punk-rock-unicorn

[punk-rock-unicorn]

So I fell deep into the Arcane(League of Legends) Fandom to about drowning level. Would anyone (on Tumblr) be interested in a story with everyone's favorite mad scientist, Singed?

Might have already written a first chapter or something

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Enemy II

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Mitth'raw'nuruodo|Thrawn x Female Chiss OC (in the future) Summary: Tension and wordplay.  That’s it. Part One - The room was stifling and shrouded in the smoke of a pipe as she stepped around the familiar interior. The two footsteps behind her were of obvious interest. The Chiss were notoriously proud and arrogant in their position of power in the Unexplored Regions. For a Chiss to leave their home was rare indeed. Zitha glanced back at the red eyes piercing into her as they all but glowed in the stifling cantina that Vuru claimed for business. The patrons danced and swayed in liquored hazes under the balcony. Her eyes snapped forward as the form of her master rested on the platform. Like most Hutts she was corpulent with small arms. An arm with fat and small fingers as she puffed on the pipe. Serpentine gold eyes opened to stare down at the three people approaching.

The leader of the Hutt's security detail stood on the left covered in green and gold scales. The combat armor and gun never detracting from the scarred hulking form of Styrsk Zersar. He had stayed on as private security almost all of his life and his scaled maw opened in what was a smile. Or, at least, a copy of the custom most races used. Before his orange eyes went to the men at her back. A slight hiss escaping him as she took her place at her Master's side. A bellowing laugh leaving the Hutt as the two Imperial officers stood straight in front of her. In the hazy building she could see the red of his eyes all but glowing. The slicked back hair and chiseled cheekbones were attractive. As was his voice even as he cut a beautiful picture in the black Imperial outfit. "I thought your race was rare," Vuru the Hutt rasped out in Huttese.

It was a disgusting language to her but one she had grasped with little trouble. It was a trade language and she had gotten used to many of those. "That they are, Master," she answered with a wry grin as she kept the other Chiss in her sights. Rare enough that she had never seen another familiar face in her two years of unwilling service to the Hutts. Even in the melting pot of trade, gambling, and prostitution that Nar Shaddaa represented. "My master welcomes you to her most delightful business," her voice was louder as she spoke in Basic. If they followed the whispered Huttese they clearly made no reaction to it. The human stood with brown hair slicked back and a tanned complexion that was fitting.

Thrawn's eyes moved from her to the corpulent Hutt. Though their point of contact in this investigation was a slight of its own if they were wise enough to see it. Vuru was young for a Hutt and a bit on the smaller side to prove as such. She ruled the Promenade and a swath of territory on Nar Shaddaa but she was by no means high up in the Hutt Cartel. "I appreciate you taking the time to meet with us," the measured tones of the Chiss male spoke and she had to force back the urge to shiver. His whispered words in Cheunh had been the most attractive thing she had ever heard. Helped by the fact that the male was attractive to her. Very attractive. "The Empire is supportive of the Hutt Cartel for helping us take down such a terrorist," he added and his eyes rested on her through the smoky room.

The echoes of laughter and the clink of glasses faded upwards. The heavy step of one of the guards moved to look over the balcony. The rifle over his chest and obvious threat as the bar under them quieted down with another meaty chuckle. The gold eyes of her master laughed. "Dealing with the Empire is good business," the Hutt said in her disgusting language and she translated without a blink. "I offer my assistant in the going investigation as a show of good faith." The small hand waved towards herself and she translated with a slight pause.

"I accept," Lieutenant Thrawn said before anyone could say anything else. Her eyes met her fellow Chiss with a slight raise in surprise. The jaw dropping from the human was closed just as quickly with a snap. The offer seemed benign but unsaid was her orders to report what was found to her master. Most Imperials would staunchly refuse having a spy in their midst but here this man was allowing her access. "If you could grant me access to your reports of this...insurgent I would greatly appreciate it, Zitha," he added and she did shiver this time. His voice washed over her and left a chill down her spine. Her fingers tightened over her datapad as a nod came from her.

"Master?" Zitha asked the Hutt who waved her off with another laugh. To let your aide and assistant go was another layer to the whole situation that proved a strong point to her. Politics no matter species were the true evil in the Galaxy. She desired to be free of it all but such a dream was a foolish one. The Chiss taught their children well to be practical. She stepped closer to the two men as the thump of the music echoed under her feet. "If you will follow me " she said looking up at the attractive Chiss. "I will take you to a safe house to help in our investigation." Thrawn only smirked down at her and he inclined his head before moving a long fingered hand to the exit.

The feel of his hand resting on the skin of her lower back had her freezing almost to the spot. It would be a respectable move if not for his thumb running up and down her skin. She both hated and loved the almost revealing silk dress her master forced her into. She made the Hutts money and she was rare enough to be a literal piece of art to the status driven slugs. Orange serpentine eyes met her own as a clawed finger twitched. The scaled maw pulling back to show white fangs. She shot Styrsk a look that took only a half a second before they stepped out into the crowded streets of the Promenade again. "Do all of the Hutt guards defer to you?" A voice soft as silk whispered in her ear.

She could feel his breath on the nape of her neck as his thumb continued to rub on her back. The human stayed two steps behind and a glance told her he was observing any threats that came their way. She noticed his brown eyes stayed far away from his superior officer and the girl on his arm. "I am an assistant to Vuru the Hutt," she answered stiffly but kept the emotions buried deep inside. "I do not know what you mean." Her eyes moved to look at the man in the eyes.

"I know the look of someone trying to protect," his voice breathed into her ear and she smiled as she looked at the rush of color parting in front of them. His hand rested more on her skin and she wanted to feel more of his skin on her own. "An odd thing for only a slave," his voice was a vibroknife but all she felt was a thrill of excitement.

"I am dressed as a piece of an art whose value raises the more wealth I bring to my master," she answered and looked at the buildings around them. A devotion to wealth and hedonism that only a Hutt could exalt in. The more money she brought Vuru the higher her status went as well as her own. No one would dare touch the favored assistant of a Hutt Lord.

"Indeed you are a piece of art," he responded but leaned back to stand perfectly still. "I would like to set up for our future hunt, Zitha." She could not fully decode that statement and civility took place of any other emotion. He was so very hard to read but she moved forward without a sound. The smell of liquor and drugs filling her senses as well as some smell that was the man staying next to her.

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Enemy

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Mitth'raw'nuruodo|Thrawn x Female Chiss OC (in the future)

Summary: An adventure in Nar Shaddaa to seek out a threat to the Empire comes with its own surprise. The blue skinned form of the assistant to a Hutt Lord on Nar Shaddaa and a plot of insurgence.

A/n: Sorry I have been gone so long and haven't written anything but this little gem broke through my writer's block. It's going to be a couple chapters long but no idea how long. First chapter is in Eli Vanto's point of view. The next couple ones will be in the oc's pov.

-

"And who is this meeting with?" The blue skinned form of his superior officer asked softly. He almost lost his voice in the crowd but training saved him. The multitude of people on Nar Shaddaa was almost disconcerting to him but he kept his cool. Eli Vanto remembered fondly the life among the far outer rim that was very different than his own experience Lystara. He had been in many space ports and Coruscant but he could tell that Nar Shaddaa was different than all of them. The Empire looked down on their dealings with the Hutt cartel but the truth was they made the Empire money with the trade. As the son of traders and the aide to Lieutenant Thrawn he knew it well.

Eli quickly pulled out his data pad that had a simple note of a place and time. The fact they were sent to an almost cold trail for an insurgent was also concerning. It would not surprise him if this was a wild tooka chase that kept them away from politics. "The person we are meeting never put their name," Eli said as his head tilted. The crowd parted around them with obvious fearful gazes at their insignia. Imperial officers were easily to pick out and it was obvious they were here for something instead of leave. The red eyes of his superior officer cut through the crowd of the Promenade as the crowd surged and breathed with the smell of Spice and spacers. Before his voice spoke from his open mouth Eli saw a narrow black eyebrow raise in surprise.

Enough years at his side taught him some tells but before he could ask a voice cut through the sheer multitude of races. "Because I never gave one," a young feminine voice with accented basic spoke behind him. It was not fully outer rim but interesting enough. He turned to face a woman standing at least to his chin with a thin body. She was wrapped in silk robes that denoted wealth and status at least for the wealthy Hutts. No what had caught Thrawn's eyes and surprise was the fact she had bright blue skin, red eyes, and blue-black hair. Traits that had set himself apart in the galaxy at large. "Now this is a surprise," she murmured softly her eyes only on the form of his superior officer. Not that he truly minded as it gave him time to adjust his own predictions in the case.

Thrawn said something in a musical language that he had heard once or twice but was never taught. The tinkling laugh and musical answer from the lady next to them told him it was in their shared natural tongue. What was shared between them was unknown but was obviously not offensive in the least. He cleared his throat and bowed his head in greeting but said nothing else. "Ah you are correct, Ensign," Thrawn's measured tone broke the silence between them. "I am Lieutenant Thrawn of the Imperial Navy and this is my aide, Eli Vanto." The woman smiled again showing white teeth and her eyes moved to show red makeup over her eyes. It highlighted her already red eyes as they met his own. Just like Thrawn they were piercing and intriguing.

“Zitha," the Chiss female answered in kind before a smile as sharp as a vibrokife split her face. "Or...Sabosen'zitha'vaeri if we wish to be polite." Her voice was calm and cold in a way that Eli now knew must have been engrained in the Chiss from birth. This was his second meeting with the mysterious Chiss and they both sounded almost the same. Her eyebrow raised in an obvious desire for an answer to an unspoken question. A question that was answered by the man next to him.

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo," Thrawn answered with another uptick of his lips that almost made him have a heart attack. He had never seen his superior officer to almost be as amused as he was. "We are to meet one of the Hutts is that right?" He asked as his hands crossed behind his back. A question that had already been answered but he was reading more from the girl than that. He wanted to know how she answered the question and what she supplied. It was a casual stance but his eyes stayed on the female across from him. Another statement in the musical language was again hard for Eli to follow but the girl gave an almost coquettish answer in return. He could see her eyes moving to take in Thrawn in a way that could almost be sexual. He felt a little embarrassed at the stares passed between the two Chiss as he adjusted his collar.

"Vuru the Hutt," she said in basic with almost no emotional response. A noticeable difference from the almost overt flirting stare. He could only tell this by their stances and heavy gaze but nothing else. "Is my master and she extends her audience in a show of good faith with the Empire." The voice of a diplomat and Eli saw the eyes of his superior officer narrow in response. What he saw or did not see was not known to him but all he knew was a headache was quickly growing as he looked at the Chiss female. "If you will follow me I will take you into audience with my master," the female added and quickly turned. Not with the finesse of military training but it was engrained in her sinewy blue flesh. Thrawn's eyes danced all over her form in a way that was almost unacceptable but he would say nothing.

"Sir?" He queried the taller form of his companion. He could see the eyes following her and lighting up on her jewelry. The movement of her skin under the dress and even the make up she wore. What he had seen was again unknown but his eyebrows narrowed as his tongue ran over his lips. Impassivity followed before his hand motioned to the woman. Long fingers of blue moving to the blue skinned girl a few meters away.

"We have our orders, Ensign," Thrawn said but his eyes went to the girl who turned to check on the military men sent for business. "Though it has become that much more interesting." That statement was not at all encouraging and imperceptibly Eli Vanto released a sigh as they moved to follow. His eyes on the Chiss woman as she led them past the Gamorrean and Trandoshan guards. Sending outer rim natives to deal with the Hutts was almost too intelligent for the Imperial Navy. Something else must be going on but at this point he was too scared to ask.

Part Two

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Masks we wear Part II

Fandom: Batman/DC Comics

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Teacher!Reader

The part two to this delightful little request. I wanted to go more creepy in the beginning but now it's all fluff. Sweet and beautiful fluff with an insane criminal. Still please enjoy this!

And of course it's for you @kpopgirlbtssvt  for the first request. Here is part two for you.

Part One

----------

The snow that blanketed Gotham was a layer of white over an otherwise dirty city. A city full of steel spires and concrete foundations. Though now your richer apartment near the University was a thing of the past. As was your prime teaching degree as a young genius. Now you lived in a small apartment that creaked when you walked and the windows could barely open. Sometimes it turned drafty or the heat broke down to barely keep your fingers with full sensation. Such was your lot in life you supposed as you graded papers at the worn black table. The sheer stupidity of Gotham's youth was enough to drive even you insane.

The pen in your hand that covered papers and chemical formulas in a layer of red fell from your suddenly lax grip. Your television was off though you could hear the hum of it and the heater melding into a symphony of too much noise. The disconcerting concerto of poverty and broken down dreams. Your lips pulled down in a sneer as your eyes rested on the stack of papers you had left to grade. The crescendo to all of this was the cramp in your hand and the pressure behind your eyelids. A sigh came from you to mingle with the stutter of the heater as your fingers rubbed at your eyes. The white coffee cup on the table was empty and full of sludge as you glanced it.

The black gel at the bottom symbolizing the leftovers of coffee and creamer. The wind rattled a window and through it you could see a layer of frost cling to the glass. Another wonderful holiday season in Gotham and the first you would spend in this apartment. All but let go from your dreams as an intelligent genius in a world renowned institution of learning. The crack in your neck and pop down your back had a groan slipping from your lips instinctually. The mass of mail on the table also being an annoyance. The bills and rejection throughout the city annoying you. All because a year and a half ago you had stood in Jonathan Crane's office. As a friend and something more. The kiss had been the start of something.

That something led you to the here and now. In this shitty apartment and a less than stellar job. The coffee pot was half full and most likely cold. The night was settling on the blanket of cold to leave the night cold. The stuttering of your heater was also another issue in this. A shiver had you moving to stand up on sore legs. Too much time spent on uncomfortable wood had you shifting to the worn black couch across from the television. "Just need to rest my eyes for a moment," you muttered to yourself before falling into the couch. It dipped down with creaking springs and rippling cloth. The couch was comfortable even if it was old and worn. The one thing good from your previous apartment. Though you missed the bookshelves for now your books rested more in haphazard piles than organized book shelves.

Before you realized it you started to drift off to the silence of falling snow. The complete sound dampening feel of feet of snow on top of the noise in your apartment. The floating sensation of sleep was enough to relax the tense muscles in between your shoulder blades. A little bit of a nap would not be too bad you supposed. The holidays would continue whether you finished grading the papers or not. Though you were more tired than expected as you felt the couch dip beside you. A dream most likely as your body moved to lay down on the couch. Though you could not tell if that was a willing movement or not. The rough feeling of cloth rested against your cheek as your new pillow seemed to move. "Such exhaustion," a voice muttered dragging you slowly from the abyss of sleep.

The voice was an integral part of your dreams now. Even as he stepped full force into life in the Gotham Underworld as an insane figure wreathed in burlap. Though you thought he looked good in his outfits that changed on his mood. Long fingers formed into claws by his gloves trekked into your hair gently. Slowly the so called Master of Fear worked through knots in your hair. The no doubt dangerous gloves that dealt insanity and fear were scratching at your scalp pleasingly. "Jonathan," you murmured though you could not tell if it was more awake than you felt. You did know you refused to move. The empty apartment seemed less empty now as a chuckle surrounded you. It was familiar and your face burrowed into his lap with nary a thought of what was proper.

The screams of your fellows echoed in your head but guilt never rose in its place. They had fired and abandoned you to nothing all because of rumors. Rumors that held a kernel of truth but rumors nonetheless. "So alone," his voice rumbled through the humming of the heater. It had kicked on again you had noticed. Though your body warred between hot and cold as your head rested in his lap. The brown leg you rested on rested on the floor of your apartment in thick black boots. In winter he moved to thicker cloth than what you had seen on the news before. Though him in a suit would always be your favorite. A tie around his neck and a waistcoat to enhance the slim physique. "My dear," he whispered with your name soft on his lips.

It had been a long time since he had tracked you down after the last. Where you met Gotham's protector and looked into judging eyes. "You helped him make this drug. Could you help make an antidote?" The answer from yourself had been a negative. You could have fought and leaned over a table to decode the formula if you so chose. It would not have saved your job and Batman's conjecture was not proof in court. The late night meetings over tea and scribbled formulas had excited the tall man more than anything else. Not that you minded in the least as your relationship evolved. Intellectual pursuits, literature, and tea all you needed. Your eyes moved as you laid back on his lap. The fingers moved as you looked into a mask of stitched together burlap.

White teeth grinned down at you behind bright blue eyes and a dry chuckle. The smell of hay and melted snow entering your nose. "Scarecrow," you whispered more awake than before. Perhaps a normal person would have reacted in fear but you were too tired for that. The fingers moving through your hair flexed as a noise almost like a purr left him. The tall scholar with good book recommendations enjoyed the power this persona gave him. The status of power and fear surrounded by crime and a man dressed as a Bat. You could not fault him for that at least. "I have missed you," you whispered as if the dream would fracture into a grim taste of reality. Or perhaps you were dying of hypothermia in the abyss of poverty in Gotham. A laugh left you that seemed at odds with your normal attitude. Dark maudlin humor with a dash of self depreciation just for flavor.

"You are too alone here," he answered as he looked around your small apartment. A frown pulled down his lips as his hand moved through your hair. "Surrounded by fools." Blue eyes flicked to your stack of graded papers. The thought of getting back to the drudgery of your daily life felt sickening. Your eyes moved to track the burlap that covered the man with his own shield. Power, insanity, and fear his gifts and perhaps it was wrong you enjoyed it. He empowered himself in a way not many could even if an abused genius was the center. A child that wanted to control everything around him. The slim finger running down the column of your throat had you offering it to him.

"I thought about getting a cat," you joked as you looked at the apartment. A pet would not go remiss to alleviate your loneliness. A lonely feeling of missing him settling just below your heart. You doubted you would date someone with the unknown quality to your relationship with Dr. Jonathan Crane. Not that anyone felt brave enough to try with them knowing your history with the mad psychiatrist. A relationship of some sort as he sought out your bed when he could. No need for the Bat to assume what is going on. To the world Jonathan Crane had ruined your career just by being attached to his name. Guises and masks to wear between them and you.

"Cats are flighty little pests," he answered with a hidden humor in his tone. His free fingers moving to his chin that had held the marks of his last meeting with the cat clothed thief. A wound you remember treating as he sat in your kitchen with a wry smile. Glasses perched on his nose as his bruised skin shined in the florescent light. Scars and bruises of a life current and past. "Perhaps a bird?" He teased as blue eyes moved to meet your eyes. The dark bags under his eyes and the start of wrinkles twisted in his amusement. You had no desire to move or extricate yourself from him. You had missed him.

"A crow for me?" You asked with a smile as your hand moved to the burlap covered cheek. It was rough and irritating but bled warmth. A chuckle left the man who moved into the caress. His head moving much like the cats he despised but you found the intimacy disarming. A beautiful feeling.

"Anything for you, dear," he said with a laugh. "A crow to scare off suitors would not go remiss, my beauty." A flash of possessiveness left your insides feeling so very warm. A laugh told you that your cheeks reflected your reaction to his claim. "I think you enjoy the idea," he added and you smiled at him.

"Is it wrong to enjoy a man with power?" You asked and blue eyes all but twinkled in the dwindling light. The small yellow light over your kitchen table all that decorated this place. The next laugh was a tease of the insanity resting behind his façade. He enjoyed his power and his research. The burlap clad face moved to breathe over your face.

"I still have not decided if you just enjoy being controlled by a lover or desire the chance to stand at my side to sow terror, my sweet?" He asked with a wide toothy smile. His tone was piercing and flaying to show his skill with his knife to flay the motives of humanity. The prominent mind in psychology if only he did not shoot a gun in class. Or those uneducated would say his obsession with fear was his undoing. You had a different take on it but you answered with a huff of a laugh.

"No need to kink shame me, Master of Fear," you teased back as your fingers searched for the split in the cloth to touch flesh. Stubble teased your searching fingers as you closed your eyes. A roughness surrounded plush lips you had tasted before. Sometimes it tasted of tea and other times wine. A tongue flicked against your fingers in a pleasing sensation. A shiver left your body as his hand left your hair to pull the hood away.

"Not an answer," he responded with a grin and you watched him. The black around his eyes making his eyes stand out. His lips were rough and split from him picking at the skin. You had watched him as a pencil scratched chemicals on a pad. His fingers picking at his lips as he lost himself in the fervor of discovery. "But I will allow it," he added with a hum and his hair rested around his face in disarray. Oil thick to the strands but you did not care. You only wanted the genius man to visit and talk with you. The intimacy was an added bonus but you both had a slight disregard for sexual intimacy.

"Are you my lover now, Scarecrow?" You asked with another wide smile at the man leaning above you. Your head still rested in his lap and you had no desire to move. You had had those kind of meetings with Jonathan Crane before but they were few and far between. Not that you minded in this moment as your relationship evolved from companionship to almost romance. Now it sat in a complicated position again but one you greedily held on to.

"I have always been your lover," he whispered as his breath caressed your face. Your hand moved to touch his face as you stared into each other's eyes even with this position. "You are mine," he whispered cooly with a smirk on his lips. "Owned by terror." That statement pleased him and a part of it pleased you. A claim by your fearsome lover even if it was dramatic.

"You just love to be dramatic," you accused with a smile as a hand still wrapped in burlap and claws moved. A sharp point brushed against your throat as his hand moved to settle on the skin. A soft caress that had you melting into his touch. You missed this with him even if you tried to hide each other from the world. It would not last you knew that. It was not healthy to hide a part of your lives from prying eyes.

"The Gotham Underworld does allow me to take pleasure in such simple things," he answered with a teasing grin before his hand pressed at your throat. It was a threat that kept you still as his lips moved to rest on your own. "You could join me," he whispered. "Be my partner and consort in all of this. If anyone could decode my formula it would be you." He had offered yhis once before but you were afraid. The offer was an interesting one but your life as an upstanding citizen was still there. As you slipped further and further into poverty and your friends avoided you the offer became more tempting.

"I enjoy teaching," you whispered over his lips before moving to kiss him. Your actions distracted him which allowed you to switch the positions. Now you sat straddling his lap and looking into his eyes. Your hands moved over the brown duster and the thick material. Orange liquid in vials catching your eye in fascination. You had never got to study the samples of his toxin. You were afraid to challenge him in such a way. "Though it is tempting to throw this all away for you," you added with a pout and his eyes brightened with a dark grin.

Sharp claws ran up your spine in a pleasing prickle that had you gripping his jacket in a fist. The groan leaving your lips had the man under you hissing under his breath. The fact the power he had excited him made you excited as well. It was more dominance and submission than you expected but you did not regret it. "Would you come with me?" He asked you with a dry laugh. His hands tightened on your flesh in obvious possession. "I plan to take a vacation for the winter. Freeze is making it too cold for me to work properly." A vacation? The thought of it was way too pleasing. To escape the stupidity of your new life for something new. You nodded before the thought even finished and his lips were soft, but insistent, over your own. He obviously missed you as well.

It was you who ran your tongue over the seam and he answered with a mocking smile. As if chastising you for being too addicted to his touch. He split from you in order to say something teasing when you moved to kiss his jawline. An echo and mirror of the last time he had touched you in such a way. His groan had you smirking into his mouth before you bit the skin softly between your teeth. "Such a tease," he admonished you and your laugh was smothered by his skin. The smell of hay and chemicals surrounded you. "You may as well help me get my costume off." His head leaned back as the hand at your back lazily moved down your body before gripping your thigh.

"Let's get your make up off first, my dramatic Scarecrow," you teased as you moved to get off him. His own huff was just slightly irritated but you saw him smile. Only you could get away with treating him like this. You also knew the limits of how far you could go. Just like he knew your own. This was why you wanted to hide this little bubble of happiness to yourself. Away from Gotham and all who knew you. This situation was yours and his. No one else could have this but you were lonely. Clinging to the random visits by a man who devoted himself into a crime boss of an odd sort.

He pulled you into his lap as silence wrapped around your two. His eyes closing as you wiped the black around his eyes off. His jacket fell on the couch next as you both soaked up the touches. The idea of joining him in his crazy adventures still excited you. You did not know if you could torture someone just to be with him. Then again it might not be that difficult to follow him. "Where do you want to go for a vacation?" You asked and his smile was just slightly sharp.

"Perhaps London?" He asked and you started slightly. "It could be fun. You do not have to teach your little brats until January."

"Not planning to murder me once you get me all to yourself?" You asked with another teasing grin. Your body eagerly soaking up the warmth of his own even with all the layers. The vial of orange fear toxin set down next to his mask on the end table.

"Perhaps I should strangle you with your hair, Porphyria," he responded in dry wit and you shook your head. Fond exasperation radiating from you even as you straddled his lap.

"I still say that poem was about beating a disease and not strangling your lover so you can play with her body," you muttered with a roll to your eyes. How quickly you two both fell back into your regular literary discussions.

"We agree to disagree, my love," he responded and your heart gave a traitorous little thump at the address. Who knew a man obsessed with fear and dressed in burlap made you such a sentimental fool. Still London sounded nice.

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Unlikely Companionship

Fandom: POTC/POTC: Price of Freedom

Pairing: Cutler Beckett x OC

Summary:  Cutler Beckett has been rescued by a mermaid of all things. Something otherworldly that is as beautiful as she is fierce. The fact she agreed to spend time with him as his wounds healed was just as good.

Warnings/additional tags: Implied/Referenced Child abuse, Mentions of Cannibalism, OC POV this time, Implied/Referenced suicide.

Part One

----------- "Sir!" A man in the boat called dressed in the blue outfit of the British Navy. A look that summoned up way too many memories but sometimes it was easier to stay in the sea. The sea was always home with its sweet call and the unfathomable dark waters. To swim with sharks and whales and all manner of sea creatures. Most ran from the merpeople in the drive to escape a powerful predator. For when manflesh was in short supply the flesh of fish would do. They were a carnivorous species after all. "To have a mermaid follow us would send the men into a frenzy!" The man continued with a smooth face and dark eyes full of fear.

Though every eye was on her including the molten silver of the man that had some destiny on the sea. A burning fire that was unfulfilled and calling. It itched at her and made her skin prickle. The man who she had saved opened his mouth to respond with furrowed eyebrows. Anger was obvious in his cheeks and his clenched fist. "Please bring me aboard," she whispered and held up one slim hand. The brewing conflict faded as all eyes turned to her. The men dressed in blue all tensed as they stared at her face. The supernatural beauty had them wanting to relax and submit to her wiles but instinct fought against it. Perhaps their military training helped strengthen their wills. Silver eyes flickered to a man dressed in all black. The one who had followed her without a moment's hesitation.

Loyalty to his employer first and foremost even as his craggy face never smiled. Dark eyes and tan skin behind a face almost formed of stone. "Mr. Mercer," the raspy voice of Cutler Beckett broke the lapping of the sea against the rowboat. The man moved to hold out a hand for her and she set her hand on the black sleeve of his jacket. The rough skin of his palm graced against her wet flesh as he lifted her into the rowboat. His own muscles tensed and he was stronger than he appeared as her fin began to clear the water. Though it had been months since she forced the fin to recede. Gone was the golden fin and instead slim flawless legs took its place.

Except in the pale golden light of the fire specks of gold ran up and down her legs. The sparkling of scales as she moved to sit next to the man she rescued. His breathing was ragged from the pain no doubt in his ribs. Her nudity was another divisive factor as half the men stared at her. Some in lust and some in infatuation. She almost missed the stare between Cutler and Mercer before a black coat was settled over her body. Her hands moved it over herself before a hand drifted to the wooden rowboat. Cassia found the row boat to be an odd situation to feel. Her fingers ran over the rough wood before a hand rested over her own. The warmth of the hand and the feel of skin on hers made her glance into liquid silver eyes. The ringing musical quality of destiny twirled around him. He was special and she wondered if her mother had felt the same when Alexander Morgan fell into her clutches. Resistant to the allure of a mermaid and polite enough to ask her for help.

She had heard the stories many times as she grew up betwixt sea and ship. His finger twinned in-between her own and her back relaxed. His face was drawn and dirty through pain but his eyes stayed sharp as silence settled around them. The ocean moved and the sharks ate among the dead of the destroyed ship. Until they had gone to the new ship that rested anchored nearby with a hustle and bustle of men. The blue coats slightly irritated her as the boat moved to join the bigger ship. Cutler Beckett was alive and mostly well to rejoin his people. She felt the urge to return to the sea as the boat was raised to attach. "Mr. Beckett," a gruff voice of an older man called with a contingent of men behind him.

Only two were dressed without the navy blue coat. She stood partly behind the man who held her hand. The black coat went to her knees as she pulled it more over herself. "Captain," his voice was rough as his legs shook from holding his weight. "I thank you for the speedy rescue. Is there any place I can rest from my wounds?" The man who had followed her directions to find his boss and gave her his coat stood at the other side blocking her from sight.

"Of course," the Captain called with a smile that did not reach his eyes. A tension rested amongst the crew suddenly but she knew she was not the issue. Or, at most, not the main issue to be talked about. Most knew exactly what she was if they did not want to outright say it. She knew from experience the further inland people went the less they believed in supposed myths. "Let my doctor look at your wounds and you may take my cabin before we reach Calabar," the captain said as his hand motioned to an older man behind him. The eyes of the captain landed on her with a question or refusal thick in the air. The superstition of a woman on board a ship was nothing new in this case. Though her father's crew had been a lot more understanding.

"She stays with me," Cutler Beckett barked out an order. Like his namesake it was a sharp one. Her eyes moved between the man she had saved and the captain. The navy all but buckled under the command and she tilted her head in interest. The brown locks falling over her shoulder as they dried in the crisp night air. It had been many phases of the moon since she had assumed the form of a human. Her legs shook from the feeling of having to remember to walk. "No one is allowed to threaten or harm her," he added as his hand tightened over her own. Possessive and protective over her as Mercer crossed his arms over his chest. As if daring them to refute his boss's order. She wondered more on who exactly Cutler Beckett was besides the destiny he held in the sea.

"As you say, sir," the Captain said with a dip to his head. It was interesting to watch but she followed the man as he limped slowly to the captain's cabin with as much grace as possible. Her and Mercer followed as the night sky twinkled above them before they left the ship for the cabin. A table, bookshelf, map, and bed sat in the spacious cabin. The old man followed as well but she took her place to look over the bookshelf. Her fingers ran over the spines of many different books in obvious interest. Her eyes moved to track the old man as he helped Cutler remove the dirty clothes he was in.

The purple bruising on his chest only highlighted the old scars over his skin. Some were scars she had seen many times before. Slices and stabs with sharp implements. Her eyes caught the cold face of Mercer as he rested his back against the desk watching the doctor work. "You must take the time to rest, Mr. Beckett," the raspy voice of the old doctor said to him. "Your wounds will need to heal but you should come out just fine. I'll have the galley bring you up food to nourish you." She watched the doctor leave as he shot her a stare. His eyes resting on the golden scales on her legs or perhaps her obvious nudity under the jacket.

"Leave us," Beckett ordered sharply to the man who had followed her directions. To save a man stuck on water and on the precipice of death. Molten silver eyes and brown hair rested in his eyes. Tiredness and pain broke up his face in an unpleasant expression as she stepped closer. The rocking of the boat took some time for her to get her sea legs. To get used to her legs instead of her fin was another issue. "Are you hungry?" He asked and she tilted her head in curiosity. His tone of voice seemed lighter than the sharp order he gave previously.

"And if I wanted to eat one of the crew?" She asked in a tease as she stepped closer to his sitting form. The black jacket still around her smelled of sweat and gunpowder. It was uncomfortable but she was sure he would not appreciate her walking around without garments. Humans and their odd desire for modesty. She watched his face twist in some form of a smile and a chuckle slipped past chapped lips. Before he twitched in obvious pain.

"As long as you do not eat the cook," he whispered as he leaned back. "Perhaps the cabin boy?" Her eyes lit up in obvious humor at his joke. This man was different from other humans she had met. Not categorized like many others had been. Pirate men and Navy personnel were almost similar in how they treated the mermaids. She had been used to the almost expected lust of the men. It was his resistance to his baser nature that drew her attention. The twitch of pain and his hand on his chest had her pushing him back to relax against the bed. A suggestion he followed with barely any resistance. "Can you eat the food of a human?" He asked and she smiled at him.

"Of course I can," she whispered with a faint chuckle as her body sat on the cot next to him. The prickle of facial hair tickled her palm as she caressed him. "It is just easier to feed on raw flesh and fish," she explained as she watched him lean into her touch. The fire in his being fluttering under the surface as something drew her interest. The feel of destiny and difference drawing her interest. He was different. That was what she decided he was. Different. Strong of will and intelligent which was very familiar. Almost nostalgic. Silver eyes hid behind his eyelashes as her fingers ran through the brown hair.

He was young but not close to a young lad with no sense. A man in his prime and filled with strength. Green eyes lightened at seeing a scar near his shoulder. A slice that was raised from a weapon made of jagged metal. Or slightly blunted. Cassia's eyes turned sad at the look of such a thing as her finger caressed the raised skin. His hand wrapped around her own as his eyes shot open to look at her. His eyes were tense and so was the tight grip on her hand until his eyes lessened from the sharp defensive look at seeing her. The fact he avoided looking at her body should not have been as adorable as it was. "Apologies, my lady," he whispered as the hand tightening around her fingers shifted to pull it to his lips.

"So much pain," she whispered as she relaxed into the feel of his lips on her hand. The heat of the cabin was almost uncomfortable along with the jacket but her hair only covered so much. Humans and their desire for modesty would always surprise her. But they did not need sea water to survive or the animalistic nature of the mermaids. "You still dream of it?" She asked him and his eyes flicked to her as he ran her hand over his cheek. The affectionate touch was relaxing and intriguing as she watched him. Fire and destiny coiled behind silver eyes and pale skin.

"Why do the legends never speak of the perceptive gaze of mermaids?" He asked instead in obvious deflection though he answered her either way. An answer without a verbal statement was still one. Horrible dreams tainted by memories of pain inflicted in life. Did that change the man in front of her? A lust for more infused him and a desire for...her thoughts were cut off by a clearing of a throat. Green-blue graced upon a young lad holding a tray with the powdered wigs of the British on his head. Another fashion or trapping of vanity she never understood.

The silver eyes of her sailor sharpened on the man as he dropped her hand. The smell of cooked food wafted from the tray. "I did not say you could enter," the man on the bed snapped out as he moved to sit. His teeth gritted in his irritation and pain as she stayed on the side of the bed next to him. Her body was mostly covered though the gold scales dancing down her legs were obvious in the flickering lantern. The boy's eyes could not help but be drawn to her in obvious attraction. The allure of a mermaid was strong which made the man laying next to her all the more intriguing. Not many had the strength of will to refuse or to resist their more animalistic nature to claim.

"I-I am sorry, sir," the boy called out and she saw the tray almost shake in his hands. "The medic ordered me to deliver it post haste." The form of the rescued sailor motioned to the table with a sharp gesture. A dismissal in his every action though the boy stared too long at her half naked form. Cutler Beckett's hands tightened as did the clench in his jaw. Her gaze was only on the anger in the man's emotions as two fingers ran down the slight prickle of facial hair on his chin. Silver eyes met her own as he surrendered into her ministrations as the anger relaxed from his body.

The sound of boots on wood had the man's gaze slipping to the boy still in the cabin. The feel of his stare was obvious even as she did not look. "Leave, boy," Cutler Beckett ordered sharply and the cloudy gaze of the lad cleared to show fear. She watched him all but flee the cabin with a slight smile on her lips. "Perhaps I should let you eat the cabin boy after all," he whispered close to her ear and she chuckled slightly before slipping from the bed. Her body dancing from the half hearted attempt to keep her near. His eyes watched her as she grabbed a bowl before giving a tentative sniff. It did not smell bad before stepping back to the bed.

"You need to eat, Cutler," she whispered with a smile as she sat next to him. "Why do they fear you so?" He did not answer for a couple moments as he took to her advice and ate some of the food slowly. Silver eyes met her own as his back rested against the wood of the ship. Bruised, scarred, and unyielding is what he reminded her of. A reminder of her father was obvious in his bearing though they were different. As if the sun was compared to the moon. Alexander Morgan had been warm and gregarious though blessed with a sharp wit. This man was different in so many ways though similar.

"I am the Governor of Calabar for the East India Trading company," he answered finally and she backed out of fond memories. The water and sun as she danced upon her father's ship with her mother in tow. The laughter of the crew dancing with the waves of the sea and the streaks of heat. The East India Trading Company was well known even to her. She tilted her head curiously but kept her mouth shut to a firm line. "Do you know what that is?" He asked and her hair moved in her nod. Brown hair with streaks of red and blonde shined in the light as much as her scales. But the flag with their symbol was more known to her as well as the sound of their cannonballs.

"The pirates fear you," she answered, but a whisper and another deep laugh left the man laying on the bed. The pain from the action had him gasping at the end but she saw his face alight in obvious joy and amusement. As her fingers soothed him he laid back against the wood in exhaustion. As if the wind in sails died down to nothing. His eyes dulled with the pained exhaustion and she watched him with only concern.

"As they should," his voice answered in a sleepy, breathy whisper. His body moved to ease into sleep as she took the bowl from him. Food and rest was the only thing to heal his bruised or broken ribs. "One day I will destroy piracy," his voice added in sleepy whispers and she watched him fall into the grip of sleep. The ship moved ever onward and she moved to curl next to him. His heart beat into her ear in a soothing rhythm that was its own music as she drifted off. Staying awake with him for so long exhausted her more than she considered. Even if it was too warm on this ship in the guise of humanity she drifted softly to sleep.

The sun trickled through the windows to the cabin as the ship creaked and groaned. She was alone on the bed with the black jacket pulled as a blanket around her. Bleary eyes looked at the man who slowly pulled a razor through the small amount of facial hair on his chin. The brown hair was cut short to his head and drifted lazily in the air as the open window drifted in the smell of seawater. It smelled of home as she sat up on the bed to watch his hands move with rhythmic motions. The scrape of the razor washed away as she observed him. His back was to her and the scars of his past covered his skin as his mind drifted away. She could see it in his every action as his eyes faded to the cloudy grey of his own thoughts. As she stepped towards him his eyes brightened into cognizance as he met her through the mirror. "How was your sleep, Cassia?" He asked her as he washed off the remainder of soap.

"It is always odd to sleep as a human," she answered honestly and looked out the open window to stare at the sea. Her heart called for it but she knew her limit. How long she could stay on her legs and on land. Being on a ship helped stave off the magic that forced her back into the sea. "I have done it before on my father's ship," she added in a murmur at the recollection as she observed him slowly clean himself. Before he pulled the white shirt over his bruises with the slow movements of obvious pain. Nothing at all like the clothes she had once seen for they were more fashionable. She did not attempt to help and smiled softly at him as he sat at the desk. The powdered wig on the desk seemed to be the next step in him taking on the trappings of his life. Soon their small connection would fade as they each went back into their roles.

"You mentioned your father before," he said as his eyes looked at her, stepping close to him. Her fingers dragged over the smooth wood of the desk as she glided closer to the man. Her heart ached at the fact she would need to leave him very soon. "What was his name? Where was he from?" He asked her as he held out a hand. A hand that was calloused from training she reckoned as her hand softly touched his own. The image of the flash of steel and the smell of gunpowder entered her nose. These hands were trained to deal death, she realized.

"Alexander Morgan," she answered as her green-blue eyes took in the action of his hands cupping her smaller hand in between both of his. Warmth and curiosity filled the both of them she supposed as they danced around the obvious issue. Or the attraction settling in. For all men were attracted to a mermaid but he did not let it control him. That drew her own interest but he had asked another question attempting to learn who she was. "He had been born in Port Royale I believe," she added softly in a whisper as she traced his own movements. "I had never been to the land of my father."

"A colony of the British Crown," he said as he pulled her hand to his lips in an echo of the night before. Until they had been rudely interrupted by the cabin boy. Her eyes slipped shut at the feel of his lips gracing the inside of her palm. It was not an unwelcome feeling and she found herself itching more for this intimacy. He moved his mouth away from her skin and she buried the urge to seek out more from him. "No other family?" He asked and she shook her head in answer.

"We do not consider family in the same way as humans do," she responded as she thought back to the other mermaids. Emotional attachment was folly even if some hunted together. Much like the sharks they attacked, maternal feelings only took them so far. "Do you have any other family in your heart?" She asked him instead and he paused as her fingers ran over the now smooth skin of his cheeks. She found she missed the more disheveled feeling of the prickle of facial hair.

"A sister is the only one I had cared for," he stated simply with a tone to try and block the feelings. An empty well of sorrow in his every word. "A mother as well. Both died from the mistreatment of my father. I find myself almost feeling empty now. I cannot summon enough emotion to cry for my sister." Perhaps the whispered confession would have been concerning among the humans but for her it was a statement she felt as well. Outliers and alone in this world.

"Sometimes death is its own freedom from pain, Cutler," her voice responded softly and he stared up at her. Grey eyes turning silver as his thoughts were unknown to her. Cold and aloof in his own way she could see the cracks forming in his being. He was different from other humans or at least unique that she had only met once or twice before in her life. His lips moved into a smile as her other hand joined the other to rest against his cheeks. The urge in her chest was uncontrollable as she moved her thumbs over his cheekbones.

"Is that what your mother said?" He asked and her smile turned sad at the piercing statement. He had cut to the heart of the matter quickly and she could not refuse it. Even if the question hurt a part of her it was an old wound. Rough fingers wrapped around her wrists and she felt his skin tense in preparation to pull her away. Instinct or some other ephemeral feeling made her move to seal her lips to his. He tensed under her ministrations but did not pull away. His lips moved to answer in kind and perhaps her inexperience was shown but she was a quick learner. He deepened the kiss by pulling her closer and running his tongue over the seam to her lips. They both groaned into the kiss and pulled back to share a breath. "Graced with a kiss from a mermaid," he whispered with red lips. "I hear that grants the ability to breathe underwater."

"That is just a myth," she answered with a teasing grin. His own lips quirked into a smirk but before he could answer a powerful knock distracted him. A sigh left him as he dropped her wrists and picked up the wig to cover the brown hair. Silver eyes watched her with a mix of lust and obvious interest. It felt irritating that they kept getting interrupted. "Are you sure I cannot eat some of the crew?" She asked and the man released a painful laugh as his hands picked up a slick black cane.

"Do not tempt me to acquiesce to all of your desires, my dear."

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Well guess who is officially writing part two to that Jonathan Crane x Teacher!Reader. Expect part two soon(ish) if I get time to write on it. I thought about fully setting it in Batman Begins for the longest time but decided not too. It's basically going to be a mix of my favorite parts of the Batman mythos. The ones that involve Scarecrow that is.

Unsure on how long it will be or how romantic but we shall see where my muse goes with it. Might do something nsfw as well. Maybe. We will see. But hey a teaser!

Scarecrow will actually make an appearance this time instead of mild mannered psychology professor with social issues 😏

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Masks we wear

Fandom: Batman/Dc Comics

Request/Prompt: Teacher!Reader/Jonathan Crane

A/N: My first true request and I enjoyed writing this more than I expected.  enough that I had to do research and stayed up way too late but it is fun to deliver this.

@kpopgirlbtssvt 

I hope you enjoy it,  darling, and please let me know if I can write anymore requests for you.  I may do a part two as well to this.  If anyone wants any other requests please let me know!

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Perhaps it was a curse of everything in existence that teacher meetings were boring. You had accepted that even with the now cold cup of coffee in your hands and the hard chair against your back. A curse or an unmistakable reality. Your eyes moved from the brown liquid swirling in your cup to look around the room as the speaker droned on and on about different staff related hijinks. The old man with no hair except on a bushy mustache that went out of style ages ago continued to drag the meeting on. Truly you were bored out of your mind as your fingers toyed with the edge of your sleeve.

The sludge of creamer and coffee gelatinizing in your cup was both unappetizing and intriguing at once. Like many of the chemicals you had to work with to teach the idiots that trekked their way into your class. You truly wept for your sanity now when you accepted the position as a chemistry professor. The Dean continued to drone on and on but your eyes went from the probable radioactive waste in your cup to see someone else's eyes staring boldly at you. The man was young just like you with short brown hair coiffed back professionally and a suit to match. Even if the suit was more casual than most. Blue eyes were hidden by wired frames with simple rectangle lenses. Academic and stylish in its own way even with the obvious effeminate face he had. Dr. Jonathan Crane who had been a genius in psychology since he graduated from high school at seventeen.

Gained a doctorate by twenty five and a prime teaching degree at the same time. A brown eyebrow raised at your blatant stare and you saw his lips tick up in a smirk. Infuriating and arrogant with a stick up his ass to match. You snorted as you barely moved your cup to toast him before sipping the no doubt Ace chemicals in your cup. "Am I interrupting?" The rough and mocking voice of the Dean cut the air and your eyes moved to the short statured man with barely a grimace at the reprimand. You had barely any sleep and you truly did not care for something as banal as a staff meeting like this.

"Yes," you answered blankly and with a very frank attitude that left you with few friends. Sarcasm and terrible jokes with an abrasive attitude left you precious little friends which was fine with you. In all honesty you preferred your caffeinated beverages and your experiments over the idiots trekking mud in your classroom. "I heard Jonathan here scared away the whole class with a box of spiders and I wanted to congratulate him," you responded with dry wit and teasing smiles. Blue eyes met you with wide eyed surprise at your lip before barely biting back the snort about to come to his lips.

The constipated look on the bald man's face was beautiful in a way even if he was not. "To be completely fair," Jonathan said while clearing his throat. Your name passed his lips which brought a smile from you. He was not the only teenage genius picked up to teach after rocketing through scholarships. Though you were not fully an orphan or alone like he was. Gothamites seemed to eat up a sob story especially if they were the bean counters of a great University. "It was a rose haired tarantula who is quite gentle and named Sherry," he added with a well of humor that had them both showing amusement even in this moment.

A few other faculty released a few odd snickers but stopped at the disapproving glare from Professor Pigeon the department head for the psychology department. His own goatee twitching with his scowl of disappointment. "If we could please get back to our discussion!" Dr. Long called and your own smile was twisted in some sick thrill but wisely you shut your mouth. Better to count your blessings and try to escape this meeting with your own sanity. Blue eyes stared at you for the rest of the meeting though what was said was lost on you. A sip of your toxic waste of a coffee cup went down overly sweetened from too much creamer.

The stretching of legs and throwing away the empty cup was the best feeling in the world. Well that and the man stepping closer to you helped. Icy blue eyes glinted mischievously even if to the others he was the tall and unapproachable Professor of Psychology. The bookish appearance and sneer did not help from the long limbed man who was frankly terrifying to the little ants that ran through the Gothic grounds of Gotham University. You truly needed more sleep you swore to God. A whisper of your name had you facing the speaker with a hum. Cold fingers pinched your nose at the throbbing issue in the back of your eyes. "You look exhausted," Crane muttered close to you as the niceties was observed by your elder fellows.

Both you and Crane were the resident young geniuses to bring in money and success stories at fundraisers for more money. The dichotomy between crime and genius made you think about almost switching majors to sociology. "Says the man with bags under his eyes," You teased the taller male very obviously even as both of you tried to hide your backs against the wall. The Dean was still scowling at an older woman next to him with some other simping fools. "I am pretty sure your bags have bags," you added with a smile up at the thin man who stood taller than most in the room. Though he was a modest six foot in height.

"The joys of working on fun side projects, Professor," his voice was carefully blank but you could always tell a tease from the man. It had taken weeks before you two had stumbled on some form of rapport between you. Yours was tempered by obvious attraction though if he saw it he said nothing. Being young geniuses and employed by the same University had shoe horned you two to being almost friends even with his cruel psychoanalysis. You loved books and learning just like him which helped in some regards. "Though I doubt you would understand," he remarked with a sneer that almost hid his amusement.

Some other professors and teachers looked towards you two with a look of annoyance but you wisely ignored them. Though the feel of a warm coffee cup was sorely missed. "Says you," you grumbled out with a smirk. He stared down his nose at you but even you could feel the amusement in his gaze. "Any good books lately?" You asked as the politicking around the room increased. Professor Pigeon released a deep laugh that had his cheeks turn red. Not for the first time you realized the man had the beginning stages of alcoholism. Not that it was any of your business.

“You ask me that every time and I will still lead you to psychology books," he remarked with a hawkish look of irritation. A jest you had gotten used to from Crane's notorious prickly behavior.

"You finish Harry Potter yet?" You asked with a cheeky smile as if you did not notice his pretenses of being better. It had worked between you two for the last couple of months as new Doctors and professors. Late night tea in a dusty office smelling of books to talk about said books. Though it had changed to mostly complaining about students, feeling excluded from their peers, and any experiments they had devoted time too.

"I am starting to understand why Snape is so sour to his students," he remarked and you all but released a cackle before smothering it. Your knuckle bit into as another old bitty threw a glare at you.

"If I get you to read the other six books your attitude may change," you remarked with a grin. "Besides I am sure we are both consummate Ravenclaws." The tall man scoffed again but the attitude of the after socializing meeting seemed to be winding down. Enough that you two could make your escape without stepping on toes. Or by leaving early and drawing attention.

"The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka," his voice responded before long fingers gripped your upper arm in a squeeze as Pigeon made his approach to secure his young genius professor. The life of a figurehead even with your genius. Still the recommendation and the feel of his fingers were exciting enough as you made your way to your own department head. The eyes of Pigeon following your move with Crane's own eyes following sharply.

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The next meeting that saw you deposited in the stuffy psychology professor's office was both liberating and annoying. Your head was leaned back on a slightly hard chair as you rested in the office. Your eyes tracked the small plastic cage as a hairy arachnid limb moved through the cage. "What's wrong?" The voice of Jonathan Crane broke your focus as the tarantula moved through the cage. The Rose Haired tarantula was beautiful but you always hated spiders. Your eyes went from the tarantula to the man standing with his back to you.

A tea kettle of all things in his hands as his back moved under the white shirt. His suit fit him well but you were tired even with it being a Friday night. You bet the stupid people closer to your age than not where distracted by booze and drugs. "If I have to deal with some idiotic boy disregarding lab safety again I am going to snap," you groaned out as you rubbed your tired eyes. Here you where complaining to the man you had nursed an attraction too for months. A white tea cup was pressed down in front of you which had you smiling as steaming tea filled your senses. Both by sight and smell.

"A bunch of fools indeed," he answered as his long fingers cradled his own cup gently. You had always loved watching him move. His fingers always drawing your interest with their manicured nails and long digits. "I am feeling my brain leak out of my ears when I am forced to grade such papers," he added with a scoff as he waved a hand to stack of typed papers. At least you didn't have to make out anyone's hand writing so typed papers were wonderful. "You read The Metamorphosis?" He asked after sipping his tea.

"Kafka has an interesting mind I must say," you answered with a grin as you watched the tarantula move again. Sherry is what he called her and the limbs moved again. "Though I wonder if the meaning deals more with injury by society or disease than something fantastical," you added with a shrug and the man smiled. A smile that was more free away from social gatherings and masks being required. A shame to you but you cherished the small peak behind the unflappable mask of a scholar.

“A common interpretation actually," he answered with a nod as strands of brown hair moved in front of his face. You watched it all with a discerning eye before surreptitiously drinking your hot tea. Something eased inside of you at something as simple as relaxing with a man you almost considered a friend. "What did you think of Gregor's sister, Greta, and her abandonment of her brother?" He asked and his voice showed nothing to sway you one way or the other. Intellectual discourse with only logic instead of emotions was attractive either way. Ravenclaws indeed.

"At first I was disgusted by the betrayal of his family and that she abandoned her brother," you answered with a chuckle as the tea soothed your throat and warmed your stomach. "But a part of me could understand the desire to live your own life free of such responsibilities. A hard topic but I am a single child so perhaps I lack the emotional quotient. What did you think of it?" At that his eyes turned far away as he organized his own thoughts. The short story had been surprising and fantastical if you could ignore the social commentary. You, unfortunately, could not and again you wondered why you choose Chemistry instead of Sociology.

"It is a terrible thing to be abandoned by love ones in order to be selfish," he answered before the clink of the tea cup hit the desk. "If only my students could actually conversate as well as you." You always enjoyed your name leaving his lips and nodded very lightly. The tall form leaned to press on the desk to stand up with his hands flat on the desk. The lights from the office barely bathed the room as the sun finished setting. It was getting late but you had no desire to leave the man as you considered the next book to ask him to read. That had been the common thing between you and what helped settle a thin bond of friendship.

"The joys of being outsiders to those closer to our age and having to teach the idiots," you snarked out and his thin shoulders moved in a dry laugh. Though your eyes were more on what he was doing than anything else as he moved to the tarantula. "Sherry you called her?" You asked with a grin and his lips moved into a smile that was more disturbing than not. It was a smile that was darker than expected as if the memory soured something. You stood to approach the man over the terrarium.

"Yes," he answered with a slight tilt to his head. "A beautiful girl though not very nice. It felt appropriate." The meaning became clear as you watched the tarantula move about. Rose haired tarantula were considered docile and gentle even being arachnids. Still terrified the hell out of you but you watched him move to pick up the tarantula who slowly stepped into his palm.

"If you name me after a tarantula I will be furious," you remarked with a scowl and he turned to stare at you with something else in his eyes. "This Sherry was a high school bully I suppose?" You asked as you tracked the legs move and the eyes stare at you from the furry arachnid. The fact your arms stood on end and you tensed must have been obvious for he pushed back his glasses up a wide nose.

"One of many," he remarked with a scoff as his head tilted to look at the tarantula than to you. "Called me Scarecrow of all things while destroying my books." An odd admittance but one you cherished. An expression of trust or friendliness to talk about shared trauma. How sappy. Though the cruel nickname was an odd one for you. You had lived too long among steel spires, dirty streets, and mobsters. "I once lived in Georgia," he added with a soft grin that was humorless. "On farmland in hammy down clothes." A nod came from you but you backed up as he held out the red tinted arachnid with a gentle smile. "Terrified?"

"I never cared for spiders," you answered with an edge of discontent and fear in your voice. "I never really knew why just never liked the look." His steps around from your side to behind you would have been concerning if not for the smell. He smelled of cheap soap but clean though the smell of old books stayed on his skin.

"Arachnopobia is quite common I'm afraid," he said as he held out the tarantula in front of you as your spine tensed at the almost cage he had you in. Caged by his body, a desk, and a tarantula of all things was more attractive than you expected. Even if the tarantula coming near you had you wanting to shy away. "I once had orinthophobia after being attacked by a flock of birds," he added with a smile in his tone. "Come on, hold it. I'll grab her if she turns aggressive." What made you hold out your hand was a mystery. Could have been how deep his voice got or how he purred the words. An intimacy you never expected but always desired.

You cursed your attraction to the arrogant Professor before watched the tarantula move slowly from his hand to yours. The hair prickled and the legs moved in your palm to test the platform it was in. Your eyes watched the tarantula as your heart beat in your ears at the feel. Your skin tense in the urge to run away. "Catecholamine," his voice whispered close to your ear as his other hand rested on your shoulder. "Is what is released when you have an acute stress response in reaction to fear. It's purely psychological but it is your body's natural response to threatening stimuli."

"Your fight or flight response right?" You asked though you figured you were right about this. He had his levels of study and obsession and you had yours. He was a genius in the knowledge of phobias and fears while also skilled in chemistry. Being a polymath was not unheard of but you now wondered on if you should branch out to extra fields. You loved teaching though even with your numerous complaints about fools close to your age. The tarantula stayed still in your palm but you never felt the urge to relax. The hair was too weird on your skin and one glance at those fangs had your heart racing.

You could feel him stare down at you from where his mouth rested close to the side of your neck. The pads of his fingers resting on your pulse had you jumping very slightly before you stilled your arm. An obvious shake going through your limbs as the tarantula moved in discontent at being jostled. A fear of being bitten or hit with urticating hairs the top of your priorities even with him so close. "Your pulse is racing," he whispered so very close to your ear it made your skin shiver. An odd twining of fear and pleasure coiled together in the pit of your stomach.

"Jonathan?" You whispered and a vocalization left him before he shushed you. It was the feel of his lips at the edge of your lips that had you gasping in surprise. Your eyes met his and before he could pull back you pressed the advantage. Sealing your lips to his as it was now his turn to shudder. The prickling hairs of the tarantula going up your arm and to your shirt had you shudder in fear as his tongue slipped into your mouth. A wet kiss followed even as the tarantula made its way up your chest before his hand moved it away. Your mouths separated and so did his hold before he brought the tarantula back to its terrarium.

He turned to face you as you tried to get your heart rate under control. Though pink dusted your cheeks and you licked your lips. "Sexual arousal and adrenaline are an odd combination to have I must say," you remarked in your normal dry way which had the bookish spindly man smiling widely as his fingers pressed against each other. Blue eyes seemed to shine in some misgivings before he readjusted his tie with a grimace of a smile.

"I need to go to Blackgate tomorrow for an extra project," he said and it almost felt like a dismissal or an excuse to cut whatever had happened. A loss of control from both of them and an out if they needed it. You did not want an out and you stepped closer to him. Enough to smell and feel his heat as his hand coiled into a fist. Blue eyes were wide and you could almost see apprehension in his gaze.

"I would say a date but I know how gossip spreads if it does not already," you answered with a small smile. You expected rejection but you did not care anymore if he did it. "So another kiss would not go remiss." His lips spread open in an obvious show of surprise before some type of smile spread across his lips. Before he pressed to kiss you again. You almost wondered about the rough passion behind the move as your hip caught his desk almost painfully. A gasp and groan leaving you as his tongue pressed his advantage. Whatever this was between you was fragile but beautiful and you desired it more than air.

Though you were both obviously unskilled in such things as this instinct won out after all as his hands wrapped around your cheeks. Your hands moved from his arms to his shoulders and finally his chest as you were unsure what to do. The kiss ended and you stared at each other with a smile on reddened lips.

Part two

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Writing Project

My first reader one shot request and I am so excited! 😁 Please if anyone wants to request anymore reader/oc one shots let me know.  Shout out of course to @kpopgirlbtssvt for asking me for this.  I’m working on the rough draft right now for you, friend, and hope to post it soon.

[punk-rock-unicorn]

I can attempt a one shot and if inspired I will write more. Anything in the plot you want(can be anything just let me know 😉) and which Scarecrow? 😁

Hi!! Do you take requests?

Yes. What do you have in mind?

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Hi!! Do you take requests?

Yes. What do you have in mind?

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Colors 4

Part Three

The night was stormy and filled with the sound of rain hitting the roof of her clinic. The Narrows flooded almost from a bad drainage system on top of the crushing defeat in the slums. Homelessness and lawlessness that was unmanageable by the police of Gotham. Half were corrupt and the other half were dogs without fangs. A sad fact of life that she had accepted a long time ago. Though younger than most expected she was intelligent and she was observant. The soothing sounds of water sliding down windows made her relax even if it had been weeks since the adventure.

Moxie was now down an arm and eating her food. Charon was the one who helped the one armed girl the most as she dealt with business. The Narrows was tense with the stirrings of another gang war which was no surprise. Her only hope being they would not attempt to harm her. Though even if they did their parts could serve a use. Depending on how long they took to die and where they were wounded. Organs were always hard to have in supply though she supposed it would be easy to take matches if it ever showed up. "If it's not my favorite doctor," a rough voice called and she could smell pipe tobacco and Italian coffee.

It always was a sharp scent that combined with over priced cologne and richly designed suits. Though the man with a receding hairline was not attractive to her as he was to other women. Slightly overweight and consumed by power. Salvatore Maroni was the man in charge of the Italian Mob now that Carmine Falcone was stuck in Arkham. Or, rather, stuck under the care of his wife and children. The fear driven breakdown more manageable as time went on. His weakness was Maroni's gain even in the cutthroat nature of the Gotham underworld. "Don Maroni," she greeted with a smile as she stepped from around her work table.

"Bella mia," he greeted with his arms spread out in an obvious gesture of a hug. His whole nature was characterized by money and power. With the ability to do what his heart desired. Be it operating Italian restaurants or running a criminal organization that dealt with everything. He also supplied her with anything she could ever want. When his lips touched her cheek she allowed it and hoped the bruises left by the mad doctor escaped his notice. "You are looking as radiant as always," he called as his hands gripped her shoulders. The taste of Italian cuisine in the air with the subdued colors of an Italian restaurant. "How are you?"

"I am fine," she answered with a small smile and a quiet voice that was more instinctive than not. "I have been busy patching up your fighters." An accusation wrapped up in an innocent statement. For it was the truth and the fact Moxie rested in her clinic was slightly exasperating. Though her hatred stemmed from the loss of her friend's body part not her boss's money maker. Where desperate people traded their bodies for violence and money. Gotham had always been a twisted city and no one could change that. Not even the man who dressed as a Bat.

"And a certain psychiatrist I hear," Maroni accused back with a gentle smile. Though his dark eyes were alight with an accusation. He was over protective of his doctor. She knew that. Whatever veneer of care he showed towards her it was tempered by his greed. The most beautiful women and the finest foods the fruits of his labors. She was just glad he saw her more as a doctor and a daughter figure than a future Mistress. Her desire for the mad doctor was also a factor in her strange behavior. Her misgivings on revealing this to the mob boss was understandable after all.

"I have an open policy, Don Maroni," she answered simply and almost naively. Her job had been simple even if she threw herself into her job. Healing mercenaries and murderers just for the added protection. Or perhaps for the relaxing life she gained being useful to all sides. "He was wounded and required treatment," she added as an afterthought. Though her main focus was on the inner image of the man shirtless in her clinic. The odd scars on his shoulders and back as he watched her with his icy blue eyes. The taste and feel of his lips.

"I know, Bella mia," his voice tried to soothe her as he watched her with a wide smile. His dark eyes looking her over as she observed him. "I know. It was a condition when I agreed to fund this project. But if he dares to hurt you..." The threat faded in the air to the smell of cigarettes and bourbon. The brown colors emanating from his voice almost as thick as swamp land. Or the taste of the summer sun in Florida. The one weekend she went there with her family. Before that to faded to nothing and she was surrounded by Gothic buildings and iron scented rain.

"I have Charon and Moxie," she answered with a wide smile though she enjoyed his obvious care. The threat against the good doctor was also amusing in a way. Dr. Jonathan Crane would have been amused by the threat by any rate. The unflappable man with the beautiful look and rough kisses. Her skin tingled in her remembrance of his lips, teeth, and tongue marking her throat. Lust quite obviously made her skin prickle but her employer was ignorant of it. She hoped he was and she smiled at the man with child like innocence as he patted her cheek.

"If my men see him sniffing around any more he will hear from me," he said with a grin. "How is my crazy little spitfire? Not many would punch Croc. It was a riot." The sadistic amusement had been trained in the man in front of her. Probably not from abuse like with Scarecrow but through his family. The echo of tearing flesh and drunk laughter oozed from his words. The screams of pain and splash of blood in every syllable. Her flinch was well earned and even Maroni thought her but a child. A drop out med student who showed a genius with medical arts.

"The wound is healing well," she answered as she looked around the simple clinic. She was alone with books, workbenches, and old blood. "I am unsure what else to do with her arm," she added and looked around at the metal near her. The frame work of a prosthetic sitting in a basic stage. A project that she was unsure how to continue. "A more powerful prosthetic maybe?" She asked as her fingers rubbed at her chin.

"A bionic arm maybe?" The mob boss quipped with a laugh and she picked up the bareboned arm with a discerning eye. The metal too rough to even be useful. She would need Moxie's stump to heal completely before she could attach anything. Her finger tapped on the metal before she met the look of her employer. His voice was thick with teasing and amusement. She was but a pet to him or for something to spend money on that played a role. She was not delusional of her worth. The color of smoke and murky swamp water in his tone.

"The probability of nerve connection would be interesting alone," she said with a hum as she ran her fingers over the smooth socket of the composite arm. "If Lexcorp happens to misplace one I would not mind a chance to study it. Moxie is a good fighter." An innocent statement of Maroni's little doctor wrapped up in a manipulation. The idea of experimenting on Lexcorp medical technology was interesting. Even if he sold a lot of his inventions to the Military of all things. What a waste.

"If you could make this work, Bella," Maroni stated with a grin as his stance shifted with a sick smile. The stomach churning colors of black and dark green washing over her. Even as his rough lips kissed her cheek again. She was left alone with a promise and an idea of what to do. A project that was more exciting than she expected. As Moxie sat on her table in but a tank top and pants she wondered on the idea.

A bionic arm latched to nerves and responsive enough to fight. Cybernetic research and advancement was not unheard of but she had no desire to lose her friend to something as simple as rejection. Perhaps future experiments were needed before she understood the science of it. Was the age of the severed nerves an issue. "You have the look of a mad scientist you know, sweetheart," Moxie remarked with a dry voice like old whiskey. It burned but settled warmly. Sentiment and affection burned in her eyes and she felt her heart ease at it. A found family with two gruff mercenaries and the filth of the Gotham underworld at her door.

"I may have found an idea for a replacement arm," she stated with a smile even as she looked at the mass of stitching and scar tissue. If only she could cut Killer Croc open. If he was alive she could see his organs move as she moved the knife. What a virulent poison Gotham was to her once innocent soul. Her desire to help people and serve as a surgeon had crashed and burned so long ago. "But I need to make sure it does not reject you," she added and looked towards Charon. The rustle of a newspaper filling the silence.

"Going to make me into an awesome cyborg huh?" Moxie teased and she smiled in response. Her eyes moved to the arm before she stepped back. Charon's paper showing the main story of Gotham's number one newspaper. Julian Day arrested for Valentine's Day murders. She shook her head with a sigh and filled the drugs near her into a syringe. A Bat appears and the world changes in response. Or perhaps Gotham had been a powder keg ready to explode for the insanity.

The clinic was empty and quiet as the pad of quiet footsteps echoed behind her. The smell of burned flowers and sandalwood teased her senses. The arm wrapped in tarp and plastics rested on her worktable. Her hands moving over the almost simple looking metal arm. It was light in response and close enough to the weight of a human arm. The sound of water hit the roof but only every so often. Gotham may have been wet normally but it was more dreary than a thunderstorm. The perfect weather for books and hot chocolate. She felt the man pause as he took her in. Her clothes simple but barely pushed above her elbows. "Did someone die under your knife, my dear?" His voice asked with a mocking edge.

He was trying to suss out her weaknesses to mock and hurt. A bad mood. Ice and blood filled her senses but her eyes went to the man with a sheet over his head. The scent of death mixed with the vermilion and cyan of the mad doctor. His suit was a little more ragged and his hair more disheveled. She almost missed the prim and proper director of Arkham but something about the roughened look set her body on edge. "I needed to study," she stated simply before leaving the cold of the man. The sheet pulled away to show peeled back skin and muscle. Nerve pathways preserved as she experimented and studied. "Cybernetic replacement is impossible if the host rejects the replacement," she stated before she moved to a book filled with diagrams and her problem.

The look he gave her set her nerves and flesh on edge. As if he was flaying her own skin with a knife. A look that only raised her desire to feel his teeth in her skin. She wanted his claws to rip and tear at her with an eagerness that was starting to scald her. "And where are your little pets, my dear?" He asked but it was the pressure on his address to her that was a warning. The shift from ice to the light green mist a sign of the shift. A shift that perhaps only she noticed from the visions and colors. The page under her faded as her back tensed in response at the feel of something predatory at her back. The teasing path of long fingers were gentle down the curve of her shoulders.

"Scarecrow," she whispered very softly and saw his fingers flex into the simple design of her shirt. His nails started to bite into the skin under her flimsy shield as he turned her around. Stubble decorated his chin in darker colors and his shirt was buttoned haphazardly. He did not look as put together which was bad for her. Her chin raised to keep his eye and she saw him smile as his eyes took in her offered throat. The faint mark on her collarbone still there and uncovered.

"I did my research on you," he whispered to her softly. As if it was freshly fallen snow on Christmas. The smell and sounds of the Gotham Parade was summoned up from the backgrounds. "Your father was one of the greatest scientists in the world before he was-" he started to mock her. Beautiful lips curled up in a desire to hurt and slice at her. Beautiful and cold as if she was freezing.

"Until Project Argus took him from me," she whispered. "And the League of Shadows took his life." The widened eyes from the man was a victory to her as she smiled at him. The memories of it where perhaps triggering of some hidden trauma but she had learned to avoid it. His lips opened in surprise as his thumb rested on her throat. Blue eyes watching her in a mix of curiosity and surprise.

"You know of them?" He whispered as he leaned closer to her face. Burnt flowers and wood entered her nose. Same as everything else as she watched him. Her own eyes stayed unblinking as he pushed himself closer. His dress shoes were scuffed from life among the trash of Gotham. His tie laid loose around his neck and his jacket almost too big for his frame. The tingle in her lips and skin made her desire to taste him again. To let him take control and dive his claws into her flesh.

"Yes," she answered with a smile. "Dr. Crane, I know of them and the deal you made with Ra's al Ghul. You only wanted the fear I wager not the money on offer." The man smiled and she was reminded of biblical studies. Lucifer was the most beautiful angel and she wondered if this was what he looked like. The disheveled scholar who only desired to spread fear and pain. Who loved to hurt and rip people apart just because he could.

The silence was assent to her and she enjoyed the stillness in the world. The colors faded as rough lips touched under her ear. Her shudder was not under her control as her slim hand gripped his sleeve in response as he moved. No sounds was released except for the groan out of her lips. Her heart beat wildly as she felt his lips press on her pulse. His teeth were gentle on the thud of her heart. "Jonathan," she murmured and felt the lips ghosting down her throat quirk into a smirk.

"You are mine," he whispered in her ear with an icy tone tinged with blood. Sun baked earth and feathers as the monster surged under the surface. The color of Jonathan Crane faded to show the fear seeking psychopath. "If he touches you again he will share his predecessor's cell in Arkham," the whispered threat was punctuated by his tongue sliding up her ear. His teeth quick to follow and so was her moan of pleasure. "You belong to me, little doctor."

"The fact you know what happened almost terrifies me," she remarked in a sarcastic humor that did nothing to temper her own arousal. She could feel his body tense and a hiss escaped from between his teeth. Her other hand slid under his jacket to press on his back. It pressed him close to her and the warmth of his body. The arousal was obvious as it pressed at her and she could tell he wanted her just as much. "Scarecrow," she groaned and pushed her head into his hands. An offer said without words as she offered herself to him.

"Taking control of weak men is easily done," he answered as his fingers twitched into her hair. The shudder he released from her fingers pressing into his back was enthralling enough. "They are such a fearful lot and I have eyes everywhere," he added as he moved his mouth to run over her throat. She was getting the feeling this whole meeting was because he was jealous. The obvious possessive nature of the Don pressing on Crane's vaunted control. That excited her to an almost dangerous level. Her fingernails pressed into his back as she attempted to pull him closer.

"I am yours, Scarecrow," she said as her eyes cracked open to stare up at the monster leaning over her. Brown hair slid in front of his eyes before a hand moved to press it back. Those fingers moved to grab his glasses before putting them in his pocket. "If you are mine?" She asked him and the head tilted to show her blue eyes almost swallowed by black. Long fingers released her and stepped back out of her grip. She was almost afraid that he was leaving and again she was stuck with her unfulfilled lust. It must have showed on her face for his face twisted into a malicious smile.

"Are you sure?" He asked with a tilted head. A warning of danger in ever syllable. "I am not an easy man to get along with. This is your only chance." She doubted he would let it go even with the offer. He was obsessed with her from what she could tell. A test was all this was and he would hurt her if she faltered. She had no desire to falter and all she wanted was his claws to slice at her. It was what she desired from the moment she met him. Or maybe even wrapped in flame on a horse surrounded by screaming and hysteria. The feel of fear in her lungs as she exalted in the feeling.

"Liar," she whispered with a giggle. "You have no desire to leave me alone and you are testing me. Lucky for you I do want you. Both Dr. Jonathan Crane and the monster under the surface. Now are you coming or not?" She had walked on to the darker parts of her house. To her corner of safety and she smiled as he stepped in line with her. The monster at her heels and her body begged for relief.

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Colors 3

Part two

She stared down at the stitched together flesh with a discerning eye. Her gloves were covered in blood and so where her two helpers. Her eyes slipped to the dress shirt dressed man as blood stained the white shirt a dark brown in some places. Blue eyes stared at her with an emotionless facade though she saw interest light up his eyes. No one said anything as she operated to save the stubborn girl who punched a fucking cannibal. Her eyebrow twitched once and then twice as irritation set in her stomach. Though the cramp in it was obviously hunger. Her eyes slipped to the digital clock set into the wall of her make shift clinic.

Two in the morning and suddenly exhaustion and hunger hit her like a crashing train. Her eyes went to the black of her bodyguard with a look he knew very well. "Burritos?" He husked out and she could taste his fond exasperation. Soft blue and warm. Like the sky on a sunny day. She smiled at him with a nod.

"Thank you, Charon," she chirped out bouncing from foot to foot. The only response from the man a grunt before he left to do his job. Though his eyes rested on the tall man looming by her. The metaphorical elephant in the room. Her eyes turned to face the man who helped her stitch her friend back together with nary a twitch. Charon was a veteran but Jonathan Crane was a different breed. He was terrifying. Beautiful and interesting but terrifying. "I never got to look over your stitches," she added with a thoughtful frown. The lie quick to her lips. "We will let Moxie rest a little before moving her to a guest bed. I have another exam room. Let me look you over, Dr. Crane."

He had the chance to take her offered ruse now as she watched him from where she stood next to Moxie. The arm would hopefully heal without an issue. If Moxie had been truthful about her win in the fight pits than she had the money to accept her care. Maroni would want to keep an eye on a girl who sacrificed her arm to beat the cannibalistic crocodile looking mutant. She only wished she could cut apart the man to see how he had become so mutated. Government experiment gone wrong like MK Ultra? "If you are not too exhausted," an icy voice cut her wandering mind as a smile came from her resident psychopath.

Charon's lips were pulled down into a scowl and she could see his black eyes narrow in his desire to kick out the insane psychiatrist. "I am fine," she responded quickly before the scarred face of her bodyguard moved to protect her. Though the man was a threat she wanted to be near him even if he tried to hurt her. She moved to the door with an encouraging smile and a move to her head to invite him to go with her. She could feel the smirk of the man as he trailed after her. His shoes tapping against the tile floor as if he was back in charge of the Asylum. The smell of antiseptic and handcuffs entered her nose.

She could feel him at her heels as they went into the smaller exam room she had added on to her Narrows clinic. Small but welcoming with her equipment. The shift of his clothes grabbing her eyes and her attention. Not to even talk about the lodge in her throat and the crimson on her cheeks as she stared at the pale expanse of chest slowly getting shown. Lean muscle was pleasing even with the scars marring the skin. The stitched together flesh was healing well from what she could tell but turned to get gloves on either way. Blue eyes watched her with a cold serpentine look that was almost as attractive as the monster under the surface. A cautious step forward led her to be in his shadow as she looked at the stitched together wound. "You are a skilled surgeon," the calculating and charming voice of her serpent whispered as her fingertips pressed on the skin.

"The mob allows me much to practice on," she answered simply as she looked at the odd shaped scars on his shoulders. Just like the week previously her fingers moved to the odd scars before moving to look at his back. Cold blue eyes watched her without blinking but allowed her to slip behind him. The scars went down to his mid back and they held an odd angle to them. The continued with no rhyme or reason as her fingers moved over them. His skin moved in a shudder but his hand only tightened on his pants as he watched her. "The scars are old," she added and ran the glove covered finger over one closer to his shoulder blades in interest. "What-"

"Birds react strongly to certain chemicals," he remarked without emotion though she could feel the breeze of winter in it. An icy voice that spoke of nothing and everything at the same time. The call of a bird in every statement that melded seamlessly with the scent of burning flowers and baked earth. "My great grandmother was quite liberal with the chemical when I was a bad child," he added and she could feel his gaze directed at her. Her hand splayed over the wounds in curiosity as she thought of the revelation.

Child abuse was always a common answer in the dregs of society. She was not surprised at his admittance of such a thing. "You huddled to protect your head from the attack," she murmured as her hand caressed up his back to map the wounds in her mind. Black birds diving to peck and claw at the Scarecrow in the garden. The screams of fear and pain. No pity rested in her eyes and tone as his eyes danced over her face in interest. "Child abuse is unfortunately common in the underworld," she added before stepping away to throw her gloves.

"And were you abused?" He asked all self contained ice and serpentine nonchalance. A monster of a different sort but not the fear obsessed villain she expected. The longer he stayed around the more she noticed the shift in his demeanor. His question brought her focus back to him as tap water entered her nose from her wash. The white dress shirt with brown blood stains was slowly pulled up his arms. Lean muscle and pale skin drawing her eye and her attraction even with the wound across his chest. The question of abuse had her focusing on his face for a moment before she turned to leave.

"Not physically by any rate," she answered with a shrug. "Though many scars can happen from many different things. I'm going to go back to reading my book. You may join if you wish." Her steps moved over tile as her hands pulled down the sleeves of the black t-shirt. It did not take her long to feel the demon at her heels. His waistcoat sat on his chest unbuttoned with his tie loose around his neck. The disheveled state enough to raise her lust and attraction. The dream or fantasy of the monster ravaging her choking her into silence.

Her nook was filled with blessed silence and the smell of paper. Soft blankets and a comforting place to relax before she gained food. Though exhaustion was quickly taking the place of cognizance much to her regret. The fact the demon sat next to her should have been concerning but she found herself enjoying the smell of woods drenched in rain and burnt flowers. Her lack of good sleep lately had her drifting off into the scent and the feel of the demon in her nook. She dreamed of burlap covered arms pulling her into an embrace as cicadas cried in the dead of night. The feel of claws pressing and caressing on her scalp making her lean into the warmth.

When Charon returned with food his eyes were caught on to his boss's head resting on the psychopathic psychiatrist's legs. Long fingers ran through her hair and caressed at her scalp as she slumbered on. Black eyes glared at blue but a smug grin was his only answer. Though his free hand went up to his lips to rest his index finger over his lips. "Make sure she eats, Scarecrow," the voice of gunsmoke and gravel growled out. "If you hurt her I will personally-"

"Be silent," the cold voice of the man ordered with his lips twisted up to show the depths of his insanity. "You have nothing to fear just yet. She interests me." Her face moved into a bold caress as her fingers gripped the fabric of his slacks. Charon glared at the smug man but nodded either way before leaving her small personal library.

-------

The feel of the demon at her heels was over bearing and pressing as she looked up at him in the mirror in front of her. Blue eyes were shining in cold clinical interest as the plump lips quirked up in obvious enjoyment. His eyes trailed down her body before meeting her eyes through the medium of the mirror. The silence was wonderful and she was glad no colors afflicted her except the obvious. Waking up in his lap had not been intended but it did not stop her embarrassment at the action. The bloodstained white dress shirt caught her eye before her body primed to move around to look at him. Long fingers bit through her simple shirt before he jerked her towards the sink. A groan leaving her as the sink bit into her lower back as his other hand cradled her chin.

Sharp nails pressed into the skin of her cheeks with a grin to rattle the strongest soul. He was tall and scholarly but everyone knew his crimes. She knew what he was capable of and the wariness mixed with lust. She only wanted him to kiss her. "Scarecrow," her voice murmured soft and breathy. She watched black almost swallow the blue at her call. Lips twitched and she watched it enraptured. The heat in between her legs was undeniable as her body moved into the touch.

His mouth opened to say something when she rushed forward. Being so reckless was blamed on her exhaustion. Her fingers gripped the black tie as she pulled him into a kiss. She watched those blue eyes widen in response before he turned his head to press flush to her own lips. A groan slipped into his mouth as she fell into the feel of his lips. The hand at her jaw moved to grip the back of her head as she tightened on the tie around his neck. The wet muscle of his tongue barely pressed against her lips before she let him in. The taste of cinnamon filled her senses as his tongue slid against her own. Before she could fall into the kiss his mouth moved. "Say it again," his voice whispered in her ear.

The red surrounding them felt like claws digging into her nerves. Her body jerked into him and pressed her chest to his as his lips caressed a line down her throat. The wet muscle of his tongue followed until teeth did. He nipped the flesh with sharp teeth as the hand not cradling her head pulled her shirt away from his target. "Scarecrow," her voice groaned out as his smirk danced across her skin. The fluttering of pleasure had her tightening her grip on his shirt. The tie pulled closer to her as a husky chuckle met her flesh.

"You beg so sweetly for me," his voice whispered in her ear. All crimson in his own lust and dark desire. The smell of blood and farm land surrounded her. "Are you mine?" A loaded question that was followed by a rough bite to her collarbone. Hard enough to bruise the skin as he sucked a mark into her flesh. Her high pitched cry was covered by a long fingered hand that smelled of blood. The chemicals on his skin was the flower that burned the back of her throat. "Beautiful girl," he hissed in her ear. "Not so loud. Your little pet bodyguard will die if he interrupts us."

Such a statement should have disgusted her but he was right. She desired the monster. The fear obsessed psychiatrist with icy eyes and arrogance. So much arrogance. The offering of her neck was instinctive and she wanted more of his scent. The feel of his mouth taking the offer had her moaning into his hand. Rough bites went down the column of her throat leading to her collarbone. She tightened on the tie in her grip as a growl met the skin of her neck. His hands moved and she was shoved up against the wall. The impact of her head on the bathroom wall surprised her. Scarecrow's hands shifted to grab her wrists before pulling them above her head. They were both panting as icy blue eyes met her own. His obvious height used against her as he stared down at her. "What a sick girl desiring me of all people," he whispered close to her lips as he transferred her wrists to one long fingered hand as the other ran over her chin. "Do you not know what I am capable of?"

"This is Gotham," she whispered softly though he was admonishing her for her choices the color did not lie. The red of lust was obvious in his whole demeanor. "Crazy things always happen and I do want you Scarecrow. You want me too." His lips twitched again and she watched his eyes alight in lust and curiosity. A nod came from him and a smile that was even more concerning but twice as attractive. She could smell him and the blood as he leaned his face closer to her own. She itched to close the gap again. To kiss him and taste his quick tongue. Her body leaned closer to make that fantasy a reality. His lips were in a smirk as he pulled back from her searching lips.

"Mine," a voice hissed from him that was filled with dark greed and obvious insanity. Vermillion and green wrapped around her throat as blue eyes pierced down at her. "You are mine," his voice was so soft which was a contrast to the almost rough skin on the pads on his fingers. They pressed in at her neck before moving further to all but tighten on the soft skin of her throat. The bruised mass of skin from his teeth throbbed as he pressed on it. A tingle that had her groaning in response at the sensations of his touch. Though his hand easily kept her pinned she arched into the taller body.

The crash of something and the sound of footsteps had them pausing as they both looked towards the door. Standing on shaky feet with only one arm was her crazy friend. Blurry blue eyes looked at her and the position they were in with a clarity that was concerning considering the amount of drugs she had pumped into her to save her life. "If he is hurting you I'm gonna kill him," her voice called with the sleepy edge of a drugged up stupor. The colors of her voice was all wrong even with the smoke in her voice. The smell of blood and explosives.

"Moxie you just had surgery," she called keeping her head turned to the side to stare at the girl. She was surrounded by insanity and she knew that. She had accepted it and carved her place in this society but this was almost too much. "You should be laying down in a drugged up stupor," she added with narrowed eyes as she ignored the man pinning her. The feel of his finger tapping on her throat did remind her of his presence.

"Your drugs are shit," she muttered as her body shook precariously. "I needed to pee." She felt exasperation settle on her wired nerves as she met the blue eyes hidden behind simple frames. His face was carefully blank as the hand pinning her wrists shifted to run against the skin. "If you want to fuck the straw man can you please do it elsewhere," Moxie added and red bloomed across her cheeks. The girl was teasing her but not as admonishing as Charon would be. Or as overprotective as the scarred mercenary would be. A sputter left her as the tall man tilted his head with a smirk.

"How very crass," he said but his hands released her. She rubbed her wrists with a scowl before one hand shifted to her bruised throat. The tingle of his teeth biting into her flesh sending pleasure down her spine. Gone was the red and crimson of lust but no embarrassment. She met his eyes before he turned and walked away as ice filled him again. She missed the almost explosive lust and dominance from earlier. "I will see you again," his voice whispered as she saw his hands readjust his tie. Moxie's blue eyes were almost judging but she smirked at her in response.

"Good now can I pee please?" The drugged up one armed woman muttered as she covered her face. Though a smile pressed against her palm. "Good choice on the mad doctor though," Moxie teased with a wide shit eating grin. "He looks yummy." A sound like a dying animal came out of her throat.

"Please stop talking," she groaned out as red scorched her cheeks.

Part Four

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Colors 2

Part One

The peace in the Narrows and her little clinic was going to fail at some point. The days after Scarecrow's late night visit had spurned all kinds of rumors. Business had been slow as a result for no one wanted to end up on the doctor's bad side. Being an experiment was unenviable she wagered and most wounds or check ups only showed up if in an emergency. To the effect that her blood storage was low and so was her IV bags. The cost of saline and blood was still ridiculous even if the Maroni Crime Family footed the bill and took what she needed.

To cater to most mob families let her have freedom and protection from the inevitable turf war over the Narrows. The fact Crane was carving out his own territory led the mob to be cautious. The breed of crazy that donned a mask and made a drug to instill fear did not help in the slightest. The thought of him trying to take over her little corner of the Narrows infected her mind. As if it was cancer and her hand slipped from around the screwdriver to clang against the floor. The sharp sound of metal on metal resounded like nails on chalkboards that made her cover her ears. The footsteps of her bodyguard made her focus on him. "Would you like to go to the library?" He asked her and she considered the question.

The grit of the desert fading to a warm sun. Gruff care and protection with the smell of gunsmoke. He knew her tells after all and knew how to dance around her triggers. as she knew how to dance around his own. A long time ago her father once thought her autistic with her odd demeanor. No, she had just been intelligent and afflicted with sensory overload. Too many sights, sounds, and tastes that led to her hidden in cold rooms. Books surrounding her as silence covered her. No colors to afflict her senses. "I would like that," she answered with a small smile.

Charon's scarred lip smirked up in obvious pleasure at her reaction. Slim fingers picked up the metal screwdriver before placing it next to the metal contraption she was working on. The twisted metal was hard to make work but she would accomplish it. The gun was placed down and a black hoodie was placed in her hands. Quickly she moved her arms into it as she watched the man step in place behind her. His own hood protecting his scarred face from the gawking of strangers before she stepped out into the Narrows. The click of a lock echoing as they left into the cloudy day.

The scarred man in her shadow nodded to a man on the corner who was busy rolling a cigarette in his mouth. His move to follow was shaken away. No words were said as Charon motioned to the hospital. The black jacket was warm as her hands rested in the pockets. Those who knew her and what she signified looked away. Gotham was cloudy and rainy though it felt as if it was the calm before the storm. This city was brewing something terrible and the resulting explosion was obvious. The gray chatter was the small drops before a thunderstorm.

The hushed whispers of drug deals and offering of whores had her facing away to focus on something else. The crunch of broken glass echoing around her as if it was a tornado. The flinch was instinctive as she moved with her never ending shadow. The ex-military man with a scarred and deformed face who smelled of explosives. The true him laying dead in a ditch in the desert. The remainder had limped home to a city that did not care for humanity. A little more broken then when he left. The library was dirty with a sign that spoke of the Wayne family.

The gunshot heard around Gotham. The scattering of pearls and the smell of blood. What would Gotham be like if the Wayne family had survived? The Narrows would perhaps have been re-worked and crime would be on the back foot. The wind howled between decayed Gothic buildings as she stepped into the library. The smell of books and old perfume covered her senses but she could no longer taste or see the color of the sounds around her. The faded red carpet was intimately familiar as she moved among the shelves that were her friends.

The old librarian smiled at her and her ever present shadow over her shoulder. "Need something else to read, dear?" The old woman's voice asked in that raspy comforting voice of the elderly. The smell of cinnamon and cloves wrapping around her senses. A warmth she had never experienced as a child but what she thought family should have been. Grandmotherly with pale lilac and cyan drifting like tree branches. Not deep and dark like Scarecrow's own tone. Her nod was silent and the smile sent her way was warm. "What are you in the mood for?" The woman asked with a hum.

She thought and looked around the library with a discerning eye. The old woman had taken her offered medical care like most Narrows residents did. She was accepted most places though she avoided the smell of Falcone's fight pits. The colors it produced nausea inducing as violence was common place. Though Falcone was left Asylum ridden from a night with the Scarecrow. "Horror," she answered this time and felt Charon stare at her with a surprised look.

The clinic was empty as she sat on the couch that served as her own office. What notes she did take rested here in haphazard piles along with books of many different genres. Some Star Wars sat next to the work of R.A. Salvatore. While some rested next to medical texts. Haphazard and almost messy but it was her small hideaway from too much sensory overload. Her shop was dark as she focused on the book in her hands. The existential dread of Lovecraft washing over her with the scent of old pages. Her empty stomach ignored as she was absorbed into the telling of the Mountains of Madness. The feel of a presence at her back had her pausing in her reading. "Back so soon Charon?" She asked and faced the doorway.

The man dressed in a simple dress shirt, waistcoat, and slacks was not her taciturn bodyguard. The blue eyes hidden by glasses and the shadows of her darkened clinic spoke of who was here. "Enjoying your book?" He asked and the smile on his face was concerning. The orange and reds of fall wound around the room. She slowly placed a book mark before lovingly stroking the hard cover book. She hoped to return to it but she doubted this would end soon.

Though Charon would be back and he would threaten all in his way for her safety. The fact the Doctor came back was concerning and so was his plans for her. "If you wanted to meet me you could have earlier, Dr. Crane," she said simply as she sat up from her lounging state. The soft pajamas she had on was almost vulnerable but she made no motion to advertise that. "Or do your stitches need to be looked at?" She asked looking at where the wound laid under dress shirts. The concern in her tone obvious for she took her job seriously.

"And if I was here to have your fear instead?" He asked as long fingers toyed with the chemical hidden up his sleeve. The color of his voice stayed at a normal icy hue. His darker urges were not in control at the moment. He was testing her though she could smell the hay under the surface. The desire of stitched up burlap hidden under the surface. The images of dreams layered over each other as her eyes glanced at his mouth.

"What do you see under your toxin?" She asked as she met his eyes to distract herself. A hope he would not see her obvious attraction to him. The blue widened in surprise at her question. His beautiful lips parted for a moment as he considered the girl under his gaze. What did he see when he glanced at her? A drop out med student beholden to the mob? An interesting puzzle that only acted cool and calm?

"What makes you think I even take my own product?" He asked her with a fine eyebrow raised. His voice turned purple and she was reminded of shifting lavender. A sweet smell but it moved to a dark blue. He was uncomfortable with her question. He was surprised at her question instead of obvious fear. Was she afraid of what he could do?

"You subscribe to the psychology of fear," she answered simply as he still kept the height advantage over her. Though he could sit anytime with her if he desired. No, he wanted control over her. "It is logical to assume you would enjoy the feeling of fear your toxin grants you," she added as her eyes met his own. "So what do you see under the toxin?"

His eyes narrowed before long fingers removed the glasses sliding down his nose. One hand pushed back his brown hair while the other set the glasses in a pocket on his waistcoat. He was attractive in a suit she could see that much. The lean lines of the taller man caught her eyes though she made sure to keep his eye. She needed to stop advertising her attraction to the monster. He struck her as the type to manipulate and twist what was obviously there. "You are perceptive, my dear," his voice spoke with the enunciation of silk and knives balancing on skin. Dark and unfriendly as if a monster was in human bones. The color of the words fusing with red in dark desire. "I see birds and bats," he added softly.

The shifting hay under her feet and call of birds surrounded his words. The shifting farm land and a full moon above sun baked earth. She swallowed at the sensory memory of his claws ripping into her skin in her dreams. The burning taste of flowers and blood as he swallowed her screams. She wanted the dream to come true but common sense held her back. Such a man would destroy her without a care. "Are your stitches bothering you, Dr. Crane?" She asked the man instead who shifted in the darkness.

"Your little guard leaves you alone," he murmured in false softness. His desire outweighed his own resistance. Blue eyes brightened in his sick desire to take what he wanted from her. He had no desire to ravage her body. Much to her relief and her disappointment. "So vulnerable in the shadows of the Narrows," he added as he stepped closer before he smoothly crouched in front of her. Hooked in his pocket was the thing she expected. The hood of the Scarecrow. The warning in his voice was shiver inducing on its own. "Will the mob or your pet guard save you in time when I take what I want from you?" His voice was mocking though thick with his desire.

He wanted her fear and he wanted to be in control. The fact her eyes went to the door to her clinic did not go unnoticed. "They will not save you from me," he whispered as his hand reached for her face. "They would not dare to draw my gaze." She was enraptured in the green mist moving around her throat. Not from the cannister hidden up his wrist but she could almost taste it. His desire to take her fear and have power over her. He was the snake kneeling in front of her with distracting eyes.

Her mouth barely opened in response but she could not think of what to say. She did not want to beg nor would he react humanely to that. He would take pleasure in it. This man only desired fear and domination. The pads of his fingers and the sharp nails pressed into the skin on her cheek. Blue eyes were staring at her throat in a desire to grab it. "Yet is it not the mob who agrees to ship in your chemicals," she whispered as a shudder left her at his ghostly touch. The blue eyes shifted and a scowl pulled down the lips she desired to taste. Before he could say anything she heard the clinic door slam into the wall.

"We have a problem!" Charon's gruff voice yelled from the front. His voice colored yellow and choking with smoke. She smelled iron and used explosives. Gunsmoke and grease as she looked towards the door. The fingers at her cheek shifted downwards at the action to rest against her throat. "Bring her to the back room!" He barked out and she heard a rush of people. The smell of liquor and blood mixing with dirt and explosives. Her eyes met the blue of the Scarecrow's own as a sneer left him. His fingers ran down the thump of her pulse point before slipping away. The burlap hood was pressed down into his pocket as Charon passed the divider.

Dark eyes stopped and so did his body as he looked at the tall man standing over her. "What is he doing here?" He barked out with the colors of fear and over protective parental feelings. His hand slipping to his gun in the urge to shoot him. She saw his eyes dance across her body looking for bruises or marks that Scarecrow left behind. She was glad that he could not see the echo of the touch he had given her. The tall man over her smirked in a look that would infuriate anyone. All self contained arrogance and she could see he was unrepentant.

"He wanted me to check his stitches," she said as she stood up. "What is going on Charon? I can smell the blood on you." The demon at her back was looking down her neck with a stare to both freeze and burn her. She would love to grab and kiss him. Or to let him take control of her. Business came first. She left the demon and her nook of comfort to taste the smell of blood. The groans of pain was the precursor to the scene that awaited her. A woman with long black hair sat writhing on her make shift surgery bed with two men covered in blood. Where her right arm once was only a bloody mangled stump remained. "What the fuck happened?" She asked sharply before staring at dazed blue eyes.

"I did it!" The girl gripped tight by shock and adrenaline muttered out. The Scarecrow slipped into the room and stood back against the wall. "I told you I would do it! I beat that bastard Killer Croc!"

"You let him eat your arm Moxie?!" She hissed in irritation and the girl smiled at her with insane giggles. The smell of drugs, alcohol, and blood covered her. The colors of dark blue wrapping around her. The weight of it pressing against her chest as the desert wrapped around her. The huddling under explosives with a rifle gripped to her chest.

"Yeah but I fucking won in the fight pit!" Moxie answered with a mad laugh. "Maroni can kiss my ass." She sighed and covered her face but the fact remained she had a job to do. She needed to save what was left of the girl who sacrificed everything to escape the mental scars of warfare. Even if it meant punching a God damn scaled mutant cannibal with sharp teeth.

"Those not willing to help me stitch her back together can get the fuck out," she remarked dryly as she passed the Scarecrow. Blue eyes met her with an interested infuriating smirk. The two who helped drag her mangled friend in quickly backed away in shaky steps. Charon and Scarecrow remained and she stared at both of them. "Can you follow my orders as I give them?" She asked deathly serious.

The two men glared at each other before both nodded. Though she was busy setting up her friend for emergency surgery her eyes stayed on the arms slowly being shown. Long fingers moved to pull up the sleeves of the white dress shirt. Her eyes were drawn to the lean pale muscle slowly shown to her eyes. The nice suit kept her attention until a gasp of pain drew her back. She had a job to do first as she stared at the ripped mass of muscle, skin, and bone. An irritated frown pulling down her lips. Scarecrow's scent of burnt flowers and hay surrounded her and she licked her lips as her hands went into motion. Part Three

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Colors

Fandom: Batman Begins/The Dark Knight

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/OC

-

Synsethesia

(noun) syn·es·the·sia\ˌsi-nəs-ˈthē-zh(ē-)ə

1. a concomitant sensation

especially:a subjective sensation or image of a sense (as of color) other than the one (as of sound) being stimulated

2. the condition marked by the experience of such sensations

-

Gotham City was a cesspool of crime and insanity. She knew that long before the news of a man dressed as a Bat appeared fighting crime. The Russian and Maroni crime family fighting for turf even with the somewhat treaty between them. The fact that such criminals existed in this world kept her in business. Or at least kept her afloat financially that is. Situated in the Narrows and hidden in the depths of the maze like poverty stricken neighborhood. Here she was working in the only profession she could truly work at. Not a whore like most girls stuck in the disease ridden city as most would think. "Well well so this is the doctor hidden on sixth street," a cultured voice that did not seem to fit in with the cesspool of crime in the city broke the silence.

Her eyes turned around to meet the new threat as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She had dealt with mobsters, mercenaries, and pimps for the years she had worked to fix up those poor and not. Though she preferred to be paid by those who sought her services. Blue eyes pierced at her from behind a beautiful face though the brightness of his eyes was not covered by his glasses. Or his tattered formal suit that was too tattered to be normal. "Dr. Jonathan Crane," she whispered as she looked at him. The man against the wall with a scarred face stared at the man before his hands shifted to his gun.

The silence of her clinic was deafening as the two thugs on Scarecrow's sides lifted their own guns. The man's lips were attractive with sharp cheekbones. Though the stubble on his chin and the bags under his eyes spoke of a disheveled state that was concerning. She knew enough about the man from the rumors. Maroni's men whispered about his gas used to break the mind of Carmine Falcone. That was not her business in the Narrows as a mob doctor. His lips quirked into a grin that was nerve wrecking. The man under her table was all but shaking under her fingers. "Do you seek medical care?" She asked as her fingers moved to plaster the broken arm.

Her eyes met the scarred face of her bodyguard with an unspoken command to watch. The man wrapped in dark Kevlar nodded before pointing his gun at the ground. Her bodyguard to stop those who truly did not know better than to threaten her. She had rules to go with her medical care. Blue eyes watched her move as her fingers skillfully plastered the arm. "Do not get it wet and let it heal for six weeks," she commanded the thug shaking as he stared at Scarecrow's little gang. "Come see me then to remove it. Leave money with Charon." The scarred guard with an almost unsightly face grunted and the hardened criminal all but ran away from the so called Master of Fear who had said nothing as he stood in the entrance of her little clinic.

It was as sterile as she could make it with plastic dividers and locked up drugs. A surgery table and stolen medical equipment to be used for under the notice care. A mob doctor for criminals. Her eyes met the mad doctor's own and he was beautiful in a way. A marble statue of imposing beauty. As if he was cold and infallible. "How can I help you Dr. Crane?" She asked and was proud her voice stayed professional. The glasses on his face slipped down his nose as his hair hung long and wavy.

"I have a nice cut on my abdomen," his voice was cold and cruel. She could truly taste his cruelty and sadism just from that. Swirling ice and snow from the Gotham winters. The harbor frozen solid with black water.

"Remove all clothing in the way of the cut and please sit down," she commanded as she turned away from him. Cool professionalism kept her head and her life. She could feel his stare and hear leather creak around guns. She never glanced back as she cleaned up the previous case. The plaster was washed away and her hands were sanitized. Before gloves were placed on her hands. Cleaning supplies and bandages laid down on the bed. The shirt was laid down on a tattered suit to show lean muscle.

The definition of the muscle was increasing from a life spent on the run. The fear gas bombing of the Narrows was something she recalled though it happened months ago. The hallucinations of spiders and demons grabbing at her was intimately familiar. The cut spanned his chest and was a deeper cut than expected. He did not so much as flinch or cry in pain though the cut was deep. "I take it you scared away my other patients?" She asked as she prepared the chemicals to clean the wound. The blue eyes of her future patient were unsettling as they stared down at her. His grin was all unhinged with a monster resting behind clinical blue eyes.

"I apologize," his voice was as soft as his face. A drawl that hid an accent that was not full Gothamite. A hidden thing that tickled her ears as she moved to purify the wound of debris. It was also a lie. The so called Master of Fear did not care for the fear he elicited in others. Strands of hair escaped her ponytail to brush her cheek but she resisted the urge to press them back. Charon glared at the two men with a well trained dispassionate stare trained in him from military work.

"You do not need to lie to me, Dr. Crane," she answered just as softly as she finished cleaning the cut of any infection agents. He still never cried or flinched from the pain. Though the muscle at his jaw twitched in response to the burn. Irritation enflamed the blue eyes to become an inferno. The metaphorical claws of the beast desiring blood. "You enjoy the fear you elicit in people," she explained her voice still soft and eerily calm. "You steal enough from the Narrows for your experiments after all. They are right to fear you."

"Tell me," his voice drawled in a whisper. Soft as can be and cultured. The way he enunciated the words and caressed them was enthralling. Though the color of his voice was again wrong. Orange and green with the desire to hurt. A thirst for fear and power. "Do you fear me?" He asked as long fingers pressed back the strands of her hair from her cheek. His nails were dirty from a life spent on the run from the law. They picked at the skin and scraped against the flesh. She desired to shudder and flinch away from the touch. Though a part of her wondered what his tongue tasted like instead of his voice.

"Yes," she whispered as her fingers continued to stitch the wound together. To close the gash. Her hands never shook even as her insides quivered in some manner of feeling. Fear and excitement. Twining together to rest hotly in her lower stomach. "While also no," she added as the smug look faded to another flash of irritation. The muscle in his jaw twitched again. "Logically I know what you are capable of but I am arrogant in my own assumptions of my own worth. That will be a hundred dollars." She moved from the nails barely touching the smooth skin of her cheek. Her bloody gloves quickly thrown away as she cleaned her hands. The sound of water hitting the sink soothing in its own right. Tasting of spring time in Gotham. Even with the smell of iron disappearing down the drain.

"I thought your services were free," a voice whispered in her ear. Orange and smelling of pumpkins. The reaping of hay and the smell of dead leaves. Flowery in a way but not sweet. The smell burned the back of her throat. A smell of the Narrows in chaos. She turned to see his chest and the pinprick of scars over shoulders she had not caught before. The contraption on his wrist to spray the toxin he was so famous for.

"For those who can afford my care they pay," she stated calmly though Charon shifted with his gun more noticeably pointed at the shirtless man standing over her. "The robbing of a bank proves you can pay. I need to afford more equipment after all." Her tone never wavered but her eyes stared at the odd shaped scars on his shoulders that led to his back. Countless and myriad. Why he let her finger touch one she did not know but curiosity got the best of her.

"Carlo," he grunted out and the thug in question quickly pulled out a hundred dollars. It was slapped onto the table and she nodded as her finger ran over the scar intrigued. "Where you here during my attack on the Narrows?" His voice was soft and misty. Green gas swirling up her legs and under her clothes. Phantom hands as they caressed around her throat before it turned bitter. Complicated and enthralling. She nodded before good sense told her not too. "Did you huddle away and scream?" His voice added as red lit up his tone. Passionate and lustful.

The Scarecrow desired fear and submission from his prey. It fed his own sadism and his desire to study the fear of humans. How they reacted to his toxin and how they dealt with their fears. The memories of spiders and demons infected her mind along with the image of him astride a horse wreathed in flame. "I walked among the mist," she answered simply. "Saw you wreathed in flame atop a horse. A demon in the place of the Batman." The glasses slipped to show the monster resting behind the guise of man. Her nail scratched over the strange scar to feel how deep it was.

His fingers toyed with the plastic of the contraption on his wrist. "It is too bad I missed your screams then," he answered as red and orange mixed. Leaves falling into farmland as a crow called out from a dark night. Lust and desire to gas her was obvious in the lines of his face. He resisted the urge admirably as her hand dropped from the scar she had touched so blatantly. "I will return again, doctor," The tone was mocking for she had not earned that title. Not legally either way.

The wrinkled shirt covered the odd scars all down his back as she watched him with the twin feeling of relief and disappointment. She wondered what the gas would taste like mixed with his obvious darker nature. Blue eyes met her again and his lips twisted to a smile to show white teeth. The criss-cross of thread over his mouth drew her interest but the sight faded to show an almost normal looking man. "If you need any more medical care," she answered simply. "Please come see me again, Scarecrow." He left without a sound and her eyes rested on the dark eyes of her bodyguard.

The tensing of his hands on his weapon piercing the air as a headache took place of calmness. The door slammed shut and blissful silence remained. Her hands shook now and she hugged her chest to shudder. "You alright kid?" Charon grunted out and she nodded. Her tongue licking her lips as she smelled flowers and hay surround her. The feel of his hand rubbing at her cheek a sensory echo of his visit. "Next time he touches you I should shoot him," he grunted out and she smiled.

"If he returns," she muttered under her breath as she cleaned up her supplies and tools. It was good enough to call it for the night as her head continued to pound. Too many sounds and tastes. Her senses were in overdrive from sensory overload.

"The way he stared at you," Charon grunted in annoyance. "He will return and I'll shoot him if he gasses you." She smiled and watched him walk away to lock up the doors. It payed to be hidden as her hand moved to the worktable hidden in the back. Metal rested on her worktable along with other tools. "I'll return with dinner," Charon grunted and stared down at her. "Do not do anything stupid." The chide was well earned and she smiled up at the man. His voice all parental love and gruff protections. A scarred man who tasted of destroyed desert and used explosives.

"I need some sleep," she said patting his arm. "Wake me when you return." Her room was hidden in complete and utter darkness. No sound or light to infect her mind. Just blissful cold and darkness. A kick off of her shoes had her laying under soft blankets as she dreamed of swirling green mist. Clawed burlap hands clawed at her body to draw lines of crimson petals. A scream cut off by a demon's mouth covering her own. She awoke with a gasp as Charon sat by her with food. Though the wetness between her legs was concerning. She said nothing as she ate about her dreams. Of clawed hands wrapping around her throat. Or the desire she felt to be ravaged by the monster hidden in the farm land.

Part Two

[punk-rock-unicorn]

Unlikely Rescue

Fandom: POTC/POTC: Price of Freedom

Pairing: Cutler Beckett x OC

Summary: Cruel luck, or fate, leads to a young East India Trading Company official to end up stranded in water. His rescuer is altogether unnatural and unearthly beautiful.

Warnings/additional tags: Implied/Referenced Child abuse, Mentions of Cannibalism, Cutler Beckett P.O.V., Sociopathic Tendencies.

---------

Cutler Beckett clung to the wooden beam with all his might though his ribs protested the action strongly. A sharp pain that he had, unfortunately, gotten use to in his not very long life. He panted into the wood as he tightened his grip. The sea water soaked everything from his chest down as the flames of the sinking ship lit the night. Pirates. He detested pirates. The hatred burned as much as the pain in his chest. A crack of the ship brought him back to look at it.

He had escaped the pirates roving look for survivors some how. He was not one to think twice about good fortune. Though they had left he was now alone in the dark waters. Soon enough it would be swarming with sharks who would pick at the dead. The sea would claim everything and the evidence of this scuffle would sink beneath the waves. It was appropriate he supposed. Though he had spent so long clawing and grabbing for what should be his.

To prove himself and to take the power his father denied him. To die in such a way before he could truly take his place in the East India Trading Company was almost unfair. But life was never fair. To become powerful enough to spite his father. A humorless chuckle left him that devolved into a sob as his ribs protested again. It was like getting beat as a child or even a young man again. He felt something flick against his leg and wondered if that was the warning before he was dragged to die. His eyes opened to see a woman's face.

He blinked stupidly as her wet hair graced her skin. Her face was divinely beautiful and her eyes seemed to glow with the color of the sea. He felt the flick against his legs again and he realized that it was a fin. His eyes met the lady in the sea as slowly he realized what was before him. A mermaid? Or perhaps a siren? The legends of them luring their victims to feast on their flesh went through his memory as if it had faded. It did not feel real. Was he hallucinating? On the door way to death and imagining a beautiful woman to carry him into hell? "I sense a destiny around you," a voice sweet as honey whispered before smooth fingers ran down his cheek. It felt so real.

"W-Who are you?" He asked though he cursed at himself for stuttering like a fool. Though it hurt just to voice that question. He felt the water move as she moved around him. Her movements dance like and graceful. He tried to keep her in his eyes. Dangerous. Mermaids were dangerous. He knew the warnings well enough. Pirates, Sailors, and the Navy all feared the creatures for their taste for human flesh. She swam to his other side as a chuckle left her.

"Is it rude not to introduce yourself first?" She teased and looked towards the fire that still covered the ship. It was steadily sinking and soon he would be left among the dead. If the mermaid killed him it would be at least an interesting way to die. Though he would weep for his lost chance for glory. "My name is Cassia," she whispered and he moved the name around in his head. Greek in origin but the girl spoke with an accent of a British woman.

He blinked again as that head disappeared in the water. Did he hallucinate that whole thing? His body protested as the flames started to flicker to nothing from the sinking ship. Soon he would be alone much like the dead navy personnel. He hated pirates. He heard the sound of breaking wood as he clung to the piece of wood that held him above the precipice. He wanted so badly just to close his eyes and stop fighting. "Will you give up so easily?" That honeyed voice whispered seemingly all around him. "Is there nothing to fight for?"

He opened his eyes as he tried to summon the inner strength that had served him well. The wellspring of his willpower and his desire for power. "Yes," he whispered and flinched through the pain but ruthlessly bit down the urge to cry. He turned to face the mermaid, Cassia, only to see a giant plank of wood. Wide and sturdy enough to fit him. She smiled at him and he felt his heart stutter at the look. She was way too beautiful to be natural and with slim hands she helped him to the makeshift raft. A cry leaving him as his ribs impacted the wood.

"I will find things to help you survive," she whispered as her hands rested on the wood. "You never told me your name, sailor." Smooth fingers danced across his brow and down his jaw. Gentle and enthralling he opened his eyes to look at her. The fire covered her skin in a beautiful hue and from the way he was laid he saw what he expected. She was naked. Intellectually, he knew she would be. Mermaids were creatures of seductive wiles. Why would they wear clothes? Still his cheeks stained pink as he looked away. The slim lines of her throat and her chest pleasing even with his eyes shut.

"Cutler Beckett," he whispered and his throat throbbed in how uncomfortable it actually was. Raspy and painful from the mouthfuls of sea water during the fight. He shivered as he recalled mouthfuls of salt water as the ship exploded around him. His level of calm helping him survive and avoid those out for the blood of the sailors. A shiver left him from the wet clothes and the pain. He was getting delirious. He watched the mermaid's face twist in concern before a luminous fin was all he saw as she dived under the water.

He came back to himself to complete darkness except for the pinpoints of stars above him. The constellations lazily coming back to his sluggish mind. A warm blanket rested over him and he looked at it in surprise. "I used the fire to dry it for use," she whispered in the darkness. He jerked to face her and hissed as his chest protested the action. Broken ribs most likely or supremely bruised when he hit the banister in the force of the attack. "Before the ship sank," she added and he could see it had now started to sink. A shark fin barely reflected past her shoulder.

"Are you not frightened of the sharks?" He asked and knew it was a foolish question. Mermaids were predators and hunters. His pain must be ruining his mind. He could barely see her eyes but amusement shined deep in them. They seemed to glow with specs of gold as her arms rested on the wooden plank. Her giggle soothed a part of him into relaxing even with the blanket over him.

"They are frightened of me," she whispered and watched him. "Sleep. I will keep watch for any sailors." He went to protest when a song started to leave her. A song that sapped his strength and his will. He fell asleep even through the pain. When he awoke the sun was high and his face was covered from the high sun. He moved it down with a groan and looked around. Driftwood and a few things remained from the attack. The mermaid was gone and he wondered if she had abandoned him. Considered him better left for dead.

He would not be surprised if she did. The injuries to his ribs left him useless to save himself. Maybe he was prolonging the inevitable. That his ambitions would go nowhere. The water broke to show the face of his unlikely rescuer. A fish in her slim hands that fought madly. Her free hand turned almost to claws as she ripped the fish's throat out. Claws, fangs, and her eyes glowed effervescent gold. A monster under the surface of her unearthly beauty. He found that very attractive. Beautiful but hidden with ruthlessness and strength.

He drank in the sight as he realized he was very thirsty. She pulled the guts from the fish and it stained her hands before the sea washed it away. His eyes were drawn to her as she swam closer with the fish. Those sharp fingers slitting the fish in half before laying it next to him. She smiled at him as the animalistic features faded to an innocent beauty. The dichotomy between her two sides was driving him crazy. He felt the need to possess her. A lust he knew he should hide. She had rescued him from certain death. "I brought you the canteens I could find," she whispered as she pulled them up. "Hopefully the sailors have water in them instead of alcohol."

His lips quirked in amusement at her joke but he took the offered canteens before sniffing the first. A gulp of water soothing his throat as he relaxed back on the wood. "Why are you helping me, Cassia?" He asked as he sat up slowly. A gasp of pain leaving him as his body protested. He saw her eyes shine in concern as she gripped the wood. "I am alright," he breathed out as he looked at the flesh of the fish. She had brought him food and water. She was showing a commitment to caring for him. Though if he was not rescued in time he would die either way. Why did he send Mercer ahead?

"You wonder why I have not eaten you?" She asked and he gave a firm nod. Her eyes went far away as she looked at him. She was thinking strongly about her reasoning. He took to picking at the fish and forcing it into his stomach. The taste was unappetizing but he would make do. He took the time to observe the mermaid in the light of day. He wanted to memorize everything about her. The curve of her lips. The way her hair, the top dried from the sun, was brown with strands of red and gold. The expressive blue-green eyes and innocent face. The slim throat that led to a perfectly formed body.

"My father was a sailor," she whispered instead. "One day while lost at sea from an attack he met a beautiful sight. You remind me of him. Bright and burning of ambition. A destiny unfulfilled." She smiled but the weight of her words settled heavily on him. The uncanny, almost supernatural, sight of a mermaid was never mentioned in the tales. How often did men get to actually conversate with a mermaid? It was either the men wanted to rape them and the mermaids wanted to eat them.

"What happened to him?" He asked and he saw her face fall. A sadness entered her eyes that he wanted to do all in his power to fix. That he wanted that sadness washed away. She focused on him with a sad smile. A smile of a woman who had seen too much. A smile Jane had always given him after a bad day with his father.

"He was killed in an attack on the sea," she answered sadly. "Taken by cruel men with gun and cutlass. My mother grieved to death shortly afterwards and I was left alone." The sadness in her tone was palpable even in this situation. His mouth dried as he considered what to say. What would even be proper to say? He did not want to be rude to his beautiful rescuer.

"The other mermaids?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. The question he was truly asking was hidden behind it. Mermaid culture was unknown to him as everything else. Only that every being was female and had a taste for flesh. They also mated with humans to produce more children. The girl laid her head on her arms with a smile. Another sad pitiful smile that reminded him too much of his sister.

"Even among them I am an outlier," she answered truthfully with a shrug from her slim shoulders. "Falling in love with a human and raising your child with them is not how things are normally done." At that her mouth shut and a frown pulled down her lips. A painful conversation. A wound he had carelessly made her rip open to his questions. Guilt was an odd feeling to feel and he hid the urge to squirm at it.

"My apologies, Cassia," he whispered and he saw her eyes land on his own. Her gaze searching and softening in quick order as she rested on the wooden plank. "I am...an outlier in my family as well," he admitted and swallowed the feeling that lodged itself into his throat. He did not know why he felt the urge to rip open his wounds as well. Perhaps to fill the silence of the ocean and the burning sun. Her blue-green gaze was calm and a smile came from her. "My father was not the..." he added and looked away at the flash of emotions. The pain that wanted to rip his mind to shreds. Tempered by his hatred for the man and his reprehensible treatment of his mother.

"He hurt you," she whispered voice as soft as silk. Her fingers touched gently to his jaw and he paused. His eyes met her own and her look made him lose his breath. A protective care for him that made him feel weak. He wondered if that was her doing by being something so unnatural but found the question pointless. He smiled sadly as he felt her hand glide over his cheek and jaw. He felt the urge to kiss and take but held back. She deserved more than such rude lust. "More than just the emotional scars," she added and her tone was so sad.

"Do not weep me for me, my fair rescuer," he teased and it was a tactic to get her to perk up. He would not be able to handle her tears or sadness. A chuckle left her and she laid on her arm. Her hair moved and graced her face as he watched. She was something that was unattainable to possess but it burned in him. The idea of her as his own. "At least my last sight on this earth if I am not rescued is the sight of someone so fair," he added wistfully and she sat up in the water.

"I could go looking?" She asked with a wide smile. "I will not go far. Your wounds will make it hard for you." He stared at the girl, this mermaid, who offered her help to save him. A part of him wanted to refuse and to not have her leave him. He very much wanted to be rescued and he hoped that Mercer would lead the charge to rescue his boss. He nodded and she smiled at him again. Her fingers running over the stubble that was making itself known on his jaw. "Relax," she whispered and the soothing song of a mermaid dragged him under into sleep.

He awoke to the dark night sky. He was floating alone admist the destroyed wood that served as the ship he had been on. A canteen quickly serving to soothe the ache in his throat. Even with the blanket to block the sun his skin still hurt. He would not last long on raw fish and a few canteens. His wounds would not allow him. He sat up with a twinge of pain as he heard a sound that was as surprising as the mermaid. The sound of oars through water.

He glanced that way and saw light in the darkness. He wondered if they might be a threat? The splashing in front of them dissuaded that notion. The swimming of a mermaid. The light hit her gold scales in an explosion of crystal tinted light. "Sir!" Mercer called and if he could Beckett would not be surprised to see a smile. "She had not lied." His eyes went to Cassia who smiled at him wildly. Happiness clearly reflected as she rested on the wood. The Navy personnel were staring at the mermaid wide eyed. One was shaking as he gripped the oar.

"This should be where I leave you," she whispered to him and his hand rested on her wrist. His chest gave an uncomfortable yank not unlike his bruised ribs at the thought. The light moved and her blue-green eyes seemed to glow gold. "Cutler?" She whispered and his name in that voice made his desire all the more poignant.

"Please," he whispered. "At least till we get close to land. Stay with me?" She looked up at him and then the men in the ship. She met his eyes and he saw her weakening will to refuse. Was she drawn to him the same way he was to her? He wet his lips at the thought and she nodded. His smile was so wide it almost hurt his jaw. How long had it been since he felt such joy? He wanted to possess her and he would do all that he could to keep her.

[punk-rock-unicorn]

The Library part 2

Fandom: MCU, Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Warnings: make out scene, sexual tension, and some naughty hints.

A/N: here we go part two to this self indulgent mess of simping for daddy Zemo. I hope everyone still enjoys it. If you want to be tagged for more parts or send me requests I would gladly do them.

Part 1

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You opened your eyes with a flash of irritation at the distraction. The chaste kiss between you and the Baron interrupted by his babysitter made you scowl. Brown eyes met your own and he parted with his own smirk at the situation. Teasing and uncaring of being caught in such a precarious situations. His tongue traced his lips and you watched it ravenously before your eyes peeked over your soldier. Your eyes tracking the tall form of the Falcon. His eyes showing disbelief and disgust. Bucky was just behind him with the same look in his eyes but he was more understanding.

He also knew you a little better than Sam did. "Seriously guys?" Sam asked and you barely withheld a snort. Your eyes trailing back to the Baron who leaned above you. Lithe muscle and the stance of a predator. "Are you for real right now?" He asked the both of you. Unfortunately, for Sam, you held no shame in being caught in such a position. Your hand smoothed out the turtleneck from where it was bunched to run up his chest with a teasing smile. Those cunning brown eyes followed it before looking at your face.

"I was just going to see what a Baron tasted like, mate," you said as your fingers moved to twirl the brown hair at the base of his neck. One of his gloved hands, hidden from Sam and Bucky, rested on your right thigh. Slowly his hand moved to the inside of your leg to settle heavily on your inner thigh. "What do you need Sam?" You asked as you leaned your head back to stare at him. Your neck bared for the man's gaze and you could hear his breath hitch as his dark eyes traced your skin.

"If it's not too much trouble," Buck called sarcastically over Sam's shoulder. "If we could get some rooms to sleep in. Take your time." You snickered at the use of sarcasm and pressed on the Baron's chest. Your head moving in a way that told him to back up. With a sigh and a grunt you stood up and moved your hands in the spell to make the tea disappear. The book was still sat on the table and you shook your head at it.

"Alright," you muttered with a smirk and set the book on his chest. His gloved fingers taking it from you with one last caress against your skin. A wink left you as you walked up to Sam and Bucky. "Come on then you spoilsports," you teased and motioned your hand to get them to follow you. You peeked behind to see the Baron himself trailing after you with a smirk.

"Did you hear from your contact in Madripoor?" Sam asked and shot you annoyed looks. You could only smile unrepentantly at him. You did not know him well enough to care about his opinion on who you wanted to snog.

"She's a busy woman," you answered truthfully and looked down at your phone. The text hadn't been answered yet but that didn't surprise you. Time zones were a bitch even for magic users. Just because slip rings could take you everywhere does not mean you should. Jet lag by slip ring was the absolute worst. Truthfully, you were glad they did not ask you to join their terrorist hunt. It sounded dreadfully boring. "I have some left over clothes from the initiates if you want to slip into something more comfortable," you said finally as you stepped up into the floor that held the bedrooms. "If you need the wifi password it's 'Shambala'."

With that you cast another spell to summon the clothes of an initiate. "Now if you need anything else please do not talk to me," you snarked with a chuckle and met Zemo's eyes. "Though I will get some food made for dinner." The three bedrooms were close to each other while yours rested down the hall. The suite of the Mistress of this Sanctum. You had responsibilities but God did you want to play a little. Bucky rolled his eyes but nodded with a smile. He took the clothes and entered his room. Sam shot you and Zemo a suspicious look but nodded as well.

"Alone at last," his accented voice whispered close to your ear and you peeked at him. He went close to his own room and his eyes tempted you to follow. Oh you wanted too. You definitely wanted too. But where was the fun in that. His hand went to tease your upper arm and you allowed it with a teasing smile. "Perhaps I can convince you to-" he started to say and you giggled running your thumb down his jawline.

"I need to get food made, love," you answered and winked at him as he went to follow your caress. "Get comfortable and take a shower while I get food ready. We can continue this later yeah?" He scowled at you but nodded as he accepted the clothes. You grinned as he entered the room and shook your head. What a tempting distraction. You licked your lips and left to get the food all ready and prepared. Something quick and easy to make.

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You set the food down and went to tell each of your unwelcome guests that food was ready. Sam and Bucky both quickly moved downstairs. Red pants from the clothes given over as well as their old shirts. Too bad you were hoping they would actually put on the whole outfit. With a snort you headed your way to Zemo's door and opened it to poke your head in. The room was dark except for a small light under the bathroom door. The sound of a shower cutting off echoing through the room.

You shut the door and leaned against it as you watched the bathroom door. Finally you were awarded with him coming out. A dusting of hair on a lithe muscled chest your prize for your patience. Your eyes tracing a few scars and the silver chain around his neck. Brown eyes met your own as the red trousers sat snugly at his hips. Your eyes trailing noticeably to curve of his waist. "Food is ready," you said finally as you met his eyes. On the bed side stand you could see that damn book. It was not even that good of an erotica book if you were honest.

"I assume they have already went down to eat?" He asked and his hair was beautiful slicked back with water. You smiled like a cat as you watched him stalk towards you. You nodded and as he got closer you decided to play a game.

"Come on we should get some food," you said with a chipper tone as you turned to open the door. You wondered how much of your reticence he would take before breaking down to do something? You did not have to wonder long for his hand pushed the door closed before his other hand wrapped around your arm. You were pushed flat against the door as he leaned closer. You looked up at his face shadowed from the light of the bathroom. It was an almost threatening look that made your skin shiver in anticipation. The dark look of a criminal mastermind. Or maybe just a previous soldier.

"Now who is the charming snake?" He whispered in your ear as his hand tightened on your arm. You fought with yourself not to touch him or to give in. This was part of the fun. "Or are you still waiting for me to taste you?" He husked in your ear before that quick tongue settled hotly up your ear. A groan leaving you at the feel as your hand went to settle on his chest.

"Bloody hell," you whispered as his lips moved in a caress like silk over the soft flesh of your neck. You pushed your nails in over the raised edge of a scar that felt like a knife slice. That same muffled growl that drove you crazy came from his throat as your nail ran over a nipple.

"Well are you not but a temptation," his voice was deliciously thick in his accent as your arm was quickly grabbed and pinned by your head. "A fruit I would love to taste and lick at my leisure." Wasn't that the most arousing imagery you have heard in your whole life. You could feel the arousal gathering like a damn inferno before his lips settled on your own. Not gentle like the time in the library. Your mouth opened to his slick tongue as he took his time to languidly explore your mouth. A groan left you as your tongue danced with his.

His hand was warm as it settled on your neck. Firm but in no way cutting off air flow. He parted first and you watched him with panting breaths. Your lips red and you smiled at him. "At least I finally got to taste a Baron," you teased and he chuckled. His nose rubbed against your own. "At least partly," you murmured as your free hand set on his stomach and moved down to the waistband. "We should go eat, Baron. I am famished." A hiss left between his teeth as your hand left him. His hand tightened over your own pinned to the wall.

"One last taste," he whispered and you met his rough kiss with the same fervor. He tasted good and his tongue was sly as it wrapped around your own. His fingers teased as he stepped back and his brown eyes smoldered in his promise for the night to come. All you knew was that if he decided to climb beneath your sheets you would not be mad in the slightest. You watched the muscles of his back move as he grabbed a t-shirt. Another scar catching your attention on his side. "And what is for dessert?" He asked as the shirt covered him from view.

"I have apples," you teased and wiped at your lips. The door opened and you followed him down the stairs to go to the kitchen. As you entered the kitchen you were not at all surprised to be subjected to judging stares. You just ignored them as you grabbed your own plate. A smirk on your lips that obviously showed what you were up too.

"Y'all two are gross," Sam muttered and you snickered as Zemo sat next to you. His own fingers moving to grab his food. Bucky swallowed his bite and looked between you two. He was a little more accepting over this than his uptight friend.

"I guess you figured out what he tasted like?" Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow. You hummed and nodded with your own teasing smirk.

"Cinnamon," you said while licking your lips. "Well at least his mouth was. Will let you know what the rest tastes like later if you like?" You giggled as the Baron choked on his sip in of water. Sam's disgust filled gag making you grin as Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Can we not talk about your sex life please?" Sam called with a groan and you swore you could see his skin flush. You smiled and shut your mouth with a nod. Better to back off for now you supposed. The sound of eating filled the room as you felt a hand settle on your leg. The fingers drawing symbols were more enthralling than you expected. Never leading close to where you wanted them. Your eyes checked on the Baron's profile. It was coldly professional. Bastard.

You envied such control honestly. The fact he could control his body language was impressive as hell. You blinked as you heard your name called. "Come again?" You asked politely as you focused on Sam. His eyes were of course judging you for what must have looked like you checking out the terrorist next to you.

"I asked how you knew Madripoor if it has such a fearsome reputation?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow. You debated on what to say and if you should tell the truth. You barely withheld your jump as the fingers teased inside your legs. Dancing across your inner thigh in silky promises even through your trousers.

"Ah there was a market for cursed paintings that I had to get ahold of," you answered with a smile. You hoped they did not realize how strained it was.

"I am sorry did you say cursed paintings?" The soft voice of the Baron spoke and you looked towards him. Your eyes catching his. His head tilted to the side and you found it adorable.

"Happens more often than you think," you said with a chuckle. "Like Pickman's model. Lovecraft actually got a lot of things right if we want to get technical." The wide eyed stares you got made you laugh. "Well on that note we should get to bed yes? Hopefully my contact will get with me." The looks you received made you laugh as you stood up. His hand slipping from your inner thigh.

"Wait hold on!" Sam called out slightly horrified and you walked away with a smile to the fridge. An apple grabbed and bit into as you stared at the three. Your eyes catching Zemo's own as you licked up the juice from the bite.

"That's why we are here, Sam," you said with a chuckle. "The Masters of the Mystic Arts protect this world from monsters, demons, and Gods. Which is why I have no interest in mundane threats. Now we really need to get to bed." You took another bite of your apple as you felt his eyes burn and cut like a knife you you. You licked the juice of the apple that fell on your thumb before pulling it into your mouth. "I should also tell Strange you are here," you muttered and left the kitchen with your own chuckle. His eyes tracked you the whole way.

@joyfulinternettraitor

[punk-rock-unicorn]

The Library

Fandom: MCU

Pairings: Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Summary: Bucky and Sam take a pit stop in London before going to Madripoor. Bucky does not trust any line Zemo has on a fence. To bad you are not the better option.

A/N: My first Tumblr post and my first attempt at a reader/you centered story. Hopefully, it is good. May make a sequel to this. For right now it will just stay Teen for Sexual Tension.

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"Where are we even going?" Sam asked as he trailed after Bucky. Their unwelcome tag along followed at their heels. His coat fitting the rainy city more than Sam's own clothes as they walked. The neighborhood they were in was filled with tall buildings and the city of London was confusing. Bucky scowled but did not respond just yet. His eyes glued to his phone as he looked at it. He dodged a man who did not even glance at the odd group. Or seemed to notice the terrorist following at their heels. "Seriously man where are we...?" Sam asked annoyed as his hand reached out to grab Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky turned around with a glare directed at the other man. His eyes slipping to Zemo who only looked around the British city curiously. "I swore it was somewhere near here," he said and looked around the dreary city that had a slight drizzle of rain falling from the city. "I know we are close," he added before turning around and continuing walking. Sam looked at his back before shifting his eyes to Zemo who only did a tilt to his head.

"Seriously Bucky!" He called as he walked after him. He ignored the man following him as well as he could. At this point they were just using him for his jet. Though what Bucky wanted in London was anyone's guess. "What the fuck are you looking for?" Sam asked with an almost yell.

"Not a what," Bucky called over his shoulder. "A who." The tall man swore as he looked around the buildings that all looked the same.

"Wouldn't happen to be looking for me would you?" A slight British accented voice called before stepping out of an alleyway towards the three. The three men tensed and looked towards the person coming out of the shadows. A simple black jacket and trousers all they had on.

"Had to make it hard to find you didn't you?" Bucky called after calling your name. You had watched the boys since they entered the neighborhood curious on their location and where they needed to go. Not that it was that hard to figure out considering Bucky had texted you while you were gone. You smirked at the man and stepped closer with your hands in your pockets.

"Good to see you, Bucky," you greeted and your eyes slipped to the other two. One you knew from your adventure on the battlefield against Thanos. "Sam Wilson," you said and nodded to him with a smile. The second man you recognized as well but for a totally different reason. "Is there a reason Helmut Zemo is wandering around London free from prison?" You asked the two with a raised eyebrow.

"Bucky did it," Sam said simply with the same energy of a sibling tattling to their mother. Your eyes met the terrorist's eyes curiously. He had brown eyes and a beautiful face. His outfit was also stylish and the fur on his collar unique enough.

"Technically, he did that himself," Bucky muttered under his breath with a shrug. You released a sigh and rubbed at your face. "Can you bring us inside?" He asked you and you sighed.

"Fine," you said and looked around the street. It was empty and you walked a couple feet forward to face a nondescript building. With a flash of gold glyphs and a rippling of air the building unlocked. Sam and Bucky did not look surprised but Zemo did. You smirked at him. "Welcome to the London Sanctum of Magic," you said as you entered the building with the rich and warm interior. "Please touch nothing. I am the only Sorceress here at this time."

With that you led them to a nice sitting room with comfy couches. The interior was very British and almost ancient in design. You had always hated it growing up honestly. It felt too stuffy but now it was fine. Not that you had time to bitch about interior decorating choices. "So can I interest any of you gentleman in a cup of tea?" You asked and smiled at the group as they sat in the chairs provided.

Bucky and Sam sitting on one love seat while Zemo sat in an arm chair. "No," Bucky said before anyone else could. You saw Zemo open his mouth to say something but shut it at a glare from Bucky. "We need your help," he added with a scowl. His eyes glaring at Zemo who said nothing. Though he was looking at you curiously.

"Sorry I am not a psychiatrist," you said with a sarcastic smile. "Have you tried the place three blocks away? They have amazing biscuits." Bucky and Sam glared at you though it lacked any true heat. The criminal mastermind terrorist however chuckled under his breath. His eyes were deviously interesting you had to say. Something about him drew the eye. Or maybe it had been a long time where your only interaction was either Doctor Strange, Wong, or young initiates.

"We need to go to Madripoor," Bucky explained and you barely withheld your snort at the mention of that horrible place. "You mentioned that you had a line on someone."

"What and Daddy Warbucks can't help you?" You groused as you stared at the three. You sat on the arm of one chair and you watched a smirk curl the man's face.

"Well I could always be your dad-" he started to say when Sam exclaimed loudly in disgust. You threw your head back with a laugh. It had been a long time since you could have this much fun verbally sparring with someone.

"Now is not the time!" Sam cried out with a sneer. You snorted and looked at all three. "You have seen the news right? The Flag Smashers. They have super soldiers. We need to find who supplied the formula." Sam was trying to beseech to your desire to save others. Too bad he was barking up the wrong tree.

"Mate," you answered with a scoff. "I am a sorceress. My job is to protect this Sanctum, train initiates, protect artifacts, and listen to the Sorcerer Supreme, which you are not. I have no reason to care about some terrorists. No offense." You looked at Zemo and shrugged. He answered with a tight lipped smile.

"We just need your contact's information in case his line falls through," Bucky said as he tried to get between you and Sam. You met Bucky's eyes and glared as he gave you an almost puppy dog look. Damn him. You sighed and ran your hand through your hair.

"Fine," you hissed and stood up. "But it will have to wait till tomorrow. I'll send a message and hopefully get a response. Let me go get my phone. Bloody hell. I hate heroes." You grumbled and moved out of the sitting room. "Library is that way and kitchen that way," you said poking your head back in. "If the book looks ancient and probably bound in human skin do not touch it. Be right back."

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You grumbled and stared at the sent text before stepping back downstairs. You threw your jacket over a table in the library before stepping into the room. "Machiavelli," you heard a voice call as a gloved finger ran over the backs. "Epictetus, and some good classics here." You turned around to see the Baron of Sokovia pretty much fingering the spine of the books. "Do you actually have books bound in skin?" He asked and you smirked at him.

"Probably," you said with a laugh. "My parents always warned me about them. Most of our more important books are in the other part of the library." You stepped closer to the man who had a good lead on you height wise. "You can read anything you want here," you added with a dismissive shrug. "Most of it is in English. Figure that won't be a problem. Even got some Harry Potter somewhere."

His eyebrow raised and you snickered before sitting on the top of the table and watched him. His own coat was off and showed a turtleneck that fit him nicely. At least he was pleasant to look at even if the two Avengers wanted your help. "A little on the nose is it not?" He asked and you chuckled before your hands moved. A steaming cup of tea now rested in your hands while the tray sat behind you with another cup. "Two sugars, please," he said as he glanced back. A book about the Marquis de Sade in his hands. Philosophy of the Bedroom probably. You added the amount requested before handing him a cup. A breath going over your own before you sipped the rich taste.

He set the book back in its proper place and took a sip of the tea. Brown eyes met your own and you never thought tea drinking would almost turn you on. You could see his tongue on the edge of the cup and you licked your lips before sipping your own tea again. Almost burnt your tongue this time. "Which is your favorite classic?" He asked as he set the cup down. His arm sliding next to your side just so before he placed it on the saucer. Your eyes went to him and down to his wet lips. You wanted to lick the tea off of them and do some other naughty things to him.

"Would have to go with the Count of Monte Cristo," You answered with a grin at him. He pulled back with the gracefullness of an emphereal spirit. You almost wanted to grab his arm and pull him back. "Where are Thing One and Thing Two?" You asked as his back faced you. You could see a smirk twist his face before he went over more books. Skipping classics and philosophy to go to other sections. You watched him go as you looked him up and down. He had a nice body you had to say.

"Oh?" He asked and stepped back with a book. "And what about this?" You were sipping your cup of tea when the title was clearly shown. Fifty Shades of Grey. You choked on your tea at the look on his face.

"That is not mine!" You called out as you tried to clear the tea from your windpipe. You did not even think there was an erotica section in the library. You were trying to figure out where it came from when you smelled his cologne wash over you. Your eyes peeking up at him as you stayed in your spot against this table. His grin was salacious and dripping sin. The book was in his hands as he reached for his cup of tea again.

A smirk on his handsome face as those gloved fingers ghosted across your side. You saw his leg step close in between yours from how you were sitting. Bloody hell you wanted nothing more than for him to take you against the table. Or at least kiss you. How long had it been since you could snog anyone? "Charming snake," you hissed to him though your lips twisted in a smile.

"Why do you want to taste my forked tongue?" He teased as his lips ran over your own. You felt them tingle and you could feel your control failing as you met his eyes.

"Would rather have you taste me, love," you teased as your fingers ran over his chest. He had some nice muscles and you giggled as you heard a growl leave his throat. His lips pressed against you and you could almost taste a mix of tea and wine as you bunched up his shirt. Before you could even deepen the kiss or taste his forked tongue the library door slammed open.

"Oh come on!" A voice shouted. "Really?!"

Part 2

@joyfulinternettraitor