#Rattle/Scarecrow

[felinecorpse]

If DC scarecrow not transgender then why he look like that

[kismetlotts]

Kinktober 🎃 day eight: Knife play!

cw: knife play, non con/dub con, degrading names e.g whore, slut, violent language, fingering, public sex, sex in the dark, Simons a little crazy, licking his fingers clean, knife to the throat, dominant Simon, masked Simon, Simon who thinks he owns you, finger riding, crying

Simon hated you. You left him, you nasty- selfish disgusting little slut. How dare you leave his life, vanish after years of saving his back and him protecting yours. Years of being together daily, training- working- bickering; pretty much glued at the hip.

If one thing for sure- Simon hated talking to people, he only made the effort to get somewhat close to you from the Captain’s orders but little did he know how badly he’d fall for you. Fucking fall for you. The way you presented yourself, body wracking with elegance and normality. The dream girl he never knew existed, the girl that he was going to marry. You were his- his yours: every moment with you he felt alive, burning with your foreign endearment, a care he never knew he would be granted with. A love full of delicacy and sugar he’d be a fool to balk.

So why on gods green earth did you fucking abandon him? Why did you wish your goodbyes, thank your teammates and set off for a new life. A different career branch, new set of friends; perhaps a new lover. It was brutal, you were heartless. He wanted to break your fucking spine. Tracking you down and following you into some shitty overpriced Halloween pop up event happening near you, a haunted house in which your new friends and new boss were accompanying you. A murderous intent trailing through his body before it sunk deep in the masked, 6'ft Lieutenant’s stomach at the sight of your boss’s arm around you. He’d cut his fingers off and force him to choke on them for touching what isn’t his.

Managing to sneak past the security and walking into the haunted house- well mansion- he hid himself in a corner on the second floor. The room was wide and decorated like the interior of a barn. Haystacks and dark oak panels covering the red walls and barricaded windows. A creaky wooden floor and barley any light aside from the odd lantern, casting a warm- sinister glow.

It was probably a hint to the actor in the next room- probably some psycho farmer or a chainsaw wielding scarecrow stood ready to chase after you. Simon didn’t feel fear when it came to the actors around this place, he’d like to see a man smothered in fake blood and a zombie costume out at war, on enemy territory with nothing but a pistol, fighting and protecting for not just his life but for the life of your teammates- civilians. That was true terror you had to make people feel and true terror you felt in yourself.

He heard footsteps approaching and laughter falling people, your voice shining through them and into his ears like a song- a song that he had muted and silenced for a moment. His cock hardening as he grabbed the fake knife hidden on hay beside him, running at your new little group with his prop knife, internally rolling his eyes as they all screamed and ran for the next door. All but one.

Your eyes lingered on his mask, surely it wasn’t him- why would he be here? An actor in a silly little Halloween house doesn’t necessarily scream Simon. His hand threw the fake knife on the floor, the plastic rattling against the wood as he walked forward, grabbing you by the neck and shoving you against the wall. Not giving you any time to analyse the situation you’d entered.

“Why the fuck did you leave me?” He growled in your ear, knee coming between your legs and pushing your thighs apart. The fabric of his jeans rubbing your clothed pussy harshly, mouth opened but no words coming out. What words would come out? What the actual fuck? You were petrified.

A pleased hum came from the chapped lips of the man, his eyes squinting slightly from a smile beneath his mask, creasing his black eye makeup and staring through your pupils- into your soul: your fear. You were pathetic, couldn't even explain yourself to him, he could laugh.

“Simon- please.” You pleaded, your voice cracking with fear as it seeped through your thick strong interior, igniting a manic chuckle from his lips. Did you think he was going to kill you? His little backstabbing whore he’d tracked down, slowly bleeding out as he’d leave you against the wall. His blade deep in the side of your throat. No no no, Simon didn’t want to hurt you- he wanted to toy with you.

“Love, I'm not going to kill you- O’d you think I am?” The knife not moving an inch against your pretty flesh, a contrast between the softness of your skin and the sharpness of the blade. Applying the perfect amount of pressure to poke but not cut. An ounce of relief washed over you at that comment, the reassurance palpable but the dread sickening; if he wasn’t going to kill you what did he want from you?

He watched as his body trembled beneath him; anxiety overtaking your blood and your veins, looking away and down because if you stayed looking up at him you were going to cry. A weak weak little girl compared to him. You could act strong, you could push him away and run as fast as you could but there would be no use, he’d catch you somehow, somewhere. He’d fuck with you more, all you could do was obey him and his demands now unless you wanted a life of watching over your shoulder constantly.

“Strip.” And your hands slipped into the waist band of your bottoms, tugging them down and stepping out of them, hesitating would only make him more pissed off. Your shaky hand grabbing the bottom of your shirt too, tugging that over your head leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties, your bra and wet panties. He looked down your body a whistle at the end of this tongue but he held back, looking up at you again.

“Strip- you want me to get fucking mad?” And hesitantly you took off your panties, unhooking you bra, tears pouring from your eyes as you hugged yourself, not only embarrassed but ashamed, ashamed with what your letting happen and horrified that you kind of like it. His body came in closer again, heating you up as he dragged the tip of the blade down your body. Between your tits, over your tummy and against your cunt, stuffing two fingers inside your hole greedily, not even focused on you anymore.

He kept a steady pace, thrusting his fingers inside over and over again, curving them slightly so it feels good for you but not giving you any opportunity to come or get close. Going at his pace, touching you how he wanted to at whatever speed he likes. His ears perked up at the little whines you let out, tiny confirmation that you weren’t all scared and were enjoying it- the juices running down your thigh gave him that understanding too. What a dirty bitch, getting fingered against the wall of a horror house, a knife pressed against her but it only increasing her arousal: you were mad. He was fucking taken aback.

“Yeah? You sad little whore. Missing Simon so much the minute he gets you against the wall you give in. Where was my strong girl from a few moments ago? Where did she go, huh, baby?” Mockery. Your body felt red- it felt hot. Anger taking over the fear and fuelling you. You threw your body back down on his fingers, practically riding his hand for him. Moaning in his ear, showing him that you were still there, still strong. Still holding on and that despite his best efforts of trying to scare you- fucking with you- hurting you. It didn’t work because you enjoyed the pain, you lived off of the pain he provided you.

After a few more thrusts of his fingers you came over his hand, eyes rolling shut and all tears from before resurfacing and pouring from your eyes. Legs such a trembling mess he dragged you towards the hay, lifting and placing you on top so you could breathe and come down from you high. He watched you pant, eyes shut as your tits bounced from each breath. His eyes flickered to his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean, your taste exploding on his tongue.

“Next time you misbehave and leave me I won’t be so generous. I’ll get your paperwork done and you’ll be back with us in no time.” You nodded unsure on what else to do. Simon had control over you now; Simon had the power and all you could do is submit. There was no backing down now, you were tied to his hip. And something deep inside you, something sick and deluded was unsure. Something in you, so fucked up you couldn’t help but wonder if you minded, if you cared that you were living a life run by Simon.

Looking up to see him look down at you; a raging, violent look in his eye but behind it there was softness. Protection and security, you were Simon’s and he was going to keep you safe in the long run. And maybe that wasn’t all bad. So what if he’s a little crazy, it just shows how much he cares.

[pluvialpoet]

bergamot

Summary: moments of quiet reflection reaffirm what you both already know to be true- he’s always going to come back, and you’re always going to be waiting with open arms

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

Requested: no

Warning: idiots in love, friends to lovers, mutual pining, scarecrow's fear toxin, mentions of death and grief, slight angst, fluffy ending, loosely based off of batman: hush (2019)- but no major spoilers

Word Count: 3,930

masterlist

a/n: I know that dick has a tolerance against/is immune to scarecrow's fear toxin, but let's pretend he isn't...for the plot

Sleep is cruel in the way it continues to evade you when you crave it most. Mocking and teasing, exhaustion morphs into desperation. Even with your eyes shut dreams fail you, and nightmares taunt.

A siren wails, bellowing out into the night and echoing caution even after the initial cry has faded. Could be a police car, or an ambulance. Maybe even a fire truck. You try not to consider all of the possibilities, knowing it’ll only starve your slumber, further. With a huff, you adjust the heavy comforter, pulling it up until it bunches just under your chin.

In a few weeks, branches will be stripped of their leaves. Snow will fall, and the city will suffocate under a blanket of white. July was only yesterday, sticky and never-ending- infinite until finite. Now, January lurks around the corner- weeks away, but daunting, nevertheless.

The pillow tucked behind your back is a poor imitation of the brawn you wish feathers and fill could replicate, just as the one pressed to your chest acts as an imposter mimicking the body meant to be sleeping peacefully beside you. It’s impossible to tell feelings of loneliness apart from being alone, and deep down you know that reminiscence is merciless. Memory is wicked. But you can’t help remembering. It’s the only way you won’t forget- and even then, so much time has passed that you’ve begun to fade, and he’s begun to blur. Spiraling further and further away from reality and control, you drift towards hope, feeding each dangerous possibility until you have nothing left to give, but delusion takes and takes and takes…

Answers elude like comfort- and sleep. When, how, and why is lost upon you. He’s been gone for so long. Even so, your life has continued, evolving to accommodate the gaps he used to fill. Though, it’s about as effective as papier-mâchéing an open wound shut. Everywhere you look, everything you do, every time you shut your eyes, he finds a way to bleed into you, one way or another, and you welcome it every single time. All you really have are memories and a space in your bed which has always been his to come home to.

Outside, the wind howls. Angry and violent, the sound rattles the windowpane and you burrow deeper into the covers trying to block it out. Shadows dance across the ceiling, but none of them belong to the ghost you’ve been waiting for. Another frustrated huff fails to quell burning exhaustion, and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before checking the clock next to you. Neon green flashes, all too pleased to report that it’s well past midnight and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Already tomorrow, and you’re still mourning today.

Pushing the covers off, you shiver. There’s a chill in the air and little comfort to be found in the fact that the entire apartment feels cold and empty without him in it. At least it’s not just the bed. It’s the entire room, the hallway, and the kitchen, too. You reach for the light above the stove and begin to search the cupboards for a mug. If nothing else, at least a cup of tea will warm you up. Thanks to muscle memory, you act on autopilot, filling the ceramic with water and placing it in the microwave before picking a teabag and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Three monotone beeps call your attention back before it has another chance to wander away from you, and you retrieve the cup and place the teabag inside. Steeping time be damned.

You can’t wait any longer.

One leg curls under the other as you take a seat and bring the mug to your mouth. It burns the tip of your tongue, a small price to pay for your greed, and you swallow the too-hot liquid regardless of the consequences. The pain barely registers, anyway. With both palms pressed to the vessel, warmth finally finds you, and a barely contented huff passes your lips to blow the steam from the cup. It’s not always like this. It’s not supposed to be, but for so long, it has been. Never months, always weeks. You don’t know how to do this or how much longer you can put yourself through this torture when every sunrise twists the knots in your stomach tighter and tighter. How much longer until you snap?

You’re so tangled up in your suffering that you miss it the first time, until the hair on the back of your neck bristles. Did you imagine it? Silently, you wait, setting the steaming mug down to listen, and this time, you hear it. Faintly, but there. Real.

Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

I’m here. I’m safe. Can I come in?

Your feet move before the rest of your body does, and the chair scrapes loudly across the hardwood as you jump from it in shock. A cocktail of excitement, worry, disbelief, and fear bubbles and swirls through you when you spot a familiar glimpse of black and blue through the window near the fire escape.

“Dick?”

Crossing the room without any memory of doing so, you fiddle with the latch that keeps you from him, and him from you, until finally it clicks. With only one foot through the window, you reach for him, desperate to savor the illusion until mass, warmth and a heartbeat prove it to be real. Upon realizing, your breath hitches. He’s real. He’s real, and he’s here. No longer a dream. No longer a nightmare. No longer a vision only sleep can grant or mold, he stands before you. He takes a moment to properly slide the window shut behind him, returning the lock to its rightful position- keeping the rest of the world and the winter, out- before turning to face you once more. He can’t even get a word out before you’re pressed against him, wrapping your arms around him and holding yourself back from crushing him with the intensity of your longing. Overly cautious of injuries you can’t physically see- mindful of bruises, tears of flesh, and wounds that remain eclipsed by kevlar and moonlight- you embrace him with a hesitancy that severely undermines your fervor. Holding him gently- delicately, tenderly- the way you’ve dreamt about entwining with him on nights when sleep has been generous instead of cruel, you finally look up at him.

A sigh of relief dispels the hoarded tension in your neck, shoulders, and chest when you rest your head against his chest and inhale. Sweat and copper muddle his natural scent, but even when he’s covered in his victories, even when he’s drenched in his defeats, he still smells like home- warm, safe, familiar, and comforting.

He hesitates to envelop you with the same thinly veiled desperation, holding himself back.

Every muscle in his body carries the strain of battles fought and won. His head throbs with the force of his thoughts, and the inescapable dizziness that always accompanies crashing down from a high. Then again, he’s never been one to ease into things gracefully. Tiny cuts and scrapes, angry blacks and blues, and even gaping gashes that are still seeping and tender to the touch hardly register as anything other than a stinging, burning sensation. Everything is dull. Ferocity and intensity both subdued. Through the haze of everything that competes for his attention, you’re the one thing that’s clear. As always, the hold you have on him, both physical and metaphorical, brings him back to his senses, but doubt keeps him withdrawn.

Warily wrapping his arms around you, Dick returns the gesture as best as he can. Cages built of muscle, meant to keep you close, refuse to lock you in place, and he finds it increasingly difficult to resist surrendering to you entirely. Just as his nerves begin to settle they spike once more when the gravity of the past few months finally begins to sink in. As you continue to tremble in his arms, he swallows a lump in his throat and fights the urge to hold you impossibly closer. If he weren’t so afraid, he’d never let go again. But he’s not the same man he was the last time you saw him. Having seen too much, he knows that he can’t let this become something more. Fear is rotten. He’s seen the future, and if he keeps leaning on you then he’s only going to drag you down with him. Regardless of what he really wants, he won’t let this become something more, but then he looks down at you in his shirt and realizes it’s always been something more- and it terrifies him more than anything.

When pink swirls around the drain- a muted severity of soapy lather and remnants of crusted, oozing red- he rests his forehead against the cold tiles and lets out a deep sigh. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a proper shower. Under the trickling scorch, he allows his shoulders to slump forward, letting the too-hot water soothe his muscles like a balm, and it stings in a way he welcomes- a reminder that he’s done it again, he’s survived the worst and now he just has to survive the recovery.

He’s never been good with the after, always losing himself in possibilities of what comes next without taking a minute to catch his breath, but he’s trying to be better. He owes it to you. Not only you but himself, too- but mostly you. So, he tries to forget. He pushes memories too fresh to be forgotten somewhere else, banishing them to the far corners of his mind and locking them away until he’s ready to face his demons at his own pace, on his own terms, but his wicked creations fight back. Even when they’re crafted from delusions, mirroring real-life counterparts with a precision too exact to be a figmented replication, he finds himself engaged in an internal match that never crowns a victor. It’s a conflict that never ceases, even after his own surrender. Still, he’s found that the intrusions are less when copper is overpowered by citrus, and when red, inevitably swirls into pink.

Steam amplifies the smell of sweat and body odor, so pungent that the only word to describe it is bad, and he holds his breath while he reaches for your soap once more. He can’t believe you let him anywhere near you. It’s even more unfathomable that you sought an embrace, despite the remnants of battle that’ve woven themselves into his being- lingering, even long after. He’s repulsed by that which exposes him, a stench so strong that it serves as a testament to the fact that he reclaimed you as soon as he could, coming right back to this haven of sorts without any prior stops, and his stomach churns uncomfortably, the once soothing mist tainting each attempt at air, and a weight teases the aching muscles of his chest which breath does not alleviate.

Through the haze, he sees the truth- when reality remains undistorted by the tricks of his own want and longing, he recognizes fact without his own warped perceptions of fantasy- and he realizes just how careless he’s been. By allowing desire to suade better judgment, he’s put you at risk. Guilt punishes with an onslaught of emotions ranging from frustration to anger, sadness to grief, and even regret to sorrow. His own reluctance to accept how dangerous it was, and always has been, to lean on your affections as a crutch has finally caught up to him. After all that he’s seen, after everything he’s been forced to bear witness to over the past few months, coupled with a lifetime of loss, he’s no longer able to ignore the thought that’s broken free from the shackles of elsewhere. What was once dull, always there but never really forgotten, has become intense and persistent.

Every time he finds his way back to you, he invites peril into your life. He’s hazardous. Even if he’s not, being attached to him- in any way- puts you at an even greater risk of endangerment. Trying to justify something even as tame as a friendship is absurd. You’re so much more than that. Whether he meant for it to happen or not, you’ve found a place within his heart. Every beat echoes your name and carries secrets of his devotion. All that remains of the walls meant to protect both of you is rubble, and Dick stands alone in the epicenter of the aftermath, unsure and torn between chaos and order. Selfishly, he wants. Greedily, he craves. Morally, he knows that he should just walk away- but he can’t.

The scene shifts, ceramic tile falling away to reveal an eerie, yet familiar boneyard, and he shakes his head. It’s not real. It was never real- but it was so vivid. Cold fog obscures his vision, and he closes his eyes. This is a trick. This isn’t truth. He knows what comes next. Forced to indulge in his worst nightmares, the shrill, piercing sound of your terror renders him numb. He can’t move. Paralyzed, he fights limbs of lead, but he can’t act. It surrounds him, your agony, and he can’t do anything to save you. He can’t protect you. With each cry of his name, you plead, but there’s nothing he can do. When silence follows his ragged breaths, he refuses to look down. He hates this part the most, but he doesn’t have a choice. Crimson stains the black and blue weave, and he can taste metallic. He doesn’t have any control over this hallucination, born and bred from his greatest fear, and all he can do is witness the fallout of your shared torture- your blood on his hands, his body slumped against your tombstone, and the triumphant laughter of a clown, a scarecrow, a ventriloquist, and a hundred more that delight in your demise.

He can’t catch his breath. Drifting further and further away from reality, he struggles to claw his way back towards the light. When his vision begins to fade, he reaches for more soap. In for three counts, out for four. In for three counts, and out for four, again, Dick feels lightheaded. There’s no limit to how far he’d go to keep you safe, not a single rule or code he wouldn’t break to protect you from anything and everything- and that’s an entirely different threat, in and of itself. His loyalty has the potential to become his ruin, and he’d let it- for your sake- but would that be enough? Could his devotion be enough to keep you safe from the otherwise brutal fate that awaits you with, and without, his intervention?

The bite of a washrag leaves his skin raw. Lost to his thoughts, he’s been mindlessly scrubbing away at his flesh, dousing himself with bubbled distraction. Another breath fails to alleviate his unease. All he can think about is that which is out of his control, and he can’t help but wonder, is there even a chance for the two of you?

Every thought is a contradiction.

He could wax poetic to Bruce about love- how precious and fragile and conscious it is- but he can’t even bring himself to act upon his own advice. Even worse than following in a denialist’s footsteps is being a hypocrite, but there are just too many variables for him to take into account- too many what-ifs and maybe’s that enable him to cower behind words left unspoken.

In spite of this, he dares to dream of a future where you’re his and he’s yours, and nothing else matters. Lost to his delusions, a smile threatens to work muscles that’ve remained dormant for months of disuse. It hurts. Stretching, pulling, and manipulating his face to actually convey what he’s feeling instead of trying to veil it, hurts. However, the worst pain follows. As he reaches for the illusion, it slips through his fingers- so close he can almost hold it, yet just out of reach, simultaneously- and just like that, reality distorts the mirage. Pried from him, ripped away and sporting his claw marks, what could’ve been remains what could’ve been- and it’s all his fault.

Fear suppresses his love.

He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose this, too. He won’t. However glutinous, he craves more- even when he knows he can’t have it, he wants with a desire that’s almost too strong to ignore. Almost. Locking his feelings away, he throws away the key, but his ribs begin to expand with the intensity of his longing, and his chest feels tight. This isn’t like before. It seems as if his secrets have outgrown their cages, and he finds himself at a crossroads. His mind begins to drift and he wonders if this agony is why Bruce kept Selina at arm’s length…

A sigh, and a revelation- he’s not Bruce, and you’re not Selina.

Dick’s been going about this all wrong. Despite everything he’s been taught about love and loss, he’s allowed a life outside of a domino mask and kevlar. He deserves to cherish someone, to protect and devote himself to something other than his work- someone to fight for, someone to come home to- and he deserves to be beloved, too. Even if only for tonight. Even if tomorrow isn’t promised and all you have is right now, you’re here. On the other side of the frosted glass screen and plaster, you’re waiting for him. Another smile, less forced and genuine, feels like a relief instead of a burden. His skin pebbles under the frigid stream left in the wake of molten steam. With a shiver, he seeks your warmth, reaching for the faucet and stepping out of the enclosure.

A worn shirt rests atop the counter, the fabric faded from years of wear and wash, folded neatly beneath a pair of fresh boxers and socks likely left behind from the last time, or the time before that, or even the time before…truth be told, he thought he’d lost it, misplaced it, or given it away. Of course, you’ve had it in your care, all along. The corner of his mouth threatens to twitch into a smile. Slipping the towel from around his waist, he begins to dress, wondering when you managed to sneak in without him hearing you. The door used to creak, and he realizes that you must have fixed it while he was gone. It’s hard not to think about what else might’ve changed since the last time he saw you. Would you have stayed with him, if he asked you to? You always have. Six years and counting, he muses if you always will…

His hair is getting long, again. Droplets fall from the overgrown strands at the base of his neck down his back, making him shiver and reach for his towel once more. He pats his hair down, ruffling it with the towel a few times before wiping away at the mirror. Making eye contact with his reflection he’s the first to look away. He’s looked worse and supposes that's a small win in and of itself, though he can’t stand the sight of himself any longer than he has to. A deep exhale and a shake of his head diverts his attention to the countertop where a spare toothbrush has been left out for him to use. Of course, he already knows where the toothpaste is. He helps himself with a growing smile and places it in the holder right next to yours when he’s done. His chest expands with something he can’t quite name when he finds himself surrounded by gentle reminders of your care. A small cup of water and painkillers act as physical embodiments of your thoughtfulness and he revels in the knowledge that you’re letting him know you’re there for him while giving him space to come down from whatever adrenaline rush the past few months have spiked. It’s in those silent gestures of love that he hears it the loudest, echoing and amplifying all around him.

It must be killing you to act so selflessly, and he tries not to be selfish with your affections, but it’s difficult not to feel like a burden when you’ve rearranged more than just a spot on the counter, or a place for him to keep his toothbrush next to yours, for him- giving him a home without expecting anything else in return.

Down the hall, the mattress protests against his arrival, angry springs squeaking from months of disuse before welcoming his weight and warmth on the side opposite of yours- his side, from the very moment, years ago, when he found his way back to you after a night that left him bloody and beaten but not broken. Never broken- not when he’s always had you. Though most memory of the first evening spent beside you remains a blur, the ability to recall details and specifics stolen from him as his wounds wept crimson tears that stained your hands and upholstery, fondness prevails. Despite robbed recollections, tender warmth, and affection remain. Even then, he knew. Without really knowing, without certainty, he was certain- he loved you, and you loved him, and every gentle, devoted gesture has always reaffirmed the one thing he could never doubt. Every silent offering, every selfless sacrifice, and piece of yourself that you’ve surrendered to him further insists that your heart acts in favor of three words never spoken.

His arm finds your waist easily, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around his reluctance to accept what this is, anymore. Not when you’re here. Not when you’re waiting so patiently for him, and snuggle back into his hold the moment he reaches out for you. Some limbs tangle, but not yours- the two of you fit perfectly together, like you were truly meant to be, and the moment that you’re allowed to converge, you press your palm flat against his arm, holding him close to you.

Reacquainting yourself with him after is always your favorite part. Though, your heart cleaves when your fingertips ghost over a new scar- the skin still raised and angry, even if the wound has closed. With something akin to sympathy, an apology for the pain he’s suffered that you can’t take away, you gently trace the new mark in acknowledgment.

Tomorrow, or later today, when the sunlight illuminates the sky, you’ll ask him about it. Or, maybe you won’t. When the first glimpses of warm light threaten to spill over the horizon, you might get answers to the questions you’ve spent the last few months pondering. Or, perhaps everything unasked will remain unresolved. Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that tonight, you’ll sleep- safe and protected, at ease and engulfed by all things him- and even if it only lasts for the night, you’ll cherish whatever small moments of intimacy the moon grants before the sun, inevitably, rips them away- a fate you’ve grown to expect, time and time again.

Still, you let your eyes flutter shut, basking in the silence for only a moment before it’s interrupted.

“I love you,” Dick confesses softly, words warm and whispered against your shoulder encouraged by a fleeting moment of courage- and the tender caress of your touch- that prompt the secret to spill from his chest, an accident he fears he may have to render excuses for to salvage whatever broken pieces are left of this unspoken relationship.

“I know,” With your back towards him he misses the stretch of a smile ghosting your lips, and finds himself tensing behind you. Could you have really known? All this time? Is that why he always comes back? Is that why you let him? “I love you, too,”

“No, I mean, I really lo-“

“Tell me in the morning, yeah?” You suggest before he can get too far ahead of himself. Torn between wanting to clarify his confession and realizing that maybe he doesn’t have to, Dick relents. He can’t really argue, anyway- having kept this to himself for so many years, another few hours won’t hurt. With a breath- of acceptance, not defeat or surrender- he closes his eyes and finally relaxes into your embrace.

It’s over.

For now, Dick can rest easy knowing that when the smell of bergamot fades, this tacit love will always remain, and he finds enough comfort in the realization to let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: I love him so much!!! this has been rotting in my brain for nearly a year and I just found it in my drafts last night lol! anyway, this started as a challenge to myself where I wanted to see if I could write something with only five lines of dialogue, and I'm curious to hear how you all think it turned out! as always, requests are open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! 

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[jasmines-library]

Lost and found.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 20. Prompt: “You will regret touching them.” Fandom: Batfam

Summary: After falling into a trap, you are captured by Scarecrow and exposed to his fear toxin. When your older brothers arrive to help you, your fear gets the better of you.

Warnings: Fear, disappointment, beating, hurt.

Word count: 2K

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You hadn’t been living with Bruce that long. A few years. If that. You were the baby of the family, younger than Damian and in some ways you supposed he resented you for it; always narrowing his eyes at you when passing him the hallway. You often felt estranged from the rest of the boys, never fully understanding their inside jokes or nightly routines. You never felt as though you belonged despite the fact that the older boys had tried to make you feel welcome. 

The one person you had managed to connect with was Alfred. When your time wasn’t occupied by training or patrol it was often spent curled up in the study with a book and excitedly explaining it to him. Reading was one of your passions; it allowed you to escape the harsh realities of the cruel world and alfred was glad to hear you rant, it often resulted in him mirroring the smile on your face. 

It was a late autumn night when the call came in. You were lounging on the window seat watching the rain batter against the glass. Your brothers were out on patrol and you were the only one left home, so you floated over to the phone, answering it and bringing it to your ear. 

“Hello?”

There was static on the other end of the line, followed by a shuffling. And then came the voice of a child. “Please… please help me.”

You began to pull on your suit, listening closely to the girl speaking over the phone. 

“My friend she-”

“Calm down.” you told her. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”

She rattled off her location through sobs. “Please hurry.”

“It’s gonna be okay.” You reassured her. 

Once you had calmed the girl, you slipped out of the exit of the batcave and began to race through town. It was a quiet night. The rain had pushed many people inside, so the lack of people on the streets really threw you off, but you decided to warn your brothers where you were going, just in case. 

“Nightwing?” You asked over the comms, hoping that he wasn’t too occupied to answer. 

“Raven?” He wrinkled his nose. “What are you doing out?”

“A call came in. A young girl said her friend was cornered by a group of armed criminals. I’ve got it handled, but I thought I'd give you a heads up.”

“Copy that Raven.” 

The line went silent again as you continued to push your way into the city until you reached the location that the scared girl gave you over the line. Only, there was no one in sight. You called out into the darkness but there was no reply. And then, there was a sharp prick to the side of your neck. 

~

When you awoke, your hands and hands were bound together by old rope that scratched at your skin. The floor was dank and dusty and your mask had been torn from your face. You could feel a small nic along your eyebrow, and your entire body ached. 

Without full use of your hands, you struggled to sit up when you noticed the figure leaning against the wall across the room. Tall and masked with a straw hat, he loomed over you, observing you from afar. You used your legs to inch yourself away from the humanoid figure, but he outpaced you, squatting down in front of you and trailing a gloved hand along your jaw.

“Hiya little birdie.”

“Get off of me.” You spat.

Scarecrow tutted, but removed his hand. “I’m glad to see you. You see, I've been watching you for some time. I’ve seen how miserable  you’ve been. And I've been waiting for a chance to get you alone. I have to say though, it was much easier than I anticipated.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The villain chided. “Mm, I have something more fun in mind. You see, I've been experimenting with something new. Well, new and improved. You see, my old fear toxin, it was good but you couldn’t really feel. If you know what I mean? So I did some experimenting and I've finally created something I've just been dying to test out. So I figured, why not have some fun while I'm at it?”

“They’re coming for me.” You told him with narrowed eyes. “And you’re gonna be a dead man?”

He tilted his head, resting his hand on the door before he stepped out and shut it completely. “Are they?”

He bolted the door shut, leaving you in the dimly lit room where a thick, green smog began to billow through the vents. You tried to back away from the smoke, but it surrounded you, cascading down all four walls. You took a deep breath, taking in all of the air you could, but it didn’t last long, eventually you couldn’t stand the burning in your lungs and you were forced to inhale the substance, choking as it filled your lungs. 

When the green began to fade away, vanishing into the air, you were left alone in the silence. Though it wasn’t long before the door was broken down by heavy pounding, and the masked face of your brother burst through the door. 

“Y/N”

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Jason. Oh thank god, I thought you weren’t going to come. He told me that you none of you would and I-”

“Shut up.”

You stilled. “What?”

“I said shut up!” He kicked you hard to the ribs eliciting a yelp from you. 

“Jason…?”

“God, are you as stupid as you look? Shut it.” Jason kicked you harder, each one growing in intensity and followed by a snarky remark. You tucked your head to your chest, pressing your hands tightly to your ears until eventually, Jason vanished into a cloud of green and you were plunged back into emptiness. 

“Oh god… Y/N.”

It was Tim’s voice, shaky as he raced towards you. His hands gripped your arms as he forced them away from your ears. You half glanced up at him, doing a double take when you saw the look set upon his face. It was tender, but laced with worry. You wanted to reach out into his arms, but you were hesitant. 

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” He bent down and removed the frayed rope from your wrists, you rubbed them. Tim then swung his arm around your shoulder to help you up, but you only made it a few steps towards the door when he flung you over his shoulder, sending you plummeting to the floor with a sickening crack as your skull collided with the ground. Your head throbbed as blood dripped from the crack that had opened in the back of your head. 

“Silly girl.” Tim laughed. “You really think we care enough to come and help you? After you were foolish enough to fall for his trap? You always mess things up Y/N. You’re a burden. Nothing more. Bruce’ll be glad to finally be rid of you.”

“Tim, Please-"

He reeled his fist back to land the final blow. You scrambled backwards, raising your arm above your face to protect yourself, but no pain came. And Time was gone. 

Fat, hot tears were rolling down your cheeks by the time that Damian entered the room. He narrowed his eyes at you like he normally did. They were so full of hate. You closed your eyes, biting down on your trembling lip and sinking against the wall. 

“Get up.” He demanded, voice thick with venom. 

You squeezed your eyes shut even tighter. 

“Damian… please don’t. I don’t need to hear how-”

“I hate you.”

It was only three words, but they cut right through you like a bullet. 

“I hate you.” He gritted out. “You ruined everything. We were fine without you. We were happy. And then you came along and you- you took all of that away. You’re a disappointment. And I hate you.”

Damian didn’t move to hurt you, but you supposed in some ways that's what hurt the most. Not the pain and the beating, no. That’s not what you were scared of. It was disappointing your family. You grimaced as Damian left, waiting for the cycle to start again.  

~~~ 

Damian didn’t think he had ever ran faster in his life. His boots slapped against the concrete as he raced alongside his older brothers. He had never been more scared than at the lack of your voice over the comms. The four of them had been trying you for hours but had had no such luck. That was until Alfred managed to snag your location on the computer. And so the four of them ran. 

Dick’s heart thundered against his ribs. He feared what Scarecrow had done to you. He had heard the stories; witnessed the horrors. But he couldn’t bear to fathom what your mind would conjure up. You had seen too much. 

When he pushed his way into the warehouse, it was dark. And silent. The four of them kept their eyes peeled for a sign of anything, but there was no sign of you or Scarecrow. That was until Damian spotted the frame of the door poking out from behind a metal cabinet. It took two of them to haul the heavy piece of furniture away. It squealed awfully as it scraped across the floor. When they pushed the door open they had to squint to see you hidden in the corner of the room. Your eyes were wide and you were hyperventilating at the sight of them.

“Y/N?”

“No, no…” You shook your head, trying to back further into the wall when he took a step towards you. 

Jason tried too, but it only worked you up more. 

“Not all of you…please. Please…”

Jason knelt down beside you, reaching to touch you gently, but you flinched away.

“It’s not going to work.” A voice laughed out from the doorway. 

The brother’s whipped round to face the scarecrow. 

“What have you done to her?” Tim spat. 

He chuckled deeply. “She’s been exposed to my new fear toxin. See, I don’t know what she’s  been seeing but whatever it is, you guys are clearly an important part of it.”

Tim gritted his teeth. “You are going to regret touching her.”

They surged forwards, pinning him towards the wall. He fought back, but was no match for the anger-fueled vigilantes. When he slumped to the ground, they were tasked with the even more challenging job of getting you out. But when they moved towards you, tears rolled fatly down your face as you sobbed. 

“Please…” You shook. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me please.”

Damian froze. “What?  

“You’ve done enough…please.” 

You flinched as the youngest of your brothers laid a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/N? It’s us. We’re real, I promise.”

You shook your head. “...no”

“We’re not gonna hurt you, kid.”

“You already have…”

Their hearts stopped simultaneously and Dick swallowed thickly. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.”

Everything went black as his fist collided with your head.

~~~

You sat up abruptly. You were back in the safety of your own room, tucked away in your bed. Although you were more aware of what had happened, you couldn’t shake the fear that rolled over you. But you weren’t alone when you woke up. You were surrounded by a sea of familiar faces.

“Y/N?” Dick asked when he noticed your eyes were open.

“Yeah.” You murmured groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You just shrugged meekly.

“Oh y/n/n we were so worried.” Damian said. His tenderness was foreign. 

“What did you see?” Dick asked hesitantly. 

“All of you. Disappointed in me.”

“Oh kid.” Tim looked at you with sad eyes. “We would never be disappointed in you. We love you so, so much. And we couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“But I fell for his trap. I-”

“Uh Uh. You did what you thought was right. How were you supposed to know?”

Again, you just shrugged. 

“We’re proud of you, little wing. So proud.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 19 ⛤ DAY 21 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[ravennaortiz]

October 28th is Happy with the prompt: Youve never been trick or treating? Requested by a lovely Anon.

You and Happy were cooking dinner when he made his confession. You were shocked to say the least. Never had you ever thought you would hear our husband utter something like that. “What did you say?” you demanded as you turned from the stove. Surely you had been wrong. Must have misheard him.

Happy just simply rolled the toothpick in his mouth as he set the table. Unaware of the disbelieve and shock he had provoked. “I’’ve never been trick or treating” he repeated simply as he turned to the pantry door. “Wine?” he inquired as he looked around the contents before pulling a bottle of your favorite red out.

“You’ve never been trick or treating? You repeated as you turned the burner off and carried the pot of potato soup to the table.

“Correct. Are you having hearing issues or something?’ asked Happy frowning as he looked at you. He had never had to repeat himself so much.

“I’ll fix it” you replied mind already planning not really listening to what Happy had said.

2 days later

“And what are you little boy?” questioned Tig trying not to laugh as Happy stood in front of him dressed as a scarecrow.

“I’ll cut you open and feast” started to growl Happy before you smacked him in the back of the head. Happy growled and gritted his teeth. You were lucky he loved you.

“Trick or treat” spat Happy as he shook his pumpkin pail at Tig. The candy he had collected from Juice and Bobby rattling inside.

“Here’s two for you little boy and three for your hot mother” cooed Tig as he winked at you as you shook your head and grabbed Happys arm as he started to grab his gun.

Return to Masterlist

[mikashisus]

TO MY NAME, TO THE HILLS !

SUMMARY: he showed up in your dreams like a phantom, and left your life as quick as the breeze that brought him to you. but nothing could have prepared you for the way his presence lingered even long after he was gone.

PAIRING: kaedehara kazuha x gn!witch!reader

TAGLIST! @wystiix @pixelcafe-network

warnings: angst if u rlly RLLY squint. imagery of drowning(?) + suffocating

word count: 847

notes: idk wtf possessed me while i was writing this but i kid u not i was so locked in that i literally dissociated LMAO if only i could be this locked in on schoolwork sighs. anyw uhhh i think i peaked here ngl.

heavily inspired by yaelokre and their new song 'my farewells to the fields'. i was originally gonna title this with the name of the song, but i have a kaeya fic planned with the same name so i decided not to. also this totallyyyy doesn't take place in my RSE au... smile. also it's not stated anywhere in this, but the mc is a witch :p

this is my third entry for the @/stellaronhvnters halloween event! prompts: witch + scarecrow!

The first time you met him, it was in your dreams; In a world that felt way too far out of reach, yet so close all the same. 

The sun was sitting permanently at daybreak, and the air felt thick and still around you. It was suffocating, like being stuck under a pile of potato sacks. 

You could only make out a few features of his face— white hair tied to the side with a few strands set free to frame his face, dulled red eyes as sharp as a hare’s that bore straight through you into the precious organ secured in-between your ribcage. 

His clothes were tattered and torn in some places, and a lone instrument was strapped to his back. He carried a journal with him, a cecilia pressed neatly between the pages as a bookmark of sorts. His lips were thin and pink, pulled into a small smile that was as unnerving as it was welcoming. 

The hat covering his head blocked your direct view of his face, but it was no matter. He already revealed his striking eyes to you seconds before. 

His mouth opened, his voice as soft as a whisper and as fleeting as the wind that carried his poetic words afar. A hand reached out, encompassing your vision. You felt like you were submerged underwater, watching from above as he moved and talked in slow motion. 

The movement of his lips was hard to read, but you could hear his words distinctly— like a twig cracking in a silent forest. Like an echo in a cave. 

The hand reaching towards you lifted, and your body moved with it, and now you were no longer submerged in that wispy realm of distorted voices and sounds, and you could feel your body moving on its own as he led you astray. 

You couldn’t remember his voice, not anymore, and you could barely remember why he spoke to you or what he said, but there was one thing that stuck with you— his music. 

He strummed his lute with a fierce, powerful hand. It resonated in the earth beneath your feet, hit every nerve ending in your body; from your toes to your head, and flowed throughout every vein. It whipped amongst the trees, rattled their branches and rustled their leaves. It bounced off the wind, soaring and flying into the sky like an angelic choir. 

Too stunned to move, you watched as the man entranced you, leading you further and further into this dream-like wonderment. 

The farther you walked, the further you grew from reality, and the heavier your steps became; as if you were wading through water currents that tried desperately to push you back out into sea. But you were stubborn, and you fought, eager to follow this man back to shore. 

He took your hand, and you could feel the coldness of his touch on your skin as he whisked you into a dance of beasts and horns. You hummed along with his singing, allowing him to lead you into this trance. You followed his movements and copied them. You stored the memory away in the back of your mind and felt the fabric of his clothes underneath your fingertips. 

It was smooth but prickly, like a cornstalk. The fabric of the long cape was tattered with tassels on the edges and firmly knit together like a potato sack. The cecilias tucked into his collar smelled sickly sweet, invading your senses and further dizzying your already hazy mind. 

Before you could ask his name, he was gone, and you were left by yourself in the woods. That was no dream, if the cecilia wrapped firmly in your fist was anything to go by. The Autumn breeze wafted through the trees, causing the chimes on your porch to trill a lovely sound. 

It passed over your warm skin like ice water on a fresh wound, and you found yourself shivering. That was no dream, and that man was no figment of your imagination. You picked up the crumpled piece of parchment laying by your feet, inspecting its contents. 

“We will meet again, in some corner of the world. Find me in the future.” 

So, that is what you did. 

You went searching for the man of straws and cecilias, with whom you shared a dance. The man made of the same fabrics that you had in storage in your house. The man of peculiar origin, who— now that the hazy veil was lifted from your eyes —was anything but human. 

The song he sang echoed in your head like a siren’s call, and the chimes on your porch danced with the wind. The hills in the distance sang of tales of ancients, and the forests weaved those tales into reality. 

In the future, you set out for those hills and left the forests that wove your tale in its pages. The hills jumped to life, and so did you— for you would be reunited with the man who oddly resembled the scarecrow in the storybook collecting dust on your bookshelf.

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[seedsofagony]

Hayride (KnY ♡ Tengen)

Cherrytober Day 26: Interrupted // Thigh Riding

Series: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Characters: Uzui Tengen

Word Count: 567

Summary: modern au, x reader (f), date night, mentions of horror elements, lap sitting, public indecency I guess, thigh riding

Notes: Hayride 👏 thigh ride 👏 ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Disclaimer: Underage, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked. For everyone 18+, FUB free or filter my unique tag for this event: #sweets🍒24

You grit your teeth, clutching the haybale, as the wagon manages to hit yet another pothole. It's supposed to be a haunted hayride, but it's more like a haunting hayride—you're going to have a hard time sitting for the rest of the night.

Not that you regret going. The whole thing is pretty hokey—bad costumes and unconvincing makeup—but you don't mind. For every jump scare, you get to clutch Tengen's arm. Or at least, you had been until you were forced to keep your body from rattling apart.

"Kind of rough, isn't it?" Tengen grimaces.

Completely ignoring the actor waving the chainsaw and the terrified-slash-delighted screams of the other riders, you return his pained smile. "Very."

"Want to sit on my lap?"

You clutch imaginary pearls in mock scandal. "You mean, in front of all these people?"

Tengen glances around the wagon—couples clinging to each other, a few others who are equally unimpressed and just making out. He smiles wryly, "I don't think anyone will notice."

"Or care," you agree.

Easing off the bale, you brush the hay off your behind before depositing yourself on Tengen's lap. At least, that was the plan until the wagon hit yet another bump, sending you flying into his arms with a surprised yelp.

"Upsy-daisy," Tengen grins as he pulls you onto his thigh. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you huff. "Who's driving this thing anyway?"

Tengen chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. Still feeling a little ruffled, you sink back against his chest and try to enjoy the rest of the ride. A horde of stiff-legged zombies shambles after the wagon, waving plastic disembodied limbs. One of them is gnawing on a pink brain that looks more like a macabre dog toy—bruised ego (and butt) forgotten, you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

You also can't help but notice that you have the best seat in the house. The rocking of the wagon that was so irritating moments before has an unexpected benefit—your hips sway with the movement, grinding your clit against Tengen's firm, well-muscled thigh.

A flush rises in your cheeks and your eyes dart around your surroundings. Tiki lights blaze on either side of the dirt path, casting flickering shadows in the darkness of the night. The man on the tractor pulling the wagon couldn't care less about what's going on behind him, and the other riders are completely engrossed in the scenes—zombies giving way to pumpkin-headed scarecrow monsters—or each other. No one is paying attention to you.

Playing it cool, you shift ever so slightly. Warmth blooms between your legs, the vibration of the wagon wheels over the gravel humming through Tengen's leg and against your clit. You shift again as if to reposition yourself, rubbing your quickly swelling bud against him. His hands tighten on your waist slightly, steadying you. It crosses your mind then that maybe he wouldn't appreciate you trying to get off in public, but his lips brush your ear.

"Having fun?" he purrs. He pushes your hips forward and pulls you back ever so slightly, dragging you over his thigh.

You laugh nervously at having been found out and echo your earlier question—this time, a little more earnest, "What, in front of all these people?"

Tengen pushes and pulls you again, camouflaged by the dancing shadows and the diversion of B-movie monsters. "I don't think anyone will notice."

[toweroftickles]

Reimagined Tickling #5

Fairy Tail/The Legend of Korra

A lot of times when I see a tickling scene in a movie or TV show, I imagine how fun it would be to see other characters in those same situations. You know, like "Oh I wanna see X character get tickled like that." So I thought I'd try writing a few drabbles where I'll take a famous tickle scene and reinterpret it with new characters in new settings.

This one was a request from my readers! Let’s see how Avatar Korra fares, living through Lucy Heartfilia’s torment from Virgo.

This story takes place during TLOK Season One.

Late-night puddle droplets splished into the air and drenched Korra’s heavy tundra-camel boots with every thunderous step. The brickwork backstreet was too crowded for her to use her bending arts safely, but she wasn’t going to let her target escape.

“Hey! Get back here!!” she shouted.

Through the window of Narook's Noodlery where she and her Fire Ferrets celebrated, Korra had spied the girl outside...a scrawny little scarecrow, couldn't have been more than 10 or 11, all in seaweed-colored rags of ill fit, with tufts of bright orange plumage shooting out from beneath her aviator goggles. She'd been struggling to remove the hubcaps from Asami’s car. A street rat kid rummaging for auto parts? Probably part of the Badgermole Triad. Well, if Officer Lin was too busy with “important city matters” to deal with them, Korra would do it herself.

The Avatar pushed and shoved her way through the crowd, lagging behind a diminutive thief who had the ability to simply slip underneath the sea of legs. For a moment, her pursuit was blocked by a busy traffic intersection...the girl was already across the street and fleeing fast...but Korra quickly dodged and flipped between the charging vehicles. As one car pulled out into the road, milliseconds before crashing into it, she vaulted legs-first over the engine hood, a blast of air propelling her along to the sidewalk on the other side, and the squeeeaaeeaaaky slide over hot metal nearly rubbed her butt-cheek raw.

"GET OUTTA THE STREET, YA MORON!" The pedestrian driver's horn rattled her eardrums.

Yow!! Ow ow ow ow ow! Korra hissed to herself, clutching her sore behind as she ran. (Well…it was more of a limping hop.) Ugh, that’s gonna smart for a while…

The chase led down a limestone alcove, hidden beneath a dumpster behind the Cabbage Corp building, down a wrought iron ladder that bored flakes of rust into Korra’s palms, and into the cyclical catacombs of the Warrens. Why did these dumb squirts have so much energy? She was nearly out of breath and about to call off the pursuit, when she found herself in the atrium of a massive cave.

The city lights above illuminated the red-brown earth floor. All across the sprawling portal were the bodies of countless wrecked vehicles, no doubt used in the illegal racing circuit. Satomobiles and Cabbage Car chassis of all colors littered the pools of light like croutons in soup, their parts creaking and groaning against each other. And at the far end of the cavern, past the musty graveyard of wheels and springs, there stood the kid, her back to Korra, perfectly still.

Was she oblivious, or planning something? Korra wasn't gonna wait to find out. Uncaring about noise or stealth, she charged.

Now I've got you!

Without a turn, without even a sideways glance, the mysterious child stomped a bare and bandaged foot into the dirt.

The ground beneath Korra's feet instantly dropped away like a trapdoor. “WHOA!!!” Korra yelped and tried to stop herself, but her momentum slid her down the ramp-like opening on her heel and carried her right into the maw of this newly-dug pit. She barely had time to steady herself either - as soon as she wobbled to a stable position, four large rectangles of stone, thick as concrete slabs, rose up vertically around her and rushed at her from all angles. On pure instinct she threw her arms out to the sides to block them, and her wrists were greeted by a crushing weight that nearly shattered them to splinters. She winced and shouted as the walls pushed against her hands, boxing her in and forcing their way closer and closer to her, but somehow, her throbbing arms held firm. Her energy was drained from the chase, but eventually, the blocks ground to a slow stop, and the dust settled.

Korra wheezed. Whew. I was almost a pancake. She felt like she was trapped inside a chimney. Unable to clearly see her surroundings, she glanced up to find the little sticky-fingers on the ledge of the trap hole, staring furiously down at her.

"Stop following me!" the kid yipped.

“You’re an earthbender?!”

"Of course I'm an earthbender! Now leave me alone!"

It was this surprise revelation that made Korra pause…this earthen box itself was no problem. One quick push outward and the walls would crumble. Her knees swiveled inward to form a Gong Kiu stance. She furrowed her brow and felt the rock surge beneath her hands, unaware of the sedimentary serpent that approached her.

It started small at first. Tiny granules of sand and crumbled earth all teemed together like a school of krill at the Badgermole recruit’s feet. Then, smoother, rounder stones joined the fun. Soon they all coalesced into the shape of a tentacle, that grew and grew in length until it was large enough to reach over the edge of the crevice and spiral down to the Avatar’s body. It nosed around as if hunting, dancing to its master’s commands, until finally, it lunged.

A sharp blade of air stabbed Korra's throat. All the blood in her face drained into the back of her neck, and she froze, save for her widened eyes, which darted to look at her abdomen. For a split second of terror, she thought she'd been speared. But no. This was worse.

The stone whip that she saw for the first time caressed her stomach back and forth like a tongue, up and down, side to side, between every taut muscle and even around the rim of her navel. It wiggled and poked and wouldn’t stop.

What the - ?!

“Tickletickletickletickletickle!!” the urchin girl’s shrill voice called out.

No. Wait. You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Korra tried to wrestle the urge down into her stomach, but she couldn’t help herself. She simply burst out laughing.

“Wha…d-d’ah! H…Haha! Haha Ha-Ha Ha!” Only for a fraction of a second, her hands slipped downward. But that was enough. Her strength gave way and those rock slabs, commanded by another stomp of the mysterious kid’s foot, pummeled even harder against her arms. They smooshed Korra tighter and tighter ‘til her elbows buckled.

“Ahhhh-ow ow ow OWWWW!!!” Hot thorns of pain cracked her ulnae.

“Heh-Heh Heh! That’s the best trick I ever learned! Not so easy to concentrate on your bending when you’re laughing like a hyena-monkey, is it, Miss Avatar?”

“Ugh! You little brat! Fight me like a real bender!” Korra barked.

But the young thief was merely bemused by this demand. “Hmmmm…” She stroked her chin and pretended to ponder for a moment, before a cruel snaggle-toothed smile grew across her freckles. “Ok!”

The girl threw out her right arm and twisted her wrist so that her fingers faced the ceiling. While those pointed digits wiggled in the air, her left hand made fast swipes like a conductor's baton, and her feet drew concentric circles on the ground. Korra had never seen bending like this. She would’ve been more curious...if her thoughts weren’t distracted by the craggy tentacle that was now wiggling underneath her left armpit.

“D-don’t!! Haha-Ha! Ha-Ha Ha-Ha!! *gasp* Huh! Quihit it! Nooo, crahap; why don’t I cover thohohose?!” This was humiliating. Why tickling?!

With every tiny stumble of her hands, the rocks pushed in closer. A few more slip-ups and she'd be crushed. Now she was starting to panic.

“Are you ticklish here? Or here? What about there? You’re gonna beg for mercy before long!”

The pebbles in the strand climbed over one another and traced serpentine patterns along Korra’s jaw, dragging their tiny rigid edges against the underside of her chin…down her neck…deep in her collarbone…drilling into the left armpit, and then the right…down her back…scrawling between each individual rib…once it even burrowed itself into the back of her knee, twisting and wriggling against a painfully vulnerable spot of skin. Every time Korra attempted to contort her body away from the rock-and-sand tendril, it leapt with lightning speed to another one of her softest pressure points, each more weak and sensitive than the last.

“Kitchie kitchie coo! Ah-Kitchakitchakitchakitchakitchakitchakitcha!” That nasal baby-talk was really starting to grate.

“PFFHA-HA HA-HA……nnnnn!! ….GkKHaha-Ha! *hic* Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha-Ha!! D…Dahamn it! Haha! Huh-Huh Ha-Ha Ha!! R-HA-hocks…rocks are supposed to be sharp; they’re not s’posed to tickl-hl-hl-ha!!”

Korra’s arms trembled in their sockets. Only a single cubit’s length separated the two walls that sandwiched her…all her strength was sapped out…gravel was practically sanding down her ears…

“Had enough yet?”

All of a sudden, the tickle whip backed off. Korra bent over double in a struggle to catch her breath. Pools of achy misery swam through her ab muscles. A single bead of sweat drizzled its way down the bridge of her nose as she huffed and puffed.

“Hmmm…this isn’t working,” the pint-sized pilferer pouted with folded arms.

“Uhhh…Wha…what do you mean?” the Avatar moaned and raised her head. Particulates of sand were slithering up the side of the crevice and back to their commander. “Why’d you stop?”

“Hmf. Well I wanted to punish you for chasing after me. But you’re enjoying it.”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU THIS IS TORTURE!!” Korra might not have been a direct branch on Aang and Katara’s family tree, but she sure could channel her Water Tribe forebear’s explosive frog-mouthed temper. Tenzin was rubbing off on her.

Before she could protest further, the stone walls around her dissolved back into the ground as quickly as they’d sprung up. With nothing to push her palms against, Korra was suddenly thrown off-balance and, with her arms windmilling wildly, she toppled backwards like a chopped-down tree.

CRASH!!

It was a good several seconds before she managed to push herself up off the soil again. A heavy pulse thump-thump-thumped all the way from her hips to her throat. Her arms felt like jook pudding.

“Ugh…yep. Still smarts. Landed right on it,” she groused, to no one in particular. Korra didn’t have to climb out of the quarry to realize that her quarry was long gone.*

Great. Just great. She galavanted off halfway across the city, ditched her friends, bruised her ass, got lost in the Underground, nearly broke her arms, and got tickled mercilessly, just to fail at catching a poor kid who didn’t actually steal anything from them. Brilliant, Korra. She groaned and pinched her eyebrows, her mouth in a stubborn frown.

Slowly standing and dusting herself off, Korra limped up and out of the hole. In the midst of wondering how to explain this one to the team, one more terrible realization struck her.

"Aw, crap...

…I didn't pay my check."

*Why yes, I AM very proud of that sentence, thank you. (gets hit with a shoe)

********

[masteroffearshusband49020]

TNBA Scarecrow visits you while you're sick

Based on this post

You were lying in your bed, you had been since you woke up. You felt so weak. You had called in sick to work already at least. You were debating if you should attempt to move to your couch or not. It was so much effort in your weakened state, but at least it would be easier for you to get things for yourself around the apartment if you needed to. You stared up at your ceiling, bored and a little depressed by your situation. You felt lonely. You thought of Jon back in Arkham. How would he take you not coming in today? Would he worry? Poor guy. You wished you could reassure him that you weren't abandoning him and that you would get better soon. You wished you could talk to him at all. Just then you heard something rattling your window lock. You spun your head to face the sound. Your window swung open, revealing a familiar face.

"Crane?" You weakly called out.

"You didn't come in today." He bluntly stated. You couldn't believe it.

"I'm sick." You explained. He studied you silently, taking in your weakened state. "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't think I'd get the chance." He hummed in understanding. "Did you... did you really break out of Arkham and into my apartment just to see me...?" You felt a little embarrassed asking. He furrowed his brow.

"Well, I wouldn't put it like-" He cut himself off and thought about it for a moment. He groaned lightly as a faint blush coloured his cheeks. He was thankful for his mask. "...I guess so, yeah..." He muttered, trying not to make eye contact with you. You smiled warmly.

"I missed you too." You told him. His expression softened, but he still refused to look you in the eyes. "I was actually starting to feel kinda lonely... Would you like to stay a bit? Keep me company?" You asked. He glanced at you for a moment, scanning you to see if you were serious or not before looking elsewhere again. He had been your friend for a while, but he still couldn't believe that someone like you would want to hang out with him.

"Sure." He told you.

[acapelladitty]

Jonathan Crane/Reader - Advantage

Summary - Hunted by the Scarecrow, he soon has you cornered and his need for a more intimate taste of your fear sets you on a dangerous path. (A commission for the absolutely wonderful @persimmonteas)

(tw: dubcon, oral sex, mild electroplay, rough groping)

Bare feet tapping a frantic dance across cold wooden flooring, the pounding of your heart is erratic as desperate fingers scramble at the doorknob to pull open the office door once more. A hard rattle of the lock rejects your attempts and a low chuckle causes your blood to freeze in your veins.

"Nowhere to run, sweetheart. Do you think me so foolish as to leave such an obvious escape?"

His costume hanging loosely from his thin frame, Jonathan Crane looked every inch the monster he was as his maskless face sparkled with sadistic glee; the joy of a predator closing in on its doomed prey.

With a quick turn of your heel, you duck under his sweeping arms and jab at the side of his chest with your elbow. As he grunts in pain, you hightail it away from him – mind frantically seeking out another possible exit among the many doors which link the various office rooms which made up his current hideout.

Your determination was short-lived, however, as a thin foot smashed into your left ankle and the world seemed to collapse in on itself as you hurtled to the ground. With a painful cry, your body slams off the floor and you lay there for a moment, fully stunned. The fall has caused your skirt to ride up and you wriggle in a fit of panic to push it back down.

Fear clutches at your chest as you hear the delicate pad of much larger feet shuffling towards you.

"Oops." A drawn-out word which sounds utterly unapologetic as Crane's voice rings out from above your prone frame.

In an instant, he has you flipped over with a soft grunt and his clawed hands are quick to rip open the thin fabric of your shirt. A slightly padded white bra stands between him and his goal as his right hand slips down to cup at your breast while his left hand snatches something up from the floor.

Your fingers fighting against the pressure of his groping hand, a sharp pain crackling across your shoulder draws a yelp from your lips as your attention quickly refocuses to the small electric wand which lays clasped in the fingers of his left hand.

"Let's see if we can spark up some enthusiasm." Crane croons, dropping his long legs to his knees by your side. "Fight me and I'll really make you scream."

To make his point, he presses the tip of the wand to the top of your left tit and depresses the button - immediately sending a shock through the skin which once again steals the breath from your throat with its needle-like intensity.

Using your distraction to his advantage, his hands grip at your hips as they spin you around to allow him to take up the space between your legs.

"I can smell your fear," he continues, grunting as firm hands force your thighs apart, "and I'm going to taste what is mine."

Whimpering and trapped without hope of escape, a particularly pathetic sound flees your lips as he yanks your skirt up to fully expose your lower half – heat very quickly splashing across your cheeks in shame and distress as he keeps you pliant with a threatening jab of the electrical wand.

His expression is twisted with cruelty, heated arousal at play with the wicked joy at finally having you pinned beneath him. It’s a look which makes your full body shiver, a sensation which only repeats itself as he roughly pulls your panties free of your ass.

“You’re enjoying this, you little whore.” His eyes flashing, he raises his head to meet your own as you remain laying flat-out on the floor, refusing to give him any reason to further harm you. “Like a bitch in heat, even with a madman.”

The coolness of his finger against your heated cunt forces a gasp as your legs jerk against the floor. He was right, you were wet, and his finger was quick to split your lips, tracing the source of your arousal back to your clenching hole.

However, just as soon as his exploratory touching started, it stopped. A sigh of relief slipped from you but it proved foolish as his finger was very quickly replaced by a puff of warm breath.

Oh.

He was literally going to taste what was his.

A betraying shudder of anticipation rolled through your spine as you froze in place, waiting for him to make the next move. An acceptance which he immediately took advantage of as his warm tongue pressed against your slit, his hands pulling your thighs further apart to allow him better access.

His assault on your cunt was instant and the sheer ferocity of his movements was enough to put your mind into a frantic state. His lips and tongue moved in tandem, alternating between blunt teeth threatening at your flesh to his mouth latching around your clit in a faint sucking motion which drew a pathetic scream of over-sensitive distress from your lips as you writhe against the wooden flooring.

Your hand drops to card through his hair, clutching at the auburn strands as you try to pull him away from your cunt. A move which nets you a growling vibration of warning as the hand which was not currently digging into your left thigh wraps around the small electrical wand and taps it to your nipple; sending a fresh, deliciously painful bolt of sensation across your reddened skin.

A second shock to prove his point and a keening cry splits your lips at the sharp pain but it dissolves into a moan as his tongue strokes a very slow line across your clit, the raw pleasure almost as terrible as the shock.

"Dr. Crane, please-"

Stop. You want to say.

"More." Falls from traitorous lips. “Please.”

He obliges with enthusiasm, his utter control of you in this moment making his efforts calculated and designed to draw out as much reaction as possible. The burning shame that you were allowing, in as much as you could, such a monstrous man to touch you in such a way only added to the hot pleasure which his cold touches were providing you.

“Look at me, little rabbit.”

The words are a harsh demand and they pull you from your thoughts as you glance down at him between your thighs. His mouth and chin were glistening and slightly reddened from their efforts, his eyes as sharp as daggers as he forced your attention.

He holds your gaze for a moment, your abandoned cunt clenching around nothing as the highs of your pleasure are blessed with momentary respite, but it doesn’t last long as Crane offers you a cruel smirk.

With the electrical wand still digging threateningly into the soft flesh of your right tit, he returns to your cunt, using you as little more than a conduit for his sadistic pleasures.

[felinecorpse]

On this episode of tiktoks filmed in Gotham City: candid video of the scarecrow

[riddle-me-ri]

A/N: annnddd rounding off the "reader ignores *insert rogue*'s affections" is the Scarecrows!! This was a super fun little series to do and I'm glad you all seemed to like it as well! I hope you enjoy this one as well!

Reader Ignores The Scarecrows' Affections

Arkhamverse Scarecrow:

- Jonathan wouldn’t think much of it at first. 

- Just as long as you’re mindful that he did make the effort to be affectionate.

- If you don’t notice or reciprocate that’s on you. 

- It does feel odd however…this weird empty feeling about it.

- Not that he misses or needs your hugs, or kisses, or sweet words. 

- He didn’t need them before and he could live if they all of a sudden stop. 

- It doesn’t bother him at all…not one bit. 

- …and no that wasn’t a sigh of relief when you kissed his cheek. 

Nolanverse/Murphy Scarecrow:

- Jonathan is annoyed. 

- He is a very busy man, constantly running back and forth between the asylum and the court house. 

- You know he’s trying his best to make time for you in between.

- So why punish him? 

- You’re really going to be this childish?

- Fine, suit yourself…

- You hug him from behind and apologize for your little prank. 

- Albeit annoyed, he doesn't stay mad for long. 

BTAS Scarecrow:

- Jon is concerned. 

- He's not exactly used to being in these romantic relationships. 

- Affection is still new to him. 

- But he knows a relationship where affection is reciprocated is a good thing. 

- So why aren't you doing it? Are things not good?

- He asks cautiously if something is the matter…

- You see the concern and drop the joke immediately. 

- Jonathan is relieved but please don't do that again. 

TNBA Scarecrow:

- Jonathan isn't surprised actually. 

- He's still hurt by it but he figured it was only a matter of time. 

- Why would you want to kiss him? Hug him?

- He is a dreadful man, constantly wearing a costume mimicking a corpse. 

- After a few moments Jonathan is concerned when you grab him and kiss him.. 

- Oh, you were just teasing…

- Like with his BTAS counterpart, please don't do that again. 

Fear State Scarecrow: 

- Jon is annoyed. 

- Much like Murphy Scarecrow, this Jonathan is an extremely busy man. 

- He finally has the means to make Fear State a reality…

- And you chose now to be petty? You know how much this means to him-

- It'd mean so much more if you showed your support as you had before. 

- Regardless, he will try and press on, acting as if your lack of affection isn't bothering him. 

- He's fine without it…

- Although when you cut the act, he can't help but admit how more confident he feels with you at his side. 

Year One Scarecrow: 

- Jonathan doesn't think too much of it at first. 

- It's when you don't return his hugs or move your hand away from his, he begins to grow concerned. 

- He's annoyed when you shrug him off. 

- Just tell him what's going on. He wants to fix it or make it better. 

- He finally has genuine love in his life and he doesn't want to lose that…

- You give up the act quickly and apologize for the cruel joke. 

- Although still annoyed, he is relieved to finally have you back and giving him affection in return. 

Masters of Fear Scarecrow: 

- Jon is taken aback. 

- Usually when he kisses your cheek you'd instantly return it. 

- He begins going over the day in his head. Trying to find any causes for your change in mood. 

- Soon he has to outright ask you if something is wrong. 

- Now he's concerned when you shrug and say nothing. 

- What do you mean nothing? E-everything was fine!

- You can't help but feel bad when you see the concern on his face. 

- Please comfort this long lanky lad.

Harley Quinn The Animated Series Scarecrow: 

- He's confused and hurt. 

- Jonathan's mind starts rattling. 

- Oh god, did he forget something important? What day is it?

- Did he annoy you somehow?

- He's already preparing for an apology not even knowing what he's apologizing for. 

- You don't keep the act up for long as the feeling of guilt overwhelms you. 

- You're quick to return your affections to him tenfold. 

- He's grateful when you tell him you won't joke like that again. 

Happy Halloween Scooby-Doo Scarecrow: 

- I don't know if it's favoritism, maybe, or its an age thing, but I get the feeling that this Scarecrow can read people pretty well. 

- He already knows you're trying to get a rise out of him. 

- Well, lucky for you, two can play this game. 

- It becomes a game of wits and strength.

- Who can outlast the other? Who can refuse the other's desires? 

- It doesn't take long for you to regret your actions…you just wanted to tease him damnit. 

- You come up to him and give him a strong kiss on the lips, not without cursing him.

- What the hell, you let him win…this time. 

[tchaikovskym]

Howl's moving castle movie did a lot of things differently, but I think I should point out that Howl had full on cool as hell wizard spells/battles in the book, that, in my humble opinion, beat the whole bird war thing

I mean:

Howl’s arms moved, heavily, as if he was lifting a large weight, until they were raised high above his head. He shouted out a strange word, which was half hidden in a crack of sudden thunder. And the scarecrow went soaring away.

---

Sophie and Michael looked too, and found a huge cloud boiling and twisting just above the chimney tops. It was black and rotating on itself violently. White flashes that were not quite like light stabbed through the murk of it. But almost as soon as Michael and Sophie arrived, the clot of magic took on the shape of a misty bundle of fighting snakes. Then it tore in two with a noise like an enormous cat fight. One part sped yowling across the roofs and out to sea, and the second went screaming after it.

---

A ball of pale fire rolled lazily up in the distance. It must have been enormous. The bang that went with it only reached the watchers when the fireball had become a spreading tower of smoke. The line of people all winced at the blunt thunder of it. They watched the smoke spread until it became part of the mist on the marshes. They went on watching after that. But there was simply peace and silence. The wind rattled the marsh weeds, and birds began to dare to cry again.

---

Howl only needed to take one look. He stood up in a hurry. He held out one hand and spoke a sentence of those words that lost themselves in claps of thunder. Plaster fell from the ceiling. Everything trembled. But the stick vanished and Howl stepped back with a small, hard, black thing in his hand. [...] He held the black thing between both palms and pushed his hands together. The Witch’s old heart crumbled into black sand, and soot, and nothing.

---

The room turned dim. Huge, cloudy, human-looking shapes bellied up in all four corners and advanced on Sophie and Michael, howling as they came. The howls began as moaning horror, and went up to despairing brays, and then up again to screams of pain and terror. Sophie pressed her hands to her ears, but the screams pressed through her hands, louder and louder still, more horrible every second. (this is from when howl got mad abt sophie messing with his shampoos and indirectly making him ginger btw)

[stayteezdreams]

Corn Maze

Plot: You and Han get lost in a corn maze after losing a bet. Should be fine right? But wait...did that scarecrow just move?

Pairing: Han Jisung x Gn!Reader

Prompt: "If you say we should split up I will kill you." + "Wasn't that scarecrow facing the other way before?" Requested by: @tumbleboof

Warnings: Nothing, just some kind of creepy stuff.

Words: 1.06k

You could feel the pit in your stomach growing as you stared at the entrance of the corn-maze. Han stood beside you with a look of despair, as the others snickered and teased you from behind.

"Well? Are you going or not?" Minho asked with a snarky voice before you looked back and glared at him.

He glared playfully back at you before you and Han locked eyes.

"Yeah yeah, let's get this over with."

You followed Han into the maze as the others yelled out various encouragement and parting farewells.

After a full day of games and various bets, you and Han were the losing team. Your forfeit was having to make it through the creepy corn maze in thirty minutes or less, or the two of you would be paying for everyone's dinner.

It wouldn't be too bad if it weren't for the biting chill in the air, not to mention the darkening sky above you.

"Why did we have to do this when it's starting to get dark?" You asked as you gazed up at the dark blue sky.

Han mumbled, "So it's scarier."

"It's already creepy enough" You replied as you peered through the corn on either side of you.

Reaching back, Han took your hand in his. Whether it was to comfort you or him, you didn't know, but you also didn't care, you'd take whatever comfort you could get.

The soft wind that blew through the corn made it shake and rattle around you. Often times you thought you heard footsteps, but there was never anyone around.

In the distance you could sometimes hear Changbin or Lee Know yell out, as they obviously had fun in the nearby field as they waited for the two of you on the other side.

You weren't sure how long had passed as you and Han came to a path that lead two directions.

"Does it count if one of us makes it out in the thirty minutes?" Han mumbled as he glance over at you.

"If you say we should split up I will kill you."

He let out a sharp breathy laugh. "Okay, okay, no splitting up. But which way should we go?"

You hummed. "I can her their voices from that direction, so maybe the path that's closer?"

Han nodded, "Sounds good."

As you made your way down the path, you hoped it wouldn't be too long before you made it out. The atmosphere only became creepier as the sky grew darker. You knew Han could feel it too as his hand seemed to tighten around yours and the two of you started to walk a little faster.

"How big is this thing anyway?" You asked in frustration as you and Han ran into another dead end.

Han turned and began jumping up and down, trying to peer over the corn.

He groaned, "The corn is too tall."

You smirked as you turned and began heading back the way you came, "No, you're just too short."

"Hey!" He yelled in surprise as he chased after you, making you laugh.

"Oh God" Your voice cut off your amused giggles as you and Han rounded another corner, revealing the tall Scarecrow you knew to be in the middle of the maze.

"I didn't realize how creepy it was before."

You and Han stared at the sunken faced scarecrow. It had no eyes, but indents where they would be.

Han shivered dramatically before he looked around. "Okay so...the scarecrow was facing the entrance right?"

You nodded as you kept your eye on the scarecrow, feeling as though it was looking back at you.

"Which means we need to go this way!" Han yelled in triumph as he grabbed your hand and pulled you along.

After a few more turns and some brief arguing as to which way to go, you looked back towards the maze and did a quick double take as you saw movement. You felt goosebumps rise up your arms as you realized the scarecrow was now facing you.

"Han."

"Yeah?"

"Wasn't that scarecrow facing the other way?"

Han looked at it and let out a shiver, "Don't try and scare me!"

You met his eyes and his face fell. "I'm not. I'm serious, it was facing the other way."

Han looked back at the scarecrow was he replayed your steps and moment in his head. He just shook his head.

"It couldn't have, we're just all turned around. Come on let's go, just don't look at it again."

You spared the scarecrow one more glance as the pit in your stomach grew.

Hearing the voices of the other's getting louder you and Han rapidly rounded a few more corners before finally finding the exit. You both ran out in glee and relief as you were met with cheers and applause.

"Only ten minutes too slow! Looks like you're paying for dinner after all!" Chris laughed and you and Han groaned.

"At this point I don't care, I'm just glad to be out of there." You mumbled.

"Why did you guys move the scarecrow?" Felix asked and your breath hitched. You felt Han freeze beside you.

"What?"

"Yeah, it was weird, the scarecrow started rotating, it was creepy." Hyunjin laughed. "Why did you guys do that?"

"Shut up, that was you guys!" Han said with an accusing tone and the others all looking between each other.

"None of us have gone in the maze? We're all here, we were waiting." Seungmin said with a hint of amusement, but you could also hear the discomfort.

You and Han locked eyes and you smacked his arm. "I told you it moved! I knew it had been facing the other way!"

You looked at the others and they could sense your obvious fear. Looking back at the scarecrow only to see it now facing all of you, when it had previously been looking away, you felt the moment everyone held their breath in realization.

"Wait!" I.N started to stutter out "But- wasn't it just-"

Changbin let out a startled yell. "No! Nope, I'm leaving!"

His loud voice echoed as he turned and began moving towards the car park, with all of you following closely behind.

Whether it was a stranger in the corn maze just wishing to scare you, or something else entirely, you had no intention of finding out.

xx End xx

Just a short and sweet bonus oneshot for the day!

General Taglist: @otsilliak, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669

Stray Kids Taglist: @laylasbunbunny, @skz1-4-3, @prettymiye0n, @thunderous-wolf

[nightlyrequiem]

Personal Assistance

Cross posted from AO3

Leading a non-descriptive dubiously legal business is stressful. It's your duty as Valeria's personal assistant to provide some much-needed relief.

A/N: I feel like an absolute goober writing smut. I also think this was my first attempt at it.

Tags/Warnings: Cunnilingus, Boss/Employee relationship, WLW, Graphic violence, Sexual content

Running a cartel is hard. Not that you'd know, but you've been assisting someone who does for a little over a year now. Helping a drug lord was not your first choice in career. Or your second. It wasn't even a runner up, but it pays more than the other jobs you've had. It doesn't hurt that your boss is Valeria.

Thud.

Valeria yells as she shoves someone - you think his name is Pablo, into one of the stone walls of the basement. You think you can hear the sound of the breath being driven out of his lungs. He does kind of deserve this. He was caught selling trade routes to some lowly street gang. As if they'd have a chance against a cartel. Against El Sin Nombre. He knew better.

Thud.

It's not like Valeria is a particularly weak woman, but it still Suprises you how effortlessly she can just toss around a grown man twice her size. It's impressive, maybe even hot. She rages like a rabid animal. Baring her teeth and snarling threats. Her face is dotted with a few scarlet splatters.

Thud.

She slams his head into a wall aggressively and you hear the delicate sound of teeth clattering to the ground. You cringe. You think he may be crying. He's certainly making noises that sound similar to it. There are two men here as well. Deigo and some scrawny guy you never learned the name of. Deigo watches impassively and the other one watches with a jittery excitement you don't like.

Sure, you find it a little attractive when she gets violent, but you don't enjoy watching people get hurt. You do enjoy the way her back muscles look in that tank top though. Pining, or lusting, (you really haven't figured it out yet.) is not a good idea. Not under normal circumstances and certainly not under...these ones. But how can you not? She has a strong personality. She's brave, intelligent, hardworking, ambitious, and very, very attractive.

The man goes down and doesn't move again. That doesn't stop Valeria from angrily kicking at his body. She curses at it with vitriol, then turns to Deigo and the twitching scarecrow of a man.

"Clean this up." She hisses. Clearly still very worked up. Sometimes beating a man to unconsciousness or death just isn't enough. Sometimes the rage is buried too deeply beneath the skin to ever be fully released.

Deigo starts ordering the man around while Valeria turns and storms towards the door. You wrinkle your nose as it's assaulted with the stench of Iron and ammonia. You jump slightly when Valeria barks your name from the doorway.

"Stop standing there and follow." She grits out. Not wanting to piss her off further you follow her out of the interrogation room. It's your least favourite room in Deigo's home. You hate the whole basement, but especially the interrogation room. The rest of Diego's home is furnished and beautifully decorated. Not that damned interrogation room. It makes sense, you reason, you don't want the people you're torturing to feel comfortable.

The ride up is incredibly uncomfortable. You can just feel the simmering rage burning Valeria. You half-expect her to turn her fury on you. You can almost feel the phantom pain of getting your head slammed into the wall. Feel the rattle of your brain in your skull. The pain never comes though. Valeria does a very good job of keeping her hands to herself. And why wouldn't she? You always do your job well. You're loyal. A good assistant ready to do whatever she asks of you.

Your skin prickles and you angle your head to look at her subtly. She's already staring at you. Not at your face though. Her eyes seem to be caught on your chest. You look away. Feeling nervous and giddy as you try to explain it away mentally. She just so happened to zone out while looking at your chest. She's not checking you out. You aren't very good at convincing yourself. Not when you want her to be checking you out.

There's a small rustling of clothing as she shifts, and you know she's going to speak before she does.

"It doesn't matter how feared you become," She mutters. "There's always someone out there who thinks they're smarter than you." You don't know if she's actually speaking to you or just talking to herself, but you decide to play it safe and answer anyway.

"You'd think people would learn to not go against you," You'd love to be against her. "I mean, you've made examples out of everyone who has."

It's not even enough for her to just kill them. She doesn't bother with recording the executions and posting it online. No, she likes to display them.

Valeria just scoffs. "That's not enough, and it never will be." She sounds frustrated.

"There will always be greedy and stupid people, doesn't matter how much fear you put into them." You reply. "If there weren't, you wouldn't have any customers or employees." Valeria seems to consider your words.

'I suppose so, but I wish they could be stupid in ways that don't inconvenience me." She mutters.

The elevator stops and Valeria walks out with you not far behind. She storms into an office and you follow suit. You close the door and stand in front of it while Valeria goes up to the window. Staring out at the city in the distance. You can feel a tension in the air so thick that it settles on your skin like sweat. There are a few lamps turned on throughout the room. Casting it in a warm, homey glow. honeying Valeria's tan skin. She's so beautiful. It makes you want to start chewing on the desk before you.

She sighs and turns. You pretend you weren't just staring at her. Though with how intensely you were, you're sure she could feel it. Valeria sits down on the chair behind the desk and looks over the few loose papers strewn about. You make a mental note to broach the subject of finding a main base of sorts. Just so that she - and you don't have to go back and forth between her home and Diego's.

She looks up from the papers. Looks up at you. Her eyes are half-lidded, and her hair is a little mussed and you defiantly aren't at fault for the blooming wetness between your thighs.

"I'm stressed." She states. Her voice low and a little raspy. You know she's stressed. She makes it incredibly obvious. Most of her feelings are incredibly obvious. All the negative, violent ones are anyway. She blinks at you expectantly and you realize she wants a response. You can think of a few ways to help her relive some of that stress.

You aren't ballsy enough to offer any of those solutions though.

"...Do you want a drink?" You offer. She shakes her head. There's a look in her eye that you've seen a few times before.

"Come here." Something about this interaction feels different to the others. You find that you don't mind. Not at all. You always do as you're told, and this time is no different. You slowly walk over to her. Standing at her side. Valeria reaches out and puts a firm hand on your shoulder, pushing you down to your knees. Your heart thumps erratically with excitement. You think you know where this is going.

"Always so good for me." She murmurs. She turns in the chair and spreads her legs ever so slightly. You feel a little dizzy. "You'll help me out, won't you?" You don't think you can speak right now so you nod instead. Her mouth twitches but she doesn't say anything. She just leans back and looks at you.

You tense your thighs to try and provide the barest amount of friction. This isn't about you though. This is about the woman in front of you. You jerkily reach up and grasp her knees. You unhurriedly drag your hands towards her belt. You want this to last. This might be the only time you get to do something so special. You undo her belt and glance up her for approval. She stares back at you, expressionless. You feel a little insecure as you unzip her jeans and start tugging them down. What if you don't do well? It can't be that hard to eat pussy, surely.

Her pants are down to her ankles, and you're greeted with the second most beautiful thing you've seen. Her cunt is hiding behind plain cotton underwear. Like a gift just for you to unwrap. You're delighted to see a little wet spot already forming. You tenderly pull her panties down and you find that you were wrong. The second most beautiful thing is actually her bare core four inches away from your face. You shift so that your heal is pressing against your crotch, providing some desperately needed friction. You glance up at her again before lowering your head down.

You take a deep breath and take in her scent. You wish you could bottle it up and use it as perfume. Valeria's thighs tense slightly when you grab ahold of them. You take one last admiring look before closing the distance between you and your gift. You dab at her clit with your tongue and feel her relax. Encouraged, you add more pressure. Lapping at her like a thirsty bitch in heat. Her breathing gets heavier, and you remove a hand from her thigh. You trace two fingers along her entrance. Gathering up the wetness. You lick at her, tasting her directly from the source.

She tastes heavenly and you decide that if you were to die tomorrow, you'd die a happy woman. You rock against your heal as you return your mouth to her clit. She's wet enough for you to add a finger and she lets loose a low, short moan. A jolt of pleasure shoots through you at the sound. You set a good pace and soon add another finger. You pump them into her and feel her clench around them. There's a sudden pressure on the back of your head before your face gets shoved right against her pelvis.

"Good girl." She pants. Grinding against your face. "Good girl." You pick up the pace and feel yourself throb. You latch onto her and circle your tongue around her clit. Just the auditory stimulation is almost enough to make you cum. She doesn't bother with trying to keep quiet. The people in the basement can probably hear her, but if she doesn't care then neither do you. Her entrance squelches as you push your fingers into her, you find that gummy spot inside of her curl your fingers.

She stiffens. "Yes, yes, like that, just like that!" Her breathy words devolve into breathy mumbles of your name. You've never heard her sound like this. You already had a thing for her voice, and this is definitely helping. A keening whine builds up in her throat and her thighs suddenly snap close around your head, locking you in place. She sits rigid with you face in her cunt. You feel her pulse around your fingers. She finally goes limp and you reluctantly pull away. Your chin and lips glisten with her release. You pull your fingers out of her and eye the thin, wet strings attaching your index and middle finger. You look at her to make sure she isn't looking before popping them in your mouth. The taste is a little tainted by the saltiness of your skin, but you can still taste her.

The hand in your hair gives a small tug and you look up at her. The post-orgasmic look on her fcae burns itself into your memory. She gives you another tug.

"Up." She says. Her voice is raspy. You get off your knees and stand. Wincing at the sharp ache that attacks them as soon as you straighten your legs. She pulls you into her lap and rests her face in the crook of your neck. You relax against her. Feeling her warm breath ghost over your skin.

[obae-me]

Tainted Reflections- CH 16

Start This Story From The Beginning!

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A Yearning For Freedom

Warning: This chapter contains Mentions of Blood, Weaponry, Dolls and Scarecrows, Body Horror, Gruesome and Disturbing Imagery.

As Always, Read Safely.

“It’s getting closer.” The scream that rattled the fearful parts of your soul echoed more east of the house this time, as if it was scanning the miles between the trees. The fabric of the tunic scrunched up nicely underneath your hands, gripping it anxiously. Not only that, but the tendons of your fingers were twitching with anticipation. The house was filled with the warmth and scent of hearth cooking. If you closed your eyes long enough, you could almost imagine being in the kitchen of the House of Lamentation. Leaning over the island while Beel stirred and sampled the pot, knowing that if he had his way, there would be no dinner for the others, but not always having the heart to stop him. It was the simplest things you missed the most.

“It should be far enough,” Beel assured you, although the gravelly tone to his voice suggested ‘far enough’ was still too close for comfort. However, Gluttony didn’t linger on that. Instead, he checked the food over the fire, taking a spoon and gulping down a taste despite the liquid being hot enough to give any human scalding third-degree burns. The flavor had him licking his lips, a small smile on his face. “All done.”

At those words, you stood back up on your feet, approaching the pot as Beel gathered out some wooden bowls and spoons he had pilfered from a nearby cupboard. A steady grip was careful not to let a single drop go to waste. Both of your hands reached out for the bowl, but Beel apologetically shook his head. “It’s pretty hot. Let’s go to the table.” Seems he was determined to keep you safe from everything. One serving in each of his hands, he stepped over to the humble little table a few feet away from the hearth. It was round, chestnut brown, with four chairs around it but only one pair clearly used. Two places were set before he pulled out a chair for you, gesturing you to settle yourself down again. Tears almost pricked your eyes. Thank God for Beel. Not just for taking care of you and even saving you, but for creating moments like these that made this a little more bearable. His brothers were in danger, his twin unconscious in the room upstairs, stuck in a seemingly unsurvivable situation, and yet he still had enough compassion in his heart to do something as simple as take your chair. Others had done less for less.

Beel pushed the seat back towards the table after you sat down, taking the second well-used chair across from you. Both of you waited in silence for a little while, watching the steam rise and vegetables bob up and down in the broth. It almost felt like a crime to have this little breath of peace. You could tell Beel felt the same way. The others should be here… Well, maybe not here, but together. How could you eat knowing that the others were suffering? It was difficult to not let the guilt and the grief chip away at you. What was going on outside right now? From what Beel described, it was nothing good. They were all split up, with practically no communication between them all. While apparently Diavolo had been the one to make the decision, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had been the right choice. In every horror movie, the worst tactic you can employ is to split up. But you were human, and humans relied on strength in numbers. Demons weren’t quite the same. These were the most powerful demons in the realm after all. Even so…you still worried about them. If you thought you had it bad, you couldn’t imagine what Beel was going through. You couldn’t bring yourself to observe the pain etched into his face.

“Wow… I’ve never seen two people so mopey over dinner before.”

The voice caught both of you off guard, freezing you in place while Beel got up so aggressively he almost knocked the table over. You steadied the furniture with your hands and grasped the sides of each bowl to keep the precious hard-awaited prize from spilling all over the cold floor. The heart in your chest paused as you turned your head, not quite trusting your ears alone.

Belphie staggered down the hall, hovering just outside the kitchen’s doorway, one arm clutching his own waist to keep his torso steady as he guided himself along the wall. The tips of his fingers were stained black with his own dried blood. He stopped in place as he spotted his twin, both of them gazing at each other with an unpalatable amount of bittersweetness. Sloth opened his mouth, his voice cracking in a mixture of relief and sorrow. “Beel… No… I—“ His words were cut short as Beel took the last few steps forward to wrap his brother carefully into his arms, avoiding the wound across his back, wary of hurting him or crushing him in excitement. Belphie clung to his twin with trembling fingers.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Words choked up in your own throat as you watched the both of them. Tears once again streamed down your cheeks. “I thought…” It seemed silly to suggest such dismal things out-loud now.

The demon of Gluttony loosened his hold on his twin. With a supportive arm, he helped Belphie by taking some of the strain off his feet. As glad as he was to see his twin up and about, it was clear the youngest was still not well. Whiter than a sheet and sweating bullets, Sloth hardly looked conscious. It was difficult to watch. You had never seen him in this much pain before. None of the otherworldly beings you’d befriended had ever been in as critical a condition as this. There were fights you had seen before, moments where you feared for their safety, but you quickly learned that a lot of their brawls were similar to feral cats hissing and clawing at each other till they broke it off to lick their tender wounds. They had gotten themselves into plenty of sticky situations as well, but curses and spells and hexes were one thing… being nearly slaughtered was another.

“We need to get you back to bed,” Beel urged, all too ready to hoist his twin over his shoulder and bring him back upstairs.

With the little amount of strength he had left, Belphie shook his head and tugged on the sleeve of his brother’s jacket. “No, no… I’ve slept enough.”

These were dire times indeed…

“Besides.” Sloth stopped to refill his shaky lungs, pausing in just the proper time for another scream to toll through the world. “Can’t rest with all that racket.” A joke in nature but a truth in tone. None of you had too much time to linger longer. Belphegor urged his brother to lead him towards you, where then two limp arms draped themselves over your shoulders. There were no words exchanged. Nothing about what had happened, about how you broke his wishes and came running back to him, about how both of you nearly got killed for each other in a rather ridiculous and tragic Shakesperian way. Unspoken apologies and grateful remarks were exchanged through the gentle way both of you held each other close. His hand went to the back of your head, his fingers nearly gripping your hair, his cold cheek pressed against your own. Then he took a step back, probably before he exerted the last of energy shedding any unnecessary tears. A little sniffle came from his nose before he gestured towards the both of you to help lead him towards the table. He moaned with every uneasy footfall, catching his breath as he sat down, leaning forward to keep his back from touching anything.

Beel slid his bowl over to his brother before rushing around the kitchen to get himself another portion.

“Did…” Belphie spoke so softly, his twin almost couldn’t hear. “Did Ikito… hurt you?” It wasn’t quite like the youngest troublesome brother to have a look of pure fear on his face, but it was there, plain to see, a fire his chest.

No response. Belphie bit his lip. Gluttony got a new serving for himself before sitting by his twin. “I didn’t really get hurt, no… just…” After a long period stuttering, Beel explained in brief words how he had been tricked. How he left Levi and Barbatos in the Tomb, and how he abandoned Simeon and Luke to chase after him and after you. Ikito had made some sort of deal with the other two Old Council members. A deal to ensure he could toy with you all.

Sloth was furious, but despite his newfound rage, his expression calmed just a little. It was almost as if you could see him tucking away his murderous intent, careful of the way he was acting around Beel. But in every word he spoke, there was a faint growl stirring in the base of his throat. He was the first one to pick up his spoon, taking some of the stew and eating it. “I’m surprised you found food here,” he mentioned, eying you and and his brother as he waited for the both of you to follow suit and satisfy your starvation.

“I found a cellar under the house…” You blew on the spoonful before letting it enter your mouth. Every nerve in your body was flooded with a pleasant warmth. As you swallowed, you could feel the temperature make it’s way down into your body, settling into your stomach. In the back of your mind you knew it was essentially a bowl of random vegetables and herbs that had just cooked in a bath for the last thirty minutes. However, that didn’t stop it from tasting like the best blessed meal you had ever had the fortune of consuming. Each mouthful was practically medicinal, your aches and pains somewhat alleviated. The stitches in your sides and the pressure behind your eyes ebbed away. It wasn’t until you had already scarfed down half of it that you began to pace yourself. “Food… and other things.”

There was a slight raise to Belphie’s eyebrow. “Singrid’s things?” His intuition left you speechless for only a moment before you nodded. The demon didn’t seem surprised, but thankfully he didn’t seem overtly concerned either. “Please tell me you found more than just cabbages and a wardrobe straight from a costume shop.”

Right. You’d nearly forgotten that you appeared as if you freshly stepped out of one of Levi’s fantasy larp sessions. “I found plenty down there,” you answered, feeling once again excited to share this news, speaking between mouthfuls of soup. “Weapons and armor and scrolls. Stuff we could use to help us—“

“Stuff that could kill us…” Out of everyone, you didn’t expect Beel to sound the most pessimistic.

Belphie slightly turned his head, giving his twin a faint encouraging smile, taking on the sunshine role for a moment. “Something to check. After all, we need as much help as we can get. And we need to be prepared. We have to leave soon.”

Leave soon. Those two words were hard enough to swallow to make you put your spoon down. Last time you tried to leave, it didn’t go so well. Clearly. You could almost hear the gut-twisting sound of Ikito’s laughter. Deceit was relying on Belphie’s Sloth and your ‘frail’ humanity to create a self-inflicted prison. It nearly worked. You didn’t want to leave again. Beel didn’t want to make a choice again.

But Ikito didn’t account for the fact that Belphegor didn’t want to be trapped again.

More than anything, you knew that Sloth wanted freedom. Even if it went against his sin, he’d fight tooth and nail for it, go further than any of his brothers for it, kill for it. “So eat as much as you can,” Belphie announced, “and then we’re getting out of here.”

Perfect placed pedestals all in a row. Inside a box where none seem to go. While the colors do shine and the lights seem to glow. There is no life found in this house full of woe.

The glass pressed against his palm. How surprisingly cruel the clear prison was. If he’d just been kept in a cell or a room… But no. He was forced to watch everything unobscured before him. The room was vast with a cleanly laid floor and a lavish chandelier hanging overhead. The light-piece was practically dripping with jewels, and while they should have glimmered, only plain white light cast over everything. The contrasting mood matched everything else in this place. The details themselves were ornate in every sense. Silver outlined the base molding, the ceiling painted to depict several demons in their peak form. It could’ve been a scene cut out from one of his famous stories. A regal realm quite on par with the Demon Lord’s Castle. Yet, it all felt off. Wrong.

A music box ticks with a click and a chime. The melody sings as the dolls dance in line. An elegant scene that appears well and fine. But there comes a warning with this little rhyme.

The ballroom was flooded with several people, all waltzing to a beguiling but morose tune. Each of them were covered in some of the finest outfits Simeon had ever had the misfortune of seeing. Handcrafted and hand-tailored to match each doll exquisitely. Horns were polished, scales were shined, feathers preened. It was breathtaking. But for all the wrong reasons. Each doll was in perfect unison with the other. The steps with each other were so in sync, the footfalls echoed as one single unit. They repeated their sweeping motions over and over and over again, and nothing changed. It was difficult to tell if they’d been at this for minutes or hours. Not a hair out of place, not a toe out of line, not a single twirl off beat. There were others not participating in the procession as well, standing off to the side, lining the walls in neutral positions. Some held objects of seemingly random import. Food, drinks, books, different outfits, jewelry, brushes, ribbons, practically whatever Simeon could imagine being needed at a moment’s notice. Others simply stood there, motionless. They hardly breathed. They never blinked. Life-sized puppets, all being pulled along by one master.

The curtains, while lovely, are rigid and thick. No cushions are soft, just tough as a brick. Carefully crafted right down to the wick. Every beautiful thing is a terrible trick.

Sterile. That seemed the proper word for it. Actively made to keep a plague out. And in this case, life itself was a disease. Even as much as they wanted to be, Demons and Angels were still flawed. Just as much as humans. This place was as close to perfection as it could get— well depending on one’s own definition of the word. For Simeon, this was not some immaculate utopia. It was an artificial nightmare created by a harsh man with a ideal that could never truly be sated. The demon in question sat by the angel’s side, observing the dolls dance. Even though this was what he had crafted, he hardly look amused. There wasn’t even any indication that he was mildly entertained. More like he was testing to make sure nothing was wrong, and only the flawlessness of the costumes and performance kept him content.

Pathways of marble are latticed with gold. Halls filled with artwork to never be sold. But the curator harbors no love for the cold. Nor the toys he created, or so I’ve been told.

The demon snapped. The music stopped. The dolls were perfectly frozen still. The demon stood from his seat, walking down to the party in silent even steps. He approached one of the puppets and looked it over, grasping its chin and inspecting the contours of its face. From here in his terrarium, Simeon saw nothing wrong. The doll was practically gleaming, horns decorated with jewels that complimented their complexion. They were picturesque in every feature. The puppet-master glared, the first expression Simeon had seen from the man so far. A hand was waved and the doll pulled from it’s dance partner. Two other dolls stepped from their idle spots against the wall. The empty spaces were quickly filled in as every other marionette shifted to their right in tandem. One of the models grabbed the defected one by the back of the head, pulling it along the ground by its hair. The second took up the dance position, sliding into exactly the same pose as the other one had been. The toy keeper stepped back to his seat and settled in without so much as saying a word. The very second he sat back down, the reception continued.

Simeon watched as the discarded doll got dragged away. The double doors to the ballroom opened, and just before they closed, the angel got a glimpse of the puppet staring right at him.

Fear. Pure anguishing fear flickered in those dazzling eyes before the thing was gone.

Simeon could hardly swallow, as if his throat was already stuffed with cotton.

Write. Keep writing. The anger. The frustration. The terror. Channel it. Compose yourself. Take the bitter details and throw them in a stanza. Let the heart beat to the cadence and flow. Keep the brain working. Tune the soul steady. Now is not the time to lose against the war of despair. Continue thinking. Don’t get lost in the darkness. Miracles and blessings can be found wherever you look. Even in a place like this… There will be a way out… Even if he himself can’t, if Luke…

One of the only things keeping him from razing this dollhouse down into the ashes of retribution was the fledgling. This demon was somehow connected to all these…it felt wrong to call them toys, but in this state they were no longer people. Victims. If Simeon did anything to tick him off… Luke had to be somewhere here. He must be so frightened. He must be waiting for Simeon to save him. He had to do something. But he couldn’t risk… Simeon would protect him at any cost. Suppressing the intense emotions was too overwhelming, the angel felt faint, vision blurred from the wrath of a Celestial guardian. He needed to calm himself.

Plucked from their lives and adorned in their best. They waltz flawlessly as to welcome their guest. Stiff faces exhibit no signs of protest. For they no longer hold a real heart in their chest.

In the midst of the dancing, the demon waved up a few of his controlled. Already knowing what he desired, they each came up with several different ensembles. Suit-coats, dresses, waistcoats, corsets, scarves, coats, cloaks, outfits of all kinds. He scanned them over, pointing at two and shooing the others away with a dismissive hand. The clothes were brought closer to him where he ran smooth palms over them. His eyes kept glancing back to Simeon, scanning him over, analyzing every corner of his body as he was forced to stand in this little display.

“That one will be perfect for it.” Words were finally spoken, as the demon decided on the white and blue colored set, gold embroidery and opaque silken ribbons run throughout. Where fabric was lacking, strings of pearls were used instead. The demon stood back on his feet, taking the outfit in his hands and pressing it against the glass to envision what the angel would look like in it. “Yes. I’ve been saving this one for quite some time. Fitting I get to use it for the first angel in my collection.”

More than anything, even the prospect of becoming a doll himself, the word ‘first’ churned his stomach. “You’ll never lay a single hand on another Celestial being again,” Simeon hissed softly, somehow managing to keep his voice steady.

The demon turned his head, gracing the angel with a response for once. And while the stiff and idyllic sculpted features of his face had long forgotten the motion of expression, there was a clear and chilling hue of amusement in those alluring rouge irises. “You and the little runt deserve just a bit more credit than that. I might be a collector, but do you really think I’d bother myself with the likes of both of you if not for good reason?” The demon handed the outfit back to the doll who brought it, circling the glass dome with a single trailing finger. “I have to say, for the first time in eons, I find myself…almost excited. I’ve never worked with Celestial skin before. I doubt just one will be enough to quell my curiosities.” The demon stood before Simeon, hand trailing down the curve of the prison as if he was caressing Simeon’s face. “Once your realm figures out what’s happened, I can be assured that several others will... scurry down here hoping to vindicate you, or whatever it is you angels care about.” His hand dropped dully back to his side as he turned, cutting through the dolls and dismissing the dance entirely. "Beleth can have their war, just so long as I get more toys to work with.”

Simeon’s nostrils flared as a cruel and crooked smile curled across his face. “I swear by the blood of my Holy Father, if you touch one hair off of Luke’s head, I will—“ Simeon stopped himself short, a cold chill rushing through his veins as he noted the snap of every doll’s head turning to look at him.

The demon went back to ignoring the caged angel, waving at all his puppets to disperse. A few of them came over to Simeon’s spot and stood still at his sides. “We have work to do. Once it's prepped, send it to the craft room. I want it ready within the hour.” Most of the dolls followed him out the door while others moved about the room on their own tasks. Simeon’s prison rumbled, sending him staggering a moment while the mannequins surrounding him picked up the dome from the flattened bottom, remaining mostly bent over as they all began walking in an unnatural scuttling position.

The angel clenched his jaw, holding his breath and keeping his eyes trained forward.

Less than an hour. He had less than an hour to escape from here.

To those far across the land and the sea. If all you remember is this rhythmic plea. Do what you must to stay humble and free Of Alastor, Doll-maker of Vanity.

A loud and determined shout left your mouth as you backed out of the cellar. You dragged a dual-bladed battle axe out into the snow, giving it another tug. The heel of your boot snagged on a patch of ice. The last fragment of air left your lungs as you slipped backwards, expecting the back of your head to hit the snow, but instead meeting a large hand. “I told you to be careful.”

After you straightened yourself, you worked on getting your breathing proper. “I know…just…heavy…” You always knew authentic weapons like these were weightier than they appeared. You recalled one pleasant memory where Simeon spent half a day teaching you proper fencing techniques. Your arms and wrist were so sore the next day, you could hardly lift a pen much less a sword. And those had been wooden.

Almost fully buried in the snow now, Beel approached the axe carefully, jostling Belphie a little to better carry his twin over his back. There was a groan from Sloth but not much else. He used one arm to steady Belphie against his body as he bent over. Wary fingers approached the thing, worried that his skin would perhaps burst into flames as soon as he touched it. A single fingertip tapped the wooden throat before retracting. No hissing, no flailing, no fire. Beel eventually deemed the thing safe and scooped the weapon up easily with his free hand. He turned the handle in his palm, getting the feel of it before nodding. “This’ll work.”

“It better,” Belphie huffed, looking at you curiously as you held out the hilt of another weapon to him. It was the matching dagger to the one you’d held with you ever since you’d been abandoned in this terrible place. You felt more at ease with it in his hands. “Thanks…” The demon muttered softly, whimpered with a wheeze as he shifted a bit to find somewhere on his person to tuck it, careful not to accidentally stab his brother as he went back to wrapping his arms around his twin's neck.

Sloth's eyes were shutting and opening at random intervals, clearly still struggling to remain alert. Right after dinner, the both of them had gone up to re-wrap his wounds while you ventured back down into the cellar. You’d scooped up anything you felt would be useful and tucked it into a leather satchel, throwing it over your shoulder. Some sorcerer spell scrolls, vials, a matchbox, some dried preserves, the magic mirror shard you still kept, and other bits and bobs. You’d even lugged out a light crossbow with a small quiver of bolts. You weren’t quite sure how to use it, but one of these two could teach you. Out of everything that had been in there, this seemed the best for you. Easiest to carry, long range, and while your aim might not be impeccable, something was better than nothing.

After all, you needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. Belphie wasn’t looking great…not in any sense of the word, but he looked one half-step better than having both feet in the grave. You needed to get out of here so he could get help… or else who knows how long he’d last?… No you couldn’t think about that.

“So,” Beel started, nervously licking his lips as his head swiveled to observe the trees behind him, the trees to the left of him, and the trees right in front of him. “Where do we…”

“Wait.” Belphie spoke as he kept his eyes closed, seeming as if he was asleep but tuning into the surroundings closely. “Let’s hear where it is first.”

It was a rather unnerving thing, waiting to listen to the scream. Every second the silence drifted on, the more your anxiousness rose. Images of it popping up out of nowhere flashed through your head. With what you had seen of it, it wasn’t exactly a sneaky creature, but still… Not knowing where it was was the worst part. Almost like keeping your head above the water, unaware of the monsters that might be lurking just below your feet. Ready to brush up against your toes and— The sensation sent a shiver down your spine and an itchy feeling through your bones. You pulled your cloak tighter around you.

After a few more minutes, the horrid sound of the cry sounded off south of where you stood, approaching the front side of the house. It was even closer. Almost close enough to discern the faint sound of gnashing teeth. You hoped that was just your imagination. Beel and Belphie immediately paled, the stronger of the two turning on his feet and heading in the opposite direction.

You stood in place.

It took a second before they both noticed, Belphie flicking his tail in clear painful irritation. “What? What is it?” The tone to his words were stern, not concerned, like he was able to hear your thoughts before you expressed them.

“I…um…” How would you word this without sounding like a complete idiot with a fully written will? “Are we sure we want to go that way?” You asked, gesturing with a gloved hand to the thick and never-ending grove of trees branching away from the monster.

“Uh, I’m sorry, I don’t know if I heard you correctly,” Belphie scoffed sardonically. It was pleasing to know that no matter how close his tango to death was, he’d still manage to find the strength to be sarcastic. “I’m not understanding your question. Did you want to head towards the monster? The monster that nearly got us both killed? Do you want to cross paths with that thing again?”

“Of course I don’t want to! It nearly—“ The words caught in your throat, a sharp crack of your voice forcing you to cough a bit. You never wanted to see that thing again. Not in your life, not in your minds eye, not even in your dreams. But… As your head raised up to meet the demon’s gaze, you were stunned to find he was looking away from you. Stubbornly so, not observing anything in particular, but purposefully turning his head to avoid your eyes. There was an unspoken exchange between you two, one that Beel appeared a bit hurt to be left out of.

Gluttony raised his eyebrow at you. “What?”

Now that you were put on the spot, you started second-guessing yourself. The thought that had come to your mind must’ve simply been ridiculous. It was dangerous to assume anything in this place. Pressing your lips tightly together, you conceded without saying anything else. You shook your head and took a step forward, telling both demons to forget about it. Beel softly called out your name before following you, hardly getting in a few steps before Belphie sighed heavily.

“You think there’s something there, don’t you?”

Once again, the clever seventh-born hit the nail right on the head. If you had been paying attention to the Sin Eater’s calls properly, even in it’s search for you and Belphie, it never seemed to round the back of the house. Of course, that could be totally coincidental. Who knew how confused it was or where this house was placed in the middle of everything? Maybe there were more horrific things meant to be found in every corner of this realm, but you’d lived in the House of Lamentation for quite some time now. A home where Greed lived. A home connected to a crypt that was the den for a hellhound. The things that were the most sought after were often the most protected. “I… can’t be certain.” It was true, you had no idea if your intuition was divine guidance or simply misplaced assumptions. “But it…I mean it would make sense, wouldn’t it? If there’s only one way out, it would be hidden and guarded.”

Belphegor clenched his teeth, his tail curling. His eyes held the weight of someone who had seen too much. “It’s a Sin Eater. It doesn’t guard, it destroys. It’s sole purpose is to hunt down demons. So if it followed that idiot who just so happened to run straight out the front door, of course it’s going to be there!” The demon graciously glanced over the fact that you both had done the same thing and nearly paid the ultimate price for it. He was right. But you also felt like you were right. “We’re not risking our lives on the slim chance that a human managed to keep a Celestial weapon confined to a certain territory.” A mental blow struck your chest. The way he phrased that sounded like how the bothers had referred to your kind when you first came to the Devildom, how many demons still said it, how Ikito would say it. Belphie realized his mistake after you cast your glance away, his mouth slightly open, his hand gripping the cloth over Beel’s shoulder.

If it weren’t so cold, you could see Beel nearly sweating, torn between how to best help the both of you. “Hey…” Gluttony addressed both of you with an earnest voice. Without saying it in so many words, you could tell he was expecting the both of you to take it easy. “Why don’t we head this way for now? If Belphie’s right, the Sin Eater will leave that area to follow us. We can kite around it and check over there if we don’t find anything, okay?” That compromise sent Belphie into a surrendering silence. Arguing against such sound logic would be pointless, besides, it was hard to deny Beel outright.

“Alright,” you nodded, wary, but feeling a bit better with both demons at your side now, slightly more prepared for the dangers you might face.

With Beel carrying Belphie only two steps in front of you, he led the way into the grove. As the shadows of trees blanketed you all in darkness, another wail from the Sin Eater rang from behind you. It felt a little easier to breathe knowing that the thing would steadily be drifting farther from you, but it would be foolish to lower your guard in this unknown.

You all continued to walk for what felt like another eternity. Even with your new clothes, the tips of your toes still tingled with an uncomfortable numbness, the ends of your ears threatening to chip off. Belphie appeared to fall back asleep along the way, no signs of attention in his body language, his tail brushing against the ground, snow matting in the fur at the end. At seeing this, you bit the inside of your cheek and silently wished Sloth a rejuvenating rest.

More time passed. Against your better judgment, you let your mind wander for a moment, legs on autopilot, staring at the ground with blank eyes as you shuffled through the snow. Just as you were about to let the darker thoughts sink back in, you felt your face run into Beel’s body. Shaking your head, you took a step back, wondering why he’d just suddenly stopped in his tracks. But before you audibly asked, your question was asked for you.

Several ornaments were hung from the branches of the trees. And not the pleasing and colorful kind that you’d see hung for the holidays. The kinds built from straw and twigs, bent into different shapes and runes and ritualistic depictions. The kind that might as well have been a blinking neon sign to ‘not go any further’. A bit further in the distance, obscured by the trees, was an arch, each stone face painted in a black symbol you couldn’t discern the origins of. The atmosphere was anything but welcoming.

“So much for this way,” you sighed, determined not to go any further.

With Belphie asleep, Beel seemed to agree. “Maybe we should try left.” The two of you turned at the same time.

A jolt ran throughout your body as you grabbed Beel’s sleeve, one hand going to the hilt of your dagger. Even though you had kept your head down for a while, you could’ve sworn that there were nothing but trees out here earlier. But now, all the sudden, several scarecrows sat in the empty spaces between the trees. Rotted straw slipped from torn open pant legs, splotches of stains covered their stuffed potato sack heads, X’s stitched over where eyes would’ve been. They lined each side of you, and when you tilted your head, you noticed they had somehow cropped up behind you as well. “Um, Beel… those weren’t there before… were they?”

The demon of Gluttony shook at Belphie a little, trying to wake him up, but all his twin did was moan softly, unable to open his eyes quite yet. Beel’s other hand gripped his new weapon tightly, his knuckles turning white. “No. They weren’t.”

Your tongue suddenly felt dry as you continued to look at all of them. Was it just you, or were they getting closer? “Do we go past them, or—“ An intense shuffling sound filled your ears as your body was shoved, Beel guiding you to run but with no hands left to grab you. He kept his pace behind you, holding Belphie against his chest now, acting as your shield as much as he could. He swung at one of the things, a high-pitched squealing making you flinch. Nearly tripping, refusing to look, ears ringing with the strange chittering noise, you sprinted as fast as humanly possible forwards. Forced to funnel through the arch, you and the twins stumbled between the stones, feeling a shift in the environment. The gasping warbling stopped, and as you finally found the courage to glance over your shoulder, you noticed that all the scarecrows were gone. Vanished.

Beel took a step closer to you to ensure you were alright while you both slowed to a halt. The malicious presence was gone, but something told you they would return if you were to go back. That was even if you could go back. You had the faint sensation that some sort of door had locked behind you.

“I wonder what kind of mess we’re into now…”

Author's Note: Thank you all for being so patient with me and always taking the time to read what I put out there!

Also, don't ask me why the last two or three letters of each segment of poem in Simeon's section are formatted weird, I tried so hard to fix it, but it literally would not work. If I went through and only highlighted those letters to italicize them, after I saved, it would shift to the letters behind them and force them to be normal. So weird! So frustrating, but Tumblr just hates me sometimes.