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popculturebuffet · 3 months ago

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X-Month Finale: My Top 10 X-Runs

Welcome one and all to the grand finale of X-Month. A thing or two got changed and moved around but i'm overall proud of how it went this time. We've looked at darkwing duck, the greatest x-men cartoon ever, and Nightcrawler's two moms. Now we end this month with A look at something diffrnet but personal to me. These are my top 10 x-runs, the runs of x-men and it's various spinoffs that I truly love, that define the book for me and define this part of the franchise. There the books that either made me love mutants so much in the first place or helped reaffirm why. They run the gammut from the just ended at the time of this article Krakoa era's majesty all the way back to chris claremont helping retool a struggling half baked idea into one of the greatest comics ever. These comics are why I love x-men and i'm happy to share them with you and hopefully get you to read them and hopefully i'll be able to cover them all some day. But for now this is a nice smorgoseboard of what makes the strangest mutants of all marvel's best part, a small pocket full of creativity, commentary , change and artistic glory.

So a few guidelines: For longtime readers, I usually do top 12 lists, to the point i'm shirnking my best animated episodes list down to it, but with all the x themeing in the krakoan age it felt right to slim it down to a nice sharp x. The second is that i'm crediting every artist who worked on at least three issues. I'd credit all of them but the runs from the 2010's and 2000's are caked with one off fill ins and 80's comics tended to have a ton of one off fill ins or other people doing the annuals. I'm not against it, if you have someone who can do great art or guest on a run do it and it's thanks to this kind of thing we got walt simonson for one glorious issue of x-men, I just don't want the art credits to be 80 pages long, but DID take the effort to comb thorugh every run and find every artist that at least did an arc on the books honored here, as i'm trying to break out of only propping up the writers when it comes to comics. Their a VISUAL medium and the artists are often what makes a run. So to under the cut my x-men for the uncanny, the astonshing and my faviorites.

10. The New Mutants Written By Chris Claremont Drawn by Bob McLeod, Sal Buscema, Bill Sienkiewicz, Steve Leialoha, Mary Wilshire, Rick Leonardi and Jackson Guice Marvel GN #4, New Mutants Vol 1 , #1-54 + 3 Annuals, NM Special #1 59 Issues

It was the 80's and the Uncanny X-Men was marvel's best selling comic. Chris Claremont and a slew of talented game changing artists had turned a once niche property into one of the most layered, engaging and compelling books out there. So naturally Marvel wanted MORE money and to spin off this mother. Chris was reluctant because he wanted the main book to be special and it's own thing.. but was then threatned that if he didn't do it someone else will, so he found a concept he liked: Focusing on teenage emerging mutants something lightly glanced at with Kitty Pryde in Uncanny but this book brough to the forefront.

In the process Clarmeont and Bob Mcleod created a bunch of my faviorite mutants: The outspoken but Compasionate and tactical Dani, her bestfriend/sorta girlfriend and heavily abused prior to her coming to the team Rahne, naive country boy Sam, smooth talking only in his head and hot headed in everywhere including his body and my adopted son Roberto. Theree was also Karma, a later revealed to be queer immigrant (While not done by Chris Claremont here he certainly is responsible for it later int he 2000s', so respect) trying to care for two siblings the book quickly writes out.

The book would add four more to the mix: Amilla who thanks to a messy backstory and not a lot of use is eh, and three of my faviorites: Illyana, Kitty Pryde's best friend and a sorceress who was kidnapped and tortured by a demon man, Doug Ramsey, kitty's other friend and a computer genius who can read any language and in this era was a non combatant and Warlock, doug's best self friend, a goofy gloriously weird looking alien on the run from his abusive dad.

If your thinking this team has a lot of angst you'd be correct: Rahne is introduced running from an angry mob, Dani having to go with a white man she resents after her grandfather is shot, Roberto's girlfriend being killed by bigots and Sam barely able to keep his family fed having to mine in his pa's place after his dad died. The X-Men as a rule carry baggage but these poor kids had a whole planeload, not helped by being hated and feared.

And yet they perservere: they find love, find strength in each other. They sometimes clash, poor Illyana gets accused of being evil due to her demonic powers far too often, Sam has a one sided crush on Amara, and Doug grapples with being the only one on the team whose powers don't make him fight good.

The book also has a fantastic horror tone at times , something uesd early on as the Professor Xavier who brought these kids together to train them, and to not fight which being mutants is still something they run into constantly. While the issues after tried to go for a more conventional superhero book, Bill Skinewietz arrival, gloriously scratchy pencils and endlessly awesome covers helped cement it: these were kids dealing with terrible horrors: aliens who'd kill their own children, the DID ridden head of Charles Xaviers son, demons internal and without, and a demonic bear following Dani Moonstar I still don't fully understand, but still slaps.

New Mutants is one of the best x-books of the 80s, with X-Factor close behind it (It didn't make the cut but I still love Louise Simonson's Run), and one other just ahead. It's a book full of creative swings, ideas that would last the franchise a while and some of the best mutants ever made.

9. Iceman Written by Sina Grace DB Alesandro Vitti, Edgar Salazar, Robert Gil, and Nathan Stockman Iceman V3 1-11, Iceman V4 1-5, X-Men Winters End 17 Issues

This is the shortest out of these runs and that's for a very simple reason: Marvel's Editorial was very shitty to writer Sina Grace. They lambastated him for going on podcasts in a way that was subtly hompohobic, brought him back for another run.. and then cancled it 5 issues in. Grace has since done work for DC and marvel needs to both apologize and either bring him back or at least collect his run.

Iceman comes from RessuXion, Marvel's kinda sorta push to bring the x-men back after trying to kill them with the previous era. That's not hyperbole, there was a giant murder cloud, most of ya'll likely know, and Ike Pearlmutter was thankfully gone so the X-Men got something resembling a push and the fantastic four were reunited. That last part isn't relevant.

Ressurxion was only a half measure: the x-men really didn't interact with the rest of the lines still, one of the two flagship titles X-Men Gold, was a mediocre rehash of a bunch of previous stories wasting the great idea of having Kitty Pryde lead, and X-Men Blue, while awesome and only barely not making this list at various points, felt very weel spinny as Cullen Bunn wasn't alowed to change much as Hickman's run was on the horizon but not set ins tone. Which is stupid and something I doubt HIkcman actually approved or asked for.

Still Ressuction had a hidden gem alongside Blue: Iceman. So long story short that's going to sound weird even to fans who were there: The Original Five X Men were brough to the future by Beast in a stupid move that left them stranded and traumtized. Jean being about as tactful as a hurricane during Bendis run , OUted bobby claimed "he's not bi he's full on gay" and kinda shoved him out of the closet. While this was well meaning as Bobby still was in the closet in present day, it was done hamm handledly with a slice of accidental bi erasure.

Our Bobby coming out though was thankfully handled better with him admitting he didn't admit he was gay and while Bendis handeld the first part of the coming out with a sledge hammer, several previous x writers had left the seeds that the og class clown was indeed gay and it' sa move I support: the grounding was there and even with him dating women he never seemed that invested for the most part.

So the next era was too busy with the murder cloud to do anything of note with him being out, but thankfully they gave bobby to Sina Grace. Iceman is a fantastic solo and a fantastic queer superhero book, with Bobby figuring out what Coming Out means in his late 20's, and being both out and proud.. but still having struggles. He dosen't know how to put his profile together, has an akward mission with his last het romance kitty, a romance that in hindsight perfectly comes off like someone trying badly to pass as straight, and flirts with wolverine's disaster bisexual son who serves as the main antagonist. It's a book that explores just how fun bobby can be and sold me on a character I didn't care about before.

It also goes into his awful parents. His dad was a massive asshole in the 90's, tried to change but snapped back and while the snap back is a bit o fa continuity gafe, it's one that works as Bobby has to come out to two parents who already barely accept he's a mutant, and now have to accept he's gay. And then try to groom his past self to be the perfect son they always wanted.

It's a great run that not only lets Bobby show off his powers but his heart, humor and what makes him a great character. Check it out of you haven't and hopefully we'll get a one volume edition one of these days. Also just so I dont' have to say that a thousand time that goes for EVERY run present.

8. Wolverine and the X-Men Written by Jason Aaron Art by Chris Bachalo, Nick Bradshaw, Jorge Molina, Ramon Perez, Pepe Larazz and Ed McGuiness 42 Issues + Annual + AU Issue + Amazing X-Men 1-5 49 Issues

Wolverine and the X-Men is the big breakout of one Jason Aaron, a writer I have mixed feelings about. He has written comics I like, this one, doctor strange and so far his TMNT run, but has a weakness for putting over the top spectacle over character or cohesive plot, his Thor run degrading with time and his Avengers run having great ideas for plots but no real meat to said plots.

Wolverine and the X-Men does run into that a little, mostly with the x-men themselves as only WOlverine really gets an arc: most of the team gets a spotlight issue, but still spend the bulk of their time in fight scenes. Kitty Pryde is the only one besides logan to net decent focus and that gets thrown out as Brian Micheal Bendis called dibs as soon as he joined post avx. This was the first book I read with rachel summers but outside of her spotlight she's mostly there to be the token telepath. We never really get a sense of what she WANTS out of the school, how she feels about what Scott's up to anything personal. Cannonball, Sam from New Mutants, gets it worse as he's really just there for his sisters subplot and nothing else. I won't evfen get into the horny bird lady sexually harassing iceman. Ther'es also a bad tendency to treat Cyclops as some form of despot and not that guy what over at the other place.

That said the series manages to dodge this being a complete issue with the kids: Wolverine and the X-Men is at it's core a teen x-men book and the reason these teens are back in school at all also provides nice motivation for Logan to be running a school, something the book frequently lampshades is kinda nuts. With mutantkind dwindling at the time, Cyclops kept militarizing the children and Logan, tired of it and wanting them to live rather than surivvie, took half the x-men and any willing students.

The result is a diverse and intresting student body focusing mainly on Idie, a young religoius african teen who sees her powers as a curse and herself as a monster, Broo, my faviorite x-child period and an adorable nerd who happens to be a brood, a group of aliens that try to eat the x-men regularly with the mutation to not be a bloodthirsty monster, Gensis, a cloned apocalypse who was given superman's upbringing in stasis. And of course theirs Quinten Quire whose been overused sense this but hadn't really got to do anything. He's a punk who after a breakdown at finding out he was adopted decided to throw a riot at the school. He'd rather be on Cyclops Island but gets dragged to Jean Grey's School for Hire Leanring, renamed from "I did your wife school of hire learning". It' shis evolution tha'ts intresting: going from a mouthy twerp with way too much power and ego to.. well still a mouthy twerp but one with an actual heart and friends. We also have Kid Gladiator, son of the shiar empreoro gladiator and boisterious hilaroius jock. We also get great additions like eyeboy, sprite and shark girl, albeit none getting a ton of focus here.

While the main cast is great, what throws this series over the top its it's gonzo creativity. More than any writer since morrrison and until hickman, Aaron embraced the batshit insanity of the x-men and grasps at it with a gonzo whimsy few can match. Jason Aaron has had his issues with reining it in but with x-men it's just the right ballance.

The first arc alone, one of my faviorites despite not being a fan of chris bachelos art, Wolverine opens school, and find sit under siege from a revamped hellfire club, now a bunch of tweens lead by Kade Kilgore. Given hellfire was reduced to "sebastian shaw on occasion maybe" by this point, it was a needed revamp and I get it's not everyones taste but for me it works. Especially when one of Kade's minons is a frankenstien (the doctor not the monster man), who grenade launches frankenstiens at our heros and mutates two members of the school board into a wendigo and a sauron. Oh and the schools grounds have become a baby krakoa, the hisland that wallks like a schoolyard, which wins the day and soon becomes my faviorite part of the book. I loved krakoa since I was a teen so seeing him get revamped as this adorable adiditon was great and I still wonder what happened to them and why the krakoa era never adressed them.

Our heroes fight weaponized brood pregancies, go to space casinos to raise funds, deal with angel having come back as an actual angel and possed by.. something, too many tie ins, a murder circus lead by frankenstien, a field trip to the savage land and a final showdown with the hellfire club. It was a wonderfully creative, batshit insane story with tons of great ideas that have been barely touched, like School-Krakoa, Toad as a good guy or Logan's brother dog coming back as a time traveling badass. There are better books than Wolverine and the X-MEn but few have this much fun.

PS: Almost buried the leap, this book brought doop from x-statix back and i'm eternally greatful and his spotlight issue, drawn by co-creator mike allred, is easily the best of the run. I mean it has this alone

So speaking of doop

7. X-Statix Written by Peter Milligan Drawn by Mike Allred X-Force 116-129, X-Statix 1-26, Dead Girl 1-5, Wolverine/Doop 1 and 2 46 issues

X-Statix came about as part of marvel's big relaunch of the X-Men with New X-Men, canceling several titles, relaunching a few and changing up the few left. In this case X-Force, previously about the new mutants as they grew up and got guns then got their personalities back once Rob Liefield left, they instead completely upended it. The old cast was gone, the old premise was gone, and a whole new idea and cast of mutants were introduced.

The series had a genius premise: A shady reality show producer, Spike Freeman, starts up a mutant reality show at the height of the reality show boom starring a bunch of mutants who are desperate to be loved and adored by becoming rich and famous, often being conceded assholes like any reality tv star.

The catch was revealed in the first issue as the bulk of the team is gunned down: Only angry black man with internalized issues about his race Anarchist and the egotistical , pill popping shocking compitent u go girl are left as the team is rebuilt, now lead by the orphan, a man with super sensitivty and a ton of lampshaded angst, Vivisector, an erudite wolfman who later turns out to be gay, Phat, one of the many white kids approraiting black culture at the time, and Dead Girl. THere's many more but this is the core of the cast for most of the book, which was later relaunched as X-Statix. Many a member dies, no one is safe, and it's cyncial as fuck, making fun of celebrity, events, and mutant cliches. Some of the shine has rubbed off this one as a lot of these jokes have been made a lot, but it's still fun thanks to it's compelling cast who get fleshed out amazingly, meditations on fame, and Doop, the little ball of tumors that follows them around. It's it's own neat little pocket of the marvel unvierse: it's revivial is pretty detached from Krakoa and something I need to check out and it's cast, due to mbeing dead a alot, havne't really crossed over. But the book itself stands as a nice unique pocket

And saving the best for last no discussion would be complete without Mike Allred, an artist with a unique style remincent of jack kirbys btu still his own that's this nice art deco chunky goodness and works perfectly here, both giving the mutants all really fantastic designs and nicely giving everything a splash of color to contrast the dark tone. This is one I picked up in high school in backissues and hasn't left me since.

6. Uncanny X-Men Writer: Kireon Gillen Artists: Carlos Pachcheo, Terry Dodson, Greg Land and Daniel Acuna Uncanny X-Men V1 #534.1-544, X-Men Regenisis, Uncanny X-Men Volume 2 #1-20, AVX Consequences 1-5, 36 Issues

So when I first got back into comics reguarly I figured from both is more dangerous new design where he can't see too good

And the way both bendis own much worse companion book and various others like Uncanny Avnegers or Wolverine and the X-Men talked about him and AVX that Scott Summers had become the new magneto and a dangerous edgelord man.

Instead the truth was more nuanced as i'd learn: Some writers made Scott a bit of an ass during his time leading utopia, the slap of concrete what contained all the muants left. But despite some questionable actions down more to bad writing, he wasn't evil. He asn't purely good either as the schism I mentiond proved, driven to do whatever it took to survive. He was shady but never quite took the heel turn, instead being an intrestingly pragmatic character. Also while he did kill charles xavier it was while hopped up on the phoenix force, something he points out reguarly making everyone else come off as assholes for giving Jean a pass but not scott.

And the man who wrote this best was Kireon Gilleon, scottish writer and maestro who came along after a decent but forgetable run from Matt Fraction and gave the franchise the injection it needed.

His run started with the x-men on utopia nad not only reballanced Scott after said bad writing, but showed off the good and bad of Scott: he's repessed and obessive, but also a stategic mastermind determined to save his people. The early part of his run does what the run before it by Matt Fraction did: uses the whole of mutantkind for huge spectacle as well as return Kitty Pryde to normal, she was a ghost for a while, so she can go off with the other book. The highlight is it's climax: juggernaught, jacked up on the power of a god and a hammer like thor, is more unstoppable than normal and Scott throws EVERY plan he has at the guy and every mutant he has at the guy which is ALL OF THEM who aren't children. And even a few children because the situations that bad.

The real meat is the sadly short livedb ut awesome second volume of uncannY: After the schism, Scott splits up, getting Emma because she loves the guy, Namor because he wants to do Emma and i'm not exagerating he's blatant about it, Storm because Scott dosen't trust himself, Hope the mutants own personal jesus, Danger, the former danger room having gained snetience and tried to kill charles for enslaving her

Dr Nemisis, an immortal nazi hunter, Colossus, current host of the juggernaught powers, his sister Magik, Psylocke, and of course Magneto, who'd recently joined up and is master of magnet.

This team of scary motherfuckers is the exctinction team and that name is unsettling on purpose but also dosen't mean kill everyone.. it just means they could and Scott is both helping mutantkinds rep AND scarring the shit out of it's eneies my taking on extinction events: if something can wipe out huamnity it's their job and it's a fucking briliant setup. Take the strongest x-men left on scott's side, which is really most of THE strongest in general and put them against the worst.

This also sets up the big bad of the series and Kireon's best achivment: Sinister. Gilleon revamped him from a fairly sterotypical and deranced mad science man to a campy as hell horrible as hell man who sets out to remake the world literally in his image, thinks turn of the century britan was just fine, hates women and isn't lacking for quips or meance with our heroes stuck in a city of him that can develop safe guards every time they kill one. And he does so by stealing a celestial's head, which means the first mission alone is stop a space god AND a madman.

There's other good romps but sinister is the core and the series weathers the avx tie ins decently, weaving them into what's writtne. IT's ending, consequences, isn't nearly as good, with scott feeling out of character and was meant to set up further adventures that instead got handed off to bendis, but Gielleon's runs a great mediation on absolute power , scare tactics and the meaning of fear regardless and is still a joy to read every time.

5. X-Men Red/S.W.O.R.D. By Al Ewing Art by: Valerio Schiti, Jacopo Camagni, Stefano Caselli , Jacopo Camagni , Yildray Cinar and Luciano Vecchio S.W.O.R.D. V2 #1-11 , Cable Reloaded, X-Men Red V2 1-18 and The Resurrection of Magneto 1-4 34 Issues

Al Ewing is one of my faviorite writers in comics. easily. Starting with Mighty Avengers, i've adored his runs on Immortal Hulk, his ant-man/wasp trilogy, his character defining run for Roberto decosta on new avengers and usa avengers and what i've read of immortal thor among others. Al Ewing is Marvel's best writer these days and in a pool that includes Jonathan Hickman and now once again Gail Simone, tha'ts the highest praise.

So naturally given Ewing had a clear love of x-men from new avengers alone and a deep love of continuity I was chomping at the bit for him to join the krakoan age, a bit disapointed he wasn't in the first round of books but knowing he had ot show up he just had to.

Thankfully my prayers were answered as not only did Ewing arrive he arrived in style, bringing back SWORD, once shield's extraterestial arm now krakoas. Ewing at the time was reworking marvel's space with his Guardians run and wrote SWORD in concert with it, as big evfents happened and SWORD stood ready, while bringing earth, or sol as it's called onto the galactic stage, starting the run with stealing a mystery metal from the heart of creation and then using it to fund the galactic economy. SWORD was a solid captivating book, amping up the idea of mutant circutis (a bunch of mutants working in concert), galactic marvel and earth's place in it.

What's brilliant in hindsight though as while a great book on it's own, making characters I thought were highly underused like Wiz Kid or Frenzy rise to full potetial and making previously also ran mutant Peeper into a star overnight. I mean look at him

I also love Magneto is so .. happy to see him.

While SWORD is great what followed is truly incredibly, some of ewings best work and all the groundwork was laid in sword, from Magneto regretting his past in the hellfire gala tie in to said gala leading to one of the best events in x-history: Arakko. A bunch of mutatns who'd become a warrior civilization needed a home so thier island was put on mars giving them a planet and possible peace... and storm was put there as regent.

This leads to an even better sequel as ewing keeps SWORD head abigail brand on as big bad, wanting to destroy mutant civilzation and make earth a real power in the universe, and thus Arakko is a great chess piece as Storm plays against Abby for it's future for the first two arcs. Storm is a fantastic character and ewing gets her down pat, her grace, her badassery but also her humanity, kindness and mohawk. Helping her are my two faviorite mutants, no really 1 and 2 respectively, Magneto and Sunspot. Magneto was already eating well in the krakoan age, but ewing gives the old man humanity, with Magneto realizing his lost daughter Anya wasn't a mutant.. and thus can't be brought back and wondering what all this was for, being cojolled into things as he realizes as much as he wanted to retire he can't. Roberto meanwhile had a rough start in Krakoa as Jonathan Hickman took out all his brains for some reason despite being the one who started to emphasize that he's more than just a pretty face.

Ewing in his avengers runs made roberto into a master stratageist and chessmaster bar none who still loved parties, champaign robots and the mission impossible theme, so I was utterlyt hrilled to see berto on the cover. Now a consort to Shiar regent Deathbird and having a stake in the game, Roberto comes to arakko to play and quickly gets involved in things, using his skills to help his new team. Ewing is the man who truly made the best roberto decosta and it's so gratifying to see he got a second lap.

Ewing also builds up arakko well: it's culture, i'ts changes, and the challenges storm and magneto face in changing it, concluding in a massive war that ends the series as arakko's past rule comes knocking. Add in a great epilogue exploring magento and storm and you have one of the finest comic runs in recent memory.

4. New X-Men Written by Grant Morrison Art by Frank Quitely, Evan Van Sciver, Igor Kordey, Phil Jiminez, Chris Bachalo, and Marc Silvestri 114-154 Plus Annual 41 Issues

It was the early 2000's and the x-men had hit a fucking a wall. The 90s while fondly remembered for the jim lee outfits, awesome cartoon and other delights, were a nightmare time for the x-men. Just trying to read that era of uncanny and adjectivless to fill the gaps in my knowledge was a waking nightmare with only a few bright spots. I got as far as just after operation zero tolerance and bailed and despite bringnig back heavyweights like Alan Davis or Chris Claremont, restrictive ediotrial mandates, overdone crossovers and other nonsense had left the x-men barley standing.

Desperate Marvel had a bunch of creators pitch various ideas for a bold new take on the x-men.. and the winner was the one, the only Grant Morrison. Grant had already made big splashes at DC with their runs on Doom Patrol, Animal Man and more, had a penchant for writing gloriously weird, sometimes incomprehnsible stories with a beating human heart. So being both a hot writer from the other company and having a bigger bolder vision, and needing badly for the comcis to recover to cash in on the recent film and upcoming X-Men Evolution, they agreed.

The result is the run that made me the x-holic I am today: while I read x-men stories i loved before this, with Chris Claremont and Paul Smith's run being the first this is the one that got me as hooked as I am: a stylish run with what morrison called a kinetic strut, aided by Frank Quitely's weird and awesomely unique art and a variety of other artists of varying quality brought out a vision of a bold new era.

The run came out hot: it stripped it's cast down to a core of iconic x-men, added in Emma Frost finally fully reforming but still 100% that bitch, and threw in curveballs with kind monk with a hell of a look xorn and xavier himself getting his legs back. There were set backs as Colossus was killed before Morrison could use him and Claremont called dibs on rogue and storm for X-Treme X-Men, but they pivoted well.

However a flashy new look wasn't what made the book, it was it's frantic pace and bold new vision: Morrison recontexulizted the x-men as an actaul minority, giving them a culture, a voice and making many weirder and wilder than ever before, showing that not every mutant got to pass. He also threw the x-men out of the shadows: formerly, a group of outlaw mutants hated and feared, they weere still that but thanks to Professor Xavier's twin who tried to choke him in the womb, he's outed to the public and rolls with her , using his body as a suit at the time, doing so to change the x-mens mission, now doing more search and rescue with slick leather jackets. They aren't traditional superheroes anymore, but just a trained team of the best trying to help their own. The X-Men now hav ea worldwide reach with x-corp with missions going from paris to shang hai.

Morrison took plenty of other hammers to the status quo: Xavier and Lilandra broke up, he could walk, Genosha got destroyed in a devistating act, scott and jean had marriage crissi as Emma gaslit him into an affair and Beast got his awesome lion look. The run also isn't afraid to get weird with xavier's twin he seemingly killed in th womb Cassandra Nova, a corrupt general whose skin becomes golems, and a special class made of mutants all with weird borderline useless powers, most of whom would become fan faviorites.

Years ago this would've been my easy number one but age for both me and the comic have revealed cracks; Some bits haven't aged well like Dust, whow hil ea good character now was done with no real research or depth, the u men dangling way too close to a parody of trans people, being just fringe enough to avoid it but still far closer than they should be.

The biggest knock though is the final two arcs: everything up to that is minty fresh and full of cool ideas warts and all. The last two arcs have Morrison try to rerail magneto back into a hateful monster instead of the complicated monster he'd become, something already tried in the 90's but even worse here, with Magneto reduced to the boring silver age villian that got old fast. I'm not against holding his feet to the fire for his worse actions, but this one was too far and swiftly retconned.. in a very dumbass way but still, you uusally only get a patch on a bad story that fast. Here Comes TOmmorow likewise is a trippy and mediocre finale to the run. Not as bad as what just came before, but it's grant morrison at their most self indulgent... that i've read.

Still despite the runs issues.. it's a good ride and worth it for classics like E is For Extinction and Riot at Xaviers alone.

3. X-Men By Jonathan Hickman Art by Pepe Laraz, R.B. Silva, Lenil Francis Yu, Mahmud Asrar and Valerio Schiti House of X 1-6, Powers of X 1-6, X-Men 2019 1-21, 5 Giant Size X-Men One Shots, and Inferno 1-4 42 Issues

Anyone whose read this blog a long time knew this was coming. I mention X-Men as much as possible and the krakoan era, being so weird and wonderful, was something I brought up a lot. Especially the x-men colonizing mars. And I probably will again. The Krakoan age is one of the best eras of x-men and while it ended in fire and a whimper, it started with a bang.

The x-men were in a bad place in 2019. Ressurxion as I mentioned wasn't horrible but wasn't really a reinvention, partly because they woudln't let anyone make any real changes which... again this run could've easily dealt with fine. Before that Marvel , and once again entirely serious tried to kill the x-men, showving them to the side and trying intitally to make the inhumans symapthetic when they needed to get rid of their murder cloud. And the inhumans books WERE great, but no one could get the taste of ike pearlmutter trying to make them the new x-men out of their mouths.

And like the last time the x-men were in a bad spot, marvel sought a hot creator, gave them creative control and let them do a hard stylish reset. Last time it was grant morrison, , this time it was Jonathan Hickman.

Hickman is one of my faviorite marvel writers. While he started slow yet awesome with a small run on secret warriors, a book that remade shield and did black ops glory, he rose to his biggest success with Fantastic Four, taking one of marvel's greatest teams and plunging them out of their rut with a big sweeping sci fi plot, clever ideas like 4 great cities about to go to war, a council of far less moral reed richardses, and smaller scale but no less game changing ideas like havnig the fantastic four open up a think tank for children, the future foundation, finally once and for all resolving ben grimm's on and off state of being cured, and giving the richards kids fleshed out personalities.

I could gush about this run all day but i'll save that for next year.

The point is HIckman had a talent for big wordy sweeping epics and was quickly tapped to follow up Brian Micheal Bendis on avengers, which had also gotten old for some, expanding the team's scope, having a meta plot about the multiverse dying and combining a core of familiar faces (including hulk's first longterm run as an avenger), with people who had yet to wield the circle a like Cannonball, Sunspot and SHang Chi, giving all three a needed boost.

So him doing X-Men was a natural next step that seemingly just.. didn't happen. Ike Pearlmutter's attempt to dempahsises it probably is why and Hickman having completed his sweeping epic across several titles, was ready to go to dc. THen Marvel, desperate to revitalize the circle x.. offered it to hickman. And a thing I didn' tknow is while he got what made the ff and avengers work perfectly.. hickman wasn't a fan of either going in. He did his through homework and you honestly can't tell he dosen't, but X-Men on the otherhand was his teenage obession. Like me, it consumed him and he jumped at the chance to do it his way.

He also saw a franchise that post avx had stagnated, not really inovating and growing and gave it a shot in the arm. Just like New X-men before it, Hickman decided to ditch where the franchise had been stuck, in schools with never aging classes and wars with each other and try something entirley new, something that could not be walked back easily and that even going back to basics, the current run is still feeling the repurcussions of. With 6 golden words:

Hickman in his epic pair of mini series that are really one big 12 issue series, House of X and Powers of X flipped up the wohle gameboard and erased problems that had been plauging the x-men: The constant climate of fear? The X-Men decided to fuck off to their own island nation, Krakoa, the island that walks like a man and is now cool with them. Humanity hating and fearting them? still a problem but they can sue for peace with some mmmm drugs and deal with those who don't take the mmmmm drugs. And they could just give these mmmm drugs that cure brain diseases free but after the rampant genocides, not hyperbole they have a statistic

Their saying enough. And the various mutants killed off for shock value? Well... death no longer matters. In a game changing final reveal, mutants can now be revivied from teh dead thanks to 5 working in concert. Add in a meta riff with Moria Mactaggerts 10 lives and you have a brilliant start

And HIckman did'nt stop there, as his next book , X-Men and i'ts companion piece Giant Sized X-Men was less one long narrative and more a series of ideas for the universe he was creating, a series of brilliant one shots following Scott Summers in a good place in his life: His wife is back from the dead, their embracing polyamory so he can still see emma and Jean can see wolverine who lives with them, both their kids are alive and well. It's a dream. And with every issue hickman provided a great adventure from magneto standing against a tie in, to discovering Krakoa's lost sibling setting up the massive x of sowrds crossover, to a family roadtrip into space to dela with the brood, to the savage land ot fight the golden girls, to a hidden vault to face the future, there was never an end to his creatviity or clever ideas.

Sadly there was an end to his run with Inferno which left on a high tying up some threads and leaving the rest open for those to take up the sword after he left. Hickman's run is gorgeously drawn by a bevy of the best in the buisness, well throught out and stylish and I will likely read it forever. While Krakoa sadly didn't last this run stands forever as what it is : MUTANT.

2. X-Factor By Peter David Art by Peter David and Pablo Raimondi, Ryan Sook, Dennis Calero, Renato Arlem, Roy Allen Martinez, Khoi Pham, Scott Eaten, Valentine De Landro, Larry Stroman, Marco Santucci, Bing Cansino, Emanuela Lupacchino, Leonard Kirk, Neil Edwards, and Paul Davidson Madrox 1-5, V3 1-50, 200-262 , X-Factor The Quick and the Dead, X-Factor: Layla Miller and Nation X: X-Factor 119 Issues

Peter David might be my faviorite x-writer and is the other major reason I fell as hard for x-men as I did. Starting off at marvel with his character defining run on Incredible Hulk, he did a short stint on the x-side of things with X-Factor, following up the original run by focusing on a bunch of lesser focused mutants who weren't afraid to pepper things with jokes, weren't immune to tragedy, and threading a nice line between real danger and humor. It sadly didn't last long, but what we got was great.

So come the 2000's, he returned to marvel after a long stint at dc and another sensational run with young justice, Peter David asked "Are you ready for the sequel?" So came X-Factor, also known as X-Factor Noir to defretate it from the previous two runs, a decade long run rivaling Chris Claremonts in character, franchise impact and sheer girth. David's come the closest to Claremont's flair for shakeups, cast rotation and soap opera.

X-Factor primarily stars Jamie Madrox, an also ran mutant who could multiply who was the comic relief in David's previous run then kinda thrown aside like garbage and used in backgrounds. Clearly liking Jamie and seeing potential in him, David brought his boy back as a private eye working cases in mutant town. What was once the mutant burogh of new york is now filled with those who lost their powers on m-day, something our heroes also investigate as Wanda's mental breakdown wasn't exactly common knowledge.

Helping Jamie in his noir detective fantasy are Strong Guy, his best friend and the best character of the previous run, Wolfsbane, who was also on that team but is now older and angister, even more so after she leaves the team breifly to join x-force, Siryn, jamie's dupes ex and daughter of the banshee and M, monet st croix whose better than you and knows it. Monet is STILl a major fan faviorite and player to this day thanks to this run and everyone got a bump. This included later additons longshot and shatterstar, the latter of whom became a pansexual icon.

The run is massive and something I hope to cover someday in SOME form but loops our heroes as they do buisness in mutanttown, move to the east for goverment work, come back to nyc, and deal with everything from a manical man from the future to the invisible woman going missing. It's a fun run full of deep character development, well executed twists and while I used to feel it had a huge downturn, it seems far more coherent now.. though i'd still have to reread to see for sure. But what's ther eis one of the best runs in x-men , one of my faviorites.. and only one tops it you can transparently see coming

Uncanny X-Men By Chris Claremont Art by Dave Cockrum, John Byrne, Paul Smith, Frank Miller, John Romita Jr, Barry Windsor-Smith, Marc Silvestri, Rick Leonardi, John Bogdanove, Al Milgrom, and Jim Lee Uncanny X-Men 94-279, X-Men Annual #3-12, 14, Marvel Graphic Novel #1, Wolverine #1-4, Kitty Pryde and Wolverine #1-6,X-Men/ Alpha Flight #1 and 2, X-Men Vs Fantastic Four #1-4, X-Men #1-3 214 Issues

Hail to the King Baby. Having recently finally read EVERY issue of this run, I can say Chris Claremont defines the x-men. Even as things change, the basis was set by him. While Lee and Kirby created the x-men, Chris Clarmont made them truly exceptional.

Most of you don't need an intro but just in case: Chris Claremont was an up and coming writer at marvel who exploded when he took over x-men from Len Wein. Wein had relaunched the x-men with giant sized, creating a brand team with artist Dave Cockrum: Xaviers Original students were quickly written on in Wein's planneed next issue leaving only Cyclops, now moodier, as the vetral to command a group that was not 5 teenagers with attitude, later 7, but adults from radically diffrent backgrounds: A near feral and terse secret agent who once fought the hulk, a russian farm boy who can turn to steel, a woman from cairo who lived as a goddess in kenya, a former foe turned experinced ally, and a circus performer with the face of demon but the kindest soul of all.

Claremont would take this great setup and run with it once given full control. He reinforced the mutant metaphor which was present on and off in Lee's run, but now came blaring out, with the series first overarching villian being a mad scientest who speaks of mutants like a feral monster and has an army of shiny new sentinels, as opposed to the misguided previous users of them. The X-Men's rep takes a hit as the series goes and their forced to wipe goverment records as it plots against them. As the run goes on the racisim grows, as the goverment turns against them and the x-men are left as outcasts even among other heroes, going to war with both the ff and the avengers for diffrent reasons. In his most powerful use of this the x-men have to face Revered Striker, a fire and brimstone preacher with a secret paramilitary death squad.

But more than that he gave the franchise humanity: The X-Men here are fully fleshed out people: Scott strains under the role he's been given and trained since childhood and his rough past, Logan grows from a feral asshole who nearly kills nightcrawler for laughing at him, to Kurt's best friend and a wise if still gruff man who loves his found family. Ororo has the biggest evolution: from a shy woman discovering the world, to a goddess, to someone grappling with the darkness in her and the things she must do to keep her found family safe. Colossus grapples with the violence and confusion of his new world and of finding love even if it hurts someone he cares about. Things only get richer as new characters are rotated in: Jean is thought dead after joinnig breifly and leaves an impact and banshee goes to join his true love on a scottish island. This leaves the board open for Kitty Pryde, a 13 year old written shockingly well who grows up year by year and has to deal wtih the reality of being an x-man and of having a crush on a 19 year old and Rogue, who goes from a foe of the x-men they slam the door on badly haunted by her fractured psyche to.. well the last part dosen't go away but she's one of the most trusted x-men with time .

Claremont wasn't afraid to shake this up either: over the course of his run the x-men are thought dead by xavier and left to their own devices, loose jean, cyclops leaves, the mansion is breifly destroyed and their forced to live on magneto's spooky island, the new mutants arrive, and you never get a full sense of peace. When one status quo has set in a while, it flips. Just when the x-men were getting used to rachel summers, jean's troubled daughter from the days of future past, rachel flees and half the team is horribly mauled and they have to almost start over. The x-men sacrifie themselves and use their newfound supposed death to strike from the shaodow. and the final stretch of the run has the x-men scattered to the winds and coming back together.

Change is the constant as is a parade of intresting foes: Magneto is reconfigured from cackling super villian early on, to the troubled complicated man he becomes later, trying hard to be better while the world says no. The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants is reformed into a more modern for the time terroist group with the cunning mystique.. who tehn has the team work with the goverment when she finds that safer. Mastermind is taken from Magneto's lackey to a truly frightining figure whose only beaten because the person he was manipulating with. Then Claremont adds his own: The Hellfire Club, rich mutant assholes hiding in plain sight woh easily outflank our heroes, Nimrod, a robot from the future sent to kill mutants but who sees himself as a hero, the Brood, terrifying xenomorph knockoffs, and the Shadow King: Xavier's oldest and deadlist foe.

Ther'es a lot here: Our heroes go to space, grapple with demons literal nad metaphorical, spend time in the outback with a wiseman who can teleport, go to another dimension or two, there is FAR too much in this decade to recap but it is special

The run isn't without flaws and the age spots may be an issue: there's the entirely stupid and gross kitty pryde and colossus romance which is thankfully kept to mostly a crush but wolverine treats like Colossus wronged her by.. not wanting ot date a 13 year old and finding someone else. The bunche sof brainwashing. Kitty Pryde using the n-word twice. Coloring native american characters bright red. Ther'es a lot of stuff left over from the 80s in here that we'd rather throw back. Now Claremont's bdsm fetish on the other hand.. eh fair enough.

But if you can get past it, you'll find an epic like no other, one continuious story that nicely weaves with it's sister book new mutants. A story you can hop in at any point and enjoy (except maybe those last two years. Yeesh) yet as this glorious whole i've discovered now owning most of it and reading it often, it's a wonderful saga with tons of planning, and it'll likely never be topped in scope, though many of these fine runs equal it in quality. It's the basis for some of the best comic si've ever read, and I'm pleased to have read it all. Thanks for reading and please.. read some of these.

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oneshortlady · 2 years ago

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Jon would definitely give emily/ s/os who's also a fellow pearl lover

#batman #jonathan crane #masters of fear jonathan crane #original character #mof jonathan crane #emily grace #m.o.f fan comic #dc scarecrow #batman scarecrow #x s/o #pearl necklace #pearls are rad

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kittwix · 9 months ago

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First Kiss with the Joestars

Jonathan Joestar, Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo, Josuke Higashikata, Giorno Giovanna, Jolyne Cujoh, Johnny Joestar, Josuke Higashikata (Gappy), Jodio Joestar x Neu! Reader

word count: 5.4k , it's long if you read all of their parts >_<

tags: very sweet; cavity inducing fluff, jodio is a little mean, reader stand isnt specify or implied, reader is gender neutral!

Jonathan Joestar

Your suspicion grew when he had invited you for a picnic out to the vineyard. He had made it obvious that he liked being around you, even at the times when he would be practicing for his Rugby tournaments, he would always encourage you to be there to cheer him up.

He would have everything all planned out, he had his maids prepare the basket for him and even went ahead to pack some of his favorite lunch items; resisting the urge to just eat them right then and there before he could meet up with you.

Upon meeting, he gracefully held the basket with one hand, offering his other arm for you to grasp. He greeted you with a kiss on the back of your hand, a faint blush gracing his cheeks, eliciting a chuckle of amusement from you.

"My, my, Jojo.. Have you contrived this all on my behalf?" You stood there, curiosity in your eyes and a small smile, as you watched your boyfriend carefully spread a beautifully sewed quilt over the uneven patches of grass. It was clear that this moment, simple as it might seem, was shaped with intention and care, setting the stage for the intimate afternoon you were about to share together. "Could it be that there is a significant event which has escaped my memory?”

"No, nothing of that sort." Jonathan replied, his smile casting a warmth over you that felt as comforting as sunlight caressing your skin.The sheer sight of him made your tummy flutter with butterflies; his handsomeness was evident, and his disposition was the pinnacle of gentleness. He was the nicest and most sincere boy you'd ever met. "What a delightful day out, wouldn’t you agree? The weather is simply ideal for a luncheon outing with my beloved.”

"Well yes," You hummed, now it was your turn to be embarrassed as you fidgeted with your hands for a moment and watched him take apart the lunch. "I cannot shake the suspicion that you are plotting something. Quite the mischievous schemer, are you not?”

"What? Me? That’s absurd! Do you truly believe me of being capable of such baseness?" Your boyfriend teased, mimicking a frown which prompted you to gently push on his shoulder as you shared a laugh. It was times like this where you could genuinely admire him. You noted the sharp outlines of his chiseled face, and how his kind blue eyes, reminiscent of the deepest sapphires, seemed to sparkle even more under the natural light. And oh, that smile...

You gradually moved closer to him, inch by inch, until there was almost no room between you. He twisted his head, appearing surprised by the sudden closeness, yet there was no sign of disinterest in his reaction. Silence encompassed you both, the world around you dissolving into a distant hum.

Within seconds, you closed your eyes and closed the final gap, your lips meeting his in a sweet, short kiss. It was a brief encounter, lasting only a few seconds before you pulled back, but in his gaze, you could swear you saw stars twinkling back at you. He glanced at you, completely taken aback, his mouth slightly parted as if about to speak, capturing a moment of wonder.

"Wow..." He reacted. "That was certainly not within the scope of my intentions, but I must admit.. It was rather pleasant."

Joseph Joestar

It was mostly his initiation, he likes to joke around with you a little too much but that was just part of his personality that you like so much. Not to mention that he can be pretty unpredictable, making him blunt in ways that just makes you like him even more.

"What do you want now, Joestar?" You asked, crossing your arms at the sight of your tall boyfriend creeping up on you with a stupid smile that could only mean that he was up to no good.

"Ouch! Can't a guy stroll up to his darling and turn on the charm?" He asked, seeming to have pretended to his offensiveness with a hand on his chest as he bats his eyelashes at you. “Anyways, got any plans later?”

“Oh, what’s it to you? Gonna take me out for dinner? Miss Lisa Lisa isn’t going to like the fact that you’re slacking off on your training.” You reiterated back with a little smirk and a hand on your hip. "She doesn't need to know! I can handle almost anything, baby! Just give me a shot, or else you might get kissed." He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, leaning in a bit closer, and you couldn’t help but conceal the smile that was growing on your face. With a playful push, you gently nudged him back, enjoying the flirtatious banter between you. “Is that a threat?” You raised a brow. “Or are you asking something out of me?” “Perhaps.” He answered back and for a second, silence enveloped both of you, heightening the tension in the air. It didn't help matters that he was so close, his scent filling your senses. Glancing around briefly, you released a small sigh, shaking your head in a playful manner. With a tender gesture, you reached out and cupped his cheek, the intimate moment shared between you intensifying.

“You’re impossible.” Your voice was a faint whisper, closing the distance between you as you moved in to give him a gentle kiss on the lips. The kiss, delicate and sweet, lasted far longer than you had anticipated, but you found yourself loving every moment of it. As you got closer, the temptation to melt into his embrace overcame you, and you could feel his eagerness through the curious movements of his hands, which became bolder by the minute.

However, just as you were about to voice your feelings, the distinct call of Caesar’s voice pierced the intimate bubble you had created, forcing you to regretfully break the kiss. Turning your gaze back to Joseph, you were met with his trademark snarky smile, a look that teetered on the edge of being both endearing and infuriating. He wore his joy openly, quietly bragging to himself about having gained something as simple as a kiss to you. It was a moment that triggered a playful irritation in you, making you want to slap his smug grin away.

As the moment between you faded, you watched him depart with a playful wink cast over his shoulder in your direction before returning back to Caesar. Even as he walked away, his cheeky demeanor left a lingering warm feeling in your heart, a silent promise of more moments like these to treasure.

Jotaro Kujo

On the contrary, it was an accidental kiss and wasn't something that neither of you had planned. It was in front of everyone as well, especially in front of his grandfather, which only heightened the embarrassment of the situation.

The situation had taken an unexpected turn, with suspicions that an enemy Stand user, possibly one of Dio's underlings, was involved. This required everyone to be attentive, continuously on the lookout for signs of an attack or sabotage, no matter how bizarre the situation may be at hand. Despite the tension, the moment had allowed for a brief lapse into normalcy as Joseph generously offered to cover the cost of lunch for everyone. You conveyed your gratitude gracefully, humming blissfully to yourself as you devoured the pasta you'd chosen, enjoying the flavors

However, your delight was cut short when you felt an unusual sensation in your throat. It swelled quickly, making it difficult to breathe and speak. Panic came in when you realized you were choking, and the situation quickly escalated from uncomfortable to life-threatening. It was Iggy who had caught on to this, the small dog emerging from beneath the table and began barking loudly at you.

The abrupt escalation of events threw the group into a state of alarm. As you began to drool excessively, struggling for air, a small, rabid-like bug emerged from your mouth, adding a surreal horror to the scene. Your attempt to cry out was muffled, choked by the intrusion. Polnareff and Joseph let out a collective scream, their voices blending in shock and terror. Despite the panic that was clouding your eyesight, you could see Avdol and Kakyoin rush into action, summoning their Stands with an eagerness.

In the midst of the chaos and fear, you suddenly felt a strong, reassuring grip on your shoulder, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with Jotaro. His presence was imposing, the brim of his hat casting a shadow that obscured the upper half of his face, rendering his eyes invisible in the moment. Before you could process the situation fully, Jotaro's lips pressed firmly against yours. Shock and a surge of adrenaline caused your eyes to fly open wide, your hands instinctively curling into fists against his muscular chest. As he pulled back, the realization hit you: Jotaro had taken the stand from your mouth, now holding it between his lips. With a look of disgust, he spat it out to the side. In an instant, Star Platinum was summoned, its fist blurring into motion as it delivered a powerful punch that sent the stand hurtling into oblivion.

Everyone was taken aback by Jotaro's action. It was a bold move that had you gasping for air. Your cheeks flushed with warmth as you processed the sensation; his lips had been surprisingly soft, and the kiss had carried a level of passion that left you questioning its intent.

The lingering sensation of his lips on yours created an array of emotions swirling within you, mixing gratitude with confusion and a hint of curiosity. The lingering sensation of his lips on yours sparked a range of emotions within you.

You cleared your throat, the unexpectedness of the circumstance made you feel instantly self-conscious, forcing you to put your plate aside as your hunger faded in the aftermath of the experience. “Thanks…” You said hoarsely.

“Yare Yare…”

Josuke Higashikata

You and Josuke attended the same school, and it had become a regular occurrence for him to offer to walk you home. At first, you didn't think much of it, considering it a friendly gesture. However, things took a different turn when your school friends started teasing you, hinting that Josuke might have a crush on you.

Today was like any other day, with Josuke offering to walk you home once again. However, a nagging feeling of guilt crept over you as you realized how many times he had gone out of his way for you without expecting anything in return. Despite your gratitude for his kindness, you couldn't help but feel like you owed him something more substantial.

As the two of you approached your house's doorstep, you fidgeted with your hands, an anxious yet grateful smile forming across your face as you turned to face the boy. "Is this like, the millionth time you've walked me to my door?" you teased gently, resting against the doorframe and looking down at your feet. "You're really sweet," you said, genuine admiration coloring your words as you met his gaze again. His presence was familiar and comforting, making every trip to your door a special part of your day.

Josuke rubbed the back of his head, a bashful smile playing on his lips as he blushed slightly at your words. "Hey, I was raised to be a gentleman, y'know," he replied with a hint of self-consciousness, his genuine sincerity shining through. "And, uh, I think you're pretty cool to hang out with." he added, trying to play it off casually but unable to hide the warmth in his eyes as he looked at you.

"Yeah? I think you're pretty cool too," you replied, crossing your arms and allowing your gaze to linger on his figure, almost as if you were studying him intently. Josuke, with his trademark pompadour, couldn't help but chuckle softly at your lingering look, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

You fought with the thoughts that raced through your mind, urging you to take the risk and make your move, especially after leaving Josuke visibly flustered. He was now haphazardly kicking at a pebble under his foot, avoiding direct eye contact as if quietly expressing that he was waiting for something else to happen before returning home. The tension in the air was obvious, and you could sense the weight of unspoken words hanging between you.

"I wanted to thank you for walking with me every day," you began, your voice wavering slightly with nerves. "A proper thank you," you quickly corrected yourself, hoping to drop a subtle hint about where the conversation was heading. "I feel like my words aren't enough. I think you deserve something more meaningful."

As you spoke, Josuke's gaze shifted back to you, curiosity and anticipation flickering in his eyes. He didn't know what to expect, but the moment he felt your hands holding onto his biceps, everything seemed to fall into place. His heart skipped a beat as realization dawned on him, his mouth going dry and his lips quivering slightly in response to the sudden surge of emotions.

Without hesitating for another second, you leaned in and gently pressed your lips against Josuke's, savoring the sweetness of the moment. The taste of cherry chapstick lingered on your lips, adding to the enchantment of the kiss. When you finally pulled away, a soft giggle escaped your lips as you admired the lovestruck expression on Josuke's face, his goofy grin speaking volumes about his happiness in that moment. "S-so, uh... I'll pick you up tomorrow?" Josuke asked, a hint of nervousness lacing his words. In response, you gave his cheek a soft tap, a reassuring gesture that brought a smile to his face. With a final glance and a warm smile, you opened the door to your house, leaving Josuke with a sense of anticipation.

“Definitely.”

Giorno Giovanna

During another date that he had arranged, Giorno bought you ice cream as the two of you walked hand in hand. It was a rare occasion when he wasn't caught up in his responsibilities as a mob leader and actually took the time to be with you. Being outside of the mansion felt refreshing, and you were grateful that Giorno shared the same sentiment.

"You know," you started, a playful lilt in your voice as you attempted to coax him into sharing the dessert, "it's one of your favorite flavors. Are you sure you don't want a taste?" Your attempt was light-hearted, an effort to draw him into a small act of normalcy, something as mundane as sharing ice cream on a date.

Giorno's response was a chuckle, the sound warm and rich, filling the space between you. "I'm quite sure. Today, I'm more than happy just to see you enjoy it," he replied, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

It made you wonder if he'd ever considered taking the relationship to the next level. Nothing extravagant, simply the fact that you've been dating for a while now and he has never initiated a kiss. How you ached to feel his lips on yours. Given his soft-spoken demeanor, you wondered if his lips were also soft and moisturized, providing an intoxicating lasting sensation with each kiss. Given that you were staring a little too long, Giorno had turned to meet your eyes as an evident grin spread across his lips as he cups his own cheek out of embarrassment. “Is there something on my face? You look like you have something you want to say.”

“Mmm, yeah actually.” You responded back with lidded eyes as you gave his hand a small squeeze and stopped your tracks. "There’s been something I’ve been wanting to do for the longest.” You admitted as the ice cream in your hands slowly melted from the bright sun above. You continued, “If I have your permission to touch you, will you trust me?”

"You always have my permission, you don't need to ask," Giorno reassured you with a gentle smile, his eyes watching you carefully. As you wrapped one arm around his neck, the distance between your bodies shortened, creating a more intimate atmosphere. Your cheeks were flushed, and the way he met your gaze without much of a reaction made butterflies flutter in your stomach. You felt his arm snake around your waist, and it almost seemed like he knew exactly what you had planned to do next. The anticipation and closeness between you added a thrilling suspense to the moment.

Eventually, the both of you lean in to share a passionate kiss. Much to your pleasure, his lips were soft and so were his hands as it continues to explore the rest of your body. You felt weak in the knees, your hand rested on his chest and once the two of you pulled away you were left starstruck. “Giorno...” “Shall we get going?” The question, simple and gentle, jolted you back to reality, yet the magic of the moment lingered like the afterglow of a sunset. His hand, warm and reassuring, squeezed yours. You nodded your head in response, letting the blonde lead the way as the two of you continue to enjoy the rest of your date.

Jolyne Cujoh

Well, it was more of a dare than something that was just intended. Whenever she was in a good mood, she hardly took herself so seriously, especially when she was messing around with her friends. Though it was pretty easy to break down the tough exterior that she occasionally displays on herself. That’s just how Jolyne is and you admire her for that.

You were seated comfortably on the carpet of your apartment, surrounded by your friends and the lively energy of the gathering. The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement, fueled by the risky game you had all decided to play. With each round, bets were placed, and allowances were on the line as you wagered on the most obscure acts and challenges.

However, things took an unexpected turn when Ermes placed a cash bet on Jolyne kissing you. The room fell silent for a moment as everyone's gaze focused on you and Jolyne, the heightened tension palpable as the game appeared to have strayed into personal territory.

“Where’d that even come from? You tryin’ to make fun of us or something?” You asked Ermes, your cheeks felt warm,

Ermes just laughed, a knowing twinkle in her eye as she observed the sudden tension between you and Jolyne. "What? Can't handle a little dare?" she teased, her grin widening at your discomfort. You couldn't help but feel a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation, especially when you caught Jolyne's eye. Her usually fierce demeanor seemed softened by the flush of embarrassment, making her look unexpectedly vulnerable.

Jolyne let out a deep breath, her gaze shifting from you to Ermes and then back again. "Fine," she finally said, the word coming out more as a challenge than a submission. She leaned closer, her eyes locked with yours, a mix of defiance and something softer you couldn't quite place. The room fell silent, the playful teasing of moments ago replaced by an almost electric anticipation. You could hear your heart beating, loud in the quiet of the room, as Jolyne's face came closer to yours. Her eyes flickered closed, and for a moment, everything else seemed to disappear.

The kiss was brief, a simple press of lips that felt like a spark through your entire body. When she pulled back, her eyes met yours again, searching for a reaction. The room erupted into whistles and laughter from Ermes and Foo Fighters, but both you and Jolyne were caught in a moment of silent communication, a question and answer passing silently between you.

Jolyne broke eye contact first, turning back to face Ermes and the others with a nonchalant shrug. "See? Just a kiss," she said, her voice steady but you noticed the slight pink still coloring her cheeks.

You were left a little dazed, warmth spreading through your chest. Although the kiss was part of the game, it felt like it carried more weight than either of you would admit. As the game continued and the evening wore on, you found yourself stealing glances at Jolyne, wondering if the moment had meant as much to her as it did to you.

Johnny Joestar

Just as he was about to join the big horse race, you had to pull him back a bit as you couldn’t help but worry about his own well being. It was a big deal, people can get way too competitive and you tend to worry over the littlest things. Of course, he had to reassure you that he was gonna be fine and that he would just have to be away for a few days, perhaps a few weeks or even months. The thought of being so far away from him already made you anxious and he noticed this, so he held your hands and looked up into your eyes.

"I'll be fine, promise," he responded, his voice full of confidence and calmness. You wanted to believe in his statements and that he would carefully go through the challenges. You knew deep down that despite the distance and time away, he had the courage and determination to return to you.

Before you could say anything else, an obnoxiously loud horn blared, causing both you and Johnny to flinch. The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, signaling that the horse race was about to commence. You observed Johnny, noticing how his gaze fixated on a man in a hat, attending to a horse. While you were curious about his sudden focus, you decided not to inquire and instead diverted his attention back to you.

You stretched out and cupped his cheek, gently turning his face toward you. The touch was both calming and anchoring, a gentle reminder amidst the chaos of the race. Johnny's gaze met yours, and everything else disappeared into the background. The clamor of the crowd, the excitement of the race, everything went incidental.

In the heat of the moment, you let your body take control as your brain lagged behind. You wrapped your arms around Johnny, pulling yourself closer to his pretty face and eventually your lips locked with his own. You could tell you caught him off guard with the way his body jumped but he immediately melted into the kiss. The world around you seemed to fade into a blur, leaving just the warmth of his lips against yours and the rhythmic beating of your hearts in perfect harmony. It was a frozen moment in time, with every touch and sensation speaking volumes about your relationship.

After the lingering kiss had finally ended, Johnny's lips retained their puckered form for a moment longer, as if trying to capture the essence of the intimate moment. His eyes remained closed, basking in the residual warmth of your embrace. It wasn't until you let out a playful giggle and lightly tapped his cheek that he snapped out of his reverie, realizing that the kiss had come to an end. Johnny's face broke into a sheepish grin as he opened his eyes, the delighted twinkle in them reflecting how deeply he had lost himself in the experience.

"Having fun there, loverboy?" you teased with a playful grin, unable to hide the amusement dancing in your eyes.

"Shut up, and kiss me again before I go for real this time," Johnny mumbled in a half-serious, half-playful tone, already leaning in with closed eyes, anticipating the next kiss. You couldn't help but roll your eyes playfully at his eagerness, knowing all too well how much he enjoyed these moments of intimacy.

Granting his wish, you leaned in closer, planting a series of small, teasing pecks on his lips. Each kiss was light and fleeting, just enough to leave him wanting more but sufficient to see the satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Josuke Higashikata (Gappy)

His embrace was overwhelmingly tight, his clinginess something you adored in him, yet you hadn't quite anticipated the sheer strength he possessed. It left you feeling somewhat overpowered, as if you were about to be compressed into nothingness. Your reaction was a series of light giggles, and although you attempted to push him away gently, it only led him to draw you closer once again. Looking down at you, Gappy gently held your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"Josuke, what's gotten into you?" you question playfully about your boyfriend, but Gappy's arms remained tightly around you. Sure, you had grown accustomed to his affection, though it may occasionally take you by surprise with its intensity. You were also aware of his memory loss and continued search for his identity and purpose. Being one of the first people he met after losing his memory, he quickly developed an emotional connection to you, which you accepted wholeheartedly.

“You’re warm...” He muttered quietly, his fingers tracing patterns across your skin, inducing involuntary shivers. His acts toward you were noticeably compassionate, in stark contrast to his usual approach. Really, he had charisma, a natural capacity to attract those around him, as well as characteristics that made him unique. Nonetheless, he was ready to get violent at any given moment. But with you, he was someone completely different. He treated you with tenderness and care that spoke volumes, distinguishing you to be special in his eyes. It was this sharp contrast, this respite from his rougher side, that made you feel sincerely appreciated and cherished.

"Jojo..." Your words was just a whisper, a sweet utterance full of care as you softly lifted your hands, cradling his face with the utmost care.You allowed your eyes to wander over his features, memorizing each detail—the curve of his brow, the depth in his eyes, the subtle strength in his jawline. As you leaned closer, your lips discovered the warmth of his forehead and planted a delicate kiss. With each kiss, you followed a line across his face, from his forehead to his cheek, and finished with a peck on his chin. He reacted with a slight start to your boldness, a small but noticeable jump, yet he remained silent, his eyes speaking volumes of the surprise and warmth he felt.

You wanted to giggle, a sense of satisfaction at getting such a reaction from your boyfriend. You were about to say something witty and sharp, the words almost dancing on your tongue, eager to tease him even more. However, before you could make your smart remark, the scenario took an unexpected turn. His hands, echoing your previous move, rose to gently cup your face. The world seemed to stop for a time as his eyes fluttered shut, sending a subtle indication of his intentions.

Then, with unexpected boldness, he closed the gap between you, pushing his lips against yours in a daring kiss. His unexpected action left your eyes wide open in shock for just a second, leaving an unspoken query hanging in the air. But as the surprise wore off, a warmth flowed through you, and you found yourself easing into the kiss, your body's tension melting away as you reacted with equal passion.

Once the two of you pulled away, you were left breathless, your cheeks were warm and it was hard to really look him in the eyes after such a passionate kiss. You were at a loss for words as well, it was hard to really think about what to say next. It seemed like he was on the same page, his eyes simply looking at yours as he tried to read the expression that you had on your face. Rest assured, there was definitely going to be more kisses after that.

Jodio Joestar

Your frustration was palpable when you stumbled upon him yet again engaged in the act of selling drugs, this time to a group of unfamiliar faces. The sight of him engaging this illicit exchange stirred a flare of anger within you, prompting you to confront him directly. Standing there, your posture rigid with your arms tightly crossed over your chest and a frown etching deep lines of disappointment across your face, you were the picture of discontent.

Jodio, seemingly unconcerned by your appearance or the dissatisfaction etched all over your face, simply snickered to himself dismissively. He nonchalantly shook a baggie full of dollar notes, flaunting the goods of his trade right in front of your eyes, all before he had a chance to properly register your presence or understand the depth of your anger.

"Again?" You couldn't help but shake your head in disbelief, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you observed his repetitive behavior. It was a mix of frustration and disappointment that colored your expression, a silent plea for him to understand the significance of his actions. However, his response was careless, with a mere shrug that appeared to indicate a lack of regard for your issues.

"What's the big deal?" he asked, his tone tinged with casualness as he continued walking, dismissing your concerns. He passed you and headed in the direction where Dragona had parked his car. However, you were not going to let him off the hook so easily. You followed closely after him, the mean expression still engraved on your face as you gazed at his back. Your steps were deliberate, each bearing the weight of your frustration you had for him. His relaxed demeanor simply bolstered the urge to confront him and make him realize the weight of his actions that he had on you.

"What's the big deal?" For god's sake, you're a 15-year-old selling drugs to a couple of dickheads!" Your frustration spilled out in words, your voice infused with fear and exasperation. "You'll get in big trouble, and they'll take you away, and—" Before you could continue, you were interrupted by his irritatingly loud yawn. The interruption left you speechless, your eyes narrowing. The boldness of his attitude, yawning as if your issues were nothing more than a little annoyance, was frustrating. "You're unbelievable," you said under your breath, your words filled with disappointment.

"What's unbelievable is that you care so much," he spat back, his tone defiant as he stuffed the bag of cash into his pockets. He stopped in his tracks and turned around to face you directly. "What? Cat's got your tongue? You're kinda funny," he added with a hint of sarcasm, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Your initial instinct was to lash out, to give voice to the frustration swirling inside you. But in a split second, something shifted, and before you could fully process it, your impulses took over. Without a second thought, you grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and pressed your lips onto his.

The kiss was impulsive, a burst of emotion that manifested in the heat of the moment. You could feel the texture of his slightly chapped lips against yours. It was a surprise even to yourself, this sudden act of intimacy amidst the tension and conflict that had defined your interaction moments ago.

“I’ll… see you around.”

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nebulaafterdark · 5 months ago

Text

Sooner Or Late

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Y/N flees to the north before the start of the war. When it is over, Aegon will stop at nothing to get her back. Based off this request 18+ ONLY implied dubcon, mental illness & violence

Long before the dragons dance, Y/N is promised to Aegon. As a result, Rhaenyra sends her only daughter to the North in hopes of securing an alliance and to keep her half brother at bay.

His desire for the princess Y/N is deprived, even Alicent could not comprehend it. In the years Y/N is gone, Aegon yearns for her, a longing set deep into his bones.

Y/N finds real love, without sharp edges. His name is Jonathan Stark, after whom their son is named. His body now hangs like a trophy in Aegon’s garden.

The war brought one tragedy after another. Her mother and three, if not four, of her brothers were slain.

As for the greens, only Aegon and Alicent remain.

Y/N was taken back to King’s Landing, upon Aegon’s victory. She is to be his prize. As a warm welcome, he strung up her husband and allowed her to watch the light fade from his eyes.

Jon is spared the sight of his father’s remains, shielding his eyes with his mother’s dress as she whispers to him.

“I love you more than anything in this world.” She tells him, “no matter what becomes of me, you mustn’t be afraid. You must be strong.”

His hold on her tightens as they are forced into the throne room to meet the king. A man his mother has no love for. The man who killed his father.

“Ahh, good, you’re here.” Aegon grins, rising from his perch. “We need to prepare you for dinner.” The front of his robes are stained with blood.

Her husband’s blood.

“I will admit, I was not expecting two guests. Luckily, the coronation will not take place until the morrow. Which gives us time to fit robes for our boy.” The King smiles at Jonathan.

Y/N clutches her son closer as he begins to cry. “Shh.”

“Tell me now, dearest, what is his name?”

“His name is Jonathan.”

“Jonathan.” Aegon looks to the boy, clinging to his mother. “A fine name for a prince.”

“T-thank you, your grace, but I am not a prince.” The boy sniffles.

Aegon bends forward to his eye level. “You are now. In one day’s time, your mother will be crowned queen of the seven kingdoms and you our heir. Now that you are here we will be a proper family.”

“I had a family.” Jonathan reminds him.

Y/N tucks the boy farther against her side.

Aegon sighs, standing to face Y/N. “There, there, my darling.” He dries her tears with a blunt swipe of his hand.

“Please don’t hurt him, he doesn’t understand.”

“I am not going harm him.” Aegon scoffs. “He grew inside your womb, same as our children will.”

“Ours?” Y/N breathes, clutching her son’s hand. Aegon has well and truly lost his mind.

“I’m going to be your father now.” Aegon tells Jonathan. “There will be no more talk of the man who tried to steal your mother from me. Do you understand?”

Jonathan nods, against his mother’s dress.

“Good,” Aegon inhales deeply, wrapping them both in his arms. “Welcome home.”

————————————————————————

“Why are you doing this, Aegon?” Y/N asks, staring out the window to the garden.

“You were promised to me.” He tosses his chalice against the wall, stumbling toward her. “You will marry me. You will love no one but me! That is why Stark is dead, that is why his body will hang until only his bones remain.”

“How can you be so cruel?” Y/N cries, wrapping both arms tightly around herself.

“This is a kindness, my dearest love.” Aegon says draping his arms over hers, “in time you will see. You’ve lost your way. But you will learn, I will teach you.”

She has to get away. “Please-”

He sneers. “You will do a fair share of begging in our lives together, there is no need to start prematurely.”

“What do you want?”

Has he not made it abundantly clear? “You.”

“I am only a woman. You understand that, do you not?” Y/N scoffs. “There is nothing I can give you another cannot. Why chase me? Why hunt me down when you could’ve had anyone?”

“I realize we have our differences, but there is no other woman capable of evoking such passion in my heart. I love you, I loathe you. You frustrate and entice me.” He nips at her neck. “It was always going to be you, sooner or late.”

“I had a life, Aegon.”

“Now you will have a new life, with me.”

————————————————————————

As days pass, Y/N allows her mind to wander. To escape the vessel in which it’s held; far enough that she doesn’t feel. In time, it begins drifting farther and farther out to sea.

Aegon plays with Jonathan, lifting him high on his shoulders, the way her husband used to.

Jonathan takes a liking to him. Anytime he asks about his father, he is met with a sigh.

“Do you see that pretender anywhere around here?”

Jon shakes his head.

“And you never will.” Aegon snickers. “There is no need to keep asking, as you know it upsets me.”

The boy lowers his eyes, “yes, father.”

“You are a Targaryen. Not a Stark.” Aegon taps his chin, “all of this will be yours one day.”

Aegon is a madman, but he does seem to care for them, in his own demented way.

Y/N loathes herself for even thinking it.

A few weeks after, her belly begins to round with Aegon’s child. Y/N nearly forgets why she is here. Why she has to float away.

Aegon is all but tethered to the tiny bump, kissing it each day as it grows.

Jonathan is the only reason Y/N holds onto hope. Though sometimes, she can hear his father calling from the garden.

Aegon is speaking to her then, plush lips moving over perfect teeth.

It catches her off guard, the look of him. A fallen angel, cast out by the gods. So like her mother. Y/N desperately misses her mother.

Aegon smiles as she caresses the side of his face, ignoring her distant gaze. He knew she would come round, eventually.

“Why do you think my mother hasn’t come to see me?” Y/N asks, with wide, sad eyes.

Oh…you poor, poor, thing. Aegon kisses her outstretched hand. She does not remember, nor does it matter. It’s best not to upset her. “I am sure she will turn up sooner or late, my dearest love.”

She believes him, she has to.

Part 2

Aegon Taglist: @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon imagine #aegon targaryen fanfic

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insidekatmind · 19 days ago

Text

The End~Jude Bellingham x reader (feat.Jonathan Daviss)

You’re sitting on the bed, your hands trembling as you clutch your phone. Jude is across the room, his face locked in an expression you barely recognize. The love that once united you feels like a distant memory, suffocated by glittering nights, applause, and trophies.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you try to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

Jude runs a hand through his hair, his gaze evasive. “What do you want from me? I’m doing my best!”

“Your best?” you repeat, incredulous. “You don’t even look at me the way you used to. All that matters to you now is football, Real Madrid, your image. I... I don’t exist in your life anymore.”

He scoffs, as if your words are a burden. “That’s not true. But you don’t understand the pressure I’m under. I have responsibilities.”

“And me?” your voice rises, pain spilling out. “Don’t I matter? When was the last time you asked me how I was? When did you actually listen to how I felt?”

Jude stays silent, and that silence speaks louder than any words could. There’s nothing left to say. You stand, gathering your things with shaky hands.

“Goodbye, Jude,” you say, your voice breaking. You expect him to stop you, to say something, anything. But he doesn’t.

---

Six months have passed. You’ve changed. You’re no longer the insecure girl who needed approval. Now, you’re a singer the world is beginning to notice. The success of your latest single, Older, has catapulted you into the spotlight, and the lyrics are a gut punch to anyone who knows how to read between the lines.

“All I needed was someone who truly saw me, someone who treated me the way I deserved. Were you ever really that person?”

The song is everywhere. Jude can’t avoid it, no matter how hard he tries. Every time he turns on the radio, he hears your voice, each word a dagger to his chest. But what’s eating him even more are your social media posts.

In one of your latest photos, you’re with Jonathan Daviss, the actor from Outer Banks. The two of you are close, his smile radiant, his hand casually placed on your waist—a proximity that seems too natural to be accidental. And the caption doesn’t help.

“A man who knows how to treat a woman. 🌹”

Jude sees the photo, and it sets his blood boiling. Jonathan.He can’t get him out of his head.

“I can’t stand it,” he mutters to Vinicius, sitting next to him during practice.

“Who?” Vinicius asks with a smirk. “Ah, you mean your ex? I saw the photo. Nice shot, don’t you think?”

Jude shoots him a glare that could kill.

---

You’re at an event, a music awards ceremony. You’re wearing an elegant black dress that hugs every curve with class and grace. Jonathan is by your side, his arm casually draped across your back. You’re there to accept an award for your song, and the entire room is watching you with admiration.

But among all the eyes on you, there’s one gaze you feel the most. Jude is there. He wasn’t invited, but someone brought him as a special guest. You notice him immediately: he looks flawless, but there’s something in his eyes that makes you feel vulnerable.

After the ceremony, as you make your way to the bar, you find him there. He’s leaning against the counter, a glass of something amber in his hand. You approach him, not because you want to, but because you feel like you have no other choice.

“Congratulations,” he says, his voice lower than you remember. “Your song... It’s powerful.”

“Thanks,” you reply coldly, trying to maintain your composure.

Jude looks at you intensely, the pain evident in his eyes. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

You smile, but it’s a bitter smile. “If you think it’s about you, maybe you should ask yourself why.”

He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “I know I messed up. I know I lost you because I was... blind, stupid. But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“This isn’t the time for those words, Jude,” you cut him off, searching for Jonathan in the crowd.

But Jude doesn’t back down. “He doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t love you like I do.”

“And how would you know?” you challenge, feeling anger rising. “Jonathan treats me like a queen. Something you never did.”

Jude stays silent for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right. But I can’t accept it. I can’t accept that it’s over between us.”

His words hit you, but you’re unsure of what you feel. All you know is that you’ve changed, and maybe, just maybe, you no longer want to be the girl who needs saving. Perhaps this time, it’s up to you to decide what you really want.

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venusjaynie · 7 months ago

Text

baby names ~ blurb

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: a cute little scenario about discussing possible baby names with your husband chris.

cw: pregnancy, a lot of dialogue

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"what about... chris junior?" your husband turns to you with a smirk.

"we've been over this. he is not having your name." you say with an exasperated eye roll, though you don't fight the smile that graces your lips.

"i know, baby, i'm just teasin'. and bernard is definitely out?" you stare at him blankly in response.

"i know you aren't even serious about that." he just laughs at you. his laughter dies down and the two of you sit in a comfortable silence, with chris slowly rubbing your bump. you're around the 5 month mark now, and you couldn't be more excited, however the discussion of a name has been long winded, and hasn't just included you and chris. "what was nick's suggestion again?"

"nick originally said jimmy, which i vetoed. i love my dad but c'mon. then he said william." chris' reaction to the name didn't show much interest.

"that's nice but he just doesn't feel like a william, y'know?" you say to chris.

"i agree. matt suggested jonathan, which i didn't really like. mom still thinks he's actually a girl 'cause she says sometimes the scans can pick things up wrong." he says while looking at you, and you hum in acknowledgement.

"maybe she's right? sometimes they are wrong. it might be worth having a few girl options just incase, right?" he nods in agreement.

"what about... christina?"

"chris!"

"kidding, kidding. i like isabella." he says seriously.

"isabella... that's pretty. i like that one. that can be an option." he smiles in satisfaction that one of his suggestions has been received well. "i really like daisy, too." chris hums thoughtfully.

"me too." he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. "hey, if we do have a boy, what about theo?" a smile graces your face.

"i like theo, but can his full name be theodore so we can call him teddy?" you ask sweetly, and chris chuckles quietly.

"sure thing, babe. teddy sturniolo. he sounds like a fuckin' badass." his seriousness makes you giggle.

the two of you fall into that comfortable silence again, and chris runs his hand up and down your thigh gently.

"hey, i'm really happy i got you pregnant."

"that's an strangely romantic sentiment, where did that come from?" you ask teasingly, to which he shrugs.

"i don't know, it's just that, i never thought i'd have kids this young 'cause i'm immature as fuck, y'know? but you make me think i can be a really good dad." your heart practically melt at his answer, until he says "and obviously you look hot as fuck with my baby in you." and your smile drops, unamused. he doesn't even redact his words as you know that he means well, and as much as he's crass and crude, he is genuinely glad that the two of you are starting a little family. you reach up to press a swift kiss to his cheek as matt enters the room.

"did you guys decide on a name yet?" he asks, walking over to the two of you.

"yeah, i think we're gonna go with bernard." you say, deadly stone-faced, and you receive a death glare in response from matt, followed by a burst of laughter from your husband.

"tell me you're kidding." he says.

"of course, matthew, we are not calling our child bernard." he breathes what can only be called a sigh of relief.

"what did you pick then?"

"as of right now, we're pretty set on theodore." you tell him, running your hand over your stomach, and matt's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise.

"theodore, huh? never heard either of you mention that one before."

"yeah, we just thought of it." chris chimes in. "y/n says we can call him teddy, and i said we can call him theo, so there's plenty of nickname potential there."

"that's really cool, guys. i can't wait to meet my nephew. or niece, according to mom." matt says with a laugh. "hey, maybe it's twins and you guys just don't know yet. y'know how sometimes they can't see it on the scan? imagine if that happened to you guys. that would be insane."

matt's words make you freeze up a little. you hadn't even thought of that possibility, and while having twins would be fun, you're nervous enough for one, never mind two.

"i never even thought of that." you say with wide eyes, and matt can clearly sense the nervousness his words brought you.

"it's probably not twins, uh, they can almost always tell. you'll be fine!" he says quickly. feeling uncomfortable in the situation he created, matt awkwardly mutters out a 'sorry' and steps out of the room.

"and, babe, even if it is twins, we're gonna be amazing parents, yeah? and you're so strong so carrying those kids is gonna be light work for you, right?" chris says comfortingly. you nod, and relax again into chris' side.

you have to admit, the thought of having twins is exciting.

"yeah, it'll be fun." you say with a small smile. "we could get them little matching-but-not-matching outfits!"

"alright, sweetheart, don't get ahead of yourself, we don't even know if we're having twins yet." chris replies with a laugh.

"i know, i know. i'm just excited. and anyways, i've got another scan in a couple of weeks, so we'll know by then." he nods in response.

"imagine two mini versions of us running around." he says, secretly ecstatic at the thought of having twins.

"daisy and theo."

"fuckin' coolest duo in boston."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

this sucks ass :)

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deliciousangelfestival · 7 months ago

Text

The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 2

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“Cassy, pardon my eldest daughter. As a mother, I admit the mistakes and the shame you've witnessed today.” Genevieve clasped her friend’s hands together, her demeanor polished yet tense.

She couldn't ruin Victoria and Bucky's engagement because of you. She had worked hard to persuade her husband to connect with the Barnes.

Juliana looked at Genevieve, noting how she was swallowing her pride—a remarkable feat for such a proud woman. She gently patted her friend's hand. “It’s alright. Every family has its own troubles.”

Genevieve's face brightened upon hearing that. She placed a hand on her chest. “Oh, what a great friend you are. I’m so glad we’re going to be in-laws.”

Victoria felt a wave of relief wash over her. Your attempt to ruin her future hadn't succeeded.

Bucky and his mother, exuding an air of sophistication and wealth, got into their Rolls-Royce Phantom. Juliana's movements were graceful, and her every gesture was a testament to their family's high status. Still silent and composed, Bucky followed her, his mind racing with thoughts of the day’s events.

In the quiet ride, Bucky's mind kept replaying the events of the day. His fingers touched his lips.

Someone had touched his face and kissed him.

He hadn’t vomited or fainted.

He would have to see the doctor tomorrow.

“Are you alright?” Juliana looked at her son, noticing how unusually quiet he seemed. He hadn't shown any reaction when she saw him get so close to you. Compared to Victoria, she could see Bucky's face turn pale.

Bucky murmured, “It's strange.”

Then he looked at his mother. “After what we saw today, do you still want to keep the engagement going?”

Juliana tilted her head and crossed her arms. “We need their money. I thought being in-laws would benefit us, but I'm starting to have second thoughts. We'll see.”

She asked, “What about you? If you don't like it, we can stop the wedding.”

Bucky hummed, his eyes looking out the window. “I don't know.”

Right now, all he needed was an answer to why he didn’t react when you kissed him.

He grabbed his phone and started typing, his fingers moving quickly over the screen. “I want you to search for someone.” Then he clicked send.

Within a minute, his phone vibrated with a message: “OK.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, his fingers lingering on his lips, his mind racing as the car smoothly glided through the city streets.

💋💋💋💋

Inside the bedroom, Bucky emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets glistening on his six-pack abs and muscular chest. His dark hair was damp, and he exuded a fresh, clean scent.

He had spent an hour in the shower, trying to wash away the sensation of Victoria’s touch.

Then he heard his phone buzz again. It was the information he had requested about your background.

He quickly put on his pants, then sat on the edge of his bed, his body still slightly wet, and started reading the message, his eyes scanning the details intently.

The story unfolded: you are the child of the first wife. After your mother's death, your father, Jonathan, brought another woman and her daughter into the house.

It turned out that when Jonathan was drunk, a woman took advantage of the situation. That woman was Genevieve, and her daughter was Victoria.

You hated your stepmother and stepsister, becoming a rebel. You caused chaos at home and were a troublemaker at school, until the day you were finally kicked out of the house.

Bucky read on until he reached the part about your occupation. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he stood up abruptly. “She's what?!”

🎒🎒🎒🎒

“RINGGGG!”

The bell's sound echoed throughout the entire building. It was supposed to signal the students to enter their classrooms. But they didn’t. They continued smoking, sitting on the floor, or sleeping.

This was a common sight at Granite Hills Reform School, where problematic, delinquent students from all over the country were gathered.

“Tuck. Tuck. Tuck.” The sound of something hitting the floor echoed in the hallway. Students who were still lingering started to head into their classrooms. The sound served as a final warning for them.

They didn’t want to have a problem with the person responsible for the noise.

“It’s time to enter the class, you lazy pricks. Why the heck are you guys still here? Are you discussing the solution for world peace?” You tapped a baseball bat on a locker door, addressing the final-year students who were still acting tough.

The students who had been acting strong before began to back away. One of them pulled a friend away from starting a fight with you. “Let's go. Didn’t you hear she fought two students who weighed like sumo wrestlers?”

“It was her? Damn. No wonder she broke her left hand.”

You watched as the last group of students left the hallway. Now it was empty.

You entered your classroom. Your students were already waiting for you, looking attentive and ready.

You sat on your chair and rested your leg on your teacher's desk.

Pointing at one student, you said, “Andre, prepare the TV.”

“TV again? When can we study?” Jimmy, one of the students, complained.

“Now you want to study? Fuck. I don't get paid enough for this,” you retorted.

“Grab your phone and look for 'To Kill a Mockingbird,'” you instructed.

“We didn't use the book?” Jimmy asked.

“What's the point? You're going to throw the book away,” you replied.

The other students agreed with your reasoning.

“Read two chapters, and I will ask you questions,” you said.

The students in your class started complaining amongst themselves, but you didn't care.

After a while, you announced, “Time's up,” and began asking questions.

You got up from your seat and walked around the class, your presence commanding attention. Then, you picked unlucky student Jimmy.

“Who is Scout Finch, and how does she introduce herself and her family in Chapter 1?” you asked.

Jimmy gulped nervously. “Scout Finch is a local shopkeeper who lives alone and has no family.”

“WRONG,” you declared bluntly.

“Miss, I know the answer,” Andre raised his hand eagerly.

“Give it to me,” you commanded.

“Scout Finch is the young narrator of the story. She introduces her father, Atticus Finch, her brother, Jem, and mentions her mother’s death,” Andre confidently answered.

You snapped your fingers, a smirk playing on your lips. “That's right. Bravo.” Then, you pulled dollar bills from your pants pocket and handed them to Andre.

“As a reward, you could skip this class, buy a coca-cola for you, and grab a coffee from the cafeteria for me,” you said.

“But… I'm diabetic,” Andre protested.

“A mineral water for you then,” you replied dismissively.

Andre rolled his eyes and left the classroom. As he headed to the cafeteria, he never imagined that the hallway would be empty and the dirty graffiti gone.

All of this has happened since you joined this school, and the crime records have also decreased significantly.

You were scary as heck, but you had made a change in this school.

As Andre returned to the class with the drinks, he saw someone who seemed out of place entering the building.

He looked the gentleman up and down. This man seemed to embody the type of person he wanted to become when he grew up.

“I'm looking for Miss Sinclair,” the man asked Andre with a deep voice.

Andre raised his eyebrows, taken aback. “My teacher?”

💋💋💋💋

Back in the classroom, you sat behind your teacher's desk, still asking questions while waiting for your coffee. You rested your right arm behind you and propped your legs up on the desk again.

Finally, Andre entered.

“Finally—" you began, but your words stopped short when you saw the person behind your student.

“Whaa—Andre, did you bring your master?” Jimmy asked, starting to laugh. “Hahaha—oh.” He realized he was the only one laughing in the class.

Andre handed you your coffee. “Here's your coffee, miss. This gentleman is looking for you.”

“Oh, you have a gigolo, miss?” Jimmy quipped.

You looked at the guest while sipping your hot coffee. “The outfit he's wearing from head to toe is worth more than your net worth, Jimmy.”

Other students murmured while Jimmy asked, “Should I become a gigolo too?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked Bucky.

“I want to talk to you,” Bucky replied.

“I don't have time,” you retorted.

“Is this how you talk after you stole a kiss from me?” Bucky's words hung in the air.

“Oohhh…,” the students murmured in surprise, their voices echoing in the classroom. Seeing their intimidating teacher talking to a man who looked prosperous, and she stole a kiss??

“RINGGGG…”

“Get all of your asses out of this room,” you commanded sternly, gesturing for the students to leave.

“Awww,” the students started complaining, reluctant to leave as they wanted to see what happened next. However, they eventually relented and filed out of the classroom, grumbling as they went. In a short moment, the classroom had become empty.

“Is this how you talk to your students?” Bucky asked, a hint of amusement in his voice, observing your interaction with the students.

“They're not students, they're devil spawn,” you replied with a wry smile, leaning back in your chair with a sense of satisfaction.

“Pfft…” Bucky turned away his face, trying his best not to laugh. Now, he realizes entirely that you're different from all the women he's ever met, especially Victoria.

“So why are you here? Is it because I kissed you without your consent?” you asked bluntly, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Ehm. Partly. And I want to talk to you about something else. Please,” he replied politely, his demeanor surprisingly calm despite the situation.

You raised your eyebrows, not expecting him to ask so politely. He didn't seem mad, even after you kissed him. You were starting to feel like Bucky was too good for your stepsister.

Author Note: I have so much fun writing this chapter 😂

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corrupte3d-mindz · 6 months ago

Text

In Your Shadow

Stalker! Jonathan Crane x F! Reader

Summary: He's a bit deranged, but he loves you in his own sick and twisted way.

Wordcount: 7.8k

Warnings:

extremely perverted! Jonathan, extremely possessive! Jonathan, sexual harassment, sexual assault, harassment, heavy stalking, stealing personal belongings, threatening, manipulating, gaslighting, belittling, degrading, kidnapping for a second, cumming in panties, jerking off, forced kissing, whining, whimpering, begging, all around subby things from Jonathan.

Jonathan’s apartment is a study in organized chaos. Papers and books are strewn across every available surface, creating a labyrinthine maze that only he understands.

The flickering light from the computer screen casts a ghostly pallor over the room, accentuating the shadows that dance along the walls. Jonathan sits at his desk, a place of both work and obsession. His hair is a disheveled mess, beads of sweat dotting his forehead and trickling down the nape of his neck. His suit, once pristinely pressed, is now rumpled; the top button of his shirt undone, and his tie hanging loosely, as if discarded mid-thought.

His fingers glide over the mouse, the soft clicks echoing in the otherwise silent room. Each photo that appears on the screen brings a new wave of emotion, a blend of longing and possessiveness that tightens his chest and quickens his breath. He leans forward, eyes narrowing as he studies each image with meticulous care. These aren't just pictures to him—they are glimpses into her life where he has painstakingly inserted himself into, moments he has captured either through his own lens or extracted from the depths of the internet. Jonathan exhales softly, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile as he reaches the more revealing photos; not really. These are the ones he treasures most, the ones that reveal her in states of vulnerability and intimacy. Whether he found them online or took them himself, each image is a testament to his unyielding obsession.

He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face, only for it to fall back into disarray moments later. His eyes, a piercing blueish green, scan over the images with a clinical yet possessive gaze. He imagines her in those moments, unaware of his presence, blissfully ignorant of the shadow that watches over her. His breathing grows heavier, more labored, as his mind conjures scenes of their intertwined fates. Jonathan’s glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, the silver frames glinting under the dim lamp light; He clicked his mouse one more time, the sound echoing in the silence. He knew what came next. He had been through these photos countless times, scrutinizing each one with the devotion of a scholar studying sacred texts. They were his Bible, each image a verse he had memorized.

There it was, his favorite photo of her. It was a candid shot taken at a coffee shop where she worked. The image was slightly blurred, capturing the movement of her hands as she passed a cup to a customer, her smile bright and genuine. Jonathan stared at the photo, his heart aching with a twisted blend of love and possessiveness. He remembered the day he took it, how he had positioned himself discreetly at the back, pretending to read a newspaper while his camera did the real work. God, her smile, he thought, his breath hitching slightly. That smile was the beacon that guided him through the darkness of his existence. He would do anything and everything for her, just to see her smile. His mind wandered back to the first time he saw her. She was a new barista at the small coffee shop he frequented near the Arkham Asylum. He had noticed her immediately—her grace, her kindness, the way she interacted with customers. It was as if a light had entered his life, one that he desperately needed.

His fingers traced the outline of her face on the screen, a reverent, almost worshipful gesture. The apartment around him was forgotten; the only reality that mattered was her image on the screen. He could almost hear her laughter, the way it would ring out softly over the hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee cups. He imagined what it would be like to be the cause of that laughter, to be the one who brought joy to her life. His obsession had started innocently enough—small, frequent visits to the coffee shop, watching her from a distance. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned to months; his fascination grew. He began to take photos, each click of the camera shutter a way to capture a piece of her to keep with him always. He knew it was wrong, knew it crossed boundaries, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was as if she had cast a spell on him, one he had no desire to break.

He leaned back in his leather chair, a sigh escaping his lips as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. It had been another grueling day at Arkham Asylum dealing with the disturbed minds that mirrored his own in many ways. The monotony of his daily routine was a necessary facade, a mask that concealed the darkness within. But now, as the evening crept in, he was on the verge of something far more exhilarating. His piercing blueish eyes flickered with anticipation as he glanced at his work bag under his desk. Thinking about how he had been waiting for that moment, meticulously planning, and now he finally had a tangible piece of her. Jonathan Crane, master of fear, had been reduced to a lovesick stalker, but he didn't care. His obsession with her was all-consuming, a fire that burned brighter with each passing day. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, but it actually was just a couple of hours before; it went a little like this.

Once he had discovered her routine, learning that she did her laundry at the same laundromat every week. She trusted the place enough to leave her clothes unattended while she went to work. It was a small window of opportunity, but Jonathan was nothing if not patient. He had bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to act. Today was the day. Her clothes had finished drying just before she had taken her lunch to come retrieve them. Jonathan had slipped into the laundromat, on his way to his apartment, blending in with the other patrons. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the dryer, his hands trembling slightly. He was always calm in the face of fear, but this was different. This was personal. He reached into the dryer, sifting through the warm, freshly cleaned clothes until his fingers brushed against something delicate. He pulled out a pair of black panties, adorned with lace trim. They were hers, a piece of her most intimate apparel. The thrill of possession surged through him, a dark, twisted satisfaction that made his pulse quicken. Jonathan slipped the panties into his coat pocket, acting nonchalant as he left the laundromat. Once he was out he moved them to his work bag. The walk back to his apartment was a blur, his mind racing with thoughts of her. She was so close, yet so unattainable. But now he had a piece of her, something tangible to hold onto. Fuck, he couldn’t even believe it; he couldn’t believe that he managed to do that.

He leaned over while in his chair, his slender fingers curling around the strap of his work bag, pulling it into his lap with a sense of purpose. However, in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered, envisioning her, the object of his relentless fixation, as the weight on his lap, a subconscious desire momentarily surfacing before he regained control. With a sharp exhale, he unzipped one of the pockets of his bag, his movements precise and deliberate. His fingers emerged, clutching a pair of black panties with delicate lace trim, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated demeanor he often exuded. He held them up, the fabric soft against his skin, his mind drifting into a realm of thoughts, some gentle and longing, others tinged with a more primal desire.

Jonathan's thoughts were a whirlwind, a mix of conflicting emotions and desires. He imagined her scent lingering on the fabric, the softness of her skin, the curve of her body. His breath hitched, the image vivid in his mind, yet unattainable in reality. As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, his gaze lingered on the panties, a symbol of his unspoken obsession. He felt a pang of guilt, a twinge of shame at the intensity of his desires. Yet, he couldn't deny the exhilaration, the rush that came with the forbidden. His fingers traced the lace trim, a ghost of a touch, his mind filled with fantasies that bordered on obsession

He carefully placed the black panties with lace trim on the desk, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric as if it were a precious treasure. Setting his bag back down on the floor, his eyes lingered on them for a moment, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. Turning his attention to the computer, closing the folder he had opened and moving his mouse to a different folder; he opened it, it was filled with photos of her in more intimate settings. They were snapshots of her daily routine, mundane yet intimate moments captured without her knowledge. He clicked through them slowly, savoring each image of her getting undressed, her naked form, and even pictures from her shower.

As he gazed at her photos, a soft sigh escaped his lips. "My beautiful baby," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. To him, she was perfection, a vision of purity and innocence that he felt compelled to protect and possess.

His piercing blueish eyes fixated on the object before him, the black panties with a delicate lace trim, a relic of his relentless obsession. As he reached out to touch them, his fingers trembled with a mixture of desire and restraint, a testament to the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

"Fuck... if only you knew what you do to me..." His voice, a low whisper, barely audible in the quietude of the room, carried the weight of his longing. Each syllable dripped with fervor, a confession uttered to the silent darkness, a futile attempt to convey the depth of his obsession.

His hand hovered over the panties, trembling with anticipation, as if drawn by an invisible force. With a hesitant touch, he traced the delicate lace, his fingertips grazing the fabric with a reverence reserved for sacred relics. The mere sight of them ignited a fire within him, stroking the flames of desire that threatened to consume him whole. The room seemed to close in around him as he struggled to contain the rising tide of arousal coursing through his veins. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each inhalation laden with the heady scent of lust and longing. With a shaky exhale, he leaned closer, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating allure of the panties before him.

His hand moved instinctively to his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle as he sought to free himself from the constraints of reality. The leather yielded under his touch, releasing him from its grasp with a soft click that echoed in the silence of the room. With trembling hands, he unbuttoned his pants, the fabric yielding to his touch with a reluctant sigh. As he slid the zipper down, the cool rush of air against his skin sent shivers down his spine, a stark reminder of the vulnerability that lay beneath his stoic facade. With each movement, he felt himself unraveling, the barriers he had erected against his desires crumbling in the face of overwhelming temptation. A sharp intake of breath escaped his lips as he freed himself from his pants, the weight of his arousal pressing against the fabric of his boxers.

Slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, Jonathan closed his eyes, lost in a world of pleasure. The intimate touch of his hand against his skin sent waves of ecstasy coursing through his body, mingling with the sharp sting of desire that burned within him. He couldn't help but let out a soft whimper, a sound that was both desperate and exhilarating in its intensity.

"H-ha..." His voice was barely a whisper, choked with emotion as he struggled to contain the overwhelming sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. In that moment, he felt more alive than he ever had before, his senses heightened to a fever pitch as he surrendered himself completely to the ecstasy of the moment. He hadn’t even started yet…

With a sense of urgency bordering on desperation, he freed himself from the confines of his clothing, exposing himself to the cool air of the room. His cock throbbed with anticipation, aching for the touch that would bring him release. With trembling hands, Jonathan wrapped his hands around his length, relishing in the sensation of his own touch. His thumb traced the length of his shaft, then the oh so sensitive slit of his that was dripping with pre-cum; this eliciting a low moan of pleasure that escaped his lips unbidden. Removing his glasses with practiced ease, Jonathan set them aside on his desk, allowing his vision to blur as he surrendered himself to the darkness that surrounded him, He closed his eyes, and occasionally opening them, but mainly he liked surrendering himself to the exquisite torment of his own desires. The only light being from his computer screen with her nude photos.

With a sense of urgency bordering on desperation, Jonathan brought his hand to his face, covering his mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle the sounds that threatened to escape. He knew he was loud when it came to this, his pleasure echoing off the walls of his apartment like a symphony of depravity. But when it came to her, the noise was deafening. With practiced ease, Jonathan's hand moved up and down his twitching shaft, each stroke driving him closer to the brink of ecstasy. He knew what he liked when he was in this position, his movements precise and calculated, fueled by a hunger that knew no bounds. And as he lost himself in the rhythm of his own pleasure, he felt a sense of liberation wash over him, freeing him from the constraints of his own guilt and shame.

"F-fuck... I love you so fuckin’ much, baby..." Jonathan murmured, it seemed quieter since he was covering his mouth, but nevertheless his voice was hoarse with desire. The words tumbled from his lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for the woman who haunted his every dream. In that moment, she was all he could think of, her image seared into his mind's eye with a clarity that bordered on obsession.

With a mixture of desire and apprehension, Jonathan reached out, his hand no longer covering his mouth; fuck he sounded so pathetic when he jerked off to her, his hand trembling slightly as it made contact with the fabric. He brought the panties to his face, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent that lingered upon them. His breath caught in his throat as he closed his eyes, lost in the intoxicating aroma. He moaned softly, the sound muffled by the fabric pressed against his mouth, a crude testament to the depths of his depravity. And in that moment, Jonathan knew only one thing: he would do whatever it took to make her his, forever and always.

His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on the black panties with delicate lace trim pressed against his mouth. The fabric muffled his moans, but the intensity of his desire was palpable. Each breath he took was filled with the intoxicating scent of the woman who occupied his every thought, driving him to the brink of madness. His hand moved with a practiced rhythm, stroking his throbbing cock with increasing fervor. The sensation of the lace against his lips sent shivers down his spine, heightening his arousal to an almost unbearable level. His movements, once slow and controlled, began to grow erratic and desperate. He could never last long when he thought of her, but his stamina was the last thing on his mind.

“A-ah~..ngh..fuckin’ hell,” Jonathan gasped, his voice a strained whisper against the fabric. His eyes fluttered shut, rolling back into his head as he felt the familiar build-up of release. His body trembled with anticipation, every muscle tense as he edged closer and closer to the brink.

With a sudden, fevered motion, Jonathan tore the panties from his face, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The cool air hit his flushed skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through his veins. He wrapped the delicate fabric around his twitching cock, his hips bucking wildly as he surrendered to the overwhelming waves of pleasure. His grip tightened, the lace digging into his flesh as he pumped faster, each stroke bringing him closer to the inevitable. His mind was a whirlwind of desire and obsession, each thought consumed by her image. He could see her in his mind’s eye, the way she moved, the way she looked at him with a mixture of fear and something unspoken. It drove him wild, pushing him further into the depths of his dark cravings.

As his movements became more frantic, Jonathan's breath hitched, his body tensing as he reached the precipice. “Fuck... I’m so close,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice rough and strained. His hips bucked erratically, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through his entire being.

The sensation of the lace against his skin was almost too much to bear, the friction heightening his arousal to a fever pitch. His hand moved with a desperate urgency, each stroke pushing him closer to the edge. He could feel the pressure building, a tight coil of heat in his core ready to snap. With a final, forceful thrust, Jonathan cried out, his voice a mix of pleasure and anguish. His body convulsed, the release hitting him like a tidal wave, washing over him with a blinding intensity. Ropes upon ropes of hot, sticky cum spilled out from his twitching cock, coating the pretty fabric of the black panties with an almost obscene abundance. The once pristine lace was now sullied, a stark contrast to its delicate beauty. His free hand's nails dug into the wood of his desk, leaving deep, angry marks as he rode out the waves of his climax. Enough of his release filled the fabric that it began to seep through, dripping slowly onto the floor below his desk in thick, viscous droplets.

"F-fuck... f-fuck..." Jonathan muttered, his voice barely more than a strained whisper. The words were laced with a raw, guttural intensity, each syllable a reflection of his spent state. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, he was lost in the afterglow, his mind adrift in a sea of hazy satisfaction. He clutched the panties tightly, the fabric now damp with his release, a tangible symbol of his unrelenting desire.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Jonathan slumped back in his chair, his body spent and trembling. His breath came in shallow gasps, his mind slowly returning to reality. The room seemed to close in around him, the shadows deepening as he lay in the aftermath of his desire. He glanced down at the panties still wrapped around his softening cock, a pang of guilt cutting through the haze of his satisfaction. The reality of his actions hit him with a cold clarity, the weight of his obsession pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. But even in the depths of his guilt, he knew he could not stop. The allure of her presence, the thought of making her his, was too powerful to resist. Jonathan’s fingers trembled as he carefully unwound the panties from his semi-soft cock, his touch almost reverent. His eyes closed, a mixture of longing and despair etched across his features.

“Why do you haunt me so?” he whispered into the silence, his voice barely audible. The question hung in the air, unanswered, a testament to his torment. He knew that his desire for her was twisted, his actions unforgivable, yet he could not bring himself to stop. The darkness within him was too deep, too consuming.

In the months that had passed since the incident with her panties, Jonathan’s obsession had only deepened, festering like an untreated wound. His thoughts, once rational and calculated, had become a chaotic jumble of desire and fixation, driven by a love so twisted that it consumed every waking moment. He was a man possessed, his mind a labyrinth of dark fantasies and delusions, each one more depraved than the last. He would sit for hours at his desk after he had just spent hours at his office; the glow of his computer screen casting eerie shadows across his gaunt features as he pored over new and old images and now videos of her, all collected from the hidden cameras he had so meticulously placed. The sight of her, even in the most mundane of moments, was enough to send a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He would watch her laugh, cry, sleep, and live her life, all while he remained an invisible presence, a ghost haunting her every move.

Jonathan's apartment had become a shrine to her, every surface covered with photographs, notes, and mementos that he had painstakingly gathered. He had memorized every detail of her face, the curve of her smile, the sound of her voice. It was an obsession that knew no bounds, a hunger that could never be sated. And as his infatuation grew, so too did his desperation.

He knew she was aware of him, she’d most definitely had found the cameras he somehow put in her apartment so many months ago. It was the way she had suddenly moved apartments, but only to unknowingly end up in the same complex as him, she didn’t know where he lived but he had his proof that she knew enough to just up and move. The discovery of the cameras had been a setback, because he wouldn’t get those back but, it all uploaded to his computer at the end of every day, so he didn’t lose anything really, but it had only fueled his determination. He had to become more careful, more cunning in his efforts to watch her, to protect her from the dangers that she might encounter from being so perfect. However it was her fault, really, for not being thorough enough in her search for his eyes, she deserved it in his eyes.

"You're mine," Jonathan would whisper to himself, his voice a low, dangerous murmur as he watched her on his screen. "You just don't know it yet."

His need for attention, for acknowledgment of his existence, had driven him to new lengths. He had begun buying her gifts, leaving them at her door or in her mailbox with meticulously crafted notes. The thrill of seeing her take them inside, even if she never opened them, was intoxicating. It was a game, a dance of shadows and secrets, and he was determined to win. Each gift was chosen with care, a testament to his knowledge of her likes and desires. Clothes, jewelry, food, and even more intimate items like sex toys found their way to her doorstep. He knew her better than anyone, better than she knew herself. It was a twisted form of courtship, a display of his devotion, his love. And yet, there was always the risk of discovery. He had to be careful, precise in his placement of new cameras. He couldn't afford another mistake. The thought of her finding out, of her rejecting him outright, was too much to bear. He needed her, craved her in a way that defied logic and reason.

He would spend hours planning his next move, his next gift, each one a symbol of his undying love. He imagined her finding the packages, her expression unreadable as she carried them inside. Did she ever wonder who they were from? Did she ever think of him, even for a moment? The thought was enough to send a thrill of excitement through him, his heart pounding in his chest.

"One day, you'll understand," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "One day, you'll see how much I love you."

But for now, he remained in the shadows, his presence a constant, unseen force in her life. He would protect her, watch over her, even if she didn't realize it. He would do anything, everything, to make her his. And as he sat at his desk, surrounded by the trappings of his obsession, Jonathan knew that he would never stop. He couldn't. She was his, in every way that mattered. And so, the little game continued, a dance of shadows and secrets, a twisted love story that only he could understand. With each passing day, his obsession grew, feeding on the darkness within him, driving him to new heights of desperation and desire. He was a man on the edge, teetering on the brink of madness, but he didn't care. As long as she was his, nothing else mattered. In the end, it was her fault. She should have been more careful. She should have seen the signs, noticed the cameras, understood the depth of his love. But she hadn't, and now she was his, whether she knew it or not. And Jonathan Crane, the man who loved her more than life itself, would do whatever it took to keep it that way. Forever.

Tonight, as she closed up the café where she worked, Jonathan knew it was the perfect time to finally confront her. Him knowing her work schedule was so helpful. He had waited long enough, his patience fraying at the edges. He watched from the shadows as she bid farewell to her coworker, her smile a beacon of light in his otherwise dark world. She locked the door behind them, turning her attention to the kitchen, methodically checking inventory and ensuring everything was in its place. Making sure that everything that needs to be locked, is locked. Jonathan's breath quickened as he moved silently into the café, lock picking is easier than most people would imagine; with his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a rush of adrenaline, a heady mix of fear and excitement. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment he would finally see her face in real time and not just through the lens of his hidden cameras. He sat down in the dimly lit corner of the cafe, his eyes fixed on the doorway through which she would soon emerge. It was the doorway that was open with no door and you could enter by being behind the counter.

She appeared, her expression serene as she finished her tasks, unaware of the danger lurking nearby. Jonathan's eyes drank in the sight of her, his breath hitching in his throat. She was even more beautiful in person, her presence intoxicating. He took a step forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise and fear.

"Who... who are you?" she stammered, her voice trembling.

Jonathan took another step closer, his gaze intense. "I think you know who I am," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I've watched you for so long, admired you from afar. You were always so close, yet so far away."

So that’s what he looked like, she thought he would look worse, but back to the task at hand there is a deranged stalker in her presence. Her eyes darted around the café, searching for an escape. He’s practically in the way of it; "Stay away from me," she warned, her voice gaining strength. "I don't want anything to do with you."

Jonathan's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "You don't understand," he said, his tone desperate. "I love you. I've always loved you. You belong to me."

"No, I don't," she shot back, her fear turning to anger. "You don't know anything about me. You're sick and twisted."

He flinched at her words, but his resolve remained unshaken. "I know everything about you," he insisted. "I've seen you at your most vulnerable, your most intimate. I know you better than anyone else. I love you…”

"That's not love," she said, shaking her head. "That's obsession. It's not the same thing." She gritted her teeth; “You look pretty smart so it’s depressing that you don’t know the difference” Attitude, he would not like that.

Jonathan's eyes darkened, his hands curling into fists. "You don't get to decide what this is," he growled. "You don't get to push me away. I've done everything for you, watched over you, protected you. And this is how you repay me?"

She stared him down, her breath slowly starting to come in shallow gasps. "No," she whispered. "I won't be a prisoner to your fuckin’ delusions."

Jonathan started walking over in her direction, his presence imposing. "You already are," he murmured, his eyes locked onto hers. "And there's no escaping it."

Her eyes flashed with defiance, her body tense with resolve. "Watch me," she said, her voice steady. What was she gonna do, scream; The fuck was that supposed to do?

For a moment, neither spoke, the silence between them a palpable force. Jonathan's mind raced, torn between his overwhelming desire to possess her and the dawning realization that his actions were driving her further away. His hands trembled at his sides, the barely contained energy threatening to spill over. He watched her every move, the subtle shift of her weight, the way her eyes darted towards the small doorway. She was looking for an escape, and he knew it was now or never. In a fluid motion that belied the severity of his intentions, Jonathan sprang into action. Despite the constraining suit, his movements were swift and precise, a testament to his unyielding determination. He darted behind the counter, his heart pounding in his chest as he made it just in time to cut off her path. With a practiced ease, he hopped over the small swinging saloon door that separated them, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Baby, I can do this all night,” he said, his voice a low, seductive drawl, tinged with a hint of madness. His breath came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he closed the distance between them. The endearment rolled off his tongue with a twisted sense of affection, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating glint in his eyes.

She stood frozen, her body tensed with the urge to flee, but he was already too close. Jonathan's presence was overwhelming, a dark, looming shadow that seemed to consume the very air around them. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between fear and defiance. She wanted to leave, to escape the web he had so meticulously woven around her, but he was in her way, a living, breathing barrier that she could not overcome.

"Don't be afraid," Jonathan murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I only want what's best for you. Can't you see that?" He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm, a touch that was both tender and possessive. His gaze softened, but the underlying intensity remained, a stark reminder of the darkness that lay beneath his calm exterior.

She flinched at his touch, but there was nowhere to go, no escape from the prison he had created. Jonathan's heart ached at her reaction, the realization that his love – was the very thing that repelled her. But he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. His obsession had taken root, a dark, twisted seed that had grown beyond his control.

"You don't have to fight me," he continued, his tone soothing yet insistent. "We can be together, just like I've always dreamed. You and me, forever." His words hung in the air, a chilling promise of a future she wanted no part of.

As he stepped closer, Jonathan's eyes roamed over her face, drinking in every detail. The way her lips parted in silent protest, the flicker of fear in her eyes, the defiant set of her jaw. She was beautiful, even in her defiance, and it only fueled his desire to possess her completely.

"Don't you see?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You belong with me. I've waited so long for this moment, planned every detail. You can't leave me now." His words were a plea, a desperate attempt to make her understand the depth of his feelings, the lengths he was willing to go to keep her by his side.

She took a step back, her back pressing against the counter, trapped between him and the unyielding surface. Jonathan's heart raced, the thrill of the chase mingling with the dread of losing her. He reached out again, his hand cupping her cheek with a gentleness that belied the madness in his eyes.

"I promise, I'll take care of you," he said, his voice filled with a twisted sincerity. "No one will ever hurt you, you'll be safe with me, always." The words were meant to comfort, but they only served to deepen the chasm between them.

Her eyes filled with tears, a silent testament to the hopelessness of her situation. Jonathan's heart clenched at the sight, a painful reminder of the cost of his obsession. But he couldn't let her go, not now, not ever.

"You don't have to cry," he murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I'll make it all better, I promise. Just give me a chance." His voice cracked with emotion, the façade of control slipping as he confronted the reality of his actions.

She shook her head, a silent refusal that cut through him like a knife. Jonathan's jaw tightened, the anger simmering beneath the surface threatening to boil over. He had done everything for her, sacrificed so much, and yet she still resisted. It was maddening, infuriating, and it only fueled his determination to make her see the truth.

"Why can't you understand?" he demanded, his voice rising in frustration. "Everything I've done, I've done for you. To protect you, to keep you safe. And I’ve provided gifts for you..Why can't you see that?" His words echoed through the empty room, a desperate plea for understanding that would never come.

She stood her ground, her eyes locked onto his with a mixture of defiance and fear. Jonathan's heart ached at the sight, torn between his love for her and the realization that his actions were driving her further away. But he couldn't stop, couldn't let her go. She was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side.

With a final, desperate plea, Jonathan stepped closer, his hand reaching out to take hers. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just give me a chance. I can make you happy, I promise. Just stay with me." His words hung in the air, a fragile hope that threatened to shatter with her next breath.

But as she looked into his eyes, Jonathan saw the truth. She would never be his, not in the way he wanted. And yet, he couldn't let her go, couldn't relinquish the hold she had on his heart. With a sense of resignation, he realized that he would do whatever it took to keep her, even if it meant losing himself in the process. In that moment, as the weight of his obsession threatened to crush him, Jonathan made a silent vow. He would protect her, keep her safe, no matter the cost. And if that meant holding her against her will, then so be it. She was his, and he would never let her go. His hand reached out, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that seemed almost out of place given the madness flickering in his eyes. He leaned in slightly and gave her a kiss on the lips, practically forcing her to kiss back with how rough it actually was compared to how he thought he was doing it; soft and calm. Yeah my ass.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you leave me,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. The words were both an apology and a vow, laced with an unspoken promise of what was to come. He let go of her face and sighed;

Before she could react, Jonathan's grip tightened, his fingers wrapping around her delicate wrists with surprising strength. He raised her arms above her head, pinning them against the cold, unforgiving wall. His body pressed against hers, trapping her in place as his knee insinuated itself between her legs, applying just enough pressure to elicit a gasp. His heart pounded with a mix of arousal and anticipation, each beat echoing the inevitable conclusion of his carefully laid plans. With his free hand, Jonathan reached into the inner pocket of his suit, extracting a small syringe. His lips curled into a smile as he brought it to his mouth, removing the cap with his teeth before spitting it onto the ground. The sound was almost insignificant, but it marked the point of no return.

“Shhh... it’s okay... just don’t move around too much,” he murmured, his voice a soothing caress. He leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin as he searched for a suitable vein in her neck. The syringe hovered for a moment, a silent promise of what was to come.

As the needle punctured her skin, Jonathan’s eyes never left her face. He watched the mixture of fear toxin and a sedative flow into her bloodstream, his expression one of clinical detachment and twisted satisfaction. He withdrew the syringe slowly, almost reverently, before slipping it back into his pocket.

“Hey, it’s okay... just go to sleep,” he cooed, his voice softening as he cupped her face once more. He gazed into her eyes, watching as they began to glaze over, her resistance waning. She looked like a ghost, her complexion pale and her movements sluggish as the concoction took hold.

Jonathan supported her weight as she slumped against him, his arms encircling her in a twisted embrace. He could feel her body relax, the tension draining away as the drugs did their work. A part of him felt a pang of regret for having to subdue her in such a manner, but his obsession with her outweighed any moral qualms.

In the dim light of his apartment, Jonathan meticulously straightened the cluttered space, each object a testament to his dark obsession. His heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and dread as he glanced over at the woman lying unconscious on his bed. The fear toxin and a sedative mixture he had administered ensured she would remain in a deep, dreamless slumber for hours yet. This gave him time to prepare, to transform his chaotic haven into something that might, at first glance, seem less threatening. His hands moved swiftly, arranging and rearranging, removing any overt signs of his fixation. He knew he had to be careful—he couldn’t afford to frighten her any more than his actions already had. The apartment was filled with photos, trinkets, and personal effects of hers that he had collected over time, but he placed them in less conspicuous places, out of her immediate line of sight.

Jonathan took a deep breath, feeling the familiar tension knotting in his chest. His thoughts were a whirl of conflicting emotions. He needed her to understand, to see beyond the fear and recognize his love. He wasn’t a monster, not in his own eyes. He was a man driven by a consuming passion, a need to protect and possess her. He turned his attention back to her, lying so peacefully despite the circumstances. Her wrist was cuffed to the headboard, a necessary precaution. The chain allowed her some movement, but escape was impossible. He had made sure of that. His gaze softened as he watched her breathe, each rise and fall of her chest drawing him in deeper.

“Knew it’d come to this, didn’t you, Jonathan?” he murmured to himself, his voice a low rasp. The accent that clung to his words was faint, a vestige of his past. “You always knew.”

He moved closer, seating himself beside her on the bed. The urge to touch her was overwhelming, but he restrained himself. Not like this. It had to be right. She had to be awake, aware, and, in time, willing. His fingers itched to trace the lines of her face, to feel the warmth of her skin, but he resisted. He wouldn’t get anything out of it if she wasn’t there with him, truly there. Turning away from the bed, Jonathan walked quietly to the bathroom. The light flickered on with a soft click, casting a warm glow across the tiled floor. He leaned against the sink, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. His sharp features softened in the gentle light, the lines of stress easing from his brow. His mind wandered briefly, contemplating the events of the day and the challenges that lay ahead. The day had been long and arduous, filled with the tension of his illicit activities and the meticulous cleaning up afterward. But now, as he moved through the familiar ritual of preparing for bed, a strange tranquility settled over him.

After shedding his clothes, Jonathan stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over his tense muscles. The steam rose around him, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and silence. He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander. Thoughts of her flitted through his consciousness, a mix of longing and satisfaction. She was here, in his apartment, subdued by the fear toxin and sedative mixture. The thrill of having her so close, so vulnerable, sent a shiver of excitement through him. Finishing his shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the sink to brush his teeth. The minty freshness of the toothpaste was a sharp contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in his mind. He looked at his reflection, his piercing blue eyes staring back at him with a mix of determination and desire. Jonathan was a man driven by his obsessions, and tonight, those obsessions were within arm’s reach.

He made his way back to his room, the soft sound of his footsteps the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. She lay on his bed, her breathing steady and deep, still under the influence of the sedative. The sight of her, so peaceful and unguarded, stirred something deep within him. He turned off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, save for the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Jonathan took off his glasses and set them on the table next to the bed, a small gesture that felt strangely intimate. He climbed into bed beside her, the sheets cool against his skin. He pulled the covers over both of them and gently maneuvered her so that she was straddling him, her body fitting perfectly against his. His arms wrapped around her back, the chain of the handcuffs clinking softly as he did so.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. It was intoxicating, a heady mix of her natural fragrance and the faint remnants of her perfume. The sensation overwhelmed him, filling him with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was what he had dreamed of, the culmination of his darkest desires.

“Fuck, this is everything I dreamed of,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against her skin. He could feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest, a rhythmic reminder of her presence.

As he lay there, holding her close, his mind raced with thoughts and emotions. He reveled in the feeling of her weight on top of him, the warmth of her body against his. There was a possessiveness to his touch, a silent declaration that she was his and his alone. Despite the restraints of the handcuffs, he felt a sense of closeness that he had never experienced before. He wondered what she would think when she woke up, how she would react to finding herself in his bed, in his embrace. There was a part of him that relished the thought of her fear, the way her eyes would widen with realization. But there was also a part of him that yearned for her acceptance, for her to understand the depth of his feelings.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered softly, as if she could hear him in her unconscious state. “I’ll take care of you.”

Jonathan’s mind wandered back to the moment he had first seen her, the instant attraction that had sparked his obsession. He had watched her from afar, studying her movements, learning her habits. It had started innocently enough, a mere curiosity. But it had quickly grown into something much more intense, a need that consumed him. Now, as he lay with her in his arms, he felt a sense of fulfillment that he had never known before. It was as if all the pieces of his life had fallen into place, and he was exactly where he was meant to be. The darkness that had always lingered at the edges of his mind seemed to recede, replaced by a profound sense of contentment.

He tightened his hold on her slightly, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He could feel her breath against his neck, a gentle reminder of her presence. The connection between them was palpable, a tangible thread that bound them together. Jonathan knew that this moment was fleeting, that the reality of their situation would come crashing down eventually. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the illusion of intimacy, to indulge in the fantasy that she was his in every sense of the word.

“I’ll protect you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “No one will ever hurt you while you’re with me.”

As the night wore on, Jonathan remained awake, content to simply hold her and listen to the sound of her breathing. There was a peace in the silence, a solace in the stillness. He had spent so much of his life in turmoil, driven by his fears and anxieties. But here, with her in his arms, he felt a sense of calm that he had never known before. The darkness outside began to give way to the soft light of dawn, casting a gentle glow over the room. Jonathan could see the faint outlines of her features in the early morning light, the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips. She looked so serene, so untouched by the horrors of the world. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, a silent promise that he would keep her safe. No matter what happened, he would always be there for her, a constant presence in her life. And as he closed his eyes, finally succumbing to the pull of sleep, he knew that he would never let her go.

Author’s Notes:

I genuinely believe he would cum in his pants if she even breathed, spoke, smiled, pointed, or barely touching him; touching him like rubbing shoulders with a stranger in an elevator type of touch.

Also he would definitely paint one of his hands in the nail polish she used. Helps submerge himself in the reality he so desperately wants to be real.

Also also, this was delayed a bit because I have this opened on my computer as well as on my phone and I saved it on one end and then it didn’t transpire on the other so I closed it out and…it just put me back pretty far.

244 notes · View notes

butterfly-lies-chase-them-away · 3 months ago

Note

hii i wanna ask if its possible you make a part 2 on behind the mask? like for example maybe how they relationship is going on or when bruce finds out??

Behind the Mask - Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader Part 2/2

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader Scarecrow x Batgirl!Reader

(Part 1)

Word Count: 8682

Warnings: fear toxin, Scarecrow x Batgirl

Summary: Imma cut to the chase (Requested) Their relationship is well, but Crane wants to be more open

A/N: Holy shit, did this take a while, my bad guys!! I had no intentions to write a part two, as I had nothing else to add to this fic, but I had many requests for a part two so...here we are, lol I don't know how good this part is but it exists now, lol Thank you so much for the people that liked this fic, I hope this wraps it up for yous, if not...my bad let's go! 💚

The rhythmic tapping on Y/n's window had become a nightly occurrence for Y/n. She turned towards the source of the sound, her heart fluttering as she caught sight of Craw and Jonathan perched on the fire escape in front of her window.

Y/n hurried to unlatch the window, "You really ought to it open," Jonathan suggested, his voice carrying a playful edge as he flashed her a smirk.

Y/n chuckled softly, her eyes dancing with amusement. "And you really ought to use the door. This fire escape is shitty and old, it’s gonna break nay day now," she quipped back, her tone laced with affection as she pulled Jonathan inside with a tug.

Jonathan's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But it adds to the aesthetic," he countered.

Y/n couldn't suppress a fond roll of her eyes as she removed Jonathan's mask, her fingers lingering on his cheek for a moment before she leaned in to capture his lips in a stolen kiss.

The moment stretched and Jonathan lips curved into a smile. As they parted, Y/n's gaze softened, her heart skipping a beat as she watched Jonathan's smile linger.

Pulling away, Y/n made her way to her desk, her movements graceful and deliberate as she grabbed a bag of seeds she had stashed away. Sprinkling them onto the surface, she watched with delight as Craw flew from Jonathan's shoulder, his wings fluttering with excitement.

Settling onto her bed, Jonathan followed suit. Laying back on the bed, Jonathan shifted his gaze to Y/n. "So, when do you plan on letting your high-flying friend know about us?" he asked.

Y/n's eyes widened in alarm, her head snapping towards him with a swift motion. "You wanna die?" she retorted.

A chuckle escaped Jonathan's lips, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Ah, so you're resorting to threats now?" he teased, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Y/n couldn't help but shove his arm in response, her touch carrying a playful edge. "You know what I mean," she countered, her tone softening with affection as she met his gaze

"Better you tell him than him finding out," Jonathan said.

Y/n's expression grew tense, her worry palpable. "Yes, but telling him means exposing you to potential danger. Who knows what he might do?" she fretted, her voice filled with concern.

Jonathan's confidence remained unwavering. "As you’ve mentioned before. It would be hypocritical for him to act out," he reasoned.

Y/n shook her head. "But we're dealing with two vastly different scenarios here. Catwoman is a petty thief, and that’s very different from your... eccentricities. You're a werido doctor, doing experiments with questionable drugs that induce terrifying hallucinations and, sometimes, even casualties," she countered, her words laden with unease.

Jonathan turned his gaze to the ceiling, deep in thought. "Hmm," he mused softly.

Y/n sighed, shifting her focus upward as well. "Besides," she continued, "it could complicate things even more, considering you don’t know his identity."

"And I’m guessing you prefer it that way," Jonathan replied.

Y/n gave him a playful pout, but before she could respond, her phone rang, cutting through the tension. With a reluctant groan, she pushed herself up and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Seeing Bruce's name on the screen, she took a deep breath and answered.

"Hey, Bruce! What's up?" she greeted, her tone deliberately light and casual to indicate that now wasn’t the best time for a serious conversation.

"Just calling to check on you," Bruce replied, his voice calm and understanding.

"I'm good, thanks. I just have someone over right now," Y/n said, glancing at Jonathan, who was watching her intently.

"Oh, is it who I think it is?" Bruce asked, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Y/n couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Yes, it is," she admitted.

"When do I get to meet this mysterious person?" Bruce asked, the question laden with unintentional irony.

The complexity of the situation weighed on Y/n as she considered her response. "Not sure," she replied, her voice careful and measured.

"I hope you won’t keep me waiting too long," Bruce said, his tone both playful and serious.

Y/n sighed inwardly, recognizing the tangled web of secrets and identities she was caught in. "I'll see what I can do," she replied, striving to keep the conversation light despite the underlying tension.

As she ended the call, Y/n looked back at Jonathan, who raised an eyebrow inquisitively. She could sense the unspoken questions between them, the delicate balance they maintained teetering on the edge of discovery and secrecy.

As Y/n put down her phone, she could feel Jonathan's eyes on her, a mixture of curiosity and concern etched across his features. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable questions.

"So, that was Bruce Wayne?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah," Y/n admitted, sinking back onto the bed beside him. "He just wanted to check in."

Jonathan smirked, a knowing glint in his eye. "And he wants to meet me, does he?"

Y/n sighed, rubbing her temples. "You know it's not that simple. He’s... protective, and if he found out about your... nightly activities, it could get messy."

Jonathan chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Messy, indeed. But you've got to admit, there's a certain thrill in walking such a fine line. Besides, he wouldn’t be as bad as your other friend."

Y/n frowned, her worry deepening. "This isn't a game, Jonathan. Bruce isn’t someone you want as an enemy. He’s...persistent. And don’t get me started on Batman"

Jonathan reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You just want to keep me safe…you’re not embarrassed of me."

Y/n was well aware of these underlying insecurities of Jonathan’s, they were hard to miss. And keeping him as a locked up secret didn’t help.

She nodded, the weight of her dual life pressing down on her shoulders. "Exactly. I don’t you getting hurt."

Jonathan's expression softened slightly, a rare vulnerability peeking through. "I’ll be careful, Y/n. For you."

She met his gaze, searching for sincerity in his dark eyes. "I hope so. Because if Bruce ever found out who you really are... I'm not sure what he’d do."

Jonathan leaned in, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Then we’ll just have to make sure he never does."

Y/n closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, her mind swirling with worry and affection. She knew the road ahead was fraught with danger and deceit, but for now, in this moment, she found solace in Jonathan’s presence.

Breaking the silence, she murmured, "We need to be smart about this. No more unnecessary risks."

Jonathan nodded, his voice a low whisper. "Aside from my obvious alter ego issues, what about me would put him off so much?" he asked curiously.

"Well, for starters, you're technically my superior at work, which complicates things," Y/n began. "And let's not forget, you're literally his age, which doesn't exactly help our case. So, we’re already off to a rocky start."

Jonathan sighed, acknowledging her points. "Yes, you make a fair point," he conceded.

"Will you stay the night?" Y/n asked, her voice soft and hopeful.

Jonathan considered her for a moment before a slow smile spread across his face. "I don't see why not," he replied, his tone warm and reassuring.

Y/n felt a wave of relief wash over her as Jonathan settled more comfortably on the bed beside her. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, silvery glow over the room. She reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the contours of his face, memorizing every detail.

"You know," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "despite everything, I do feel safe with you."

Jonathan's expression softened, and he took her hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm. "And I with you," he murmured.

They lay there in silence for a while, wrapped in each other's presence, the world outside their little bubble momentarily forgotten. The unspoken promise of mutual protection and understanding hung in the air, a fragile but resilient bond between them.

Waking up was easier than usual, especially with the enticing aroma of breakfast wafting through the air. Y/n stretched and climbed out of bed. Craw was perched on the desk, still asleep. Below the bird lay Jonathan's mask, resting limply on the surface. Y/n followed the delicious scent to the kitchen and there, she found Jonathan at the stove, and she felt a surge of gratitude that he hadn't left as she had half-expected.

"Morning," Y/n greeted, a smile spreading across her face.

"Good morning," Jonathan replied, turning to plate some food for the two of them.

He set the two plates on the small dining table, and they both took a seat. "Thank you," Y/n said softly, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

As they began to eat, Craw flew in from her room, landing on the table in front of them. Y/n broke off a piece of her breakfast and offered it to Craw, who eagerly accepted the treat.

"You don't have work?" Y/n asked between bites.

"I do, but I have some time," Jonathan responded, a small smile playing on his lips.

They ate in comfortable silence, the morning light filtering through the windows casting a warm glow over the scene.

"You know," she said, her tone playful, "you’re going to spoil me if you keep making breakfast like this."

Jonathan chuckled, stacking the plates. "Then I guess I'll have to make it a habit."

Finishing her last bite, Y/n leaned back in her chair, her eyes studying Jonathan. "I could get used to this," she admitted softly.

Jonathan looked up from his plate, his gaze meeting hers with a tenderness that was rare for him. "So could I," he replied.

Y/n squeezed his hand, feeling a swell of emotion.

Jonathan looked at his watch. "I should probably get ready for work."

Reluctantly, Y/n released his hand, watching as he stood up and began clearing the table. As he carried the dishes to the sink, Y/n stood and followed him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

They stood like that for a moment, savoring the closeness before Jonathan gently turned in her embrace, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Y/n giggled and released him from her hold, “I’ll do the dishes.” she siad.

Jonathan walked off to her bedroom. As Y/n cleaned the dishes, she heard his voice call out. "Do you know where my mask is?"

"It should be on the desk. I saw it before," Y/n replied, rinsing a plate.

"Craw must have moved it," Jonathan said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Do you really need it today?" Y/n asked, pausing her task.

The question, though simple, carried significant weight. She didn’t want him to wear his Scarecrow mask, knowing it would mean he was engaging in dangerous activities that could put him at risk with Batman.

Jonathan appeared in the doorway, contemplating her words. "I suppose not," he said, moving toward her with a softened expression. "I'll see you tonight?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

"Of course," Y/n replied, looking up at him with a reassuring smile.

With a final kiss, Jonathan headed towards the door, grabbing his coat. "Stay safe," he said, a note of concern in his voice.

"You too," Y/n responded, watching as he left, the door clicking softly behind him.

Once he was gone, Y/n turned her attention back to Craw, who was still perched on the table. "You not following him?" she asked, offering the bird another morsel of food.

Craw pecked at the treat, his feathers ruffling contentedly. “Guess you’re with me then.” Y/n couldn't help but smile.

After finishing the dishes, Y/n dried her hands and made her way to the bedroom, her thoughts already shifting to the upcoming visit to the Batcave.Bruce had called her last night, and she assumed he'd want to see her today. She knew she needed to be prepared for whatever Bruce had in store for her. He was always easy on her, but sometimes, he was a lot to deal with.

Entering the bedroom, she moved to her closet and grabbed clothes to change into. She laid them out on the bed and then headed to the bathroom.

It was easy enough to get to Wayne Manor, where she was greeted at the door by Alfred. “Good morning, Miss L/n,” Alfred said with a warm smile.

“Morning, Alfred,” Y/n replied, returning his smile as she stepped into the grand foyer.

“Is Bruce home?” Y/n asked.

“He left just over an hour ago. He should be back soon. I’m sure he was expecting you. Would you like something to drink while you wait?” Alfred offered.

“That would be nice, thank you. Does Bruce have any fizzy drinks, or does he only stock protein shakes and expensive booze?” Y/n joked.

“Master Wayne does have a rather... focused selection, but I assure you, Miss L/n, we do keep a few civilised options for guests. Perhaps a sparkling water with a twist of lemon?”

Y/n chuckled softly. "Sounds good to me. I'll be down in the Batcave," she said.

Making her way down through the hidden bookshelf entrance, Y/n wasn’t too sure what she was gonna do. There were no immediate threats she was aware of, and Bruce hadn’t assigned her any specific research tasks, so she decided to indulge in a bit of fun.

She settled into the chair at the Batcomputer and typed in "Scarecrow," smirking as she did. She wanted to see what Bruce had on him and if there were any scandals she could teasingly bring up to Jonathan tonight.

As large images of Scarecrow filled the screen, Y/n smiled, engrossed in the data. She barely noticed Alfred entering the cave.

“With that smile on your face, I would have assumed you were looking at your boyfriend,” Alfred’s witty remark echoed through the cavernous space.

“Oh, but we would make such a cute couple,” Y/n joked back, grinning at Alfred.

"From what I’ve heard from Master Wayne, I’m surprised you’re not already,” Alfred said, setting down a tray with sparkling water beside her.

Y/n laughed. "Because Bruce would totally approve of him!"

“With the cat he’s running around with, he ought to be more lenient,” Alfred quipped.

"See, that's why you're my favorite butler," Y/n smiled, leaning back in the chair.

“That would imply you know other butlers,” Alfred replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, you’re my one and only,” Y/n said with a grin.

Just then, a notification popped up on the Batcomputer, indicating a presence at the front door. Clicking onto the camera feed, Y/n saw Bruce arriving.

“I suppose I should answer that,” Alfred said, turning to head upstairs to greet Bruce.

While waiting in the Batcave, Y/n watched as Bruce entered. “Morning, Bruce,” she greeted him.

“It’s 2 PM,” Bruce corrected, glancing at the Batcomputer's clock.

Y/n snorted, checking the time herself. "So it is."

"You called me yesterday?" she asked, turning back to him.

“I was calling to tell you there was a Scarecrow sighting last night. Thought you might be interested,” Bruce informed her.

“Really? Damn,” Y/n said, surprised.

“Too bad you were busy with your friend,” Bruce teased, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

Y/n rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a grin. "You just love to rub it in, don’t you?"

"I don’t know why I don’t get to meet him," Bruce said, crossing his arms, his tone somewhere between curious and irritated.

"Because you’d be weird about it," Y/n shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Bruce narrowed his eyes slightly. "Weird? I’m not weird. I just want to know who’s been spending so much time with you. Making sure he’s...trustworthy."

Y/n rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Exactly. That's what I mean by weird. You’d give him the whole ‘protective’ speech, probably stalked him. Plus, you two aren't exactly the same type of...career men."

Bruce huffed, clearly unconvinced. "It’s my job to stalk."

“And you'd probably scare him off," Y/n added, shaking her head with amusement. "You’d interrogate him like he’s some criminal mastermind."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "And is he?"

Y/n hesitated for a split second before shrugging, her grin widening. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Bruce’s expression softened, though his curiosity remained. "I just don’t want you getting hurt. That's all."

Y/n smiled at the sincerity behind his words. "I know, Bruce. But trust me, I’ve got this."

Bruce eyed her for a moment longer, his sharp gaze searching her face for any cracks in her confidence. When he didn’t find any, he finally sighed, his arms dropping to his sides. "Alright, I’ll back off…for now."

Y/n chuckled softly, pushing herself off the Batcomputer and stretching her arms above her head. "Appreciated. Besides, I think he'd be more scared of you than you’d be of him."

Bruce smirked, clearly amused by the idea. "If he's smart, he should be."

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, but before she could respond, the Batcomputer beeped to life, pulling both their attention to the screen. The glowing red alert flashed in sync with a detailed map of Gotham’s city grid.

"What now?" Y/n muttered, leaning closer to get a better look.

Bruce’s expression instantly hardened, the switch from casual conversation to business happening within seconds. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up more data.

"Another Scarecrow sighting," he said, voice low and focused. The map zoomed in on a section of the Narrows, where several alarms had been triggered in what looked like an abandoned factory. "This could be serious."

Y/n's stomach flipped at the mention, her mind immediately jumping to Jonathan. She tried to keep her cool, but the worry crept in before she could stop it. "You're sure it’s him?" she asked, her voice steady despite the growing unease.

Bruce glanced at her, noting the change in her tone, but didn't comment. "The chemicals found at the scene match his previous attacks. It's a safe assumption."

Y/n swallowed hard, her thoughts racing. Jonathan had said he wasn’t planning anything for today...but if this sighting was real, she had no idea what he was up to.

"I’ll handle this," Bruce said, grabbing his cowl from the side. "You stay here. I don’t want you getting mixed up in it."

Y/n clenched her fists, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral. "I can help, Bruce."

"Not this time," he said firmly, already moving toward the Batmobile.

Y/n hesitated, torn between her loyalty to Bruce and her concern for Jonathan. "Just...be careful, okay?" she called after him.

Bruce paused at the Batmobile’s door, glancing back at her. "Always," he said, slipping into the driver’s seat and speeding off into the cave’s tunnel.

As the roar of the Batmobile faded, Y/n stood there for a moment, her mind swirling with what to do next. She could wait for Bruce to handle it like he always did...or she could find out for herself what Jonathan was really up to.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n made up her mind. She wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines this time.

Y/n snatched her phone off the desk, her heart pounding in her chest. Her hands shook slightly as she scrolled to Jonathan's contact and hit call. She wasn’t even sure why she was so furious, after all, she hadn’t explicitly told him to quit his villainous habits, but she thought he’d at least try. That hope had been dashed with Bruce’s news.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. She didn’t expect him to pick up. In fact, she was already mentally preparing for the voicemail beep. But then, to her surprise, his calm voice came through the line.

"Hello?"

Y/n blinked, caught off guard. "What the fuck are you doing?"

There was a pause, followed by a confused, “What?"

"Don't ‘what’ me, Jonathan," Y/n snapped, pacing now. "Bruce just told me there’s a Scarecrow sighting in the Narrows. Your gas was spotted. What the fuck, Jonathan?!"

Jonathan let out an exasperated sigh. “...I’m at work. Like, real work. At Arkham.”

Y/n stopped pacing, furrowing her brow. "You’re...at Arkham?" She was still furious, but confusion was starting to take over. "But your gas-"

"Is in the Narrows, yeah, I know…" he cut her off, his tone darkening. "It’s Poison Ivy."

"Poison Ivy?" Y/n repeated, the confusion on her face deepening.

"Yeah, we made a deal a while back," Jonathan admitted, sounding less than pleased. "I gave her some of my chemical mixes in exchange for some of her plant matter. She must be using it now."

Y/n ran a hand through her hair, feeling a mix of frustration and relief. "So you're not...?" She trailed off, not quite knowing how to finish that sentence. She had been ready to go off on him, but now…

"No, I’m not running around the Narrows today," Jonathan muttered, clearly irritated by the whole situation. "And you think I’d be that sloppy if I were?"

Y/n exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. "God, Jonathan, you could’ve warned me about the deal."

"I didn’t think she'd use it, honestly," he replied, his voice edged with frustration. "She’s impulsive when it comes to her little vendettas."

Y/n felt the anger fading, though she was still annoyed. "You’re lucky Bruce doesn’t know it’s Ivy yet."

Jonathan snorted. "Well, let’s keep it that way, shall we?"

"Yeah," she muttered. There was a beat of silence on the line before she sighed. "You better not be lying."

“I’m not," Jonathan replied, his voice softening a little. "Look, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m trying, Y/n. I really am."

She bit her lip, feeling a mixture of emotions. "Okay. Just...don’t make me regret trusting you."

“I won’t,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice made her chest tighten.

Y/n nodded to herself, even though he couldn’t see it. “Fine. I’ll deal with Bruce. You deal with Ivy.”

“Easier said than done,” Jonathan muttered.

She huffed. "Tell me about it."

After hanging up, Y/n tossed her phone onto the Batcomputer desk, running a hand through her hair. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the frustration still simmering beneath the surface. It was hard to stay mad at Jonathan when it turned out he wasn’t the one running around as Scarecrow today. But it didn’t make things any easier. But if Bruce found out Ivy was using his gas, it might blow some smoke off of Jonathan.

Y/n sank into the chair in front of the Batcomputer, her fingers drumming anxiously against the desk. Bruce had already left for the Narrows, but now she had new information, information that possibly helped the situation.

She reached for her phone and quickly dialed Bruce’s number. It didn’t take long for him to pick up.

“What is it?” Bruce’s gruff voice came through the line, filled with urgency.

Y/n exhaled sharply. “I know it’s Ivy.”

There was a pause on the other end before Bruce spoke again. “And how did you get this infomation?”

Y/n hesitated, her mind flashing back to her not-so-distant past. “Let’s just say Scarecrow gave me some insight.” Her tone was sharp and cautious.

There was another brief silence. Then Bruce’s voice, lower and more guarded, came back. “When?”

“When he reversed his drug effects on me. I found out some things during that lovely little vacation, like how he and Ivy have this deal. Something about trading toxins, he gave her some of his gas formulas.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Bruce’s question wasn’t accusing, but the tension in his voice made it clear he wasn’t pleased.

“I didn’t think it would come up again,” Y/n said defensively, her fingers tightening around the phone. She hated lying to Bruce. “And…well, I didn’t exactly want to give you more reasons to go after Scarecrow. He did save me..”

Bruce’s sigh echoed through the phone. “You know this makes things more complicated.”

“I know,” Y/n muttered. “But Scarecrow wasn’t lying. He didn’t know Ivy was planning to use it, and now that she is, we’ve got a mess on our hands.”

There was the sound of movement on Bruce’s end, probably him moving through the dark streets of Gotham. “Stay on the Batcomputer. I’m close to the Narrows, but I need more intel on Ivy’s last known location. And we need to talk when I get back.”

“Got it,” Y/n responded, already pulling up files and maps, scanning through recent surveillance. “But Bruce…be careful. Ivy’s unpredictable, especially when she’s got a new toy.”

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was firm. “I know.”

Y/n stayed glued to the screen, her heart pounding in her chest as she monitored Bruce’s position and scoured the data for any trace of Ivy. It was hard not to think about the delicate line she was walking, caught between the man she loved like a father figure and the villain who had once been her captor.

As the Batcomputer beeped with a new set of coordinates, Y/n’s eyes widened. “Bruce, I’ve got her. She’s holed up in one of the old greenhouses just north of the Narrows.”

“Send me the location,” Bruce replied, his tone all business.

Y/n tapped furiously on the keyboard, sending the details to his encrypted communicator. “I’ll come,”

“I don’t need backup,” Bruce replied.

Y/n smirked despite the tension. “Of course you don’t. Just be safe.”

The line went dead, and Y/n clenched her jaw, staring at the Batcomputer. She knew Bruce’s directive was clear, stay out of it. But sitting back and waiting wasn’t her style. Bruce wasn’t immune to Jonathan’s gas like she was, he was vulnerable, and knowing Ivy, she would have made the toxin much worse.

No. She wasn’t just going to sit there.

Without another thought, Y/n pushed back from the desk and made her way to the suit vault. She quickly donned her Batgirl outfit, every movement precise and practiced. The familiar weight of the cowl settled on her head, the cape brushing against her shoulders. A sense of purpose surged through her veins.

Screw Bruce’s order. She wasn’t letting him face this alone.

In record time, Y/n made her way to the Batmotorcycle. The engine roared to life beneath her, the vibrations tingling through her fingers as she gripped the handlebars. The chill Gotham air hit her full force as she sped out of the Batcave and onto the streets.

Her heart raced, not just from the speed but from the anticipation. Ivy was unpredictable, and if she was mixing her plants with Scarecrow’s fear toxins, there was no telling how bad this could get. Bruce might be Batman, but even he couldn’t always do it alone. Not this time.

As the city blurred past her, Y/n’s mind focused on the coordinates she had sent Bruce earlier, the greenhouse north of the Narrows. If Ivy had set up there, then whatever she had planned would likely already be in motion.

She tightened her grip and accelerated. She wasn’t just backup. She was part of the team, and Bruce would have to deal with that when she got there.

Y/n weaved through the dark streets of Gotham, the distant sound of sirens blending into the night as her Batcycle roared toward the Narrows. The coordinates she had sent Bruce earlier were burned into her memory, guiding her through the labyrinth of alleys and side streets with pinpoint accuracy. The further she rode, the denser the buildings became, their looming shadows creating an eerie silence over the area.

When she finally reached the edge of the Narrows, the glowing greenhouse structure came into view. It was tucked behind a row of dilapidated buildings, just as she had suspected. Ivy was hiding in plain sight, and her mix of flora and Scarecrow’s fear toxins would be deadly if released.

Y/n slowed her bike as she approached, parking it behind a crumbling wall to keep it hidden. She surveyed the scene from a distance, her breath steady as she slipped off her helmet and carefully crouched down to get a better view.

A thin, green mist hung in the air, barely noticeable, but enough to set off alarms in her mind. The plants surrounding the greenhouse seemed to writhe unnaturally, their movements synchronized, as if they were waiting for Ivy’s command. Y/n gritted her teeth. She had to get in there before this escalated any further.

Suddenly, the low hum of a Batmobile engine caught her attention. Bruce was already here. She had no idea if he had spotted her yet, but there wasn’t time to worry about that now. She tapped into her comms.

“I’m here,” Y/n whispered into her earpiece, watching the shadows of the greenhouse. “Tell me you have a plan.”

A short pause followed before Bruce’s voice crackled through. “You weren’t supposed to come, Y/n.”

“I’m aware,” she shot back quietly. “But you’ll thank me later. What’s the move?”

Another brief silence before Bruce responded, his tone edged with reluctant acceptance. “Ivy’s inside. She’s preparing to release the toxins. I need you to disable the generators behind the greenhouse. If we cut the power, we’ll stop the spread before it gets worse.”

Y/n nodded to herself, scanning the area for an entry point. “Got it. I’m on it.”

Sticking to the shadows, she slipped around the greenhouse, staying low and silent. The air smelled heavy, rich with the scent of damp earth and something sickly sweet—probably the beginning traces of Ivy’s toxin. She had to move fast.

Reaching the back of the greenhouse, Y/n spotted the generators Bruce had mentioned. Thick vines coiled around them, pulsing faintly as if feeding off the energy. She pulled out a pair of batarangs, slicing through the foliage with careful precision.

Just as she was about to sever the last vine, a voice rang out behind her, smooth and melodic. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, darling.”

Y/n froze, her blood running cold. She turned slowly, and there stood Poison Ivy, her red hair gleaming under the moonlight, eyes glowing with a dangerous, otherworldly hue. She smiled, a slow, wicked smile.

“Wondering if you were gonna show up,” Ivy purred, taking a step forward.

Y/n tightened her grip on the batarangs, her heart pounding but her face steady. “What’s your deal here, Ivy? This isn’t your usual style.”

Ivy’s smile widened, her fingers trailing through the air as the plants around them quivered in response. “Oh, you’d be surprised. Gotham needs cleansing. And with a little help from Scarecrow’s toxins, I’ll make sure it happens.”

Before Y/n could react, the vines whipped out, wrapping around her wrist and pulling her off balance. She stumbled, but quickly regained her footing, yanking her arm free with a sharp tug. Ivy laughed softly, the sound echoing through the garden.

But Y/n wasn’t backing down. "You’re not cleansing anything..”

With a quick movement, she hurled the batarangs at the remaining vines, slicing through them cleanly. The generators sputtered, their lights flickering before the power shut off completely. The greenhouse dimmed as the machinery inside ground to a halt.

Ivy’s smile vanished, replaced with a cold, calculating glare. She growled, raising her hands as the plants around them surged to life.

Just as the vines began to close in, Y/n heard a low groan from across the greenhouse. Her eyes darted to the source, and her heart dropped. There, amidst the writhing green tendrils, Batman was bound, arms and legs ensnared by thick vines, his body slumped against them. His cape was torn, his breathing labored, and his face was pale. Ivy had already hit him with a dose of her toxin, enough to weaken even Batman.

Ivy’s laughter echoed through the greenhouse as she stepped into view, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh, look at him,” she cooed mockingly. “The mighty Dark Knight, felled by a little plant. Isn’t he beautiful when he’s helpless?”

Y/n’s blood boiled, but she kept her face neutral, watching every move Ivy made. Her heart raced. She had to free Bruce before it was too late. But Ivy wasn’t finished yet.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you, little Bat?” Ivy sneered, her gaze now fixed on Y/n. “Disabling my power? Stopping my plan?” She stepped forward, cradling a vial of her signature toxin, swirling with an ominous green mist. “Well, let's see how clever you are after a dose of this.”

Before Y/n could react, Ivy flung the vial at her feet, shattering it with a sharp crack. The toxic gas billowed out, curling around Y/n in a cloud of green haze. Ivy grinned wickedly, certain she had won.

But something was wrong. Y/n stood there, her expression unchanging as the gas swirled around her. No coughing, no dizziness, nothing. Ivy’s smile faltered.

Y/n scoffed. “That’s not going to work on me, Ivy.”

Ivy blinked in disbelief. “What…?” she breathed, watching in shock as Y/n stepped forward, completely unaffected by the gas that should’ve incapacitated her.

“You can thank Scarecrow for that,” Y/n said, her voice edged with confidence.

Ivy’s face twisted in fury. “That traitor,” she spat, raising her hands to command the vines. But Y/n was faster.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Y/n hurled a batarang through the air, slicing cleanly through the vines that held Bruce captive. He slumped to the ground with a grunt, but he was free.

“Get her!” Ivy screamed, and the plants surged toward Y/n, but she was ready. She dodged and weaved between the tendrils, her agility unmatched as she closed the distance between her and Ivy.

Before Ivy could react, Y/n landed a solid punch to her gut, knocking the wind out of her. The plants faltered, their connection to Ivy weakening as she stumbled back.

Y/n's grip tightened on Ivy's collar, her breath heavy with adrenaline. "Give it up, Ivy," she hissed. But Ivy’s smirk only widened, eyes glinting with malicious intent.

"You really think you can threaten me?" Ivy scoffed, and with a wave of her hand, the vines surged to life once more. This time, Y/n wasn’t fast enough. Thick, thorny tendrils wrapped around her wrists and ankles, yanking her off her feet and slamming her into the ground.

She winced, pain shooting through her body as she struggled against the vines. Ivy stood over her, victorious, her emerald eyes glowing with satisfaction.

"Poor little Bat," Ivy sneered, crouching down to Y/n’s level. "You really thought you could take me on your own? Without your precious Batman to save you?"

Y/n gritted her teeth, yanking at the vines, but it was no use. They only tightened around her limbs, cutting into her skin. She was stuck, helpless as Ivy reached for another vial of her toxin, twirling it between her fingers.

"This will be much more fun," Ivy purred.

Y/n's heart raced. She had never been this close to defeat. Her mind raced for a way out, but the vines held her too tight. Batman was still too out of it to help.

Just as Ivy raised the vial to unleash its deadly contents, the sound of footsteps echoed through the greenhouse.

Ivy froze, turning her head slightly. Before she could react, a cloud of smoke enveloped her. Y/n’s eyes widened as Ivy gasped, although it had no effect on the pair, it still clouded the room in a thick smog.

Out of the smoke stepped the Scarecrow, his form looming ominously. "Ivy," he drawled, his voice distorted and menacing, "did you forget our little agreement? No playing with my things."

Ivy’s expression morphed from anger to confusion as she saw Jonathan approaching. The smoke began to clear, and she got a better view, but before she could fully process the situation, a dark figure emerged from the shadows behind her.

Batman, clad in his black armor, lunged forward with a swift precision that took Ivy by surprise. He had been lurking just out of sight, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. With a powerful sweep, he knocked Ivy off her feet, sending her crashing to the ground.

Ivy glared up at him, her confusion shifting back to fury as she scrambled to regain her footing. But she was no match for Batman’s physical strength. Jonathan must have injected him with an antidote before he entered, and now Bruce was fully alert, his abilities restored.

Bruce moved with lethal efficiency, closing the distance between him and Ivy in a heartbeat. With a single, powerful punch, he connected with her jaw, sending her sprawling to the ground. The force of the blow left Ivy dazed, and she struggled to regain her bearings.

Without missing a beat, Batman swiftly produced a set of restraints from his utility belt. He moved in to secure Ivy, tying her up with expert precision before she could fully recover. Ivy glared up at him as he tightened the knot, her defiance still flickering in her eyes, but she was completely at his mercy now.

Scarecrow strode over to Y/n, his sharp gaze locked onto hers as he effortlessly sliced through the vines with a concealed blade, freeing her from Ivy’s grasp. He crouched beside her, his face mere inches from hers.

"You really shouldn’t be here," he said softly, almost teasingly, though there was an underlying concern in his tone. "You promised me you’d stay out of trouble."

Y/n panted, still reeling from the fight. "Yeah, well...so did you," she muttered, rubbing her sore wrists.

Jonathan stood, offering her a hand. She hesitated for only a second before taking it, allowing him to help her to her feet.

"I thought you weren’t the rescuing type," Y/n quipped, her voice shaky but defiant.

Jonathan tilted his head, his mask concealing his expression, though she could almost feel the smirk behind it. "I’m not. But it seems you’re always the exception."

Before Y/n could respond, a deep voice suddenly broke through the tension of the moment. “Am I interrupting something?”

Y/n turned to see Bruce emerging from the shadows, his imposing figure silhouetted against the dim light of the greenhouse. She felt a rush of relief mixed with anxiety as he approached, his gaze scanning the chaotic scene.

“Uhh,” Y/n barely replied.

“Scarecrow.” Batman began to step closer, his cape billowing slightly with the movement, but Y/n quickly stepped forward, shielding Jonathan from Bruce’s intense scrutiny.

“Wait! Batman, he helped us...” Y/n said, casting a fleeting glance at Jonathan, who stood beside her, calm and composed amidst the chaos. “He came just in time.”

Batman’s expression remained unyielding, a hardened mask that betrayed nothing but the weight of his concern. Frustration flickered across his features as he assessed the aftermath of the battle. “You should never have come. I told you to stay put.”

Y/n felt her heart race at his reprimand, but she couldn’t let it go unchallenged. “I know, and I’m sorry, but we did it!”

Bruce's gaze shifted back to Jonathan, his voice low and demanding. “Care to explain the guest?”

Y/n struggled to articulate the whirlwind of events that had led to this moment, especially with Ivy still unconscious on the floor. “Can we talk about this later?” she said, urgency creeping into her voice.

“Not if you want him out of Arkham,” Batman replied, his tone brokering no argument.

Y/n let out a dry chuckle, the tension almost absurd. “Haha, funny you say that…”

Before she could gather her thoughts, Jonathan stepped forward, his demeanor unexpectedly calm and measured. “I am more than willing to discuss this with you elsewhere,” he said, his voice smooth yet authoritative.

This candid offer took Y/n by surprise, she hadn’t expected him to be so amenable, especially given the circumstances. Her eyes darted between Jonathan and Batman, searching for signs of tension or underlying animosity. “Scarecrow, are you sure?” she asked, hesitating as the implications of his statement settled in.

“I don’t want to cause more trouble than necessary,” he replied, his mask obscuring any deeper emotion. “But I think it’s vital we have a proper conversation about what happened tonight.”

Batman narrowed his eyes, still assessing Jonathan with a blend of skepticism and wariness. “I’m not so sure I can trust you just yet,” he said, his voice steady. “Your methods are... unconventional.”

“True, but tonight, I acted in your favor,” Jonathan replied, meeting Bruce's gaze with unwavering confidence. “Besides, you don’t want to waste this opportunity to learn more about Ivy’s plans and the potential threat they pose.”

Y/n felt the weight of the moment. She knew that trusting Jonathan came with risks, but he had also proven himself when it mattered most. “Batman, he’s right,” she added, hoping to bridge the gap.

Batman considered her words, the tension in the air palpable. Finally, he nodded slowly, the hardened expression softening ever so slightly. “Fine,” he said. “But this is not a free pass, Scarecrow. I’ll be watching you closely.”

Jonathan inclined his head. “Understood. Shall we?” He replied, his tone light, but there was an unmistakable edge to his words.

Just then, the wailing of sirens echoed through the night, cutting through the remnants of chaos like a knife. The sound sent a jolt through Y/n. “We need to move,” she urged, glancing back toward the entrance of the greenhouse where Ivy lay incapacitated.

Without waiting for a response, the three of them rushed out of the building, the scent of damp earth and foliage mingling with the sharp tang of adrenaline in the air. They quickly scanned their surroundings, seeking a more suitable location to discuss their precarious situation.

Batman moved toward a nearby alley, the shadows deep and inviting. They ducked into the narrow passage, the sound of the sirens fading into the distance as they found a moment of respite.

Y/n leaned against the cold brick wall, her heart still racing from the encounter. “We can’t stay here for long,” she said, glancing at both men.

“Agreed,” Batman said, his voice steady as he took a position near the entrance of the alley, keeping a watchful eye on the street. “But I’m more focused on the criminal in front of me right now.”

Y/n glanced at Jonathan, who remained calm and collected, his mask shadowing his expression. “I did my best” she began, her voice steadying as she recounted the events leading up to Ivy’s defeat. “I tried to stop her, but she caught me in the process. He showed up just in time to help.”

“How did he even know what was going on?” Batman asked, standing tall and imposing as he glared at Jonathan.

“Let’s not forget that I saved your life. If it weren’t for my anti-toxin, you’d still be on the floor,” Scarecrow retorted, his voice laced with a mix of arrogance and confidence.

Y/n forced a chuckle, though there was no humor in it. The tension was palpable as she glanced at Batman’s sharp eyes, her heart racing. “I-I told him…”

“And why did he come?” Batman demanded, his gaze unwavering, dissecting every nuance of Jonathan’s expression.

“I had my reasons,” Jonathan replied, his tone turning serious.

“And it’s those reasons I’d like to understand,” Batman pressed, his voice low and commanding.

Y/n sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle in her chest. “He came for me, Batman. You already know that.”

“But I want to hear it from him,” Batman insisted, not breaking eye contact.

Jonathan remained unfazed. “I came because she called for me. She thought it was my attack downtown, and I knew she would rush to confront it. I didn’t want her getting hurt. She’s good at what she does, but she doesn’t always think.”

“Hey!” Y/n shot back, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“And you knew I’d be there,” Batman interjected, his tone incredulous.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t you be?” Jonathan replied smoothly. “It was you who took my mask that day, wasn’t it?”

Batman reached behind him and pulled out a piece of fabric, the unmistakable outline of Jonathan’s mask. “I’ve known for a while,” he admitted, his voice steady.

Y/n’s brows shot up in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me? And you said nothing?”

“I was waiting for you to tell me,” Batman responded, his tone unyielding.

Y/n crossed her arms, muttering under her breath, “So not cool.”

Jonathan smirked under his mask, eyeing Batman. “So, what are you going to do to me, Batman? Lock me up?”

Batman tossed the mask toward Jonathan with a swift motion. “Not tonight, Crane.”

Jonathan caught the mask effortlessly and tucked it into his pocket, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. Batman continued, his voice low and steady, “I’m guessing you know who I am as well?”

“I have an idea…” Jonathan replied.

The tension between Batman and Jonathan hung thick in the air, both men staring each other down in a silent standoff. Y/n felt the weight of their gaze as she stood between them, unsure of what to say next.

Y/n shifted nervously between the two, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Well…” she started, trying to defuse the tension in the air.

Before she could say anymore, Batman’s voice broke the silence. “This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, Crane. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

Jonathan chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from the great Dark Knight.”

Y/n shifted her weight, glancing nervously between the two. “Cool, let’s drop it then, okay?” she said, forcing a nervous laugh.

Batman’s stern gaze flicked to her. “You’re treading dangerous ground, Y/n. Associating with him,” he nodded toward Jonathan “is a mistake. He can’t be trusted.”

Jonathan’s eyes darkened, his voice cold. “Trust is a matter of perspective, Batman. And right now, it seems she trusts me a great amount.”

Y/n felt her chest tighten. “You’re one to talk, Batman,” she said quickly, trying to bridge the widening gap between them. “The entire city knows about yours at Cat Women’s fling..”

“They’re two very different criminals,” Batman asked, his voice sharp, causing Y/n to groan. “Maybe he’s just playing a longer game, using you as a pawn.”

Jonathan stepped closer, his voice calm but edged with warning. “If I were playing a game, Batman, I’d have made my move by now. But this…tonight…I did it for her.”

The statement hung in the air, and Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. She looked up at Jonathan, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

Batman narrowed his eyes. “You’re walking a fine line, Crane. Don’t think I won’t be there when you cross it.”

Y/n let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Okay, how about we call it a night?” she suggested, desperate to break the tension.

Batman’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he turned, his cape billowing as he strode into the shadows. “Stay out of trouble,” he muttered, disappearing into the night.

Jonathan watched him go, then turned to Y/n, his eyes softer than they had been a moment ago. “You should listen to him, you know.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Says you.”

Jonathan smirked, his usual calm confidence returning. “Touché.”

Y/n sighed, looking up at him. “Why did you really come tonight?”

Jonathan paused, his expression unreadable. “I told you. I didn’t want you getting hurt.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The night felt strangely still, as if the chaos from earlier had been swept away.

Y/n glanced back toward the city, then at Jonathan. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

Jonathan gave her a look, glancing at Y/n, his expression softening just slightly. “Not a chance,” he said, he tucked the mask away and stepped closer. “I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight.”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Wait, what? You’re not busy? I’ve already wasted a lot of your time.”

Jonathan’s gaze remained steady, unyielding. “You’ve had a rough night. I’m not letting you walk home alone.” His tone was calm, but there was no room for argument.

Y/n hesitated, glancing at the empty street. Part of her wanted to protest, but the other part felt a strange comfort in his words. She sighed, giving him a half-smile. “You know I can protect myself.”

Y/n shed her outer layers in the shadowed alley, blending into the darkness to avoid drawing attention.

Without another word, the two of them started walking down the quiet streets, side by side. The tension from earlier faded with each step, replaced by an odd sense of ease. Y/n glanced at Jonathan out of the corner of her eye. He wasn’t the same man she had faced in battle countless times. There was something different tonight, a strange connection between them that she couldn’t quite shake.

As they reached her apartment building, Jonathan paused at the entrance, his gaze scanning the area with sharp precision. Just then, the sound of flapping wings broke the silence. Craw came swooping down from the sky, a single flower clasped in its beak. It dropped the delicate bloom right into Y/n's hands before perching itself on Jonathan’s shoulder.

Y/n looked at the flower in surprise, recognizing the rare blossom immediately. “A flower delivery?” she teased, raising an eyebrow as she twirled the stem between her fingers.

Jonathan glanced at Craw and then at the flower, his face carefully neutral. “Must’ve been hunting and got distracted,” he said smoothly, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Birds are unpredictable like that.”

Y/n chuckled, stepping closer to him. “Right. A total coincidence.”

She stood on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough to make him freeze for a moment. His smirk faltered, replaced by something softer, something he didn’t quite let show often.

As she pulled back, Y/n smiled warmly, clutching the flower to her chest. “Thanks, Jonathan.”

He cleared his throat, brushing off the moment as Craw flapped its wings once more. “Don’t mention it.”

Y/n walked into the apartment complex, hesitating for a moment. She glanced back at Jonathan, who was still standing there, his usual guarded demeanor softening.

“Are you coming up?” she asked, her voice quieter than before.

Jonathan's eyes flickered with something unreadable before he gave a slight nod. “If you’ll have me,” he replied, stepping forward.

They walked up to her apartment together in comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft flutter of Craw’s wings as the crow swooped ahead of them. When they reached her door, Y/n pushed it open and stepped inside, feeling Jonathan’s presence right behind her.

As the door shut behind them, the weight of Gotham, of the night’s events, seemed to fade away. There were no masks, no games, just the quiet understanding between them that, somehow, this felt right.

A/N: Sorry if it isn't good, I got through half of it then disappeared for ages, then carried on, so if it doesn't line up right then...oops I will not be writing any more parts for this, as there is nothing else for me to add to this fic, sorry I also ended up finishing this fic at like...2am, so if it's shit...my bad again Thank you for the support and I hope you did enjoy :) 💚

#fanfic #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane fanfic #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #comicbook jonathan crane #scarecrow #cillian murphy scarecrow #batman scarecrow #dc scarecrow #the scarecrow #scarecrow x reader #batgirl #batgirl!reader

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eiightysixbaby · 4 months ago

Text

rise and shine

pairing: farmhand!jonathan x farmer’s daughter!fem!reader

jonathan works on your father’s farm, and you’re strictly forbidden to mess around with him. but on a sweltering summer day one thing leads to the next, and i guess what your father doesn’t know won’t hurt him… (5.5k)

cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. oral (m + f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, use of petnames, jonathan’s nickname for reader is ‘birdie’, this is filthyyyy so pls let me know if i forgot anything lol

a/n: farmhand!jonathan was born during a conversation with @onegirlmanytales, so this one is for you gia. our beautiful beautiful boy <3 as always, reblogs are so incredibly appreciated! love u guys xoxo

The heat is already unbearable, and the sun is barely even up. The kind of dry, suffocating warmth that steals your breath and makes you feel sluggish.

A golden morning glow is cast across the fields as Jonathan stomps towards the barn, the rubbery soles of his boots crunching against dry grass. He heaves open the heavy metal latch to the thick wooden door, inhaling the stale, overwhelming scent of the animals. He’s mostly used to the smells by now, though they’re amplified on the brutally hot days like this one.

He starts his path from one stall to the next. His favorite horse, Nimbus, presses her hoof into the dusty dirt of the barn floor, chortling at him. A smile graces his features as he reaches a hand out to stroke her long snout, palm flat against the bristly softness of her coat.

“Hey, girl. Good morning,” he speaks softly to her, and she nuzzles into his hand. He gives her a few extra scratches for good measure before he continues to walk through and greet the rest of the bunch.

There's three other horses in this barn, along with the cows. The rabbits have their own coop outside, as do the chickens and ducks. He knows the morning routine like the back of his hand, and he floats through his tasks as if on autopilot. The animals get kisses and pats from him, snacks and fresh water. Even as he sweats through his clothes, he feels at peace caring for them all.

All of the animals seem to like him; even the ones with the wildest tempers turn mild when he's around. He tries to be modest about this, but his mom and brother definitely hear him gush about it when he comes home from a long day. He can’t help it, he’s a little bit proud of himself.

He's collecting eggs from the hens when he spots you. Beautiful, bright, perfect you flouncing down the porch steps in your pretty sundress, the fabric adorned with what he assumes are tiny flowers but can't quite discern from this distance. The yellow metal watering can sways in your hand, clanking against the concrete slab beneath the water spout as you set it down.

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s been staring until you turn to him with a cheery wave.

“Mornin’ Jonathan!” you call, and he feels his cheeks flush with warmth at the realization of being caught.

He waves, a half smile gracing his lips. “Morning, Birdie.”

The nickname is one he’d given you after he caught you awake early one morning, feeding the birds and taking notes about each type that visited your porch. He’d approached as quietly as he could so as not to disturb them, and he let you show him the feathers you’d collected and the sketches you’d done of the creatures. He marveled at it all, really, and unbeknownst to you it only made him more smitten for you.

If he's honest with himself, the best moments of his days working the ranch are when he sees you. He thinks about you constantly, and he has - on more than one occasion - come home smiling giddily about an interaction he'd had with you only to blush profusely when his brother would tease him.

The problem here, is your father. He’s the owner of the ranch and thus is Jonathan's employer, an under-the-table type of situation, and the man is protective as all hell of you. The last thing he needs to do is breach your father’s trust and risk his job. He thinks maybe he'd also be risking his life.

But the way the sunlight makes your complexion shine, bouncing off your skin radiantly makes his knees buckle. Your smile when you look at him makes his palms sweat. The soft sound of your humming floating towards him makes his heart soar.

You make him forget all of his inhibitions. And it's equal parts exciting and terrifying.

The water trickles from the can’s spout, sparkling in the sunlight as it falls over the beautiful flowers surrounding your porch. You’re careful to give each plant more than enough water, and he watches you intently as if this is some incredibly riveting task.

When you go to refill the can a second time, he realizes that he hasn't moved in far too long. He promptly forces himself to turn on his heel, heading back to let the animals out of their pens to graze. His footsteps feel mechanical, like he has a tinier version of himself controlling his body from a panel inside of his brain.

Don't be a moron, he thinks to himself. Be fucking cool.

He busies himself by cleaning out each of the pens within the barn, sweeping the old ruddy broom along the brown dirt floors, watching as its dry bristles occasionally fall off in its trail. He doesn't even flinch as he shovels waste from each stable, his once squeamish demeanor having been tampered with time and experience. He brings the back of his hand up to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his stringy bangs soaked beneath the wide brim of his hat. He can feel the fabric of his soft cotton shirt already clinging to his back, a sensation that’s entirely too much in this kind of heat.

He turns around, peeking out of the barn doors. There’s no sign of you anymore, and he doesn’t see your father or anyone else either. He supposes it’s alright to take his shirt off, given there’s no one near to offend.

Little does he know, as he reaches an arm around to his back and hoists the fabric up and off, you’re watching shyly from your kitchen window. Peering through the patterned curtains, chewing on your lip. Your fingers absentmindedly twirl a straw around your glass of lemonade, lost in a trance.

Jonathan has more muscle on him than you expected, though you aren’t sure why this is a surprise to you given the hard work he does. You can see the distinct lines on his arms where his tan doesn’t reach, the result of too many days working in the sun with t-shirts on. He stretches, his shoulder blades protruding like wings, and you nearly feel yourself start to drool as his muscles flex and pull. He bends down to retrieve his hat, the unmarked surface of his back on display.

You long to feel his skin beneath your palms, to reach out and touch his back, trace a finger from one freckle to the next until you’ve created a constellation only you can see. You want to leave marks, dig your nails in until you’ve left evidence that you’ve been there.

The longer you stare, watching him as he continues tidying up, the warmer you become. You can feel a searing desire forming between your legs, bare thighs squeezing hard together beneath your tiny dress.

You aren’t sure where your father went, but you know you haven’t seen him around the barn at all this morning. How bad could it be to go out there with Jonathan, really?

The skin of your lip grows raw as your teeth wear at it further, debating your next move or rather, hyping yourself up to make it. Your body buzzes with nerves, clenching your hands into fists before opening your palms once more.

Screw it. Screw it, you're going out there.

Before you can convince yourself to stay inside and hide away from the man, you're pouring another glass of lemonade to take out to him. Slipping on your shoes and swinging open the screen door that spits you out onto your porch. Bees buzz at your sides when you pass the flowering bushes, sun searing your skin the second you're exposed to its harsh rays.

It's sweltering, that's for certain, and coming out here under the guise of bringing Jonathan something to drink is innocent enough.

He doesn't hear you approaching, your footsteps barely making a sound as you trod across the grass. He's hunched over slightly, rinsing dirt from his hands with the garden hose and a bar of soap he keeps in the barn.

“Hey,” is all that comes out of your mouth at first. He spins to face you, visibly startled by your presence. Water runs from the hose that's now soaking the parched grass where it lays, before he hastily shuts off the water supply. “Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. Just thought you might be thirsty,” you hold the glass out to him, twisting your lips.

“Oh, t-thanks,” he stammers, accepting the offering. The glass is cold in his hand, already sweating from the heat. Droplets of water fall from the bottom of the cup and onto the ground by his boots, unable to cling to the warming surface any longer. His mouth suddenly feels dry, whether from the heat or your proximity he can't decipher, but he suspects it's the latter.

You don't move from your spot in front of him, your pretty eyes nearly sparkling as you watch him take a sip of the drink. You look like you want to pounce on him.

You watch intently as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he takes a few greedy swallows, your cheeks hot and feverish at all of the thoughts that swirl through your head.

“Mm,” he hums, pulling the glass rim from his lips. His eyes can't help but rake over your frame, focusing too hard on the way your dress flatters your body. “It's real sweet,” he says, gaze zoning in on your lips. How the soft layer of shiny gloss makes them look enticing, like ripe fruit ready to be picked.

Your teeth sink into the plump skin of your bottom lip, batting your lashes at him. You're toeing a dangerous line, but both of you want nothing more than to cross it.

A small noise dies in his throat, like he was going to speak but can’t bring himself to. He sets his glass down, his hands trembling slightly. You step closer to him, the heat unbearable, but you’re no longer sure if it’s the sun or your own desire warming the atmosphere. You feel two-hundred degrees, and you can guess Jonathan feels the same.

“Do you want to… take a break? You work so hard, and you must be so hot,” you say, saccharine and faux-innocent, your index finger trailing featherlight down his chest. You know what you’re doing, and he knows it, too.

“Birdie...” he warns. “Your dad—”

“Don't worry about my dad. He's not around, no one has to know,” you gaze at him, watching as he rubs a hand down his face. “I won't let anything bad happen, even if he finds out,” you add, taking his hand in yours.

You flip his palm up, running your thumb along the rough skin. He's quiet, but breathing too heavily for someone who's standing still.

God, he might regret this. But he can't bring himself to care quite enough to do anything to stop it. He knows what your next move is before it happens.

And then, in one swift motion you're pressing your lips to his, closing the gap between your bodies. His bare chest pressed to your clothed one, his breath catching in his throat. He feels himself melt into you just as you pull away.

You blink at him, having stepped just slightly backward. Instantly he's wishing you'd come back. Like now that he’s had one taste of you, he can’t fathom going another second without it. Your gaze stays focused on his lips and it makes him feel like jelly, you look like you could devour him and he wants to let you. His eyes search your face rather frantically before he makes a decision.

His hands reach up to cup your face, pulling your lips back to his. He pushes you back easily until you're pressed against the outer wall of the barn, mouthing hungrily at one another beneath the scorching sun. One hand glides up your thigh, rucking up the fabric of your dress as you expose your neck to him, letting him kiss and bite at the tender skin. Tasting the sweat that beads, lapping it away with his tongue like he'd dreamt of doing for weeks.

Then, as if suddenly remembering where he is, he draws back, looking around behind him to ensure no one's there. That typical skittish demeanor creeping back in. One of his hands remains at your hip, his eyes searching yours. His nervousness makes your heart flutter.

“Should we… could we… take this into the barn?” he asks softly, making your lips twist into a small smile.

Wordlessly, you hook two fingers into his belt loops. You walk backwards, pulling him along with you until you’re sheltered inside the building. Instantly, you’re coaxing his face to yours again, pressing your lips to his in an urgent, pleading kiss.

“No one’s gonna catch us,” you murmur against soft lips. “I promise.”

And there’s no way you can be sure of that, he knows it too, but your voice sounds so soothing that he nods in agreement.

He shuts one of the rickety barn doors just to be even safer, leaving the other open for airflow before he lets his lips attach to yours once more. You kiss each other like you’re starving, affection-deprived, and before you know it he's walking you backwards and coaxing you onto the hay bales that rest in the corner. They're stacked in neat, cut rectangles, and you perch your bottom on the top one, letting Jonathan's frame slip between your legs.

The hay is scratchy against the plush backs of your thighs, but it's only a minor annoyance in your current state. A well worth it trade-off for the way Jonathan's hands caress your knees, sliding up your legs until they're pushing up the fabric of your dress. His fingertips are searing against your skin, branding you. Now that you've felt his touch, you can never go back.

Your head spins when he drops to his knees before you, your brain lagging in its attempt to catch up with what's happening. Palms splayed on your thighs, his soft brown eyes gaze up at you, pupils wide with lust. He continues to hike up your dress until it's bunched up at your hips, your pretty cotton panties staring him in the face. An index finger reaches out to flick the tiny pink bow that rests on the waistband, a soft smirk spreading across his kissable mouth.

He leans his face forward, breath fanning out over your clothed core. You flinch, eagerly anticipating his mouth on you. He sticks his tongue out, tentatively allowing it to lick a flat stripe over your panties. Gasping, your hands haphazardly push his hat off of his head, fingers tangling in his damp mop of hair. A strangled whimper clambers from his throat, his lips mouthing at your clothed cunt. The cotton fabric grows more and more moist by the second, his tongue pressing tantalizingly against it, making your back arch.

“Jonny, please—”

His fingers loop beneath the waistband of your underwear at either hip, beginning to tug them down as if to quiet you.

“Shh, angel. Don't have to beg,” he murmurs softly, shifting to bring your legs together momentarily, pulling the small bit of clothing completely off.

Back between your thighs, he eyes your bare pussy hungrily before shifting his gaze up to meet your eyes. “Gonna take such good care of you, like you deserve.”

His mouth presses a soft kiss to your mound, tongue poking out to test the waters; to get its bearings. He licks and sucks experimentally, repeating actions when you moan or whine in favor of one in particular. Perspiration prickles on every inch of your skin, the heat of the growing afternoon coupled with the fiery blaze he's set across your nerve endings making you swelter.

He grows more confident with every second, letting his tongue lick inside of you, collecting the sweetness that pools just for him. He lets out a satisfied grunt, lapping at you ravenously, your fingers pulling roughly on his hair. He seems emboldened by this, spurred on by each tug to his soft locks. Your head tips back, moaning his name at the vaulted ceiling of the barn while he teases your clit with his greedy mouth.

He pauses to take a good look at you, his cheeks beautifully flushed, his body heaving slightly as he catches his breath. The look in his eyes makes it seem like he's trying to commit your every feature to permanent memory.

“Jonathan...” you mewl, letting your hands fall loose from his hair and cradle his face instead.

Your core throbs for him, a deep incessant ache that commands to be quelled. He reads your mind, his desperation matching yours. He rises just enough for his lips to meet yours, letting his tongue slip into your mouth. The sweet tang of your arousal has you moaning into the kiss, your hand reaching down to paw at his crotch through his jeans. You gasp at the bulge that awaits you, his impatient cock pressing against its confines.

He hisses in a pleased sort of agony, the friction so glorious yet not nearly enough. Your fingers work to undo his belt, the clunky metallic buckle falling to the side. He watches you, lips parted, as you unbutton and unzip the dust-covered jeans, pushing them down his thighs. His thin boxers do very little to conceal the shape of his cock, the size catching you off guard. Your delicate palm squeezes it, reveling in the pleased noise that escapes him in response.

“Shit,” you murmur, letting the pad of your thumb roll over the head, precum leaking through the checked fabric.

His body jerks against his will, hips bucking pitifully into your hand. Your hand slips beneath the boxers, mercifully, fingers wrapping around the base of him once his cock is fully free.

You give it a few slow strokes, watching the way his eyes flutter closed. Encouraged, you pump his length faster, the corner of your mouth kicking up when he groans.

“I've - ah - I've wanted this for so long. You have no idea,” he says. “You’re so beautiful. I swear I think about you every day.” His cheeks are rosy, shy with his confession.

“I bet I’ve wanted this just as long as you have,” you reply softly, letting the pad of your thumb swipe over the leaking head of his cock, pearlescent arousal making the motion slick.

He lets out a shuddering breath, his fingers digging hard into your thighs as you tease. You’re entranced by him, your eyes focused in on the deep blush pink of his erection. You can feel saliva collecting in your mouth, your nerve endings vibrating with a desire to taste him.

“Why don’t we switch spots? Come sit here, so I can take care of you,” you murmur, batting your lashes up at him as your fingers gently squeeze his shaft.

His eyelids flutter, the warm brown of his irises rolling back at the touch and at your words. He rises on shaky legs and you follow suit, guiding him to sit on the stacked bales. The perfect makeshift throne for him to sit upon, the perfect spot for you to kneel before him and worship him the way you so badly need to. Your knees touch the dusty ground, the rough barn floor uncomfortable against them. You pay it little mind, however, simply itching to get your lips on the prize that lay before you.

Jonathan looks down at you with his lip tugged slightly between his teeth. His hand brushes hair out of your face, cupping your head gently as you gaze starry-eyed up at him.

His cock twitches as if in a plea, and it draws you to him. You grip the base in one hand, sticking your tongue out flat to collect the pearly white beads of precum that drip from the slit. You make direct eye contact as you lick at him, his body jolting with pleasure at the first touch of your tongue to his most sensitive part. His hands grip at the earthy yellow straw beneath him before finding their way to your hair, conscious of keeping it out of your face.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales, your soft lips wrapping around him, engulfing him in the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.

You hum, pleased, before beginning to bob your head. Your tongue glides along his shaft, coating him in your saliva. You take him as deep as you can, until there's a pressure at the back of your throat and your eyes water in warning. He groans in spite of himself when you gag, catching himself instantly to ask if you're okay.

You nod wordlessly, cheeks flushing at his sweetness. You want to pull more noises from him, and you continue to take him into your throat so that you gag again. His head is thrown back, cock twitching in your mouth. Your saliva drips down it, pooling at the corners of your mouth and dribbling down your chin. He notices this, wiping at the wetness on your chin with his thumb.

“God damn, Birdie. M-making such a mess,” he stammers, looking down at you with those glorious lust-blown eyes.

You hum around him once more, hollowing your cheeks and sucking. He whines at this, the tendons in his neck straining, putting all of his effort into not spilling down your throat.

“Please,” he pants. “Please let me be inside you.”

Pulling off of his cock, a string of spit connects your bottom lip to his red tip for only a moment before you swipe it away. He's bending down in an instant, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He grips your face with both hands, a strained noise clawing at his throat when your tongues dance around one another.

He pulls back after a moment, but he does so in a way that makes it seem like it physically pains him to do it. His hands paw at your waist, encouraging you up. You stand, moving between his spread knees. Climbing atop his lap, you can feel yourself throb with anticipation, your body begging to have him fill it.

His rosy cheeks, flushed from both heat and exertion, dimple slightly when he smiles at you. His eyes are flecked with gold from the sunlight that trickles through the slits in the walls, looking at you like you're the most ethereal being he's ever laid eyes on.

His hands hold your hips, bunching up your dress so it pools at the juncture between hip and thigh. You grind yourself on him, your wet heat teasing his cock.

“Oh fuck, you're so perfect,” he murmurs, lips pressed to your hair, his face burying itself at the side of your neck.

A tiny content moan escapes you, your skin ablaze where his lips press to your neck.

“Please, Jonathan,” you whine, rolling your hips again.

“Didn't I say you don't have to beg, sweet girl? I'm right here, do what you want with me,” he says, and this time he's the one who sounds like he might be begging.

Do what you want with me.

Your breaths come out heavy as you raise up just enough to line him up with your entrance, beads of precum dripping down his cock and making your palm slick. He twitches at the contact, his blunt nails digging in to the meat of your ass.

A long, low grumble of a moan slowly leaves his lips the second you guide his tip past your entrance. Your lips part, head thrown back as he slowly pushes deeper inside. The stretch is euphoric, your walls expanding to accommodate him with little resistance.

“Oh, fuck—” Jonathan hisses, tilting his chin to kiss at your jawline.

Outside, you hear the hens clucking contentedly, mourning doves cooing softly from trees. For a fleeting moment you remember the possibility of getting caught, hoping you maintain your privacy at least long enough to finish what you’ve started here.

Your skin is sticky where it touches his, sweat collecting in every crease and crevice. He’s bigger than you had anticipated, and just when you think he can’t possibly have more to give you, he’s pushing in the rest of the way. He grips you tightly as he bottoms out, pressed to the hilt inside of you. You both moan in unison, your hands holding loosely to his shoulders.

He’s still for a moment, eyes pinched shut as his chest heaves with his panting.

“Just— just need a second. Sorry, you feel so fucking good,” he says, willing himself not to finish right here right now. “God dammit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

“Take your time,” you purr softly, simply enjoying the feeling of being so full. You let your hands travel to his neck, thumbs tracing down the column of his throat before reaching his chest. Perspiration beads on his soft skin, pink flush reaching down his neck to his chest.

Slowly, he starts to encourage the movement of your hips. Gripping them firmly, he aids you in finding a good rhythm. You let yourself rock lightly on top of him, his strong arms helping you along and making your head spin. The soft head of his cock presses so deeply inside of you you practically start drooling, unable to stop yourself from bouncing faster.

He doesn’t discourage your increasing pace; instead his head falls back in ecstasy, curses tumbling from his kiss-bitten lips. The quicker you move the tighter his hands seem to grip your hips, fingers digging into the plush skin, sure to leave a sore spot.

You’re drenching him, easing the movements with your arousal, and each slick glide feels better than you could’ve imagined.

“Jonathan, oh my god—” you cry, hands pawing desperately at his bare chest. Your nails drag marks down the soft skin, and he groans in response.

Your body grows fatigued, thighs burning, and he notices the steady slowing of your bouncing. He takes over with ease, wrapping his arms around you and rising to a standing position. You gasp at the different angle, his cock seemingly pressing deeper still, and then you feel your back hit the wall.

He cages you in tight against the wooden slabs, your legs wrapped firmly around his thin waist. Your stomach flips in a new wave of excitement, taking him at this brand new angle. You surrender any control you had, letting him take the reins. He so desperately needs to, to get out all of that pent up frustration from day after day of watching you from afar. Wondering what you’d feel like, sound like, taste like.

Now that he has you like this, pliant and eager, he wants to give every ounce of himself to you.

He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t need to ease into it in this new position like he did at first. His thrusts come hard and fast, sending you reeling. You watch the way the tendons in his neck flex and pull, straining with exertion. He grunts with his effort, little noises escaping in time with each thrust.

He leans in to bite at the lobe of your ear, his face twisting in a sort of growl; a snarl. He’s primal in the way he fills you, claiming you as his in a surge of power he doesn’t typically possess. It’s like a switch has flipped, his shyness and hesitation disappearing. You wonder where this side of him has been hiding, and you can only hope you’ll get to experience it again.

“You feel,” he grunts, gritting his teeth for a fleeting moment as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust. “So fucking good.”

All you can do is moan in response, a high-pitched little sound that spurs him on further. Your nails sink into his back, clawing down the surface, sure to leave marks in their wake. He bites at your bottom lip, tugging on it until you whine.

The sounds your bodies make together are obscene, slippery wet squelching coupled with the slap of skin on skin. If anyone were to walk by, there’d be no doubt about what’s going on.

Every single thrust has you crying out for him, the way he hits that perfect spot inside of you each time making you tremble in his grasp. The pleasure is white-hot, lapping at every inch of your body. You can feel yourself inching closer and closer to your release, and you’re so desperate to have it.

“Jon, ‘m so close,” you whine, barely clinging on to him while he fucks you senseless.

“Ah fuck, yeah? Y’gonna cum for me?” he asks, near breathless as he continues to pound into you. He looks so fucked out and perfect; bangs stuck to his forehead and his eyes heavy-lidded in bliss, watching you carefully.

And the way he asks the question, it sounds like he’s dying for you to finish. Like he’s begging you to clench around his length, squeeze him so tight, drench him with your arousal. Like he can’t possibly believe you’re about to cum for him.

But you are, and with a few more quick and sloppy thrusts of his hips you’re crying out his name; screaming so loud you can hear the birds in the tree outside flutter away in a frenzy.

“Fuck, oh god, oh god,” Jonathan pants, and you’re certain he’s about to lose it as your walls tighten around him in a rhythmic pulsation. “Where can I cum? Where do you want it?”

“Inside, has to be inside,” you whine. “Please.”

You barely get the final word out before you can feel him hurtling to an abrupt halt, hips stilling as he twitches inside of your warm wet cunt. He paints your insides, giving you every possible drop that he has.

“Shit, Birdie,” he says, nearly gasping for air. “You’re unreal. You know that? You’re absolutely incredible.”

You stay panting like that for a while, joined together, your sticky skin against his. He noses at your cheek, pressing soft kisses to it as you try to regain a normal breathing pattern.

He pulls out slowly then, a slippery mess formed where your bodies met. Your legs fall from around his waist, standing up on wobbly limbs that barely contain the strength to support you. His hands reach up to cradle your cheeks, his eyes wild with delight as they search your face.

Your heartbeat still hasn’t quite settled, fluttering rapidly with the way he’s looking at you. Before you can say anything he’s smashing his lips against yours, a slow and passionate kiss that rivals all the others that came before.

It lasts for a while, but you don’t feel like it’s been nearly long enough when he pulls away.

“I don’t want this to be over. I don’t want to act like this never happened,” he says, an almost frantic look in his eyes.

“Jonathan—”

“I want you. And I don’t care what your dad thinks. I want to take you on nice dates, and watch the birds with you, and kiss you like this every single day.”

You feel like your heart may explode, like it’s swelling larger and larger with each of his words.

“I want that, too. We’ll figure this out, okay? I swear,” you reassure him, kissing him again. Pouring all of your affection into him and hoping he feels it.

“Promise me.”

“I promise you. I couldn’t stay away if I wanted to,” you say, smiling lightly. He laughs, pressing his forehead to yours, slick with sweat.

You know it’s time to let him get back to work, but you’re reluctant to end the moment.

“I should really get back to it,” he says bashfully, as if reading your mind and feeling sorry he had to.

“Yeah, you should,” you agree, kissing the backs of both of his hands before letting him pull away.

He redresses while you watch in silent awe, studying the way his body moves. He catches you staring, his cheeks reddening adorably.

Both of you step out of the barn, back into the unforgiving sunlight. You’re about to head inside when you stop yourself, turning on your heel.

“I know you usually go home around four. Could you be back and freshened up around five-thirty?” you ask him.

“Uh, sure. Why?”

“Because, we have a date to go on.”

“Are you sure you—”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” you say earnestly, and the grin that breaks out on his face is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You don’t know what exactly you’re going to say to your dad, but you’ll figure it out.

“Okay. Five-thirty. See you then, Birdie.”

With a little wave, you’re heading back inside. He doesn’t miss the slight wobble in your legs, or the trail of his release that runs down your thigh. And when he hears your dad’s car pull up the drive, he gives him a smug little wave.

What a way to start the day.

#jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers x fem!reader #jonathan byers smut #jonathan byers fanfic #jonathan byers fanfiction #farmhand!jonathan byers #divider by cafekitsune

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fandomnerd9602 · 2 months ago

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All Hallows Eve

Sienna Shaw x Wolverine!Reader

Request by @tokufighter

Halloween Special

The way she smiled. The way she looked at you. Her dark brunette hair. Her brown eyes that stared at you. It was something you couldn’t deny. You were one hundred percent in love with your best friend Sienna Shaw.

But you couldn’t tell her. You were a freak in the eyes of most people. You were the teenage offspring of James ‘Logan’ Howlett - the Wolverine.

You had to keep this side of you hidden. You had hoped it could remain that way.

You helped Sienna to assemble her Valkyrie costume. She looked like a true warrior goddess in your eyes.

The more animalistic side of you just wanted to just pull her close and kiss her. But you kept that side of you at bay.

“So what do you think?” She asked you with a nervous little smile gracing her lips.

“Heavenly” you remarked with a little Howlett side smile.

Sienna gave you a gentle blush and laugh, gently tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. She looked up at you, her eyes looking back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How desperately you wanted to kiss her in that moment.

“We uhh…should get to the party” you answered before walking away.

And then came the Art incident.any you knew were slaughtered. Sienna’s brother was kidnapped. You and your Valkyrie found yourselves against the wall.

“I can’t lose him!” She told you with tears in her eyes.

“Jonathan won’t die tonight” you pull your sleeves. You tried to keep it hidden but now was not the time. You popped your sleek metal claws out of your knuckles.

Sienna gasped but a little smile made its way across her lips. “hot” she replies.

Using your incredible sense of smell, you tracked down Art and Jonathan. You burst into the room, claws drawn.

Sienna’s Valkyrie sword began to glow. The two of you charged at the maniacal clown. The otherworldly clown tried to dodge your attacks but it was no use.

Your claws cut through his chainsaw. Your claws cut through his ax and knives. His attacks had no effect on you.

You lopped off an arm and then a leg. The clown, for probably the first time in its entire life, was terrified.

Sienna jumped in and lopped the clown’s head clean off. She buries her sword right through his chest and into the ground.

You gently approached your warrior goddess, her chest heaving and her eyes burning with tears.

“Sienna?” You asked. She immediately turned around and jumped into your arms, hugging you tight.

“Don’t let go of me. Please” she begged you.

“I’ll never let go” you hugged her back. Jonathan hugged both of you.

The police and medics were quick to the scene. You set a fire on the clown, burning him and the house to the ground. The sword remained buried deep through the clown and into the earth, making sure the clown would never reappear.

The medics tended to Jonathan and Sienna’s injuries. The police took your statements.

You walked up to your warrior goddess, you weren’t about to let another moment go by.

“Shaw?” You asked, getting her attention. “Are you alright?”

“Maybe.” She responded.

“I’m sorry you had to see…well…” you gestured to your knuckles.

“Are you kidding? Those claws are amazing! Is that what you were trying to tell me?”

“No…actually it has to do with…” you sigh. “We Howletts have never been much for words”

She gives you a gentle smile, her voice has a slight purr to it, “then let your actions speak for you”

You smile. You grab her by the lower back and pull her in. She wraps a leg around your waist, letting out a soft, seductive gasp. Her arms wrap around your neck.

“I love you Sienna” you whisper

“Show me” she replies with a smile. You mirror her smile.

You pull her in, caressing her face. You kiss her tenderly and yet at the same time years of longing burst forth.

She gripped the back of your head, kissing you repeatedly and happily. You pulled back just a little, only to grab a bit of oxygen.

“My warrior goddess. My Valkyrie” you whispered against her lips.

“My Wolverine” she answered back. You give her a playful little growl.

It would take awhile but you and Sienna would build a life together. One free of fear, free of the monsters in the dark.

You were just so glad you could build it with your warrior goddess.

#terrifier #terrifier 2 #lauren lavera #sienna shaw #Sienna shaw x reader #Wolverine #wolverine reader #halloween #art the clown #horror #horror crossover #mutant reader #mutant

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tac-the-unseen · 8 months ago

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What the Lost boys think about vampire related media

Fluff, x reader but just barely

•While making conversation with your four Vampire lovers you were suddenly plagued with a question.

“How do you guys feel about vampire related media?”

-That question was an immediate head turner. The cave goes dead quite before Dwayne speaks up, “Well…vampires are in hiding so…”

-This sparks a conversation about how media representation of vampires may not be accurate, but that's a good thing. “If a book or movie comes out and it is shockingly accurate to what being a vampire is really like, the creator isn't going to last long.” David explained

-That's because there's a set of rules vampires have to follow and one of those rules is to never publicly reveal your double life identity

-”If something like that comes out, that means a vampire has broken that rule OR somebody knows vampires very closely and is creating media they know shouldn't exist.”

-Turns out if a vampire breaks that rule it's basically open season to kill and destroy their creations.

•You turn the conversation and begin to ask how they, specifically, feel about certain vampire representation

•Bram Stoker's Dracula

-Dwayne is the first to buy in his opinion.

-Dwayne feels that while it is a cult classic and well written, The characters are exceedingly dumb.

-”Johnathan spends a ridiculous amount of time talking about other characters ‘Breasts’ and trying to figure out why his host climbs walls ‘like a lizard's.”

-David is the next one to speak up

-David thinks it's not really worth the read

-”Unless you're trying to brag to people there's no point in reading it.”

-”Also why was Mina talking to that old sailor so much?”

-Paul laughs as he remembers “how fucking crazy he wrote Dracula to be”

-”I'm pretty sure the real Dracula thinks it's a heinous crime against him”

-Paul hasn't read it but have heard enough about it to know even the more obscure references

-Marko comments on the graceful writing style and the beautiful descriptions

-”I've only read it because Dwayne thought I would like it"

-Marko also loves how oblivious Jonathan and most of the other characters are

-All of them think the movie adaptation is hilarious and love the shitty special effects

•Interview with a vampire

-Paul chimes in immediately

-”God it's so homo erotic it hurts…in a good way.”

-Paul thinks its a nice horror novel mixed with a weird cozy atmosphere

-Dwayne thinks it's another well written classic and He actually begins to rave about all the themes involved within Anne Rice’s work

-”It's a beautiful Gothic thriller with a deep, sadly comedic energy.”

-He even offers to read it too you sometime

-Marko chimes in quickly about “Claudia’s rebellious behavior and persona”

-”imagine watching your family choose somebody else over you. It's so deeply upsetting but to an understandable level.”

-”I would have hated to turn so young. I look like a teenager and other people can respect that to a certain point. But being five years old with the mind of an adult, No one would respect you.”

-Marko relates to Claudia on an internal level and loves unraveling her character. When you ask why he quickly responds "Some people call me a cherub... You think I enjoy that?"

-David says he doesn't have much to say other than it was a decent read (That's his version of a compliments)

•Twilight

-All of them agree that it's laughably horrendous

-Almost immediately at the same time they say “This is the skin of a killer Bella”

-This leads to banshee like laughter

David speaks up immediately

-”Why do you humans want us to sparkle so bad?”

-”I personally hate the idea of being a walking disco ball, but to each their own.”

-Marko chimes in quickly

-”Would you like it if we sparkled?” He asked while leans on you affectionately

-Marko thinks the only reason to read it is to have a nice laugh

-”Why did Edward have such a violent reaction of Bella standing by a fan? That makes no sense…like I have mates and I enjoy the smell of you guys but…I'm not nearly clawing off my face at your smell”

-”Yeah yeah, I get he's trying not to overreact but running out of class to get away is crazy.”

-Paul even adds that even thought it's very dumb even he can appreciate the message it's trying to said.

-”something something, coming over adversary, something something, love wins, something something..”

-”Also that Jacob imprinting on Bella's infant daughter is super fucking creepy.”

-when you asked Dwayne about his feels he scoffed and said It's insulting at best and borderline sexual harassment at worst.

-He refused to go into depth

•You thank them for humoring you and they tell you that it's no problem

-David kisses the side of your head in an uncharacteristically soft way “We don't ever mind answering your vampire related question.” He tells you

-Marko turns to you “But seriously do you want us to sparkle?”

-”I think I have some roll on body glitter somewhere..” Paul says while getting up to look for it

Thanks for reading <3

#the lost boys x reader #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #reader #the lost boys #vampire #fluff #books #lovers

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 2 months ago

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Bumping Into Them at a Halloween Party - Scarecrow and Riddler (x Reader)

Summary: Despite the recent major jailbreak from Gotham's Arkham Asylum, all of Gotham's usual drunken Halloween shenanigans seem to be in full swing. Some folks seem to be mocking the criminals at large, with almost half of all partygoers dressed up in their rendition of an infamous Gotham villain. Reluctantly dragged by your friend to one of the more hole-in-the-wall type parties in The Narrows, you expect another typical night of bad flirting that would lead nowhere and holding your friend’s hair back when she pukes. Little did you know you would manage to catch one of the rogues’ eyes when you bump into two of them in disguise.

Characters: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow); Edward Nashton (Riddler)

Pairings: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow)/Female!Reader; Edward Nashton (Riddler)/Female!Reader

Word Count: Approx 1,000 per Character

Rating: T+ (Some talk of alcohol and partying and stuff but nothing mature & nothing explicit)

A/N: Of course, I was in the mood to write something Halloween-y tonight, and this came from that. Yes, I’m still working on the other asks as well as two more Kinktobers people suggested in my comments/messages.

Enter Fear (Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow)

Crane had originally planned on dressing up in his own Scarecrow costume to teach a lesson to any drunken imbecile stupid enough to try and impersonate him. Fortunately for the Gotham populace, Edward had made Crane promise not to blow their cover by torturing anyone with fear gas this evening. So instead, Jonathan opted for a more subtle look.

Seated at the bar and bored out of his mind, Jonathan chose to observe a couple in a booth further back. The clearly inebriated woman was dressed up like an angel, wearing those fuzzy cheap mini-wings and what amounted to a white bikini as she nuzzled up to a guy in jeans and a t-shirt that read ‘This is my costume’.

‘How typical,’ Jonathan thought.

“Three bucks she pukes in his lap before the next half-hour.”

Turning to his right, Jonathan came face to face with you, someone who, judging by your expression, was just as annoyed by this kind of scene as he was. He turned back to view the woman and man in the corner booth, pursing his lips as he did so before turning back to you.

“Five she passes out in the next ten.”

You smiled, showing off your teeth in a devilish grin before joining him at the bar.

“Deal.”

Jonathan sat silent, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you ordered a drink. Interestingly enough, on a night made for boozing and treats, you opted for a Cherry Coke. In his mind, Jonathan couldn’t help but run through the potential implications of your actions. Perhaps you were an alcoholic or an addict. Or maybe you were someone’s designated driver which meant you hadn't come here alone. Or perhaps, you were correctly worried that on a night like this, too many people would be looking to take advantage.

After thanking the bartender for your drink, you swiveled your bar-stool in Crane’s direction.

“So, just to recap. If I lose I owe five bucks, and if you lose, you owe five bucks and three Hail Marys,” you said, gesturing to the gentleman’s costume.

“Only three Hail Mary’s?”

“Well,” you took a sip of your drink and paused for dramatic effect, “Maybe one Our Fathers, ya know, just in case.”

Jonathan couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips. Despite his earlier assumptions, he found speaking with you wasn’t as tedious as he previously thought it’d be. Your company was oddly welcome, and the man known to the world as Scarecrow found himself loosening his typically uptight composure.

“I’m not a real Priest.” Crane avouched somewhat sharply, finishing what was left of his scotch in a single harsh swallow.

“Wow. You know that’s a shame because I am actually a witch.” You gestured to your own outfit, complete with a black cape and pointed hat. “And now that I know you're utterly defenseless against my powers, I have no choice but to put a spell on you.”

“That so?”

Jonathan bit the inside of his mouth, trying to suppress the smirk threatening to break through. If anyone was the master of curses, it’d be him. Of course, you had no way of knowing that, without him being in his usual get-up and all.

Besides, he found himself surprised he was indulging in such a conversation, but he had to admit that your forwardness and banter possessed a fair amount of charm. It was hardly time to ruin this distracting, rather quaint conversation with a surprise dose of his fear gas.

“I’m afraid so,” you sighed, dramatically. “And now,” using both of your hands, you wiggled your fingers around, pretending to weave a spell, “I sentence you to an eternity of finding lucky pennies only wrong side up.”

With a flourish and a subsequent ‘poof’ sound effect from you, you ended your great curse with a little boop to The Father’s nose.

“That’s a pathetic curse,” Jonathan said, more disappointed than amused after the effort you went through with such a display. Were you simple or simply kind-hearted?

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Never said I was a good witch.”

‘Huh, well there was a fascinating complex,’ Jonathan thought.

“Come on,” he said, turning on the practiced psychologist charm, hoping you’d take the bait, “You can do better than that. If someone was really going to curse you, what would you hate for them to do?”

You continued sipping your drink, unbothered by the not-real priest's current line of questioning.

“What do you mean?”

“If someone were to utilize your worst fear against you, what would it be?”

You thought for a moment.

“Hmm, you mean apocalyptic-level fear as in like the fear of complete and utter failure or something really stupid but tangible?”

Jonathan took in a deep breath, hiding the anticipation he felt slowly rising inside.

“Whichever you’d prefer.”

“I guess I’d have to say…”

“Go on.”

“Escalators.”

Jonathan did a double-take.

“I’m sorry, did you say escalators?”

“Yes!” You practically shouted. “They’re literally stairs that move! Stairs are supposed to be stationary, that’s what makes them stairs! I mean,” you coughed, clearing your throat in between animated sentences, “How fucking shifty is that?”

Jonathan nodded, finding himself more curious about you by the minute. You were certainly a very unique person, with a very distinct psyche, he’d have to give you that.

“Sorry,” you apologized for your outburst. “They just drive me nuts. Anyway… What about you? What freaks you out so much?”

The way your eyes looked so open, so unguarded drew him in. You looked like this little cartoon character from some after-school special, genuinely interested in listening to what he had to say.

Had you been anyone else, The Scarecrow would’ve given you some bullshit benign answer: heights, the dark, spiders, something of that sort. But seeing you wait for his answer, sipping on your Cherry Coke in hand, Jonathan felt he could be honest with you. After all, it was Halloween, and he was in costume. There was a very likely chance the two of you would never see each other again.

Jonathan leaned in closer to you, lowering his voice, and drawing you in.

“I’ve never been fond of Priests.”

You leaned your head in even further and matched his whispered tone.

“Can I tell you something else?” You asked.

The raven-haired stranger nodded, his captivating blue eyes watching you intensely as he waited for your answer.

“You make a super hot Priest, though.” You couldn't help but bite your lip as soon as you finished your sentence, feeling a little playful with the decent buzz of alcohol floating through your veins.

The man licked his own lush lips before smiling.

“You’ve heard that one before, huh?” You asked, gauging his reaction.

“Honestly, no.” He answered, rising to meet your teasing manner.

You put your hands up defensively.

“Okay, okay. Coming on a little strong, I get it.”

“It would be interesting, however.” Crane voiced his inner musings out loud.

“Hmm? What was that?” You asked, feigning coy.

“A witch and a priest…” he tempted.

“Probably piss God off,” you added, nonchalantly.

For the first time that night, Jonathan Crane smiled a genuinely devilish smile, revealing a set of pearly white teeth under those plush lips of his.

It would seem after hours of ungodly conversation with imbecile after imbecile, it had only taken you a good half hour, to lighten the former psychologist's mood and Jonathan found himself up to the task of matching your titillating nature.

Perhaps it was a good thing Edward had dragged him out here after all.

Enter Mystery - Edward Nashton (The Riddler)

You were positively exhausted. All you wanted to do was go to your favorite little coffee spot, get a hot chocolate, and head home. But of course, you had forgotten that today of all days was Halloween, and to be out and about on the streets of Gotham on Halloween night was always a busy, crowded disaster.

Ugh, you detested crowds. And to make matters worse, your friend hadn’t stopped blowing up your phone, practically demanding you come meet here at this party in The Narrows.

Sighing, you realized hot chocolate was out of the question, and bitterly texted your friend that you’d meet her there in an hour.

Much to your chagrin, your friend was waiting for you with a gimmicky devil horns headband for you to wear. Of course, she would have known you wouldn't bother dressing in costume.

To make matters worse, her costume was that of a sexy angel, complete with a headband halo and feathered wings, which made it look as if you had planned to come to this thing together.

“I look ridiculous!” You yelled to her over the blaring house music.

“What? No! You look super cute!” She yelled back, pulling you behind her as she weaved through the crowd.

Finding a table was easier than you thought, mainly because it was still early evening and everyone was either sitting at the bar or mingling on the dance floor. Thankfully, it was a little rounded table in between the booths and the bar, which meant less traffic.

Plopping down into your seat you made a mental promise to yourself that you’d head home within the hour, the music already creating an unpleasant pressure in your head.

“You stay here,” your friend instructed, handing you her mini-purse. “I’m gonna go see if those hot guys over there will buy us drinks!”

Before you could voice your discouragement, your friend had bounded off, no doubt running up to a group of jockey, fratboy-type guys. You sighed, slumping in your seat.

Even with the annoying music and movement around you, you couldn't help but wish you had a book or magazine or something to pass the time. You know, something other than sitting there looking like a fool in a last-minute Halloween costume at a party you undoubtedly stood out in.

Looking out at all the people lined up at the bar, you noticed a younger-looking man, shy trying to get the Bartender’s attention. Not having any luck, the man paused and looked up, catching your eye.

You offered a sympathetic smile.

The man offered one back along with a raised hand in a half-wave.

“Try yelling,” you mouthed over to him.

“What?” You could see him ask.

“Yell,” you mouthed again, slower this time. “They can’t hear you,” you added pointing to the bartenders and then to your ears.

You weren’t able to see if the man was successful in his endeavor because, at that moment, your friend had come skipping back, an armful of drinks in hand.

“Woah there,” you said, helping her place them on the table. “Exactly how many did those guys get you?”

“Not me,” your friend countered. “Us!”

You looked over to the group of men she was talking about, singling out the one wearing a ‘This is my costume’. He looked like your friend’s type alright: unassumingly mediocre.

“They’ve got a booth if we want to move tables,” she said, taking back her purse and tucking it under her arm. “But I wanna dance first, sounds good?”

You nodded, gesturing to the mass of sweaty bodies beyond the bar.

“Be my guest. I’m gonna stay here. Wouldn’t want anyone to take our table. Or our drinks,” you added, hoping your friend would accept your lame excuse not because she believed it, but because she was never one to turn down free booze.

“Fine!” She wagged a finger in your face. “But don’t come crying to me that you didn’t have any fun tonight when you chose to sit here with a sourpuss the whole time.”

And with that, she vanished into the crowd of bodies jumping up and down to the rhythm of some song you had never heard before.

Looking at the array of drinks before you, you figured you’d pick the most colorful one with some sort of fruity-looking thing in it. That at least had some solid food in it to counter the effects of the alcohol.

You took a sip, and licked your lips, surprised at how easy the drink went down. It was extremely sweet, almost sickly sweet, and you couldn’t hardly taste the rum. You took another sip. No, it wasn’t hot chocolate, but it wasn’t as awful as you were expecting either.

Looking to your left, you saw the shy man from earlier, awkwardly hanging out between the dance floor and the bar, looking just as out of place as you had felt when your friend had dragged you inside.

Catching his eye for a second time that night, you smiled and waved him over, inviting him to come and sit down next to you.

The man looked behind him, checking to see that you were in fact talking to him. Turning back to you he was pleasantly surprised to see that yes, it had been true. You were asking him to come join you.

“Thank you,” the man mumbled, as he took the seat next to you. “It’s more crowded than I was expecting.”

You nodded, sympathetic.

“Yeah, I’m an introvert,” you confessed, “So like five people is a crowd to me.”

The man smiled, a faint blush crossing his cheeks.

“Same,” he said, letting out a huff of hot air as he laughed.

“So, ah, what’s your costume?” You asked, gesturing to his trenchcoat and fedora. “Some kind of mafia gangster?”

The man let out a full chuckle now at your incredulous suggestion.

“No, no. I’m supposed to be an old-time detective, like ah Dick Tracy or-”

“Philip Marlowe!” You said, a knowing smile spreading across your face. “Like in The Big Sleep!”

“Yes!” He nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, that’s exactly it!”

Finding himself feeling shy once more after his joyful outburst, he turned his eyes downcast, looking at the table and the array of drinks gathered on it.

“You’re the first person I’ve met to know who Detective Marlowe is. Not many people our age have read the books, I guess.”

“Or seen the movie,” you added, referring to the 1946 black and white picture. “I’ll confess I haven’t actually read the book. But I do enjoy mystery novels. Um, James Patterson is one of my go-to authors, if you can call him that. His stuff is pretty easy to get through and it’s nice to be able to just sink into something mysterious but simple like that.”

You noticed his eyes still weren’t meeting yours, but you didn’t mind. It’s not like the lighting was very good inside anyway, you wouldn't be able to see his face in great detail.

“Um, you can take one if you’d like,” you said, gesturing to the drinks. “My friend got a bunch of guys to buy us some, but I don’t really drink a ton, and she hasn’t been back since she went to go ‘dancing’ with one of them, so...”

The man bobbed his head, gratefully accepting one of the drinks.

After a few hard sips of that liquid courage, his confidence had returned to him along with a nice pink flush of his cheeks.

“I have a copy of the Big Sleep and its sequels, the books, not the movie,” he said. “Back at my apartment, if you’d ever want to borrow it or… anything.”

You smiled, your cheeks turning a shade of pink as well.

“I think I’d like that,” you answered.

A/N: AHHH! Happy Halloween! And Happy Booping!

#scarecrow x reader #riddler x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane imagine #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton imagine #jonathan crane #edward nashton #scarecrow #riddler #dc #os

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