#dr vile x reader

[jalicefanficblog]

saw on ya main blog you wrote for carmen sandiego. a dr. saira bellum x child reader scene please with mind experiments?

I am full into Carmen Sandiego Mood lately and love the Series and its complex Characters. So i wrote a little Oneshot about our beloved Dr. Bellum and a femal child reder (platonic of course!)

Little Lucky Charm

You were one of the few children on Vile Island.

Not created because someone found you, but rather brought into this world through a genetic experiment combined with dark science and the brain experiments of Dr. Saira Bellum.

A creation that should not have existed from an ethical point of view. But when you are born on Vile Island… or created like in your case, such a detail does not count.

The annoying baby phase was skipped and you saw the light of day at the age of 2, fully developed with the vocabulary of a toddler and the emotional ups and downs.

Some might say you are a little spitting image of Saira and Dash Haber. You inherited your 'mother's' bad eyesight and your father's gray hair, your eyes are blue-gray. You have a curious character but your parents taught you early on what behavior and following rules mean. At the age of 3, you are always very proud when you can help your mom with one of her experiments.

You don't understand that these are evil experiments that harm other people. For you, everything your mother does is exciting, much more exciting than the strange things that Aunt Cleo collects or the questions that Uncle Gunnar, asks you while grinning so strangely and writing something down on a pad of paper. Your mom also likes cat videos. Cats are soooo great!

That's why one of your favorite students at the Vile Academy is Tigress. She has a big cat costume and every time you run into her, you call out loudly and for everyone else to hear - big kitten - before you try to hug one of Tigress' legs. Most of the time, however, Tigress uses her acrobatic skills and her speed to get to safety from you. She's not really the person who likes children. But that doesn't bother you - you still like the big kitten. Even if she's not one of your mother's favorite students.

That would be Crackle - also known as Graham - but you don't find him half as nice as Paper Star. One of Uncle Gunnar's favorites. Which of course doesn't mean that you don't have a favorite among the male students at the academy. Even though he doesn't speak and speaks a completely different language, he understood exactly what you wanted to say with your toddler sounds and words, especially in the first few months after you were created. If you had to choose, your very best friend on the entire campus would definitely be Mime Bomb. You like him and he is currently trying to teach you his way of communicating.

You have a rather mixed relationship with your mom's other friends. After all, the last child on the island was Black Sheep - unfortunately, your paths never crossed.

You were created , after Black Sheep left the island. Countess Cleo was not good with children and once refused to look after you for a few hours at your mother's request, because Saira had to go to an international villain meeting in Seattle and the other Vile chairmen were busy and your father was on an outside mission in New Zealand. Luckily, Coach Brunt took on the task and gave you a cupcake. She is like the cool, strong aunt to you. Even if her outbursts of anger sometimes make you seek protection behind Uncle Gunnar. Similar to Cleo, Shadowsan also kept you at a distance and was always strict with you. Perhaps also because he didn't want an incident like the one with Black Sheep to happen again.

"Daddah back soon? Miss Daddah soooo much!" - you spread your arms to make it clear to Dash , in your video call via the tablet how much you miss him. It had been so many nights since you said goodnight to the moon and indirectly to Dash too, of course, and so many listening cd´s , that your mom put on for you to help you sleep while she was still working overtime in her lab and researching new inventions.

Sometimes your father didn't want you to call him that in front of the other Vile members, because it was actually just the DNA that Dash had thrown together with Saira's DNA. But you saw him as your father and didn't care if he would pull a dramatic face when Aunt Cleo made a nasty comment.

"I still have a lot to do. You will be a good girl for Dr. Bellum?" - Dash's answer sounded cold , but there was a spark of compassion in his eyes.

"Good girl, yes! Help Mommy! By by Daddah!”, you wave once into the camera as your father has to end the video call and then run out of your room with the tablet in your hand to your mother , to give the tablet back. Saira was careful not to give you too much screen time.

"There's my lucky charm! Come to Mommy, you can help me and Professor Maelstrom with an important experiment!" - with these words, your mom picked you up and you quickly dropped the tablet onto the sofa , before you automatically wrapped your arms around her neck and were curious about what kind of experiment it was.

You can help? How great! You're a good helper! A good girl to be proud of. Maybe there will be muffins or cupcakes for that later?

You were put down on a table in your mother's lab and Uncle Gunnar came into the room followed by Crackle. Crackle , was told to sit in the chair… it didn't look like a normal chair… not really like your high chair either, which you were less and less keen to get into. Was it a new chair?

“…..it won't happen again…I can get better!”, - said Crackle as the arm straps closed.

“Was Crackle naughty....bad?”, you asked curiously to Uncle Gunnar as your mom approached the now immobilized Crackle with a small device.

Gunnar stood next to you at the edge of the table, partly because you leaned forward curiously and threatened to fall down - he grabbed you and put you down on the floor….the cleaners, had enough to do, they don't have to remove blood stains from a toddler.

“Oh indeed. Crackle broke the rules and now has to face the consequences”, - said Gunnar with a devious undertone.

“Bad Crackle! Don't break rules! Time out,” - you said, making clicking noises with your tongue.

“Oh my little lucky charm, I don’t think our Crackle can make up for this rule breaking with a time out” - your mother laughed, almost in a delusional manner, and then turned to Crackle.

“It won’t hurt, you’ll just be a little dizzy… and then the happy days will follow!”

The next thing you saw was your mom putting the strange device on Crackle’s head, turning it on and then Crackle letting out a few panicked screams , before his body remained sitting on the chair, asleep and without the energy to defend itself. Apparently he had fainted.

Your mom starts to laugh evilly, Uncle Gunnar starts to laugh amusedly, so it must be something good… the evil Crackle has learned that you should follow rules… so you giggle childishly once and clap your hands several times, you adapt to the mood of the adults. Because they know what is right and what is wrong.

“That’s my girl! Just watch careful, then one day you'll be just as wonderful a scientist as your mommy!” - your mother said happily, first putting the strange device away and then picking you up again.

“Your thoughts and brain experiments are getting better . And Crackle won't remember anything?”, said Gunnar as the two were on their way to the meeting room, where the other chairmen of Vile were already waiting for them. You had now rested your head tiredly on your mother's right shoulder and your eyes half closed, you would soon be asleep.

“I guarantee that Crackle won't remember anything , that has to do with us, the island or Vile… but I will never forget my boy,” said your mom.

Half asleep, you pat your mom's left hand and the glove.

“My mommy! Me mommy's favorite”

Uncle Gunnar's amused laughter penetrates your ears like cotton wool as you get increasingly tired.

But you hear your mom's answer and loving words very clearly before you slip into a gentle sleep.

"Of course you are mommy's favorite, my favorite girl…my favorite lucky charm. Forever"

THE END

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Hi. If you are interested, please write about Chase/Carmen.

There are several ideas here, you can choose all, one or nothing.

1. It's been a few years since the end of season 4. Chase got into a car accident and lost his memory (he only remembers the first season of the animated series) and forgetting that Carmen is his wife. But Carmen does not despair, she spends the whole day with Chase and tries to remind him of important moments in their relationship.

2. Chase discovers Carmen in his apartment when he returned home after work in the evening. Carmen is studying his board with interest with notes about finding V.I.L.E. They talk and Carmen tells him about her past. This is after the end of season 4.

3. After a joint mission in Egypt, Chase turns out to have Carmen's phone number. Chase mostly sends questions about her, jokes, and old memes for Carmen. They begin to communicate often and Carmen's mom jokes that her daughter has a fiance.

Thank you for your request. I choose the topic number two, and I hope i didn't disappoint you.

If anyone has any idea about fanfic i would be happy to write it for you.

With love your author.

Chase Devineaux pushed open the door to his apartment, his body aching from another grueling day at Interpol. He could feel the strain of the day etched into his muscles, the relentless chase for V.I.L.E. operatives ever-present in his mind. With a sigh, he loosened his tie and tossed his keys on the counter, making a mental note to have a glass of his favorite scotch before calling it a night.But as he walked into the living room, he froze.

There, standing by the large bulletin board plastered with notes, photos, and strings connecting various V.I.L.E. agents and operations, was Carmen Sandiego. She stood confidently, her iconic red coat and fedora silhouetted against the dim light of his desk lamp. Her gloved hands were clasped behind her back as she studied his board with a keen interest.

"Carmen Sandiego," Chase said, his voice steady, hiding his surprise.

"What an unexpected… intrusion."Carmen turned around, a smirk playing on her lips. "Bonsoir, Devineaux. Nice to see you, too." Her tone was light, almost teasing. She glanced back at the board.

"You've been busy, I see."Chase's eyes narrowed as he tried to understand what game she was playing.

"How did you get in here? And what do you want?"She shrugged, a casual gesture that seemed to be her trademark.

"Getting in wasn’t too hard. You should consider upgrading your locks" She turned fully to face him, her expression becoming more serious.

"And as for what I want… I’m here to talk.""Talk?" Chase echoed, crossing his arms.

"You’ve never been one for small talk, Carmen."Carmen chuckled softly.

"No, I suppose I haven’t. But tonight is different. I’ve been thinking… about V.I.L.E., about my past, and… about my future."Chase raised an eyebrow.

"Your past? Why would you—""I wasn’t always Carmen Sandiego, the master thief," she interrupted.

"I was once a student, like anyone else, though perhaps more… impressionable." Her eyes flickered with a distant sadness, a shadow of old memories.Chase uncrossed his arms, curiosity piqued.

"Go on."Carmen took a deep breath and began to share her story. She spoke of her time at V.I.L.E. Academy, the deception, and the moment she realized she didn’t want to be what they had trained her to become. She spoke of her decision to leave, to fight back against V.I.L.E., to become someone who could right the wrongs in the world, even if it meant operating outside the law.Chase listened intently. This was a side of Carmen he had never seen before—vulnerable, introspective.

"You chose to become something different," he said slowly. "You chose your own path."

"Yes," Carmen replied softly. "But I can’t do it alone anymore. V.I.L.E. is still out there, still causing havoc. And I think… I think we might have a common goal after all.

"Chase felt a strange mix of emotions—confusion, intrigue, maybe even admiration.

"You want to work together?" he asked, almost incredulous.

"Something like that," she said with a faint smile. "At least for now. I need someone I can trust… someone who knows how they operate."Chase studied her for a long moment, weighing her words. Then, with a slow nod, he extended his hand.

"Alright, Carmen. Let’s see where this goes."Carmen shook his hand firmly, her eyes meeting his with a newfound understanding.

"Deal."As she turned to leave, Chase called after her. "Carmen… you know you’re still on Interpol’s most wanted list, right?"She glanced back, that trademark smirk reappearing.

"Then you’d better keep up, Chase." And with that, she slipped out into the night, leaving Chase alone with his thoughts—and the start of a most unexpected partnership.

[ozzgin]

Is it just me or can I imagine a yandere with a darling who’s immune system and possibly everything about them just screams weak and pathetic, BUT their darling is actually very strong mentally and has and will create the most fucked up, batshit crazy inventions from what used to be harmless to something that can help them escape and possibly destroy everything in its path.

But at the end of the day, they become sleepy koalas who hug whoever is near them and fall asleep :)

This could be a request or rant, whatever you can think of! I just wanted to see how different yandere writers would interpret this small imagination of mine <3

But as always, stay safe and take care! everyone needs a break some time to time~

Sorry, but the moment I read the Darling's description, I instantly thought of Dr. Finkelstein from Nightmare Before Christmas. You know, Sally's inventor. 😭 So let me quickly write this down while I'm in my Shelley vibes, because I like the idea a lot. With a little twist, if you don't mind. :)

Yandere! Monster x Inventor! Reader

A frail inventor, and their affectionate rag doll that has been carefully stitched together for the purpose of a caregiver. An artificial existence, trapped within the confines of your lonely tower. Or so you might think.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior

"I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel..." [Frankenstein]

You dangle an old, rusty bell for a good minute before leaning back in your chair. The barely audible chimes are quickly swallowed by the loud, mechanical groans of the gears and engines occupying most of this room. No matter, his ears are good. You picked them yourself. And surely enough, within moments, the door to your laboratory opens and someone cautiously walks in.

A tall, slender man. Or rather, something meant to resemble a man. The skin is a clumsy patchwork of blues and grays - you're no talented seamster, sadly - gathering together the body parts in what feels like a parodic attempt at mimicking God and his image. You gaze at the creature approaching you with a tray of tea and sweets. Scarcely your best work, if you must adhere to honesty. Regardless of the quality of your labor at the time of creation, you are proud of the result. How could you not be? You know this man better than you know yourself. Every organ, every artificial nerve cord, every blemish and stitch of his body was placed according to your intentions. A masterfully detailed project that took you years to complete; not an easy feat considering the lamentable state of your health.

"Here's your deadly nightshade tea." The man places a small, porcelain cup on the desk. "Do let me know when I should take you to bed, (Y/N)." You wave your hand dismissively and stretch out your limbs. "Not yet. I am almost finished", you respond, returning to the mound of metal scraps and pipes before you. "Can I ask what you're making?" The pale creature lowers himself to your level, a curious smile plastered on his face. "It's a mechanical heart", you reveal boastfully. "Like the one I have?" You run your hand through the creature's hair affectionately. "Almost. I'm testing out a different way to build the valves, for a more efficient pumping cycle." You continue to explain the intricacies of your novel mechanism, occasionally sipping on your tea. "Who knows, you might have a sibling in the near future."

The man's smile drops in an instant, and his sunken eyes widen at your statement. "What? Am I- am I not enough?" You glance at the creature as he becomes increasingly frantic. "Don't speak nonsense. If it comes out alright, I'll upgrade your own parts as well. I'm a disciple of scientific virtue, of continuous improvement." Nonsense? Vile treachery! You might've chiseled the brain that throbs within the walls of his skull, but his mind is his alone, and you seem to lack a fundamental understanding of his feelings and thoughts. His ardent confessions of love are met with mockingly pitiful grins, in the way a parent soothes a needy child. Even now, your eyes reflect nothing more than sympathy towards his protest. A childish tantrum is what you're most likely thinking. You've no time for emotional bagatelles. He can read you like an open book.

You simply won't understand. There is no place for a stranger in the life he's crafted with his very own hands: you, and him, and the evening tea with a side of butterscotch biscuits, and the bedtime talks, and the stripped branches of the decaying tree that rap at the windows on stormy nights. You might be the Inventor, but he is not just a mere, humble servant, a rag doll to be tossed around or toyed with. As you will soon discover, after all.

You awaken in the midst of night with your temples burning from a much too familiar headache. Although it's not just the pain that has disturbed your slumber. You can hear rattles and thuds coming from the upstairs laboratory. An intruder? Oh, your creations! The sound of glass breaking and metal scraping sends you into spiraling despair. You fumble to reach the nightstand, patting the surface in search for the bell and keys. You shake the handle in a panic, unable to find anything else in the darkness.

The chaotic rustle abruptly stops, followed by descending footsteps. You hold your breath as the chamber door opens, but it's none other than your creature. "Another flare-up? Shall I bring you some medicine?" the man asks with monotonous courtesy. "What have you been doing? What's all that noise?" you demand, agitated, but upon lifting yourself off the mattress you discover your legs are numb and uncooperative. The man hurries to your bed with a worried frown, and you hear the familiar clatter of the keychain coming from one of his pockets. "Have you taken my keys? Cease this foolishness at once!" Indifferent to your reproach, he places a firm hold on your shoulders and forces you back down, tucking you in effortlessly.

"You must forgive my impertinence." he says in a pleading tone. "I do not wish to impede the works of your genius. As your partner, however, it is my duty to prevent you from making mistakes." You furrow your eyebrows at his words. "What mistakes? My invention was flawless!", you argue fervently. "Indeed it was, but not its purpose. What need have you for another being?" It is the creature's turn for a passionate speech. He stands up with a confidence you don't recognize and continues: "You should know by now that I am fit to perform any role. That of your servant, your caregiver, your lover, or anything else you may desire. You can resume your tinkering starting tomorrow, but such blasphemies to our bond as the one today will not be tolerated." He straightens his vest and reaches for the door handle. "I will prepare some tea to help you rest."

Inconceivable. Your own creation, built with your own hands...Has something escaped your attention? His dialogue is deranged, tainted by madness. "Have I done something wrong?" you mumble to yourself, deep in contemplation. "Nonsense." the creature turns to face you briefly. "It was you who created me after all. Everything is perfectly splendid."

[unconventional-lawnchair]

His Scrubs

Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: A dedicated nurse in Gotham starts caring for the injured vigilante Red Hood, leading to a complicated bond between them. As their relationship deepens, she grapples with her feelings and the chaos of his violent world.

CW: No use of Y/N, mentions of blood, death, violence, trauma, survivors guilt, readers going through it and Jason is not helping, gn!reader

Wc: 5941

Working as a nurse in Gotham was a unique kind of hell. Your mentor, Dr. Leslie Thompkins, used to tell you that there was a special place in heaven for those who dedicated themselves to caring for the broken and battered souls of Gotham. The city, with its towering skyscrapers and shadowy alleys, was a paradox of beauty and despair. As a nurse, you witnessed the aftermaths of violence you never thought possible, the toll of addiction that ran generations, and the consequences of a society teetering on the brink.

Each shift brought a new wave of patients, the stories of their lives etched into their weary faces. You had learned to compartmentalize the chaos. To save yourself from the heart break younger you would face every time you would get to go home.

The survivor’s guilt destroyed you, you'd come home to your safe warm apartment, the stark contrast between your life and the lives of those you treated weighed heavily on your conscience. You would sit in your cozy living room, a cup of tea warming your hands, while the images of trauma and suffering replayed in your mind like a never-ending loop. Each laugh from the children in your neighborhood felt like a reminder of the laughter you had fought so hard to save; the laughter of those who didn’t make it, who had succumbed to the darkness of Gotham’s streets.

It got so much worse when Red Hood emerged. You despised him.

Forgetting his more violent approach, he sent more and more souls to your halls then you could count. Not the sympathetic ones, not the ones you wanted to care for. The monsters, the villains, men and women you considered a blessing to never see. People who sent most of the souls you mourned right to you.

That bitter anger is what prompted your switch to the day shift. You wanted- no, needed to get away from it. The day shift had its fair share of horrors and the lack of freedom was draining, but it meant that most of your patients were people you wanted to help.

Though, it came with its own downsides. Your pay dropped, your hours were longer, and now, you had to walk home at night. Walking home through Gotham’s shadowy streets after a long shift was a gamble with fate. The city, saturated in darkness, felt alive with danger. Danger you knew intimately. Every alley seemed to have eyes you couldn't see, and every corner could hide a lurking threat. What's worse is you knew first hand what could happen.

Not that you had a choice. You had traded the chaos of the night shift for the uncertainty of twilight; it was a decision that filled you with dread as well as relief.

You clutched your bag tight against your side, the familiar weight of your stethoscope a reminder of your purpose, even as the fear prickled at the back of your mind. Not bothering to change at the hospital, not risking it getting any later. The streets were quieter now, but that only made the ambient sounds of the city, distant sirens, the scuffle of rats, the occasional shout, more pronounced. You quickened your pace, your heart pounding against your chest with every step.

You made it to your shitty apartments, walking through your grounds and avoiding your vile neighbors. The old lady who insisted she heard every small sound you made after 8pm, the horrid teenagers who would do anything for the cash in your bag, and that awful married man from down the hall who took any chance away from his wife to make you as uncomfortable as possible.

When you made it to your door, you were quick to enter and lock it behind you. All three latches you had installed as well. The second you walked in the cold night was shoved away, warmth and bright yellows painted the portrait of a cozy home. A life you had made.

Yet, the paranoia never left. As you walked over to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water, you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching you. You leaned against the counter, the coolness of the granite grounding you as you took a deep breath. The familiar sounds of your modest apartment greeted your ears. It was all the same, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant murmurs of the city outside it was always a comfort, yet they also felt like a mask hiding the lurking dangers beyond your walls.

As you sipped your water, your eyes wandered to the living room. Your eyes lingered on your darkened window that was on the fire escape. Not your favorite thing, which is why you installed black out curtains. Staring at it longer, you noticed something that made your heart sink.

Your curtains were opened. Yet the window was still dark, hardly letting any light in. At first, your mind tricked you into believing that maybe, possibly, there were eyes in the darkness. Staring at you, waiting for you to just make one wrong move. But when your eyes processed what they were receiving, you were rushed with a very familiar panic. It was red.

Your windows were absolutely painted with blood.

Your own blood surged through you like ice water, freezing you in place. The sight of the deep red streaks contrasting against the dark glass made your heart race. You blinked once, twice, three times, willing your mind to process what you were seeing. Was it real? Had it come from outside, or was it a figment of your exhaustion-induced imagination? Your mind wandered to the worse. Was it from inside?

But the metallic scent that wafted in from the window confirmed your worst fears; the air was thick with the unmistakable odor of blood.

You willed yourself to walk over. A guilty form of relief heated your veins when you saw no evidence the blood had, at any point, entered your home.

Then came the problem, do you open the window? Or do you keep it closed? Do you check on whoever or what ever was hurt? Or do you look the other way? Part of you wanted to turn away. Call the police and leave it to them.

But fuck, the paid hero you were, you couldn't stop yourself.

The anticipation was killing you. So as your fingers brushed the lock on your window, you flinched away for just a moment.

Then, you pushed it open quickly. Getting it over with, hoping your bleeding heart wouldn't be the death of you.

You covered your nose with your sleeve, staring out of the still dripping window, avoiding the fresh blood. You narrowed your eyes into the darkness only for your eyes to lock with a pair of piercing white slits. They were glaring at the window the second it opened, and you were greeted with none other then the Red Hood.

You stared him down, lips tightened in a firm line. He was covered in blood, holding his side, leaning against the wall and panting. Even in his clear pain he took the time out of his day, so selflessly, to stare into your eyes with a death glare.

You were an idiot.

Red Hood. Vigilante, murderer, anti hero, a right monster, just stared at you.

You knew your old mentor, how she used to care for the bats on their worst days. You wondered, just for a moment, if that's why he was here. Holding his gaze in absolute silence.

“You're bleeding.” You huffed at him and his eye slits narrowed. As if to say ‘No shit. Fix it.’

The tension between you was palpable, a charged silence hanging in the air. You took a deep breath, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the familiar smell of your home, and it made your stomach churn. “What do you want?” You asked, trying to sound more assertive than you felt.

“I need help.” He scoffed, his voice slightly strained, but there was an urgency beneath it that you couldn’t ignore. “I can’t go to the hospital. Not like this.”

“Of course you can’t.” You snapped, bitterness lacing your words. “You’d probably scare half the staff into quitting.”

He winced and after just a second or two of staring at each other you stepped into your house. Leaving the window open for him to slip in. You assumed he took the hint, as your window was slammed shut behind you.

You were quick to grab your emergency kit from the bathroom. When you returned, he was laying back on your coffee table. He must have remembered that from being treated by Leslie before. He was dozing in and out, and as you finally approached him, you could see the blood pooling on the table and down to the floor beneath him, a stark reminder of the urgency of the situation.

“Stay awake.” You ordered, your voice firm as you knelt beside him. “I need you conscious if I’m going to help you.”

He grunted in response, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I’m trying.”

You could hear his teeth grinding and you simply didn't respond. “You're overheating.” You commented. “Take off your helmet.”

“Like hell.” He hissed and you scoffed, starting to work. Cutting through his suit without much complaint from him.

“You come to my house in the middle of the night and can't even follow simple instructions?” You hissed back. Like two cats locked, your voices could be mistaken as snarls to anyone listening in.

“Oh fuck off.” He snapped and let his head lull back, his eyes blurring. You snapped your fingers in front of his face as you took in his abdomen. Two gun shots.

“Unfortunately this is my damn apartment.” Your tone was sharper than you intended, but the urgency of the moment was drowning out any lingering resentment you felt toward him. “And I’m not about to let you bleed out on my coffee table. So either help me help you, or I’ll drag you to a hospital myself.”

He chuckled weakly, the sound gurgling in his throat, which only added to your frustration. “You know, you’re not very nurse like.”

“I'm off the clock.” You rolled your eyes as you began to clean the wound. “I’m about to throw you out if you don’t stop talking.”

He let out a labored breath, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth- not that you can see it. But god could you hear it. “You’re just arguing with me to keep me awake, aren’t you?”

“... just keep your eyes open, Red Hood. You're not as charming as you think.” You shot back, concentrating on the task at hand. “Or maybe you'd like to take your chances with the hospital instead?”

“Seems like you’re doing a pretty good job, don't doubt yourself.” He snarked, his voice slightly slurred, fatigue creeping in despite your efforts. Still, in what could be his final moments, he found the audacity to be sarcastic with you.

You didn’t respond, focusing on cleaning the wound with swift, practiced motions. The sight of the jagged edges of the bullet wound made your stomach churn, but you pushed the nausea aside.

You had treated countless wounds like this before, but somehow, this felt different. The adrenaline coursing through you mixed with a sense of dread that you couldn’t shake. Every second mattered, and yet here he was- this man who brought chaos into your life- laying in your apartment, bleeding out while making quips like it was just another day.

“Just breathe.” You once again ordered, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your mind. “I need you to focus on that. In and out, nice and slow.”

He nodded slightly, the movement causing him to grimace. You could see the sweat glistening on his neck, and his breath came in labored gasps. You hurriedly worked to clean the wound and apply a dressing, but the sight of the blood made your heart race.

“Who did this to you?” You muttered absentmindedly, trying to keep the conversation going. It was a tactic you often used with patients to distract them from the pain.

“Just another night in Gotham.” His voice was strained but laced with that same dark humor. “You know how it is. Bad guys, good guys, everyone in between.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You snarked as you applied pressure to stop the bleeding. “You think you’re funny? Dying anti hero?”

“I have been told I am.” He smirked again, not that you could see it, his tone playful despite his condition. “But you’re the real hero here, yeah? Playing nurse to a monster like me.”

You paused for a moment, looking him dead in the eye-slits, swallowing thick. “You're not a monster. Not in my home.” You corrected, the sound of tearing elastics and the ripping of tape sounded out in your empty apartment, as you got the bandages. “You're my patient.”

He stopped speaking, and for a fleeting moment, the bravado he usually wore like armor slipped away. "Your patient.” He echoed, a hint of something almost vulnerable beneath the sarcasm. "Well, I guess that makes me lucky."

You shook your head, forcing yourself to remain focused on the task at hand. "You're not lucky, Red Hood. You're just in a lot of trouble, and I need you to stay with me while I help you."

He let out a low chuckle that quickly turned into a wince, the pain evident in his covered eyes. You had to admire the expressive mask, it kept you keen on his emotions. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Special isn’t the word I’d use.” You mumbled, your fingers deftly applying more pressure before you began to wrap his torso and start on the next wound.

You both slipped into a comfortable silence. Eventually, you turned on the tv, and he seemed to actually be interested in whatever nonsense was playing. Some black and white movie, dramatic and sappy.

You spent the next few hours cleaning and inspecting each wound. You managed to get him to drink some of your juice, eat some plain crackers, and by the time you cleaned up after everything, he had disappeared from your couch where you had shifted him.

He had taken his ruined tattered uniform with him, but left a lovely gift in his potent blood that stained your table and floor boards. You weren't surprised he left, more annoyed he didn't even bother to thank you.

But what did you expect from the ‘monster’ that was Red Hood?

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the mess he’d left behind. Pushing away the ridiculous concept that your night had become. The stark contrast of the blood against your clean, modest apartment felt like a personal affront. You had spent so much time trying to create a safe haven for yourself, only for it to be tainted by the chaos of the man you tried to escape.

The silence of the apartment was deafening now. As you cleaned up the blood with a damp cloth, you couldn’t shake the feeling of anger mixed with concern. Why did you care? Why did you even help him? You should have just called the cops and let them deal with it. He was a wanted criminal.

But the truth was, despite everything he represented- the violence, the lawlessness, the depravity- you had seen a flicker of humanity in him. He wasn’t just a monster; he was a man shaped by the same city that had shaped you. You understood that all too well. Bitterly, you wondered what had gone so wrong for you to choose nurture and for him to choose violence.

“Ugh.” You muttered to yourself, tossing the bloodied cloth in the trash. “What am I doing?”

You sank onto the couch, the adrenaline from the night finally wearing off. Your body slid to the floor and you shook with leftover shock.

You leaned back against the couch, your mind racing. The events of the night played on a loop, each moment echoing in your thoughts. How did it come to this? You had always been the one to help, to heal, yet here you were, embroiled in the chaos of Gotham’s underbelly, caring for the very personification of its violence.

The weight of your emotions pressed down on you, suffocating in its intensity. Frustration, anger, and an inexplicable concern for the man who had just bled all over your coffee table. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

“Get it together.” You whispered. You could almost hear Dr. Leslie, reminding you that everyone deserved to be saved. To be safe. No questions asked.

Well, you did two out of the three.

~~~

It became a routine, much to your dismay.

He came back days later, hurt again. You tended to him and you soon learned that you had rewarded bad behavior. Reinforcing this idea that you were some ally to him.

You reminded him of Dr. Leslie, that she was still available and willing to help, that she made a life of her golden heart. You did not.

Yet, the meetings became frequent. You began to leave your window unlatched, something he scolded you for. He was suddenly incredibly comfortable with raising his voice with you. That wasn't all.

Also comfortable with eating your dinner, watching your tv, demanding sympathy like a child. All under the idea that you were his nurse.

Most of your nights now entailed you cooking more than normal, to feed the behemoth of a man. He'd sneak in through your window and latch it locked. Or on your ruined coffee table and you would tend to him, feed him, and he would linger longer every time.

When he wasn't draining your supplies and food, he was watching you on your walked to and from work, making a routine of ensuring you made it home safely.

You hated to admit it. He was growing on you.

But every time he slipped through your window, each time he left behind traces of blood and chaos, a part of you felt like it was being chipped away. You had wanted to create a sanctuary, a respite from the horrors you witnessed at the hospital. Instead, you were becoming a refuge for the very chaos you tried to escape.

The first few nights after his first visit were filled with uncertainty. You found it hard to sleep, the memories of his bloodied form etched into your mind. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the sounds of his labored breathing and the sharpness of his pain. You had saved him, but at what cost? Each time he returned, you felt the line blur between patient and something else.

Days turned into weeks, and with each passing encounter, the boundaries you had desperately tried to maintain began to crumble under his comfortable behavior. You found yourself looking forward to his visits, despite the chaos they brought. Of course, you would never wish harm upon him. The initial anger at his reckless behavior transformed into concern, and then, surprisingly, a reluctant fondness.

He was breaking you down so perfectly. You knew he knew what he was doing too.

The nights he showed up were a mix of tension and reluctant familiarity. Sometimes he would come in badly injured, and you would patch him up, your hands moving with practiced efficiency, your heart pounding in your chest. Other times, he would arrive with only minor scrapes, a smirk in his voice, teasing you about your nursing skills or the state of your apartment.

“Rather cozy and plush for a nurse in this city.” He teased, leaning back into your pillow covered couch and groaned a bit as you continued to reset his middle finger.

“If you keep coming to me with these injuries you can fix yourself, I might just start locking my window again.” You huffed and he scoffed.

“Good.” He grumbled, taking his hand and rubbing his wrist. “Lots of freaks out there.”

“That's why I have you.” You scoffed and stood up, his eyes following you as he watched you go to the kitchen and grab a water bottle. He never took off his mask, he was glad for that now, he was positive his pupils were twice their normal size.

He liked it. That you took comfort in him. That he was your safety.

Because it was around that time that he admitted to himself that you were his safety too.

It was a strange and unexpected partnership that had formed between you two. Each encounter layered new complexity onto the already tangled web of your lives. You were both broken souls in a city that thrived on chaos, drawn together by circumstances neither of you could control.

As the weeks passed, you found yourself caught in a delicate dance. You would joke, bicker, and even share the occasional comfortable silence while watching old movies or eating meals together. He would often tease you about your habits, the way you meticulously organized your medical supplies, or how you always had to have the TV on for background noise. Just how human you seemed for a, as he called it, hero of the day.

You would ask him if that made him the hero of the night, but he didn't seem too keen on it.

“You know, it’s okay to have a little chaos in your life.” He would say, flashing you that infuriating smirk, his mask curled up to the bottom of his nose so he could enjoy the meal you made, that somehow managed to make your heart race. Trying not to think too hard about how sharp his teeth were. You wondered if he filed them. No way in hell they were natural. “You’re in Gotham, after all.”

“Not every part of Gotham has to be chaotic, Red Hood.” You would sigh, your hands on your hips, trying to maintain your authority. But even as you said it, you felt a warmth spread through you. You were beginning to appreciate the lightness he brought into your otherwise heavy existence.

Then came the day when he showed up with a gift- a half-eaten pizza, the grease soaking through the cardboard box. He had barged in through your window, an air of triumph surrounding him.

“I figured you could use a little junk food after all the healthy food you've been feeding me.” He chuckled, plopping it down on your coffee table, now permanently stained from his previous visits.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. At least you didn't have to dirty your hands tonight. “You think a pizza is going to make up for all the blood you’ve left on this table?”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye slits. “It’s a start.”

And just like that, the boundaries you had set began to dissolve even further. You found yourself laughing more, enjoying the absurdity of the situation. You were a nurse tending to a vigilante in the heart of Gotham, and yet, with each shared moment, it felt strangely normal.

But the thought nagged at you; was this a good idea? You were still aware of the risks, the danger that came with his lifestyle. The chaos, the violence, the unending cycle of pain. You had seen it all too clearly in your line of work. But somehow, amidst the chaos he brought, you also found a strange sort of peace.

Yet you still let him in, you still fed him, you still spent time you should of spent sleeping, watching tv until you fell asleep. You hadn't realized how domestic his visits had become. Until he was on your couch, face down, shirt off, while you straddled his back.

You ran your palms along his shoulders, having forgotten which one of his many teasing comments had led to this. He was sweaty, his back rippled with red, and he was trying to pretend he wasn't aching. He groaned, low, into the couch as you continued to work your thumbs through the insane amount of knots.

You could truly appreciate how much bigger he was then you like this. Your hands barely fit over the small of his back, even as you pressed your wrists together and pushed down. You pressed deeper, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath your palms. It was a strange position to be in. Straddling both him and the line between caregiver and something that you both have been avoiding since this began. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way he clenched his fists into the fabric of the couch as you worked. Breathing heavy and the hair on the back of his neck prickling.

“Is this how you treat all your patients?” His voice was muffled but laced with that familiar teasing tone.

“Only you, unfortunately.” A playful smirk tugged at your lips. Able to tell just how much he was struggling to take a full breath from under his mask.

He shifted slightly beneath you, the movement sending a spark through your body. “What a lucky guy I am.” He mumbled, though there was an edge to his voice, a mix of teasing and the strain of pain that lingered in his tone. “You should charge for this kind of therapy.”

“Therapy? Is that what you think this is?” You quipped back, trying to keep the atmosphere light. The truth was, you were painfully aware of how intimate this was. He lifted his hips to shift himself on your couch, lifting you up with him like you were nothing. You don't want to think about how different this would be if he was on his back instead.

You caught your breath, the sudden shift in his weight causing your heart to race. The closeness was distracting, his warmth radiating against your skin, and you fought against the urge to lean into him. The tension between you was disorienting, and for a moment, the world outside faded away. It was just the two of you, caught in this strange and fragile place where boundaries blurred.

“Yeah, therapy.” His tone was lighter now, but there was a seriousness buried beneath it. “You know, you could probably make a killing with all the heroes and villains in this town. Just think about it: Gotham’s very own nurse, providing ‘aftercare’ for the weary souls.”

“Or you know, I could just run for the hills and pretend I never met you.” You shot back, trying to deflect the weight of the moment.

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “That's alright… you can keep this just for me.”

“Just for you? You would be so special.” You scoffed and tried to ignore how your body seemed to respond positively to his more possessive tone.

His eyes, hidden behind the mask, seemed to glimmer with amusement, and you could almost hear the crude smirk in his voice as he replied, “Oh, I’m definitely special. You’d be surprised how many people want my ‘aftercare’...”

“Fuck off.” You huffed before you began to apply more pressure, making him groan louder into the pillows. You slowly pressed your thumbs against his back dimples, hearing another low groan reverberate in his helmet.

“You know, you can take that off.” You huffed and he seemed to stiffen all the knots you worked so hard to untangle. “Hey-”

“I'm fine.” He huffed and slowly relaxed under your fingers again.

You could feel the tension radiating off him, a mix of bravado and vulnerability, and it made your heart race. “You’re clearly not fine.” You muttered, your voice softer now, a hint of concern creeping into your tone. “You’re hurt, and I’m not about to let you pretend otherwise while I’m trying to help you.”

He shifted again, this time with a hint of irritation. “I'm not-”

“I don't have to see.”

“What?” He whispered, a bit bewildered. You climbed off of his back and pretended you didn't hear what you could almost distinguish as a whine leaving him. You could feel his eyes on you as you picked up one of your larger silk clothes. You turned to him and walked over, he sat up, staring up at you as you stood before him.

“It's only fair. You won't relax like that.” You mumbled and lifted it to your face. With a bit of a struggle, you managed to tie the cloth around your eyes. Suddenly plunged into darkness, instinctively reaching out to grab his forearms. “See? Can't see a thing.”

He scoffed, but wasn't able to help how he admired your more oblivious state. He was used to your shameless challenges, your demanded presence, your snarky comments. But now? You were perfectly content and calm. Even your tone shifted the second you did it.

You were being weak with him.

It didn't help that everything he wanted to say was caught in his throat. Your lips parted ever so slightly, he could just see the top of your teeth peaking through your lips. You looked absolutely exposed and he had to do his best to shove away the more unkind thoughts he had.

Still, the room was thick with tension. Eventually, he lifted his hand, holding up a few fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

You scoffed with a laugh, looking to the side a bit and moving your hands to run over his large bicep, down to his forearm, up to his hand. And your fingers ghosted over his own. Smirking to yourself at your win. “Three.”

“Fucking hell.” He whispered your name, soft, careful, before he moved his arms. You were curious at first, until you heard the soft clicks of something metallic, and something falling to the floor. “You'll be the death of me, yeah?” He muttered and a shock ran down your spine.

That was new. It was the first time you've ever heard his voice. His actual voice. You ran your hands up his chest and slowly up his neck. Your fingertips ghosting over his jaw line and neck, making him release a breath he didn't know he was holding in.

“Hood?” You whispered, and he let out a shaky groan, as your thumb traveled up his chin to his jaw, discovering a few scars. What was getting to you the most, was his breath. It fanned over your face, you hadn't even noticed how much you had leaned into him.

Cigarettes and strawberry candies. That made you smile. You never in a million years would of guessed he liked strawberry sweets, but you'd commit that to memory.

The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, and you found yourself lost in the cadence of his breath, the way it mingled with your own as you traced the contours of his face. The softness of his skin contrasted sharply with the violent persona he projected to the world, and it made your heart ache with a mixture of sympathy and confusion. Who was he?

“Why are you really here?” You whispered softly, your voice barely breaking the silence that enveloped you both.

His breath hitched slightly at your words, and for a heartbeat, you could feel the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. Before he could second guess it, his lips brushed yours.

It was so soft. Softer than you'd ever thought he'd be. You guessed it made sense, he had always been tough, firm, and harsh with everyone. Not with you. Not with you in a long time.

The kiss was unexpected, yet it felt like a long-awaited surge of electricity between you. You squeaked and that made him deepened it. Time seemed to pause, the chaos of everything outside your walls faded into the background as you melted into the moment. Red Hood’s lips were warm against yours, and you could feel the tension in his body, a mix of pain and uncertainty- a need that mirrored your own.

You pulled back slightly, your heart racing as you furrowed your brow, as if you were trying to study the face you couldn't see. “What was that?” You asked, your voice trembling just a little.

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing as if weighing his words. “A mistake?” He offered, but the way he said it was more self-deprecating then teasing. He was nervous. He was offering you an out.

Like hell you'd let him get away with that.

“Not the way I’d describe it.” You whispered, giving a gasp when he reached for your hips and you were reminded how big he was. His hands made you feel pathetically small, as he pulled you between his legs. You tightened your lips in a thin line, still not able to see a thing.

“Yeah?” He prodded and you nodded, taking a deep breath. Leaning closer. “What is it then?” He asked softly.

“I don't know.” You whispered. “I may need another kiss. Just to be sure, you know?”

He gave a laugh at that, one that shook your entire body. He took your lips again and his hands raised up to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. It was intoxicating, sending a wave of warmth through you that made you forget everything else- the dangers of Gotham, the blood on the hands he held you with, the weight of your responsibilities. In that moment, it was just the two of you, lost in the warmth of each other’s presence.

You melted against him, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You could feel the tension in his muscles, but also a gentleness beneath his bravado that took you by surprise. It was as if he was allowing himself to be vulnerable, if only for a moment.

He lifted your waist up until you were straddling him again, leaning back into the couch and pulling you with him. Not an inch of space between you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you panting slightly, you could see the hesitation in his eyes, even through the mask. “So… that wasn’t a mistake?” He asked, his voice low and hesitant.

You shook your head, your heart racing. “No, it wasn’t.”

He studied you for a moment, and you were trying to catch your breath. His hands slipped up from your waist to behind your head. Suddenly, you felt the blindfold fall.

You quickly reached up, managing to catch it under one of your eyes, closing both of them tight. He gave a weak laugh and cooed at you. “Open them. Please, Scrubs.”

You were shocked by his words, but obeyed them easily. Slowly you opened your eyes and looked at him. Taking in his features, a bit breathless.

“Hood?” You croaked out and he took his own uneven breath.

“Just.. call me Jason.”

Your heart raced at the sound of his real name, feeling like a revelation that changed everything. “Jason.” You whispered, testing the name on your tongue, savoring the intimacy of it. It felt like a key unlocking a door to a part of him that was hidden beneath the mask, a glimpse of the man behind the vigilante.

He seemed to relax at your acceptance, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah, just Jason.” He said, his voice low and gravelly, yet there was a softness in it that made you feel safer then ever before.

“Jason Todd.”

You were the first one he ever confessed his true identity to.

[miley1442111]

thank god for dr. spencer reid

a/n: this was written with a fem!reader in mind but imagine what you want, reader has a period (same girl) :) spencer us such a cutie in this :)))))))

summary: your shitty family is in town and spencer is away, what will you do?

pairing: spencerreid x reader

warnings: heavy family issues, mentions of stress and sickness, very brief mention of abuse (litch not talked about just referenced dw), kinda cursing (just realised i've never warned this before... opps) and i might've missed some!

My eyes are glued to the screen with a perpetual frown playing on my lips. It’s hard to try to care about my job when I have this looming feeling of dread hanging over me like a cloud. Spencer has been MIA for days now. He left in a hurry on Monday night for a case. It’s Saturday now and he hasn’t been responding to my calls. On top of that, I have dinner with my mother and father. Both of them make it abundantly clear that they’re disappointed in my career choice, which is ridiculous because I’m a lawyer. Not the right kind of lawyer they constantly say. I’m an environmental lawyer and I make good money. The only way to satiate their insufferable whining is with Spencer. They love him. They probably love him more than me at this point. Alas, I will just have to deal with them alone tonight. And today has already been one hell of a day. First, Morgan called me,asking where Spencer was, telling me that they finished and that they should be home soon. He had not come home yet. Secondly, I feel like shit, an allergic reaction, my period and some random nausea all add up to making me feel itchy, gross, and practically vile all over. Thirdly, a huge pimple has decided to pop up on my face and  just know my mother will comment on it. My mother is one of those women who look effortlessly put-together 24/7. I am not one of those women. She does not like women who don’t look effortlessly put together. Aka, she barely tolerates me. 

I sigh and close my laptop screen, unable to reread the same few sentences again and again, hoping that they would get into my brain. I’m defending a client, one of my firm's biggest clients, in court next week. They were accused of illegal dumping (dumping they did not commit) and now they’re being sued for 2 million dollars. I slump out of my desk chair and out of my home office, locking it behind me for the weekend ahead. If I have court next week and Spencer is coming home after a difficult case, then we’ll need a day or rest and relaxation together. That is, if he even bothers to come home. I busy myself with getting ready and try to push those thoughts out of my head. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last hour of my life has been 60 minutes of absolute misery. Why did I ever accept this invite? My mother excuses herself to the bathroom and my father excuses himself for a cigarette, I nod along. Then it hits me… my dad doesn’t smoke anymore. I stare at the door and before I can stop myself my face contorts into a frown once again. Amelia, my sister. The sister that I haven't seen in years. The sister that bullied and abused me throughout our teenage years. Fuck. 

“Amelia?” I question, looking at the blonde woman who looks… different. She’s obviously older than I remember, and a bit more… I don’t know how to put it. Her blonde hair surpasses her waist and she seems to be pregnant? Her blue eyes seem dull and lack a certain vividness they used to sparkle with. She’s the typical peaking in high-school mean girl who became a nurse girl. I honestly can’t believe I used to look up to her. 

“It’s so good to see you!” She smiles, one of her fake-bitchy smiles and I grimace as she tries to hug me. “I just wanted to know how you’re doing, especially with the baby on the way, I’ll need all the help I can get!”

My heart drops. “Oh!” Is all I can manage. She sits in the seat beside me and I instinctively move further away. Just as I think this stupid dinner can’t get any worse, her pervy fiancé, Johnny, walks in.

“No Spencer?” He smirks. “What? Did you two break up? He was always too vanilla for you, you need a real man-” 

“No, sorry. I was just late. I had to come straight from the jet,” Spencer smiles from behind him. My parents' eyes light up, as Amelia and Johnny’s faces fall. I smile appreciatively at him as he hands the flowers he brought over to my parents and sits beside me, a comforting hand on my thigh. 

“How’s work, Spencer?” My father asks, his undivided attention on Spencer.

“It’s good, strenuous but good. Our cases recently haven’t been too difficult- though there was one that had a puzzle I thought you might enjoy…”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I walk inside our house behind him, a million thoughts at once flowing through my head. We walk to the kitchen, he sits me down and takes off my shoes for me, a true gentleman. 

He presses a kiss to my cheek and smiles. “You look beautiful.”

I just nod back, a small smile on my lips. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks, turning to me, his hands resting on my waist. 

“Fine,” I tiredly smile. “Just… you know, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“You know, saying that makes me worry more, right?:” He smiles softly, though we both know he’s serious. 

“I just… I can’t believe she just showed up, like 7 years  of not seeing her and she just shows up? Like it’s casual? And then asks for our help with her baby? Like she did nothing to me? Like she-” I stop myself, determined not to cry right now. 

“Angel, it’s ok, let it out,” he soothes, a hand on my back, rubbing comforting circles. 

“I don’t want to cry though, they’re not worth crying over.”

“Then how about we get ready for bed, yeah angel?” He offers, a tired look in his eyes. I nod and press a soft to his perfect lips. He smiles against my mouth, his hands finding the sides of my face. I run a hand through his hair. He pulls away softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I smile. “Thank you for coming, my knight in shining armour.” 

“I enjoyed it. Watching your father fail to solve a simple puzzle was amusing.” He smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye as I roll my eyes. 

“We’re not all geniuses,” I remind him. 

“You are.”

“And how am I a genius?” I chuckle.

“You’re dating me, you clearly have superior taste and intelligence,” he says matter-of-factly. I gigle at his antics and kiss him again. He pulls away and grabs my hand, leading me into our room. We both opt out of brushing our teeth and washing our faces, a makeup wipe sufficing for removing my makeup. He pulls me into bed with him, and finally, after a long week, I finally lie down in bed with him, his arms around me in a bear-hug of sorts. This is heaven. He’s my knight in shining armour. Thank God for Dr. Spencer Reid. 

[strangeshoepatrolbandit]

Batfam x GN!Bat!Reader.

Summary: Bruce had another kid in Arkham asylum that nobody knows about.

Warnings: Murder, Suicide, Arkham asylum, Reader can see the dead, Bruce being a bad father, mentions someone who can "hear God".

Part Two

~☆~

Nineteen.

Nineteen miserable years that you have been alive. Five of which you have spent in the hell hole, that is Arkham Asylum. Thrown in here with the approval of the man known as your father. The man Gotham city praises. The man who does nothing but help those around him, even going as far as adopting a group of orphans. Bruce Wayne.

You had always had an "overreactive" imagination as the people around you called it. When you were around twelve, you started having "outbursts", claiming things that weren't there actually existed, things that happened actually were caused by another being, one that only you can see.

So when your mother was unexpectedly murdered, and Batman walked onto the scene, you told him you weren't even home. But the journals your mother kept that had scribbles all about your claims made them believe it was you who killed her, only, you were believing a delusion, so you didn't remember. Of course you remember, you were out running the streets to get yourself just a scrap of food from wherever you could get it from.

The city wanted a DNA test before they threw you in Arkham, trying their best to put a face to the empty signature on your birth certificate. You could always tell your mother knew who your father was. Her dismissive attitude that presented whenever you would ask gave it away.

When the test came back and told you that you were the Prince of the city's kid, you told yourself that he's unreliable and not to be trusted. Your mother had to have a reason not to tell the man that she was carrying his child. She wouldn't have raised you in your shitty one bedroom apartment for nothing. Maybe she did tell him, and he just told her to get lost?

You just know that as he watched you get dragged away and thrown in one of the most vile places, you had decided that he was the worst thing you would ever see.

He never one visited or called. Even when the DNA came back and he was allowed a short meeting with you, he denied wanting to see you. A far different man than his TV persona.

×

"This piece goes over there.." A female voice spoke from over your shoulder.

"Thank you, Alice."

"Mhm"

Alice was a nice girl. She had shaved off brunette hair and a pair of strikingly blue eyes. There were marks that stuck to the temples of her head from years of electro-therapy. She had been a patient at Arkham years before you were thrown in. She had even died there. She had whispered a story about her time awaiting her death through her electro-therapy...it was almost the same as the electric chair.

"And this one goes here." A young male who sat in front of you pointed at the puzzle you were putting together.

Mathew. He, too, had dark brown hair and matching blue eyes with Alice. Siblings that came from the same rotten seed. He had killed himself in Arkham after he found out about Alice's death.

Nothing was really wrong with them, they had been transmitted to Arkham at a bad time in the world. The both of them were just severely traumatized and scared.

Far different than Ruby, who claims God was talking to her, but his whispers stopped when she strangled herself.

"They have brownies in the canteen today." Mathew whispered, watching you with his usually wide eyes. The brownies happened to be the only good thing in this entire facility.

"Finally, I've been waiting all week." You mumbled, looking down at the table in front of you.

"Y/N." The familiar voice of Dr. Conley spoke. "It's time."

Wordlessly, you abandoned your puzzle and left your room, following her all the way to the bare office that they would bring the catatonic patients. Your breakdown last week had landed you to not be able to leave the main building.

"Please sit." She instructed you. You did as told and reached for the sickeningly white chair that waited for you.

You watched as she took in a sigh and looked around the room. "I thought you were getting better-"

"There is nothing to recover from." You interrupted her, growing defensive. "I'll name off a patient who died here, and you can go see if you can find their papers!"

You know you should've given up explaining by now. None of them would ever believe you. "Y/N, you know that's not possible-"

"But fucking aliens are!?" Your breathing became heavy as you looked at her.

"Look, Y/N-"

"I want to go back to my room." You mumbled, interrupting her for the third time.

You could hear her sigh yet again before she tried to speak, but you only banged on the table in front of you. "I WANT TO GO BACK TO MY ROOM!"

×

Dick had been searching through Bruce's at home office for the past few hours. Looking for his adoption papers because of some stupid shit at work. With a sigh, he closed the filing cabinet he was looking in and went to go find Alfred instead.

As he approached the dining room (where he expected the older man to be), he not only found Alfred, but a giant box filled with papers as well.

"I believe you were looking for this." Alfred stated as he turned to look at Dick. "Master Bruce keeps all of your legal documents in a safer place." Of course, he was talking about the other adoptees and blood child that lived in the Manor some point in their life.

"Yeah, thanks, Alf." Dick smiled as he started sorting through the papers. The older man only nodded his head and walked off.

Alright here we go..Jason, Tim, Damian, Jason again, More stuff for Tim, a copy of his own birth certificate, Y/N L/N, Jason- Hold on..Y/N L/N?

×

Dick had loudly entered the batcave, making a b-line straight for Bruce.

"Who is Y/N?!"

"Wha-"

"Who the fuck is Y/N, Bruce?!"

Bruce let out a sigh as he stepped away from Dick, watching as his son waved a handful of papers in his face.

"Father, what is he talking about?" Damian (who just happened to be in the cave) asked.

"He has another kid- one that he's kept secret!" Dick yelled, looking over at his younger brother. He knows it's not really any of his business, but he can't help but feel angry over how you might have not even existed in Bruce's eyes. "Another ACTUAL kid of yours!" He put emphasis on the 'actual' trying to hint to you being another blood child like Damian.

"Go get ready. I'm calling Tim and Jason." He told Damian, already grabbing his phone from his pocket. Damian hesitantly got out of his seat and did what Dick asked.

"Dick, you don't have to make this serious." Bruce slackly tried to grab for the phone.

"Don't make it serious?!" Dick yelled, shocked at Bruce's words. "They're your kid?!"

"They're a murderer!"

Dick let an ebrupt laugh fall from his lips, slowly lowering the phone from his ear. "Jason's a murderer."

"B-but-"

"Damian's a murderer, Tim's a murderer, I'm a murderer!" He yelled out the last part.

The two of them continued to stare at each other for a few seconds before Dick brought his phone back up to his ear. "Yeah, Tim, I'm here."

~☆~

Hehehhe, just something I came up with. I'm going to post another ArkhamPatientBatkid!Reader later. It's gonna have a different plot and stuff, but it's just stuck in my head.

[delirious-donna]

A Spider's Web [Geto Suguru]

an: an entire rework of a story written way back in '22. I've changed a few things and tightened it up a little more. Sometimes I can't tell if I'm into Suguru or not... he is very compelling.

pairing: Geto Suguru x female reader

warnings: dark content, kinda yandere Suguru, corruption, abuse of power, doctor/patient relationship, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, handjob, messy first blowjob, pussy fingering, pussy eating, unprotected sex, cumshot, cum eating

Masterlist

Depraved, vile and manipulative–all accurate. Suguru should feel some semblance of shame, or at the very least guilt, but not even an ounce of it existed in the twisted labyrinth of his mind. 

He was well aware of the superiority complex that plagued him, which was why he had found himself in the medical field and was the reason his private practice was considered the top in his specialty. Geto Suguru was considered the best psychiatrist in the city, perhaps even one of the top in the country.

From his position of power, Dr Geto should be helping you overcome your issues in a healthy, sustainable manner as he did for his other clients, but instead, he was trying to use your insecurities to crawl inside your pants.

Depraved.

A thick finger dragged across the loose-leaf papers that made up your file, eyeing the snapshot of your shy face that was clipped to your introductory questionnaire. He smiled at how you made reluctant eye contact with the camera, a camera his secretary had held aloft in the sanctity of the waiting room whilst he watched from the doorway to his office.

You were the perfect embodiment of a people pleaser, a diagnosis he had made within the first two minutes of meeting you. A meek flower that would only open like an exquisite rare bloom under certain conditions and Suguru was more than a little obsessed.

It was child’s play to identify the toxic trait in himself, the dark urge within his psyche that drove him forward and overrode the sane part of his brain that warned him to stop. To stop before he took it too far, stop before he did something he might regret.

It was too late for that.

The second he had checked out your social media pages, he had edged his toe over the line of professional decency; after that, he had tumbled headfirst down the rabbit hole and there would be no saving him.

He knew all the people you called friends, and the family members that you worked so hard to keep in touch with despite how sick it made you feel when that enthusiasm wasn’t reciprocated. More so, he took note of the men who were desperately trying to pursue you even though your complete naivety towards them and their attempts kept them at bay. 

Of course, you spoke about many of them in your weekly sessions, but you didn’t know that he had clicked on every profile available to him. Admired the photos and saved his favourites on his personal computer. Dr Geto had an entire file on you that had nothing to do with your patient file…

Fisting his cock he pumped in steady but quick pulls, tugging himself closer to the brink of ecstasy whilst he imagined you kneeling beneath his desk. Batting those innocent doe eyes as if you didn’t know how fucking pretty you were. Wearing those perfectly decent, ‘I’m a good girl’ skirts and always ensuring you tucked the material tight against your thighs when you sat on his plush couch.

Would your skin burn with heat when your lips wrapped around his swollen tip? Would you grimace at the salty taste of his arousal on your tongue? 

Vile.

Suguru’s head rolled against the head support of his chair at the thought. The idea that he might convince you to relieve the sinful ache in his heavy balls was a heady one. The product of weeks of planting the seedling and watering it with more and more inappropriate chat and suggestions.

There were only minutes until your session was scheduled to begin, it was a race against the clock. A sprint finish to release the demons burning their hellfire in his soul and to ensure that he remained merciful for at least another week. 

It had become a game to him, this little charade of fucking into his fist mere minutes before you arrived to quell his desire to see you broken by his will. He could do it, it would be nothing to him and that was why he had to deter those whims. He pictured the filthy acts he would coerce you into doing with the faintest shift in his tone and that was enough–for now–it had to be enough.

Suguru rocked backwards, a slight squeak from his desk chair and his hips drove up to meet his hand. His palm twisted atop his weeping cockhead, and his sensitive skin twitched from the sensation. He was so close. He bit down on his lip until there was a tang of iron on his tongue, all whilst an image of your tear-filled eyes flitted across his mind's eye. 

The intercom on his desk blared to life and midnight eyes snapped open in an angry startle. The breathy voice of his sickly sweet and simpering receptionist announced your arrival and he cursed beneath his breath. Fuck!

Ire exploded through his body, filling him with potent venom as he tucked himself back into his pants and fixed himself to hide the painful erection. Growling the instruction to send you in, he cleaned his hands and threw the used tissue into the trash. He knew that events would not unfold well for you today, this extra session that you had implored him was absolutely necessary earlier in the week was about to turn into something altogether wicked and it was your fault…

Manipulative.

You couldn’t deny how a sense of calm descended upon you the very moment you stepped into the softly lit office. The smile of the receptionist was genuine, the abundance of plant life in the waiting area and the low melody of music settled your nerves just as you had hoped.

Dr Geto was a genius, a prophet, a God.

His every word, you hung upon with a fascination worthy of a disciple. You had a crush on your psychiatrist–no–that wasn’t right. This was no crush, it was a deep infatuation and there was no cure. The real problem was that you didn’t recognise that you were obsessed with the clever man and that made things all the more dangerous.

Sure, he was attractive.

A little older than you were but he maintained a youthful physique and there was not a single line or wrinkle on his sharp, angular face.

You had often wondered if his hair would feel as soft and silky as it looked, the vast length more often than not tucked up into a top knot and you itched to touch it one day–to run your fingers through it even.

Yet, what attracted you most was the brain behind the looks, the insights and the words of advice that always hit their mark. Dr Geto was a genius and you revered him as a God.

The problem was, that he knew it...

Why did you need this extra session? You stumbled to remember the hastily fumbled words from the telephone conversation earlier this week. Something about your manager, something clearly trivial if you had already forgotten but you were happy to see your handsome doctor so soon after your last visit.

There was a sense of something different in the air this dark stormy afternoon. Rain lashed the windows that lined his snug office, the vibrant orange leaves of fall dulled by a persistent gloom that fell over the skies like a heavy woollen blanket. Even the eyes that observed you when you entered his room seemed distant, unattached and cool.

It made you frown. Your lips tugged down in one fell swoop and a lead weight filled your stomach. You failed to notice that your frown had brought a hint of a smile to his lips, those sweeping lines curved into something sinister but you were too busy trying to figure out how to lift his mood to realise that you were already doing so.

The normal routine of your session began in earnest, recapping the last visit and going over the small tasks he had assigned as ‘homework’ along with the results and observations. 

Speaking to Dr Geto was always nerve-wracking, you worried you’d say something wrong, that he’d think you dumb or inept but you stumbled on because he wanted you to. Everything that you did, every word or confession you spilt and every action you took outside of his office was a direct response to his wishes. 

Sure, it was meant to be for your benefit but the euphoria that laced your blood when he offered a genuinely pleased smile was enough to make you feel drunk. The biggest rush of endorphins filled your head when you received that hit of pleasure from his happiness, but that was the problem. You should be finding pleasure in your happiness and not in others. Wasn’t that one of the reasons you had started therapy?

“Why are you here today?” He asked and the abruptness of the question knocked you sideways. Your fingers twisted into the pleats of your skirt, inadvertently raising the hem and gifting your dutiful doctor a rare glimpse of the tops of your thighs.

“I-I don’t really remember the reason, it seemed so crucial at the time but now that I’m here… I’m sorry. I’m wasting your time, aren’t I?”

It was a statement you made with alarming regularity, never believing yourself to be worthy of someone’s time and attention even when you were paying for it. You expected the normal reassurance that he was here for you, that you were his patient and he was in no way imposed by your requirements, but it didn’t come.

“Yes, it seems that way.” His cheek rested against his fist, a mean smile dancing on his lips despite the air of stiff indifference surrounding him and it sent you reeling. 

Reeling to fix your mistake, to please him, to make it so that you weren’t wasting his time. Anxiety turned your blood icy, the slosh of it burning your veins and bringing tears to your eyes. This was your worst nightmare come true. You were a burden. A troublesome woman who couldn’t go two minutes without reassurance.

The wobble of your bottom lip and the way your fingers fidgeted quicker and quicker in your lap, it was enough to make him want to push you back against the sunshine-yellow couch you sat upon. To pull you down and straddle your chest just to watch your eyes turn wide when he pressed his aching cockhead against those plump, wobbly lips.

Schooling his features, Suguru sighed—deep and heavy—his eyes stared towards the ceiling whilst he did his best to ignore the pitiful display you were putting on. The wringing of your hands and your knees that bashed into one another as you squirmed like a worm caught on a hook. It was an apt metaphor, he certainly was baiting you, you simply didn’t know it.

“Funny isn’t it?”

“What is?” you squeaked in response, your voice high and needy.

A finger idly traced the open page of the notebook he always held on the arm of his chair. He waited until your gaze fell on his wandering digit. Snaring your attention with the slow methodical movement, as if he were tracing lines of text when in reality the page was naked.

“Hm… this persistent need to please others, the desire that you feel to ensure that everyone else is happy even at your own expense, and you don’t show me the same courtesy. Me your ever-dutiful doctor.”

“I-I don’t—” you managed to stammer, floundering in your thoughts. You silenced abruptly when the man you usually looked up to as a genius snapped his fingers.

“I am still talking and you are listening,” he stated coolly. 

He paused for a second, testing to make sure you understood. “Not only are you encroaching on an afternoon that I had planned to keep free, but you are also five minutes early and I didn’t get to finish.”

Every synapse in your brain fired at full tilt, scrambling for context clues as to what he possibly could mean by ‘didn’t get to finish’. What on earth could that possibly mean?

Your heart sank into your toes. Your eyes swivelled the width of his office but nothing seemed out of place. The space was uncluttered as usual, only then did you notice the open manila folder on his desk, a photo that appeared oddly familiar barely visible from this angle.

“It’s your file, I was perusing the contents before I was so rudely interrupted,” Dr Geto explained, noticing your squinting eyes and the crane of your neck towards his desk. Somehow the word ‘perusing’ did not sound as innocent as it should and you squirmed further in your seat.

“Should I go?” you asked timidly, yet every part of you screamed to stay. You would be miserable if you were to leave here with things unresolved, with someone unhappy with you–how unthinkable!

The good doctor smirked behind his hand, eyes remaining cool and unreadable as he fixed them on your agitated posture. If he asked you to kneel on the floor and then roll over like an obedient puppy, you would do it without question. It was a euphoric feeling, the power he wielded over you, and his tongue swiped a path across his lower lip in anticipation. The heaviness in his balls urged him onward, but this was not something to be rushed, he would savour corrupting you wholly.

Ignoring your pathetic question, he posed his own. “Tell me, have you ever orgasmed from sex? Did you stop seeing that man we discussed previously?”

You slouched on the couch, fingers still nervously fidgeting and your brow lowered whilst you attempted to keep up with this erratic session. It was like nothing you had ever experienced, but you couldn’t help but bask in the knowledge that he remembered discussing your ex, even though it was his job to do so.

“Uh, well… no. Never with someone, but I don’t know what that has—”

His teeth clicked in annoyance, a warning shot in your direction, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “I’ll be the one asking the questions, and I don’t believe you’ve answered one of them…”

“I'm not seeing him anymore,” you murmured into your chest.

That’s what he wanted to hear, the unfettered joy that burst in his chest at that knowledge only adds fuel to the fire raging in his mind. No one other than he should be allowed the divine right to your pleasure, that was his job and he wanted to praise you. To tell you what a good girl you were for listening to his advice. Advice that had been for your benefit, if you squinted, but was more a selfish desire of his own.

Suguru’s already straining cock thickened upon hearing the news, the expensive slacks digging against his sensitive shaft and he wanted badly to release some of his pent-up frustration and discomfort.

“Come here,” he demanded with the merest flick of his finger. His voice softened, a reward for your answers and for following his guidance. You were so very affected by speech and he adored that about you.

You were a foal walking for the very first time as you stood and took the three shaky steps it took to stand before his chair. Under the change in his tone, you bloomed, heat caressed your smooth skin and he let a low hum of appreciation puff through his lips.

Dressed in his usual black pants and black dress shirt, you tried not to admire his physique but it was an impossible feat. He was your psychiatrist, it was not okay to lust after a man who was a care provider as well as being likely a man with a loving partner at home–not that you had ever dared to ask. 

Shocked was a pale comparison to how you felt when the man shrouded in the shadow of your body, slid his hands to the belt around his waist. He unbuckled it with deft fingers which you watched in riveted fascination whilst your nerves ratcheted up to a new level of anxiety.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Showing you my cock, little one. I know you’ve seen one before. That you’ve felt one between your legs. You told me that man made you touch him, didn’t he?”

The words were said so matter of factly, as if this were some standard practice and for a brief moment you wondered if it was and that you were the one being weird for freaking out. How twisted around his pinky finger you were…

He sighed when the cool air kissed his weeping cockhead, the relief of freeing himself from the pressure of his clothes was intense and he gave one lazy pump of his length whilst he waited for your reaction.

Your eyes were as big and round as dinner plates, transfixed by his cock and that only stroked his ego further. The angry purple tip looked almost painful, veins thick and stark on his tawny skin and the weight of him pulled his dick down to smack against his thigh.

“Dr Geto…”

“Suguru. Right here and now, I’d like for you to call me Suguru. Do you understand?”

Blinking rapidly, your gaze rose from the sight of what could only be described as a fearsome-looking cock, and met eyes of potent liquorice. You tested the name in your head, Suguru, it sounded so fitting and at long last, you knew his given name and had been given–no–commanded to use it.

“Su-Suguru.” Despite the stammer, it sounded like perfection to his ear. He couldn’t wait to hear it from your sweet lips when he made you cry it out in ecstasy. He’d purr like a contented cat, and he would but later.

“Good girl,” he soothed. His free hand coiled around your wrist, tugging it away from the pleats of your skirt but his motions were gentle, testing.

“Did you fist his cock like this? Did you feel how hot and heavy the skin down here is? How the veins pulse as a man nears his peak?”

Your head shook, once then again.

In truth, you had been afraid that your then-boyfriend would be mad at you. Only giving the most cursory of touches to his far less impressive dick before he had taken over and you had simply watched. It had been fascinating at the time, and yet you hadn’t felt the inclination to join in. It was the same during intercourse, you were a participant but never felt actively there. There was no lack of consent to speak of, but a piece of you had remained locked behind an iron gate, unable to enjoy the act and only faking the noises you had heard from lacklustre porn.

Suguru pointed to the spot on the floor between his thighs, spreading himself wider in the chair and rolling his hips forward. You were kneeling before you even realised you were complying with the silent order, every inch of you shivered in anticipation of what he was going to do next.

Thick midnight hair fell most beautifully, the top knot pulled free and his hair draped over his shoulders. Transfixed by the lopsided grin and the calculating eyes that held you fast, you hadn’t noticed that he was wrapping your fingers around his erection.

Heat, heavy and decadent seared your palm. You gasped at how velvety soft his skin felt under your touch, how prominent the veins were against your fingertips and how he twitched when you tightened your grip almost involuntarily. 

Suguru fought against his desire to let his head drop back, for his neck to roll against the back of his chair at the simple act of you touching him like he had envisaged a million times prior. With his lower lip trapped by his teeth, he helped you find a slow rhythm. Giving you ample opportunity to explore him like he was some intriguing science experiment.

Dark laughter rumbled from his chest when you gasped at the sensation of the sticky silver strands that leaked from his slick-coated tip to your fingers. It was the first sign of you stopping, perhaps coming to your senses that this shouldn’t be happening and he couldn’t have that.

“You'll taste it, won't you?” he grunted with a pout on his lips, daring you to even consider disobeying his wish. He was a monster for acting like this, to make you think you were bad for not considering his happiness.

You did indeed grimace at the bitter taste, two fingers pressed down on your pretty pink tongue and sampled the arousal that continued to leak from him in pearled beads. 

The longer you savoured his unique flavour, the more you grew accustomed to it. Certainly, it wasn’t some delicious taste but saliva pooled in your mouth, ropes of it connected your lips and fingers until they broke apart like spider webs under too much tension.

“You’ve no idea how damn attractive you are. I can barely stop myself from forcing those pretty lips open with my cock, to fuck that cute mouth until you’re gagging on it.”

Big doe eyes were his reward, your entire posture straightened as if you were lit up from his words, lewd though they may be. His hand stroked at the back of your head, brain running a mile a minute as he changed tack and fixed you with another slight pout.

“You’ll take care of me, won’t you, little one? My good girl is always so willing to make me happy. That’s it, baby. Just… like… that. Fuck.”

He guided your head down as he spoke, bending you to his will with effortless ease. Your mouth parted much like he knew your thighs would do soon enough and he groaned in delight the very second his aching tip grazed against a tentative silken tongue. 

As much as he might want to see you ruined, mascara tracks down your cheeks mingled with fat tears, that would have to wait for another time. If he pushed too much you’d run and where would the fun be in that? He wished to corrupt you, sure, but he wasn’t prepared to downright force you if you were unwilling. 

It appeared that Dr Geto had some semblance of morals after all, twisted though they might be.

You’d seen this act performed in porn and knew the mechanics of how it worked but it was quite different participating. Mere minutes into your first-ever blowjob and your jaw ached. Saliva escaped the sides of your mouth, and loud slurping noises made your skin heat up as your watery eyes strayed up.

His gaze was hooded, lips parted with pants of air passing through them every few seconds. When he locked eyes with you, he licked those devilish lips with a feline smile offered along with a soft groan.

“Oh, my darling girl, you’re a natural. Don’t fight it, relax. Let me feel your throat.” The praise was hissed through clenched teeth.

You fought down the instinct to reject the intrusion as it neared your throat, the muscles worked furiously and caused you to gag around him.

Shifting on your knees in discomfort, you blinked, letting the tears fall from your eyes. You gripped the base of his cock, squeezing roughly and heard him curse under his breath from the pressure. The nails from your free hand found purchase in the expensive material covering his thigh and bunched it in your frantic grip.

“Fuck. Oh, sweet fucking Jesus. Sweetheart, stop. That is enough!”

Suguru was practically yelling as he ripped your mouth from his saliva-drenched cock, the wet disconnect of your concaved cheeks followed by your rasping breaths filled the silence that followed.

A mixture of your saliva and his precum dripped to his tightly drawn balls, a wet stain spreading on the chair beneath him and his cheeks flushed in reaction.

It took a moment to find composure. Idly he stroked your hair to ensure you knew he wasn’t mad or displeased by your efforts, far from it. His palm traced your cheek, wiping away the remaining tears with his thumb. Gentle and reassuring, as if he weren’t breaking every code of ethics going.

“I think this is the first session where I have said more than you, my dear. I’d like the chance to make you feel good, will you let me do that? It would make me so very happy...”

Subconsciously your face had come to rest against the side of his knee, enjoying the soft petting and whispered words of praise more than you thought you ever would. Your dark God wanted to make you feel good, who were you to deny him that want? You were his disciple after all.

“I don’t feel worthy…”

He snorted. “Nonsense. I’ve wanted to take you to hell before gifting you heaven since the very first moment you walked into my office.”

What an honour, to have been regarded so highly by the genius that was Dr Geto, it spoke to that part of your psyche that you were meant to be working on. It filled you with warmth, that deep-seated desire to feel wanted and needed. This was far from healthy, anyone would see that but you didn't have the luxury of that insight.

“I’d like that… Suguru.”

The smile he flashed at you was like staring at the devil himself. Shame, it was tinted by your reverence.

You could only watch as he slowly undressed, standing for a moment to step out of his pants and underwear before kneeling in front of you. His face was so close, reaching out for you and admiring your features with a reverential eye. His thumb stroked your jawline, ending with it dragging your lower lip down and you dared to nip at the rough textured pad.

Inching closer, warm breath that smelled faintly spicy and laced with traces of tobacco fanned your cheek and you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. There was a tsk of admonishment followed by a gasp, your head tilted back with a sharp yank on your hair and you met the blazing stare of the man before you. Emotions were swirling in those polished obsidian irises that you couldn’t begin to fathom, the serpents of his wicked intent but to you, they were pretty star-filled skies.

His mouth hovered above yours, waiting, ever the patient man and giving you this one final chance to push away. To come to your fucking senses and run for the hills. You should. You really should get out before it was too late. There was time… if you kissed him now, it was game over. 

Yes, you held his cock in your fist and had taken him into your mouth but if you kissed him your fate would be sealed. Suguru conveyed this without saying a single word, he radiated his warning and demanded that you heed it.

You were the metaphorical shiny red apple, so perfect looking yet you were slowly rotting on the inside. The worm had found its way inside and was slowly eroding your purity, replacing it with sinful intentions and indecent thoughts. Who would have thought your handsome and prolific psychiatrist would be capable of such wickedness?

Time suspended when your lips met at long last, all soft touches at first, but quickly they turned heated and carnal. Suguru let you lead for a time, responding to the dance of your mouth but finally, he swept you into his arms on a whimpered sigh from your throat. 

His strong arms pulled you closer, palms flush against your back and you could feel his slicked-up cock press snugly against your stomach. You only parted long enough for him to help you remove the sweater that covered your pretty dress, the straps of which were shoved down your arms until you could feel the cold air on your skin.

Suguru chased the chill from your flesh, his touch ignited every part of you he touched and there was a deep part of you that longed to push your fingers into his hair. Never one to do something purely for selfish means, you were emboldened by the lust that washed through you, the knot of tension that tugged behind your navel and you dared to do it. Your fingers speared into the masses of his thick raven hair, nails scratching against his scalp and you were pushed to the floor as he groaned into your mouth from the unexpected sensation.

A palm spread your thighs apart and you squealed into his mouth at the first touch of his hand against your underwear. Your cotton panties were drenched and you were beyond mortified. His tongue flicked lazily against the front of your teeth before retreating.

“Is this all for me? I’m honoured.” Suguru traced the edge of your panties, hooking his thumbs behind the flimsy elastic band and tugging them down in swift movements. He knelt between your spread thighs and heat burst along your skin.

You covered your face with your palms, biting down on your fingers as the dark-haired male teased a sole finger along your slit. No one had touched you here like this other than yourself, you hadn’t allowed it. Plenty had wanted to, but something always held you back, it never felt right. This shouldn’t feel right, yet it did.

Strands of sticky arousal caked his finger in an instant, your hips rolled against the plush carpet and you watched through your fingers as he sucked that sticky finger entirely clean. It shouldn't make your insides squirm like a pit of writhing vipers, should it?

“Knew you’d taste sweeter than cream, you're gonna let me taste you properly, yeah?” he asked with a rasp, already lowering himself so his face peaked up from below the bunched skirt of your dress.

A quick nod and your back arched so high that you thought your spine might break clean in two. The fat stripe he licked along your folds curled your toes and your hands flew to his hair once more. Dark irises studied your expression, watched for every telltale sign of what you liked and stored it away for future use.

Your skin tasted more delicious than anything he had ever sampled, his nose nestled against the short curls at your mound and pressed against your bundle of nerves. He alternated between short sharp strokes of his tongue and long languid licks from below your clenching entrance right to your throbbing clit.

Suguru eased his fingers into your tight pussy, braced on one forearm that hooked around the outside of your hip. He held you down as best he could whilst you bucked and writhed as new sensations assaulted you from every direction.

You whined at the stretch from his digits but he refused to relent, knowing how much more the burn of his cock would feel without this much-needed prepping. How you managed to engage in sex without these pleasures was a mystery to him. No wonder you never enjoyed the experience.

He refused to acknowledge the warnings in the back of his mind, the way that he was becoming addicted to your scent and taste. He ignored how fucking amazing you made him feel every time you tugged on his hair or called his name out when you experienced something new. You were so responsive to his every touch, you were made for him and he would make you his before the day was out.

“Don’t hold back, darling, cum for me. You can do it, just let go.”

Suguru quickened the thrust of his fingers, curling them further to press down against the spot that was swelling from his expert attention. The very second his lips attached to your clit, you exploded like the most magnificent firework. 

Never had he heard such colourful language from you before, the cacophony of curses mingled with his name and the offerings to a God he did not believe in. His fingers were practically thrown from your pussy, the walls clenching down so tightly and the slippery release enough to make his eyes momentarily widen before he could compose himself. 

What a sight.

His innocent patient lying spread out on the floor of his office, hair fanning your head like an angel’s halo and your breasts close to spilling over the soft cups of your bra. Translucent arousal covered your thighs, the skin shiny and he had half a mind to simply lick you clean, but there were more pressing matters to attend to first.

It was evident you were still riding your orgasm, lip tightly tucked between your teeth and each gentle touch of his hands made you whimper and jerk. Suguru kissed a path up your torso, leaving sticky patches of your essence on your collarbone and neck as he lowered himself atop you.

His cock slid with ease along your messy folds, toying with you for only long enough to steal more kisses and interlock your fingers beside your head. This was the moment he had waited for, had hoped would come and after nearly a year, you were going to be his.

“Will you let me fuck your cute pussy, sweetheart?” he asked and almost immediately balked at himself. Why the fuck was he giving you an out, now? He should be splitting you open like he needed to, not asking for your fucking permission.

Suguru breathed a sigh of relief as you nodded shyly, gazing at him softly from below your lashes. You had just cum all over his face and fingers and yet you still looked like the most timid little flower—perfection.

Without a second's hesitation, he pressed forward, the pressure against his thick tip enough to make him grunt like an animal. He rocked himself back and forth, opening you further with each new thrust of his hips. You whimpered, whined and pressed your face into the crook of his neck with every stretch of your tight cunt.

How it burned, the sensation of being split apart was enough to bring fresh tears to your eyes and oh fuck, did you want to yell at him to stop. To stop moving, to pull out and let your thighs come together. The fear of his response stopped you, the familiar tingle of wanting to please filled your chest and your brain and all you could do was breathe through it.

It was different before. They were never as big or domineering as the cock currently carving you open. Suguru was moulding you to his length, demanding that you fit him like a silk glove.

You only half heard the whispered words of praise that he lavished upon you, every further inch that he bullied into your tight cunt resulted in more and more messy, open-mouthed kisses. You thought you might die or at least pass out. Stifling a sniffle, you tightened the fingers that laced with his own.

Suddenly, it stopped. 

The agonising pain of accepting Suguru into your body ceased, a warm feeling flooded your abdomen and you blinked up into a face twisted in pleasure.

“You’re so tight, I might not last…”

His voice was hoarse, strangled with the tendons on his neck on prominent display. Your hips pressed together, his cock so deep in your body that you were truly worried that he could rearrange your guts. When he pulled back, you moaned and it sounded like the most filthy noise you had ever made in your life.

Suguru gasped in reaction, obsidian eyes boring into your skull as his pace picked up. You could feel every part of him, your walls hugging and contoured to accommodate him to sheer perfection.

You were made to take this man, this darkly handsome man who manipulated you into this situation and used your weaknesses to his advantage. He was no God, he was the Devil and you had sold your soul to him. Signed your name in blood and there wasn’t a hint of regret in your mind.

The longer he stroked his cock into your pussy the bolder you became, you were the one to kiss him and suck on his swollen lips. Your tongue twisted around his and licked against his teeth. You arched your back, lifting your hips and shifting the angle of his cock to press just right on that special spot he had found earlier. You groaned in his ear and whispered for him to go faster, harder.

All he could do was everything that you asked of him. He had fallen hook, line and sinker for you. How things had twisted up in the jumble of lust.

For a second, Suguru frowned as a fleeting thought crossed his mind. Had you wanted this all along? Had you played him more than he had played you? It was gone in an instant as your head tipped back and you chanted his name in blind reverence.

“Suguru. Suguru! Oh fuck, Suguru!”

Once again, he felt your precipice and quickened to send you careening over the edge. Your thighs tightened around his lean hips, the pressure in his balls close to exploding when your walls milked him. 

You fell first, but you were bringing him with you this time. Clinging to him like he was the only anchor in a stormy sea, the knots within your stomach released all at once, and then you felt the white-hot heat of thick ropes of cum splashing against your thighs. When he had pulled out, you didn’t know. All you did know was that there was a faint tremor of disappointment that he had running through your mind.

For the longest time, you simply stared at one another, both coming down from your respective highs and not daring to look away.

The smile you gifted him was new. It made his head tilt whilst he observed you from above. After a long moment, he returned the smile and let his head sink against your heaving chest.

Who had corrupted who? Did it really matter when you both got exactly what you wanted?

[spencerreidswhore187]

Checkmate (Part One)

By @spencerreidswhore187 for @sackofpissandshit

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Summary: Spencer finds out that reader is not who he thought they were. (Lots of angst)

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Unsub (g!n) Reader

Word Count: 2.3K

TW: Death, violence, brief mentions of kidnapping, rape, alcohol/substance abuse and guns.

A/N: Hi! This is my first Spencer Reid fanfic and I’ve also not proof read it so please don’t judge if it’s not very good. It’s inspired/named after the song Checkmate by Conan Gray and influenced a little by the film Mr and Mrs Smith.

“I’m sorry Reid,” Emily whispered. When the team found out, they had to draw straws in order to decide who’d be the one to tell Spencer. Penelope had tears in her eyes and Emily chewed her nails down to the finger. None of them wanted to be the one to break his heart, not after Meave.

Spencer had experienced heartbreak before but not like this. Whereas before, when he watched the girl he loved get shot, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. It hurt him so much, like a physical wound. But now? His heart was fine and, yet, it were as if the rest of his organs had shut down. He couldn’t feel anything. He was floating. He could see Emily’s lips moving but all he could hear was your voice, playing over and over and over again in his head.

Spencer remembered the day he told you that he loved you as though it was yesterday. It was late at night, stars splattered across the midnight sky; your legs were draped over his as you lay stretched across Spencer’s sofa. You both had spent the day binging the Star Wars franchise for what was probably the a hundredth (in release order, much to Spencer’s dismay.) You’d looked so beautiful with the crimson and azure lights reflected from the lightsabers on the TV dancing across your skin.

Your mouth was full of pistachio ice cream when the words slipped out, “I love you.” Spencer recalled the way your eyes widened - as if no one had ever said those words to you before. “I love you y/n. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Your lips stretched into a soft smile.

“I love you, too, Spence. More than anything, never forget that.”

Spencer would have sacrificed anything to go back to that moment: every IQ point, every novel in his possession, his role in the FBI. But no matter what happened, Spencer could not turn back time. He could not return to a time before he knew you were a killer.

—————————————————————

“He’s a fucking FBI agent.” Ben spat.

“No he’s not,” you protested, “he’s a surgeon.”

It’s why he had so many spontaneous shifts, why he’d suddenly have to leave in the middle of the night or during a date, it’s why he’d sometimes be gone for long periods of time.

You hated the way Ben laughed at you. You hated Ben. Full stop.

“How can you be so ignorant y/n. You are so god damn naive.”

“He’s a doctor. I swear.” Spencer wouldn’t lie to you. He’d promised you, the night he said he loved you, that he would never lie to you.

Ben slung an arm around your neck and pulled you into him, overwhelming you with the vile scent of alcohol and piss.

“Then fucking explain this,” he grinned, showing you a photo of your boyfriend. You lurched forward as you read the headline of the article: ‘Dr Spencer Reid of Quantico’s Behaviour Analysis Unit’.

It hurt. So much. This betrayal consumed you. You shoved your boss off of you and vomited. You could hear Ben’s laugh reverberating off the grim walls of the basement you were in as he stumbled away.

You scrubbed at your lips, trying to rid yourself of taste.

Your boyfriend, your best friend, worked for the FBI. And you were a killer.

You were eight years old when it happened, they’d grabbed you off the street as you were walking home from school. The police would have found you if they’d looked. Then men go took you did not wear masks, nor did they bother disguising themselves or the van they tied you up in the back of. It had taken your parents four days to realise you were gone. It had taken the police two hours before they gave up searching. No one had cared enough to find the little lost child. No one had ever cared about you, until Spencer.

You learnt quickly that the only way to survive was to do what they say. Deal drugs, steal, you didn’t care. You would do anything to live. And these men exploited that. They manipulated you. They corrupted you. They were the first people you killed. You slept better than ever that night, in an abandoned alley. Alone. Free.

That’s where Ben had found you. Ben, the leader of a minor gang, paid you to go after those who’d wronged him. The people who broke his rules - rapists, pedophiles, murderers. You enjoyed being a vigilante at first. But soon you learnt you could hurt them in way worse than death…Ben agreed with you.

You would frame them for crimes, rob them, plant drugs in their possession. You would stand from the sidelines at watch their lives collapse.

And now it was your turn. This was a strange sense of Karma.

You and Spencer played a game of Chess every night before you went to sleep. You were waiting for him to come home as you slipped a vail of hemlock into his drink and placed the glass next to the board. Staring at pieces, you heard the front door open.

“Checkmate,” you whispered.

—————————————————————

Spencer pressed his loaded gun firmly behind his back, breathing heavily as he climbed the stairs to the bedroom. He knew what would be waiting for him, the same thing that awaits him every evening when he returns from work.

You were sat crossed legged in your chair, leaning over the chess board analysing the pieces. You’d been playing this game for the last three weeks - both of you always managed to escape being checked.

You had a glass of water in hand and there was a glass for him next to his seat. Neither of you drank alcohol. Spencer had been sober since his drug addiction and you refused to drink after he told you that he was ten years sober. It was things like that, the small things you did, that made Spencer believe you were gentle and kind. He chided himself for being so stupid.

You looked up grinning at Spencer who was leaning against the doorway. He loved that smile. He hated himself for still loving it.

“Hey Spence.”

How could you be so glib when your hands are covered in the blood of innocents?

“Hi y/n,” he said, fist tightening around the gun.

“How was work? I saw or the news there was crash near the hospital. Did many people get-” you were interrupted by the sound of a gun cocking.

You abruptly stood up and stumbled away from Spencer.

“W-what are you doing.” You tried your best to sound scared when he pointed the gun at you.

“What do you think I’m doing? You are a criminal. You are a fucking murder!” Spencer did not feel guilty when you flinched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Baby, please, I’ve never heart anyone. Please put the gun down and we can talk.”

Spencer had never noticed your tell before but it was clearer than ever, now. You chewed on the corner of your lip. This was all the confirmation he needed.

He would not be played like a pawn.

“Cut the act, y/n.” You searched his eyes but they were void of any emotion. Her loving Spencer was gone. Dead.

“What act?”

“You know what bloody act. No more games.”

Fine. You couldn’t help but think that things were finally getting fun.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Spencer, you’re an FBI agent. You have a code of conduct. You have morals.” You mocked, disdain evident in your words. “That’s right, isn’t it? You have doctorates but you are not an actual doctor. What you are is a fucking liar.”

That was the first time you’d ever called him Spencer. It had always been ‘Spence’. The facade was truly gone and he felt wretched.

How could you use him like that?

He walked towards you, pressing the barrel of his gun against your temple, forcing you to walk backwards until you hit the wall.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” you repeated.

And you were right. Despite Emily telling him to shoot if necessary, Spencer could not bring himself to do it. He was better than you. He had to be better than you.

“Yes I am,” he whispered.

He was not surprised when he felt the cold metal of a blade kiss his neck. Spencer had walked into your trap.

He was surprised, however, when a lone tear slipped down your cheek. His fingers itched to brush it away.

You looked up at him, “did it mean nothing to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This. All of it. You knew who I was…what I was the whole time and still you made me love you. You made me believe that you actually loved me.”

This was perhaps the first time Dr Spencer Reid had ever been confused.

“I-what?”

“Why did you have to make me love you?” You breathed.

“Y/N. I don’t understand.”

“You lied about being a doctor. You were undercover. You orchestrated this entire relationship just so you could arrest me. I want to, no, I need to know why.”

“That’s not true. I lied to protect you. My job gets people hurt, it gets people killed!” Spencer cried, “I lied to protect you!”

You pulled your knife away from his neck.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“You have a gun aimed at my fucking head!”

Spencer dropped the gun and kicked it away from the two of you. You were so close that your noses kept brushing with every movement.

He inhaled sharply, “how many people have you killed?”

“I-none.”

“Margaret Sheppard, Claire Daugherty, Travis Smith, Lance Chen and Aidan Keith. Do those names ring any bells?” Spencer pressed into you, his long fingers curled around your upper arms.

Spencer tried not to think of the nights of the murders, the ones you spent as a knot of limbs - not knowing where one of you began and the other ended. He tried not to think of the way you would gasp or how, afterwards, you would pull him to you, leaning your forehead against his, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. The betrayal was the most painful thing Spencer had ever experienced.

“I did not kill any of them. I didn’t,” you protested.

“So explain to me how they all ended up dead within days of each other. Their necks slit and an ‘x’ cut into their wrists?”

“Spencer, I promise you, I did not kill any of those people.”

“It’s your MO y/n. We know it was you.” Or, he thought he did. You weren’t chewing your lip. “You’re telling me that you have never killed anyone?”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t lie to me!” He shouted, slamming his hand against the wall. “Please. Please just tell me the truth.”

“I have killed people before. I have killed to survive. I have killed because I had to. I have killed because I wanted to. I have killed for fun. But I have not murdered anyone in the last three years. I have not taken a single life since the day I met you!”

Spencer couldn’t breathe.

You continued, “Margaret Sheppard drowned her newborn baby because it was crying too loud. Daugherty ran a sex trafficking ring, Smith and Chen took turns raping their 15 year old daughters. Aidan Keith beat his wife black and blue. They are…were…rich. They were going to get away with it. I did what I was told to, I made them stop.

“I stole millions of dollars from Sheppard. She had no choice but to claim bankruptcy. I helped every single girl escape Claire Daugherty before I put her in a coma. I planted very incriminating evidence on Travis Smith and Lance Chen - evidence that landed them both a life sentence in a high security prison. And Keith? I wanted to kill him. He was one of the men who kidnapped me when I was a child, but I didn’t. I saved him for last. I destroyed what mattered most to him: his reputation.

“I lied and I stole and I hurt but I did not kill any of them. I would not have done anything that would have risked my relationship with you, Spencer.”

He pulled away from you and started pacing around the room. You stood frozen as he reached for his drink.

I have killed to survive. Those words were replaying in his head (curse his eidetic memory). He wanted to know what you meant. He needed to know. What did you mean by one of the men who kidnapped me? Neither Emily or Rossi had told Spencer any of this. None of the BAU had. He mentally went through all of the cold case kidnappings from around eighteen years ago in the area but none stuck out. Were you lying? Was this some elaborate trick? A trap? His head was spinning.

Spencer reached for the untouched glass of water next to the chess board and took a sip.

You lurched foreword and pulled the cup out of his hand, throwing it against the wall. Tiny fragments of glass flew around the room as it shattered, water staining the wall.

It all made sense to Spencer, in that moment, as his eyelids grew heavy, you had poisoned the drink. That was why you had kept glancing at the glass. But, if you wanted to kill him, why did you stop him from drinking more? Why did you break the glass? The last thing he did before the world went dark was whisper “I love you.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Part two soon ◡̈

[morgue-ratt]

Fear Itself

a (somewhat belated) birthday gift for @darklylucid

Jonathan Crane x reader // 1.6k

You've been selected as Dr Crane's latest guinea pig! Yay!

tw// syringes, experiments, bondage, fear toxin, nsfw, this is my first time writing for Dr Crane,

THE scratching of his pencil has permeated into your dreams, now you were not free of him even in sleep. Dr Crane is always immersed in his work, always writing something, the pencil always scratching. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, or even where here is. You maybe had some idea at first but that had been weeks ago, now the only thing your conscious mind had to cling to was him. Dr Crane, the Scarecrow.  

He is working on something big and for it, his chemical weapons must be sharpened to a horrifying edge. Only the best for the Bat. The colors of the toxin vary from orange to yellow to green, the doses change. Sometimes the injections go into your arm, neck or leg. Sometimes, he fits a face mask over your mouth and nose and just sits back as you’re forced to breathe in the gaseous state of uncut terror. The duration changes, it varies from a few minutes to long hours screaming your vocal cords raw. No matter what, the good doctor seems content to sit back and watch. The only thing that doesn’t change is you. His unwilling assistant.  

Your body is covered in needle pricks and track marks. Your cheeks shine with dried tears that Crane hasn’t bothered to wipe away. One of his formulas had made you hallucinate things crawling under your skin, leading you to scratch your arms until you bled and then some. Another had filled you with blind panic and you had kicked Crane so hard in the chest he had deemed it necessary to wrestle you into a strait jacket. Now, as he strips away your sanity with each round of treatment, you can only lean against the wall of the Scarecrow’s makeshift lab.  

“Did you hear me?” Your head lolls to the side and you try to hide your face in your shoulder. He’s standing above you now, towering over you. “You’re awake,” He says. He has to tell you these things, otherwise you’d have no way of knowing. The syringe in his left hand catches the low light. Orange this time. The last one was green. The one before that... you can’t remember.  

The good doctor kneels in front of you. He takes your jaw in his hand so he can look at you, stare directly into your eyes and though you know it’s purely for diagnostic purposes, you don’t like it. “You are awake,” He repeats. Crane moves the syringe closer, and you pull away from his grip so fast you hit your head on the wall behind you. He lets out a sigh; “None of that,” He threads lithe fingers through your hair, gently scraping your scalp, and pulls your head to the side. You cry out as the needle pricks your neck. “There we go, nice and easy,” He says, his voice completely devoid of all emotion.  

Your heart begins to accelerate. This part stays the same. Your vision is going dark around the edges, you twist in the strait jacket; trying to escape the dread crashing around you. What will you see? Monsters? A family member? Will disembodied laughter fill your head? The walls close in? Or will it just be blackness, blinding you until he deems it time to administer the antidote? You start to hyperventilate.  

Crane lets go of your hair and leans back, watching you closely. His face begins to contort, twisting into something somehow even more vile. In your mind’s eye, you see his face stitched into burlap, a horrible creation of the doctor and the Scarecrow. His mouth is somehow both stitches and far too many teeth. You turn away and the horrible face is still there, a monstrous patchwork with eyes gleaming orange no matter where you look. Your blood is rushing in your ears, you barely hear it when he asks; “What do you see?” 

You shake your head.  

“What do you see?” The voice is horrible, it’s like its sending glass through your veins, it comes from everywhere. Crane reaches for your face, and you cringe, pushing yourself into the wall behind you. It’s ike you’re in a kaleidoscope, his hands are everywhere, reaching for you. He takes your face again and the need to scream grows in your chest like fire. “Tell me,” 

“No... nothing,” You say.  

He waves his hand in front of your face, and you flinch. “Tell me,” 

The distorted image of him is almost pulsating in beat with your heart. You can’t focus on anything except the fact you don’t want him to touch you. You barely hear your own voice through your own thundering pulse; “Scarecrow,” 

You can tell that he’s smiling, the mess of burlap and skin spreads in such a way that indicates his pleasure in this answer. “Scarecrow? Are you afraid of the Scarecrow?” He touches you, bringing his scarred hand to cup your cheek and you let out a short scream as though his touch burns you. His laughter shakes your bones. You haven’t heard him laugh since you’ve been here. You bury your face in your shoulder as the laughter echoes in your head. Crane runs his hand through your hair, his touch is gentle. Soft.  

A shudder runs through your body all the same.  

If he has been testing you all this time, tonight you finally have the right answer; gone is the apathetic doctor who gives you your medicine and watches with detached curiosity; now Crane is leaning in close, enjoying the way you flinch and relishing when a fresh wave of tears stream down your cheeks. It’s all for him, after all. He brushes the hair out of your eyes so he can better see your face contorted in terror, he holds you in place so he can enjoy every micro expression with that horrible grin. These almost sweet gestures are so at odds with the hot, all- consuming dread racing through your veins just as the toxin does.  

 Crane takes every excuse to touch you just to see you flinch and cry out in protest, you can’t do much else but even if you weren’t restrained you don’t know if you’d have it in you to do anything but cower. This toxin was designed to take down people much braver than you. You are no Batman.  

You feel his fingers ghost against the column of your throat and you jerk back, toppling over and falling to the floor. Your head is swimming, and you feel Crane lean over you, positioning himself on top of you. Your fear... and knowing you’re afraid of him. It’s addicting. He holds you still with one hand while his other goes for the throat, checking your pulse with his middle and forefinger. “Look at you,” His voice has taken on a purring quality and your drug addled mind makes sure to compensate, the thing above you has a mouth full of blood stained canines and deadly sharp claws like an animal, playing with his prey before the final strike. Your fear is crashing around you as Crane leans forward, pinning your body with his own. He’s trying to get as close to your eyes as possible, he’s all you see.  

You have stopped screaming, opting instead to cry and twist in the jacket, the straps digging in sharply into soft flesh. You’re convinced you’re being flayed as the rough canvas rubs your skin raw. Your breath catches in your throat as the strap between your legs goes a little higher. Crane’s grin spreads across his face as he takes account of this reaction. As you continue to struggle, you do nothing but push yourself to the line between horror and neediness. Arousal is arousal and you’re having trouble distinguishing right now.  

“Oh dear,” Crane chides. He’s all you can see; your vision has been narrowed to a pinprick. “Is someone getting their lines crossed?” You feel his hand pushing the strap further into your sex and you can’t help but moan as you grind yourself into it. “Do you want more?” 

Yes. No. More what? More teasing? More fear? More pain? It’s like your mind is breaking. Panic spikes in your chest, wetness pools between your legs. It feels good, you want to be anywhere else. “More...” You are more aware of your lips moving than the fact you are speaking. The hand disappears from the apex of your legs, and you complain; “No...” 

Crane takes care as he unbuckles the strap going through your legs. He’s amused, he can tell his toxin had had... a rare effect on you. “My, my,” You don’t have it in you to be ashamed. His fear toxin had reduced you to your base instincts. You somehow feel disconnected from your body while also being painfully aware that he isn’t touching you. You don’t even think as you spread your legs slightly. Your rational mind is eclipsed but when this is over, you’ll tell yourself it was the toxin that was making you act like this.  

You sigh when his hand returns, you watch him with lidded eyes. It’s hard to believe the thing before you even resembled a human being. Instead, there is a demonic face that looks like something Mary Shelley would come up with; stitches and teeth and eyes glowing orange like the fires of Hell. You don’t care. His thin fingers are making you moan.  

It’s hard to say how long you were lying on the floor with the good doctor. The entire time you feel like you’re on the edge of something while your heart beats madly in your chest and your blood rushes in your ears. Time ebbs and flows, it feels like it takes hours but you’re close and you couldn’t have lasted that long.  

You finally reach the crest, and you arch your back, chasing his fingers as you go over. The pleasure has taken over the horror, at least for now, but you still scream. Crane’s laugh surrounds you, eating through your flesh to your bones like maggots.

[sunonyoreface]

Routine Examinations Pt7 - Jimmy Keene - Black Bird Imagine

Hi there, this story is loosely based off the Black Bird series starring Taron Egerton as James Keene. Although the series is based off real events, this story is not and deviates from the show’s plot.

Summary: You’re a doctor working with the FBI, your new patient: Jimmy Keene.  

Word count: 2000

Pairing: Reader x Jimmy Keene

TW: angst, prison environment, mention of insulin injection.

Jimmy doesn’t hide his surprise when I show up outside his cell. His tired expression is replaced with one of recognition and worry. My patients weren’t alerted about the morning routine change. It’s only for a couple of days. Just until enough people are discharged upstairs and my office is my own again.

“Dr. Green,” concern laces his tone as he stands up from his bed to greet me. He approaches the bars, looking me up and down, searching for evidence to support his wariness. 

“Morning Keene, how are you this morning?” I smile at him through the doors. I’m careful not to be too overtly friendly. Jimmy is not the only one watching. As I’ve made my rounds, the male attention has only grown. At least a dozen depraved eyes are on me as we speak, peering from all angles of the floor. 

Nelson steps around me to unlock his cell door. Jimmy’s eyes flicker to the officer only briefly before landing back on mine. His brows are furrowed, clearly questioning my unannounced visit. He isn’t the only one who reacted this way. several others were upset I’d altered their routine, but thankfully none put up a fight. Once it slides open, Nelson takes a stand near my medical cart, ensuring nothing will get stolen. He stands with his back to us as I requested at the start of our route so it didn’t look suspicious if I were to ask at Jimmy’s cell. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks. 

“Not at the moment. I’m doing medication on the ground today to avoid extra traffic in the infirmary,” I step up to the entrance of his cell. The door is unlocked but his broad frame guards the opening. He’s hesitant to let me in.

“May I come in?” I step up to the entrance. Intense eyes stare down at me as I wait for him to decide. I don’t think he wants his injection out in the open. 

Jimmy takes a small step back, just far enough to allow me in, but not far enough back so that I have space to move past him. We’re standing almost chest to chest. 

It feels strange being in an inmate's cell, especially Jimmy’s. It’s a small glimpse into who they are. What few possessions they have are often incredibly important to them. Yet Jimmy hasn’t been here long enough to add to his cell. I’m not sure he would anyway. He doesn’t come off as that type of person. But maybe I don’t know him that well. 

Nevertheless, you’re stepping into what little space they can call their own. It’s not a home but it’s as close as many of them get for years. It's where they sleep, where they dream, where they think about friends and loved ones on the outside, where they reflect on their past actions, where they determine if it was all worth it. It’s the closest thing they have to a safe space. So just the act of being in his cell, in his space, feels oddly intimate. 

Part of me feels like an intruder after that first step. As though I need to tread lightly because no one should know I’m here. But that’s not really the case, is it?

I fidget with the packaged vile. Jimmy’s name is nearly labelled on it. They’re all meticulously labelled. Every vial for every patient. So, even if I’m not the one doing his shot, Jimmy will receive the crystalloid solution instead of insulin. The wrong vial could kill him. 

He watches me intently. I briefly saw him yesterday for less than five minutes at the crack of dawn, but we couldn’t talk. My office was and still is being shared by two doctors with only a curtain as a divider. Nothing we’d say would be confidential. Today is the first real day since the riot that we’ll be able to talk. Even if it’s for a limited amount of time. 

“How are you?” Jimmy whispers as he towers over me. Looking up into his eyes is mesmerizing. Yet the nagging in my head reminds me of those watching. I grab his arm to pull him deeper into his cell. Here we’re sheltered from everyone but Nelson, who isn’t looking anyway. 

“Tired,” I respond. “Overwhelmed. I haven’t really had time to think about it,” I anxiously rub a hand along the back of my neck. I don’t know how much I can tell him anymore. After Hall’s trip to the infirmary yesterday, part of me wonders what Jimmy all shares with him.  Or if it’s possible he shares details about me in exchange for details about Hall’s life. The logical part of my brain says that would never happen, that Jimmy wouldn’t do that. Yet, I’d be stupid if I didn’t at least consider those possibilities. Because after all, Jimmy is a desperate man. And desperate men are dangerous men. “You?” I ask. 

“Tired. I’m always tired,” Jimmy lowers his voice. “I can’t stop thinking about you” he raises a hand to brush over my bandaged collarbone. Underneath my clothes, the scar is red and still several days away from being fully healed. Part of me wants to disappear into his arms, to be held and comforted again, but I know we can’t. I long to melt into him. I can tell he wants to touch me more because his hands linger above my shirt, but I know he won’t. “These last few nights, all I could think about was if you were okay,”

“I’ll be fine,” I whisper. “Can you take a seat on the bed please?”

Jimmy obeys my request, taking a seat on the neatly folded mattress. He sits with his legs spread and I take the opportunity to stand between his thighs. Our legs brush and I can feel the warmth from his skin pass through our clothes and embrace my outer thighs. 

“Did they catch those fuckers?” Jimmy’s voice is raspy and I can hear the underlying anger in his tone. 

“Sort of,” I hesitate before continuing. “Ralf was charged for stealing the supplies and put into solitary, but Moe wasn’t caught,”

“But you know who they are? Why didn’t you identify them?” I didn’t want to talk about this today but now it’s too late to stop. 

“Because if this goes to court, it doesn’t just draw attention to them, you’ll be brought into it too,” realization dawns on Jimmy’s face. “What you did was technically assault, even if it was to protect me. I don’t know if you’d be charged, but you would definitely be mentioned in the hearing. What happened would be talked about by other convicts, if it hasn’t already. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. But I need you to focus on Hall, okay?” As the words leave my mouth, he breaks eye contact. I don’t think it’s guilt he feels. It’s something else. Something harder to describe. His brows furrow and his eyes search his cell for a nonexistent answer. Jimmy’s hand starts to reach for mine but then he stops and pulls back. My heart clenches. 

“I’m not sorry for what I did,” he says seriously. 

“I’d hope not,” I joke. He looks up at my change of tone to see me smiling down at him. “Now, lift your shirt.”

I’m starting to think Jimmy will never get used to needles. His entire body remains stiff throughout the thirty seconds it takes for me to finish. His breathing is shallow and he refuses to look at my hands. It’s almost cute. 

“Done,” I cap the syringe. “Jimmy, there’s something we have to talk about before I leave,” he looks up. I have his full attention. “Hall came to visit me yesterday,” I watch his reaction carefully. 

“Hall did? Why?” His brows furrowed in confusion and he shifts away from me slightly. 

“He faked an injury because he wanted to see who’s been treating you every morning,” a flash of anger crosses Jimmy’s face but doesn’t stay. He remains quiet, allowing me to continue. “He said you mentioned that I was nice and pretty and he had to see for himself,” I finish with a sigh. 

“I didn’t say those things to him,” Jimmy’s whispering now. Maybe he fears Hall will hear us from his nearby cell. “Well not like you implied. He was asking me what you were like because he hasn’t gone to the doctor since coming here. So I said you were nice, but that’s it.” 

“Has he said anything else about our appointments? Anything at all?” I lower my voice to match his. Jimmy looks to the corner of his cell and I know immediately there’s more. 

“Every once in a while he’ll ask, never in much detail. But he’s asked about what it’s like having diabetes. How often you do my shots. That kind of thing. Once or twice he’s tried to talk about you in more detail but I don’t say much,” he forces a swallow. 

“What did he say?” My tone is more serious than ever, I need to know if Hall’s curiosity is just that or if it’s more.

“He wanted to know if you had kids, you know, stuff like that. If you were married, to which I said I didn’t know and he told me to check for a ring next time,” he pauses to consider his words before continuing. “The day before the riot he started getting more personal. He asked what you smelled like. What shoes you wore. What colour your bra straps are because apparently women send secret messages to men based on the colour of their bra,” Jimmy finally finishes. “But I went into the least amount of detail without it being suspicious. It’d be weird if I outright refused to talk about you with him.”

My stomach drops at the amount of information he just mentioned. Weeks worth of information. Stuff that should’ve been written down and recorded. I can’t believe he didn’t mention this before. 

Despite this, Jimmy’s right. It’d be weird if he refused to talk about me to Hall. Not only that, it would be suspicious. But the fact that Hall has taken a special interest in me, not out of suspicion, but for a more sinister reason, is almost as concerning. 

I sigh. “Okay. Jimmy, in the future you have to tell me this information. Even if you think it’s going to creep me out or that you’re protecting me by not saying anything, I have to know. Okay? Have to.” 

He grabs my empty hand and gently squeezes. “I will. I shouldn’t have kept that from you,”

Any tension I had towards him slips away as the warmth of his hand wraps around my own. His calloused hands are large and gentle. I break eye contact with him to stare at the embrace. I brush my thumb along the top of his fingers as they apply a reassuring pressure to my hand. 

As I stand between Jimmy’s legs, I subconsciously lean forward. He shifts, allowing us to be closer than before. Part of me wishes we were still locked in my office together where there were no prying eyes. I want to relish in the feeling of his arms around me. To linger so close his breath becomes my own.

I allow myself one last moment to memorize the feel of his strong hand.

“We have a lot to talk about once my office is back together,” I murmur.

“Okay,” he whispers. 

I squeeze his hand one last time before pulling away without a look back. My shoes echo along the cement floor as I step out of the cell. Nelson hears my footsteps and takes his cue. Jimmy’s door slides shut and closes with a loud clank. 

As I gather my cart I feel a set of eyes on me. I look back at Jimmy’s cell to find him watching with care. We share a small, risky smile before I quickly look away. However, as I turn away, I notice another set of eyes intently watching our exchange. 

My body stiffens as I lock eyes with Hall. He leans against his cell door, diagonal to Jimmy, twirling his beard between his fingers. My breath catches in my throat as I’m caught off guard. I quickly cover my tracks with a polite smile as I head for the exit. My pace is faster than before and Nelson struggles to keep up. 

Keene and Hall aren’t the only ones watching me leave.

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 17 (Tabaeus x Reader)

paranormal fantasy vampire x human eventual triad (x werewolf)

Anonymous asked:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

x x x x x

First | Previous | Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

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Comments, tags, and reblogs are real motivators for me, too! (●ˇ∀ˇ●)

Also, my inbox is always open for asks, so don’t be shy!

x x x x x

Lachlan Barrett. Your brain swirls, trying to place the name with some snippet from the journal or some other odd place you've heard the name before. It feels strangely familiar but, at the same time, unfamiliar.

As you're thinking, Lachlan takes a step toward your group. Immediately, Ewan tenses, growling so low in his chest that you can feel the vibrations in your stomach. Simultaneously, Tabaeus hisses from behind you, quiet and soft and sharp. Sandwiched between your companions, you hardly feel threatened, but the predatory air - plus Ewan and Tabaeus's reaction - piques concern in your gut.

"Please, try not to kick up too much of a fuss," Lachlan chuckles, though he does not take another step closer. He inclines his head to Tabaeus and Ewan, flashing them a look over the edges of his sunglasses with a pointy-toothed smile. "We are in a library."

The meaning was clear. You look around at the other patrons of the library: children and teenagers and people just minding their own business. People that are likely unaware of the two vampires lurking in their midst. Glancing back at Tabaeus, noting their stricken look, says enough.

A sudden thought crests your mind, overcoming the shock of the moment. Given this man had just lightly threatened a whole library, was it too hard to imagine he'd kill a town? Or a doctor?

It was a shot in the complete dark, but you had to ask. Tabaeus admitted to blacking out the name, so perhaps Lachlan would fall for your question. "By chance are you the same Lord Barrett who worked with Dr. Kieran Bennett in the 1880s?"

"Ah, Kieran! Yes. That is a blast from the past, as the young ones say." Something in Lachlan eyes glow, but not in a pleasant way. It reminds you of the iridescent shine of a predator's gaze. In a theatrical way, as if he were playing for the nosebleed seats, Lachlan rubs at his chin in a thoughtful way and leans toward you. He ignores Ewan's warning growl. "I did know my pet showed you to one of the vaults, but to think they gave you that information. That is such a surprise."

"I am not your pet," hisses Tabaeus, low and soft. As if they were not entirely certain they wanted to be heard.

"Are you not? Let us think about this," purrs Lachlan, his gaze shifting to Tabaeus. His voice takes on an irritating singsong quality as he counts off on his fingers, "You are pampered and cared for entirely. You need not hunt nor stalk the nights, need not risk being caught by a hunter. You are beloved among covens all over the world and gifts of clothes and food are showered upon you."

The description doesn't overly surprise you. And the longer Lachlan speaks, the more Tabaeus bristles behind you. Glancing back to your vampire, you press a hand to their arm, but it does nothing to ease their upset. Their red eyes remain pinned to Lachlan, afraid to let the other creature out of their sight.

"In return, all you must do is what you were created for," chuckles Lachlan, a vile gentleness to his voice that sets your teeth on edge. Underneath his words, there's an implication you can't quite put a name to.

As your gaze bounces back to Lachlan, Tabaeus spits out, "And what was I created for?"

The other vampire takes another step forward, ignoring Ewan's bristling snarl and how Tabaeus flinches behind you. Lachlan's arms spread wide, as if for an embrace, as he smiles like a television evangelist. "For memories."

Your brain sputters for a second, before a slew of awful imagery comes to mind. Bacchanal and violent and not all to the consent of Tabaeus. Weren't those always a trope in vampire media? They would drink and have sex and be cruel? Something about enjoying the world in excess while being undead. Or perhaps trying to feel something in their dead nerves?

Before you can stop yourself, you wrinkle your nose and blurt, "Excuse me?"

"I won't explain myself to a foodbag or a fleabag." A brief darkness flutters over Lachlan's features at your question, pinched at the edges. He doesn't glance to either you and Ewan, but waves a hand in your direction. "Tabaeus understands, deep down."

"Tabaeus?" Once more, you turn to look at your vampire, hoping to prompt more revelation. They refuse to look at you, at Lachlan, at Ewan. Their gaze has gone distant, averted. Something strains in their expression and you wonder if they've been accosted by triggering memories.

"They get this way whenever I mention their purpose," sighs Lachlan, shaking his head as if he is speaking about an ill-behaved child. "Now, I'm not a cruel master. I will give you time to say good-bye."

"And then what?" Enough suspicion was evident in Tabaeus's voice, you could picture them squinting their eyes critically at Lachlan.

That irritating smooth smile widens across the other vampire's lips. "And then we leave."

You hear Tabaeus swallow and their tone seems to lack confidence as they murmur, "And if I refuse to go?"

"Well, that will be such a pity, seeing as you live with two liabilities." Lachlan tapped a finger against his chin, eyes flickering to you and Ewan. You never realized how long and black his nails were before. His unwavering smile made your skin crawl. "Who are you willing to sacrifice first?"

Tabaeus snarls at the question, making you jump. You can feel their rage prickle along your back. In the short span of time it takes you to turn, a breeze passes by and you are shoved forward, away from Tabaeus. Their snarl is cut off in a choke. You gasp, stumbling only to be caught single-handedly by Ewan. As you turn, catch the sight of Lachlan backing Tabaeus to a far wall, hand around their throat.

The people around you don't even blink, don't even falter in their actions. You wildly wonder if Lachlan has some sort of cloaking power or if he managed to hypnotize all present with his mere presence. Vaguely, you sense Ewan's arm curl tighter around you, keeping you close.

One question resonates as you stare, frozen at the vampire: How old, how powerful, is this man?

"A good owner disciplines their pets when they misbehave." You hear the hiss-laden words even from the distance. Lachlan gives Tabaeus's throat a squeeze, another sound choking from your vampire's mouth. "Do not make me discipline you. That gets rather messy, doesn't it?"

Tabaeus glowers at Lachlan, before their gaze can take no more and they turn their face away. They refuse to look at you or Ewan. Shame rolls off them in waves as the other vampire pats their head with his free hand. "There's my good darling."

You and Ewan barely take a step forward, before Lachlan moves again. He bites his own free wrist with a sickening rending of flesh, and holds the dribbling wound to Tabaeus's lips. "Now, so your memories of me are fresh."

At first, they refuse to drink, turning their face further away from the offering, smearing strangely dark blood across their cheek. But Lachlan is not having that. His grip moves from Tabaeus's throat to their hair, knocking aside their bucket hat as he forces their mouth to his bleeding wound.

It doesn't take long for Tabaeus to succumb, to eagerly feed on the oozing blood. They lick the streams up first before latching onto the bite. Their eyes flutter closed, their hands reach to grip at Lachlan's arm, holding him close.

You're frozen in place, watching with nausea rolling in your stomach. Desperately, you look to Ewan, hoping he has some idea or answers. Heavy breaths make Ewan's chest rise and fall, his eyes scanning the area and the vampiric scene. Feeling your eyes on him, his gaze flickers to you and his expression is akin to a fearful dog in the face of a greater predator.

The silent look makes your skin crawl further, your stomach lurch.

"That's enough," Lachlan finally purrs over the grotesque slurping sounds of Tabaeus feasing on him. When Tabaeus refuses to let go, Lachlan yanks them by their hair with a snarl. "I said enough."

A pained gasp escapes Tabaeus as Lachlan hauls them away, blood oozing down his arm and down their chin. That sound seems to spur something in Ewan and he launches himself at the other vampire. You barely had a chance to jolt, a chance to raise your hand. As soon as Ewan makes contact with Lachlan, mingling snarls erupt just before the werewolf flies backward, across an aisle, into a shelf of books.

Books clattering around him, you can hear the wind escape Ewan's lungs. He isn't down for long, scrambling to his feet and baring his teeth, half-crouched and prepared for another strike. Despite the tension and adrenaline, he hasn't gone full wolf, though you're sure his stubble is thicker and his eyes far too inhumanly green.

Your attention flickers to the surrounding people. They still haven't seemed to notice anything and, if they had, Ewan was still human enough to not cause a stir.

Tabaeus, too, is back on their feet, swiping a hand over their chin. Their sunglasses sit askew, their red eyes alight and the whites of their eyes darkening at the edges.

Both fall still as Lachlan's arms suddenly clamp around you, his hand curling around the front of your throat. He was too fast to see, too fast for you and your shock-stricken brain to register. Or perhaps he has you enthralled as well, just less-so than the other unaware bystanders. His ice-cold touch burns and is unyielding to the point you, too, freeze in his grip. You barely even breathe.

"I can see you need time to understand your situation. I will give you a day, twenty-four hours, to say good-bye to your consorts." Disgust swirls inside you as Lachlan bends close, nosing along your throat. Tucked against Lachlan, it's strangely quiet and cold. No heartbeat, no breaths, no body heat. It's worse than Tabaeus, you muse as you hold your own breath.

"You should already be aware of the levity of the situation. But if not..." Lachlan yanks your head to the side, exposing your neck further. Sharp pinpoints dig into your throat, a threat that doesn't yet break skin. Your eyes snap shut as you steal yourself, feeling his amused breath play over your neck, "Well, I do enjoy the screams. Twenty-four hours, Tabaeus."

And like that, Lachlan is gone. Dissipating into shadows or just misting from existence, you're not sure. It is only after a few breaths, you realize the library's ambient sounds are returning along with heat and sunlight from the windows.

How did you not notice how quiet and cold it had gotten near Lachlan? Had it been that way in the diner? Your mind whirls, as if it has been electrified with jumper cables. Was that a powerful vampire's ability? Or was something else at play?

As your thoughts churn, Tabaeus - re-hatted - and Ewan crowd around you. Both ask you questions, visually check over your body, but you can't find enough words to answer them. You stare at the two for a long moment, before you realize you are shaking.

"Hey, it'll be okay, alright?" Ewan whispers, looping an arm around you. His head dips toward you, pressing his fluffy hair against you. His body heat is a blessing, cutting through the ungodly cold that has sunken to your bones.

You don't have a chance to respond as Tabaeus gathers you in their arms, as well. The odd cool-warmth of them easing Lachlan's cold from your body. Their grip on you is firm and fearful, almost quaking. Something holds them back from allowing themselves to tremble though. Some need to appear stronger than they feel.

Your heart lurches as the very thought crosses your mind.

"May we go home?" They ask quietly, still holding you close to their chest. You're crushed so tight to Tabaeus, you're not even sure if Ewan still has an arm wrapped around you.

Still unable to find words, unable to connect synapses to work your mouth, you nod with a noiseless whimper. The three of you are quick to leave the library, huddled close as you return to the safety of home.

[thesightstoshowyou]

All Better

Bob Gray x F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon, daddy kink, breeding kink, medical terminology, clinic setting, blood, degradation, threats, creampie, stupid medical jokes

~~

Each day he’s in clinic, you print out the schedule for your physician. The schedule displays each patient he will see for the day, along with the type of appointment and duration.

Usually on the evening prior, you look ahead at the charts to see what the next day will bring, but yesterday’s shift had been hectic; last minute calls to schedule a blood transfusion, a STAT CT, coordinate a hospital admission. You hadn’t been given a chance to peek at the list until this morning.

A mistake.

The schedule sits innocuously on the counter, waiting for the physician, as always. You’re a competent nurse, after all.

Heart hammering in your chest, you stare at the last name on the list. God, of course, the one day you didn’t check ahead he had to show up....

Robert Gray - Physical - 60min

You’re not sure what it is about him. You can never put a finger on it, but there is something so incredibly wrong about Bob. His eyes, his grin, his speech, the way he walks.... Everything about him is wrong, rotten, vile.

You hear the heavy boot falls of Dr. Thompson as he stomps down the hall. Forcing a smile to your face, you stand, listening for any requests or orders he might have before you retrieve the first patient of the day. He scans the list, pausing at Bob’s name.

“What a way to end the day, huh?” he asks with a chuckle. You force a breathy laugh as Dr. Thompson moves away to his office. Swallowing thickly, your eyes close despairingly. Maybe you could go home sick....

It’s a whirlwind day. The third patient had required an ambulance to the hospital. The fifth needed several moles removed, all of which required sutures. An immediate MRI of the head and neck was needed for the sixth patient, a procedure which their insurance did not want to approve. DFA, nurse visit, pap smear, vaccinations, vaccinations, vaccinations. By the time 3:30 PM rolled around, you’d completely forgotten about Bob.

That is, until his name lit up in yellow on your computer screen, indicating he had checked in for his appointment.

Shit.

You glance around you, hoping to pass him off on someone else, but all your coworkers are with their own patients. You’ll have to be the one to room him.

Slowly, you stand and make your way out into the lobby. With each step, apprehension grows. Calm down, it’s just one weird guy, you can handle it.

“Bob?” you call. Immediately, you spot him across the room. His sky blue eyes are already trained on you, full lips curled up in a mischievous grin. They glisten under the fluorescents, like he’s been wetting them over and over.

Leisurely, he unfurls from his chair, standing to his impressive height and strolling across the lobby toward you. He walks with a limp...but maybe not. It’s so hard to tell with this way his gangly legs swing as he steps. Once again, he’s dressed like a man from another century; tweed slacks, suspenders, yellowing button down rolled up at the forearms, muddy dress shoes, hat clutched between spidery fingers.

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end the closer he gets, his eyes never leaving yours. You plaster a strained smile across your face as you greet him.

“How are you, Bob?” you ask, as pleasantly as you can manage, the cracking of your voice giving you away. Hastily, you lead him to the exam room. You hope to get this over with as quickly as you can.

“Well, well, old Mr. Gray has his favorite little nurse here to take care of him, so he’s good as new,” he replies in that strange, lilting voice. You see him leering out of the corner of your eye as you pull up his chart. Politely, you smile back, skin crawling frantically across your body.

“Anything in particular you want to talk to Dr. Thompson about?” you ask as you fill in your preliminary assessment. Bob tilts his head to the side as if he’s thinking.

“You know, there is something, just a little something....” he replies cryptically, his voice a sing song. You frown, look up to meet his baby blues—

Gold?

Heart stuttering in your chest, you blink several times in an effort to clear your vision. Blue, his eyes are blue. You could have sworn they’d been gold a second ago—

“Little girl’s seeing things, wonderin’ if her minds playing tricks, tricks, tricks...” Bob murmurs, his long fingers twitching in his lap. A glob of drool spills past his bottom lip, dribbling down his chin to patter onto tweed.

“W-What...?” you stammer, your breath coming in quick, little gasps, the noisy whoosh of your blood rushing in your ears. You scoot back on your stool, intending to flee the room, maybe even call security, but Bob is faster.

Spidery fingers wrap around your face, covering your mouth and nose and muffling your panicked shriek. You hadn’t even seen him move. Your own hands fly to his wrist, desperately tugging and clawing to get away, but Bob doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even flinch when your nails carve bleeding lines down his forearm.

Your eyes grow wide and horrified when he laughs, his face splitting into a manic grin filled to the brim with too many dripping needle-teeth. Animal panic surges through your veins, dosing your quivering muscles with strength.

You push to your feet, twist, rip your face out of Bob’s iron grip and let loose a piercing scream. That’s it, someone will have heard, they’ll send help—

Bob stands with you, free hand gripping the back of your head. He shoves hard, bending you at the waist and smashing your face onto the exam table. The impact knocks the air from your lungs and you’re left stunned, jarred, mouth gaping uselessly.

Just as your chest expands, function returning to shocked muscles, air mercifully flowing to straining lungs, Bob slams a hand down next to your face. You startle, a pathetic half-cry leaving your lips as exam table paper crinkles and tears.

His hand…. His hand…!

Bob’s hand and fingers have changed, morphed. His skin has darkened, digits elongated, terrible black claws now where fingertips should be. Deep grooves in plastic follow the path of the talons until they’re ripped away, shredded table fabric left in their wake.

There’s pressure against your rear and back as Bob leans over you, slick lips finding your ear, hot breath ruffling your hair. You cough, gag at the scent; rotting meat and melting ice cream all at once.

You whimper, wriggle, thrash, but he has you pinned to the table with his body weight. Teary eyes raise to the exam room door. Any second someone will throw it open and save you….

Noisy cackling in your ear jars you, makes your ears ring. Against your cheek, you feel Bob’s head shake slowly side to side in a ‘No,’ like he can hear what you’re thinking.

“Just you and Bob now, sweet pet. You and Bob Gray. Look!” As he speaks, the door swings open seemingly on its own. Your eyes widen, terror and disbelief turning your blood to ice when all you find is darkness, a void beyond the doorway. There’s no sound, no keyboard taps or phones ringing or vitals machines beeping.

Nothing. No one.

The ‘whowhatwhenwherewhy,’ the impossibility, the utter terror of such an unbelievable situation all muddle together in your racing mind until there’s nothing but buzzing. Your fear-addled synapses can only comprehend one thing: You’re alone. There’s no one coming to help.

There’s no one but you and this Thing behind you.

A gleeful giggle, a tremulous, “Now you see!” renews your panic. But there’s no where to go, no budging under Bob’s unyielding grip on your hair.

He snuffles near your ear, through your sweaty locks, sticky drool smearing across your skin as he sucks in your scent. “Pretty girl, pretty fear. So tasty. And. Wet.” That final consonant is so sharp as it pops off his tongue you wince, feeling it deep in your gut. A short, deep rumble follows his words—a chuckle—and then he’s singing, “Time for your check up, little girl.”

You squeak when that clawed hand brushes your hip, slides down the front of your scrub pants. Feather light, Bob strokes the apex of your thighs, tips of sharpened digits catching on your underwear until you’re shuddering.

Thighs shaking, it takes tremendous willpower not to buck and twist away. You’re terrified he will dig into your most sensitive flesh should you move, so instead you still, fighting the gathering wetness and tempting heat.

Shaky breaths leave your parted lips. One such breath takes the form of a mewl, your stomach dropping in shame at the sound. You grit your teeth, your traitorous tongue determined to loose more with every stroke of clawed fingers.

Bob titters; it’s a pleased, teasing sound. “Shy toy, but Daddy knows, he knows….” As he speaks, his dress shoes wedge themselves between your ankles and push, shoving your legs farther apart.

A squeal tears from your throat when claws twist, grab hold of your clothing, rip and tear until you’re bare from the waist down, tattered scrubs pooling at your feet. Tears welling in your eyes you plead, “No, no, please, don’t—

“Scared of the doctor, little treat? Nooo, noo, gonna make you feel all better. I smell something, something, something that needs examined, hmm?” He ruts his hips against your ass and it is then—face paling, terror suffocating—you notice the hardened length in his trousers.

Bob presses his mouth to your cheek so hard you feel the sharp sting of shark teeth when they dig into your flesh. Voice biting, he asks, “Think it’s that filthy cunt between your legs?” Sobbing, you shake your head, stammered pleas and garbled nonsense spilling from your mouth. All your words are drowned out by Its deafening, maniacal laughter.

Suddenly, your head is released and you hastily shove away from the exam table, only for claws to dig sharply into your back to shove you down again. You cry out, arch away, little pinpoints of blood welling up under each digit and soaking into your scrub top. Behind you, Bob ‘tsks.’

“The snack will stay still unless it wants to see its spine.” Tearfully, you nod, stabbing agony in your back holding you in place.

A snap meets your ears, then another. Bob undoing his suspenders, you realize. Twisting your head, you watch as he rips open the button of his slacks, only to quickly look away again when his thick, pallid cock springs free.

“B-Bob—

You pleadingly choke on his name, but the talons rip free from your back to wrap around your throat. Hard flesh slides between your folds when Bob leans down over you again, chilly spit trickling down your neck as he murmurs, “Daddy. Say it.”

“I-I c-can’t—

“NOW.” Claws tighten, pricking the skin of your throat, more stinging pain.

“D-Daddy!”

“Good girllll.” Bob’s hips surge forward, a strangled scream ripping from your throat as he buries every inch of his girth in your cunt. Bob hums appreciatively when your muscles spasm. They squeeze on nothing as he leisurely pulls back out, only to slam home again.

Every thrust jars you, rocks the exam table under your white-knuckled fists until it squeaks. The claw around your neck keeps your bleeding back arched and pulls you into Bob’s hips as he pops his cock in and out of your leaking hole.

Leaking…. You shouldn’t be, but you are, juices spilling down your thighs and cunt squelching loudly with each vicious thrust. Your mouth betrays you too, each snap of hips met with high-pitched keens that force their way out of your constricted throat.

Bob grunts, pants, mutters directly in your ear, “Sick little meal, needed Daddy’s help, needed treatment, hm? Its meat is flavored now, succulent,” he inhales noisily, drags his tongue through the tears streaming down your cheek, “Ripe with fear. Should Daddy take a bite? Sink his teeth in deep? Sup on the little treat’s horror?” You sob and tremble, head shaking hastily from side to side.

“No? ‘No,’ it says? This filthy little slut wants Daddy to keep fucking it instead! To fill it with seed and breed it until all it knows is how to beg and cum and float, float, float!”

The last word like a trigger, you tense, eyes crossing, world whiting out. Slick insides clench and flutter around hard, heated flesh, desperate to milk every drop of the promised seed. The unbidden orgasm is made even worse when a whimpered, “Daddy…” leaves your tongue.

A patronizing chuckle sounds in your ear, followed by a low, inhuman rumble that sends your heart into a frenzy. Bob’s hips stutter and he snarls, “Take your medicine.” Warmth fills your guts, overflows, spills down your legs and drips onto linoleum.

Gasping, quivering, dazed, you flinch when the clawed hand on your throat moves to your jaw. Thumb stroking your cheek, Bob nudges your temple with his nose. “Perfect toy,” he notes.

Without warning, he stands up straight and pulls away. No body weight to hold you to the table, your knees buckle and you crash to the floor in a puddle of spend and torn clothing.

Bob’s own clothes are righted, pants buttoned, suspenders back in place, scratches healed, hat clutched in two normal hands. No blackened digits, no claws. It’s as though nothing had changed at all.

Had it?

He crouches down before you and, fearfully, you meet his gaze. Blue eyes sparkling, buck-toothed grin stretching across his face, he holds out his hat. Bob’s movements are exaggerated as he reaches dramatically inside, like he’s performing a magic trick.

Slowly, he withdraws his hand. The stick of a lollipop is pinched between a long thumb and forefinger. Cherry flavored. You stare dumbly.

The wrapping crinkles, flutters to the floor as Bob peels it away. “Treat for a treat,” he states and pops it into your mouth.

[hxney-lemcn]

I'm making a Jonathan Crane x reader one shot and holy shit it's taking a turn. Went from a silly little mutual pining into "uh oh reader almost died 🤭". It's not any specific scarecrow, just general. Here's a small snippet because I really like this one 😊

Snippet under cut

Seeing as none of the other rogues contacted Dr. Crane, I decided to check out the lab and make sure everything was in order. I’ve only been into the lab a couple of times. Dr. Crane didn’t like anyone entering, and the times I had been in there were to escort Harley out into his office instead. The lab is where he kept his most vile of fear toxin samples. Building off of his old works to create more potent toxins to warp Batman's mind. 

I knocked on the door first, wanting to make sure I wasn’t intruding. When I didn’t hear anything, I cracked the door open, peering into the room. Tables are littered with burners, tubes, vials, flasks, pipettes, beakers and basically anything you could possibly need for creating toxins that drive people insane and possibly kill them. My eyes finally fell onto the brown haired scientist, slumped over the table with beakers surrounding him. Orange liquids filled some, others were a dark brown. 

Taking a tentative step back, I shut the door as quietly as I could. I made quick work of grabbing the jacket I wore today and quietly slipped into the lab. I scooched the beakers back (keeping them in the same order) to give Crane some more space. I then gently placed my jacket over his shoulders, which made him stir, causing me to tense, only for him to continue his slumber. Carefully, I slid his glasses off his face so he could sleep a bit more comfortably. Folding the legs of his glasses, I placed them near his head.

I should wake him up. It was my job to make sure everything was in working order. Keep an eye on the goons, make sure transactions were upheld, and report any problems to Dr. Crane. Yet seeing how he tended to overwork himself, neglecting his needs, I could only hope that he won’t be too irritated at my decision. Double checking that the space was as safe as it could be, I left the lab. I was just glad he didn’t leave any burners on overnight.

[fancyfeathers]

Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)

Chapter Seven

Two Sides, Part One

This is important, this will decide where fate takes you next my dear readers, you may choose, but choose wisely…

link to vote

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

You had begun training with Alexandre in the early mornings, he focused on training you on teaching you on how to fire a gun or swing with a sword, his personal choice much like William liked to use. You heard from Miss Jane that Alexandre’s ability was very useful in combat but he rarely uses it just due to the vile and bloodthirsty nature of it. You tried to ask about it but she did not wish to talk about it on Alexandre’s wish, he did not like his ability for it did not fit his kind nature, in Miss Jane’s words along with Dr, Stevenson’s words, “It reflects who he once was, not who he is.”

You had stopped questioning about this and just went about your life. Miss Jane had not sent you out on a job, letting you calm down from the shock of Emma and William’s kidnapping. You had just bathed after your early morning training with Alexandre, you wore a simple blue dress as you went into the lounge to see Miss Jane talking with Gaston and Dr. Stevenson, along with Alexandre and Victor, both groups on opposite couches, Miss Jane standing in the middle as they talked. The doctor was the first to notice your presence as she was the one with the best eyeshot of the hallway you emerged from. “Ahh Miss (Name), we were just about to have Joan fetch for you, come, come.” 

The doctor waved you over and you came, leaning on the couch Victor and Alexandre sat on. Miss Jane smiled at you and then looked over the group as a whole. “We were just discussing two jobs we’re going on. Dr. Stevenson and Mr. Leroux have been able to secure a meeting with the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Justice, Mr. Tonan. He may be willing to listen to our point of view.” She gestured to the doctor and composer who sat on the couch opposite of you. “Then Mr. Dumas and Mr. Hugo have spotted two Guild members down south not too far from here, about a thirty minute drive outside Yokohama.” She then gestured to Alexandre and Victor on the couch you leaned against you. “I would prefer these groups to be a tad larger, for safety reason. The choice is yours of course since you both know the land here better than we do and also know the government here better than we do. Which ever you don’t choose I’ll go, just to keep things even on both ends.”

“Well in that case I’ll go with…”

[enchantedflower0]

Embraced by Darkness

Reiji Sakamaki X Reader (Smut)

CW: Fingering, vampires being vampires, blood, fem!reader, non-con, masochism,

TL;DR: Reiji need his sucky sucky

I was glad that he was so considerate, and I was grateful to have a meal, I was starving.

"So tell me about your day," Reiji said, "What did you learn today?"

"I don't know how to tell you..." I said, "It's just that I am not sure if I can write this well enough..."

"Oh?" He asked.

"Well... It's kind of embarrassing," I said.

"What?" Reiji said, "You don't want to tell me?"

"No," I said.

Reiji looked at me, and I could see in his eyes that he thought I was lying.

"What is it?" Reiji asked.

"I don't know," I answered, "It's just that I don't think I can do it..."

"Why?" Reiji asked.

"Because I am not sure if I am any good at it or if I can write it properly"

"Tch, why must you be so stubborn, I've brought you your food, I've kept the boys away from your room to prevent from interrupting your progress, and you can't give me a clear answer on how much you've finished?" 

I lowered my head in embarrassment, biting my lip. "Sorry," I said.

Reiji sighed, "Well then, how shall you make up for it?"

my mind tried flipping through what he was asking for, I already said I wasn't going to show him my progress, so what did he want? unless he.. My head snapped up to look at the tall man 

"R-Reiji.." I muttered

What I didn't expect to see from Reiji was a sadistic grin, "hehe.. whatever is the matter? you seem shocked~ you act as if I'm going to do something so horrible to you.." Reiji said with a smile as he placed his knee on my bed, bringing himself closer to me as I moved backwards on my bed.

"I don't want to," I said.

"Do you think I care what you want to do? silly girl~"

Reiji had fully crawled onto my bed, almost fully hovering over me. Reiji pushed my hair away from my neck, "I feed you, I am sure that you have pumping and thriving blood flowing through your frail body, and you think I can't have my own taste of it? You are certainly a vile woman.."

Reiji's lips connected with my neck, his soft lips touching my neck was a soothing feeling before I felt Reiji clamp his fangs deep into my neck

I cried out in pain and surprise. My hands went to his arms, gripping them tight as they gripped my hips. Reiji held me down as he bit deeper into my neck, and I couldn't help but moan as he sucked at my neck. My body trembled as I felt his hot breath against my skin, sending shivers all throughout my body. Reiji kissed my neck as he bit me, and I moaned louder, "Stop it!" I said, "you're hurting me..." 

"Good." Reiji hummed against my neck.

I tried pulling away, but he held me down. 

Reiji grabbed my legs, wrapping them around his waist as he lifted my body off the ground, "What are you doing?!" I yelled

I was still recovering from my shock when he bit me harder than ever, and I felt my body start to heat up,

"Such an immoral woman.. I can feel your blood boil on my tongue" Reiji sighed.

"Reiji.." I moaned out “Just a little more.” Reiji demanded, Reiji dropped me back onto my bed before I felt him guide his hands towards my thighs and he spread them apart, opening me up as far as he could.

I was so confused by his words but I continued to whimper under his ministrations, I didn't know why he would say such things to me.

"wha- No!" I protested right before Reiji dug his fangs into the flesh of my thigh

I screamed in pain, and I heard Reiji chuckle, "You are very obedient, but you should not be so shy about it... I wonder what you'll do when I bite you in the other leg, hmm?"

Reiji's tongue flicked my inner thigh, and I shivered, "Please stop!" I said, "No please don't..."

"Reiji..." I whimpered.

Reiji smirked and nipped at the inside of my thigh. "Is it good when I touch you here? Or maybe here?" Reiji licked the inside of my thigh making me shiver in pleasure. 

"A-Are you satisfied?" I asked in a breathless voice.

"No", Reiji said before he pulled my panties down

"Noo!" I whined, "Stop it! Please!" Reiji stopped, but he didn't stop moving his hand,  "Reiji.." I begged, "I can't take it anymore, please stop teasing me..."

Reiji chuckled as he looked at me, "What are you talking about, Do I look like I’m messing around? Do I look like I won’t punish you?" I felt a slight pressure at my inner entrance, and I knew Reiji was playing with my sex, I couldn't help but moan as Reiji teased me. I couldn't move as I whimpered, "Please stop..." I said, "I'm not ready..."

"I will teach you how to be a proper woman and how to properly please a man,"  Reiji bit me again, and I screamed even louder this time

My hips bucked against Reiji's hand, but he didn't stop. "Hush..." Reiji said to me, "You will learn to accept it."

"No..." I whimpered.

Reiji bit me harder, and I moaned loudly as I felt him press against my slit. His fingers slipped inside me, rubbing against my walls in a way that made them burn like fire, "Reiji..." I said, "Please stop..."

He pressed his hardness against me, and I felt his clothed cock rub against my bare hole. "Reiji..." I said, "please don't..."

I couldn't help but whimper as he kept pushing himself inside me, "Please stop, I don't want it..."

"Yes you do," Reiji said, and he bit my inner thigh, hard enough to make me squeal.

I felt Reiji's hips thrusting against me, and he was getting closer and closer to my center, "Reiji-" I said as I felt his hips grind against me, his clothed erection pushed against my heat drove me mad, "Please.." I whined "Are you still asking for me to stop, or are you asking for something else now?"

I cried out as his hips thrust into me, his free hand unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick

I felt his shaft slip past my wet walls, and I cried out as he entered me.

Reiji grunted, his hand gripped my hair tightly as he began to pound into me, and I couldn't help but moan at the feeling of our bodies connecting.

Reiji moved faster as he bit at my neck, "You're so tight..." He said, his thrusts quickened, and he thrust into me more harshly.

"Reiji..." I whimpered. “I won’t apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken by me." Reiji said, and he moaned as he bit at my neck.

I was so surprised by his words that I didn't even realize what he was doing until he bit me, and I felt Reiji thrust into me harder, his thrusts more forceful. I cried out as I felt him pull on my hair and bite down on my neck again.

"You're so hot and tight, your insides are so tight, you feel so good around me~" Reiji groaned.

His hips thrust into me harder, and he bit me harder as he fucked me harder, "M-Reiji..." I stammered, "S-Stop..."

Reiji moaned, biting me again.

I whimpered as he kept going, I couldn't hold myself back anymore, I wanted him to keep doing this, I wanted to be filled up by him.

"Reiji..." I whimpered, "Reiji..."

Reiji moaned, he bit me more harshly, drawing blood to leak down my neck and onto my chest. Reiji went to lick the blood off of me but I quickly pushed his head away, "Stop it!"

"Haha..." Reiji said, "I wonder if you'll beg to be marked by me, hm? Would you like it if I bit you everywhere?"

Reiji chuckled, "You're so wet, you're dripping all over me"

Reiji bit me more, and his hips thrust into me harder, I cried out as I felt him push into me more deeply,  I screamed out as my orgasm hit me, the pleasure radiating through me, and I felt myself shudder as I came.

Reiji growled, he thrust into me faster, as I felt his dick throbbing inside me. "D-Dont.. Not inside p-please.." I moaned, and I felt Reiji bite at my neck, "Ahh.. Ahhh..." I gasped as my legs trembled, and I knew he was about to cum.

Reiji grunted as he thrust into me one last time, and I felt him thrust in me once more, I felt Reiji's warm seed inside me as he let out a deep breath.

Reiji groaned as he collapsed on top of me.

"Reiji, no!" I cried out, but I couldn't move my limbs.

"Awww, you're so cute when you're scared," Reiji mumbled as he kissed my cheek, "You're mine now."

I whimpered, and Reiji chuckled, "I've got my hands full with you."

I whimpered, "No..." I said.

Reiji laughed, "I know you're mine, I'll keep you forever."

[the-fiction-witch]

Prisoner P2

Media IRL X Scifi

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster

Couple Tbs X Reader

Rating joyful

Concept Lab Rats

I accepted, because of course I did. Living out the rest of my sentence in a place like this seemed like utter paradise, and so far it had been.

They gave me  a new port on my neck and every morning a nurse would come and put a small purple vile into my port wait till it emptied and then they'd go typically without a word. the vile was always turned in such a way I was unable to see the words written on the side of the vile, and they always took it with them only removing it from their pocket or hand Immediately putting it into my port twisting twice, waiting and then pulling it out adding it back to their pocket again.

I didn't argue, It didn't make me feel strange or anything not even sleepy or anything. 

Then I'd be left alone in my room to watch tv, make food, do any number of hobbies, sleep, shower, do whatever I wanted, and every day on the dot at two seventeen a analyst arrived. 

He would come and sit with me for an hour or so talking about things, most of which didn't seem to matter all that much but I answered honestly. 

Thing had been fine for months now, I had gotten into a good routine and never had issues...

Well except- Some nights I'd be tossing and turning in my bed. I'm awake, but not. Paralyzed but not. Aware of my body and yet somewhat aware I'm away from it. My body would ache, burn and go though the most horrific pain I could imagine but I'd always wake up the next morning with no scars,  no soreness. I just assumed nightmares. 

And given the life I had lived... I could be forgiven if it haunted me. 

As soon as I told the Analysis about it they began to fade away so I didn't much question it. Maybe this stuff had side effects or something. 

I got up and began my day I went on a run on the treadmill, then had a hot shower and brushed my teeth. I got dressed and made myself fresh toast for breakfast from the pantry that refilled from the other side, I ate my breakfast while watching some old cartoons when the door opened to a nurse I finished my food and went sitting on my bed, he didn't speak he merely put the vile to my port and watched it drain removing it quickly "Oww" I said  a little aggravated given he pulled it so fast and so hard he didn't respond simply noting on his forms something ands then scampering out of my room, I did a few things around the room making my bed, doing some knitting, watching tv having nothing more then a banana for lunch and soon enough the analysis arrived right on time and we sat at the table,

"Any more of those strange sleep paralysis and night terrors?" 

"No, not the nightmares. Paralysis yes. But that's normal"

"Right oh." he nods noting things down "Breakfast?"

"French toast"

"Lunch"

"Banana.

"That all?"

"It was a lot of French toast this morning"

"Plans for dinner,"

"I don't know. I might make jacket potato not sure yet." 

"What did you do today?"

"The usual"

"any flashes?"

"No"

"Did you knit today?"

"I did."

"What did you make?"

"...nothing,"

"What did you make?"

"Not sure might be a hat. or a scarf, only just started don't really have any plans"

"Right oh. Question"

"sure"

"When you cook, you over cook. then make yourself skip other meals because your not hungry. Why? why not cook less."

"I don't know. haven't cooked in so long guess my portion measurements are a bit off, And whenever I did use to cook I wasn't alone"

"Right Oh." he nods "That'll be all for today" he says closing his file and heading to the door 

I nodded but I got up as he stopped short of my door 

"Ohh, One more thing." he says "Dr Lumis says you've been here a year now. Congratulations" 

"Thanks. It doesn't feel like a year"

"It'll fly by" he says "But Dr Lumis and I have been thrilled by your progress. and we wanted to give you a little gift"

"No no its fine I'm more then happy to help. this place is far more then I deserve" 

"If you will accept, it is a part of our work too."

"Of course, what is it?"

"A roommate." he says tapping on the door to my room 

I didn't know what to expect but I guess it makes sense I'm a lab rat they are running experiments on me I'm sure even if I'm not always aware of them, and surely they don't give every lab rat a room like this, I suppose sharing won't be too bad. I didn't want to look as I heard the door open and close, don't know why but I worried about getting my hopes up. 

But I would never in all time have expected this, "Sugarcube?" 

That voice. That name. 

I looked to the door tears already welling up so much it became hard to see until I wiped my eyes, my knees week, resting my hand in front of my mouth to prevent my screams as I saw him there. 

his thin body wrapped up in some old jeans and a button down, everything about him much the same as I last remembered his eyes full of tears to see me too I bolted across the room into his arms and he held me tighter then I'd ever been held before, it hurt but I didn't care at all. he felt the same. He smelt the same. even the sound of his breathing was the same. I cried into his shirt and he too cried into me both of us unable to form anything more the the sounds of joyful tears, when my legs gave out he went with me cardling me as I knelt on the floor with my arms around him and he pulled back just enough to see my face 

"Please god tell me your real? Please tell me its really you" he cried desperation in his voice 

"it's me! It's me I promise. I've missed you so much"

"I don't think missed even comes close. I've been lost without you" 

"I never though I'd see you again" 

"me either."

"I take it then no complains about your new accommodation?" The analysis asked us both 

"No! no complains" Thomas told him 

"Happy with your new roommate?"

"Thrilled" I giggled still holding back tears, The analysis left the room leaving us alone. "I can barely believe your real"

"me either, I can't believe they let us near each other let alone be together."

"Clearly they must think pretty highly of whatever that purple stuff is they've been shoving in us"

"...purple? huu mines green"

"Whatever, come on I'll make you a tea"

"Awww okay sugarcube,"