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eldritch-spouse · 2 months ago

Note

Reader who’s in Sybastian’s labyrinth and is tired and horny. They decide if they’re going to go out they are going to at least relive themselves so they hop on a bed and get to it. The bed seems weirdly shaky to them but they just assume it’s that they’re just getting really into it. (Un)fortunately for them the mimiced bed decided it wasn’t going to kill this human I mean if you expose your self to him you have to be their mate!

[Fem reader]

TW: Dubious consent; Mentions of gore; Excessive drool; Squirting.

Sybastian spared you little thought at first.

It only took a few months of participating in Vinnel's game to understand how to profile his catches a lot better. He knows who the clever ones will be, the troublemakers that kick and bite, the overly paranoid, and the ones that are so incredibly stupid he almost feels gross getting rid of them.

You didn't fit into any category, when Sybastian first saw you, his mind lumped you into the "standard" group and he moved on to the assumed challenging targets.

This hunt has singlehandedly made the mimic question his own profiling skills.

First, he mistakes the smartass for someone who actually knows what he's doing, and manages to tear into him in no time. Then, a girl who froze at the sight of him actually managed to make him trip, alerting the whole group.

He's had to try to catch the same people several times just because he's failed so drastically in his attempts to gouge their attitudes, and he's sure the jester is cackling behind his many screens upstairs, relaying Syb's failures to the audience like a verbal paddling.

Naturally at this point, Sybastian was wrong about you too.

Because he sure as shit didn't expect you to be the last one standing.

That's not all though. Not only are you the cream of this crop, your savvy side seemed to completely expire as soon as you realized everyone had perished. It's as if you deflated.

Yet, instead of crouching down in a corner to scream your lungs out, or crawling under somewhere to pretend you can hide forever, or simply start pounding at the doors until your nails chip into pieces...

You pace the bedroom where Sybastian disguises himself as a bed. Back and forth, silent footsteps on a carpeted floor. You were smart to discard your footwear and avoid the wooden floors, Lord knows they're made to creak at the slightest miscalculation.

He couldn't help but wonder what was in his prey's mind.

Now that he can see you a little closer, you're one of those pretty humans. At least, the ones he thinks are prettier. The kind he likes to pet on their hair and run his fingers all over. Pretty thing with pretty meaty thighs and a juicy ass. He didn't quite know if he wanted to bite you or lash his tongue against every crevice of skin he could see. It was good that you were the last one, the others weren't as nice-looking.

What could you possibly be thinking of, in that moment? So concentrated, so serious, he could almost have fooled himself into thinking you were on the cusp of hatching a plan.

He didn't think it'd be this...

He didn't think you'd take off your pants. Could hardly believe his concealed eyes when you laid upon him, giving him a spectacular view of your panty-covered goods before he felt the softness of your skin on him.

He shuddered, but if you noticed, it didn't stop you from getting comfortable, adjusting your underwear and playing with yourself.

Sybastian has been sweating for a while now. He hopes you're dumb enough to think the sudden moisture is sweat from your little session. Truth of the matter is that mimic has never had this happen to him. He's never had someone sit on him while in disguise and start masturbating.

Sure, he's been a bench to a few couples drunkenly making out, but it doesn't last long before he's got at least one of them in his jaws.

Nevertheless, this has proved to be a special kind of arousing to the mimic, who relishes the feedback of your movement and desperately tries to shift the position of his eyes so he can get a better view. He's daring enough to catch a glimpse between the sheets you crumpled, locked into the motion of your fingers as you dip an index and middle digit into a wet cunt and clumsily circle your clit with the remaining hand.

You seem rushed, desperate, trying your damndest to rip an orgasm out of yourself for reasons that he can't understand. None of Santi's fluids were utilized in the making of today's traps, so it's not as if you're in an incubus-induced frenzy. He's perplexed, but far from complaining.

Is it that you want him to find you? What a little freak you are, waiting for the big bad thing that's been picking you all off one by one to show itself...

He wonders what you'd do if he rushed into this room, if he wasn't the very bed you're being depraved on. Would you lift your ass and invite him, beg him to please have mercy? Hoping and praying that maybe the offer of your gorgeous body could keep him subdued, could distract him. Cute as you are, not a bad strategy, he'd say.

Syb makes a rumble of delight when the first sounds start tumbling out your lips. Little stressed mewls and gasps that have him this close to losing his mind. Somewhere in his modified form, the monster's cock swells and his need starts to become unbearable. He was never the master of self-control, these games just drive him that much wilder. Drool seeps to the ground when his long, gross tongue peeks beneath the mattress. Sybastian slowly allows his arms to emerge from under the bed, giving them more and more mass while they reach upwards.

With your eyes closed in focused pleasure, you could never hope to see those claws hovering in the air, inches from making contact. The mimic is swift to lock one of said hands around your throat, keeping you pinned to the faux mattress by the neck. The scream he assumes you were going to belt out becomes no more than a surprised cough.

Naturally, he expects the following tantrum. Flailing like a fish out of water, your shrill noises of confusion and terror only excite him further, though the mimic is patient, allowing you to tire yourself out for the time being, rumbling lowly like an engine on standby. Eventually, much to his liking, your motions slow down, vastly due to the realization that the monstrous hand around your neck is static. You breathe rapidly on him, body still overheated and wet.

Syb's reward is a softer hold of the vital location, his remaining hand shamelessly groping the leg closest to it. He doesn't let you have any time to think or react, because one second he's rubbing your thigh, the next he's cupping your belly and slipping fingers between your soaked cuntlips, grabbing you quite literally by the core.

He's excited and rough, able to hear your prior terrorized noises turn into confusion and discomfort. An improvement, in his opinion. Sybastian brushes your clitoris more accidentally than purposely, and the reflexive squirm of your legs paired with the whimper that you let out is what makes him lose composure.

Your poor body nearly tumbles to the carpet when the very furniture you laid on transforms before your eyes, into a looming, lanky monster with a purple chest for head, rows of misaligned teeth decorating the edges of that maw, gangly arms just as long as his legs protruding from it. He makes sure to not let you fall face first, but that might have been a bad idea, because when your doe eyes lock with his acidic yellow ones, you scream again.

Sybastian only tilts his head. It'd be pretty funny if you started running now. He'd have to go after you with an erection, with isn't very comfortable, but it'd be entertaining.

Instead, you shakily crawl back, hues widening like saucers when he brings his own stained fingers to his giant maw and calmly laps the traces of slick off them.

" What... What the fuck are you? "

If he was any other, more dignified type of monster, Sybastian would have felt offended.

" ... Syb. " He grunts out.

You don't look very satisfied with that answer. Unfortunately, you're neither talking nor moving, and his excitement won't let the mimic prolong this pause.

" Want to play. " He points at you, nodding. " I want too. Come. "

The mimic watches your face grow heated, little eyes darting everywhere but him after they catch sight of the tented loincloth doing absolutely nothing to conceal his arousal. He doesn't care to hide it either. You should look, you'll be getting acquainted soon anyway.

" N- No. No, I wasn't... "

Sybastian snickers, mocking. " Was was... I felt. "

Nervousness makes your throat bob.

" I liked. " He adds. " Naughty. Come. "

Sybastian adds more intensity to his poorly constructed coaxing, something you seem to pick up on. A healthy amount of self-preservation is, presumably, what stops you from flailing again when the mimic traces a claw over your ankle, scooting closer.

Sybastian eyes you like a hawk. There's little question, if you make stupid moves, you'll be punished.

Fortunately, you're smarter than that, allowing him to sit right next to your tense figure. Syb likes to think he's being gentle when he pushes the fabric of your shirt up, reaching your collarbone, inhuman eyes widening as you eventually take it off on your own.

Cooperation, from the humans he snags? Now isn't this novel. His cock all but throbs in response.

He laments to see that piece of chest padding your particular type of human tends to don, and his patience does have limits, because he simply uses a claw to rend the thin middle portion apart and free your chest to him.

You have pretty breasts.

Well, a lot of humans do in Sybastian's opinion, but yours have him salivating harder, those soft points visibly perked by your prior activities. The monster rumbles with giddiness, almost unable to belive a catch as appetizing as you landed in his grasp.

He roughly discards his own scant coverings and wastes no time using long arms to drag you closer, skin on skin contact having the mimic rumbling.

" Beautiful mate...! "

He praises, admiring your reaction when a blue tongue longer than your leg unfurls from his gaping maw. You lot always seem to squirm and gawk, and much to his ceaseless amusement today, he gets to see something more than just awe in your gaze. Curiosity.

There's little to no warning before the very same muscle rudely swipes across your chest, clumsily soaking your tits in warm drool while the monster chuckles at the yelp you let out. He savors them like he doesn't get to do this often, finally rolling that clapper between your breasts and easily allowing it to slink downward, across your softer portions and flicking the end of it around your mound.

" Stretch you nice... "

Sybastian sounds delirious even to himself, angling your legs a little roughly just so he can see what he's doing. Your flushed folds stare at him invitingly, he can only imagine what they'll feel like hugging his cock, but your kind is small and frail, he's learned he has to make you sticky and loose first. Whatever you were expecting when your wide eyes glanced down, it certainly wasn't the speed and dexterity that ravished your pussy.

He's never been one to play footsie, or tease, not when he's the one who's been teased to madness by your dirty little show. Sybastian's laps across your cunt are hard and fast, nearly jostling your lower body with their intensity, the pressure against your clit hardly giving you time to gasp in-between each harsh swipe. Not that it lasts long, he's shoving a drool-soaked tip inside far too quickly, trying to worm as much of himself in as he can before he's forced to give you room to breathe and adjust.

The monster beams down at you, his restless spidery hands stroking your thighs, a twitch of his member at every jolt of your legs when he hits something special. Syb can only hum and moan at the taste of your arousal before he's undulating his tongue forcefully, the grip of your inner walls doing nothing to stop him from making space. He salivates even more, a pool of drool drenching the space between your legs and the floor as Syb instinctively tilts his head, as if it could somehow shove him deeper into your poor vaginal canal.

The monster's eyes squint, studying your reactions when you jerk and cry in sudden pleasure. He doesn't like to gloat, but he thinks he's got the science down to make pretty little things like you explode all over his tongue. And if he's not wrong, you're about to give him just that. Impatient, the mimic paws at you until he can get a better feel of your clit, hoping that rolling the nub between his digits while his tongue presses into every crevice of you does the trick.

In no time at all, your undignified noises of animal delight are chocked by a sudden inhale as you tense and freeze. The contractions of your muscles signal his victory, Sybastian all but rips his tongue away to keep torturing your little pearl while you erupt beautifully for him. He laughs and rumbles pridefully when you try to twist away in overstimulation. It could be shame too, but he hardly cares, there's no need to feel ashamed of something so hot.

A lot of monsters can't squirt like this. You though? He wishes he could spend a whole day making you burst over and over-

Giggling a couple more times, the monster finally allows your twitching form to get some rest, peeling away slowly to bask in the mess he's made of you. He makes no secret of his enjoyment, moaning when the flavor coats every inch of his mouth and dropping a hand to his aching cock. The pumping is furious and fast, but not enough, not compared to what you could be doing for him right now

While you pant and huff, the monster grabs you by the neck, careful -Oh ever careful- not to stick his claws where they're unwanted. Not to twist anything wrong. You're smart, smart enough to know you shouldn't jerk your neck or move much in his hold. He can say he's grateful for that, later.

At the moment, Sybastian pulls you closer, slapping something hot and throbbing against your cheek. The way you try to side-eye his dick from this position is hilarious to him.

" ... Say thanks. "

Said shaft bumps against the side of your face tauntingly a couple more times, until his grip eventually lessens and you're allowed to see what you'll be working with more closely.

There are many things a monster like him can flex over humans, and you've come to see plenty today. His speed, his strength, his durability, his tongue... It should come as no surprise that his size would also feature in that list.

Thankfully for you, Sybastian can muster some modicum of patience for this moment, watching the gears turn in that little head as you try to think of how to best please him. One of your hands grabs him by the root, the other cups his balls, your initial attempt to fit him in your mouth fails. On the second one, you manage to at least get a decent portion in, making the mimic pant at the sight of your plush lips wrapped around him.

Chains clink when the mimic lifts his hands, ready to grab you and start fucking into your hot mouth, though he's beaten to it by your own sudden enthusiasm, putting every ounce of effort into making sure he stays still.

Clever girl, you know he'd just hold you down and make you choke.

Syb supposes he can give you that mercy, you're so responsive after all, he's certain you're the perfect mate for him. The way you slurp and hum around his girth is only compounding on this.

As pretty as you look working at him, the mimic's legs are tense enough to snap and he's leaking precum at an alarming rate, so you're nudged off his flushed cock with hesitation.

For a brief moment, Sybastian considers getting you out of this trap and finishing it all somewhere more comfortable. But then he looks at the clear-ish shine on your lips, the peaks of your tits and those cute eyes so focused on his every reaction... No, he doesn't think he can wait.

" Want you bad-! " He all but whines.

It's all too easy to maneuver you however he likes, ending up in the position worthy of a rutting creature, the monster draping over you on all fours. He's long enough to curve his chest of a head and stare back at you when the tip of his slobbered dick teases your opening, beady pupils full of mischief and lust. Although there's mild worry painted on your expression, you spread your legs the smallest amount.

And that's all he needs.

He thinks, pounding into you, seeing your teary eyes glaze in a trance, your mouth hanging open yet silent, it'll be hard to keep such an appetizing little thing away from the others...

The first thrust is drawn out and intense, the two of you groaning in bursts of sensation. He only stops when he's hilted, grinding a bit to milk the perfect grip of your pussy kissing his cockhead. That's the one respite you're allowed before he starts snapping his hips against yours hard enough to clap, snarling and digging dents into the poor ground.

Better it than you.

But maybe, if he fills you up well enough, if he breeds you so hard that the scent of him never leaves, they'll get the message.

#Sybastian oc #monsterfucker #monster boyfriend #monster smut #monster x reader #monster x you #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #terato tag #terat0philliac #terato #minors dni

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loveliestlovelygirl · 11 months ago

Text

after hours

boss!anakin x secretary!reader

synopsis: since you slept together, anakin, your boss, has been acting pretty much normal around you. on occasion he flirts with you and leaves you little gifts. but you start to question if he sees you as little more than an office plaything.

w.c: 1.2k

highlights: {minors dni} requested anonymously, sexual content and themes, power imbalance, infidelity mentioned, explicit language, brief mentions of domestic abuse

Every single shift after you made the terrible decision of sleeping with your boss, you find a purple rose on your desk. And you have collected enough to make a bouquet which stands in a tall glass right beside your computer. Neither of you have had much time to talk about what happened afterwards. He’s been caught up in his work, and you’ve been caught up in managing his life and coffee orders.

Every time he passes your desk to get to his own office, he flashes his smile and gives you a little wink, letting you know that he hasn’t forgotten what happened. But you don’t know why he seems uninterested in talking about it. You’re too afraid to bring it up to him because… well, he’s your boss. And you’re not exactly sure of where you stand with him anymore. The dynamics of your professional relationship is just as fucked up as you had been on your desk only last week.

God, it’s embarrassing to remember how many documents were destroyed in the hurricane that had been desperate sex with Anakin. You wonder how long it had been since he’d fucked because he acted as though he was deprived. Considering his tumultuous relationship with his beauty queen wife, it all added up though. He needed a release. And you held your legs wide open for him.

It wouldn’t surprise you if he sees you only as a quick fuck, an office plaything to entertain himself with when his wife is upset. Each time you imagine that likely reality you chip off a piece of your self-image.

When he walks through past your desk this morning to begin the day, Anakin stops at the entrance to his office and turns to you. “Mind staying late today?”

You narrow your eyes at him slightly. “Why?”

He freezes for a moment as if he didn’t expect you to question his authority. “Well…” he crosses his arms, “Work stuff.”

You give him a sigh. Something is up. You can tell by the mischievous grin he wears as he looks at you. “I promised I’d meet my friends for drinks later.”

He opens his door a little wider to reveal his liquor cabinet. “I’ll make you one.”

“Are you asking me to have a drink with you?”

He gives you a shy smile and closes the door behind him. He knows you won’t chase after him. You’re too afraid to stand up to him. The dynamics have shifted even further in his favor now that you’ve slept with him.

You hit your hands against your face. You stupid, stupid girl!

Most people had left by five o’clock. The forty-floored skyscraper is a ghost town. As you wait at your desk for your boss to finish up, you swear you can hear yourself think. You nearly scream when he opens the door because you were lost in your thoughts completely. He waves you in, and he’s holding a red drink in his hand.

That’s your drink. A cosmopolitan. How’d he know that?

He hands it to you as you walk in. It’s love at the first sip. Apparently, the famous CEO is also a cocktail expert.

“How is it?” he asks.

You sip slowly, pacing yourself. “Good. Thank you.”

Anakin offers you his office chair, burgundy, shiny faux-leather, and rolls across the floor as if it’s ice. As heat rushes to your cheeks, you accept his kindness and sit, crossing your legs daintily.

He steps over to his personal bar and pours himself a glass of wine. He swirls it around in his glass a couple times before taking a big sip. Then he turns to you again.

“So,” he mutters.

You smile. “What work stuff did you wanna go over.”

Anakin stands in front of you as if to purposefully occupy your entire view. He takes another sip before finally answering.

“Fine. You’ve got me. Not work stuff.”

You mask your surprised expression by sipping on your own drink. Honestly, you don’t know what to say. Maybe it’s stupid, but you don’t want to assume it’s to talk about your intimate encounter though you wouldn’t mind trying it again. You’ve started wearing matching lingerie every day to work.

“I was hoping…” he hangs his head as he grabs your hand, “we wouldn’t be a one-time thing.”

“What are you asking for, Anakin? Sex?”

With a grin on his lips, he glances up at you again. “You. That’s what I want.”

You set your glass on his desk with a white clink echoing through. “Just me?”

“Just you,” he repeats. “All to myself.”

“You know, I could have a boyfriend,” you say standing up, facing him.

“Well… I hope he doesn’t mind that you’re going to be working overtime…” he pauses and sets his drink beside your glass, “almost every night.”

Of course, his arrogance shouldn’t turn you on like it does, the presumptuousness of his assumption that you’ll be spending every night with him. But it works on you. His unbreakable confidence in everything he does amazes you, and you fall harder somehow. You throw your arms around his neck, and he leans your body back, his hands cupping your ass, and he kisses your deeply. His lips taste of sweet wine and the cigars he smokes sometimes. You chase his tongue into his mouth. And he likes it.

His hands start to lift the edges of your pencil skirt, seeking you. You push back to stop him. You want to take this slowly. Not like last time. Last time was messy and fast. You were swept away by the most animalistic passions.

This time you want to savor him. Savor his touch, the way he feels against your skin, the taste of his body, and the scent of his cologne.

You start with his tie, pulling it down from the back of his neck. It’s blue silk a little darker than his eyes. You unbutton his white dress shirt, slowly revealing the skin beneath decorated by curly hair. Against your fingers, it’s downy soft. You nuzzle his chest with your nose and with your mouth and with your tongue.

He rolls his shirt off and it falls behind him to the floor. Next, you deftly tackle his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it through the loops. The metal clatters on the hard floor, but you don’t stop.

In your last encounter, all he managed was to rip your panties off and unzip his fly. He could hardly wait to get inside you. And it had been a tight fight, even with his attempts to ready your body.

This time you fully undress each other and fully embrace your natural states during this intimate meeting. Anakin admires your body, rubbing his hands up and down the sides of your hips, savoring your breasts.

You like this softer side to him. The life he lives has hardened him. You have to be cutthroat to survive. And you know he’s done things he’s not proud of.

But you know his heart. And right now, his heart is for you.

He’s looking down at you in the same way he used to towards his wife. All you can hope for is that his feelings for you will last.

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#loveliestlovelygirl #lovely fics #anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin x reader smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #anakin imagine

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spdrvyn · 2 years ago

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parched — MIGUEL O'HARA

(( I FINALLY WATCHED ATSV AAAGHHHH IT WAS SO GOOD !!! not gonna say anything because if i ramble it will 100% go into spoiler territory but it was probably the best movie i've ever seen no exaggeration. anyway, here's a small miguel one shot? drabble? spoiler-free :3 ))

READ PART 2 HERE.

You and Miguel led nearly entirely different lives.

He was constantly out and about. Putting his body, his mind through strenuous lengths for the sake of the people. For the sake of everyone. He sacrifices a piece of himself, bit by bit. Everyday. Just for everybody else's peace.

Your job almost felt a little silly next to his. After all, you were quite sure that being Spider-Man didn't offer a week of paid vacation. Which you were extremely grateful to have, by the way.

In all honesty, you felt the smallest piece of pity for him. You were able to catch up on your hobbies, enjoy shows that were put on your list for so long, and get more than 5 hours of sleep.

You knew that Miguel was barely getting a shred of that. How did you know? Even in two in the morning, while you were resting on the couch and catching up on yet another show, you hadn't heard him come in through the window that you normally keep open for him.

Worry seeps it's way into your brain as you try to focus on the pixels in front of you. Of course, you were scared for him. Everyday that he went out, the unexpected could happen and well... You didn't want to think too deep into it.

At least, your mind was distracted when you were working but now you were relaxing, the thoughts that you tried bury deep down under to the crevices of your mind were all coming back again.

It only concerned you more when throughout the week so far, you'd seen him less and less. On occasion, in the middle of the night, the click of a lock would alert you awake but before you could sit up and investigate, strong arms locked around your waist and a head pressed into your shoulder.

You sighed, reaching for the remote and pausing your show.

The worries, the yearning. It all gave you a swirling, growing feeling in your gut that you hadn't really familiarized yourself with. You weren't sure if you liked it, you weren't sure if you hated it. Though the way that it pierced into you like a newly sharpened spear just confused you even further.

Trying to focus on another feeling growing inside of you. Hunger and satisfying it, you hoped it would get all of this off of your mind as you lazily walk into the kitchen.

A reoccurring theme whenever you wanted a snack was once you actually made your way to the pantry, decisions were a foreign concept and your cravings were like trying to read binary code.

Instant ramen? Cookies? Chips? Ice cream?

Felt even worse this time when you hadn't particularly been exercising your brain recently, a mental note to yourself to be just a little bit on edge when you get a break like this.

You opt on giving up entirely, you slam the cabinet door, and turn around to get back to the couch until—

There's a weight against your back and waist, keeping you against the counter.

As you look down, you see the familiar shades of red and blue. Sighing, you look to a little over your shoulder and take a little peek. To see closed eyes signalled by Miguel's mask. The marks trembling shut, you feel his grip on you get tighter.

In a volume as close to a whisper, you break the silence, "Miguel? You okay?" Like you expected, he takes off his mask. Eyes screwed shut, brows furrowing as you can see the stress lines and deep circles under them.

He sighs but not out of being content, thumb tracing small shapes into your stomach. "Been so lonely, mi cielo."

Your heart clenches as that. That was right, you understood what kind of lover that he could be. Needy, clingy, these qualities festering even more each moment he spends away from you. You noticed how much he was holding back right now.

He normally liked to fix himself up before getting all comfortable and relaxed with you. Showering, brushing his curls, general self-care but the moment he came inside his first instinct was to go to you.

Those thoughts from a while ago that were nearly going to absorb you came back. To think the cold that Miguel had to endure out there from how tightly he wanted to absorb your warmth.

"I missed you so much. Me sentí tan solo, don't wanna let go."

You were going to respond but your mind practically short-circuited when he started pressing soft kisses along your neck and shoulder. You let him indulge himself, just a little while.

Of course, his job terrified you sometimes but seeing him like this. Seeing him let his guard down, talking about how much he missed you, calling you his darling.

Perhaps Spider-Men had their own charm but Miguel's just got you wrapped around his finger like nobody else could.

For a brief moment, he nibbles on the flesh at the back of your neck. Pressing one last kiss, "Will get fixed up, then voy a demostrarte cuánto te extrañé después de todo este tiempo."

Shamefully, you didn't pick up learning Spanish yet from how much Miguel speaks it to you. Yet through context clues and bashfully asking him what the things he said meant sometimes.

You knew exactly what was going to come next.

#lmao get cliffhanged loser #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 #spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #fluff #romance #end sounds like sexy times are gonna happen but #i promise you this is a gona be a fucking fluff fest #dw theres gonna be a part 2

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year ago

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The Other Half Part Twenty Three

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Notes: This is a long one y'all. There's more angst, BUT there's a fluffy ending, so. Ya just gotta trust me.

Length: 6K

Warnings: Angst that ends in fluff, so you're gonna suffer, but you're gonna be happy about it; canon-typical violence; a D-level DC villain that's usually more of a Superman baddie, but he's fought Batman once or twice, so.

Summary: When Michelle had announced that she would be moving to Keystone City, you’d burst into tears. Your other friends had passed it off as you being overcome by the news of your oldest and dearest friend moving, but Michelle knew you, and she knew better. It hadn’t taken her long to drag the truth out of you.

“I never liked him.”

Michelle’s flat insistence makes you splutter a laugh through your tears. You sniffle, raising both hands and scrubbing at your eyes, knowing that you're almost certainly ruining your makeup. You’ve tried to put on a brave face, but Michelle has known since you arrived that something was off. She’s banished everyone else from the kitchen, giving the two of you a quiet space to talk. The odd swell of laughter and conversation reaches you every few moments, reminding you that you’re having an incredibly sensitive conversation just a few feet away from people that would probably sell it to the Gotham Gazette for one corn chip.

“Yes, you did,” You argue, raising your hand and scrubbing a tear away.

“...I mean, a little.” Michelle rips a piece of paper towel off of the roll, passing it over. “Did he tell you why?”

You dab at your eyes, trying to piece a reasonable explanation together—one that wouldn’t shock Michelle and expose Bruce’s secret.

You had waited up for Bruce all night, but he’d never come back. At least, he hadn’t come back to you. You’d realized when you’d gone down for breakfast that Bruce had returned, but slept elsewhere—down in the bat cave, maybe, or in an entirely separate wing of the house? But there he was at the table, genially listening to your father discuss whether or not the Metropolis Metros had any chance of making the playoffs that year. You had gotten yourself some coffee and sat at the opposite end of the table, unable to catch Bruce’s eye. He was avoiding it; he was avoiding you. He’d kept that up as you’d seen your parents to the car, as you’d hugged your mother and dodged her attempts to discuss what had been said last night. You saw the firm handshake that Bruce had shared with your father, the strained smile that he’d managed as your father had insisted that he hoped that there weren't any hard feelings.

The two of you had stood side by side as the car pulled out of the driveway, hands to yourselves, eyes set on the fading red tail lights until they were out of sight.

“Can we talk about it?” You finally hedged.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about.”

You turned to watch him stride away, stunned. It took you a moment to follow, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up.

“I think there’s a hell of a lot to talk about!”

“I don’t agree.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because they’re right.”

“Excuse me?”

“They’re right!” Bruce barked, whirling around to face you. You froze in place, eyes widening as his yell echoed in the foyer. “I can’t keep you safe.”

“You have kept me safe—You do keep me safe, Bruce!”

“If I could, you never would’ve gotten kidnapped in the first place!”

“I got out of there because of you—”

“You got in there because of me!”

“There are people in this world that are just plain greedy, Bruce. There’s nothing that you can do about that, it is not your fault.”

“It’s my fault that you of all people were taken, and as long as you and I are together, you will continue to be a target.”

“I don’t care!”

“I do!”

“Oh, so you get to go out every night and put people away and get the shit kicked out of you even though you know I hate it and that’s fine, right? Bruce Wayne can make his own damn decisions and put himself in as much danger as he wants, but I get into one little situation and that’s it? You’re decided? I don’t get a say in this?”

“You get a say. You have had a say, but I am through knowing that I’m endangering your life.”

“Well let’s think this through, then. Who else are you putting in harm’s way? Lucius, for one—”

“That’s enough—”

“You’re endangering Alfred. Are you telling him that you’re through putting him in danger?”

“Do not bring Alfred into this.”

“It’s a bullshit argument, Bruce.”

“I’m done talking about this,” He warned coldly, turning away from you. You didn’t let him get far, keeping a pace or two behind him as he strode toward the study.

“What if I’m not?”

“I don’t give a damn.”

“What do you want, Bruce?”

“I want you to leave!”

He stopped short again, but there was no danger of you slamming into him this time. In fact, you took one step back, then another. You searched Bruce’s face desperately as your entire body felt like it was going to cave in on itself. You shook your head a little, hands flexing at your sides as you forced yourself not to reach out, not to tug him in and hold him close and beg him, plead with him to reconsider.

“You don’t mean that,” You insisted.

“I do.” Bruce’s gaze dropped to your shoes.

“Look at me.”

“I’ll have Alfred pack your things—”

“Look me in the goddamn eye and tell me that.”

“You can stay at the penthouse until Michelle can move you back in.”

“Bruce, don’t do this—”

“You can take as long as you need.”

“You—” You reached up, grasping the lariat necklace and yanking it roughly. You felt the clasp break roughly against your skin, heard diamonds scatter as you tossed it at his feet. “You are a fucking coward.”

You hadn’t let him see you cry, but you were sure he’d heard you. You’d hardly made it into your shared bedroom before you’d knelt down and let out a raw, sharp scream—one so long and so loud that you were hoarse when it finally broke. You had spent the day hiding out in your room, and had only managed to stop crying just long enough to fake a few smiles at Friendsgiving.

When Michelle had announced that she would be moving to Keystone City, you’d burst into tears again. Your other friends had passed it off as you being overcome by the news of your oldest and dearest friend moving, but Michelle knew you, and she knew better. It hadn’t taken her long to drag the truth out of you.

“We just, um…” You sniffle. “We just haven’t been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things lately.”

“Marriage? Kids?”

You shake your head at her plying.

“A lot of things.”

“...Does this have anything to do with the fact that your parents were at Thanksgiving?”

“Let’s just say their visit was less than stellar.”

“Oh, hon, I’m sorry,” Michelle shakes her head, taking your hands in hers. You give them a gentle squeeze in turn, eyes swimming as you look down at them. She’s quiet for a few moments before she plies:

“What are you going to do?”

“...May as well move to Metropolis,” You admit. “Mom and dad are there, you’re leaving, and Bruce…” You clear your throat. “There’s nothing keeping me here.”

“Will they let you transfer at work?”

“Something tells me they’ll have the bright idea first thing Monday morning.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“He’s stubborn. Once he gets an idea into his head, he won’t shake it.”

“You can be damn stubborn, too.”

You nod a bit. “I can, but I’m just…” You shake your head as the tears well viciously again. “I’m so damn tired, Mish. I can’t keep fighting for him if he doesn't want me.”

“Honey,” Michelle sighs, crowding close and drawing you into her arms. You curl your hands around her arm, keeping her close as the sobs begin to shake you again.

“How is the weather there?”

“We’re really resorting to speaking about the weather?” You smile. “My my, times are desperate. Did you pull the lilies up yet? Must be getting cold over there.”

“Now who is speaking of the weather?”

You chuckle at Alfred’s reminder, shaking your head. The two of you go quiet on your sides of the phone. You focus your gaze on your mom’s macrame plant hanger, shifting from foot to foot. You know how Alfred is (“Just fine, as always, dear.”), but you don’t dare ask how Bruce is.

“Have you settled in?” Alfred presses before you can bring anything else up.

“Um…” Your brow furrows. “The office is nice—bigger desks.”

“And the apartment? The car?”

“I’m with my parents. I don’t have a car.”

Alfred is quiet for a few moments before he offers: “Master Wayne—”

“I know what he did,” You cut in quickly. You'd gotten the email from the newly Wayne-owned apartment building, as well as the message to pick your new car up from the dealership when you'd arrived in Metropolis. “I don’t want anything from him.”

Alfred sighs softly on the other end, and it makes your gut twist. You lean back against the kitchen counter, looking down at the floor.

“...How is he?” You finally mumble.

“He misses you.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

“Buying you an apartment and a car?”

“I don’t care about things, he knows that. If he cared, he would pick up the—...Damn phone,” You trail off in a mumble as you hear yourself growing more and more frustrated. You tried calling him three times before you left Gotham, but you hadn't gotten a single response. You haven't bothered to try since.

“Anyway,” You clear your throat, “You never answered me about the lilies.”

“I have a few weeds to pull up before I cover the beds.”

“You should do that soon. It’s only going to get colder. Are the lights up in the city yet?”

“They are.”

“Must be nice. I love Gotham at Christmas.”

“How is Metropolis?”

“It’s nice! It’s nice. It’s fine. Pretty. Good lights. Not as good as Gotham’s, but good.”

“Are the accommodations at your parents comfortable, at least?”

Comfortable. That isn't the word you’d use. These days, you’re sleeping on a lumpy pullout couch in a cramped living room, living out of a duffel bag. They’re meant to be spending their days comfortably, not with their heartbroken daughter sleeping in the living room and trying to put the pieces of her life together. You’re grateful to them for opening their home, and you feel so ungrateful for feeling crowded, but a week ago, this was not the life that you pictured—

You raise your hand to pinch the bridge of your nose to stem a wave of tears.

“Mhm!” You nod, though Alfred can’t see you, hoping that the affirmative movement will bolster the firmness of your tone. “S’nice, it’s cozy.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Yeah! Yeah, thank you.” You clear your throat. “I should get going for work soon, I’ve got a meeting to prep for.”

“Of course. I'll send the remainder of your things tomorrow."

“Sounds great. I’ll call you soon.”

“It will be lovely to hear from you then.”

“It’s lovely to hear from you now.” You smile bitterly. “Bye, Alfred.”

“Goodbye.”

You lower the phone and hang up, raising your hand to swipe at the few tears that have managed to slip. Work, you have got to get to work. Your parents' place is a quick bus and train ride to and from the office, but you’ve been getting in early to get up to speed—and with the hopes of avoiding the paparazzi.

There aren’t nearly as many as there were when you were in Gotham, but so far, you’ve had a handful lingering around the front door when you leave. They always throw out questions—Why’d you leave Gotham? Did you and Wayne break up? Did he cheat on you? Why aren’t you living in the apartment with your name on it? Are you ever going back to Gotham?

You hadn’t bothered to answer a single question, just kept your head down and strode toward the train station. They had the decency not to follow you on, or back to the apartment. When you arrive this morning, there isn’t anyone with a camera outside the building. You give the receptionist a friendly smile before you head to the elevator, pressing the up button with a knuckle to keep from dropping your phone or spilling your coffee.

The office is quiet when you step inside. You can see a couple of other people there, but they don’t acknowledge you as you settle in. You open your laptop, humming to yourself as the laptop begins to boot up. You heard a few carolers performing Silver Bells on your way to the office, and it is stuck in your head now. You rest your chin on your hand, trying to picture what the grounds’ gardens must look like all covered over. You can picture Alfred crouching down, covering the raised beds with chicken wire, with Bruce pulling it taut from the other end—

You shift in your seat, trying to push the thought of Bruce away.

He’d be bundled up, too, maybe using the spare pair of gloves that you bought for Alfred—

Ugh, stop it! Stop, just banish him from your mind. That’s probably impossible, sure, but you can pretend, right? You click on the internet app, and freeze when you see the loaded article on the homepage: Bruce helping a model out of a car. You recognize her. You're sure that you’ve seen her at a couple of Liz’s parties. You can’t quite remember her name, though…Your eyes stray to the description before you force them away again, pulling up your email and biting the inside of your cheek to keep from letting tears fall. It feels like all you can do these days is cry, no matter what you do. You know that getting over Bruce is going to be slow-going.

Your hand strays to your neck, where the lariat necklace used to sit…No. Nope, letting it go. Taking out your headphones, putting on your favorite angsty playlist and letting it go.

“How was your day, honey?”

You poke through your container of leftovers as you lean against the kitchen counter. You give your mom’s question a placid smile, and don’t bother to say a word. You know that an admonishment isn’t far behind.

“Oh, don’t stand and eat,” She tuts just a moment later when she spots you.

“I’m fine standing, mom. I've been sitting all day.”

“Your day, honey.”

“It was okay. We got the invite for the Christmas party, it’s next week.”

“Everyone was nice?”

“It’s an office job, not my first day of kindergarten.”

“Well,” She sniffs, “Forgive me for asking a question.”

You roll your eyes.

“Everyone's pretty nice, yeah, but...I don't know. We reviewed this application for a toy maker who wanted to set up a workshop for the holidays, but the board wound up turning it down. I thought it seemed like a good cause,”

“Oh really, that’s nice.”

Nice. She isn’t listening—but you push on anyway:

“It’s a bummer, you know, this Schott Jr. guy’s application was kinda…Sad. It was a little childish, though. I think the writing on the grant really messed up his chances.”

“You can tell me about it later, hon. I have my quilting group tonight.”

God, your mother has more of a life than you do these days. “Well, have fun. Where’s dad?”

“Late shift.”

“Out on Neville Island? Jeez, how late are they gonna keep him?”

“Your father is a big boy.”

“I know, just…”

Your mom casts you an almost pitying look. “This isn’t Gotham, sweetie. He’ll be fine.”

You nod a little, peering down into your remaining leftovers.

“Have fun at quilt club,” You add as your mom heads for the door.

“Sure! We’ll keep it down when we come in!”

“Yeah, I know you all get really wild while quilting.”

“Oh, and honey?”

“Mm?”

“Try not to spend the night sulking. Maybe…I don’t know, go to a bar, pick someone up—”

You choke roughly as you accidentally inhale the bite of food. You regain your breath, throat throbbing as you gasp, “Mom!”

“The only way to get over someone is to get under someone! Okay, I’m going, I’m going,” She insists, holding her hands up in mock-surrender as she edges for the door, taking up her quilting tote bag. You scoff, turning and practically flinging the remainder of the leftovers into the trash as you hear her footsteps retreat down the hall.

“Only way to get over someone is to get under someone,” You mumble, “Fucking…Unreal.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing toward the trash can. Maybe you shouldn’t have thrown out those leftovers. You’re still hungry. Maybe you ought to get yourself out of the apartment, grab some food. Or...You reach into your pocket, drawing out your phone. You don’t call Alfred again—instead, you dial Michelle’s number and walk over to the couch, plopping onto it. You wince a little, glancing down at the cushions. You really should be more gentle with it, you are sleeping on it all the time.

You set the sound to speaker as you wait. It rings…And rings…And—

“You better not be calling to tell me that you’re back with that jerk.”

You can’t help but smile at Michelle’s candor.

“I haven’t even heard from…Him.”

“That jerk. Call him a jerk.”

“Mish, please.”

“Well, he is. But I guess I’ve said it enough for both of us.”

“How’s Keystone City?”

“Honey, I have never seen so much corn in all my damn life.”

“Is it doing the men out there any good?”

“It would have to be super corn if it did.”

“How’s the apartment?”

“Oh my god, it's fucking huge. Half the price we were paying in Gotham for double the size. You should move down here. With our joint funds, we’d be able to build our own mansion.”

“Mm, I don’t think I could move down just yet. I’ve only been at the Foundation for three months, and just moved to this location a week ago. If I up and left now, I’d lose my job in minutes.”

“We could find you one down here.”

“Is it very busy down there?”

“No. But maybe you could do with slowing down a bit.”

“Maybe. Hey, have you gotten your tree yet?”

“Have you?”

“The couch folds out right where it would go. Mom’s thinking of getting a small one that she can put on the kitchen counter.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“...I think it’s guilt,” You admit. “She’s why I’m here, anyway.”

“Ugh, you’ve hit the point of blaming your mother. Finally—took you long enough.”

“Well,” You grumble, “She wasn’t thinking, but her not thinking kinda got me on her couch. You know what she told me before going quilting?”

“What?”

“That I should go pick up a stranger.”

“What?” Michelle screeches, and you wince, turning your head away from the phone. “Oh, my god! Are you mortified? I would die, oh my god!”

You giggle, a lightness taking over you for the first time in several days.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, the sexual tension between me and the electrical sockets are slowly creeping up. I’ve gotta find my own place.”

“If you need a reference—”

“I’ll call you—”

“I will lie through my teeth.”

“You’re a dear.”

“...Have you spoken to him?”

No. “No.”

“Have you blocked him?”

No. “Yes.”

“Do you miss him?”

Terribly. “Maybe.”

“...Okay, here me out—”

“Oh, no, Mish—”

“I’m just saying, maybe your mom is on to something. Not like that, but—have you taken a moment for yourself since you got to Metropolis?”

You think for a few moments, shifting back on the couch.

“...No, I’m just working,” You admit softly. “I feel like if I let myself do anything but work, I’ll just…I’ll fall apart.” Your words quiver as you say it.

“I’m not saying don’t think about it,” She reassures. “I mean…It was almost a year with him, you know? Just…Don’t let that be the only thing that you think about.”

You sink back into your seat, lips pursing as your eyes begin to wet.

“I don’t,” You protest weakly. Michelle sighs on the other end, and you know that you haven’t fooled her for a moment. You shake your head, resolved to push the conversation in another direction:

“Are you going to paint any rooms in your apartment?”

“...I got a few paint samples.” You can hear how reluctant Michelle is to move on, but feel a swell of gratefulness when she does. “Mostly blues and greens. I’m thinking of some kind of turquoise for the kitchen.”

“Some kind of turquoise? Isn’t there only one kind of turquoise?”

“You know, I used to think that, but the paint section of the store proved me very, very wrong.”

You tuck yourself in early, knowing that you won’t be asleep by the time your parents get in. Still, you’d rather fake it than have them ask you if you had a nice night in. Worse, your mother could ask if you’d gone out and gotten under someone, as it were. You stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on taking slow, even breaths.

You can’t help that Bruce creeps up in your mind.

What’s he doing right now? Is he creeping through some alley? Swooping down on a wrongdoer? Conferring with Gordon?

Elspeth Emerson, that’s that model’s name. She’d hardly spoken a word to you the couple of times that you had met her. Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember what her voice sounded like.

Can you even remember what Bruce’s voice sounded like?

“I want you to leave!”

You wince at the thought, and you roll onto your side, as if you can pull away from the memory. Yes, you remember what Bruce’s voice sounds like. How long will it take until you forget? You peer through the curtains, chest muddling with pangs of regret and sadness as your mind begins to race—to wonder if things would be different if you’d just fought a little harder—

But how many times can you give your love to a man that’s trying to push you away? A man who only took a few days to get over you—or at least to go out and make it seem like he’s moving on?

He must have known that you wouldn’t use that apartment, or that car. He must have just wanted to seem like the bigger person, as if he wasn't the one that had sent you packing. You huff softly, raising your hand to swipe your tears away as they begin to leak. It’s no use; a few slip. It’s only a moment before the trickle turns into a stream, dampening the pillow beneath your head.

You fall into a rhythm. It isn’t a rut—it is decidedly not a rut. You manage to get up and out of the apartment before your parents are awake in the morning. The paparazzi stop lingering around the office, because your existence ceases to be news. You stop flinching at the mention of Bruce’s name; you stop hearing his voice as you try to fall asleep. The ache of missing him doesn’t disappear, but it lessens, some. You don’t take your mom’s recommendation of getting over Bruce by getting under someone else. You consider it, sure. You download a couple of dating apps, but you never actually make a profile. There’s just nothing about it that feels right.

You speak with Alfred almost daily—usually on the phone, if not over text. You don’t ask about how Bruce is doing, and he doesn’t tell you.

That doesn’t stop you wondering.

“What the hell is that?”

“Did you see it?”

“It’s so cute!”

“Do you think it’s some kind of office Christmas gift or something? A little teaser before the holiday party later?”

“You hear Wayne’s gonna be in attendance? Someone said they thought the saw him in the elevator. Do you think it’s because of…You know—”

“Who cares—Hey, does that thing move or is it just a decoration?”

Your coworker’s chatter draws your focus, and you turn away from your laptop. You can see people crowding around something by the elevators. You stand, joining them and peering around them to try and get a look at what they’re talking about. You can just catch a glimpse of a brightly colored, 5-foot tall nutcracker. Your brow furrows as you take in the fuzzy beard, the crisp blue paint of the nutcracker’s coat, the bright gold buttons, and the rifle tucked at its side. You nod at the painted script on one of the boots.

“What’s that say?”

“Schott and Son.” One of your coworkers steps forward, stepping around it and eyeing the back. “There’s a button back here!”

Schott and Son. God, why does that sound familiar?

“Press it!” Someone else urges. You hear the gears crank and whir, quickly covered by a music box rendition of the Nutcracker Suite. You smile a little, as the Nutcracker’s arms move as if marching. You all startle, then laugh as it steps forward and does a short bow. It reaches around itself, and your stomach churns as it grasps the butt of its rifle. You take a step back, warning,

“Uh, guys—”

“Lighten up,” Someone scoffs, “It’s just a toy.”

Their insistence is stifled by a gunshot, leaving the tip of the rifle smoking. You hear two panicked huffs before someone screams. You whirl around to see blood pouring from your coworker’s shoulder. Their scream is chased by others as the Nutcracker ventures deeper into the office, firing again. You scramble away as the others do, running for whatever cover you can find. You stumble as someone gives you a shove, practically climbing over you to get out of the way. You crawl along the floor, getting beneath a desk and tugging a chair in. You fold yourself in as tight as you can, clasping your hands together and fighting to keep your breathing and quiet as you peer out, watching people scramble to get out of the way of the Nutcracker.

Fuck, you left your phone on your desk, so you can’t call 911—Surely someone has, right? Someone’s heard the commotion from another floor, or an alarm has gone off, something—

You hear a horrifying thud, chased by a few more gunshots. You wince with the furious bashing sounds, raising your hands to press over your ears. You focus on your own pounding heart, your rapid breathing—

The feeling of the chair shifting beside you makes you scream and open your eyes.

The sight of Bruce crouching beside your desk makes you crumble.

“...It’s nice.”

It’s a feeble attempt at a compliment and a conversation starter. It’s also an insane understatement. It seems that Bruce didn’t only buy you this apartment—he’d had it furnished, and filled the fridge and cabinets with groceries, spices, all of your favorite goodies. You look from the fully stocked bar cart by the kitchen over to the living room, where Bruce is hurriedly closing the curtains over the lowered shades.

Maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise that the apartment he chose is so big.

Just being the bigger person, You remind yourself, He doesn’t want to be the bad guy.

Bruce finally turns to look at you. You see his lips twitch with something unspoken before he purses them and swallows thickly. He looks so wan—pallid, and tired. He’d looked it when he’d found you beneath that desk, after apparently smashing the shit out of that Nutcracker with a printer. The ride to this apartment (in the car that he had bought for you and had driven to the office) hadn’t made it any better. Neither of you had spoken.

“You never, um…” You clear your throat. “What are you doing in Metropolis?"

“It was requested that I make an appearance at the holiday party.”

Your gaze narrows slightly. You smell bullshit...But you're not really in the mood to litigate it right now.

“Right.”

You turn away, finally, shrugging off your coat and tossing it over the back of a chair as you head for the bar cart.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Wayne. Great, even.” You take up a clean glass, setting it windowsill beside the car before you reach for the bottle of whiskey. “You want some?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“More for me, then.”

“Are you sure you wanna do that right now?”

“I can’t think of a better time.”

You reach for the seal, struggling to twist it off before you fling it away. You grasp the bottle firmly, trying to ignore your shaking hands as you lift it and the glass. You can’t steady them no matter how hard you try, but you pour anyway, some of the liquid sloshing over the sides and onto your fingers—

You go still as Bruce crowds up close to you, grasping your hands and forcing them down. The glass connects with the windowsill with a sharp, shrill sound; you wouldn’t be surprised if it was chipped, if not cracked. You squeeze your eyes closed as you just feel him—the heat and strength of him up against your back; the gentle press of his face against your hair, and the sound of him drawing in a deep breath; the warmth of his hands, steady over yours. Your lower lip begins to wobble as Bruce intertwines your fingers, using his grasp on your hands to curl your arms around yourself.

“Good thing I wasn’t in Gotham,” You quip dryly, forcing your stern tone over the your rapidly fracturing resolve, “Or today could’ve been a real disaster.”

You shake Bruce off, stepping out of his arms and snatching your glass from the sill, striding more deeply into the living room. You hear Bruce sigh behind you before he hedges:

“What do you want me to say?”

“An apology would be nice.”

“You want me to apologize for wanting you safe?”

“Was I safe today?” You snap, whirling to face him again. “Was that—Killer nutcracker something I was safe from? You can’t anticipate every moment of my life, Bruce. No matter where I go, I could be in danger. What, do you want me confined to a room somewhere and permanently out of harm’s way? What if someone breaks into that room?”

You search his face, desperate for some kind of recognition, some kind of understanding. Bruce shakes his head, his gaze dropping shamefully to his shoes. You lower yourself into an armchair, peering down at the amber liquid, watching it shift with your still-shaking hands. You hear Bruce cross the room before his shoes come into view. He grasps the wooden coffee table, tugging it closer and sitting on the edge of it.

“I just don’t…I don’t like the idea that someone could come after you again, with the purpose of getting to me, or getting something from me,” He admits softly. “I can’t be the reason that I lose someone I love. I can’t do that again.”

You lift your head as Bruce’s voice breaks, heart stuttering as you see his eyes well with tears. You set the drink aside, taking his hands in yours.

“I know that it scares you. It scares me, too. But Bruce, you cannot protect me from everything. But you do—” Your voice breaks as your face twists with upset, “You do protect me, from so much. You protected me after the kidnapping, you protected me today. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would’ve happened…’Sides between this and the attempted robbery at the store, I think I’ve proven that I can get into plenty of trouble all by myself.”

Bruce huffs a shaky laugh through his nose as he nods. He raises your joined hands to his lips, pressing kisses to your knuckles.

“I’ve missed you so goddamn much,” He murmurs.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“I want…” He winces at the phrasing, and seems to reconsider. “I mean…Would you consider coming home?”

Home. Your chest aches with it—with the thought of the mansion, and Alfred, and the covered garden beds.

“Bruce…I love you so much. I want us to have a life together, but…” You shake your head, steeling yourself as his face falls, “But I can’t keep having this argument. I can’t be pushed away from you over and over again and keep wanting to come back. This nearly broke me—No, Bruce,” You chase his gaze as he averts his, holding his eye as your tone grows more firm. “I understand that you want me in one piece, I get it. But how the fuck do you think I feel, night after night, knowing that every time you leave may be the last time I see you?...If I come back,” You hedge carefully, “This is…It. If we implode, or you change your mind and throw me out again, we’re through, I mean really through—”

“That will never happen again.”

“But—”

“You have my word.” He says it firmly, holding your eye as you held his. “I…I acted like an asshole. I didn’t want you to leave, but I thought it would be better for you.”

“Nothing about this has been better for me.”

“I know, I see that now. I’m sorry.”

You nod a little, looking down at your hands.

“...You just want me back in Gotham so you can keep a closer eye on me.”

Bruce chuckles softly, raising a hand to cup your cheek.

“I want you back in Gotham because nothing has been right since you left.”

You tip your face into his hand, letting your eyes slide closed and allowing your tears to fall as you accept the gentle touch. Bruce shushes you softly, smoothing your tears away and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Tell you what,” He murmurs. “Why don’t you call your parents, let them know you’re alright and you’re spending the night here before we go back. I’ll figure out getting your things back in a couple of days.”

“They’re not gonna like that…And the Foundation’s going to be pissed.”

“S’okay. I think they’ll understand you transferring back after what happened in the office. They've cancelled the holiday party to secure the building, make sure that thing didn't have any extra surprises hiding anywhere.”

“Speaking of which,” You lean back, scrubbing your eyes. “There’s someone you should look into.”

“What do you mean?”

“The uh…The Nutcracker, it had a name on it—”

“Schott and Son.”

“Right. Winslow Schott Jr. put in an application for funding from the Foundation, but it was denied.”

Bruce’s frown deepens. “When did this happen?”

“Uh—Two weeks ago, maybe? He left a few angry calls and emails, but then he dropped off, so we figured he’d given up.”

“Did he have a company he applied through, or was it just him?”

“Umm…” Your brow furrows as you try to remember. “It was…The Toymaker, or…The Toyman, something like that.”

Bruce hums, nodding. “I’ll have Fox pull the file, see what we can find.”

“Okay.”

You stand and step away, and only make it a couple of steps before you hear Bruce stand. He catches hold of your hand, folding you into his arms. You go willingly, pressing your face into his neck and drawing in a deep breath as you cuddle close.

"Bruce?"

"Mm."

"Why are you really in Metropolis? I know you, you hate these parties."

Bruce's thumb sweeps along your lower back as he peers gently at you.

"I needed to see you," He admits softly. "It was just supposed to be for a minute...But I was headed to your floor, and I heard the shots, and..." His face goes tight, his jaw tensing. "I couldn't stop myself."

"I'm glad you didn't," You give him a small, reassuring smile. "But I'm a little biased." You reach up, gently sweeping your fingers across his stubbled cheek.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” You accuse.

“Told you,” He mumbles, “Nothing’s felt right since I lost you.”

You tip your chin, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Then it looks like you found me just in time."

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half

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djevelbl · 2 months ago

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I feel like explaining how Branzy's mannerisms look like in my head is SO. HARD bc he feels like SUCH a peculiar and specific type of person, that even if I TRIED there wouldn't be a fully correct way to string words together to paint the picture. But fuck it we ball — lemme try anyway

(ofc, I'm here talking about his character and personality as he portrays himself in his videos; the same goes for any other youtuber I namedrop as I'm yapping. I don't feel like I have to clarify this, but still. covering my own ass out here, media literacy, yadda yadda, you get it)

In the LifeSteal videos I've watched where he participates/is the main focus of (the Heart Factory + Amusement Park saga mostly, so not a lot lol) he has this... This showmanship, this stage presence, like he's standing alone on the stage floor, the spotlight's on him and the little earpiece hung on him has told him "it's showtime." It's like he's the opening number for the Broadway Musical you came to watch, like he's the circus master of the show; he's all you can focus on once he starts talking, really: he's hilarious and charismatic, disarming with that devilish charm of his, that has endeared him to the deadliest player of the server — even if you never see his face, you can hear his smile every time he talks.

For having been on a Minecraft server that prides itself in death, destruction and preying on players' insecurities before shaking hands on a good season played, Branzy wears his emotions very plainly in how he speaks: he doesn't hide his fear, or his amazement, his excitement, his bloodlust. It's how he is, of course — hiding who you are is hard, but Branzy also plays this all up in his favor: faking his reactions when necessary, blatantly able to disregard his current emotional state to match the attitude of those around him (main example being him matching Clown's attitude even through his own fear of the guy), being able to lie through his teeth about pretty important things (like the state of Carnival Mode to Squiddo at the end of season 5), and others.

His poker face is a smile — all crow's feet and charming show of teeth, something happy and elated as he shows his newest killing contraption and explains it out to his soon-to-be victims. And they fall for it hook, line, sinker. A practiced dance everyone follows Branzy's lead in, subconsciously or otherwise. Because how deadly can it be if it's Branzy who made it?

Not just that, but he's very energetic and has a brand of attitude and sass that kinda reminds me of JT Music in The Details in the Devil (stay with me. I SWEAR this makes sense) — it's the over-the-top singing, the way he goes from a higher pitch to a lower one, the way JT Music's voice rasps around the edges; it all has the same vibe and attitude to me as Branzy's showman persona: all glamour for the camera, a big smile to attract new clientele, charm that oozes out of every pore and you don't even notice that it's a deal with the devil you're making. Until he's gone and you're left to pick up the pieces — even then, sometimes you just don't. notice.

A maybe (hopefully) easier to picture example

To me, in a sense, Branzy feels like the in-between missing link of AM from I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream and Caine from The Amazing Digital Circus: all the bloodlust, anger, and sadistic tendencies from AM, and all the genuine, kind, goofy showmaster personality of Caine — a weird combo, for sure, but Caine is already based off of AM so like, thought it was as appropriate of a comparison I could make; especially bc Caine is a ringmaster, and Branzy does give ringmaster vibes to me so idk

Ofc, this is him at his peak, in his element, where he controls the playing chips — he's playing 4D chess and everyone's using checkers pieces. This is him gathering and casually using the power and influence he lords over the server — I mean, have you seen how ppl react to his mere appearance?? People love him, that's where he thrives: where people have an attachment to Branzy, Branzy has power; people kept coming back to the rollercoaster bc it was fun and a challenge and bc it was Branzy who made it — throw the credit onto Clown, ManePear, FlameFrags, any other pvp-skilled player, and watch as people run the other way. Branzy is the perfect combo of charismatic, charming, boyfailure-coded, somehow still competent, and fun to amass server-wide cred that wouldn't be broken no matter how many lives he claims via his machinery.

Clown is dangerous, sure — he's good at pvp and intimidating, he can do his fair share of manipulation when needed, but he's ultimately relatively easy to avoid: he follows a set of rules and while he doesn't vocalize them, if you observe him enough you'll eventually learn them. You'll eventually understand what the triggers are, which convo topics are best to avoid and how to best gain favor with him.

Branzy, though? He's very much a loose canon — beyond keeping his good relationship with Clown for protection (and bc he cares, let's be honest here) and whatever he deems fun today, I doubt he cares about much else; these two things are THE. MOST important to him, and there's little you can personally do to control either, if anything at all.

Branzy is SO interesting to me bc he's outwardly all smiles, happy-go-lucky in a sense and a coward — everyone knows this, it ain't no secret, and if it ever was meant to be we've left that station SEVERAL seasons ago. Yet inside there's a raging beast that begs to be released — the only reason we don't see it too often is LITERALLY bc Branzy is HORRIBLE at pvp; we STILL see it though: in how he encourages people to keep trying his deadly park rides, how he dangles prizes in front of their faces so sweetly and so casually so they keep coming back. In how he doesn't hesitate to betray his team so he can gain favor with Clown, a character he believes will be a bigger protection than his team was beforehand. In how he didn't even bat an eye as he bold-face lied to Squiddo about Carnival Mode being broken when it was most beneficial for Clown for it to "be broken". In how he casually makes a bragging joke about having easily killed two of the strongest players without lifting a finger to battle, because they wanted to play his carnival games.

Branzy has two loyalties: first to Clown and second to himself. Everyone else be damned

So coming back to the mannerisms thing — in my head he's extra extra: I'm talking "dangled upside down from a tree branch to scare someone as he introduced them all to the Chicken Launchers" type of extra, I'm talking "he did a handstand on the rollercoaster cart (with his elytra on, he isn't stupid I swear) as it jumped over the tiny lava pit to introduce people to the attraction" type of extra, I'm talking "he designed a mechanical crossbow he could wear on his arm so he could shoot the door locking mechanism trigger at the bigtop tent the most dramatic way possible" type of extra. He's a theater kid at heart, I just know it — he's dramatic and extra and so fun, so of course he'd have fun with it all! He's an adrenaline junkie (honestly? Why else is he still a sucker for Clown?? Adrenaline junkie + that's his work bf) and he will do a dramatic full split in front of Fleshy's to introduce people to the food stand and you cannot change my mind

So. Yea! In my head Branzy's mannerisms are a combo of showman enthusiasm, theater kid dramatics, acrobatics fueled by his adrenaline junkie ways, and random rubberhose-like body movements that are uncanny on like. an ACTUAL normal human body bc he reminds me of Bendy and I. Don't know. How else. To cope with it, so deal with it.

#fuck this was SO ungodly long #fun to type up tho!#i will forever love the way branzy as a character is SO. POWERFUL in all the subtle ways and the fact he NEVER acknowledges it #it's giving “i already KNOW I'm good — why would i need to go around talking about it??” and i love every second of it omg #anyway #demon rambles™#i should make a dedicated tag for character analysis #hmmmmm #later #branzycraft #lifesteal smp #lifesteal season 5 #lifesteal s5 #lssmp #character analysis #GOD i love doing that actually #like. fave past time probably #gonna jumpscare clownscasino with this one when they wake up >:]]]

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bullet-prooflove · 20 days ago

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The Good Book: Tim Gutterson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fallmoreinloveeveryday @elenavampire21 @floralfloyd @lamaudite

Companion piece to:

Lucky - Tim's assignment doesn't go to plan.

Stars - Tim's not like other men.

You make good on that gift basket. Tim finds it sitting on the welcome mat outside his apartment one day when he arrives home from the gym. There’s a couple of IPAs in there, classy chips and chocolate, that special brand of coffee he’d become obsessed with when in Indonesia, one he knows costs a fortunate to import to the US. And then there’s the book, the one you were telling him about that night underneath the stars.

It’s a Brandon Sanderson novel, The Way of Kings. He’s not much into fantasy. Magic and shit ain’t really his thing. He much prefers the darker writings of Stephen King and James Herbert, he thinks those fellas get the human condition in a way most people don’t. However he’d promised you he’d give it a go, so he does.

He spends the night devouring it, poring over the pages until the sun comes up and even then he doesn’t stop. He reads it on the treadmill at the gym, in the line at the coffee shop, even on the john because he has to find out what happens next.

After he’s finished that one, he finds himself at Barnes and Noble buying the rest of the series, along with a few others.

“It’s like a gateway drug.” He tells you over on the phone that night as he lies on his couch, book open on his chest. “What have you gotten me into?”

“Something much healthier than killer clowns and men who try to murder their wives in hotel rooms.” You tell him over a crackly line because you’re still deployed out there in buttfuck, nowhere. Tim’s shipping out again in a few days’ time because there’s a shortage of snipers and his services are required.

“Admit it, you were worried about me.” He drawls as he recalls the conversation the two of you had that night. “You think I was starting to fade into the darkness.”

Truthfully you were a little concerned about Tim. His job isn’t like yours, it’s dedicated to killing and it’s something he’s exceptionally good at. His kill count is already well above what it should be for a man of his age and rank. Your country, they’ll just keep using him, utilising him like a tool until he breaks and the thing is Tim will never see it coming, because no one ever does.

That’s what the books are about, a method of escaping the madness, of immersing himself in a world that still has hope because you don’t see much of it out there in Afghanistan, not with a job that deals in death.

“Yea.” You say honestly because Tim is the one person you will never lie to. “You started to get a little quiet there towards the end. I’ve seen it before…”

You trail off then and Tim, he picks up on what you’re not saying. You’ve lost someone, someone in the service. Probably by their own hand. You don’t want to see that happen to him.

“Lucky…” He murmurs into the receiver. “I promise you, you’ll never have to worry about that with me. I’ll get out long before it happens.”

“I hope that’s true.” You say softly and he can tell you don’t believe him. He doesn’t blame you, he’s sure the man before him said the same thing too.

“What are you reading right now?” He asks you changing the subject because he hates the idea of you out there all alone in the desert, feeling sad because of him.

“Cowboy romance.” You reveal and he huffs out a laugh, his palm running over his weary features.

“Is this because I told you I spent summers working on my Uncle’s ranch back in Indiana?” He asks you and he can hear your smile over the phone as he cradles it under his chin.

“Tim, the idea of you walking around in flannel shirts and a tight fitting pair of jeans, it does a little something to a woman.” You tell him and he groans in response to your words because it gets him off knowing that you’re thinking of him when you’re almost half way across the globe.

“I wish you were here right now.” He tells you, his voice turning a little rough as he thinks about that night, his mouth ghosting over your skin, those pretty little sounds you made as he sunk inside of you. It was only once but once was enough to make a man fall in love.

“Me too.” You whisper as you stare up at a starry sky in Afghanistan. “Christ Tim. You have no fucking idea just how much I miss you.”

Love Tim? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won't be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#tim gutterson #tim gutterson x reader #justified

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intheticklecloset · 14 days ago

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This is the first time I’ve done one of these so I'm nervous…

I’ve decided to come with Shin soukoku because they deserve better!! 🐅 🐉

May I please request: ❤️ Classic - Playful tickles

I’ve decided to do a custom! :D ✍️ - Which the Prompt is… User A and B are baking cookies, and User B keeps eating the cookie dough when User A keeps telling them NOT to…This leads to User B tickling User A for not letting them eat the cookie dough!!

Happy Holidays! I hope you have a wonderful time with your family and friends! You’ve worked hard this year and every year and everyday! Many people are happy that you're here with them! :D

❄️ Peppermint Mocha Special Order ❄️

They DO! UGH my heart breaks every time! Hopefully this sprinkle of goofiness will help. And thank you for the holiday wishes! Right back at you! 💖

~~~

Akutagawa couldn’t help how much he loved chocolate. He’d had it so rarely growing up that he now felt the desire to dive into it anytime it was offered to him as an adult. Most of the time, Atsushi was supportive of this desire. Today, though…

“Ryu,” Atsushi said to him, not taking his eyes off the bowl he was mixing cookie dough in. “Those chocolate chips are for the cookies. Don’t eat them yet.”

Akutagawa pressed his lips together, annoyed, but fine, he could do that. He then turned his attention to the first batch of finished cookie dough that was just waiting for the oven to preheat. He reached for a piece that was about to crumble off the cookie anyway—

“Don’t eat the cookie dough, either,” the weretiger said, still without looking at him. “It’s not the edible kind; you could get sick.”

“One little piece isn’t going to kill me. It would take far more than salmonella to take me out,” Akutagawa muttered, huffing to himself as he crossed his arms in frustration. “You’re being a Grinch today, weretiger.”

Atsushi stopped his mixing and turned to give him a soft smile. “I don’t mean to be. But these are chocolate cookies with chocolate chips. I’m making them especially for you. You just have to be patient, and then you can have as many as you want, I promise.”

Akutagawa felt his heart flip in his chest at his boyfriend’s gentle tone, but he still tried to shrug it off. “Just let me have some of the cookie dough. I don’t want to have to wait for them to finish cooking and cooling before I can eat them.” Atsushi opened his mouth to protest, but the mafioso beat him to it. “If you tell me no again, there will be consequences.”

Atsushi shut his mouth. He watched his partner warily. He glanced at the cookie dough, then at him. “But…”

Akutagawa was on him in a flash, pressing him up against the counter, digging fingers into his ribs and sides from behind. “Just a small piece, weretiger.”

“Ahahahahaha nohohohohoho! You cahahahahahan’t tihihihihihihickle me to gehehehehet what you wahahahahahahant!” Atsushi protested through squealing giggles, trying and failing to flip around and fight back. He tapped at the counter helplessly, pushing the mixing bowl out of harm’s way even as he bent at the waist and shrieked when Akutagawa found a particularly bad spot near his armpit. “Ryu, stahahahahahahap it! Let me gohohohohohoho!”

Despite himself, Akutagawa found he was thinking less and less about the cookie dough as the seconds ticked by. He smirked, leaning in to rest his chin on Atsushi’s shoulder and growl, “If you won’t let me eat it, I’ll have to settle for eating you instead~”

Atsushi did eventually relent and let him have a small sample of the cookie dough (and some of the chocolate chips, too), but only after he’d been thoroughly worn down by the impromptu tickle torture first.

#fanfiction #tickle drabble #coffee shots #peppermint mocha event #bungo stray dogs #bsd #akutagawa ryuunosuke #atsushi nakajima #shin soukoku #sskk #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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wing-ed-thing · 1 year ago

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Armin Relationship Headcanons

Tags: No Reader Pronouns

𓆃 Well hello anxious attachment style!

𓆃 Armin would make a wonderful first partner, which of course would absolutely wreck your standards for any future partner if it doesn't work out.

𓆃 He's insanely thoughtful. You'll never have to beg for flowers or recognition in the style that makes you feel most loved, because he's never forgetting birthdays, anniversaries, or holidays.

𓆃 Armin always knows what works best for you because he's always listening. That thing you mentioned would be useful last week? He got it shipped right away.

𓆃 And he's not letting any "Oh, you didn't have to do that" or "Please, baby, I didn't mean I needed it right now" paired with kisses to his cheek slide either.

𓆃 "Well, you said it would make your life easier," he'd say with a puzzled look of concern and a cute little pout.

𓆃 He's all for practical gifts, but he'll bring you anything your heart desires. Perfumes, colognes, your favorite chips from the corner market, or even if it's just your favorite take-away home. You name it, he's already bringing it to you.

𓆃 There are few occasions Armin wouldn't drop what he was doing if you needed him. Even if you didn't need him, he's always down to spend meaningful time with you.

𓆃 He loves anything puzzle-like or activities that allow him to geek out. Escape rooms, museums, building you that complex piece of furniture that you've always wanted.

𓆃 Even things that he doesn't already possess knowledge of, if you need help, he's on it.

𓆃 Shower head leaking? He's got it fixed. Something minor wrong with your car? He's become a mechanic overnight and returning it to you with a full tank and air in your tires.

𓆃 Armin is an acts of service sort of partner, but can sometimes get a bit self-conscious about what he can do for you, so gift-giving is where he feels "safe."

𓆃 It's his way of making sure you're always happy with him, and his constant worrying about being enough for you is something that needs and deserves to be reassured.

𓆃 Armin will sometimes assert that he's "not the toughest" in moments of vulnerability, and worries that he needs to compensate. He genuinely doesn't see his loving actions to you as all that special.

𓆃 He's not afraid to express himself in this way but doesn't like to dwell on things, even if he's clearly distressed by his own thoughts.

𓆃 Armin also isn't the worst when it comes to social cues, but he's prone to things flying over his head.

𓆃 This mostly comes up when he's got you stuck talking to people for way longer than should be possible. He talks to everyone.

𓆃 Random people approaching you for money on the street, creepy people with creepy energy, the electrician you have over, people you run into from ten years ago.

𓆃 It's literally the worst, because he's got these people talking about their life stories and pouring their hearts out, and you just want to leave!

𓆃 He had such a low threshold for danger when it comes to those instances because he's nervous about going over the speed limit, but then he's humoring someone whose vibe you could feel was negative from a mile away.

𓆃 Armin will give the shirt off his back (derogatory).

𓆃 He's actually a really great partner, all things considered, and would make an excellent first boyfriend. Just treat him right because he's sensitive, okay?

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

#armin arlet x reader #armin x reader #armin arlert #armin #armin aot #aot x reader #aot headcanons #snk x reader #snk armin #snk headcanons #reader insert #x you #x reader #armin x y/n #armin x you #shingeki no kyojin #armin fluff #snk fluff

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theonceandfuturequeenoftarts · 9 months ago

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Prompt-ober 2023 – Mythology and chaste kiss

From the moment Harry first sees the block of marble, he knows what it’s meant to be. He gets it at a discount due to some flaws – not enough dark green striations to look intentional, too many to create a piece using only the pure white marble, a slight crack formed during transport from the quarry. None of them matter to Harry. Once he has it in place in his spartan studio, Harry works like a man possessed to bring his creation to life. His friends, well aware of how Harry gets when he’s sculpting, pop by to bring him food and drink and make him take breaks to sleep. He’s not sure what he’d do without them. Probably die from overwork and malnutrition. He’ll have to do something really nice for them once he’s finished his sculpture. It takes three months of solid, near round-the-clock work to chip the precious but unnecessary stone away from the form he can envision within. The time flies by. He knows he’s never seen the face he’s shaping before, but it seems so familiar to him. If he were to really think about it, he might be able to determine who he’d used as a reference for the chin or the nose or the lips. But looking at the features as they take form, he can’t imagine them any other way. He takes his time with the final polishing, ensuring the sheen and smoothness of the stone appears as perfect as he can make it. The sculpture’s skin almost glows – he’s gotten the translucent lustre just right. Harry stands back and takes in his finished work, removing his apron, pockets heavy with chisels, rasps and sanding paper, and dusting off his worn, ripped jeans. The figure is seated on an ornate throne, slouching the slightest bit and staring down its aquiline nose at some unseen supplicant. The face is beautiful, but there’s a cruelty to the arch of its brow and the twist of its full lips. Lush, wavy hair frames high cheekbones, leading down to a long neck and broad shoulders. The sculpture’s body is trim and firm, but the musculature isn’t overly defined. Seven dark green veins of varying sizes spiderweb across the figure’s torso and arms. Its feet are planted solidly on the plinth beneath it, arms loose but holding a sword across its lap – covered with carved, draping fabric for modesty, because Harry just couldn’t visualise the sculpture’s bits and, at a certain point, he'd felt decidedly perverted from his continued efforts to do so. He has always been told that his sculptures are full of vitality – that they look ready to step off their plinth and join the world of the living. But even he thinks he’s outdone himself this time. Harry decides to catch a few hours of sleep then give the sculpture one final go-over. Before he puts out the lights and leaves, he wanders over to stare at his creation, looking as an observer rather than the craftsman. He’d been so careful to touch the marble with his bare skin as little as possible, to prevent his skin oils from discolouring the stone. But, just this once, he allows himself to reach out and gently stroke the sculpture’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. Cold and smooth. When Hermione had last popped in to make sure he was eating enough, she’d looked at his sculpture, raised her eyebrows, then looked at Harry and asked if he’d finally carved himself a Galatea. Harry had huffed a laugh – people had been making those sorts of comments to him for years at this point – and asked Hermione about her work at the library. But now, as he rests his hand against the figure’s cheek, he wonders if she’d noticed something he hadn’t. He’ll miss this project more than any other, once it’s sent to the gallery that displays his work. He leans in closer and presses his lips, feather-light, against the figure’s lips, thinking maybe… But he’s no Pygmalion, and the sculpture remains marble beneath his touch. Laughing a little at his fanciful actions, Harry finishes closing up his studio for the day and goes to rest. ──⚝── Hours later, with dawn’s first light illuminating the airborne dust in the studio and no one around to see, a marble finger twitches.

Part two can be read here.

#tomarrymort #harry potter #sculptor!harry #tom riddle #harrygmalion and galatom #harry gets his chisel all over tom's inanimate business

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spiralling-spires · 8 months ago

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Guys something happened and im back on my she ra nonsense. Help all my recent tabs are tma fanfic i need to go deep in my bookmarks to pull out the she ra stuff and follow a ton of she ra posters bc its been like two years since i was substantially aware of she ra BUT THE HYPERFIX IS COMING BACK I CAN FEEL IT AAAAGH

Its 12:44 am and i’m going to write all my thoughts and theories and you are going to enjoy them

1. Beast island is actually sentient and the reason it makes that signal is because it’s achingly lonely and doesn’t want its new friends (anyone who comes to the island) to leave. Little does it know it’s forcing its depression upon everyone that visits

2. Etheria and Eternia are actually twin planets, the First Ones are humans, and Eternia is far-future Earth (idk, Earth got a neighbour and then we colonized it? Sure sounds like humans to me). This explains why the First Ones’ language is made up of English phonemes and includes English words, and why Adora looks human.

3. Horde Prime used to be an Eternian, a very long time ago. His current form is the result of hundreds of years of incredibly vain genetic engineering and experimenting. He still isn’t fully pleased with his appearance and tweaks his clones every generation in an attempt to find “purity”.

4. Hordak’s “defect” is a result of this tweaking. Imagine inbreeding, except it’s one guy who keeps turning random genes on and off and switching out base pairs to see if it’ll make him prettier. Turns out there were some nasty genetic surprises in Hordak’s version of the code. As with any other clone that had such genetic conditions, Prime tossed him out in the next major fleet movement without running any analyses first. Running an analysis would force him to confront the fact that he (gasp) made an error!

5. The “general” thing wasn’t actually complete bs. Prime threatening to take Catra’s body as his own, was. See, Prime really wants to be this one perfect thing. Why would he waste time being a cat when he could be perfect? He has a special line of “generals” whose sole purpose is to house his mind. They have two additional eyes, the ability to grow those weird chin/cheek spikes, and the capacity to be much taller (all hidden unless he gives them specific hormones in preparation for inhabiting them). All this to say: Hordak might just wake up with four eyes open one day and promptly freak himself (and everyone else) out.

6. Entrapta has been in the center of a lot of explosions (esepcially when she was a teenager and hadn’t figured out the right balance of “pursue knowledge” to “lab safety” yet) and has replaced a startling amount of her body with prosthetics covered in a synthetic skin.

7. Hordak’s body wasn’t repaired by Prime in season 5. Prime just injected him with a bunch of painkillers (not enough to not be in pain, but enough to function) and covered up the arm holes. About an hour after the finale, the painkillers wear off and Hordak all but collapses. Having a chronic muscle/joint condition + being electrocuted + being possessed hurts. Man, he really went through it, didn’t he?

8. Based on Wrong Hordak, it’s going to be… really hard for the clones to get used to being outside of the hivemind. They will form cults. They will make new pieces of technology that will mimic the hivemind. They’ll scrounge for the chips and try to implant them in each other. They will find and beg (or threaten) Entrapta and Hordak to put back the hivemind. Hopefully people will have enough compassion for them to help them get used to being individuals.

9. All Eternians have the capacity to activate the Sword of Protection and become She-Ra (or gender-correlated equivalent). Horde Prime is, initially, Eternian, based on the other headcanons here, so he hypothetically could. Any clone could. Hordak could.

Wow! I forgot about some of these headcanons! This was pretty neat. Hope you guys like em too. Also I haven’t watched canon in like a year so there might be some inaccuracies, but at some point I figured that holding onto the thoughts until I rewatched canon just wasn’t worth it. And lo and behold now you can see all my random thoughts too!

#she ra #she ra and the princesses of power #spop #hordak #entrapta #horde prime #thought dump #i’ve been thinking about these for a loooong time #like since 2020 in some cases #please enjoy my madness #if i’ve shared some of these in the past no i havent #some of these are used as worldbuilding in old fics that never saw the light of day

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moodymisty · 2 years ago

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Hi again! After reading your latest Wrecker multi-chapter fic, you got me down bad for the bestest big boy of the GAR ❤️‍🔥 if you’re looking for ideas, maybe a little one-shot of the reader trying to surprise wrecker by painting a little Lula on the inside of his armor somewhere so that he can always carry him with her on missions, or something along those lines? And as always, keep up the amazing work. I’m always so excited when I see you on my dashboard 🤍🤍🤍

- Helmet Anon 🤍

Author’s note: -punches your frequent flyer card- Welcome to the Wreckerwives!! I'm just glad people are enjoying my content for the biggest bestest boy. This is so sweet and cute;; I thank you for feeding me with fluff in my time of need. I needed some fluffies with my big boy.

Relationships: Wrecker/Fem!Reader (only because of one usage of 'pretty girl')

Warnings: Fluff fluff and more fluff, Post-Order 66, Wrecker being best boy, The tiniest tiniest amount of self doubt from reader

The visor stares back with an unfeeling tinted glare, helmet far too wide for your hands to fully wrap around. The texture of scratches, dents, and dirt rub against your palms, having only just been handed it seconds ago.

"You sure? I thought that painting armor was special and all that to you guys? At least that's what I heard Hunter say once."

Wrecker throws out a nonchalant hand, watching as you hold his helmet in your hands while looking up at him. He's leaning against the wall right next to the refresher door, arms loosely crossed over his chest.

"Ehhh it is to some, but I don't care about it that much. I ain't good at any of that delicate work anyways. Have at it." Wrecker reaches a hand out and squishes your cheek, earning a clap to the arm to get him to quit it even though you're smiling.

"You're the artsy one anyways. I know you'll do a good job."

Ever since Wrecker had got into an extremely bad firefight, his already weathered armor had sustained significant damage; Enough so that a few pieces had taken some heavy wear and tear. The other pieces also had paint chipping and peeling off in significant chunks, leaving the armor heavily battered.

The orange paint is barely visible, from how much it's been scratched at and burnt away. Even after washing it clean, you barely had to scrub in order to have a decent enough surface to paint over.

Having taken all of his armor off to sleep for the night, He piles it all by the foot of his bunk for you to easily get to.

"Don't worry; I'll do my best." Adjusting his helmet in your grip so it's less awkward and unsure, you smile up at him. "Now get some sleep, big guy."

Needless to say he was already planning on it; Though he still has one more thing to check off his list before he turns in for the night.

Leaning down to your level Wrecker quickly swoops in for a kiss on the cheek and then your lips, his large still gloved hand cupping your jawline.

"Don't stay up to late, gorgeous." You'll try not to, but you give no real promise. You want to get this all done tonight so it has time to dry.

And... It's something productive for you to do.

Watching as he hauls himself into his bunk you grab his chestplate with your other hand, taking them both into the cockpit. Tech is sitting in the pilot's seat working on something with his datapad, though looks away from it when you speak up.

"I'll take the first watch; Since I have some work to do." Tech looks to Wrecker's armor in your hands, and rises to his feet before nodding.

"Very well. Be sure to wake Hunter or I when you require rest."

You note how he doesn't say Echo; More than likely because he gets so little rest to begin with, everyone wants to let him take this rare lull in action to recharge.

Tech leaves you in the cockpit alone, going to get some rest himself while you gather some supplies. You find the orange paint they'd originally used to recolor their armor, along with some black and red, and a few paint brushes; Though they're from when they many rotations ago painted the outside of the Marauder. It's easy enough to cut the bristles on one of them to work for smaller lines, though it hurts the inner artist in you to do so. But it must be done.

Taking your supplies back to the cockpit you hunker down in the co-pilot's seat, putting your things on the control panel while setting his helmet at your feet. His chestplate stays in your hands, before you sit down and look it over.

Sometimes it's weird, not seeing the red. It was the color you had always associated them with. But things change, so you dip your brush in some paint and begin to work.

As you do, you can hear the little sounds of some wildlife still awake in the forest, but are too scared to enter the clearing you're currently landed in. Apart from some little flying creatures, which briefly land on the nose of the ship and give you a look, just catching your shape thanks to the dim lights of the control panel before taking off again.

Other than that, it's almost completely quiet. Wrecker and Tech aren't even snoring. You keep painting, brushing over the barely visible lines to form newer, brighter ones. They still aren't clean, this paint is old and thick and you know it'll all get torn to shreds anyways, but you still try to keep a steady hand.

Though maybe Hunter has been up this whole time, or more time has passed than you've thought, as not long after you sit his chestplate down to dry on the ground, you hear the soft sounds of Hunter's feet coming up into the cockpit.

"Hard at work?"

With his hand resting on the back of the seat he peers over your shoulder, watching your hand at work as you sit crosslegged. Wrecker's helmet is now in your lap, tucked snugged between your thighs as you gently paint over the damage. He's not in any of his armor either; His hair slightly more messy than usual.

"Try trying to earn my keep." You smile up at Hunter, watching his face change.

It's, not exactly a secret to Hunter that you've had some self worth issues as of late. You've felt as if you don't contribute enough, at least not to the extent that you feel you 'should'. Wrecker knows as well and tries to cheer you up, but sometimes it still eats at you.

"You know you don't have to do that, right?" Rolling your eyes, you dunk the brush in your paint tin.

"It was just a joke, Hunter. Don't worry." Hunter seems to let it go, though more than likely because he can't find the right words to say.

"You should turn in; It's going to be sunrise soon." Taking your brush from the container of paint, you shake your head and begin another line.

"I still have a bit left to do; I'll wake you up when I'm done." He nods, turning and walking presumably back to his bunk. Still a little while longer to catch some sleep. Meanwhile it's only a few more strokes of paint before you're finished with the helmet, putting the paintbrush in the container again.

With the two largest pieces down, the others should each be pretty quick. You just need to go grab them, slipping off the seat and putting the helmet on the control panel before leaving the cockpit.

Wrecker's arm is draped off the side of the bunk, him sleeping on his stomach face smushed into the pillow. Being such a sound sleeper you can take the rest of the armor pieces you need to paint back with you, without so much as a stir from him.

Sitting back down in your seat with them in your lap you rub your eye, before picking up the brush.

Piece by piece you work, every now and again looking up to see the sky still the same starry night. It's impressive how much the stars and moons illuminate, given it's the only light outside. All of the Marauder's exterior lights are off, leaving only one or two internal ones.

Sitting another piece on the ground you keep working, rubbing your eye again with the back of your hand. You can't tell how quickly you're working, but you've at least been fast enough that by the time you're almost done there's still no sign of daylight, glancing up at the front viewport as you slouch over the final piece.

You hold the little piece of armor in your hand, looking it over.

There's little scratches on it, and they morph together to almost look like Lula with the blurriness of your tired eyes. And since it's a bit of a free canvas, you decide to paint over the scratches an actual image of Lula, with what limited palette you have.

Once it's done, you can't help but smile at it. It's a bit silly and rudimentary, but it's cute. One ear flops a little more downward than the other, and the eyes seem a little crooked. It's sloppy, but cute. They way it's making you smile almost makes your cheeks hurt. You paint a few little hearts around it just for fun, before sitting the piece down. You just have the last handplate left to do, and it's only a small little line.

It should only take a minute or two, as you lean your back against the seat; chin on your collarbone as you look down. Your brush flops onto the piece lazily, shaking a little as you yawn. Even though your eyes are heavy and tired, you only have this left.

Only a few more minutes, then you can go sleep...

...

"Hey, Hey..."

Your body suddenly jerks, looking to see Wrecker at your side. His hand is on your left shoulder, as he looks down on you. Everything feels so different, you only remember resting your eyes for a moment.

"You fell asleep here, pretty girl. Why didn't you wake up Hunter or Tech?"

Leaning forward you feel your back groan in pain, having been slouched in such an awkward angle for at least a few hours. Your body complains even more so when you stand, letting out a wide yawn.

"I was trying to finish everything up; I must've fallen asleep right when I got done." You can hear rustling around in the background and the sounds of talking; The more smooth voice is clearly Tech, while it sounds like he's talking to Echo. You can't figure out what they're saying, more of your attention is on Wrecker; Who's voice raises even louder as he looks over your handiwork. Tossing his helmet around in his hands he looks it over, a wide smile on his face.

"It looks perfect! I knew you'd be able to do it." Even if you're still sleepy you still quickly reciprocate his kiss; Him covering your lips with so much eagerness he almost pushes your head back. Wrecker always gives the sloppiest, most lovable kisses. When he pulls away, you point downward at the small armor pieces.

"Look underneath the hand plate." Wrecker lifts it up off the floor, and sees the little Lula painted underneath.

"There were some scratches on it that were shaped like Lula; And... I thought you might like to always have her around." The way his face brightens more than it already always is makes you smile; His positivity is always contagious.

Hand still holding the little armor piece he moves to grab your bottom, lifting you off the ground high enough to put you right at head height with him. His leans his head forward to give you a kiss, feeling the way your hands wrap around his jaw. You can feel his growing stubble on your palms, as he eagerly kisses you before pulling away.

"I'll always have 'er around, and you too. Since I know you made it."

He loves the way you smile at him and you lean in to kiss his cheek, swaying you in his grasp and listening to you laugh.

"Are you ready to- woah!"

Pulling your lips away from Wrecker you look over your shoulder and see Hunter having dodged your swaying legs, that were bent at the knee.

"Oh gods, sorry Hunter!" He smiles before noticing your mess of supplies by the co-pilot's seat, and remembers the night before.

"Have you been in here all night?" Your arms around Wrecker's neck still, you nod.

"Yeah; I kind of fell asleep sitting up right before the sun started rising." Hunter sighs. He'd told you to get some sleep, but he really shouldn't be surprised you didn't listen.

"We're leaving in a bit. Go try and get some rest beforehand." Wrecker gently puts you back on the ground, giving Hunter a joking salute in response to his gentle command.

You won't exactly complain, as you still feel horribly tired even with the small amount of poor rest you'd gotten. Sleeping in the proper position on Wrecker's bunk will be more than a decent improvement over the co-pilot's seat.

Wrecker shadows you the whole way, and to your surprise, decides to join you for your nap instead of helping his brothers.

"They're going to yell at you for being lazy, you know." Even if you're trying to convince him to get up you still wrap your arm around him, pressing your body close against his side.

"Awful lot of talking for someone that should be napping..." He's so warm, you're eyes stay close as you let out a little groan at him. His arm that you're using as a pillow wraps around you more, pulling you even closer to him.

You think he says something else, and even lets out a chuckle, but you're too far falling into sleep to respond.

Join the taglist here: @coffeyorky @nekotaetae @simp-legend @starborncyare @seriowan @chad-something(It would not let me tag you sorry)

#the bad batch wrecker x reader #wrecker x reader #Wrecker/Reader #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #mywriting #Wrecker is the man you bring home to your parents tbh he's just peak husband material

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