still his. She always would be.
"Lie back," He said. She didn't respond immediately, electing to press her forehead against his own. And just when he thought she might not have heard him, she fell to the side, pulling on his arm so he followed without thinking. His lips met hers again as his hand drifted to her waistband, unzipping the unwieldy fabric. She gasped as he rubbed his fingers along her still covered slit, and groaned when he quickly found her sweet spot.
"You have on far too many clothes," She said as she tugged at the edges of his shirt, though it came out as more of a whimper than a tease.
Vergil sat up, smirking when she glared at him for leaving. His shirt was gone in an instant, but he didn't bother with the rest. Not yet. He wanted to do this right afterall. And when their lips crashed together again- and she found the energy to tug on his hair to pull him closer- he knew he'd succeeded.
But while he planned to stay like that for a while- gentle rolling of hips and caresses that he knew would drive her wild- she had other plans. Vergil paused as she ran her hand along his pecs, shifting them lower and lower as she used her second hand to keep him locked against her mouth. And when her hand wrapped around his member, something akin to electricity pulsed through him. He bit back a gasp and pulled slightly away. But she was fast, following after him with a small series of kisses to his neck. Vergil took a deep and shaky breath, glaring at her through half-lidded eyes. “And here I thought you were exhausted.” It took everything he had not to groan at her first, languid stroke. He didn’t miss her coy smile as she kissed him again.
“You’ve re-energized me, my love.”
Vergil gritted his teeth as she freed him from his prison and ran her fingers along his aching shaft. “I know what you’re trying to do,” He hissed as he pushed against her shoulder, pinning her back to the couch.
She didn’t let go. “Do you?”
“You won’t get away with it.”
She chuckled as she kissed him again. “And yet, here we are.”
He moved quickly, pinning her hands above her head before she had a chance to react. His second hand travelled teasingly down her stomach before dipping under her panties and straight into her dripping heat. She arched into him, but he pulled away before she could find any friction. “You bastard,” She hissed, but her grin told a different story.
“You have on far too many clothes,” Vergil repeated as he licked his fingers. She stared at him, her clouded eyes filled with intense desire. This was the woman he wanted to see. Confident and brave, but submissive and loving; a delicate balance she managed each and every time. Secretly, he was glad she’d found whatever remnants of energy she had left for him. He’d be a fool to waste it. “Lift,” He commanded as he reached for her pants. She obeyed without hesitation, and both hers and his were quickly discarded. Removing her panties, however, was a much slower affair. His fingers dragged along her skin as he pulled them away at an agonizingly slow pace. Another quiet whimper was silence as he leaned in and kissed her again, making certain that his shaft ran perfectly against her opening; teasing, but never committing.
“My, my,” he whispered as he pulled the rest of her clothing off. “Someone’s eager.” He pressed his thumb to her sensitive bud before she could respond. And, as a testament to how riled up she really was, her eyes nearly rolled in the back of her head when he inserted a single finger along her velvety walls.
“Can you really blame me?” She huffed once she met his gaze again. Quickly, he noted, and he rewarded her with another series of tantalizing circles. The hand gripping hers loosened, but she didn’t move.
“Good girl,” He said. Her eyes shimmered at the praise as she wrapped one hand around the other wrist. Vergil chuckled as he pulled his hand away, only to push back in with a second finger. She hissed in what he knew was her attempt at masking her pleasure. Commendable, but ineffective when he knew her so well. And as he rocked his hand back and forth as slowly and deliberately as possible, he leaned forward and pinned her hands again, kissing her with enough force to steal her breath away. She groaned as his fingers reached a more sensitive spot, but he only pressed down on it two more times before pulling completely away.
“Vergil,” She snapped, lusty rage clear on her face. He chuckled in amusement as he finally relieved himself of the rest of his clothing and propped her legs up as far as she would let him. The moment he settled between, she wrapped them around his waist. A worthless prison by far; he could escape that in a heartbeat. But it was the thought that counted, and Vergil once again rewarded her bravery with a sprinkle of kisses and gentle nibbles along her neckline. He didn’t miss how her hand tightened around her own wrist, or how her legs were shaking against him.
“Yes?” He whispered as he tugged on her ear with his teeth.
For a brief second, he thought she might beg. That was such a rare thing from her; something she only willingly did when he made it abundantly clear that that’s what he wanted from her. But then her gaze turned to steel as her eyes met him with a fiery passion that might as well have brought him to his figurative knees. “You know exactly what I want,” She whispered. “And I’d dare say you’re eager too, my love.”
“How bold of you,” Vergil said.
Her arms moved to her sides, and she pushed herself up just enough to meet his gaze. “And you love it.”
He growled as he pushed her back against the couch and practically crashed into her lips to kiss her with as much passion and ferocity as he could manage. Finding her entrance was trivial, but he was slow to push himself in. She sucked in a sharp breath, and he waited while her body adjusted. But when he didn’t move, she said, “I’m fine, Vergil. Don’t hold back for my sake.”
His eyebrow shot up as he watched her. Her eyes still had that cloudy sheen they always did in the throes of passion. She was sweating, though he was certain she had come home that way. Her body was shaking, yet he realized it might not have been exhaustion. And while Vergil didn’t like showing hesitation in anything he did, she was too important to him to risk hurting. “Are you certain.”
“Yes,” Was her quick answer as she reached up to brush his cheek. “I may have had a long day, but I’ll always be ready for you.”
That was all Vergil needed to hear. He bottomed out in one stroke, pushing her knees back just slightly for a different angle. Her back arched, pushing him even further as her head sunk into the couch. He waited for her to relax, kissed her as a sort of encouragement, and waited for a nod of approval before he moved again. And despite her eagerness, Vergil refused to rush. Each thrust was slow and methodical, hitting slightly deeper and at different angles until she moaned in pure bliss. “Vergil…” She whispered in pure reverence. And he absolutely relished it. Hearing his name over and over as he made her his again and again…. It was almost enough to undo him right then and there.
“I love you.” She whispered.
He kissed her again, hiding his own groan of pleasure. Everything about her was perfect. Her body and how it stretched for him again and again. Her unrelenting heat and how silky her walls were as they clamped down on him. The curve of her breasts as he ran his hand over them, or her hips on days he pinned them down. Her voice when it proclaimed her love to the heavens.
“I…”
He wanted so badly to say it. He’d said it before once or twice, but always when he had time to think about it, and only on special occasions. She was always forthcoming with her emotions. Always willing to share everything with him. But it was always so difficult for Vergil. Words always escaped him when he wanted them the most.
“I… you…”
Her hand brushed his cheek and she smiled. “It’s okay, Vergil,” She whispered. “I understand.”
No.
It wasn’t okay.
Vergil cared too much to give up.
He pressed his forehead to hers as he pushed himself in as deep as he could go. She shuddered, but her eyes remained on his just as he always asked. And as the last of him spilled deep within her, Vergil finally found the words he wanted so badly to say.
“I love you.”
Her eyes fluttered shut and her smile widened. “Good boy.”
Vergil scowled in her general direction as he removed himself. Her legs dropped unceremoniously around him as all the tension in her body melted away. He didn’t bother with their clothes, electing to scoop her into his arms instead. “Bath, I’m assuming?”
“Only if you join me so I don’t fall asleep and drown.” She said as her head fell against his chest.
“Did I not just re-energize you?”
“You did,” She said with a smile. “But then you stole it all, leaving me an empty husk that really needs a nap.”
“That’s over-dramatic.”
She carefully lifted herself to kiss his cheek and whispered. “And you love that too.”
I can see y’all are here for smut, so here you go. I got me a new keyboard and I’ll soon be heading out to catch Spiderman: Far From Home. In the meanwhile, please comment, if you enjoyed this.
Genre: smut, some fluff | Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x fem!reader (third person) | Words: 974
He never considered himself the type to engage in one night stands, but tonight there was a hunger he just couldn't satisfy. Tom showered, threw on a black leather jacket and a pair of blue jeans, and headed out. His hands slipped into his pockets as he walked down the quiet street. The sun had already set behind the horizon, when Tom reached the nearest pub on the street. He walked in and looked around him. There was a few attractive women present, but they were in larger groups, and Tom wasn't one to break up groups and force his flirt upon anyone, so he just sat down by the bar and ordered himself a beer. Someone would eventually come along; Every time he went to a pub, by midnight he had a dozen phone numbers. It wasn't like he wasn't desired.
It was near ten, when the first woman for the night approached him. She sat down next to him, ordered a drink and started casually chatting with him. Tom was willing to leave with her already, if she was intrested in a one night thing. "(Y/N)", she smiled, as Tom offered to pay for her drink. She agreed mainly out of courtesy. "Well, (Y/N), what brings you here tonight?" Tom asked. His flirting wasn't as smooth after two beers, as it was when he was sober. Heaven knew alcohol didn't suit him well. "You know, just sitting and drinking", she answered, smirking a little. "And maybe finding some company." "Well, you have company now. What's the next step?" "Wow, real smooth, Hiddleston", (Y/N) chuckled teasingly. "Your place or mine?"
Poor Bobby hid under the sofa in the living room, when Tom and (Y/N) clumsily made their way to the bedroom, stopping every now and then to deepen the passionate kissing and to drop yet another piece of clothing on the floor. Shoes were left by the door, (Y/N)'s cardigan and Tom's leather jacket were just a couple of steps further, followed by Tom's grey t-shirt by the bedroom door. Tom's jeans and (Y/N)'s bra and skirt found their place on the bedroom floor, and as they reached the king-size bed, both of them were wearing only their underwear. Tom grabbed (Y/N) behind her thighs and lifter her up on his bed, settling himself right over her, kissing her neck, shoulders and chest, leaving red love bites on her skin. She was just as eager, letting her hands wander all over his body, rushing to remove his boxers, freeing his erection.
"Oh god, Tom", (Y/N) panted, as Tom's large hand cupped her breast, the other one slipping into her panties. "Oh, just like that. God, don't stop", she moaned, already arching her back, as he massaged her sex. "Darling, do I really make you that wet?" "Hell yes." He kissed his way down to her abdomen, grabbed the edge of her panties with his teeth, and removed them, letting his teeth just lightly graze her skin. He was pleased to notice goosebumps appearing on (Y/N)'s soft skin, her body shivering. With a grin on his lips, he found her wetness and put his mouth to work, pleasing her the best he could. And oh boy, did he do a wonderful job. "Tom, I'm gonna come", (Y/N) soon moaned, only to hear an answer muffled into her skin: "Ladies first." Pleasure washed over her like warm waves on a summer beach and made her see colors like fireworks behind her closed lids, when Tom pushed her over the edge, straight into her climax.
Honestly, he wished he could just grab her hair and make (Y/N) blow him, but the thought alone made him feel guilty, so like the good soldier he was, he resisted his urges and started to warm (Y/N) up again. This time she grabbed his strong arm and pushed him on his back. "Let me help." Her words sounded like heaven, and Tom almost wanted to come the second he felt her tongue on his cock. Jesus Christ... He had been in need of a good release for weeks now. It wasn't always easy to be single. Tom didn't have the time to ponder about being single, as (Y/N) took his entire length in her warm, wet mouth. Blue eyes rolled back in his head and soon he had to beg (Y/N) to stop. He was ready to turn the position around again, but instead she climed upon on his hips and started riding him, as if sensing how lustful he really was. Tom let out a groan, but grabbed her hips and started to move accordingly to her movements. God, she felt so good... He bit his teeth together and groaned silently in pleasure. He could feel every muscle in his body tense up right before he climaxed, feeling (Y/N) reach her pleasure soon after with a little help of her fingers. "I'm sorry" was all he could utter. "It's alright, you already helped me. It's fine."
Tom finally felt well rested when the first rays of sun peeked through the curtains and woke him up. With a small half-grin he turned around, only to find the bed empty. He felt a little disappointed, as he wasn't too happy with the emotionless routine of one night stands, but he guessed it was just part of the etiquette. Until he heard a female voice in his kitchen. Putting on the first pants he got in his hand, Tom crept up to his kitchen, only to find (Y/N) cooking breakfast and scratching Bobby, who waved his tail in excitement. "Oh, morning", she smiled in surprise. "Breakfast's almost ready. I hope you don't mind, I'll be gone in a minute." "Stay for breakfast, please. I love breakfast."
A low sound at first, the start of a melody curlin’ through the buzz of the bar. Familiar, but distant. He barely glances up.
It’s another karaoke night, s’nothin’ new.
He’s here often enough, it’s the nearest bar to the mansion anyways. No-frills, jus’ plain karaoke on Monday nights an’ half-decent whiskey. A space to breathe when the walls start pressin’ in too tight.
But when the voice kicks in an’ he’s heard plenty tonight, sloppy, off-key, drunk. The usual type.
All I can ever be to you is a darkness that we know
But this one, this one cuts through.
Rich, smokey, a lil rough at the edges in a way that feels lived-in, not broken. An’ damn, it’s good. Full of grit an’ ache an’ somethin’ that makes his fingers pause on his glass.
It makes him turn his head to look up at the stage. There she is.
Drink in one hand, her eyes half-lidded like she’s somewhere else entirely, like the mic’s not even there.
She’s singin’ Tears Dry On Their Own.
Not in a soft way. It’s not theatrical. Deep, emotional.
The kind of voice that sticks wit’ you. Scratchy in all the right places. Full of heart like she’s not tryin’ to impress anyone, jus’ needed to let somethin’ out.
I’ll be some next man’s other woman soon
He watches her now, can’t look away. His brow furrowed slightly. Not from confusion, focus.
Up on stage, drink in hand, mic in the other. Hair a lil messy, makeup smudged like she meant it to be. Not dressed up, not hidin’ either. Jus’ herself.
It takes him a second to place why it hits different.
‘Cause it’s her.
Been on the team for maybe a year now, all bite, sharp tongue, witty, an’ always wit’ a quick joke at the ready. But flirty, intense. She’s usually hangin’ off Scott or swappin’ dry one-liners wit’ Magneto like it’s a private game.
Younger, probably closer to Jubilee’s age but she carries herself like she’s seen more than she says.
An’ right now… she’s singin’ that song like it belongs to her.
Like someone left her achin’ an’ she didn’t break but she remembers.
Remy keeps his eyes up on stage. He don't think too hard on it, he don’t’ even get up but he’s smilin’.
Sittin’ there, drinkin’, thinkin’ about the kinda pain you gotta carry to sing like that.
She opens her eyes near the end of the second verse. Lookin’ out over the crowd.
I don’t understand, why do I stress the man?
Their eyes lock, for a breath.
Long enough for him to know she sees him, long enough for somethin’ to flicker across her face… surprise, maybe. Embarrassment? Somethin’ she don’t let stay long.
She looks away almost instantly, focuses on the last few lines like they’re her way out.
He takes the day, but I’m grown
And in your way, my deep shade
My tears dry
When the song ends, no bow, no glance back at the mic.
She steps down, drains the rest of her drink in one clean pull, then slides up to the bar. Says somethin’ low to the bartender he can’t make out. Tosses a few bills on the counter, fast an’ clipped.
A shot appears—clear, probably tequila.
She downs it like water, don’t look left or right or at him again.
Then she’s gone, out the door. Face red an’ disappearin’ into the night like it didn’t happen.
Jus’ the sound of the door closin’ behind her.
Remy debates teasin’ her about it tomorrow, he won’t. But he can still hear her voice, maybe even feel her pain.
