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michaellangdonswhore · 2 years ago

Text

warnings: again, smut. put me in a fucking hospital.

word count: 5.5k

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You were, by far, Jonathan Crane's least favorite student.

You knew it, and it was complete bullshit. You were always on time, always in every class, and always completed the work. You had always had such good grades in every class, but not with him.

While not giving you the worst grade imaginable, you were never able to get over an A-, which pissed you the fuck off. Obviously, to any other normal student studying psychology, they'd take the A-, but not you.

And again, nothing over an A-. There was the frequent B+, sometimes B, and when you really pissed him off he would go as low as a B-.

You've done everything you could to get him to like you. You would ask questions, clearly put extra effort into the homework, and even applied to laboratory studies that he ran. You hated not being liked.

However, at this point in the year, you had given up on trying. You still did everything you were supposed to do, because you wanted a good grade, but you hadn't bothered participating or showing any interest anymore. You had decided to focus more on your other classes. Due to this, you had been working late into the night, causing you to be exhausted for your 8 AM lectures with Crane.

You were exhausted, trying to pay attention. Your head hurt so much for looking at a screen for so long last night.

Crane is flipping through a slideshow, and you find yourself dozing. It's not that this stuff bored you, you had just already learned it back when you took AP Psych your sophomore year of high school.

You snap back into reality when you hear your name being called.

Crane is singling you out with an annoyed expression on his face. You turn red because everyone, all 400 other people in the class, are staring at you.

"I'm sorry. Is this boring you?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"No-" You begin.

You're stammering. You normally don't have such a rough time with public speaking, but being downright exhausted and being singled out for nearly falling asleep in class is extremely embarrassing.

He pauses for a moment and stares you down.

You feel as if you were naked, as if you were completely exposed to him. You didn't like him looking at you like that, like he was taking into account every imperfection.

"As I was saying..."

Thank god.

He resumes to what he was talking about before and you're more alert, heart pumping full of humiliation. You're taking notes now, typing quickly and probably annoyingly loud (you can tell because he keeps shooting you small glares every time you hit the spacebar).

Finally, the hour is up and he reminds everyone about the homework due that Friday. You collect your stuff and head out the door. You don't realize, but he watches you leave.

Everything you do irks him.

Maybe it was because your first paper challenged his psychological beliefs, or because your intelligence challenged him in general. But literally everything about you pisses him off.

Your loud typing, your questions that challenges his lectures, how you turn everything in on time, how you flawlessly converse with the other students. He is so desperately waiting for you to slip up.

As previously stated, you were putting less effort than before into his class. He picked up on this. You were turning your papers and chapter readings in the last minute, you weren't asking questions, and you were even falling asleep.

You had three days to complete a portion of the assignments given. You completely forgot about it.

Due to your tiredness and your weakening desire to try for the class, you had forgotten to write down the homework in a planner that you always checked daily.

Crane is a quick grader, and usually he always grades your homework first; more specifically, as soon as you turn it in.

You realized you didn't do the work as soon as you woke up that morning for your 8 AM class. You had never ever missed an assignment. Ever. And you had no time to do it and make it to his class on time. You were freaking the fuck out.

It's okay. Maybe he hasn't graded it yet.

But no. He was such a strict grader. He was harsh.

Whatever. You may as well hope for the best.

To distract yourself from your predicament, you talk to the boy who sits next to you in the class. It's just smalltalk about the workload and about an upcoming test.

You stop talking when Crane clears his throat. You shift back in your seat and open your laptop.

"It's a Friday. It's 8 AM," Crane begins. You think this is going to be the introduction of a psychological speech. "For all 399 of you that did your homework last night, go enjoy your Friday morning."

People being looking around and whispering, not sure if this is a trick, but you know it's not.

You're freaking out. Your heart is racing and you cannot believe that he would actually do this to you. Usually teachers will just give you a bad grade and call it that, but to single you out and have the entire class leave except for you is an all time low.

"I'm not messing with you," Crane continues. "Go. You know who you are."

He's looking at you dead in the eye and you stay put as people slowly get up to leave, looking around to make sure others are doing the same. You avoid his gaze, looking at your computer screen.

Soon enough, everyone is out of the large lecture room, some looking back to see the one person who didn't do their work.

Once the door is shut, and everyone is completely out of sight, Crane locks both of the doors and looks up at you.

"Are you deliberately trying to fail my class?" He questions. "I thought you wanted to be outstanding."

You can't find words to say. He scoffs and moves to his desk, shuffling through papers and bringing out a decently large stack to over to you. It feels like hours pass by as he walks up the steps to you and drops them onto your desk.

You look at them, confused.

"This is the homework that was due at midnight." He explains.

"It's never so much..." You stammer. You can feel his hatred burning into your skin.

"It's what's due next Wednesday, Friday, and the following week too. Let's see if you can get this done by.... hm," He checks his watch. "By the end of the period?"

"All of this?" Your eyes widen.

"When's your next class?" He asks.

"You're my only one today." You continue to avoid his eye contact.

"Then you can stay." He says. "Until you finish all the work."

"But-"

"I can't trust that you'll do it." Crane says, taking a step back from you. "You need to complete it. In front of me."

"Please, Professor," You try to defend yourself. "I've been-"

"I can assume what you've been doing, you've almost fallen asleep in my class." He scoffs.

You feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment over him getting the wrong impression. Does he really think that low of you?

You take a deep breath. You'll just have to deal with this.

"Do you have a pencil?"

He grabs a black pen from his desk and looks up to you, motioning to sit in the front row. Close enough. You swallow your pride and grab your things and the stack of paper, walking down to the seats in the front.

The class itself is an hour, but it took you almost five to complete the amount of homework he gave you. The readings were long, and the quality of work was demanding. You were eager to do well, to prove yourself.

You hate that he hated you.

His eyes were on you the entire time you did your work. The silence was loud, but you pushed through it. You got three weeks of homework done, and proudly put the stack back onto his desk.

"I'll see you Monday, Professor," you smile, then walk away.

After that, you tried harder; harder than you tried compared to every other class you took. You did this, not to get him to like you- but to get back at him with the fact that you knew your shit; you were a good student. You sat in the front, did side research, and spent nights studying for his endless quizzes. And he wanted to fail you to make you stop what you were doing, but you were getting all the answers right and you both knew that. He wouldn't want you taking anything to the next level.

With you in the front, it made it harder for him to not be distracted by you. Mid speech he would find himself locking eyes with you, disrupting his words and leaving him stammering for a brief moment. Ever since you've upped the eye contact, you've gained more control of the situation.

You arrived in class that Wednesday; the situation in which Crane forced you to stay and do two weeks worth of work in front of him occurred around three weeks ago. You're sitting in the front in between two empty seats; no one likes to sit in the front in Crane's class. It's usually only filled with around three to four people. Crane isn't in class yet, which is weird considering he's always there early, before anyone else even gets there. The class is almost about to begin and he's never been late.

Soon enough, it's one minute after the class is supposed to start and he's still not there. You start feeling antsy, wondering where he is.

Finally, he walks in; two minutes after class is supposed to start. So unlike him.

He places his briefcase on the desk and begins setting up his computer while everyone takes out something to take notes with.

"Now, you all know what I specialize in, I hope," He states, not breaking eye contact with his computer.

He specialized in phobias. Apart from dedicating his time to teaching you, he was a therapist mainly for fears.

"I'm sure we all know what exposure therapy is, correct?" He asks. Pretty much the whole class nods in unison. "Good. For those of you not on the same page, it's the type of therapy which someone is exposed to their fear or trauma."

He begins flipping through his slideshow, giving more and more information and lecturing about it, but you can't help but notice it's an almost bias review.

You're left with homework to write a review on some boring documentary on the history of exposure therapy and a pretty long excerpt of the textbook you all were reading.

So, you did your work and followed all of the instructions. You wrote a review on exposure therapy.

The next Monday, you get to class and you sit in the front row. There's a big stack of paper on Crane's desk, and you assuming that you're getting a pop-quiz, but no, that's not the case.

Crane's waiting for everyone with his shoulder rested on the large stack of papers. Once the time hits 8, he begins.

"I printed out all of your outlines," He begins. "I've made some comments and given some feedback. We'll spend the class working on them."

He starts calling out names and one by one, people receive their papers. You're sort of anxious- you left a pretty negative review on exposure therapy, something that he seemed so passionate about.

"Y/N Y/L/N." He says, saying your voice with more of an annoyed tone than the other students. You get up and grab your paper from his hands, tugging harder due to his firm grip. Clearing his throat, he continues calling out the following names. You go back to your seat, nervous to look at the paper. When you sit and look at it, your stomach dropped.

There's nothing on the front page. Then you look at the second.

See me after class.

There is literally nothing but a see me after class.

Oh my god.

What did I do?

Was he offended at all by what was written? Surely, that wasn't your intention... yes, you wanted to piss him off, but you had some respect for him. You didn't want to actually maybe- make him insecure about his work?

Class seemed to take hours to go by; you didn't even know what to do about your paper. He gave no other feedback other than to see him after class. How were you supposed to work with that?

You looked around at your classmates typing away. You're annoyed that he actually helped them.

See me after class.

At least give me feedback on my fucking paper.

Everyone then realized the time and began to pack up. Crane stood up from his desk and took his glasses off.

"Remember, papers are due Friday!" He manages to get out before people start heading out the door.

You put your things in your bag, trying to act out to your classmates as if you were leaving. You felt so embarrassed. You hated how he kept embarrassing you and how he had the power to do that. It was infuriating. You felt him staring at you as you packed your stuff up, moving slower, nervous that he would call you out.

You took your time, though, waiting till everyone was out of the room.

With everyone else there, you felt so confident. You were one of the smart ones and you at least had witnesses, but alone with him? You were completely inferior. He could quite literally ruin your life with a bad grade and could easily tarnish your image, being the head of Arkham and all that.

"I found your paper quite interesting," He says, emphasizing quite.

"I'm sorry-" you begin. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" He scoffs. "You think you offended me?"

"I just- I know this is what you do, right?" You stammer.

"I'm interested in your point of view." He says. "About the pain, how it's long term. I'm interested as to why you seem so against it."

You shrug.

"What's your biggest fear, Y/N?" He asks you. "What is it? Failure?"

"I'm not trying to fail."

"Oh, yes, you've proven that." He clicks his tongue. "Sitting in the front, turning things in quickly, wearing shorter skirts. Don't think I don't notice what you're doing."

"What?"

"You write intensely about the struggle that people with PTSD-"

"Wait," you interrupt him. "What did you say?"

"I'm trying to discuss with you what you've written."

"Professor, my clothing choices have nothing to do with me wanting to do well in this class," you say. Now you're offended.

Instead of apologizing, which is what you think any decent person would do, he looks you up and down and scoffs.

"You're wearing tights."

"What?"

"Surely, those must be uncomfortable. You're not wearing those to satisfy yourself," he says.

You grow red, and angry.

He keeps humiliating you.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

"Will you stop?" you groan in frustration. "Why don't you just let me get by like you let everyone else get by? I do everything you ask!"

"I want to know who you're trying to impress."

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," you hiss, finally looking up at his crystal eyes.

You know it's disrespectful, but you turn to walk away and to leave.

"No, no. We're not done."

You ignore him, walking towards the door, but he quickly beats you to it, shutting it and locking you in.

"I said we're not done." He said, completely composed. "Sit."

"I want to leave."

"Your biggest fear is failure, yes?" He questions. You don't nod or shake your head, but it is pretty much true; you hate failing. You need to succeed and be good at everything you do. "Sit. I can very much make that fear come true."

"I do everything," you repeat. "Everything. I do it on time, I'm here always, I'm prepared for everything."

"Can you just fucking-" He pushes you down onto the seat next to his desk. "Sit?"

You weren't expecting him to physically force you to sit down, but you could pick up on the pent up frustration he had with you.

"The off the cut sweater, no bra-" He points out.

You weren't wearing a bra. You were surprised he had picked up on the fact- you could've been wearing a strapless, but no. He was right.

"Are you even wearing underwear?" He whispers.

You're flushed.

What the fuck was going on?

You thought he hated you.

And yeah, you knew he was an attractive man, that's what made this whole thing pretty exciting, but you never thought you would be sat down with him leaning over you saying things like this.

"Let me see."

"Professor?"

He grabs you off the chair and pushes you onto his desk, spreading your legs for you. Everything was moving too quickly; this all felt like a fever dream.

He tugs at the middle of your tights, ripping them open to expose your- and he was right- bare pussy. He lets out a chuckle.

"You're not trying to impress anyone?" He questions, again, peering up at you.

You try moving your thigh to cover yourself, but he forcefully keeps them open.

"Who was that boy you used to sit next to... Tim, is it?"

To be honest, you really didn't know that kids name. He was just someone you sat next to out of habit since you had picked that seat the first day of classes. But you hadn't been sitting with him for weeks at that point.

"Is Tim who you're trying to impress?"

"No!" You argue, still trying to fight the grip of his hand off your thigh. "I told you... I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"Hm." He says, placing two fingers on exactly the right spot of your clit, slowly rubbing in circles. . "You're not even trying to impress me?"

You stay silent, for a brief moment.

"Not in this way..."

But it's past that point now. He's already touching you, rubbing faster, and your exposed pussy is laid out right in front of his face. You're embarrassed and self conscious. He's too close for comfort.

"Yeah?"

The fingers once on your clit are now entering you. You still can't comprehend the situation.

But for him, he was putting you in your place. It was enough of the looks in class, the semi sexual and revealing clothing, the obvious need for his approval and to show him she was as smart- maybe even smarter than him himself.

"Is that why you're letting me touch you like this?" He asks, using the two fingers to pump your pussy.

It's out of your control but you're getting wetter the longer and faster he fingers you. It's beginning to show, beginning to drip down his fingers and onto his wrists. He notices this, then stops and looks.

"Disgusting," He huffs before licking his fingers clean.

"That's disgusting," You repeat at him, glaring a little, but you can't help but want his finger- more of him back inside you. You feel empty, desperate for his hands back on you.

"I don't see you asking me to stop."

You're silent, again.

He smiles, kneeling back down and spreading your legs open again, this time with a more forceful grip. He doesn't use his fingers this time, devouring you with his hot mouth and basically digging in.

He was really good at this. To be fair, no one had ever actually eaten you out, but you had never felt anything like it. He moves his fingers towards you again and fucks you with them as he sucks and licks at your clit. He was freakishly good. You felt something drip down your thigh; you didn't know if you were sweating or if you were fucking leaking. By the sound of it, probably the second one.

He removes his fingers and dives deep into your pussy more, making obscure sounds as he does so. He stops and looks up at you.

"Take your shirt off. I want to see your tits," he demands.

You comply; he's already seen a lot.

"Fuck, they're perfect." He says, now standing over you, playing with them and poking and twisting at your hardened nipple. He's pushing his hardened clothed dick into your bare pussy, giving you some friction has he sucks on your neck and plays with your nipples.

He grabs your hips and flips you over, putting you on your stomach and leaning you over the desk.

He kneels back down, eating your pussy again; he can't get enough of it. He can't get enough of the small whines escaping your throat and the way you leak and how you shake when it feels good- or when the pleasure becomes too much.

He adds his fingers in again, this time three, and you let out a louder, but not too loud, moan than usual.

"Professor-"

"You can take it." He assures you. "You better take it. If you can't take this how can you take my cock?"

You just weren't used to it- you had been fucked, but not for so long. He keeps licking and devouring your clit while pumping in and out of you. You feel so full- on the brink. You feel hot, and god you feel good. You don't even realize it, but you're riding his mouth and his fingers.

"You know, I wasn't going to let you come," Crane begins between breaths, keeping his face close to your pussy so you could still feel him. "But now that I think about it... I want you cum drunk on my dick. I wanna make you cum over and over again until you're a fucking mess."

He goes back to sloppily and messily eating you out again. It was so dirty; the noise, what was leaking out of you. You then felt that familiar feeling and you couldn't stop it; no matter how wrong this felt or how humiliated and exposed you felt, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning like a mess and cumming all over his mouth.

You needed a second to recover, but he stood up and grinded his clothed dick against you. You weren't ready for the friction, wincing over the contact with you sensitive clit. He grabbed your neck and pulls your back to him, kissing you, continuing to grind.

He unbuttons his pants and undoes his boxers, his large thick cock springing out, begging to be touched. He pushes one of your legs up onto the desk to give him better access to you.

"You're fucking soaked," He says as he teases himself some more, collecting what's came out of you as some lubricant.

He keeps rubbing your clit and the outside with his dick, back and forth. It feels good, but it's not enough. He pushes harder with his dick on your clit, continuing to hump you.

"Professor, please," you look back at him, trying to guilt him into giving in and fucking you, but it's not that easy.

"Shut up, and let me take my time." He says. He continues this for a little, before getting a new idea. "I want you to cum on my cock without me fucking you."

"What?"

He pulls you towards him then on his lap on the chair next to his desk.

"Grind on it." He demands, holding you in place by your hips. "Get it soaked."

You hesitate, but he's impatient. He pushes you down and moves your hips for you until you begin to do it with him. You grind your pussy against his cock, stimulating your clit once more. It didn't feel as good as his mouth, and god it probably didn't feel as good as his dick would feel inside you, but it felt good. And you were so fucking horny, you were on the brink of cumming again.

"Yeah, yeah, you got it," he praised you, rocking your hips back and forth. He digs his nails into your hips, definitely leaving some cuts in your skin, but you didn't care. You were so close. He begins to bounce up, pretending to thrust into you, adding to your pleasure. "That's it, you- oh fuck, yes, cum on my fucking dick."

You're dripping onto him as you ride out your high, clenching around nothing. It seems to last for a while, wrapped up in all the pleasure combined with his dirty talk.

He angles his cock towards your entrance and pushes into you- he feels hot and he's sensitive due to teasing himself. But no- he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to put you in your fucking place. And even if he does cum, he has no issue continuing and even fucking a baby into you. Then, you'd have to walk around with the shame.

He gently picks you up, but then harshly slams you up and down repeatedly onto his cock. You've had no time to readjust after cumming a second time, and you were extremely sensitive.

"Slower, professor, please," You cry, burying your face into his shoulder. "It hurts..."

"Shut the fuck up."

He grabs you by the neck and pounds up into you, rubbing your clit as well to add to the sensation.

Yes, it feels good, but it's so overwhelming you can't help but tear up. Crane notices this and it goes straight to his head.

"Are you fucking crying?" He scoffs. "Fucking crying for me?"

He picks you up, keeping you firmly attached to his dick, and throws you over the desk again. He's fucking you deeper and at an animalistic pace; like he fucking needs this.

"Keep crying for me. Keep fucking crying."

He harshly grips your tits, twisting your nipple in the process.

"Fucking perfect tits, perfect pussy, perfect everything. You fucking strive for perfection- but you're letting me fucking ruin you. Is this how far you'd go for a good grade?" He laughs, fingers deep in your clit.

You can only moan in response, but this doesn't satisfy him.

"Fucking answer me."

"Yes," you cry out.

"Yeah, you're just a fucking whore who'd sleep her way to the top if that's what it took." He says, tugging your hair back, your sweaty bodies pressed closer together.

His words are filthy, but you're fucking cumming again.

He's laughing, mocking you for doing so.

"You fucking like being treated like a bitch, don't you?" He says, fucking you through your third orgasm. You don't know how he's not tired. As you expect, he doesn't give you a fucking break. You're worn out at this point; almost numb.

"Professor, I don't know-"

"You don't know if you can keep going?" He questions. "Yeah, you can. I'll fucking make you keep going. What was that... your third orgasm? Let me see if I can double that."

"Professor..."

"I'll stop when you give me three more."

You feel like you're going to pass out; the pleasure had become too much, but you were so fucking sensitive that a fourth one had come quickly. Your pussy was so swollen and red, but he had not gotten off of you.

"You're fucking..." He brings you back to the chair and places you on top of him. "You're fucking leaking all over me, fucking hell. So wet... do you hear yourself?"

You could hear yourself. It was disgusting. It was filthy.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" He asks. He slows down his pace, and you know he's teasing you. "Embarrassed that you're whoring yourself out to me like this? To a professor that so clearly disliked you? This is what you do for my approval."

He slows his pace some more.

"Would you do this for any other professor, Y/N? Let them fuck your pussy till you have nothing left to give? Bounce on their cock the way you do for me?"

"No, professor," you shake your head, trying to bounce faster but he keeps your hips in place, restricting you. He had succeeded- made you cum drunk and fucked you stupid, but this wasn't enough. He needed more. "No, no, only you. I'd only do this for you."

You're squirming around on his dick. He's stopped moving at this point, just staying in you.

"Stop fucking moving around. Don't you want to impress me?"

"Have I not?" You begin to regain some of your strength with this somewhat of a break he was giving you. "Have I not impressed you, professor?"

You give him puppy eyes as you gain some control of the situation, his grip loosing and you bouncing on his cock at a pace you like.

"I want to impress you, professor," you say seductively. "I want to- fuck!"

You start chasing your high again, you didn't even realize that you'd ever be able to cum this many times.

"Fuck!" You repeat. Crane is letting you take control, enjoying the show of you riding his cock, using him for your pleasure. "Do you like this, professor? Do you like when I fucking bounce on your dick like this?"

You had never heard yourself like this, or ever expected to talk like this. You had never felt so confident.

"Have you imagined this professor?" You continue. He's obviously at a loss for words, not expecting this side of you. "Have you imagined fucking me? Have you imagined bending me over your desk and eating me out till I came all over your face? My tits? Putting me in my fucking place?"

His hands found your hips again and he's helping you ride his cock. He's loving the words coming from your mouth.

"God, I think you wanted this more than I did," you laugh. You're so close. You wanted him to talk, but his reactions to your words were enough for you. "Make me cum again, professor, please. I- fuck!"

He's pushing into you and bouncing you up and down quickly and you're riding out your fifth orgasm.

He pulls you off of him and lays you out on the desk again, licking up your sore pussy. He hums while doing this, telling you how you taste so good. You're so- so sensitive, though, and you can't help but cumming on his tongue again not even seconds later, letting out a string of incoherent words.

That's six.

You look at him, but he's positioning himself in you.

"You said six-"

"I say a lot of things. I want you to cum on my cock again." He says, kissing your neck. "Last time. I promise."

He pumps into you, at a softer, but still quick pace. You feel so incredibly numb, but he still manages to work you up quickly while fondling your breasts and pressing hot kisses into your neck.

"Ah- fuck." He pants, fucking himself into you. "Fuck... gonna cum in you. Want you to fucking carry me around for the rest of the fucking day."

You don't object- your hearing was probably a little impaired at this point.

"Yeah, you want that, don't you. It's like a fucking award to you."

He's holding you closer now. You both are so sweaty and sticky.

You're about to cum again, but he grabs your throat tightly.

"Fucking wait for me. Don't be impatient."

As hard as it is, you listen to him. He speeds up, becoming sloppy before he cries, "Fuck, cum! Cum all over my fucking- ahhh, yes, fuck."

He shoots hot loads into you as you clench around him, milking more out of him. He doesn't stop, continuing to fuck you until every last bit of his seed has marked you. Even after he's done, he gets a few more strokes in before he pulls out, showing the combination of you and him leaking out of your pussy. He pushes you onto the floor and presents his dick in front of him.

"Clean it."

You obey, wrapping your mouth on his cock and licking away the filth that the two of you made. He groans and pulls you off of him.

"You'll get me hard again." He says.

He puts all his clothes back on and hands you your sweater. Your nipples are hard, poking through them now.

"I look forward to your next draft of your review." Crane says calmly, as if what just happened didn't happen.

"You- um..." you stammer, brushing your fingers through your hair. "You didn't give me any notes."

"I didn't?" He questioned. You shook your head. "Well, stay again after class next session. I'll go over it, personally, with you."

"Oh." You blush. "This wasn't a one time thing?"

"Y/N..." Crane looks at the floor. "I'm your professor."

You felt awkward. Of course it was a one time thing; how could it not be?

But then he looks back up at you.

"You don't want to fail my class, do you?"

#jonathan crane #dc scarecrow #scarecrow #the scarecrow #batman imagine #the batman #batman #the dark knight #cillian x reader #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x y/n #cillain murphy #jonathan crane smut

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aeturnum-mendacacium · 8 months ago

Text

everybody has fics or headcannons that Bruce's speach was influenced by how he's such a dad, or batman, or a serving cunt but like what about how his speech Is influenced by how he talks normally as "Brucie wayne" to people?

I imagine he's got that posh accent when he's speaking when he's acting as Brucie Wayne and says 'darling' at the end of his sentences and it became a habit when he's not in the cowl

This is also partly because justice league's ears almost fall off when batman is scolding them( wearing a domino, cowl was damaged on mission,no voice modulation) because why does batman have a Italian-posh accent and who just called Superman darling.

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cinnamongrl2006 · 13 days ago

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I love ur stuff, I am also madly in love with Bale Bruce rn lmao. if you feel like it, I’d love to read needy/soft Bruce after a long patrol maybe. patching him up, taking him to bed, gentle kisses, gentle love. thank u for your Bale Bruce service :)

a/n: This is from sooo long ago, like maybe two weeks ago!! Anyway, I love it and I love the anon who sent it. Also, thank you guys so much for 300+ followers, it's baffling to me that people like what I write!! As always, Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne makes me feral, I would commit (minor) crimes for him. This one kinda goes out to @dntaed, I'm tryna get her into Bruce Wayne 😈. AND!!! Shoutout to @minorlyatfault because she used the first pic in one of her fics and I went STRAIGHT to pinterest.

Warnings/contents: Established relationship, implied age gap (as usual, tbh. Reader is in her 20s, Bruce in his late thirties), female reader, fluff.

Bruce's shoulders slumped forward with the weight of the previous night, his head thrust under the shower spray with urgency. His eyes closed, and for a while he stayed still, letting the water wash away the sins from the night. Neck craned forward, muscles uncomfortably tight. His back straightened and his breathing evened out when you walked into the bathroom. He didn't see you, didn't have to to know you were there. He felt it in his bones and deep in his chest, something warm, soft.

He didn't say anything when he met your gaze in the bathroom mirror, he didn't say anything when you took off your— his— shirt and joined him in the shower. He stayed quiet as you assessed him, eyes roaming all around his body; he stayed quiet as your hands traced a cut across his chest, a bruise on his side. His gaze, cold, calculated, focused on you.

He finally spoke when your arms wrapped around his waist, your head rested on his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart, the hum in his chest when he breathed.

"You didn't have to wait up."

"I know. It's not too easy to sleep knowing you're out there getting hurt." You spoke softly, an undercurrent of anger present in your words that made Bruce wrap his arms around you and press you tighter against him before wincing in pain.

"I'm fine."

"You keep telling that to yourself. What if we take care of those cuts after the shower?" Your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Bruce could swear this was a reward from the universe— for what, he did not know.

He let you maneuver him, let you wash his hair with the shampoo you'd picked, the one that smelled like vanilla and almonds, like you. Let you walk him out of the shower and help him dry off.

He laughed when you mentioned his hair was going gray, said "It's the stress you put me under." With a smile on his lips, a genuine smile, showing off the dimples in his cheeks and the wrinkles around his eyes.

He was sat on the toilet seat, you crouched between his thighs as you cleaned and stitched injuries all over his body. His eyes stayed glued on your movements, gaze softer than before but still analytical, careful.

“I could have done this myself, you should be sleeping,” he sighed, ran a hand through his dark hair.

“But I’m not. You should let me take care of you more often,” Your voice was soft and warm as you ran a cotton ball through his injuries, a stark contrast to the sting of your touch.

“You’ll do that when you put me in a nursing home.” His lips stretched out in a smirk.

“At this rate, you’ll be in the nursing home by fifty.” You leaned back, admiring your work, kissed his cheek and put away the first aid kit once you assesed he was done.

Bruce sauntered off to the bedroom, you trailed behind him, a hand on his back for support.

Once you both were in bed, the duvet covers swallowing you, you nearly instantly fell asleep. You felt bruce wrap his arms around you, pull you closer until there was no saying where you ended and he began. You felt him press a kiss on the crown of your head and murmur an I love you, to which you answered with an unintelligible hum—you were to tired for that.

Bruce didn’t care, it wasn’t about you saying it back, it wasn’t even about him saying it. It was about showing you something, promising you he was there for you as much as you were there for him.

────୨ৎ────

Requests are open!! 🫶🏻

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liorabb · 6 days ago

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“ruin me properly.”

(knight!rafe cameron x princess!reader — filthy smut, 18+, dark fantasy au)

cw: 18+, explicit sexual content, virginity loss, rough claiming, heavy praise, dirty talk, size kink, slight breeding kink, overstimulation, possessive knight rafe, reader begging

You’re already trembling before he even touches you.

Rafe strips you bare, tossing the layers of silk and lace across the floor like they’re worthless rags, until you’re nothing but flushed skin and wide, pleading eyes under him.

His armor clatters to the floor, heavy and final — like he’s discarding the last thing keeping him from truly claiming you.

“Look at you,” he growls, kneeling over you on the bed, his thick cock in his hand, slowly stroking himself as he drinks you in.

“So fuckin’ pretty and all mine. No one’s ever touched this sweet little body, huh?”

You shake your head, lips parted, breathing hard.

He leans down, heavy hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Say it,” he orders, voice rough, deep. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you whisper, desperate.

“Only yours, Rafe.”

The groan that rips from his throat is feral.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, angel,” he mutters, dragging the swollen tip of his cock through your soaked folds.

“I’m not gonna be gentle. I’m not gonna be sweet.”

“Don’t want you to be,” you whimper, grinding up against him, aching to be filled. “Want you to ruin me.”

He laughs, low and dark.

“Oh, princess,” he murmurs, voice dripping with filthy promise. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”

Then he presses in.

It’s stretching, burning — he’s so big, so thick, you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

Tears spring to your eyes at the sheer pressure of it.

You clutch at his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin.

“Shh,” he croons mockingly, pushing deeper, inch by agonizing inch. “You can take it. You were made for me, remember? This pretty little cunt was built to be stuffed full of me.”

You whine helplessly, body straining, overwhelmed — but you don’t tell him to stop.

You want it.

You need it.

And Rafe knows it.

He finally bottoms out with a deep, guttural moan, grinding his hips against yours.

“Fuck,” he snarls against your ear. “So fuckin’ tight. Gripping me so good, baby.”

He starts moving — slow at first, then faster, harder, brutal — each thrust punching a helpless, broken noise out of you.

You’re crying already, pleasure too sharp, too much, your nails raking down his back.

And Rafe loves it.

“Lemme hear it, pretty girl,” he pants, pounding into you. “Lemme hear you cry for me. Let the whole damn castle know who’s fucking you.”

“Rafe��” you sob, clinging to him like you’ll die if he stops. “Too much—”

He just growls, thrusting even harder.

“Too much for anyone else,” he grits out. “But you can take it for me. You will take it for me.”

His hand slips between your bodies, rubbing tight, fast circles on your clit, making your back arch clean off the bed.

“Come for me,” he snarls. “Milk my cock. Wanna feel you fall apart around me.”

You shatter with a scream, body convulsing, squeezing him so tight it almost hurts.

The orgasm rips through you like wildfire, leaving you sobbing, shaking.

But Rafe’s not done.

He flips you onto your stomach without warning, yanking your hips up, thrusting back into you so hard you scream again.

“Not done with you, princess,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Gotta fuck you full. Gotta make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

You’re gasping, drooling into the sheets, utterly wrecked — and he just keeps going, using your limp body like his personal plaything.

He fucks you through one orgasm, then another, until you’re begging, incoherent.

“Rafe— Rafe, I can’t—”

“You can,” he grunts, hand fisting in your hair, pulling your head back. “You will.”

He pistons into you faster, brutal, chasing his own release.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans, hips stuttering. “Gonna pump you so full of my cum, you’ll be dripping with it for days. Everyone’ll know you’re mine.”

You whimper, desperate for it, clenching down on him.

And then he roars your name, slamming deep one last time, spilling inside you in thick, hot waves.

You can feel it — so much cum, it leaks out around him, dripping down your thighs.

Rafe collapses over you, still buried deep, still panting, still whispering filthy, desperate things against your skin.

“Mine,” he mutters, over and over, voice wrecked. “My princess. My perfect girl.”

And when you finally drift into unconsciousness, too exhausted to move, Rafe stays wrapped around you —

guarding you, loving you, like you’re the only thing worth living for.

#outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe smut #filthy knight rafe cameron x reader #obsessed dark rafe #fantasy smut

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wolvietxt · 7 months ago

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🌀 𝓳ay’s 500 𝓮vent!

hello! this is where you can find my rules for this event, i’ve received all of your asks but i unfortunately can’t reply to all of them, but if you see your ask + chosen prompt on this list yay for you! i got a few asks that were for the same prompt + character so a few are grouped😭 fics are linked on the days!

⊹ day 1 - logan howlett and nightmare. ⊹ day 2 - bucky barnes and forced proximity. ⊹ day 3 - daryl dixon and emotional breakdown. ⊹ day 4 - logan howlett and panic attack. ⊹ day 5 - daryl dixon and unexpected compliment. ⊹ day 6 - bucky barnes and mixed signals. ⊹ day 7 - logan howlett and physical injury. ⊹ day 8 - daryl dixon and forced proximity. ⊹ day 9 - logan howlett and mixed signals. ⊹ day 10 - logan howlett and wrong assumptions. ⊹ day 11 - bucky barnes and unspoken feelings. ⊹ day 12 - logan howlett and betrayal. ⊹ day 13 - logan howlett and handwritten notes. ⊹ day 14 - daryl dixon and mixed signals. ⊹ day 15 - logan howlett and lazy mornings. ⊹ day 16 - bucky barnes and argument gone wrong. ⊹ day 17 - daryl dixon and protective. ⊹ day 18 - daryl dixon and jealousy. ⊹ day 19 - daryl dixon and almost confession. ⊹ day 20 - logan howlett and overheard conversation.

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anitalenia · 11 months ago

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. 𝐎𝐇, 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋, 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝓘𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 . ♡ 𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑢𝑒. 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 ♡ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ dark knight!joker x fem!reader ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ suggestive content, mature content, reader is spoiled but not a brat, reader isn’t necessarily a good person, joker is lowkey your sugar daddy, inner turmoil and lowkey delusions, joker being manipulative ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ slight dark content, a lot of emotional turmoil with reader, lowkey brainwashed reader ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ this is actually like my fav. Joker, I miss him 😞 hope you enjoy ♡ also, this isn’t my best merged gif but I haven’t done one since my wattpad days 😫 2017 era 🕺🏻 Sorry this has no smut in it, but this is my first joker fic so I wanted to do something tame. I’m not sure how I would approach writing smut for him 😭 he cray cray. I do like this idea though so I’ll probably expand on it somewhere down the line. ♡

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່��ࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ♡ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍. This was a fact constantly paraded around your face everywhere you went in Gotham City. It was in the front pages of newspapers most often, written in big, black, bold letters that the bad man had struck again. Murder, ruination, destruction, robbery, devil — all synonymous with his name, all written in big, black, bold letters.

It would be written in the same newspapers, more often than not, that were shoved into dingy trash cans and sold at corner stores. A big gray photo of his mugshot plastered right onto the front page of the neatly rolled up papers thrown onto your porch every morning. His face was easily distinguishable and it always made you shiver when you saw it; soulless black eyes topped with a frazzled hair of green.

It was televised in the local breaking news segments almost every day on the hour, when you’d be sitting at your glass table drinking your morning coffee, wearing that grand red robe that was much more expensive than necessary. It was always the same story; the bad man has stolen millions from another major bank and has somehow gotten away with it, whatever will Gordon do?

The joker. His face, those beaming crimson lips, they were plastered on the tabloids and the front pages of magazines and painted across the wanted posters that hung on every light pole installed on every block in the grandest city of grime.

He was everywhere you seemed to be, watching, smiling, plotting. His scarred face a shadow in the back of your mind and his maniacal laugh an echo that lingered behind your every thought.

He was in every reflection and sprinkled around every corner; the yellow tape wrapped around the ruins of a building, the joker playing cards mockingly laid out in the street brushing past you in the soft breeze, the eery quiet after nightfall and the laugh dancing in the empty streets everyone pretends to not notice.

He was like a ghost, your own personal demon you couldn’t just brush to the side and ignore. His presence was constant and persistent even when he wasn’t there, gnawing at your sanity like a feral dog thin and hungry, the memory of his smile found in the cold corners of your house and his sourly sweet musk soaked into every pore of your polished home. His very existence haunted you, as you were sure he intended.

No matter the source the message was always profoundly clear to you; you could never escape him.

You belonged to him in his own possessively twisted way you could never rationalize with a sound mind. You were his and he loved to entertain that notion in front of you as often as he could. He had spared your life that night in a carefully orchestrated plot to ensnare you, wrap you in his shadow and keep you tucked away in the dark.

You were his.

Yes, That was a fact that blared in your mind as loud and as simple as big, black, bold letters.

You were his.

Today was a dreaded day for you for one fatal reason and one reason alone. Today was the first of November, a very dreaded day you had found yourself dreading to face during the whole length of October.

With every beginning of a new month he would take it upon himself to visit you, invite himself into your life once more and disrupt any kind of routine uniformity you had developed. He’d come just to remind you of who exactly you belonged to, of who exactly gave you this life to begin with.

Of course, you would see him sparingly throughout the month when he’d come check up on you unannounced — it was really just a ploy to make sure you were sat put and not planning anything devious behind his back. Those moments were short and brief, sporadic and sometimes only ever occurring thrice within a thirty day period. Those moments were manageable.

He was a busy man he’d always say, too busy to attend to you and your whims.

But now it was the first of the month, the beginning of the month. He reserved those days especially for you, to give you his undivided attention and to ensure you’re properly reminded of your place. Today, Joker was going to come to your door once more with the expectation of you catering to his delusion, with the intention of being with you in every sense of the word.

You had found yourself lingering in bed later than usual, being sure to keep the television off to avoid yet another news story on the man you were going to see later on in the evening anyway.

You had avoided going outside, avoided any newspapers or magazines, completely disrupting your normal ritual in order to remain sane at the expectation of what was to occur later on. You didn’t want to see his face, it only served as a heinous reminder of what your life had become; long fragmented strings orchestrated under his wicked, purple gloved fingers.

You had just sat in your living room for the majority of the afternoon in a sweet green dress with a glass of white wine, reading a thick, verbose book you had no real interest in finishing. It might’ve been a dictionary, but you couldn’t focus on the words anyway to know, your eyes just blindly running over blurs of black ink and dwindling for several long minutes on the same page.

Your fingers trembled and you couldn’t help but gnaw on your bottom lip until it was sore, your wine glass constantly refilled and your throat consistently dry.

A part of you hoped that if you drank enough wine you’d be too tipsy to properly remember your night with him; your efforts were pointless and had been for quite some time. Sadly, your tolerance had heightened many moons ago when you found yourself starting to drink more to abide the anxious time you sat waiting, waiting for him.

These were the tell tale signs of your foreboding nervousness, all attempts of futile idle work to distract yourself from looking at the clock overhead your television.

It was a big flat screen, your fancy television was, with the best surround sound and 4K picture any tv on the market could offer. It was unnecessary and cruelly gratuitous — another flashy thing thrown your away to appease you when all it did was take up space. But, you supposed, it’d be selfish to complain.

As with the tv almost everything in your household had been given to you unmerited by the Joker himself; the diamonds, the fancy silver, the lavish fabrics and the fine jewelry. It was all luxuries you used to admire, now they were nothing but blood money to you. They were all one in the same, all tainted with some sort of sin or another he had committed to get them for you in the first place. You really couldn’t stand to be surrounded by them, to be surrounded by the filth.

But, you supposed once more, it wasn’t necessarily unmerited.

If you were really being honest with yourself he had spoiled you, or better put, he had fooled you. He had dangled all the riches and glamour you could’ve ever wanted over your starved, gaping mouth like a chunk of red meat.

You had been skin and bones before him, suffering, discarded to the side of the road like a diseased dog nobody wanted and he had used that to his full advantage, dangling that chunk of meat in front of your face as a faulty promise to ensnare you in his steel trap.

In your old life — that’s what you liked to call it anyway — before him, you were never able to dwell on superficial things like beauty or fashion. They had no place with you then, no substance, as your life was nothing but a dirty stain smeared in the smallest corner of Gotham that would easily tarnish such superficial things. It was a disastrous life held together by the withered scraps of a run down waitressing job.

You had been poor, incredibly so, hungry for the comfort and wealth you’d only ever see dripping off the fancy ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to in their lavish fur coats and shoes.

You were envious of them, angry, easily able to be coerced into any solution that could fix those feelings.

He had viewed your vulnerability as an opportunity, a moment he couldn’t let pass. He had manipulated you with the hollow promises of a magical land full of diamonds and rubies, one in which you’d never be hurt or forgotten about, one in which you’d get everything you ever desired and all your worries would bleed away, one in which you’d look even better than the ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to with their lavish fur coats and shoes.

You had salivated at the thought.

He knew you had been deprived for so long, deprived of love and care, of the warmth and intimacy only a real home could provide. You had missed that sense of belonging, of purpose, and he knew that in the way he selflessly fed to your greedy jaws of want — you wanted it all. He had shown up like a savior adorned in a purple cloak and green hair, coming to your aid. And despite the terrible rumors you had heard about him, the abominable things you’d seen, you had truly thought he was so for a while.

He had saw your famine, your insatiable appetite, and had raised you prosperity, an abundance of all the food, the money, you could ever want. If only you had seen that his promises were just carefully coated secrets to disguise his true intent, a bountiful paradise concealing the sinister hellscape underneath it.

It all seemed like a dream come true at the time. You had ate the scraps of luxury right out of his purple clothed palm and it wasn’t long before you had realized that you’d ate too much; you’d been spoiled by him, fooled by him, so familiar in the unconventional relationship you had found within him now to ever regret doing so.

You could never go back to your old life now and you knew it, he knew it. You could never go back to the dark, to the sick, to the cruelty of the real world outside of your selfishly curated paradise abundant with food, with money, more than you’d ever had in the accumulation of your whole existence. He had trained you well, fed you so much your teeth were rotten and your belly was full.

If only you had known that there was a price, a trick, before you ever agreed to his terms. If only you had read the fine print in the contract, for there was always a price to pay, a trick up their sleeve, when it came to the matters of a clown.

Yes, you were to be given everything you ever wanted, all the money, the clothes, the makeup, the jewelry, everything, but only in exchange for just one little thing.

Your devotion.

Your devotion to him and to him alone and to only ever him.

It seems meager of course, insignificant and small compared to what you were getting in return.

But no, no you see, because there was so much more to it as there always was to a slippery, two-sided promise. He wanted everything in return for giving you everything in the first place. He wanted your loyalty, your trust, your morals, your essence and your very soul. You were rich in the material sense while he was wealthy in a morbidly different fashion entirely.

He had saved you from the street, gave you food, gave you comfort, gave you a home, and just like a dog you had been blinded by his compassion, too blinded by the glitz and the glamour of his castle to notice the cracks in it’s foundation.

He had saved you, fed you, comforted you, clothed you, his loyal pet, bound to his side forever now with a diamond studded collar, your leash tied to the sinister intricacies of his pale hands.

Now, now you were his in all of your totality, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical bitch dressed up in blood-stained diamonds.

There was no saving you now. You were too far gone, too spoiled by him to ever give up your riches for sanity’s sake. He had filled you with that sense of belonging you desperately craved, your existence catered to him and his needs in exchange for a modicum of companionship.

As time went on you had come to loath your two story home and its white walls, its glass tables and expensive vases, its flower ridden garden and its white oak gazebo. It was too extravagant now, each shiny object digging a hole further in the hollow of your chest where your morals were supposed to be. Now it was all material, all superficial, all things given to appease you yet they only took up space.

But, you supposed for a third time, you could never give it up and go back to the way things were. Yes, you hated this house and its white washed walls that seemed to expand and swallow you whole, digesting your cowardice and greed, but you loved that it was all yours and no one else’s, you loved that he spoiled you and only you and you alone, that in a weird, twisted way you had his devotion just as he had yours.

You hated him and all his complexities yet you needed his company and praise. You were a poor, desolate creature lapping up any semblance of gold and care he spared you. Sometimes you’d wonder if there was better for you outside of your white-walled prison, but then he’d stroke your hair and call you a good girl and you’d wag your tail like it was all forgiven, like you were foolish for even thinking such a thought in the first place.

Yes, you were just as you said, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical, bitch.

You filled your wine glass up once more once the sky had settled into a sheer blue hue, the yellow tainted liquid filled to the edge of the glass as you looked at the clock pasted on the white wall over your fancy television with the fancy surround sound and the fancy 4K picture.

You took a heavy sip of dreaded excitement as the clock struck seven.

He’d be here any minute now.

“So, how ya been, honey? After all it’s been a month since the last time I saw you. I was starting to miss you, ya know. Miss ya real bad. Miss that pretty little smile on that pretty little face…” He drawled out slowly in that scratchy tone of his, his voice gritty and raw, fragmented.

You swallowed nervously as his fingers delicately traced over the skin of your cheek from where he stood in front of you, his black painted eyes looking up at you from the bridge of his nose.

He was hunched over in front of you in the stillness of your living room, amidst the white, both of you stood by the red couch yet he was taller than you as always, clad in his signature purple suit and gloves to match — they were soft on your cheek in the fleeting touch he spared them.

You looked back at him with a measly gaze, breath trembled with the subconscious fear you got whenever he was too close to you. His aura was palpable and dark, and with his irritable tendency to step into your personal space it seemed to swallow you whole and make you uncomfortable (not that he really cared). But you also guessed that if you belonged to him trivial things such as boundaries didn’t really apply.

On the other hand, you couldn’t deny that your body wantonly sought out his whenever it sensed him near — the flutter in your tummy, the tightness in your legs and the excited buzzing in your hands. It was an irritating betrayal to your logical mind, who knew wanting him was wrong yet was left wanting anyway.

You had been steadily convincing yourself it was just the symptoms of Stockholm syndrome, but you were not kidnapped and he was no captor… well, in the literal sense of the word. But, maybe that’s exactly what this was; you doubted he’d ever let you leave him anyway. Unfortunately, you knew your affections weren’t as simple as black and white. Really, your feelings for him were a puzzling paradox locked in a spinning box better left unopened, lost somewhere in the dark abysses of your mind better left unexplored.

You inhaled a soft breath, blinking up at him as time, in your altered perception, seemed to stretch and bend into a warped mirage of endless minutes and infinite seconds as you found yourself lost in your own thoughts, the smell of him tickling your nose pleasantly.

He smelt of smoke and something sickly sweet, scents that reminded you of cane sugar and the residue of a house fire. His hair was stringy and green, slicked back away from his messily painted white face that seemed to bore into yours.

Your body was tense, back straight and chin up, your arms sternly at your sides as you were too perturbed to know what to do with them. You were awkward, more than usual, having not seem him in an uncharacteristically long time. You had forgotten what pleasantries you used to rely on when he was around, any automated responses you were comfortable with using lost in the fluffiness of the clouds where you’d never find them again.

You were clueless as to what to say, not wanting to give in to this odd domesticity he was portraying and actually be nice to him, but you also didn’t want to risk it and be rude either. He was an unpredictable creature at nature, confounding and bipolar so it took very little for his switch to flip completely. You’ve witnessed that first hand and it made you incredibly wary.

Joker hummed at you then, blank eyes staring at you expectantly when a few moments of silence passed following his question — you hadn’t really paid attention, his touch leaving you stunned and his fragrance leaving you questioning. He rolled his eyes at you, big hand curling into a fist and playfully knocking at your forehead.

You grimaced at the feeling, body jolting from his touch ever so subtly as his dark voice rasped in your ears once more.

“Uh, hello, anybody home? I asked you a question, it’d be rude not to answer it. You have better manners than that, my dear. Go on, tell me, I’m curious now…” You watched as his tongue quickly flickered out in that weird way it always did, his jaw clicking in the blink of an eye. It was a tick you had noticed fairly quickly after meeting him. He couldn’t help it but it disturbed you nonetheless, an ode to his insanity.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, head feeling fuzzy as you blinked up at him.

He looked at you with straight lips and bored eyes, already expecting a response you were late saying.

“I-um, I’m sorry I was just distracted. I’m fine, thank you for asking. Nothing new has-has really gone on…” You cleared your throat, releasing a steady breath to calm your buzzing nerves. You looked up at him sheepishly, timidly, as he regarded you clinically, like a surgeon trying to dissect a lie.

You could understand his vexation; you yourself were gradually becoming irritated at your lack of attentiveness. Maybe it was because you hadn’t seen him in so long that was throwing you off balance… or maybe because he seemed much handsomer now than he did then. Maybe your loneliness was making him seem much more appealing than he ever was.

Whatever the case may be, you still felt delightfully anxious, a bubbly sick feeling in your tummy that was oddly giddy yet nervous, like you were talking to your crush for the first time. You hated that feeling but could do nothing to deter it.

He smacked his red painted lips, a low displeased hum sounding from the back of his throat, “Mm, distracted, you say? And what are these… distractions, hmm?” His voice was low and clipped, cocking his head at you as he leaned just a little bit closer to you. It was almost a dare to see if you’d avoid the question altogether, his shadow enveloping you in an ironically terrifying way the back of your mind cringed at.

You were unsure of what to say exactly, crippled under his dark gaze and frowned smile as he stared down at you heatedly. His eyes were always so intense and smoldering despite seemingly holding nothing at the same time, blank and emotionless beads sat in the emptiness of inky black pits.

Your lips parted but no words seemed to sound; you were lost entirely in the ebony abyss of his eyes, not sure what to say or how to respond as you were just spewing sentences you yourself barely understood. You were just too busy talking to appease him that you didn’t even listen to a word you said.

“Well, tik tok dearest I don’t have all night.” Joker said numbly, gravelly, staring at you almost irritably for your odd behavior.

Even he seemed to notice your sudden shyness and it was starting to irritate him; you never seemed to have this problem before nor did you ever seem so agreeable. He was greatly familiar with your rude quips and pessimistic sarcasm yet he hadn’t heard a single one out of your mouth tonight.

How odd, not that he was complaining. He preferred you compliant, malleable.

You gulped once more, your gaze flickering down to his flattened red lips then back up to his eyes, hopefully before he noticed the action.

You looked back at him, clearly nervous for no evident reason, “Well I was just thinking about the last time I saw you. It has been a while…” You managed to formulate a legible excuse, voice soft and almost dainty as you looked up at him doe eyed.

You licked your dry lips as you regarded his expression to your statement; it seemed your words flowed easily from the whispers of the heart, ones you weren’t especially keen on sharing yet seemed to share anyway. They just seemed to have spoken themselves before you could stop them… he was just too close, much too close, it was fogging up your ability to think rationally.

His eyes seemed to register your words, brow flicking subtly in interest like you’d caught him off guard — you most likely did as you yourself weren’t even prepared to hear what you just said either.

He stared over your face heatedly, eyes an inky black, prodding with amusement and curiosity yet he just seemed to stare at you. The air shifted then, warmer now, more suffocating, as you felt your heart start to race at the close proximity and eye contact.

You could feel yourself start to panic slightly at the unexpected moment of intimacy you hadn’t meant to initiate, but you were also curious as to what he would say… maybe he’d surprise you. As you said, he was conclusively unpredictable and erratic, always leaving you guessing. Maybe he’d say something a part of you wanted to hear.

He was tall and narrow in the white expanse of your living room, a dark purple blotch stained on cream colored sheets, so out of place and vaguely threatening it made the air feel thick and smothering. You were finding it hard to think clearly with him this close to you, smelling like he did with his proper purple suit and shiny black shoes.

He was more polished today than usual, not so unruly and scraggly as he usually was… you could even make out the muscle sculpted underneath the confines of his purple suit and the way it tailored to his size perfectly and complimentary.

Maybe he tried to look good for you. Maybe just this once.

You couldn’t dwell on that thought however at the sound of Joker’s voice snatching your attention once more.

He seemed to have found your response funny, letting out a wheezy laugh as his smile seemed to stretch across his scarred face for eons. You were too tense to laugh, watching as he did instead, standing idly by in confusion on what could’ve revoked that kind of response out of him (perhaps even slightly offended that he would dare laugh at your showcased vulnerability).

But, you also knew trying to make sense of the Joker’s actions was entirely asinine. His whole being, his whole existence, was made to be senseless and absurd. You’d have to be his crazy to understand his crazy, a level you weren’t quite ready for.

He finally looked at you after his giggles transpired, regarding you with amused eyes and a wide smile.

“Ahh, so what you’re really saying is, you missed me?” He grinned, cocking his head at you animatedly, his yellow stained teeth bright in the dark expanse of his mouth.

You didn’t reply, too stunned he would say such a thing and too frightened by the pumping in your chest and the words caught in your throat. He was bold, brave even, for saying such a heavy thing so simply. You eyed him astounded, opting with your shaky silence as a reply instead.

Joker scoffed at you, rolling his eyes dramatically once more, “Well go on, tell me. Tell me you missed me, say it. It’s not good to, uh, lie to ourselves, is it? Honesty is, and always will be, the best policy.” He grinned sarcastically, his warm hands flinging around his face in a dramatic gesture to emphasize his words, his arms long and not too muscular, adequately thin and yet still capable.

He chuckled darkly, handsomely, now eyeing you in a twisted fashion much different than you did; he wanted to hear you say it, tell him, confess to him, submit to him. And it gave him no greater pleasure than breaking you down to crumbs in his palms… his to use as he pleases and his to do whatever with as he pleases.

But, on this specific matter, he just wanted to hear you say it. He was fully aware of how much of a struggle it would be for you to do so, finding sadistic pleasure in your obvious discomfort.

You gulped again as agnostic revelations pulled at your weak heart once more… had you missed him? Maybe you did, but maybe only in the sense that isolation made you desperate for any form of contact, maybe only in the sense that loneliness made you crave connection. Sure, you’d say you missed him, you’d say you missed him the same way seclusion made you miss anybody, the same way an uprooted flower would miss its green pastures.

However, had you missed him specifically? To be honest, you didn’t want to dig too hard for the answer, entirely too afraid you’d unearth the truth you purposefully buried deep in the dirt a long time ago. Your mind was fragile enough already, deteriorating slowly and gradually the longer you denied and embraced your oddly infatuated companionship with the man in front of you.

You were sure that if you epiphanized to any serious truths you werent sure you wanted to admit your mind would atrophy into a numb, lifeless thing hanging onto the remembrance of Jokers smiling face, left rotting with the harsh witness marks of his perverse adoration.

You blinked at him, mouth going dry and fingertips pulsing as you mumbled out what you only could, “Maybe I did…”

Yes, still the truth — enough so as to satisfy him — but not the whole truth you wouldn’t dare say out loud, not even in the uncertainty of your mind where Joker lurked in the darkest and brightest corners of, easily susceptible to your every thought and feeling.

You couldn’t take that risk of him knowing you inside and out. You needed at least something to yourself, something not shared with him even if it was your own darkest thoughts and desires.

Joker hummed delightfully at your response, giddy at your honesty and the way it made his stomach flutter with black-winged bats.

His eyes closed shut and he seemed to burst into a fit of elated giggles that had his foot stomping on the ground. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed, laughed so much it disturbed you yet you found yourself blushing anyway.

How pathetic could you be? So enamored with the same man you loathed entirely.

Joker seemed to gather his wits after a moment, a grin still on his white face as he approached you once more, but this time much, much closer than before.

“Oh, oh isn’t that just sweet. You missed me, did you? That’s just what I wanted to hear.” He almost growled possessively, his limber arms quickly wrapping around the lower curve of your waist, hastily pulling you into his sturdy chest with a delectable purring noise that shook through his ribs and reverberated onto the palms of your hands.

Your own breath escaped you in a gasp as your hands smacked into him, breathless and shocked at the sudden contact and closeness. You were quite unprepared for this, your heart racing in your ears and your breaths warm and heavy from such close contact after not having any for so long.

As soon as you touched him and he touched you it felt like something inside of you burst, flooded your internal systems with a need so violent you couldn’t pull away no matter how much your frail mind told you to do so.

You welcomed the embrace naturally, disregarding any logical thought as a soft exhale left your shaky lips. Over time you had learned to smother out your inner sagacity until it was just a dull ache in the back of your skull you could easily ignore.

You welcomed the warmth of his chest and the feel of his foreign embrace, enjoyed it even after a month of not a single touch or sound from another human. You really were so brainwashed beyond your own understanding. You sought him out yet desperately wanted to resist him; you wanted him to hold you and appease you yet you wanted him to leave, leave forever and never come back.

Still, you found yourself melting into him against your volition with a stuttering breath, muscles tense as you still considered letting go but knowing you weren’t going to. You felt comforted and safe in the absence of space between your bodies, something contradictory and confusing as he was very, very dangerous and most likely bound to hurt you with any wrong move you made in your shared future.

You were still sane enough to acknowledge at least that…

Again, you smothered that flame of rationality burning in the back of your head and didn’t bother denying him, mind going blank and empty as your manicured fingers tightened around the folds of his jacket. You exhaled with a soft tremble on your breath, slowly looked up at him with parted lips and darkened eyes.

He looked down at you all the same, eyes delectable and merry yet with carefully concealed undertones of something darker, something evil that resounded brightly in the darkness of his eyes. Maybe a flame of his own he was embracing rather than ignoring, something more sinisterly amatory you didn’t dare question any further as he went to lay his down on your shoulder.

“Ahhh, you smell sweet. Deliciously sweet. You wear perfume just for me? Aren’t you a doll.” He chuckled huskily at his own statement, voice muffled and gravelly like stones on rough pavement. He set his head into the crook of your neck, his cold cheek resting on the warmth of your shoulder.

His two hands were snug around your midsection, fingers digging into your skin sharply like you would dare push him away and run out the door. He couldn’t ever let that happen. He needed you here, with him, could never imagine you running away unless you wanted the city to drown in its own blood.

He’d find you of course. He’d always find you even if it meant burning the whole world to do it.

You swallowed thickly as his fingers tightened on you, looking at the plain wall behind him as your hands dug into the velvety fabric of his coat.

This position was oddly intimate yet very much appreciated. He was always a touchy man, never bothered keeping his hands to himself but they were mostly just meaningless touches, touches meant to annoy and distract you, not sweet embraces meant to console you and romance you.

You felt his warm breath caress your neck as a beat of silence passed, buzzing in your ears with the sound of your breaths. It was ticklish and gentle, a pleasant low hum sounding soon after.

You couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose on your skin from the purposeless action, your eyelids fluttering at the pleasant sensation as he breathed once more.

You were completely shrouded in him now; his sickly sweet scent, his hair tickling your jaw, his strong arms wrapped around you, his raggedy breaths soothing the skin of your neck. It was all overwhelming and all encompassing on your senses. All you could feel was him, see him, smell him… it was making your mind drown in its own deranged splendor as thoughts of wisdom and logic seemed to wither away into ash and smoke.

A cruel metaphor simply portrayed for how similar it was to your own real life. Shrouded by him. Controlled by him. All him and only him.

You could feel your sanity literally slipping away from you the longer you tried to rationalize the hunger biting at your stomach. You could feel it sliding down your body and melting at your heels like you were in the dawn of a new age, shedding old skin and starting anew; a catharsis of your own lunacy as you found yourself craving him to be closer, to hold you tighter, to meld himself as one with you so you’d never have to be alone again.

Another beat of silence passed before you spoke once more, something your mind didn’t want to register but your heart seemed eager to scream.

“I wanted to look good for you.” You mumbled quietly in the small space between his ear and your pink painted lips, eyes flickering down to his green hair then back to the wall as the whiteness of it seemed to blur around you so all you could focus on was him, your savior, your capturer, your most abominable admirer; your nightmare living in a daydream.

You don’t know what made you say it, what made you whisper it into the absence of noise, but maybe it was the way he held you against him like he didn’t want to let you go. Maybe it was the way he hummed lowly on the skin of your shoulder pleasantly and soundly, content to stand with you in the center of your white living room and be the only source of comfort and color you could ever have again.

Perhaps it was the sense of belonging you always craved and now felt in the warm crevice between his arms that made you confess it, of that same sense of purpose he had promised you all those months ago.

“Did you now? For me? Well aren’t you a darling.” Joker hissed the word into your cheek, wet lips rubbing against your skin as he picked his head back up upon hearing your voice.

Your eyes closed momentarily at the feel of his lips on you, a burst of tingly sparks pulsing through your entire left side as neediness crept into your palms. You held him tighter when he seperated his head from you, not wanting him to go now, wishing for him to stay, to keep holding you and to never release you into the cavern of cold that was your soulless living room.

His hands stayed where they were much to your enjoyment, his broad chest still pressed against yours as he looked down at you with a dead yet pleasantly satisfied expression. You had been with him long enough to identify the subtle cues in his rather stagnant facial quirks.

He smacked his red lips, releasing a gravelly hum once more as he cocked his head at you. Observing the way you looked up at him with so much… devotion.

It was written all over your face in bold black marker, eyes glistening with vehement devotement that made a wheezy chuckle bubble in his scratchy throat.

He felt ecstatic, warm fuzzy feelings he didn’t know the word for swirling around in his empty stomach and clearing away any cob web stuck to his dark heart.

Yes, yes you were his and you’d always be his no matter what you had to say on the matter. He had decided it a long time ago and will enforce it for the rest of the many lives you’ll suffer through together.

Your head felt fuzzy, eyes heavy and breaths low and lagged as you stared up at him earnestly. You could feel the arousal pulling at your gut, the admiration stirring in your heart as you looked up at him. He was handsome, so handsome even with the scars, even with the paint, even with the villainous degeneracy hidden under the scarred flesh.

You had him, you had him almost as entirely as he had you and you knew it, he knew it… but you could never say it out loud because you fear the repercussions if you ever did. If you ever completely, entirely, unconditionally gave yourself to him in every sense of the word. But, to your dismay, or to your satisfaction, you already did in a lot of ways.

However, admitting it, fundamentally giving yourself to him, you knew that would be the last straw for your dwindling sanity. You were already so severely fragmented, stained with so many cracks and blemishes that just a simple touch would shatter you.

Your mind was all you had left, all that was left of value. Everything else belonged to him. Your soul, your body, your life. But it was really hard to focus on such noble things when he was this close to you; a handsome, devious, shadow glooming over your light and dimming it completely, smelling the way he did and looking at you the way he did with this peculiar act of tenderness.

It did nothing but aid your arousal further, his hard yet gentle touches and intense yet glittering eyes.

Joker regarded you intensely, his own morbid admiration for you leaking through his palms as his left hand started to glide up the curves of your body slowly and meticulously.

He slid it around your waist, his eyes following the motion to gawk at every dip and curve he touched that was masked by your pale green dress. His finger tips pressed into your skin, into your stomach as his palm stretched upwards, feeling you like it was the for the first time, like it was solely done to tease you.

The tingling sensation pulsing through your thighs, tingling pleasurably on your skin underneath his eager hand, it all made your breaths quicken and pulse jump. You stared at him lustfully now, submitting to your own delusion as you found yourself wanting him. Strongly.

Eventually his hand made it to the valley of your breasts but he made no extra moves to touch them directly as he would in the past. He was abnormally patient, not so frantic with his touches almost like he was calculating them, so unlike his usual nature.

His eyes looked at the areas of your chest he didn’t touch though, heavy and dark, stirring with a lust of his own just as intense and passionate as yours as his thumb grazed the skin of your left breast.

Your breath stopped for a moment, eyes boring into his face even though he didn’t look back at you, eager to see what he’d do next. There was a small, very minuscule part of your brain utterly disgusted with yourself for wanting his bloodstained hands on you in the first place.

You did not listen to it, core hot and clenching around nothing as you stared at him, hyper aware of his hand smoothly sliding up your neck now.

A very vulnerable place, exposed to the unforgiving grip of his palm if he so chose to squeeze the life out of you. You didn’t stop him even as that thought crossed your mind, too hypnotized by his essence and touch to deny yourself the luxury of feeling it.

He looked at your face then, black, hungry eyes flickering up to yours as his fingers wrapped around your jaw and pressed harshly into the fat of your cheeks.

You inhaled sharply at the sting, letting out a hiss as your cheeks dug into your teeth.

Still, you found pleasure in the brutality of his touch, fingers digging into his coat so hard the tips of them burned as you stared back boldly into his starved, manic eyes ablaze with something dangerous and predatory.

You felt something similar sitting heavy in the pit of your gut, something untamed and primal that needed him inside you as importantly as you needed food to eat. It was fierce and wild, striking roughly under your skin like whips and rattling like chains for a taste of what only he could give you.

He forced your head back with a gentle push on your cheeks, eyes crackling with the fervor of a black flame as he inched forward… forward… forward, until his scarred mouth was right above your parted lips and his straight nose was tapping against yours.

You breathed heavily now at such close quarters, so pent up and overstimulated you were confused on whether you wanted him or utterly hated him. But with a need so intense it stung your core and shook your soul, with your stomach so tightly wound together and aching, with the space between your thighs pulsing and dripping for something to appease it, you regretfully, indubitably knew your answer.

He was your answer, him and his skilled, frazzled hands and forked tongue; the serpent tempting you to corruption, to rid yourself of any semblance of innocence you had left.

It was the loneliness you told yourself, the loneliness that made you feel such a way for him. Although, it wasn’t loneliness that made you stare up at him like a horny, doting slave bound to his every wish and desire. You made that choice all on your own.

“You know… I always wonder how I found such a sweet thing like you. So lost, so pathetic. I almost pitied you, really I did…” He grunted lowly, voice a gravely, manic hiss that had your skin crawling pleasurably.

You didn’t dare look away from his gaze as his fingers tightened on your cheeks, not even finding yourself capable of being insulted by his words. You were too enraptured by the rasp in his voice, by the way he stared so intensely at you with equal fervor.

He shook your face for emphasis, your cheeks digging into the ridges of your teeth so hard it stung but you made no move to protect yourself.

The pain only soothed you, made you wetter, only made you more greedy for him and his hands, for the sweet release of pain and pleasure only he could bring you. The pain made you feel something, something other than boredom and guilt these white walls seemed to torture you with, something other than self loathing you seemed to be haunted with.

He was the one that made you feel. He was the one that made you feel like you were still living at all, he was the one that made you feel alive.

He looked over your face intensely, as though inquisitively looking for something beyond it. Picking and prodding at the scattered pieces of your brain for something you didn’t know. His jaw was clenched as he dug his fingers harder into your cheeks, holding your face sternly so you couldn’t do anything but look back at him.

You winced at the pressure, yet your thighs pulsed and fingers tensed for more as your gaze bore into his with sparkling, edacious irises.

“But now I got’cha, don’t I? I have you and you belong to me, isn’t that right, honey? Go on, I want you to say it. Say it now…”

You nodded your head barely in acceptance, eyes glued to him as heavy breathed escaped your lips. You were stuck on him, stuck on the sound of his voice and entirely fixated on his words no matter how deluded they sounded.

“Say it!” He demanded with a rough, agitated voice, tone impatient and thunderous with his demeanor suddenly hostile. He thrashed your face back so hard you yelped.

“Ah! Yes, yes, I belong to you.” You repeated as instructed through clenched teeth, staring up at him with fear blown eyes. He seemed to like your answer as the tight grip around your cheeks dulled slightly.

You panted as the sting throbbed in your cheeks, eyes blown wide and teeth clenched yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He looked crazy but smelt so good, acted like a lunatic but maybe only because he was crazy about you. Crazy about you and only you as his reciprocated feelings seemed to be affecting you the same.

You watched him grin then, something insane and diabolical as giggles erupted from the base of his throat once more.

“Yes, you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine, all mine!” He laughed, jiggling your face in his grip as his mouth fell wide open and his scars seemed to stretch and move in the motion of a crazed smile.

You didn’t laugh with him — you never laughed with him — just stared at him with a newfound fright and even brighter yearning, a yearning so powerful that all you could do was stare at his vermilion lips and the jagged scars cut into either side of them.

Once upon a time you heavily disliked them, was rather perturbed by his disfigurement but now… now they didn’t scare you for he wouldn’t be him without them, those same scars that haunted your dreams yet you couldn’t stop fantasizing about.

Joker’s crazed laughter died down after a minute. A quick minute in your perspective because you couldn’t stop looking at his lips, thinking of them finally leaving harsh bite marks into the hollow of your collarbone with blood red paint smeared over the bruises on your soft skin.

It was a tantalizing thought, one he had initiated many times before yet tonight he seemed to be prolonging the agenda. For the first time ever, you were the impatient one, craving his touch to feel you and satisfy that burning bulb of longing shining bright in the pit of your belly.

He looked at you heatedly, dryly, now standing back to his tall, intimidating stature as his hand released your face from its tight grip. You stared back at him unwavering as he slid it down your jaw tentatively until it was around your neck, resting at the base of it.

You swallowed nervously as he stared hard at the area, gloved fingertips pressing into the skin like he was struggling not to strangle you right then and there.

The thought scared you, how easily you presented yourself to him and discarded any self persevering instincts molded into the strings of your DNA over the course of generations. You were going against your very nature letting him touch you like this but you relished in it, let it wash over you like a pool of warm water.

His other hand swiftly came up and to your face, the pad of his thumb softly tracing over the plushness of your parted lips.

You reveled in the soft feeling it arose out of your sensitive body, a breathy sound leaving your chest like the whisper of a breeze between sheer flower petals. Delicate and dainty, rendering you breathless.

Maybe this was what he meant when he said you’d have purpose again, when he’d promised you belonging.

Yes, you’d have purpose in the sense that you had purpose to him, that he needed you in his own sick, self serving ways and everything you could offer him. You’d always have purpose as long as you stood next to him. Purpose to be found when he was buried deep in your heat and cradled in your heart during the cold evenings spent between Egyptian cotton sheets only his lustful animosity could make warm.

Yes, you’d always feel like you belonged as long as you were with him, entrapped in this huge house he graciously gave you with its sickening white walls and disgusting velvety red curtains. Yes, you would always belong to him in the sense that you didn’t have a choice but to be. He has found you and you are now in his clutches, he has found you and you will never be lost again.

You belonged to him. Your heart, happiness, health, and everything else was entirely his. A gruesome sense of belonging twisted in the dire fabrics of his manipulation, intertwined with his body and absent soul. You belonged to him, tethered to him like a ball and chain, a woefully symbiotic bond.

Even now, with his boney hand around your throat so easily capable of draining your life force you didn’t bother trying to save yourself. Your very existence was interlocked with his and had been since he first laid eyes on you. You didn’t have anyone but him to trust, even if that meant trusting him with your own life and death.

He had the power to let you thrive, as he has proved countless times with his endless money and pointless gifts, giving you a life anyone else could so easily live but he had all the capability of destroying it as well. He was the King of your small kingdom and you were nothing but the romantic whim he could just as easily spare, a victim caught in the crossfire of his demented devotion.

Your life was quite literally in his hands and unfortunately for you he had an unfathomable proclivity to ruin anything he touched.

The thought made you feel shame for yourself, knowing how dumb you were being as drops of lucidity dripped down the cracks in your fried brain yet your lust didn’t deter. You had already acknowledged that you were deranged in your own way, so desperate for connection that you’d find it anywhere. It just so happened you found it here, in his sticky trap you’d never escape from for reasons beyond your own capability.

Joker removed the hand that was on your neck to the other side of your face, cradling your cheeks in his hands with a much more gentle touch than was exhibited before.

“Now, let me see a smile… go on, smile for me. I wanna see a great… big… smile.”

He smiled slightly at that, a dry fleeting motion with no real effort behind it, cradling your cheeks in his palms like delicate birds. His thumbs rubbed the corners of your lips then stretched them into a smile for you. You didn’t resist him, loosening your lips as he stretched them so far they cracked.

You ignored the burn, your eyes showed no signs of happiness as a smile usually demonstrated. Just lustful watery things staring up at him pleadingly, begging for him to finish this act of his and relinquish the pain you were starting to feel in your lower regions.

Your muscles were tense, body longing for him to touch it in the places you needed him most, to carve his admiration into the fat of your hips and apex of your thighs so you’d never lose it. You were dirty with his tainted love anyway, too much to care anymore; could never feel clean.

He stared at your smile with a criminal look in his eyes, a cackle scratching at the back of his throat as your fingers tightened even tighter around his jacket until the edges were engulfed in your own warm palms. You fought the desire to yank his lips down to yours, knowing you should never rush him no matter how impatient you were becoming.

“Ah, ah, ah, there we go. Now isn’t that pretty?” He rumbled fiendishly, satisfied now as his thumbs slid down your cheeks in a frowning motion until your lips gradually reset themselves into a line.

You swallowed once more, staring up at him wantonly as his hands slid down to lock onto your upper arms. Sparks burst where he touched you, your lifeless body abuzz with an invigorating feeling only his greedy fingers could make you feel.

You didn’t say a thing, unable to speak, longing for his lips to touch yours and for his lithe hands to familiarize themselves with the smooth skin of your body as he has so many times before.

You couldn’t imagine how desolate you looked now, so wrecked in the pupils of his glowering eyes as he stared down at you with an intensity you easily recognized, an intensity burning with the promise of wrecking you entirely later on.

“Now, what do you say we go and have a little fun, huh? I’d really appreciate it if you’d do me this little favor. You know I hate to make a fuss but, uh, it’s been a…rough… night.” He mumbled sarcastically in remembrance of something you had no clue of, rolling his eyes at himself as his tongue flicked out of his mouth again, his thumbs stroking the skin on your arms in an oddly patient way.

He hummed with his scratchy voice in the tone of a question, staring down at you blankly in expectation of a yes.

You nodded your head dumbly, so consumed with want that all you could see was him, think of him, him, him, him. Him and his devilish gloved hands and long purple fingers that had killed so many yet only seemed to bring you back to life in the harsh and tender touches they spared you. Blood stained hands, hands tainted with grandeur sin and murder that only seemed to exhilarate and enliven you.

Him, him and his red lips that spoke such curses and cruelty yet kissed you so delicately like a golden star dotted in the blanket of a navy blue sky. Him and his body riddled with scars and imperfections hotly intertwined with yours as he conquered you in a way so similar to how the Roman’s stormed the Greeks. Just as powerful, just as influential, just as legacy lasting.

“Okay.” You breathed out softly in acceptance of his words, of your own delusions, already staring at his lips as eagerly as a lifeless carcass only brought to life by his magical kiss; the most twisted tale of Snow White written in any media.

Joker grinned villainously, cackling at your behavior before his hands tightened their hold on you and he was lunging your smaller body towards his in a messy, much awaited kiss that left red paint smeared over your own lips in the same, wicked smile that he had.

How fitting.

⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @little-miss-chaoss @ghostslillady @boobaeri @prayingal (I think that’s everyone, hope you enjoy ☺️)

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 2 months ago

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(Genshin Impact) Klee asking Jean and Eula's S/O when they're to give her a little sister

(Dark Knight and Belmont S/O, respectively)

This request was made in December 4th of 2022...I swear I'm good at answering asks guys.

Jean had S/O accompany her for an outing outside the cities of Mondstadt.

Given S/O's status as a vigilante, they were rarely seen around any heavily populated town, let alone with the Knights of Favonius.

Despite all that happened, Jean still loved S/O, and knew they were fighting for everyone just as hard as she was.

And even within the Knights, many understood that too. And for better or worse, Klee did.

In fact, this outing involved Klee, mostly just to let her "go on a secret mission for Jean". In reality, Klee needed to have some fun, lest she'd get into trouble due to the lack of explosions.

And so, Klee was having fun, skipping around while Jean watched, S/O still clad in their black armor and helmet, the red visor blocking out their face. As per usual, they said nothing in order to "protect their identity", though at this point it was just habit.

(Klee) "Master Jean?"

Jean and S/O turned to Klee, both of them sitting on a nearby log, their hands quietly intertwined with one another.

(Jean) "Klee? What is it?"

(Klee) "Are you and S/O going to have someone else I can play with?"

(Jean) "..."

S/O's helmet silently turned towards Jean, their absence of words speaking volumes, with the Acting Grandmaster being able to see her rising blush in the reflection of their visor.

Jean awkwardly cleared her throat.

(Jean) "Um...Do you mean, bring other children? Because this is official knight business.-"

S/O crossed their arms silently, tilting their head at Jean.

(Jean) "D-Don't look at me like that!"

Klee shook her head in response to Jean's question.

(Klee) "Lisa said that I would get a little sister soon from you and S/O!...But I don't know where Mom is so she can do that-"

(Jean) "Klee!...Let's go cook some lunch, okay?"

(Klee) "Oh! Okay!"

Klee walked off happily, leaving S/O and Jean alone.

To that, S/O took off their helmet to speak, their face just as red as Jean's.

(S/O) "Lisa sure has a sick sense of humor..."

(Jean) "Ugh, at least it wasn't Kaeya."

A brief an awkward silence hung in the air, neither of them sure on how to approach the subject of kids.

Though the silence was broken with S/O laughing, Jean quickly following along letting their hands hold each other once more.

(S/O) "Well, when we're not on a super secret mission of babysitting Klee...We should talk about it."

Jean playfully rolled her eyes before standing up, offering a hand to S/O gently, though the blush didn't leave either of them.

(Jean) "...Perhaps one day, S/O."

Eula was assigned to protect Klee as she went out to gather materials, though she wasn't dumb. It was just an excuse for Eula to take it easy, which after the last few weeks of reconnaissance, it wasn't entirely unwelcome.

It did help that Eula found Klee quite adorable, and Klee enjoyed Eula's presence.

Though, S/O had managed to find an excuse to join her, in spite of their whining.

(S/O) "So, the Knights have become a glorified babysitters now, have they?"

(Eula) "You know, since you're not part of the knights, nothing is exactly requiring you to stay."

Her tone was playful, much to the misery of S/O.

(S/O) "Perhaps this shit is the kind of curse people inflicted on us."

Eula chuckled, watching as Klee excitedly grabbed a lizard.

(Eula) "For the Lawrence and Belmont to breathe easy, enjoying the presence of one another?"

S/O rolled their eyes, leaning back into the tree as they adjusted the chain whip at their side.

(S/O) "If you wanna look at it that way sure."

(Eula) "You're just grumpy because Klee doesn't like you."

S/O scoffed.

(S/O) "Of course they don't. I'm a monster hunter."

(Eula) "And terrible with children."

(S/O) "Shut up already."

(Klee) "Miss Eula!"

Klee ran over to Eula, catching both of the outcasts' attention.

(Eula) "Hm? What is it, Klee?"

Eula knelt down to meet Klee at eye level, with her smiling before looking at S/O with a frown.

(Klee) "Kaeya said that I'd be having a little sister soon!"

(Eula) "Oh, is that right?"

Eula did her best to keep her tone the same, though she raised an eyebrow at Klee's frown, the answer to which came in her reply.

(Klee) "But Kaeya said S/O was going to be their dad, but they're super mean to you!"

Eula struggled to keep herself from bursting into laughter, especially hearing S/O choke at what Klee had said.

(S/O) "THAT RAT-BASTARD SAID WHAT?!"

(Klee) "The Knights of Favonius says using bad words is...bad!"

Eula pat Klee's head, giving a smug grin to S/O.

(Eula) "Right, and Kaeya is right! You are rather rude to me-"

(S/O) "Ooooh, you little!-"

S/O cut themselves off seeing Klee pout, making them sigh.

(S/O) "You got your materials, yeah? Let's go ahead and get back home before the sun sets."

Klee made a little "hmph!" noise, walking past S/O.

(Klee) "Klee will make sure her little sister is nice!"

S/O's eyes twitched as Eula joined their side, grin still present.

(S/O) "You're rather calm about the prospect of giving Alice's spawn a sibling-"

Eula flicked S/O's forehead.

(Eula) "One. Don't call Klee that. Two. It's funny to see you like this, so it helps me power through."

(S/O) "Tch, next time she's yours to handle alone."

(Eula) "Is that your idea of vengeance, S/O?"

S/O cursed under their breath, all the while Eula's smile remained.

...Maybe once her clan was gone, she'd give the consideration more thought, but not now.

Next thing she'd have to do though was come up with a name that'd make S/O cringe violently at. Maybe something like 'Treffy'.

#genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #jean gunnhildr x dark knight!s/o #eula x belmont!s/o #jean gunnhildr x reader #eula x reader #jean gunnhildr #eula lawrence

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yandere-wishes · 11 months ago

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⚜ 𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖! 𝕂𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕩 ℙ𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 ⚜

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Been kinda depressed lately so this was all I could come up with.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ : "Player of Games" by Grimes

𐙚 Would you still love me? Out on Europa? ~💜

☆★☆★☆★☆

𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, whose lust for adventure leads him on a dangerous quest to rescue a poor kidnapped princess from the clutches of a deranged dragon. He's only ever sought out the thrill of the hunt, an adrenalin junkie desperate for the next rush. Fighting beasts and exploring new lands all for the sake of frivolity and adventure. But this time...this time things are different. His heart beats between his teeth when he catches a rogue glimpse of the fair maiden seated by the etched window. From the first look, he knows he'll fight hordes of monsters in her name, bring giants to their knees to gain her favor. From the first look, he knows he's in love...

𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, who kills the dragon and carries the princess home. All the way breathing in her intoxicating scent, he dreams of running his calloused fingers through her silky hair and whispering sweet poems of devotion into her ears. He asks for her hand from the king, practically begging him to let her be his bride. He needs her, more than anything else in this unholy world he needs her.

𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, who still craves adventure even when he's married. Who drives himself crazy on the lost tunes of adventures. Beckoning, beseeching, it's as if demons screech within his cranium. He needs to feel the familiar cool of metal nipping at his flesh. To feel the weight of his sword within his palm once more. So he leaves. if only for a short time. Promising to bring his lover treasures unimaginable. If only it were that simple.

𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, who loses himself to the thrill once more. Fighting for a darling who is locked away again. He promises he's not the dragon, not some monster trying to keep her stowed away. She's back home with the king and queen ruling over a kingdom. It just so happens that her lover is fighting for that kingdom. Traversing new lands and bringing back priceless treasures. He does it all for her because he loves her

Maybe that's why it stings so bad when -on the rare occasion he's back home- his darling tells him, that she's been engaged once more. This time to a prince. The Knight has his fair share of scars, he's been wounded countless times. Yet memories recall no such wound that hurts as much as this one. When his darling informed him of her eagerness to be married off to a proper prince. It takes all his willpower to not strangle her then and there. The love of his life is to be married off to a spoiled brat who knows not of sword fighting and war. A boy seeped in gold and dotted on his whole life. He wouldn't be a good husband, he's too soft, too frail. He'd run once the monsters came. A mere prince can't protect his darling as he can.

𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, whose madness runs deep. He kills the king, the queen, and the prince. Declaring himself overlord. Conquer, conquer, conquer. It's the only way he knows to keep his darling by his side. His darling is a queen now. A queen in shackles and chains, but a queen never the less and one who will forever remain by his side.

𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, who doesn't mind ruling as much as he previously thought. Who enjoys having his darling perched on his iron-clad lap as he proposes plans to capture new beasts for the kingdom's army. Who watches as his -and his darling's- kingdom prospers under their leadership. At night he holds her tightly, intoxicating himself with her sweet perfume once more. His heart races when he recalls how close he was to losing her.

𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, who is left heartbroken and enraged when he finds out his darling has escaped. Who hunts her down through enchanted woods and cursed terrains. When he finally catches her, he can't help but be reminded of chess, a move where the queen is finally captured. He kisses her deeply, wholly, trying to drown her in his love. Has she forgotten the romance they once shared? Has she forgotten the lengths he was gone -and will still go- for her? Oh, how careless he had been...

𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, who will do anything for his precious princess, his darling queen, his beloved. Who will remind her just how emphatic his love truly is...

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fatedroses · 24 days ago

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The Gunbreaker, The Spellknight... and the Berserker?

#ffxiv #concept #sketch #thancred waters #g'raha tia #zenos yae galvus #adventurer zenos #my favorite trio: gunblades - arcane weapons - and bare fists #I cant imagine zenos having a good time being able to feel to any capacity again #hes here to be some terrifying combination of a dark knight and warrior #a berserker but 90% of the time he's the eerily calm type of angry and the remaining 10% is him but a feral fuckin beast #meanwhile thancred isnt even scared- just stunned he'd go out and say it so readily #(maybe a little jelly tbh)#I also just think of the times of thancred going “nah you dont need me for this”#but its zenos kidnapping him everytime he heards thancred say something akin to it #its so goofy but I write that zenos can charge the cartridges with the demon arm #adventurer zenos but he's also an allrounder (begrudgingly- favors primarily tanking)#how does he heal?#:> dont worry about it

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heavenlybodies333 · 3 months ago

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Disarm Me - T.R.

Summary: Paired with Tom Riddle in Defense Against the Dark Arts, you expect a challenge—but not like this. What starts as a simple duel becomes a dangerous battle of wills. Tom is cold, calculating, and utterly unreadable, yet your defiance fascinates him. When you catch him off guard, his mask slips, and you realize one thing—

You have all of his attention now.

And Tom Riddle doesn’t let go of what’s his.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐟𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠—𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬, 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐦. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞.”

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬. “𝐈 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥.”

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝. “𝐖𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒖𝒔 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲—𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒆.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜.”

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. “𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬.” 𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥. 𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐘/𝐍 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝.

“𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝?” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧—𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥—𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐭, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.

“𝐎𝐡,” 𝐘/𝐍 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭. “𝑫𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕, 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖?”

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒍.

“𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒖𝒔.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐘/𝐍 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬—𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲.

𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, “𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝.”

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥—𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬? 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬?

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝒓𝒆𝒅.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝒕𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧.

“𝐁𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲. “𝐈’𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧.”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝑶𝒉, 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅.

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐘/𝐍?

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬—𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥.

𝑶𝒉, 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕.

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞.”

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. “𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄.”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭, 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥—𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦. 𝐀 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

“𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞. “𝐔𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞.”

𝑭𝒖𝒄𝒌.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡.

“𝐈’𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝?”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝. “𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞.”

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. “��𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩.”

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. “𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.”

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐩—𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐩.

𝐍𝐨, 𝐡𝐞 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫.

“𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.” 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩.

𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆.

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦. “𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭?”

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝.

𝐀 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭—𝐘/𝐍 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤, 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

“𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐬,” 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞, “𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝.”

𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐀 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧. “𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞, 𝐘/𝐋/𝐍, 𝐡𝐨𝐰’𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠?”

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐃𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉.

𝐘/𝐍, 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫, 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

“𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫.”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝—𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒊𝒕.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐇𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬. “𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.”

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝.

𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐘/𝐍 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞—

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: i feel like beating tom in a duel would feel so satisfying considering hes such a talented wizard. so hot fr

i think iii mightttt write some smut, if I’m not too buried w homework.

happy reading friends ;)

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