#fill: someone called the cops on your scene

[badsexbingo]

BSB Week 4 Round Up

There's a few of you that are just CHURNING OUT THE BAD SEX and I love you for it -- and we have our first two bingos!! We now have a "bingo" tag for that, and feel free to pursue the coveted "BINGO BLACKOUT" tag if you'd like.

BIG UPS AND MUCH APPRECIATION to all of our participants!

Reblogged this week:

Two fics from @aerodaltonimperial, (link) which hits Lazy Partner and Furniture break, and (link) which hits Inadvisable Lay and someone called the cops on your scene AND makes a BINGOOOO

@nachttraum finished their MCU thorki fic, (link) covering Sex toy over promised & under-delivered, that's not lube, and Embarrassing ER trip in the last few chapters and hitting BINGOOOOOOOOO

CONGRATS TO YALL GANG

Otherwise in the Ao3 Collection this week:

by 1candyangle, (link) a BNHA Bakugou/uraraka/izuku fic hitting Theory was hotter than practice.

by lucymonster (link) a reylo fic covering [RELATION] walking in on you

Don't forget you can request a board at any time, just check out our pinned post!

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

hii, I‘ve already made two requests and you‘ve written them so so beautifully <33 Your work is really amazing and I think I would consider you one of my favorite blogs💞💞 I do have one more idea :)

Reader and Jason are in a relationship, yet they don’t know about his vigilante identity. Reader works the night shift as a barista.

One night, the café gets robbed during reader’s shift, but Jason isn’t there to take care of the robber since he went on patrol only later, meaning the GCPD is the first on the scene.

When Red Hood passes the café and see’s all the police lights, his heart drops. He comes to check up on reader, but they’re so shaken up that jason scares them.

It’s all fluffy in the end, and perhaps Red Hood reveals his identity 😚

Promises

Hi, nonnie! Thank you! ~1.8k words

There was a gun to your face about ten minutes ago. Well, it might have been ten minutes ago, you're not exactly sure how long it was now. The idea of time seemed to phase out when two masked robbers stormed into the little Café you worked at.

Who even robs a coffee shop? You had maybe thirty dollars in the till, everyone uses cards or just taps their phones anyway. That point didn't seem to get across to the men as they waved their pistols in your face and shot off rounds into the air.

You showed them the safe, and a few hundred dollars seemed to calm them down. They took the money, took your wallet and phone. But none of that stopped them from shoving you to the ground as they ran off. You just sat there– dazed, scared, and overwhelmed– until a patrol car from the GCPD and an ambulance rushed to park outside.

No one was hurt, maybe some bruises from being pushed around, but you and the two unfortunate people who wanted coffee half past midnight were more than a little shaken up.

You stumble through the questions the cops ask you and let the paramedics guide you to sit on the back of the ambulance. They drape a shock blanket over your shoulders as you murmur about needing to call your boyfriend.

Someone presses a hot drink into your hands, and you barely register the quiet conversations over this being the fourth small business to get robbed this week. Your eyes only leave the spot in the distance you're fixated on when gasps resonate throughout the air. Your gaze shifts up, and your breath leaves your lungs. Red Hood. Red Hood is stalking towards you like lives depend on it, avoiding the medics and cops that try to talk to him, to get his attention.

You're proud of the fact that you don't flinch when his gloved hand meets your face, carefully tilting your chin up to observe your face. His body is rigid, you can tell something's wrong even through the muddled, shocked state of your mind.

He's crowding over you, a barrier between you and the rest of Gotham. You know he's a vigilante, you know that he helps. But the moment frays the last of your nerves and tears fill your eyes.

You just want to go home. You just want to feel safe. You want your phone back and you want to call your boyfriend and have him make everything okay again.

Red Hod freezes and you can audibly hear his breath hitching. His fingers twitch against your skin before dropping, but he doesn't step away, "Sorry. I'm sorry– Did I– are you hurt?"

That only makes you want to cry harder. He's apologizing to you. This stranger hasn't done anything, but check if you're okay, and you're crying all because he looks big and a little scary. You shake your head, trying to find the words to apologize back, that you don't know why you're crying.

You shift back, even if there's no room to go anywhere. Your heart is pounding and you're scared even if you shouldn't be because there was a gun to your face and you could have died and the man that smells like gunpowder and leather can't fix that.

His head doesn't move, you know his eyes haven't left your face. You don't know why. He doesn't gain anything from lifting his hand to catch the tear that spills down your face. "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, steady and full of promise, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He says your name, says it softly and gently and damn near yearning.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer shakily, blinking back the rest of your tears and trying to figure out why a vigilante knows your name.

His head turns, presumably looking for your phone, "Is it still inside the Café?"

You shake your head, voice heavy with emotion, "It– they stole it."

"They?" He questions, mask tilting back towards you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly, Isn't that why he's here? To get information? To catch them?

His hand finally leaves your face, and you exhale softly in relief, "I'll take care of it."

He wavers in front of you. Another thing that doesn't make sense. You don't get another word out before he's disappeared into the shadows.

Your shoulders slump. You're so tired and so, so drained, and not even the hot drink in your hands is making you feel more in your body.

Someone calls your name. Jason. You stand up on shaky legs, nearly spilling the cup in an attempt to put it down quickly. Jason's here. You don't care why or how, but he's here. He has you wrapped up against his chest and face buried in your hair before the cops can even try to stop him.

He says your name over and over into your hair, and you try to ignore the way your tears stain his shirt. "I've got you, you're okay. You're okay, baby. Promise. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you," he murmurs, arms tightening around you.

He feels safe. He smells like– he smells like leather and gunpowder. He's big and warm and a barrier between you and the rest of the world. And it all clicks.

"Let's get you home," he says softly, gently, so careful with a voice full of yearning and love. You recognize it. And you know.

Jason knows your shift ends in forty-seven minutes. But patrol has been slow tonight, and he's going to walk you home even if it wasn't. So why not show up a little early and keep you company? Spoiler seemed eager enough to cover his territory for a few hours, anyway.

He'll go back out after he sees you home safe and watches you fall asleep. Jason's idly trying to decide if you're going to be too tired to shower with him, when the flashing lights outside the Café catch his attention.

He thinks his heart might have stopped. He doesn't even think to call Oracle or text you, he just knows his feet hit the pavement and he's running.

There's only one ambulance, only one cop car. His eyes dart. Where are you. Where are you?

He's barreling towards you as soon as he finds you. He doesn't have a plan. Doesn't need one until he knows you're safe. "Move," he snaps at the medic that tries to stop him, never stopping his path towards you.

His hand is tilting your head up before he even considers the possibility that it's a bad idea, that he's just a stranger in a mask armed to the teeth with knives and guns.

He can't help himself. He needs to touch you, needs to ground himself and make sure you're not hurt. He doesn't manage to get his words out before you're tearing up.

Jason's heart breaks at the sight, bile rising in his throat. He removes his hand, even if every instinct he has goes against it. He thinks he chokes out an apology, but he's too busy looking at every inch of you for injuries.

You shake your head and a piece of his soul shatters. He reaches up to wipe your tears, as if he could do anything else, "You're okay. You're safe," he murmurs, and wills it to be true, "tell me what you need. Let me make it better." He wants it to be better. He wants your tears to stop and the tension to leave your body and the anxiety to disappear from your eyes.

"I need– I want my phone. I want to call you boyfriend," You answer, and he wants to drop to his knees when your voice shakes.

Your phone. He can do that. His eyes dart from you, looking for the familiar phone case, "Is it still inside the Café?"

"It– they stole it," You answer and his focus snaps back to you.

"They?" He questions, doing his best to keep the anger from dripping into his voice, to bite back the threats on his tongue for whoever scared you.

"The robbers?" You answer weakly. Robbers. Robbers. Robbers did this. He files that away for once you're home, once he knows you feel safe.

He pulls his hand from your face reluctantly, "I'll take care of it." Jason doesn't want to step away from you. All he really wants is to wrap you up against him and promise everything will be better. But you don't need Red Hood. You need Jason Todd.

He forces himself away from you, moves faster than he should, struggling to shed his armor and mask. He drops his guns to the roof, anything recognizable left in a pile for someone else to deal with.

He's back on the ground and rushing back to you. He says your name. You look up at him and he sees the relief flood your face.

Jason catches you when you step towards him, arms wrapping around you to keep you close.

He whispers promises against your skin, tightening his grip on you. He can feel you crying. It makes concern and anger and the overwhelming desire to protect you twists in his stomach, "Let's get you home."

Jason– Red Hood– talks to the police for you. Insists that there's no more questions for you to answer as he hooks his arm firmly around your waist. He guides you home. You barely process a word he says.

All you can really focus on, as you watch him unlock the apartment door, is that he's Red Hood. How did you miss it? Why didn't you know?

You feel disoriented. But Jason's perfect, exactly what you need in the moment. He doesn't ask you questions, doesn't press or make you move too fast as he helps you change. He nods and gets you water when you say you don't want to shower, that you're not hungry.

He lets you curl against his chest and he kisses the crown of your head when you finally crawl into bed, "I was scared," You admit quietly into his skin.

"They'll never scare you again," he promises. Your stomach swoops. It's the truth. You know it's fact. They'll never scare you again. They'll never scare anyone again. He'll make sure of it.

You fall asleep to his comforting whispers and vows, the feel of his fingers tracing your skin. When you wake up, he's still next to you, still holding you flush against him. Your wallet and phone sit on the nightstand next to your bed. Neither of you mention it as the sun begins to shine on the familiar leather jacket folded over your chair. Neither of you mention it, later, when the news reports that two bodies were found in Gotham Harbor.

[zolass]

Detectives Attraction Ch. 03

Top Male Reader x Male Yandere Harem

Managed chapter three, after I didn't know what to do- listened to a lot of Bad Romance from Lady Gaga and shit went well after. For a short information; I have absolutely no fucking clue about how police departments work I tried to look up which rank is highest yada yada also I have no clue how crime scenes work, so take the information with the only aspect of fiction right now.

Also because I gave M/n a last name instead of simply L/n simply is because bro changed his last name- if that is your actual last name- ops-

Content warning: Dead body.

1.9k words

Sitting at his desk after M/n cleaned it, he just sat there, pen in hand tapping it against the wood as he stared at the papers of Alicia Wallace, her basic information were on it– of course they were important but the now lost papers held even more important information of the case.

M/n phone that laid on the desk started vibrating and ringing, with a sigh he grabbed it and looked at the screen, Elias Hart. He picked up the call, with a small roll of his eyes, “Yes?” “Mr. Howard– you need to come to the station,” those were the only words coming from the other side, before the call was cut off. A scoff, before M/n got ready to drive over. Him and Elias Hart weren’t on the best terms– they were coworkers and M/n knew the man meant really well with his job, but he considered Hart a little– soft in some ways with what the work required to do– yes the man was a fellow detective, but M/n can have opinions– right?

When M/n sat foot in the station further down town– he greeted some passing cops with a short nod, until he reached the conference room– which held quite a lot of high-tech equipment. When he stepped in, he only gave a curt nod before sitting down in his usual place, right beside Elias Hart. 

“There’s another missing case–” a picture was now on the screen of a young adult, “His name is Konstantine Smith, he’s barely mid twenties and was last seen by his family as he went out to work last saturday,” Commissioner Donovan Hayes spoke, “That’s almost a week ago now– why didn’t the family issued a missing case earlier?” someone asked. “Well apparently Mr. Smith was known to have disappeared a few times before but always returned. He works at the corner shop down the street, in which he was last seen until the end of his shift,” A CCTV footage was played, catching M/n’s and others attention.

M/n leaned back as his eyes were focused on the sped-up footage, he analyzed the footage as well as he could as it played– looking out for anything that could be a lead to the case. “I’ll go to ask his family about any suspicions they might have on their son's disappearance,” M/n spoke up, as he looked at the commissioner, who seemed to study the man before he only nodded. 

“Take someone with you,” just as M/n was about to decline, a voice interrupted, “I’ll join him,” none other than Elias Hart spoke up. M/n only pursed his lips as he nodded and stood up, followed by his now partner. As they walked out of the department, M/n decided to speak up with a frown on his face, “Why would you do that?” a shrug from the other, “You’re not a bad detective– I know you want to do good, and these other’s are like starving hyenas trying to wait for any weakness to rip you apart,” Elias spoke.

And M/n knew the other was right, so he simply walked over to his car without answering. Footsteps quickly followed him, before rounding the car which made M/n raise a quick eyebrow before getting in. As they drove through the city, they were driving closer to the more– secured district of Noxhaven which was also where Adrian’s law firm stood. M/n on the other hand lived in the district in which most middle class lived, it was safe to a certain degree it wasn’t as bad as the further outskirts of the city.

The sound of the radio made M/n glance over to Elias, who played around at the volume making music fill the space that was previously only filled with the sound of the engine. E/c were met with honey brown ones, before M/n focused back on the street, until they arrived at the families house. 

It was large– easily called a mansion, and for a short moment M/n wasn’t surprised by the sudden disappearance of the victim. A lot of lower class people held grudges against the wealthier people, but it was more of a surprise that Konstantine Smith was out without any protection close by– like someone picking him up. 

M/n only said that because he already knew the Smith’s, the first time their son  disappeared he was also the one who found him, after that the family had made sure to always send a driver to pick him up and bring him back safely. As the duo walked up the steps, Elias rang the bell which was opened after a short while, in the doorway was a middle aged woman who looked tired with worry and red puffy eyes and nose. 

“Oh Mr. Howard– it’s you again,” suddenly the woman stepped out, grabbing onto M/n’s hand, “Please find my son again– you found him once already– please bring me my son back home,” tears welled up in the woman’s eyes, as another pair of footsteps approached the door quickly. 

Out came her husband who looked worried, especially after his eyes landed on his wife. M/n greeted the man, who grabbed the woman’s shoulders gently, “Would you like to come in?” the man invited them in, as he led his wife back in. There weren't any questions asked– it was rather obvious why they were there.

Soon after the four were seated in the lavish living room, while Elias had a block and pen out, ready to write down anything, M/n was seated by his side. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I would like to ask if there were any– unusual happenings, any suspicious activities involving your son or anyone close to him– like a friend?” M/n asked.

For a moment the couple thought about anything that looked off in the last days or even weeks, until the woman spoke up, “Oh yeah– Konstantine brought home a new friend that I’ve never seen before– he didn’t stay long, only spoke about how he’ll meet him after his shift. After that we didn’t see our son since, we tried to contact him or asked some of his other friends but nobody knew anything,” the woman’s voice was shaky, tears rolled down her cheek as sniffles left her.

With a few following questions, M/n would have to inform the head of the department that the Smith’s would come by for Mrs. Smith for hopeful visual identification. Just as the duo was about to go back to the car, there was a dull noise from the further back of the house, which quickly got their attention. 

As they quickly drew their guns, and moved swiftly to the sound, ready to shoot if whoever that was might be armed. But as they turned the corner, there were only fading footsteps far away, and a body laying on the lawn. Without missing another heartbeat M/N and Elias were on the move towards it, as a loud piercing scream sounded from above them, on a balcony stood Ms. Smith who starred with wide horror filled eyes at the body.

When the body came into complete view, they saw the reason why the woman screamed, not only because the person was dead and half burned, but also because it was Konstantine Smith– the missing son who returned, not as they hoped to. 

“Call reinforcement,” M/n said, as he put his gun back into its holster and grabbed a pair of gloves. He squatted next to the body, gently placing his hands on the sides of the head, tilting it slightly underneath the sunlight inspecting the body with a trained eye. “Seems like there’s now only the search after who did this to you huh?” M/n mumbled under his breath as he glanced at the blue eyes deprived of any life.

As the reinforcement came, M/n and Elias went inside the house to look for any clues. When they arrived in the victim's room, they saw that it was cleaned, except that there were traces of blood and a bit of what seemed to be a bit of burned skin that got caught in the carpet that led to the closet.

E/c eyes scanned over the room as M/n walked closer, until he pushed the door to the closet open, it was a small walk in closet, but this was where the body seemed to have been stored for at least 24 hours when not even a bit more. “Whoever threw the body out of the window seemed to have hid the body previously in this closet,” M/n informed his partner, he took a step in while avoiding the blood stain in the carpet. Shining a UV light and IR light, in hopes of finding any fingerprints, as this would be the only thing that could help identifying the suspect, which seemed to be the guy with whom Konstantin had met up with.

When M/n and Elias walked out of the house, leaving the on-going investigation behind them, “I can drive you home,” M/n simply offered before getting into his car, without waiting for a reply. Elias stopped in surprise, before he frowned in suspicion as he got in the passenger seat, “Why would you–” “I’m simply being nice to my partner– can’t I be nice?” M/n interrupted, as he looked over at Elias with a raised eyebrow.

Elias only huffed, before giving his address. At first M/n thought it would be awkward, but Elias quickly distracted himself with the radio, and danced with his hand and a bit of his upper body to the music, while he lip synced the lyrics. M/n can’t deny that he was rather amused by the individual that was Elias Hart.

After he brought his partner home, M/n made his way back home. But he couldn’t help but glance into the rear view, but he saw nothing. With a sigh, M/n couldn’t stop himself from trying to connect this case with the one of Alicia Wallace, but the woman was alive– Konstantine Smith was dead.

Pushing the door open to his home, after shutting and locking it, only then did M/n kick his shoes off and hang his jacket up. Walking over to the bathroom, he quickly stripped himself and started the shower, his phone laid on the sink counter, in case any important calls came through. As M/n stood underneath the hot water cascading down his toned body, he felt how his tense muscles relaxed. 

Just as he finished his shower and started to dry himself– a message came through, as he looked at the unknown number he was instantly reminded by the unknown call and the break in. He quickly grabbed his phone and opened it, his eyes scanning over the words– making him scoff and roll his eyes.

‘Heyy, I decided to simply get your number. Hope you had a nice day detective~ -your favorite lawyer xoxo’ was the message that was sent to him. Putting the phone back, M/n continued to dry himself while getting ready to jot down all the informations of the new case. While on the other side of the phone was Adrian, who watched the open chat with the eyes of a hawk– when he saw that M/n opened his message his heartbeat quickened. But after M/n went offline again, Adrian couldn’t help but chuckle, “One day,” he mused, while he took a sip from his wine glass, while his other hand patted the fluffy cat on his lap, “Adrian are you listening?” a harsh voice asked through the speaker of the screen, quickly gaining his attention, “Of course, Sir.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Sacred Guardian

Requested Here!

Pairing: (platonic) Tim Bradford x fem!Cybertronian!reader

Summary: Tim and Lucy experience a number of glitches with their new shop. When Tim loses control of the wheel, he and Lucy learn that they've become involved in a fight that is not their own. You save their lives and gain yourself a new position in the process.

Warnings: angst, fight scene, canon-typical stuff, fluff

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: Here's a list of Transformers anatomy terms (in case my fight scene is confusing)!

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Good morning,” Wade greets as he enters roll call. “Does anyone know what today is?”

“Another day in paradise,” Smitty answers, drawing chuckles from a few other officers.

“I’m not sure why you’re laughing,” Wade deadpans. “You signed up to do this job and to enjoy it.”

“Right, yeah,” Smitty agrees. “It’s great.”

Wade shakes his head and continues, “Today is the day patrol gets new shops.”

Several officers cheer, and Wade smiles as he moves behind the podium.

“Motor pool has your specific assignments,” Wade says. “The city spent a lot of money, a lot of tax dollars, on these new cars. Wreck one without a very good reason and it’s coming out of pay, and probably your pension.”

“Sir, I thought the budget committee only approved replacing half of the shops,” Nolan interjects.

“That’s correct. Patrol is our priority in this; improve response times, safety records, everything the public likes to see. So, if you’re in this room and going on patrol today, you’re getting a new ride.”

Aaron raises his hand, and Wade says, “It better be about protocol and not the make and model of the cars, Hollywood.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t care about that,” Aaron replies. “I just wanted to know if the speakers are stock.”

“You’re a cop, Thorsen,” Tim snaps. “Not going for a joy ride.”

“Who says patrol has to be boring?” he counters.

“Me,” Tim and Nyla say together.

Aaron lifts his hand in surrender but whispers to Lucy that they should play their shared playlist.

“Absolutely not,” Tim interrupts. “You’re rookies, you have no power.”

“Focus,” Wade says. “Enjoy the new shops but stay alert. You have a job to do; the cars are supposed to make it easier, not be a distraction.”

“Yes, sir,” the officers reply before standing and approaching the garage to find their new shops.

“Peace,” the radio crackles. “Through tyranny.”

“What?” Lucy asks, leaning forward to look through the front seat at Tim.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies. “Hearing voices, Chen?”

“Ha, ha,” she deadpans, sliding into the brand-new passenger seat. “What do you think?”

“It’s a shop,” Tim says. “It hasn’t been puked in yet. I give it two days.”

“Is the glass ever half full?”

“The glass is going to get broken no matter how much is in it.”

“Wow,” Lucy murmurs.

Tim shifts into drive, and as he and Lucy leave in their new shop, they have no idea that their car is a clichéd bad cop.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Lucy recites. “Anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights?”

“Yeah,” the handcuffed woman replies. “Silence is… metal. I don’t need it.”

“Is she too drunk to lawfully accept her rights, boot?” Tim asks from the curb.

“Intoxication doesn’t invalidate a Miranda waiver if it’s made knowingly, intelligently, and voluntarily,” she answers. “But her behavior can imply her waiver.”

“So, what’s the move in this situation?”

“She’s voluntarily responding, so her response is valid.”

Tim nods once but raises his hand to stop Lucy from placing the drunk driver in the shop. “Ask if she needs to puke.”

“What?” Lucy questions.

“She pukes in that shop and you’re cleaning it up.”

“Oh, right,” Lucy murmurs.

Tim opens the driver's door while she speaks to the woman about how she’s feeling. The radio lights up briefly, and a static noise reminiscent of someone speaking fills the car's interior before the light dims. Tim watches the radio for a moment, and after Lucy places the woman in the back and slides into the passenger seat, she follows his gaze.

“Want to listen to Make Da Noise?” she asks.

“What? No,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “Just thought I saw something.”

The noise was unintelligible to Tim, but he ensured the radio remained off the rest of the day. He didn’t anticipate being the one to find a problem with a new shop, yet as he leaves after riding in it all day, he hesitates to get in his own truck. There’s something wrong with that car, he thinks as he drives away from the station.

The following morning, Tim convinces himself that the radio coming on was a glitch. Maybe the motor pool guys jostled a wire, or the radio controls were somehow moved. Attempting to ignore the odd occurrences of the day before, he begins his shift with Lucy talking excitedly about her upcoming date.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“About what?” Tim replies.

“My date! Were you even listening?”

“No.”

Lucy sighs, and Tim slows to park against the curb. As he nears the sidewalk, the lights and sirens turn on. Lucy reaches forward to turn them off as Tim opens his door to apologize to the innocent civilians startled by the sudden noise.

“Sorry about that,” he calls. “Just a malfunction with the switch. Chen, turn it off.”

“I’m trying,” Lucy defends as she attempts to flip the switch. “It’s stuck.”

Tim reaches across the wheel and pushes the switch until it finally drops and the sirens silence. He then turns the lights off, sighing as he relaxes his arm.

“I hate this shop,” he mutters.

The driver seat slides forward, and Tim jerks back out of the door and into the road just before it slams into the driver’s seat.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asks, her eyes wide.

“We’re getting a new shop,” Tim says, stepping out of traffic. “Right now.”

“Did you lock the seat after you moved it?”

“Chen,” Tim snaps. “Seats don’t lurch forward while a car is parked. There is something wrong with this shop.”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” she replies lightly. “It’s new. There are bound to be some glitches while we get used to it.”

Tim grumbles under his breath, but she’s right. Not that he’ll say it aloud. He’s a few glitches away from demanding his old shop back. As he slides the seat back into place, Tim decides to ask Nyla if her shop has had any glitches.

“Any plans this weekend?” Angela asks.

“I’m going on a date,” Lucy replies. “Tim’s going to a game.”

“How’s the new shop?” Tim inquires.

Angela shrugs and says, “It’s a car.”

Lucy looks at Tim as she raises her cup to take a drink. Tim hasn’t complained about the car over the last two days, but with only a few more hours left before their scheduled time off, he seems to be thinking about it again.

“Why?” Aaron wonders. “Your car got a little Christine thing goin’ on?”

“Of course not,” Tim replies, shaking his head.

“Wait, you know what Christine is?” Lucy asks.

Tim glances at Lucy with a look she knows means stop talking. He then adds, “Just a few little glitches at first. I’m sure they’ll work themselves out.”

Angela is about to inquire what kind of glitches they’ve experienced, but she’s interrupted by a speeding car swerving in and out of traffic as it passes.

“Let’s go, boot!” Tim demands as he stands.

Lucy says, “Bye!” and follows Tim to the shop. She slides into the passenger seat and buckles her seatbelt as Tim hits the lights and sirens. He catches up to the incredibly conspicuous purple Lamborghini and requests that she run the plate.

“Stolen,” she reads. “From a customization shop in Thousand Oaks.”

Tim speeds up, following the Lamborghini around a corner. He slams on the brakes, stopping mere inches behind the now-parked car. It’s still running, but the driver is escaping down an alley. Tim swings his door open and sprints down the alley, failing to notice Lucy isn’t behind him.

She pulls her door handle, but the door doesn’t budge. Knocking her shoulder against the side of the door frame proves pointless, too. Looking out the windshield, she sees Tim has caught up with the suspect and is attempting to get him on the ground.

“Come on,” she mutters, trying to hold the lock up and open the door simultaneously.

With no other choice, she pushes up into her seat and carefully climbs over the console to exit through Tim’s door. She’s out of breath from fighting with the door, and Tim pulls the cuffed man onto his feet when she reaches them.

“Thanks for the assist, boot!” Tim exclaims. “What was that?”

“The door wouldn’t open,” Lucy defends. She exhales and amends, “I’m sorry, Officer Bradford. I couldn’t get out of the shop quick enough to assist. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right about that. Get this guy in the back.”

Lucy takes the man’s arm and recites his Miranda rights as she leads him to the shop. The back door opens without problem, and she places the man in the backseat. Rounding the front of the car, she stops.

“What now?” Tim sighs.

“I thought I heard someone talking,” she answers, stepping closer to the hood.

“It’s our perp,” Tim says. “He’s singing. Again.”

Looking up, she sees the man in the car singing. Loudly. But that’s not what she heard. Granted, she doesn’t know what she heard.

Tim walks past Lucy and pulls the passenger side door open effortlessly. “Find a better excuse next time.”

Sliding into her seat, Lucy looks at the dash and thinks, Why do you hate us?

In an abandoned warehouse, a yellow Camaro and a Mustang so red it looks black sit parked together. A small light on their dashboards is the only sign that the cars run. But no one is close enough to worry about them, even think about them. And certainly not near enough to hear them speak to one another.

“You don’t need proof when you have instinct,” Bumblebee quotes.

“We need something, Bee,” you answer over the radio. “I heard Decepticons. I’ve felt them.”

Bumblebee doesn’t reply, listening to every soundwave in the city for a sign that what you’re saying is true. Not because he doesn’t believe you, but because if there’s a Decepticon invasion, he needs to call in reinforcements.

“Nada,” he says.

“Thanks for trying, Bee,” you respond. “I’m going for a drive. Be safe.”

He answers in Cybertronian, and you laugh as you spin your rear tires. With a sharp squeal of your wheels, you lurch forward and drive out of the warehouse and onto the crowded streets of Los Angeles. Earth is much different than your home, and the traffic that keeps you from embracing the open road is your least favourite part of waiting here, amongst the stars.

You pass a car with several children screaming in the backseat, not bothering to slow as you move back over. In your time on this planet, you’ve learned to understand the nuances of humans and the cars they make. One thing that took you a while to notice was the difference between humans being silly and a Decepticon invasion. Now, you can glide in and out of traffic as if you’re on rails without worrying about every person you see or the vehicles they’re in.

Slowing as you approach a yield sign, you hear the same buzzing sound you heard earlier this week. Now, it’s closer, and getting louder.

“There aren’t any calls right now,” Lucy says. “This is weird.”

“It’s a lull,” Tim replies. “When they start again, you’ll miss this.”

“Bradford,” Wade says over the radio. It cuts out before he continues.

“Grey, 7-Adam-100 responding,” Tim replies.

Nothing happens, and Tim passes the radio to Lucy. The light ahead turns yellow, but Tim is too close to the intersection to stop safely. He goes through before the light turns red. Down a side street, a dark Mustang is waiting to turn, and as they pass it, Tim loses control of the shop.

You tune out the Decepticon frequency and try to forget about your worries. Bumblebee checked and didn’t find anything, so you must be picking something else up. A police car approaches, and you prepare to turn behind them once the road clears. Then, time seems to slow as it drives past. You can see through the paint job on the alt form to the true colors beneath.

The motto, “To Punish and Enslave,” is written on the door, and you recognize Barricade even without hearing his Decepticon radio transmission. Accelerating, you turn behind him, your rear tires spinning out before you pull into the lane directly behind him.

Barricade swerves into the oncoming lane to pass another car, and you go into the lane on the right to keep up with him. As you try to get beside him, you see not one but two humans sitting in his front seat. Barricade would never work with the police, or upstanding humans of any occupation, so your assumption that the officers are hostages seems justifiable.

“Autobots,” you radio. “I’m pursing Decepticon Barricade.” You add your current location and request your friends do what they can.

Barricade moves toward you, and you hit the brakes long enough to drift behind him and pull to his other side. You can see the driver desperately attempting to regain control of the car. It’s pointless, so as you pursue Barricade, you hatch a plan to save the humans within.

“Tim!” Lucy yells, clutching her seat as the car slides around a corner.

“I’m trying!” Tim replies, his voice strained as he pulls the steering wheel to the left and steps repeatedly on the brake. “I can’t do anything!”

“Then maybe stop trying!”

Tim glances at Lucy, who looks as scared as he feels. Taking her advice – for once – he lets go of the wheel. It continues spinning as the car stays on the road, fleeing from the Mustang they passed nearly three miles ago.

“What is happening?” Lucy asks, leaning away from the dash.

“It’s the car,” Tim answers, shifting his hips to retrieve his phone. “Those weren’t glitches.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Christine is fiction!”

“Look around, Chen!” Tim snaps.

His phone lights up, but the screen is covered in gray and purple streaks, unusable for calling for help. With the radio out, they have no choice but to find their own way out of this.

“What is the other car doing?” he asks, looking in the rearview.

“Chasing us, I think,” Lucy answers.

“I think- I think they’re trying to help,” Tim adds quietly.

At that, the car speeds up, racing toward a brick wall. Lucy yells, but Tim is transfixed by the Mustang moving behind them. He can’t see a driver, although that’s not the foremost thought in his mind. As they near the end of the road, the Mustang accelerates, pulling to the passenger side of the shop. It rams into the shop, hitting beside the rear wheel to execute a nearly perfect PIT manoeuvre. The Mustang falls back as the shop spins, but Tim’s relief is short-lived.

You slow after knocking Barricade off his course. As he spins, he transforms, pulling his wheels and doors into place as chest plates around his human hostages as he lunges toward you. Transforming, you stay close to the ground and reach for his cadulens. Attempting to be mindful of the scared people inside, you fight Barricade. Swinging your arm, you knock him off balance. Bumblebee speaks to another Autobot through your radio, but you switch to a different frequency.

“10-13,” a dispatcher says. “Officers Bradford and Chen last reported at…”

You can see the officers clinging to the metal around them, and something like relief flashes in their eyes at the sound of the radio before you are pushed to the ground by Barricade.

“Give up, Barricade!” you demand.

He drives a metal shard into your side plating and you grunt before raising your leg and flipping him.

“Die, Autobot!” he replies gruffly.

You rip a metal spike from a nearby fence and drag it across his exposed chassis beneath his chest plate, pinning his right arm to the pavement as you damage his paint and mar the metal beneath.

“For your sake,” he seethes, pushing against you, “I hope that was an accident.”

“Let the humans go,” you demand.

Barricade pushes you up, and you barely catch yourself as he surges toward you again. Clasping your servos together, you twist your entire body, aiming for his helm. He attempts to drive his digits into your optics, but you move faster, and the momentum of your movement knocks him off balance. Barricade crashes to the ground, and you watch his face plate for any sign that he’s faking being down.

You approach Barricade, knocking your heel strut against his skirt plates. He doesn’t react, so you lower onto the asphalt and rip his chest plate apart. The officers jump out without hesitation, panting. The female officer lays her hands on the ground as the male officer looks up at you.

You smile behind your face plate and ask, “Need a ride?”

“I… I don’t know,” the woman replies.

“What’s your name?” the man asks.

You hesitate, then offer, “You can call me Sparks.”

Turning slowly, you show the sparkles in your paint reflect the sun - the origin of your nickname. That, and how quickly you’ve been known to shove a sharp metal instrument into your foes in the heat of battle.

“I’m Tim,” he says. “This is Lucy.”

“Why did you help us?” Lucy inquires, standing.

“That’s Barricade,” you respond, pointing to your unconscious foe. “He’s a Decepticon. They’re from the same place as I am, but they conquered my planet. Their goal is universal domination.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m an Autobot. We’re constantly at war with them. Have been since the Cybertronian war.”

“Okay,” Lucy murmurs slowly. “So, what now?”

“I have a radio. Alert your commander that you’re safe,” you answer. “And then you’re free.”

“Thank you,” Tim says.

You transform back into your alt mode, letting the driver’s door swing open. Tim sits in the seat and uses your radio.

“This is Officer Tim Bradford, badge number 3483,” he says. “Officer Chen and I are safe.”

You offer Lucy a place to rest by opening the passenger door. She hesitates, then sits with her feet firmly on the ground outside.

“We’ll be back at the station in a few minutes,” Tim concludes.

“Should you get a ride for your partner?” you ask.

“I am not his partner,” Lucy corrects. “I’m his rookie.”

“My apologies,” you offer.

Lucy shifts to sit rightly, buckles the seatbelt, and closes the door. Tim closes the driver’s door, too, and you hum. They trust you, and you don’t want to jeopardize that.

“Who’s driving?” Tim asks.

“Up to you,” you reply.

“Okay,” he mutters, shifting into drive.

It’s unusual for you to not be in control. As your pistons fire and the wind rushes along your frame, you begin feeling the damage Barricade did. Tim passes a blue and red semi heading toward the road where you left Barricade, and you flash your headlights. He honks in reply, and you chuckle.

“Friend of yours?” Lucy asks, looking over her shoulder to see the semi.

“Yeah,” you answer. “A very good friend.”

Tim turns left, and your T-cog grinds painfully. He slows, but you don’t say anything.

“So, how do you like earth?” Lucy asks.

“It’s nice,” you say. “Much different than Cybertron.”

“How many robots are in LA?”

“More than I know of. Several of my kind.”

“You’ve been fighting an unseen war,” Lucy muses. “That’s terrifying and awesome.”

“I’ve heard Barricade’s radio communications,” you begin.

“The radio was working, talking,” Tim interjects.

“Yes. He was communicating with the other Decepticons.”

“There’s more?” Lucy exclaims. “In the department?”

“I can’t be sure of that without seeing them.”

“Would you?” Tim inquires. “See if there are more?”

“Of course. I can identify any others, and offer any information you may need about Barricade.”

“How do we file a report for this?” Lucy asks Tim.

“This is the one time in your policing career that I am going to say this,” he prefaces. “We lie.”

Lucy nods in understanding as Tim parks in a visitor’s spot. He closes the door carefully, then runs a finger along a deep scratch in your paint. Black and white paint chips are embedded in a few new dents along your hood, and he surveys them carefully.

“Are you okay?” Tim whispers.

You hum, rattling softly beneath his touch. He nods, pats your side mirror, and walks into the station. Lucy rushes back a moment later and says, “Stay. Please.”

Tim exits the station a few hours later, dressed in civvies and carrying a bag. You’ve spoken to Bumblebee and a few other Autobots about what happened but haven’t heard Barricade’s fate or condition yet. Tim lowers into your passenger seat, carefully setting his bag on the floorboard.

“There’s an auto shop off Wilshire, south of here,” he says. “Can you drive there?”

“Sure,” you reply. “I found no other signs of Decepticons in your garage.”

“Thank you.”

You drive to the auto shop in a comfortable silence. Once there, Tim tells the mechanic – clearly a friend of his by the way they greet one another – that he needs a few touch-ups. Within two hours, your paint job looks brand new, your axles are realigned, and your T-cog has been repaired. He avoided touching your Energon lines or your spark, seeming to understand that the parts you held out of reach were there for a reason.

As you drive out of the garage and thank Tim, your radio alights. Tim notices that the symbol differs from the one he saw in the shop. It’s the same badge you wear on your arm plate when you turn into a giant robot. He shakes his head at how strange this is and how unbelievable it would sound if he hadn’t witnessed it himself.

“The warehouse,” someone says through your radio.

“Of course,” you reply. “Let me drop off-”

“Bring the human.”

“Do you have plans?” you ask Tim.

“Now I do.”

Tim leans toward the wheel as you pull into a dark warehouse. Inside, there’s a yellow Camaro, a shiny motorcycle, and the red and blue semi he and Lucy saw earlier. You open the door, and he exits your alt mode before you transform, towering above him.

Tim’s eyes widen as the other vehicles follow suit, and when the red and blue semi transforms into a standing form that makes you look tiny, he steps back. The large robot lowers to look into Tim’s eyes.

“You are of stout heart,” he says.

“Thank you,” Tim murmurs.

“Sparks,” he says, standing to face you. “It seems you have found a human in need of a guardian.”

You glance at Tim. In the last few hours, you’ve grown to care about him and Lucy. But… “He can take care of himself, Optimus,” you point out.

Tim hesitates before he speaks. He would never admit it to his human friends, even Lucy, but he isn’t opposed to the idea. You saved his life today, and although you’re a sentient robot, and he still isn’t entirely convinced he isn’t dreaming, Tim interjects, “I couldn’t today. You said it yourself, there’s a war going on that we don’t even know about.”

“It’s an unofficial position,” Optimus explains. “She won’t always be there.”

“She seems to have a knack for knowing when to be.”

You smile, and Tim nods in reply.

“If you’ll have me, I’d be glad to be your guardian,” you agree. “It’s a sacred duty, and one I do not take lightly.”

“Any more questions you wanna ask?” Bumblebee quotes.

“Uh, no, sir,” Tim replies. “I’m Tim, by the way.”

“I am Optimus Prime, this is Bumblebee, Arcee, you know Sparks, and Ironhide is around here somewhere,” Optimus introduces.

“You’re going to love him,” you whisper.

“Where’s my backup?!” Tim demands, ducking behind his new shop as a bullet flies past.

“Two minutes out,” dispatch replies.

Tim looks up just as the armed man runs toward him. He pulls his gun up, but the man fires first. Tim drops his head, readying himself to be hit. The bullet collides with something metal before it can reach him. Moving forward, Tim takes cover behind the Good Samaritan who drove between him and a bullet. He fires over the trunk and takes down the armed suspect.

Rounding the Mustang, he glances at the new bullet hole and shakes his head. Another officer pulls in with their lights on, and Tim directs them to take the shooter into custody.

“That’s an inch away from your gas tank,” Tim whispers.

“As long as my Energon isn’t leaking, it’s fine,” you reply softly. “You alright?”

“Thanks to you.”

“Kinda my job.”

Tim pats your trunk, and you pull away. Your right blinker turns on once before you go straight, and Tim shakes his head as he smiles. Lucy never should’ve taught you to wink.

[kastighur]

← back. ᝰ.ᐟ i’ll wait for you.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 homicipher. mr. crawling. angst ( i tried ). gn! reader // wc : 681

standing in front of the elevator doors, the human turned towards the crawling entity. staring at him with a solemn gaze as they knew what was bound to happen. though it didn’t look like he did.

“ thank you. “

you told him with a smile, one that was trying to hide the ever growing pain that spread throughout your chest.

“ …you go ? “

he asked and you confirmed it.

“ go together ! “

mr. crawling eagerly replied, moving slightly closer in preparation to enter the elevator with you.

it wasn’t that you didn’t want him to follow you, in fact, his presence would brighten up your lonely lifestyle in that dull apartment. but there were factors that needed to be considered.

firstly, how were you supposed to provide for both of you ? your space was barely enough for one, and if a 8ft ghost was added it was surely going to cramp up the area.

secondly, could he even survive in your world ? what would happen if other humans saw him ? if someone called the cops they would definitely find out about the late night activities you’ve been committing. plus if someone saw that he had skin for eyes….

of course, there were other problems at play but it would take too long to list them all.

with a heavy sigh, you kneeled down.

“ me go, one. “

his smile slowly disappeared.

“ one…? “

his typical bubbly booming tone in his voice now soft and flat.

“ me sad. “

to say your heart hurt was an understatement. it was the kind of pain that made you understand what a heartbreak truly felt like.

“ me wait for you ! “

he offered, beaming once again. he understood that you had a life before landing here. since the beginning he had been helping you find this very exit, and you made it ! he was happy for you but he didn’t understand that you would be gone forever. in his mind you would go through those doors and appear at that same spot where he found you.

“ you go ! me wait ! “

it’s been a while since you’ve felt that sting in your eyes.

“ oh mr. crawling.. “

you whispered in your own language, he tilted his head in confusion but he knew that you’d called him. having heard those two words a few times.

“ hurt ? pain ? “

he quickly asked, reaching out to check your head for injuries and doing a quick scan over your body.

you had to leave before your heart told you to stay. so you stood up and forced a smile.

“ thank you, goodbye. “

mr. crawling stared, then smiled, holding a hand up in an attempt to wave.

“ goodbye. “

the elevator doors opened, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in. you caught one last glimpse of mr. crawling before the doors whirred and finally closed.

mr. crawling waited and waited. he would just sit there and stare at those elevator doors which he last saw you. every few hours he would make his way back to where he found you first.

out of desperation he would search around. inside boxes, behind walls and such. maybe you were hiding just like last time.

every whir and creak that emitted would cause him to snap his head up filling him with hope. mr. silvair saw him smiling at the lift once and asked why, mr. crawling replied that you were finally coming back... but hours and hours passed and nothing happened.

usually, he would find a cramped area that he could squeeze into for comfort when he’s upset ( like a little meow meow ). now, he couldn’t bring himself to leave his spot. afraid that if he left and you returned, you would leave again, upset because he broke his promise of waiting for you.

mr. hood stumbled upon the scene once, seeing an ever growing collection of crowbars, wedding dresses, raincoats and…ears..? scattered across the ground.

a long time would pass before mr. crawling would finally break. his whines and whimpers echoing the quiet halls, at one point even trying to pry open the elevator doors.

“ miss you… come back… please. “

> wanted to try angst, but i lowk hate this one. maybe pt.2 where you come back ? idk.

© @kastighur

[vandme12]

SPREAD HIS ROT - Ronin x G.N Reader

This is my first one-shot for Killer Chat! I'm so excited to finally take part in the event hosted on the official Discord server. I can't wait to share to write more for this awesome fandom!

PROMPT : SPREAD THE ROT

TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic Violence, Gore, Murder, Obsession, Manipulation, Death, Dark Themes

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

You are a journalist. A "Criminal Journalist." That's what they call you. You have to photograph every crime scene, chase every siren, dig your nails into every open wound of the city. And you hate it.

It's not the blood that really gets to you. It isn't the bodies, the way they slump against pavement like so many discarded mannequins. It's not even the smell—the acrid mix of gasoline, iron, and whatever someone had for dinner before he was reduced to a chalk outline. No. What you dislike is the paycheck. Because the paycheck is always inadequate.

$35 a shot. $50 if there's a face, a really good face—one that makes the morning readers spit out their coffee. If you catch the moment of grief, the mother screaming, the tears cutting through streetlight shadows, you might get $75. Big money. If it's a cop, even better. A dead officer brings in at least $100.

But rent is due in two days, and your pockets are filled with nothing but lint and cigarette butts. So you’re out here again, wedged between alleyways and car wrecks, chasing something worth it. Because it’s never enough.

Tonight's scene is run-of-the-mill. Liquor store, busted register, a guy with more holes in him than a bad alibi. You take the shots-angle the camera, let the lens tell the story. You could do this in your sleep. You have done this in your sleep.

The cops barely acknowledge you anymore. One of them, a rookie, side-eyes you with disgust. You ignore it. You don't care.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

Because truth is, you do care. Not about him. Not about them. Not even about the dead guy cooling on the linoleum like a forgotten steak. What you care about is the fact that this? This isn't enough.

There was a time when it was. When sneaking under crime scene tape gave you a rush, when a good shot meant something. But now? Now it's just scraps. And you're tired of scraps.

You want more.

More than the measly checks. More than the dead-end calls from the editor. More than the half-hearted bylines that no one reads.

You want a story. A real one. A big one.

The kind that would make your name stick in people's throats like a hard pill. The kind that would make the networks pay attention. The kind that would make the money pour in.

So you begin to watch. Really watch. Not just the crime scenes, but before and after. Who shows up first? Who leaves last? Who lingers too long? Who pretends not to care? You learn the rhythms of the city's violence. You start predicting it.

It was getting late at night when you came across the scene. A body, twisted in ways that only seasoned detectives can cringe upon. The kind of thing which you would only have heard from the darkest corners of the internet but never thought to see middle suburban streets, thick with the stench of decay, the crimson rivers trailing out from beneath the body like a gruesome map marking the end of a life.

But it wasn’t just the blood or the brokenness of the body that grabbed your attention. It was the artistry.

The killer didn’t just murder this man—they played with him. The victim was arranged like a grotesque puppet, limbs contorted in unnatural positions, eyes wide and glassy, staring into the abyss of whatever hell the Butcher had dragged him from. Whoever had done this didn’t care about the man’s life. No, they cared about the display—the theatrics of death. You could see it in the way the body was laid out like a performer on a stage.

You stood there, looking at it, your breathing steady, heart detached. You were a member of this world, after all—an observer, an architect of stories. This was not meant to touch the horror in which others would splinter. It was just for what it is: an opportunity. An image.

Pulling your camera from your bag, you took the shot. Your hands had moved with a precision, the lens snapping the exact right angle, the perfect composition. The angle of the body, the pools of blood, the quiet devastation of a life snuffed out. And then, once you had it—that shot—you made the call.

The police were on their way, but you were already deep in the game. You'd sold your soul to this grind long ago, and when opportunity knocked, you answered.

It didn't take long for the scene to make headlines. It was gruesome, shocking, a real masterpiece of death. The caption screamed across every paper, every screen:

"Yet Another Killing from the Butcher: 600th Victim"

You felt that familiar rush, the adrenaline of knowing you'd made it. This wasn't just another shot for a local rag. This was the kind of image that would get you noticed. You hadn't just captured death; you've captured the moment. And it worked. The media ate it up.

But what happened next was even more unexpected.

A week later, your phone rang. It was a blocked number. The kind of call you usually ignored. But for some reason, you picked up.

"Is this the photographer from the Butcher's 600th kill?" The voice was low, professional.

"Yes," you answered, keeping your tone neutral, businesslike. It was all just another part of the game.

"We need someone to help us with the investigation," the voice continued, "and we think you're a good fit. You're good with cameras, and we think you might be good with… us."

There was a pause before the voice added, "You've got the knack for catching things, the kind of things we can't. We want you on our team."

You raised an eyebrow. Not what you had envisioned. "I have no interest in the investigation," she said. "I just take photographs."

"We're aware of that," the voice said, dripping with an amused understanding. "But we need your eye for detail. And we'll make it worth your while. We're paying double what you'd normally get, plus a few bonuses for the really interesting shots. We think you can help us get closer to the Butcher. What do you say?"

It was a tempting offer—extra cash, exposure, a chance to build something more than just another gig as a photographer. This wasn't the typical work for a freelance camera guy. And the extra bucks would help, sure. A name in the papers.

You agreed, naturally. It wasn’t just about the money. It was about what came with it. The access. The stories. The people who came with the cases. The murderers. The killers.

You were with the investigation team for weeks. They knew you were neutral, that you didn't care about their moral compass. Neither about the good guys nor about the bad guys. You cared only about the shot. Death, arrest, or slip-up—whichever it was. You were there for the story, for the image.

Now you became the lifeline of that team. Those photographs were not only for public display anymore but were also becoming tactical. You assisted them trace the pattern of the Butcher, picked details they had not seen—details so small and yet so large in their visibility. Your pictures were now an integral part of their strategy. The more they used you, the more they dragged you into their web, and the more you liked it.

The cases became personal. but for them. You'd see the tension in their eyes when they looked at the new photos. They were obsessed with stopping the Butcher, but you were obsessed with capturing his chaos, his carnage.

By the 30th victim, it all began to feel less of a job and more of a sick, almost morbid routine. You were no longer just recording the murders. You were investigating them, peeling away the layers of butchered bodies and their stories. With the body count of the Butcher rising, a disturbing pattern of these killings was beginning to appear. These weren't some random murders, but they had a purpose.

Most of the victims, in retrospect, were not so good people. I mean, at least in any conventional or traditional sense. There were abusers, predators, men who had been arrested multiple times for things that make your skin crawl. You found a pattern in their criminal records—domestic violence, assault, even worse crimes. These were men who lived off the pain of others and hurt those weaker than them, and somehow—somehow—they got drawn to the Butcher.

You started connecting the dots. The men, the pattern of their crimes, that they were easy to find—and almost as if they were looking for him. It didn't take long for you to conclude: the Butcher wasn't killing for fun. No, he had a method. A twisted logic. He had a reason. And that reason, as it appeared, was much more complicated than people had assumed: that most of his victims weren't exactly innocent. They were guilty of hurting other people, usually ways in which society either wasn't enabled to punish or chose not to. The more you looked into the pasts of his victims, the more you would find yourself wondering if maybe—even by default—he had a point. You certainly weren't condoning his actions. Murder was never the solution. But you could see why he picked these men. You could almost understand the reasoning behind it.

The Butcher wasn't an idiot killer, not really. He had his reasons—no matter how twisted, no matter how broken—and they made a sick kind of sense. But it wasn't enough to elevate him. You couldn't make a hero out of a man who solved problems with blood and violence. Normal people didn't solve their problems that way. But you couldn't deny that there was a certain kind of. appeal in the chaos he created. He was a force. A force that made people feel something—whether it was fear, admiration, or something else entirely. And that? That was powerful.

But there was more to it than just that. You could not ignore the sense that crept into your mind in the past few weeks.

Love.

You abhorred the word, but there it was. It was subtle at first, a quiet whisper in the back of your mind whenever you studied his work. You saw it, the way his killings made people care, made them look, made them pay attention. Now you were no longer just following the trail. You were investigating, learning, feeling. Now this was no game for you. No, it was personal. You found yourself almost rooting for the man even as you tried to keep your distance.

But there was more. The photos. The shots you'd taken—each one was feeding your reputation, making you a name, a force in the media, the same way the Butcher was in the criminal world. You had a strange feeling that, without his kills, you would have remained just another nameless photographer. But with him? With him, you had power.

And that was dangerous.

You started to feel like you owed him. It was twisted, perverse, but he was feeding you—feeding your career, feeding your hunger for success, feeding your need to be noticed. Every photo you snapped, every shot that landed in the paper, was part of his story. Your story was his. And maybe, just maybe, that was what you needed. Maybe you were as broken as he was. Maybe you both thrived in this world of rot, feeding off each other, pushing each other into darker, more dangerous corners.

You were obsessed. But the truth was, he was feeding your obsession.

The rot seeps in slowly, unnoticed at first, like a shadow on the edge of your vision, a whisper on the edge of your thoughts. It crawls through your mind, curling into the crevices where your ambition used to live, until it finds the darkness you never knew was there.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing—just a job, just another image captured for the cameras, another headline. But the truth tastes different when it settles on your tongue. It tastes like blood. It tastes like him.

The rot begins as a question, a fleeting thought: Why does it make you feel so. alive?

It isn't the death which attracts you; no, but it's about the purpose itself, the maddening madness through each slash he gives with that knife. Beautified carnages, art made from destruction lies before you – victims twisted in ways that go beyond broken human shapes, more like pieces falling into place because they were so meant to. It's because they were set there for just this sickened, twisted waltz orchestration.

You try to deny it. You try to look away, but the rot follows, creeping through the veins of your heart. It sinks into the muscle, spreading through the blood, until your pulse beats to the rhythm of his kills. You feel it in your chest, the cold gnawing hunger for what he creates. You tell yourself it's just the shot, just the fame, just the game. But you feel it. The thirst. The craving.

Why are you so attracted to him?

Why do you let his rot grow inside you? Like a seed planted deep, so far inside you can't tell where the darkness ends and where you begin.

The brain is a fragile thing, after all. And yours, for all its intelligence, is no match for the poison he's planted in it. The more you photograph, the more you study his art, the more it feeds you. And you've become so hungry for it, you can taste the rot creeping deeper, gnawing at your mind. Each photograph is a poison in itself, a drop of venom that sinks deeper into your veins until your body shakes with the need to capture more.

He's just not a murderer anymore. Now he is a lot more, a lot, much more to you. The muse, that obsession of art you can never look away from. And he scares you—as if one photograph more, study one body part more, can make you irrevocably lose yourself at his hands forever.

It's in your bones now, the rot and the need; the darkness will creep up like something living around your ribs where you can't catch a decent breath of the air in them. You find yourself trying again, but somehow it's almost impossible to keep going; maybe the air becomes so thick from the weight around your ribs: the weight chokes. So, it stays inside your soul.

You remind yourself that you're better than this, that you can walk away. But you can't. You just can't escape what is inside you now.

His kill, his art—it feeds you. It gives you a name, a place. It makes you someone. The world sees you for your pictures, your work. But underneath it all, you know—it's him. He is feeding you. His blood, his violence, his chaos, it's in you now. You've inhaled it, drunk it down, and it has lodged itself in the core of who you are. And you can't deny it anymore.

Why so addicted to him?

You're the thing you once feared becoming: consumed by the rot, driven by a need to capture it, witness it, and be near it. You once thought he was the villain. But now? Now you think maybe you always were the villain in your story. Maybe you were always wanting this darkness.

Maybe it’s you who’s been rotting all along.

You have to go now- To see if the butcher gifted you with another body.

The alley is deathly silent as you step into it. A hollow sense of dread crawls down your spine, a cold sweat forming on your brow. This place, this alley—it's where most of the Butcher's victims are found. His 633rd victim, right here. You hold your breath, the world suddenly too quiet, too still. And then-there's a sound. A soft, muffled sobbing. It breaks the silence, raw and full of terror. But then, impossibly, it's joined by something else. A laugh. Low, guttural, dripping with amusement. Your body freezes. That laugh. You know it now, deep in your bones. It's him.

The Butcher.

You've seen his work. You've followed his trail. But hearing him laugh, hearing that sound come from the shadows, makes everything real in a way you weren't prepared for. You creep forward, silent as a ghost, looking around the corner. There, in the dim light, stands a figure. The air seems to curve around him, suffused with something darker, something wrong. His presence is overwhelming—like the world itself is holding its breath. He's tall—too tall, standing just over six feet. His presence radiates chaos, a perverse kind of power that almost makes the air feel heavier. His dark burgundy hair falls messily under a black beanie, a devilish set of horns jutting out above it. The horns are almost laughable in their mockery of the devil himself, and yet—they're not. His leather jacket shines black in the sparse alley light. That's the kind of leather that crackles with menace, like it's soaked up too many sins. Scissors protrude��out of the top, jagged and sharp, And the red 'X' pin on his chest—an enigma that's as much a part of his identity as the scars he's surely accumulated over the years. Safety pins dangle, like a string of symbols no one can fully decipher. His shirt underneath, emblazoned with a skull, a death's head reminder of the man standing in front of you. And his eyes—those eyes. Black as pitch. They pierce the shadows, and you feel like he sees you, even though you're still hidden. Those eyes are endless, voids pulling you into them. He plays with the man on his knees, a feeble, shaking figure caught in his hands. The victim's face is white, eyes open wide with terror. His voice is pleading, begging, but it's of no use. The man laughs, low and cruel, a laugh that freezes the soul. "Why didn't ya just do the world a favor? huh?" His voice drips with mockery, the words drawn out with a slow, deliberate menace. "So many. opportunities. *so many* chances for you to not mess up, to get away. But here you are, crying like a little shit." The laugh that follows is like a death knell. The man steps forward, and the air crackles with tension, under the palemoonlight, his crowbar glinting as if made of steel with the shimmer of an extension of his dark soul. The victim trembles; he knows—the feels—that the end is near. You're still frozen in place, hidden in the shadows, unable to tear your eyes away. And now you know that connection is undeniable.

This is him.

The Butcher.

The Devil.

His personality so well-crafted that even now, even standing in the midst of carnage, he is acting. Every movement, every word he says is part of the act. He is *playing*—but you can't tell if he's playing with the victim or with you. And then, as if he feels your presence, his head tilts slightly, those black eyes narrowing as they sweep the darkness, seeking. You inhale sharply, heart hammering in your chest. You’ve been caught. But what is it? Is it fear? Or is it something else? That glint of curiosity, that subtle tug in your chest—you’re fascinated. Not just by the violence, but by him. This man, this monster. He isn’t just killing for the sake of it. No, there’s something else there. Something almost. personal. And you’re afraid. Not of him, not yet—but of yourself. How did that happen? What drew you into him? When you're there documenting horror and madness, is it then where you become mired in this same mess you are recording and stuck on this thread of madness? You can feel it now-the pull, the addiction. The way the rot spreads in your chest, creeping into your heart. It's not enough to just watch anymore. You're part of it now. And you wonder,

is it too late to stop? He turns away, the Butcher, his steps measured, casual. He does not even look back; he leaves behind a dying man, like a discarded rag, casualty of his twisted performance. The sound of his footsteps fades into the distance, carried off by darkness, leaving behind only the groaning man on the ground. You are frozen, frozen in place, as the man on the ground starts to move, slowly, weakly, lifting himself on his quivering arms. He speaks and his words are just a jumble of incoherent mumbo-jumbo, blurred with blood and agony. "Help me." he whispers, barely above a whisper, a plea barely reaching your ears. But you hear it. You hear it like a siren's call. He needs help. He's begging for it, his face twisted in agony, still so sweet even in his bloodied state. A part of you wants to be disgusted by it, wants to feel the horror of the moment, but the truth is—you don't feel anything anymore. The part of you that was human, that was once connected to sympathy, to empathy—it's gone. And the worst part? You don't care. Your eyes lock with his, dead, empty. And for a moment, you almost laugh. Because here he is, pleading for help, for mercy, with all his innocence shattered, and yet—he doesn't even know how little he matters to you. He doesn't realize how close to death he is. Your eyes slide down to the ground, to a small rock. It's nothing. A simple thing. Lying in the dirt. But it is all you need. You do not even hesitate. You take it, holding it in your hand, the weight of it, cold, solid, filling the hollow place inside you. You approach him, the blood-soaked man who still thinks he can beg for his life. So sweet. So innocent. So stupid. He looks at you approaching, his eyes widening in a mix of hope and confusion. "Please. help me." he manages to croak, reaching out a shaking hand toward you. And it's almost laughable. He thinks you're here to save him. But you aren't. Not anymore. You smile. It’s not a kind smile. It’s not a smile of sympathy or warmth. It’s a smile that says, "You shouldn’t have asked for help." You place the rock on his chest, pressing down, the pressure against the bloodied skin making him gasp in surprise. His weak attempts to push you away are futile, and with a twisted satisfaction, you press harder, forcing the rock into his ribs, into his lungs. The sound of his breath faltering, the desperation in his eyes—it only excites you more. You hit him once. Then twice. And again, until his cries for mercy dissolve into nothing. Until the last breath escapes him, and he slumps into silence. You don't feel that rush of adrenaline you thought you would. There's just. peace. A stillness that settles over you like a blanket. The world becomes quieter, emptier, and you realize—you've crossed a line now. You've killed, just like him. Just like the Butcher. But it doesn't matter. You never wanted to stop. The man's body lies motionless at your feet. You look down at him, expressionless, but a hint of satisfaction. You don't want him to crawl to the police. You don't want anyone to expose the Butcher. Because now, in a way, you are part of it. You're tangled in his web, drowning in it. You move away from the body, as if savoring the movement. Your movements are slow, deliberate. No racing heart, no fear or guilt.

The world slants, as if shifting ever so slightly, in your acquisition of him. One photograph at a time. Early on, you had harbored the briefest of reservations. But these fade away in the shadow of your obsession. The photographs are no longer about bringing the truth to light, about illuminating his murders. They are your collection now. His murders become a series of images, each one a little closer, a little more intimate, a little more personal. Each picture captures more than death in it; he is an artist, and you are just an unspoken observer, a notary of his sick masterpiece.

Each time you click the button, it feels like you have locked a little bit of him into your life. The photos fill your bedroom, heaps of them, thumbtacked onto the walls, strewn around the floor, a museum of decay and gore. The images are not murders; they're art. You look at them with a twisted, sick smile-one that feels like it's becoming your permanent expression. There's something exquisite about it, about the way the bodies lay, the way he moves through the scene, like an angel of death in black.

You've stopped photographing the victims in their final moments. That's his work. His art. You photograph the aftermath, the rotting remains, the decay, the beauty of it all—the perfect, graceful disintegration. Each mangled limb, every blood-streaked face, every violent distortion of life. it's beautiful in its chaos. The beauty of rot. It's the most honest thing you've ever seen.

You smile as you take another photo. How blind you were, you think, to believe you could reveal him. He was no beast. No, no. He was the Devil. The only thing to be worshipped. The way he carves through the world, killing with such grace, with such purpose—it mesmerizes you. How could you not have fallen for him? How could you resist the call of someone who truly understands the art of destruction, the art of chaos?

And yet, you never think about the implications. Never think about the danger, about how close you are to the edge. A part of you knows the truth—you're playing with fire. A serial killer. He might kill you if he finds out you're watching him, photographing him, collecting him. But that thought doesn't scare you. It excites you. The danger is the best part, isn't it?

You know how to hide the evidence. You’re good at this. Really good. You’ve studied, you’ve watched, you’ve learned. Lou Bloom’s tricks are now your tricks. How to manipulate, how to twist things so that they work in your favor. You’ve made it almost impossible for anyone to tie the killings to him. The photos are perfect—framed, timed, never too much, just enough. Each one is carefully staged, in a way that leaves no room for suspicion. The investigation? It won’t even get close to him. The police are laughingstocks. The public mocks them. The world has no clue. They’ll never catch him.

And the best part? You’re the one who gets to keep him. He’s your secret, your possession, your Devil. The only one who truly understands you. The police will never find him. And even if they do, what evidence could they possibly have? Every picture you've ever taken, every picture of his work, becomes twisted into your story, your narrative. He's just a shadow in the background, a blur in the world's eyes. You made him invisible.

The more you read in the beauty of these photos, the more you see it-the rot. It's everywhere now. In your room, inside your mind, inside your veins. You are the rot. You can almost be able to taste it on your tongue as you flip through each picture. Rotting, dying, mutated beauty of all of this. You are addicted to this. You feel nothing else now but the rush of something dark, something real. This is all that is left for you. This is all that matters now.

You're in love with him. Obsessed. Every waking thought is consumed by him, by his art, by the way he moves through this world leaving death in his wake. Obsession grows like a disease inside you. You don't care that you are losing yourself. The world's a mess; it's broken-and in that mess, in that broken place, he's the only real thing.

So you capture it. You capture the beauty of rot, the beauty of decay, with each shot of your camera. His killings, his art, his legacy. it's all yours now. And the best part? No one will ever know. No one will ever understand. You'll keep it all, locked away in your room, in your mind, in your heart.

And as you keep snapping pictures, you come to realize the most frightening thing of all. You are no longer just an observer. You are becoming him. You are becoming the Butcher's echo, his disciple. And you don't even care.

The rot has already spread.

It is a night heavier than it ought to be, as if the world itself held its breath in expectation. Every corner of your mind is drenched with his shadow. This is your obsession, your need, your unrelenting quest for beauty in his darkness. You have gotten used to the violence, the brutality-it has become your life now, your purpose, your twisted little obsession. His 666th killing on Valentine's Day, of all days. How sweet you'd looked, how just for the occasion. You'd dreamed of candy chocs to give him, of some gesture of affection to offer your warped muse, your idol. No, though, that might get you killed, and you weren't ready to go out with the best yet. Not when the story had just started.

You rushed to the scene, expecting thrills, expecting the moment of the kill; instead, there was the quiet of a deed done. The victim, now nothing more than an object to your camera's gaze, crumpled on the cold concrete, stained by blood. It was such a waste, but there was beauty in it all. Death curled around him like an old lover, softening his sharp edges with an aura of familiarity.

But something was different tonight. Change in the air, tension, pull toward something… something strange. You crouched down in readiness with camera, already thinking ahead to that shot, when you came upon something you hadn't counted on. A heart. Red hand-drawn heart, ink as red as blood—how perfect, how devilish.

A note was tucked beneath it. A message.

Your fingers were always a little shaky as you reached out to touch the paper, your heart racing with an odd mix of excitement and dread filling your veins. You carefully unfolded it, trying to keep back the rising tide of curiosity, the frantic hunger for whatever he'd left behind. Then, you saw it.

. Your breath catches, the edges of the paper smudged with something dark—a trail of blood, or was it something else? You don't know anymore. The note, delicately folded, reads as if it's written just for you, "How was your lil wish coming along, Y/n?"

Your mind freezes, your pulse racing. It's a whisper from the shadows, in his handwriting all too familiar. You never thought he'd take notice of you, not that he'd leave a message especially for you. Your heart thumps against your chest as you realize-he knows. He knows you've been watching. He knows you've been obsessed, cataloging every one of his killings, keeping them in your private collection like a warped trophy. But the idea of him knowing you personally fills you with a sense of excitement mixed with terror.

Everything becomes very quiet for an instant. Time stands still and it seems to bend a bit to the other way; noise and all becomes dull and suppressed. There comes that sick sort of intimacy again; it seems like he invites you into his world: that is, one of death and chaos and beauty. His gift lies in a crimson-stained heart lying upon the ground-a statement in kind saying, "I see you. Do you see me?

But before you can even process the rush of emotions tumbling through you, you hear it. A faint scraping sound, distant at first, like the dragging of metal across pavement, but then it grows louder, closer, more real.

Click. Click. Click.

A crowbar, dragging on the ground, the sound of metal scraping against asphalt like a slow death march. You turn, your stomach twisting in knots, and there he is.

The Butcher.

He stands in the shadows, a silhouette framed by dim streetlights. His presence is more imposing than you could ever have imagined. The faint glow from the flickering lights catches on his black leather jacket, the metallic glint of the scissors in his shoulders, the pin with the 'X' shining like a warning. His burgundy hair is wild and uncombed, falling in waves around his face, while his black eyes, those bottomless voids, pierce straight through you. You feel it in your chest, that shuddering gasp, your body betraying the mix of fear and desire that floods your veins.

The crowbar drags, leaving a line of marks in the dirt as he steps into the weak light. A cruel grin spreads across his face—half mocking, half something darker, more hungry. He's taking his time, letting the sound of his approach echo in the alley like a countdown to something you can't escape.

His voice is low, dripping with that same dangerous charm and yet carries with it an unnerving note of affection, like he's discovered a lost toy to play with.

"Well, well," he drawls, taking a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "What's this? My little photographer has been busy. haven't you, Y/n?" The way he says your name makes your heart skip, the intimacy of it feeling more like a threat than a compliment.

You can't say a word. Your mouth's dry, hands shaking as you let the camera slip from your fingers and feel it dangle loosely at your side. The thoughts scatter before you like smashed glass as you try to fit everything together: he shouldn't be here, he can't be here; but the note, the heart, the watching—how you feel he has been watching for all this.

“You’re quite good at this,” he muses, his voice smooth like silk but laced with an edge that makes your skin prickle. “Could almost say you’ve earned the right to be in my gallery.”

Your breath hitches at that—his gallery. The thought of being included in his twisted world, to be immortalized alongside his art, fills you with a sick satisfaction. You want it. You want to be closer to him. To know him, in the way only a few get to.

You’ve already given yourself over to him in your mind. You’ve already become part of his world—his chaos, his destruction. But now, he's here, standing right in front of you, and the way he looks at you. you’re not just an observer anymore. You’re a part of the performance.

His smile grows, and you can see the glint of madness in his eyes. He takes a step further; his crowbar is dragging behind him, and the scraping he leaves with it cuts across the electric tension in the air.

"Didn't think I'd find you so easily," he muses, going around you like a predator who's sizing up its prey. "But then again, you've been leaving quite the trail. haven't you, Y/n?"

And you know that, in a split second of clarity, that this isn't just some dark coincidence. This man has observed you, even studied you - as you so keenly would do with him. He can see your obsessiveness, this fascination. So now, play he wants.

The excitement in your chest builds and your pulse drums in your ears as you gaze into his face, your body shaking with the fear of something and yet being so hopeful.

You do not want to run. You can't run.

He's here. He is right in front of you

You stand there, speechless, eyes wide in shock and something else—something dark and exhilarating—as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. You feel trapped, pinned against the cold brick of the alley wall, unable to move. He knows. He knows. His black eyes pierce through you like a dagger, and for a moment, all the air seems to leave your lungs. His grin is wicked, stretching across his face as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. You can feel the weight of his words in the air before they even leave his mouth.

"I know about your little. incident," he says, his voice low, dark, teasing. "You thought you could hide it, huh? That rock you used, the way you finished him off. Cute. But you know what?" He presses closer, his breath cold now, a smile twisting at the edges of his lips. "I've been doing the same thing, just. slower, more artful."

The words crash into you, syllable by syllable, as if each word is a needle piercing your skin, but you don't even flinch. You can't. Instead, you find yourself hanging onto every word, every dark admission, every flicker of his twisted affection.

He's been watching. He's always been watching, just like you've been watching him.

And now, his hands are on you.

Oh god.

The raw electricity of it sends a jolt through your veins as he presses you harder against the wall, his strength overpowering, his body close enough for you to feel the heat of his skin through the layers of clothing. You can hardly breathe, trapped under the weight of his gaze. His fingers dig into your wrist, pulling you into his personal space, forcing you to feel the undeniable connection between the two of you. It's suffocating, thrilling, terrifying all at once.

A laugh, dark and mocking, slips past his lips. He knows you. He knows exactly how obsessed you've become, how desperately you've followed his every move. He sees your fascination, your twisted need to be a part of his world, to belong to him in some way.

"You're so fucking obsessed with me," he says, laughing again, like he finds the whole thing utterly amusing. "You're falling in love with death, aren't you? With the concept of it. And the best part?" He leans in closer, his lips brushing across your ear, his words slicing through the hollow of silence like a whisper of poison. "I'm the one gonna give it to you. I'll make you feel alive, even if you are dead inside."

And then, as if the entire tension breaks and he finally exhales, his voice is laced with something dangerous, a teasing edge that will cause your heart to double its pace,

"Wanna touch me?"

You hesitate just a second before your hands shoot out, trembling and determined, almost against your will. You want to touch him. You need to touch him. And when your fingers brush against his leather jacket, you feel that you have just signed your own death warrant—and yet, you want it.

"I want you to touch you to death," he whispers. "Make me feel like I'm breathing. Make me feel like I'm human."

You swallow, letting the weight of his words drop deep into your chest. You thought you were in control here. You thought you could be the one exposing him. Now. now you realize something warped and vile. You're his. You have always been his.

You wanted death, perhaps you even craved it, but now you see something else. This man, this butcher of souls, this twisted, grotesque force of nature, is beautiful.

The way he moves, the way he thinks—every action, every word, every killing, it's all a twisted artistry. You've seen it now. The beauty in the rot. The beauty in destruction. And you are more than willing to drown in it. You're willing to live for it. Or, maybe. die for it.

"You're already dead," he whispers again, this time with that same sickly sweet tone. "And so am I."

The world fades into nothingness, as you sink further into this madness. In your mind, you hear his voice—soft, seductive, dangerous—as the words become a mantra that you'll never escape.

"Darling, his looks can kill, so now you're dead. Maybe."

You smile, completely unattached, completely in love with the nightmare of it all. Your fate doesn't matter anymore. You're his now. His masterpiece, his creation. You can already feel the rot settling in your veins, the decay becoming a part of you, and you welcome it.

The perfect rot. The beautiful rot.on

[dippindaz]

please do eddie x black reader? since it’d be like the 80’s, and the you saw how they treated lucas for being colored, then how would eddie be with a black reader with a lethal face card? just i thought:)

I hope you don’t mind this as headcanons! I wrote these as two separate ideas so the first HCs are how Eddie would be in general with a black partner and the second group is with the specific detail of the reader having a lethal face card. I hope you enjoy! :D

He first notices you because of your humor and the way you don’t take crap from anyone. Maybe you’re a little rebellious, but in a more subtle, calculated way compared to Eddie’s loud, in-your-face attitude.

No matter what you’re into, you and Eddie bond over music. Eddie introduces you to metal, and you end up making mixtapes for each other.

People in Hawkins are already side-eyeing Eddie because of his appearance and interests, so when he starts hanging around with you, there’s even more judgment. But Eddie never cared what people thought of him before, and he’s not about to start now.

He flirts with you in the cheesiest ways humanly possible. "Are you a magician? Because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears."

He’d probably say it with an exaggerated, dramatic flair, throwing his hands up like he’s performing for an audience. And, of course, he'd give you a goofy, endearing grin afterward, hoping it would make you roll your eyes and laugh.

You’re used to dealing with microaggressions and outright racism in Hawkins, but Eddie? Eddie hates it. He gets into fights if someone says something racist near you. He doesn’t care if it lands him in trouble—he will throw hands.

People give you a hard time for dating a white guy, too. Some assume you’re a “phase” for Eddie, and others say you should “stick to your own kind.” It infuriates both of you.

The two of you talk about leaving Hawkins one day—somewhere bigger, somewhere less suffocating. Maybe you daydream about living in New York, California, or Florida together.

When Lucas starts dating Max and faces backlash from their classmates, you feel for him. Eddie sees the similarities and is even more protective of you, making sure you don’t deal with that kind of treatment alone.

Eddie writes a song for you. It’s chaotic and loud, but the lyrics are sweet and filled with inside jokes only you’d understand. And makes a whole thing of playing a private concert for you in the trailer, just the two of you.

He loves touching your hair but asks first because he knows better. If you ever let him help with wash day, he takes it very seriously, but he’s kind of terrible at it.

He calls you his “queen” all the time and dramatically bows like you’re royalty.

If you wear any of his band tees, he melts. He tells everyone at Hellfire that his girlfriend is the coolest person alive.

He loves when you paint his nails in fun colors, and if you ever get long acrylics, he’s obsessed with how they look when you tap them on a desk or his guitar.

The Hellfire boys adore you. Dustin especially thinks you’re the coolest because you always have good comebacks when Eddie gets dramatic.

You and Wayne get along really well. He’s one of the few adults in Hawkins who doesn’t look at you any differently, and he makes sure you feel welcome whenever you visit the trailer.

Eddie sticks up for you a lot, but he also knows you can handle yourself. He just likes reminding everyone that he’s got your back.

When he hears you casually mention how you have to be more careful around cops or store owners, it infuriates him. He’s the type to cause a scene on purpose just to take attention off you.

He fully supports whatever dreams you have, whether it’s college, music, or getting out of Hawkins. He’s willing to follow you anywhere.

He jokes about you two starting a band together, with him on guitar and you as the lead singer.

No matter where life takes you, he wants you to be happy and safe, and he’ll do anything to make sure that happens.

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

The first time Eddie sees you, he literally stops mid-sentence. He could be talking about D&D or ranting about some band, and the second you walk by, it’s just—brain static.

"Who... who is that?" He asks Dustin, who shrugs because he has no idea, but Eddie is already gone.

He acts like a complete idiot when he first tries to talk to you. Probably stutters, makes some weird joke that doesn’t land, then immediately cringes at himself.

He swears it’s just attraction at first, but then he realizes that no, he’s actually obsessed with everything about you—the way you talk, the way you carry yourself, even the way you roll your eyes at his dumb jokes.

Eddie is your biggest hype man. If you so much as breathe in his general direction, he’s telling everyone how he pulled the baddest girl in Hawkins. "You see that? That’s my girlfriend. MY girlfriend. Yeah, I don’t know how I did it either. Must’ve been a critical success roll."

He literally cannot stop staring at you. You’ll be mid-sentence, and he’s just grinning like an idiot. "Sorry, babe, I heard like 20% of what you just said because you’re too pretty and it’s distracting."

He lives for when you get dressed up. If you do your makeup, put on a bomb outfit, or just exist in a way that reminds him how ridiculously good-looking you are, he is on his knees. "Babe, I’m about to fight for my life just walking next to you. I can feel the jealous stares."

He knows people look at you when you walk by. And while Eddie isn’t the jealous type, he is theatrical. If someone flirts with you, he just leans against you dramatically and goes, "Ah yes, I know. She is a goddess. I am but a mere mortal who won her favor. Sorry, pal, she’s mine."

He does the absolute most when he sees guys checking you out. He’ll wrap an arm around you, kiss your cheek, or just shoot them a smug look like, Yeah, she chose me.

If someone is disrespectful about it, he has no problem causing a scene. "Oh, you thought you had a chance? That’s adorable."

He adores every little thing about you. Your skin? He’s obsessed. He’s always touching you—holding your hand, tracing circles on your thighs, playing with your fingers. If you let him, he’ll lay with his head in your lap and just admire you.

He loves watching you do your makeup. He’ll sit there and ask questions like, "What’s that do?" and "Can you put some on me?" (he will absolutely let you do his eyeliner).

If you wear lip gloss, he is kissing you constantly. "I just love the way it—mmm, yeah, one more—oh yeah, that’s nice."

He loses his mind when you wear jewelry, especially hoops. "Babe, I swear those earrings are dangerous. I looked directly at you, and now I’m weak in the knees."

Eddie is very possessive of you. Not in a toxic way, but in an I-can’t-believe-you’re-mine way. If he sees you getting attention, he’ll just hold you closer. "They’re looking at you." "So?" "So now I have to go mark my territory. C’mere." Cue dramatic, over-the-top PDA.

If he’s performing with his band and you’re in the crowd, he’s singing to you. "This one’s dedicated to the most beautiful person in the room—you know who you are."

He is constantly calling you pet names: “Goddess,” “Heartbreaker,” “Queen,” “Supermodel,” “My personal dream girl.”

If you ever feel insecure? He is genuinely offended. "What do you mean you don’t feel cute today? Babe, you literally have me acting like a medieval knight in a fantasy novel. Do you have any idea what you do to me??"

If you wear his clothes, he short-circuits. He will literally stop whatever he’s doing and just stare. "Okay, yeah, that’s it. We’re skipping every plan we had today. No way am I letting you walk around looking that good where other people can see you."

If anyone has something racist to say, Eddie is on them instantly. He’s already seen how Lucas was treated just for being Black in Hawkins, so he knows you deal with crap too, and he hates it.

If a store clerk follows you around or some teacher treats you unfairly? Eddie is causing a problem. "Ohhh, I see how it is. She’s too pretty for you to handle, huh? That’s why you’re acting funny? You’re always this bitter and jealous? Got it."

He listens. If you tell him about experiences he’ll never fully understand, he doesn’t try to make it about himself—he just listens and supports you however you need. "Babe, you want me to egg their house? Say the word."

No matter how long you’re together, he’s still in disbelief that he pulled you. "I have no idea how I got you, but I am thanking every single deity in existence."

He has entire moments where he just stops and goes, "I’m dating you?? Like, you chose me?? That’s crazy."

Sometimes, when you kiss him, he gets this dumb, dazed smile and just goes, "I think I just blacked out for a second. What were we talking about?"

Taglist: @deesparticus @ajokeformur-ray @cardinarose @ali-r3n @cowboylikemunson @mayo-nouns-blog @hiimjulie @joemamahehepoopoo @invadergir45 @quinny921 @ironmusictrash @highest-elf @syriouslysyri @luv444lay @avengersz-biotch @spooneyes @liils-lu @clockworkvelvet-blog @princesssunderworld @lemonysweetheart @fi-chanwrites @vikki729255 @DeeSparticus @avengersz-biotch

[dollwhite]

K.O K.O K.O

𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞

This is just a small story,I don’t know if I’m going to make it big. But if I don’t pls feel free to use my idea just give me credit!!

TW mentions if highness(aka weed)

No mentions of y/n

This isn’t really in my writing style, I wanted to try something different. If people like this I will write with this style more!!

Ps I need friends.

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇

High,you were high as a light house right now. You found some old weed underneath your bed.Can weed get old? How old were you again? As more questions flooded your mind. You didn’t hear your name being called.

𝐊.𝐎

Where did the music go?.. just a few minutes ago, some random song was blasting .But now it’s like you could hear a pen drop.

𝐊.𝐎

Wait, this isn’t your bed? This isn’t your bedroom, you had black cat pictures on the door leading towards your bathroom. This isn’t your apartment…?

𝐊.𝐎

Who was that.. who was that calling you name?.. her voice sounds familiar. who is she. Do you know her. Isn’t her name R-Ram.?… why is she yelling your name..

“Ram..? What-were am I?..”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.

It’s like something’s in your mouth blocking the flow.like the words aren’t meant to be there.

what’s wrong with you.

“K.o we have to go right now! The police are here come on.”..

As you sat up taking a full look around who ever room you were in. It looks nice, nothing out of the ordinary.

𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

“Are you sure this is the right address?” A figure with a blue bird embezzled on their chest spoke softly under their breath, but just loud enough for the other people on coms to hear. Also Taking notice of the youngest robin standing on top of a nearby building, waiting for the signal that Batman was supposed to be giving.

Police man were also on the scene, so all the suspects can be taking in to custody right away.

“Robin,Night-wing come in.” A deep voice came over the coms. The dark night himself was here to investigate this “party” in reality it was a human trafficking operation. The party was to lure young women primarily.

“I’m in, there’s approximately only three people left in this houses it looks like the others have left.” Robin’s voice filled the coms, informing his mentors about the situation.

As Robin makes a b line for the living room, Batman in the backyard looking for any kinda clues of were the traffickers went. And Nightwing in the bedrooms.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘

“Guys I found something…or someone” Nightwings words ring over coms. “Im on my way!” Batman yelled, Gotham dark night himself rushing into the house through the backdoor. Passing the youngest boy wonder, on the way.

“What-!” Batman stopped midway through his sentence. He know that this ‘party’ was just a cover up for human trafficking. But what he didn’t expect was to find a young woman high out of her mind. Maybe this was their new victim, and well they were in a hurry to get out of this house. They forgot to take her.

“Grab her, and take her back to the cave.” He said, “Don’t let the cops see you.”

“Alright pretty lady, up we go!” Night wing explained grabbing her in a bridal style.

“ promise not to drop me?..” you asked fear laced in your voice. “ Only a dummy would drop a pretty lady like you.” Nightwing said opening up a nearby window,shifting your weight on his more dominant arm.

he grabbed a all black grappling hook, “Hold on real tight for me?”

“Wait-what?!” You gasped, your hold on him tightening.

𝐁𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐕𝐄

“Red I need you to do a saliva test”

“Nightwing, I’m not going to test you for stds go to a clinic” Red Robin said not taking his eyes off of the bat computer.”When have I ever asked you to- never mind that, the tests not for me it’s for her.”

“Who?” Red Robin asked turning around to look at Nightwing. Only to see a woman just staring back at him, in Nightwings arms. “uh, who’s she?” He asked, he prayed Niightwing didn’t just take a rondo lady off the street. ”this is pretty lady, pretty lady meet Red Robin.” “hi, uh I’m k.O” you said in a casual tone, as you climbed down from Nightwings arms. “Hey k.O, why is she her??” Red Robin said,”Br-Batman said your weren’t allowed to bring your flings in the cave”

”…she’s a woman we found at the party, we think they drugged her with something.”

That’s the end of K.O K.O K.O!!!! low-key think I cooked with this 😫 I tried my best to write for Tim, I think he gives off a moody teen vibes 😭 if y’all hit any suggestions for writing for Tim don’t be say drop them in my doll house!! It’s 4:18 am I got school in the morning wish me luck 😔 this is an idea I might nit consider making more parts so if u want u can use thissss.pls just give me credit!

[suckerforblondeathletes]

Its you, it always has been - Caitlin Clark .2

Caitlin Clark x teammate reader

Summary: Caitlin shows up to Kate house to get reassurance from her friend. One thing leads to another she confronts Connor and confesses.

Warnings: Connor, cheating?, Kissing, hinting to sex

Authors note: This is ass but enjoy!

“Damn what happened to you” Kate says with a laugh as she opens the door wider to let Caitlin in. She hasn’t seen Caitlin look this shocked in a while. It has been two days since the Connor and shower incident. Lets just say y'all woke up together..

“Am I gay?” Kate laughs out loud at Caitlins words. “Oh my god Caitlin, I don’t know.” Kate can barely get the sentence out from all of the laughing. Never heard her friend say something like this. “KATE I FUCKED ONE OF OUR TEAMMATES AND I LIKED IT AND I THINK I HAVE FEELINGS FOR HER BUT IM WITH CONNOR AND I DONT EVEN FUCKING LIKE HIM BUT I LOVE THIS GIRL SO MUCH” Caitlin screams out in one breath. Making Kate’s laughing stop immediately and her face drop.

“Oh, umm okay.” Kate says, still in shock on what just happened. “Well, umm come and sit.” She gestures to the grey couch. Caitlin practically runs to it and faces Kate, putting her hands on Kate’s knee for her to be serious. “Kate, I liked it. She told me she did as well and she said she would do it again if she had the chance.” “Who?” Kate asks like a teenage girl in middle school, hearing the latest gossip her friend is spilling. “Promise you won’t say anything.” Immediately after Caitlin says it Kate throws up her pinky. “I promise”

“Okay, it’s ____” Caitlin says under her breath, almost inaudible but Kate heard it, she knew she heard it when Kate gasped like she just witnessed a crime scene. “Be so for real.” She said. Not believing the brunette. “Kate I’m dead fucking serious. And I’m in love with her. Is that gay?” Caitlin asks furrowing her brows asking the question. “Yeah that’s really gay Cait. So what are you gonna do?” Seconds pass before Caitlin answers “I don’t know. What will the public think?” “If it’s true love you feel for her, it doesn’t matter what they think”It feels like a century before Caitlin speaks again“You know what. Fuck it.” She says before jumping off Kate’s couch and running out the door. “Text me!” Kate screams before the door shuts.

-

Caitlins Pov:

I take a deep breath looking at our apartment. I’m about to do this, I don’t know what will happen. To be honest, I’m fucking terrified.

I grab my key and open the door. Connor is sitting on the couch. Not alone.

“Wow” I say, clapping my hands and slowly walking into the living room. “God!” He jumps, apparently very focused on the blonde on his chest. The naked one in fact. “Caitlin! What the fuck are you doing here!? I thought you left!” “It’s my apartment Connor. It was ours! But now it’s mine. Get out or I’m calling the cops!” I scream at him. The girl on his chest, well not anymore, looking absolutely terrified as she runs to grab her stuff and leaving quickly.

“Your gonna kick me out of my house?!” He screams at me. It doesn’t affect like it used to. “Do you pay bills? Do you clean? Do you cook? No you don’t. So get the fuck out.” He rolls his eyes at me, knowing he can’t fight me on that. “You’re so fucking sick. I hope you fucking die. I hope you loose all your fans doing this. They will see how abusive and toxic you are.” “Oh I’m sure they will, get the fuck out. Take your shit with you.”

I stand at the glass door, watching him and that girl walk away. I feel like my past just walked away from me. He was supposed to be my future. But I’ve found that somewhere else, I’ve found someone else. Some who loves me and cares for me. Someone I deserve.

－

Reader Pov:

I pull up to her apartment after her text. I run up the steps to see her at the door. We make eye contact through the glass door. I see tears start to fill her eyes as she send me a smile. She did it.

I rush to open the door and when I do I wrap my arms around her neck quickly. Hers going to their home at my waist. “I’m proud of you, you did what needed to be done.” I say, pushing on the back her head to be deeper in my neck. “I love you.” She says in my neck. My heart drops. She pulls her face out of the crook of my neck to look in my eyes. “I love you too” I pull our faces to meet.

Our lips lock perfectly. Like a puzzle, waiting to be solved. Questions are silenced, the world goes quiet. Nothing but our screaming love for each other. She pulls away to look in my eyes “I love you."

－

[dashofmonsters]

Dreamers & Delusions- Pt. 10

merman x female reader

You toss on whatever clothes you can find and meet Jes downstairs and hop in her car. She tries over and over again to call Arty but he doesn't answer.

"Fucking fae and phones, I swear he and I are going to have a long conversation about this later," Jes scowls.

"As long as we get there before she calls the cops we should be fine," you offer a hopeful half smile.

"If she didn't call them as soon as she saw them you mean," Jes speeds out of the beach area and into town.

You hold onto the handle for dear life and balance yourself as she makes a few sharp turns and runs a light. Your already upset stomach churns and gurgles so you close your eyes hoping that'll help it settle just a little.

The car comes to an abrupt halt and you fling your eyes and door open and hurl at the stop light. Jes curses and apologizes for the harsh driving but you wave it off. You know how severe this situation is and you'd rather vomit than have your merman you're in love with deported.

When the light turns green Jes floors it and rushes towards your neighborhood. You sigh in relief when you don't see any cop car lights but you do see your grandmother and that's just as bad.

Tao is towering over her, arms crossed and scowling down at her with his damn teeth bared. Arty isn't alone, he's got a few of his wild fae biker buddies with him and Jes' brother Kirk is standing on the side between Toa and your grandmother waiting to step in between them if he needs to.

The second Jes gets close enough you fly out of the car and stomp up to the lot. Everyone turns their heads towards you aside from Tao and your grandmother.

"Tao come on, we're getting my crap and leaving," you tell him and that snaps him from his stare off.

"Hold right there! I get no call, no fucking messages and you're moving out? How fucking dare you!" your grandmother yells at you. "I was worried but no, you were too caught up in your own fucking bullshit that you never once thought about me!"

You turn towards your grandmother and for the first time in your life, you really see her for what she is, a pathetic and conceited lonely woman.

"You really are sad, you know that?" you start. "You keep chasing away people who love you because everything has to be according to you. You parade yourself as a fucking saint for taking me in but not once have you treated it like a charity. I've paid to stay here, I'm nothing more than a tenant to you. So you have no fucking right to say you're worried about me when you're only worried about my goddamn mother fucking money!"

Everyone is silent, even your grandmother. Her eyes widen and her lips quiver but you don't spare her the space to talk.

"And you dare to insult the people who actually treat me with respect and like I'm a fucking person. You need to fucking check yourself because you're no cakewalk grandmama. Who the fuck do you even think you are? What authority do you think you hold to treat people like shit?" you ask as you step up to her.

Her eyes look you up and down and she raises her arm but you catch it. She tries to pull her arm away and attempts to slap you with her free hand but someone calls out and she freezes.

"Just fucking stop Cat, you're causing a scene," Gayle walks up in full designer looking like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.

Your grandmother stops struggling and her arms lose all strength.

"And here I was about to pick you both up for a late lunch," Gayla smiles and looks at you. "Care to fill me in buttercup? I think your grandmama needs a little granny nap. Just look at the poor thing, she looks stressed."

"I'm not stressed, Gayle. I'm wondering why my fucking granddaughter thinks she can move out without saying anything after she's been gone for days on end," your grandmother seethes.

And Gayle looks back at you, "Well I'm guessing she found a better place to stay at and as for her being gone for days on end, well she is an adult. Besides, we were young once and I do remember a certain someone running off to Mexico without telling her parents... What was it, three... No, it was five months. Loosen your asshole Cat and maybe that stick will finally fall the fuck out."

You purse your lips and look down as Gayle keeps landing one blow after another. You hadn't expected her to show up and least of all put your grandmother down so fucking hard.

Everyone here is silent, waiting for anyone one of you three to say something but your grandmother is silent and seething and you're too shocked and speechless.

"Come on Kitty Cat, let's go have some margaritas while your grandbaby moves on out. I know she'll be a dear and clean up after herself," Gayle shoves your grandmother inside and grins at you.

Jes slowly approaches your side and places a hand on your shoulder, "I don't know what they hell just happened, but that was fucking beautiful."

"That would be Gayle and thank the gods she got here when she did," you smile and shake your head before looking around for Tao.

His eyes meet yours and you beckon him over, "Alright, I guess we can get moving."

Things go fast from there on out. You and Jes pack up your clothes and toiletries while the guys move the little bit of furniture that you have and pack your books and such into the boxes. You tidy up any messes that are left behind as Gayle escorts your grandmother out of the house and away for drinks.

Once everything's been loaded into the moving van, everyone makes their way to Tao's house. You and Jes make a pit stop to grab some charcoal and sodas to celebrate your move out move in situation.

Arty, Kirk and the others move everything into the living room while Tao and Jes prep for the barbeque and you kind of just sit around. Word moved around that you're still healing from getting dragged out to sea and no one will allow you to lift a finger.

Kirk swings by a few times to ask where certain boxes can go and a few of Arty's friends check in to see if you're alright and you smile and play off that just sitting around isn't driving you up the wall.

Tao comes by ever so often to make sure you're ok but you feel like there's some distance between the both of you right now. You start over thinking things, like maybe he's nervous about talking about who he chose or maybe he's trying to draw out the move in so he doesn't have to talk to you about it today.

You start to silently spiral into your darkest thoughts as the late afternoon drifts into the evening. Tao mans the barbeque pit that you had no idea that he had while Jes keeps you company with snacks and work gossip. You try your best to be present but there's this nagging feeling that something's not right.

Tao eventually comes upstairs and brings you food, his touch linger just a little longer than it should on your hand before he quickly slips away. You feel a strange chill and try not to cry over your food.

It smells good but you're too upset to eat and Jes can tell.

"Talk girly pop, you look like you're about to fall apart right now," she nudges you and you set the paper plate aside.

"Did he say anything to you? Did Tao mention anyth-"

"Ok I'm going to stop you right there. I told you he told me everything earlier today. And I mean everything. I think you need to chill out princess, I know it's hard for you right now but just trust me ok?" she looks at you and picks up your plate and hands it back to you.

"Now then, you're going to eat and whenever your merjerk gets his happy ass up here we'll tell him you're tired and I'll help kick everyone out and then you'll get a little one on one time with him. Sounds good?" She smiles and takes a big bite out of her burger.

You stare at your food for a few moments before you slowly dig in. After the second bite you realize just how hungry you really are and kind of tune out the rest of the world as you scarf down your food.

After a while Tao does come up and Jes tells him you're tired and that she'll gather everyone up and head out. Jes hugs you goodbye and makes a quick exit leaving you and Tao alone for the first time in hours.

"I uh... I should probably go rinse off before I head to bed," you shrug.

But when you go to stand up, Tao ends up scooping you up in his arms and just holds you for a good long while.

"Uh Tao?" you tap his shoulder and he holds you tighter.

"Sorry... I- I'm so sorry," he apologizes out of nowhere.

"Wait for what?" you ask.

"I almost did something unforgiveable... I almost... I almost let my instincts take over and I-I didn't want to hurt her but I couldn't stand just being there in front of her... I don't know what would have happened if you didn't show up when you did," Tao admits as he presses his face against your neck.

You remember how tense he looked glaring daggers at your grandmother but you never would have guessed that he would have gone aggro.

"It's ok I guess, you did hold back and it looked like Kirk was ready to stop whatever smackdown might have happened," you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

Tao squeezes you and shakes his head, "No, it's not ok... I could have gotten deported if things escalated. If that happens, I wouldn't be able to see you again."

Hearing that makes your heart stop for a moment. He shouldn't say sweet things like that to you, he shouldn't make you feel this important when you're probably not the one he chose.

In that moment you feel yourself becoming cold, distancing your heart away from Tao. It'll be easier if I think he's already rejected me, you reason with yourself. Just act like friends and only friends.

"Yeah, yeah... don't do shit to get deported, but like I said, you held back. All's well that ends well," you shrug and wiggle out of his arms. "I'm gonna jump in the shower and head to bed, I'm worn the fuck out."

Tao looks at you like you've just burned him, "Didn't you want to talk once you got moved in?"

You look around and shrug, "Yeah, I mean I still gotta put everything up and figure out where to put my furniture."

Tao inhales sharply and you see his jaw tick, "Right, of course... Try to get some rest then."

Smiling, you dismiss yourself and head towards the bathroom. Once you've closed and locked the door, you fall to the floor and crumple. You silently cry into your hands feeling bother relieved and horrified. You're free of your grandmother but now you've gone and got yourself into this new mess.

After sometime and nearly fall asleep on the floor, you finally move to go shower off. You quickly rinse off and wrap yourself in a towel to head to the nest room but you nearly jump out of your skin when you see Tao standing outside the bathroom.

His dour expression makes your already cold skin shiver. His eyes practically glow in rage and you see the tips on his claws digging into his skin.

Before you can ask him what's wrong he grabs your wrist and tugs you along to the nest room. He tells you to hurry and get dressed and to grab a pair of shoes. You ask why and all he says is that you two need to talk, tonight.

You contemplate taking your time getting dressed but you feel like if you do that then Tao might come bursting through the door and pick out whatever for you to wear. With great reluctance you tug on a sweatshirt and pajama pants and grab a pair of sandals.

When you shuffle out of the room Tao beckons you to follow him and he leads you out of the house.

"Tao where are we going? Can't we just go back inside and talk?" you ask as you follow him down the stairs.

"No," he says flatly and once you're down the stairs he takes your hand and guides you wherever the hell it is he's taking you.

After a few minutes you enter the beach area he works at. He takes you to the tower and before you know it, he's stripping down to his swim trunks.

"Really, what the hell is going on T-"

"Leave your sandals here, I'll put them up there with my clothes," he says, cutting you off.

You gape at him and stand your ground, "How about you tell me why the hell you dragged me all the way out here to just talk?"

"Because..." Tao exhales and turns to you, finally looking at you since you exited the bathroom. "Out there we can't run away, we won't be able to avoid each other and whatever has to be said. I can't keep pretending like everything between us is ok when I keep hearing you cry knowing I might have caused any of that grief."

You look out towards the ocean and feel your gut sink. It felt too soon to go back out there, your wounds itch at the thought. You feel your chest tighten and breathing becomes just a little harder.

"No, please Tao, not there... Not yet," you plead with him.

His stern look softens a bit and he lowers himself to kneel in front of you, "There's nothing in there to be afraid of, I promise."

"I-I can't do it, please, anywhere else," you beg again.

Tao lowers his head and groans before hoisting you up into his arms. For a moment you think he's going to walk you into the ocean but he just keeps walking.

His pacing is slower than usual and he holds you with a gentleness that seems out of place with how pissed off he looks. After a minute or two you end up dozing off in his arms. It's a light sleep and one you're easily woken from.

Tao sets you down ever so carefully on soft sweet smelling grass and you almost fall asleep again but he holds you up right and keeps your attention on him.

"We need to talk," he tells you again.

"I know," you say, looking down at the grass before looking around at your surroundings.

You'd been here before, back when the pixies were celebrating and you and Tao danced right into the ocean.

"Is here fine?" he asks, cupping your face. His eyes now glowing in the moonlight search your face to make sure you're comfortable.

You shrug and look away from him, "Yeah...yeah it's fine."

Tao sighs and sits across from you, "I used to think you were annoying you know."

You roll your eyes and glare at him.

"To be fair I used to think everyone was annoying, and then we started talking... I started to get to know you and you slowly opened up my world. I had been here for two years before I met you and the only people I really interacted with are those that I had to," Tao starts, his voice softer than usual.

"It felt odd how quickly I opened up to you. I was worried that you'd find me too strange or that I...I wasn't someone you'd want to be around. And then when we became friends it just felt even more unreal. I had a shoal mate again, I had someone in my life that didn't have to be there but they chose to," Tao smiles, though his eyes look sad.

"And then we made that agreement... to date each other. You're grandmother would leave you alone and I would get some sort of practice on how to romance a human if my fated mate ended up being one. I think that's when things got more complicated," He sighs and takes your hand.

For a moment you don't register that he's touching you, that he's gently squeezing your fingers. Your mind is too deep into readying your heart for the impending rejection.

Tao squeezes your hand again and places a hand on your cheek, "We are not here to further any pain, this I swear... so please, look at me."

You think about shoving away from Tao but that just might prolong this interaction. You know facing it head on will be the best course of action, rip it off like a band aid and be done with this so you can go cry into a pillow when he's not around, preferably while he's at work. Gods know that he'd be super obnoxious about you being emotional.

So you look at him, your eyes heavy and feeling dry from crying for however long you did earlier.

"Little by little I felt this strong desire, this need to be closer to you. I thought at first that it was my natural and instinctual obligation to protect the only shoal mate I have. But then things started to change, you were more than just this woman I saw on the beach ever so often or a friend I'd see nearly everyday. It got to the point where I couldn't stop thinking about you and-" Tao stops, his voice having grown horse and the hands that are holding you start to shake.

Your heart breaks and melts all at once as you watch Tao come undone right in front of you. His eyes are shut tight as it looks like he's fighting the tears that are slipping from underneath his lashes. His teeth grind and his grip on your hand tightens as he takes a long and shaky breath.

"I never meant to hurt you... I just, I couldn't tell you... couldn't let you go... But I didn't know, I didn't know what I was feeling and then I saw what I was doing to you... I felt like I didn't deserve any sort of forgiveness... I still don't think I deserve it... Not after what I've done," He lowers his head and tries to take his hands back but you don't let him.

"What did you do Tao?" you ask, your voice firm but just as emotional. "What did you do?"

Tao tries again to take his hands away but you won't let him budge.

"Finish what you started! You wanted to talk? We're talking Tao! What did you do?" you say once more, getting up in his face this time.

Tao tries to move back but you follow until you're pretty much straddling him and fisting his shirt.

"You're not going anywhere Tao. Fuck me trying to run away you hypocrite! What are you afraid of? That I'd hate you or leave you or some shit? News flash buddy, you're my best fucking friend and I can't afford to move out so just say whatever you fucking did so we can just be done and over wi-"

"I knew," Tao says, still looking away from you.

"You're going to have to be a little more specific than that," you sneer.

"Jes told me a long while ago how you felt about me," he adds.

You feel your heart sink as his shirt slips from your grasp.

"She told me that it was just a crush, you being somewhat interested in me and I... I chose to ignore it. She told me again and again how you felt and I kept choosing to ignore it until she slapped me across the face one day and... I didn't know what I had done, what my choice in ignoring your feelings had done to you, to us..." He finally looks at you and the whites of his eyes have turned black.

"You knew... And you ignored it?" your lips quiver as you're uncertain how to feel right now but for some reason you can't help but to laugh.

You laugh so hard you start tearing up.

"You fucking knew I had some sort of feeling for you but chose to just fucking ignore them, wow!" you chuckle. "That has got to be the most on brand thing you could have done being who you are. You're either really fucking stupid or just that dense!"

You looks down at Tao after coming down from your moment of hysteria and see that he's in total shock, "Well what was it? Stupid or dense?"

He blinks and before you know it he's rolling you both over until your laying in the grass and he's on top, "Probably both, stupid for ignoring your feelings and too dense to understand them. And I don't expect any forgiveness for what I've done but you deserved to know the truth before I tell you who I chose."

You hate this side of him, being way too honest and taking accountability even though he was about to run away. You want to stay mad at him, you want to kick him in the groin and graffiti his lifeguard tower but that won't take away the ache in your chest.

"I don't care about that anymore Tao. It's obvious that you feel bad for playing with my feelings and so on, so let's just leave it at that. We can pretend we never fake dated and just be friends and shoal mates or whatever. Your love life has nothing to do with me," you shrug and do your best to swallow your emotions.

"Unfortunately for you, my love life has everything to do with you," Tao sits up, his golden eyes gleaming and glowing marks appear on his neck and torso. The moon is in an obnoxiously perfect position where it's haloing his head making him look terrifying and somewhat godlike. You feel your heart pounding as he reaches down and gently pulls you up to your feet.

For the first time in a long while you feel Tao towering over you in both a comforting and intimidating way until he kneels before you and takes your hands.

"I've hurt you, ruined your trust in me, and destroyed whatever relationship we had. And now, as you humans say, I'm about to add salt to the wound. The one that I chose, the one that my heart chose, that person is you," Tao confesses.

You shake your head as you start to feel faint.

"I wanted you as my mate," he says.

Mate...

That was the last word you heard before you passed out.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Leap of Faith

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You use Halloween as an excuse to tell Spencer how you feel.

Square Filled: costume party (2022) for @cmbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You tighten your pigtails so that they sit high on your head. You turn to look at how good your ass looks in the short shorts you bought on Amazon. The fishnet stockings are itchy on your skin but you’re going to be too drunk to care in about an hour. Usually, you make sure your makeup is perfect before leaving the house but this time, you make sure it’s messy and smudges at the corners of your lips.

You’ve been invited to a Halloween party at Rossi’s place where everyone else is going to be. Your costume is a sexy Harley Quinn. She is one of your favorite superheroes and Margot Robbie does an amazing job at playing her. It’s cliche and cheesy to add “sexy” in front of a costume but this time, you wanted it to be like that. You have someone to impress and it’s not gonna happen if your costume isn’t sexy.

You even dyed your hair blonde so you can dye the ends pink and blue. It’s a decision you made knowing you were gonna love it even after Halloween was over. Your shirt says “Daddy’s Lil Monster” which ends right below your breasts. If you raise your arms, you’ll definitely show some underboob. Your entire midsection is showing since your shorts hang low on your hips. You don’t care who sees you like this since you’re pretty confident in your own skin whether you’re one hundred pounds or three hundred.

You blow yourself a kiss and leave the bedroom, making sure to grab your metal bat on the way to the living room where your best friend is. JJ and Will decided to dress up as Barbie and Ken from the new Barbie movie. You haven’t seen it yet but you know the scene where Barbie and Ken are rollerblading through the town in bright neon outfits.

“Ready?”

Will and JJ turn you when they hear you come in. Will immediately looks away from you while JJ whistles.

“Spencer is going to go feral when he sees you.”

“You think?” you grin.

“For sure.”

“I call shotgun!” you shout as you run toward the car.

“No, you had it last time!” Will runs after you.

JJ smiles at the dynamic between you and her husband. You two became fast friends which makes her happy. You’re her best friend and he’s her husband. It all works out in the end. She walks to the car to see you in the front seat with a smug smile while Will is pouting playfully in the back. The drive to Rossi’s house isn’t long since she lives close to him, and when you get there, you see Derek’s car. If he’s here, that means Spencer is. They do everything together. The only car you don’t see here is Hotch’s. It’s normal for him to be fashionably late for these kinds of events.

Penelope and Spencer must have volunteered to decorate Rossi’s place because this looks amazing. Rossi is not the one to go out and decorate to this degree. You three walk up to the door and knock, and Rossi opens it slowly. He’s a modern Dracula without the fangs. He hates the feeling of things on his teeth. The years he wore braces were the worst.

“Welcome. Nice costumes.”

You step inside and see Derek texting someone by the front door. He’s dressed as a cop because he waited until the last minute to put something together. He still had his old uniform from when he was a beat cop and decided to use that. When he hears people enter, he puts the phone away to mingle. He whistles when he sees you, and he brings you in for a friendly hug.

“Damn, Y/N. Who are you trying to impress?”

“You know who. Where is he?”

“In the kitchen. He booked it in there as soon as he heard there were cupcakes.”

You pat his shoulder as you walk away from them, dragging your bat behind you. Spencer is by the kitchen island eating a cupcake when you enter. Halloween is his favorite holiday because he loves decorating and dressing up. He’s dressed in a puffy white clown costume. His face is painted ghostly white to match the color of the costume with dramatic eyebrows drawn on and a painted red smile. Even he can make something so creepy look cute.

“You gonna save some for the rest of us?” you ask. Spencer looks up and starts choking as soon as he sees you in your costume. He grabs a water bottle and chugs half of it to get the food out of his throat. Once he’s calmed down, he rakes his eyes down your entire costume. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”

“Wow, you look great,” he stutters.

“Thank you. I love your costume.”

“I made this,” he smiles proudly.

“I know. This is all you’ve been talking about for the past couple of weeks.” Spencer grabs another cupcake and tears off the paper before taking a bite. Some of the frosting gets on his upper lip which he licks away, but there is still some left behind. This is it. This is your chance. You walk up to him and reach up to his face. “You got a little something.” You wipe his top lip with your thumb and place the pad of your thumb in your mouth. “Delicious.”

Spencer is staring at your mouth and thinking he’d love it if your lips were on his instead. You can see the lust in his eyes so you take the leap of faith.

“You got some more. Come here.”

You pull Spencer close and kiss him to take the frosting off that isn’t there. Spencer grips your hips and pulls you closer as he kisses you back.

“Wait,” you pull away from him, “is this okay?”

“More than.”

You two meet halfway and kiss some more, not caring if you have an audience by the entrance into the kitchen.

“She made the first move. All of you owe me ten bucks,” JJ grins.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Hiya! Could you do a one-shot of Alastor x fem! reader who is like Art the clown (from the terrifier movies, all hallows eve and the ninth circle)?

Perhaps they met when Alastor first got to hell and reader wanted to kill him at first but due to his old fashioned ways (the courting and such) along with him being quite sadistic when it comes to killing, she became more curious about him and it led to a relationship?

How would their relationship be? Would it become more of a one sided thing? Would she try to harm him after he comes back from his seven year absence? I’d love to see your interpretation on this!

~ 🕷️

Terrify Me~

(Anon, I promise I did not forget you! I have never seen these movies and call myself a horror fanatic! So I watched them all as I had the time to try and be better at this writing! I hope you enjoy and stay hydrated!) TW: Torture, Death, assault, Suggestive, Sad, Comfort

Hell was far more entertaining than back up on the earth, though yes, it sucked dying to those damn cops. This was where it was at. You had free reign to torture and torment those around you; the good deal was that people didn’t die permanently as long as you used the right tools. This led to such an easy time finding prey to stalk. It also allowed you to develop incredible powers as people begged and pleaded with you for deals on being free from torment. 

You were a terrifying creature, a black-and-white marionette doll with no voice box. Your movements and attention to detail got you through your life in hell. You were sadistic and cruel to whoever became your prey for the time you spent stalking them, hunting them, and slowly driving your enemy mad. You were so good at the job that people recognized you as an Overlord before even discussing it with you. Of course, who would dare get in your line of sight less you make them the next target? 

You didn’t care about hell’s silly hierarchy or games; you only cared about getting your fill. Your mind was on the prize of listening to beautiful screams and cries. Like a masterful puppet pulling strings, your looks did not portray your abilities all that well. You may have looked like the prey, but you were the top predator. You were deadly, mind, body, and soul.

Years had passed of your reign as the queen of torture till a new man arrived on the scene. Alastor, the radio demon, died not too long after your rise to fame and began to make waves in the underworld as he broadcasted screams of the damned and tortured. His show quickly became one of your favorites, and you would play it as you killed and murdered innocent demonic souls, hoping to make a deal with you for safety. 

Eventually, though, your love and passion for the radio demon's show turned to disgust and hate as he began to take your place in the world of torturing the damned. You had found a new prey to stalk, and it was someone who was equally matched. 

Your stalk began small, with just hushed whispers and knowledge of the man you wished to end. You found photos and some video of him, but it was grainy and distorted. He was a handsome man. He would be so beautiful strung up. As you thought of many ways to torture and abuse him, the next phase of your plan was in order.

Though you were an ‘overlord,’ you never attended meetings. However, you did start when it came to hunting Alastor. Watching his every move and emotion, you saw he was good at mimicking and faking just like you. Yet you had to say you were just that much better at it. When you two first officially met, you could visibly see the disdain on his face when you couldn’t speak. Like many powerful beings, Alastor puts weight on words, something you have no control over, always giving you the upper hand. 

You found every excuse to be around and speak to the man. Eager to move on to stage three of your plan to capture and torment this soul. Actively seeking Alastor out, you began to carry a notepad to speak with him. Small conversations that would sometimes run long. You enjoyed his voice, at least. You thought it would sound lovely, screaming in pain and agony. 

Though you had these sick, twisted thoughts about Alastor, you couldn’t help but be curious about the other feelings he elicited. You wanted to hear him sing, watch him smile, and enjoy his murder. His many good qualities interested you even more. You even sought medical help in the man before you as you didn’t understand these stirrings you had around him and him alone.

As the final plan commenced where you would capture and torture him, you were caught off guard by a single black rose being placed before you. Looking at it and holding it gently, you felt your undead heart flutter. This situation happened many times over and over.

You would go to kill or capture Alastor, and right there, every time you would execute your plan, he would have a trinket or doo dad for you to keep as your own. He began to touch you gently, shoulders, face, sides. Things started to shift in you; you were being courted, and it wasn’t until you experienced this love that you realized it happened: Alastor had you under his spell. 

Your plans of killing Alastor were long gone; now, you just wanted to have the joy of torturing others together. Come a year of your stupid game; you were now officially Alastor's partner in crime. It was charming how he always let you get the first stab and helped you stalk and scare others. He even taught you how to cook and kill the dead sinners. Things were well between you two, so well that domestic life began to become a norm for two sadistic sinners. Yet it all changed one day suddenly. You had been out on a kill someone you and Alastor had stalked for months. However, when you returned covered in blood and a dead body in tow, Alastor was nowhere to be found. You waited a year in that small home you two made, and he never appeared.

After seven long years, you returned to the top of the food chain; you were vicious and cold-hearted. Bloodthirsty. You allowed yourself to be blindsided by a man who couldn’t even say goodbye. Anger consumed you as the years passed, and you became known as the terrifier. You were deadly on a much larger scale than your first time on the scene. You were always longing for Alastor just to come back home. You were longing openly to all that you would kill him and make him pay.

While on the town killing, you heard a familiar buzz. Your blood ran cold as the familiar sound flooded your senses. Running to the old home, you two shared the life long forgotten: you hoped so badly to see him standing there as he once did. Would you kill him? Let him live? Fall into his arms again?

As you entered the house, he wasn’t there. It was still empty, still intact, the same as you left it six years ago. Sighing, you left and walked to the nearest brothel to kill some easy dirtbags. That's when you saw the shadow. Was this a game? Some sick, twisted game to make you think Alastor had come back for you.

Following the shadow, you grew more rabid and curious. Eventually, you found yourself atop a hill where the Hazbin Hotel sat. Walking in, it was silent; it was late at night, and you assumed everyone was asleep. Stepping further into the forbidden territory, you looked around cautiously. It was homey and bright, too bright for your liking, yet some of the decor looked like what you saw in your old home with Alastor.

You felt the presence before you heard it, and suddenly, a bright smile overtook your face. He was here; he was back. Seeing before you Alastor, the radio demon, your lost love, you took a step towards him, afraid it was fake. You don’t know what emotion overtook you the most. You wanted to tear him apart, yet seeing him there, everything felt so surreal. His smile, for once, was authentic, and as he opened his arms out for you and you rushed in, you heard the faintest, “Oh, how you still terrify me…”

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Hi can you do headcanons or one-shot about human yandere doctor klaus mikaelson and human yandere police officer Elijah in love with the same girl, maybe y/n was mugged/attacked and Elijah rescues her and falls in love with her and y/n takes some hits in her attack so Elijah takes her to the hospital to be cured and there Klaus meets her and falls in love with her.

(This is an awesome idea and I will absolutely give you Headcanons about that! This was great fun to write!)

DD:DNE!!!

•You had called the cops after locking yourself in the bathroom, your ex boyfriend had come to your house drunk after losing his job (too drunk to remember you had broken up 2 weeks before) and as soon as you suggested him going to bed, he had turned around and smacked you so hard your nose began gushing blood. He had knocked you to the ground and hit you a few more times before moving to get himself a beer from the fridge and you escaped into the bedroom

•Police Officer!Elijah was the second on the scene after your Ex had been cuffed and put in the car. He knocked on the bathroom door and announced himself, telling you that you’re safe and the next thing he knew the door had flown open and he had a sobbing women in his chest

•He had seen pictures of you on the way in and he knew how gorgeous you are and as he felt your arms tighten around his waist he felt a flutter in his chest…it was an unfamiliar and wonderful sensation. He pulled you back and saw the blood on your nose and mouth which was still dripping on your shirt and he quickly moved to grab toilet paper and hold it over your bloody nose

‘Keep pressure on this sweetheart, it’s alright. I’m here, my name is Elijah and you’re safe now. I’m not going to let you go, I promise.’ He swore, holding you close again and escorting you out to his car, setting you into the passenger seat. You couldn’t help the feeling in your belly as he held your hand so tightly, genuinely feeling safe with a man for the first time in years. What you didn’t know was that Elijah’s body was reacting to you as well, in the exact same way, and he realized in another way as he felt his cock twitching in his pants

•Your Ex and you had been together since 9th grade and you stupidly moved in with him right after graduation, he was a drunken asshole who started hitting you basically the second he got a real job and couldn’t handle the stress. He had always been an asshole and you were too afraid to leave him, finally changing the locks 2 weeks ago but you accidentally forgot to lock them today. You hadn’t felt safe in years, but Officer Mikaelson made you feel protected

•He talked to you all the way to the hospital to make sure you stayed awake (and to get you to talk about yourself, wanting to know everything), texting someone as you pulled in and carrying you into the ER as you were light headed and weak. He set you on a bed just before a blond Doctor walked in quickly.

‘What happened?’

‘Her Ex attacked her, hit her in the head God knows how many times and her nose just stopped bleeding.’ He shined a light in your eyes to check your reaction as he spoke to you.

‘Hello Y/n, I’m Doctor Mikaelson, you can call me Klaus. You’re safe now, love, I’m going to take good care of you. I promise. How badly does your head hurt on a scale of one to ten?’

‘Maybe like, a 6? It’s getting worse with the light.’ You explained and the officer moved to turn the light in the room down.

‘Is that better?’ He asked and you nodded, wincing. ‘Don’t move, just lay back. Niklaus, I have to go and fill out the report before he gets booked. My shift is over in 15 so I’ll be right back-‘

‘Don’t go! Please? He’s gonna come back! Don’t-‘

‘No, no! Shh, Shh, Shh…he’s in lock up and he’s not going anywhere. I’ll let the investigating officer know that you’ll be pressing charges so he can’t get out, alright?’

‘No. No, I can’t…he’ll come after me when he’s released, it’ll be so much worse!’ You panicked but he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, hugging you to him.

‘I’ll help you, and if you press charges for Aggravated Domestic Assault he will get a minimum of at least 5 years, but if I testify for you it’ll be even longer, okay? I’m going to help you sweetheart, you’re completely safe now.’ He pulled back, looking down at you softly and raising his eyebrows. ‘Do you believe me?’ His smile grew wide as you nodded slowly before tucking your hair behind your ear and standing, looking at the Doctor. ‘Will you watch over her until I get back, Brother? Just so she feels safer?’ The Doctor and Elijah seemed to have a conversation without ever speaking a word. Klaus looked at him curiously before his face dropped and Elijah looked at him firmly before his face softened.

‘Of course I will. I’m going to order a CT Scan right away so we may be out when you get back. Is that alright, love? I want to make sure there’s no bleeding in your brain, depending on the results of that I may want an MRI but I don’t think we’ll need that.’

‘Okay. You’re the doctor, whatever you say.’ He seemed very pleased as you said that, actually they both did, smiling up at each other over you in an odd way but your head hurt so much you didn’t want to give any effort into thinking about it.

‘I’ll be here when you get back from the CT scan, okay?’ Elijah asked.

‘Okay. Thank you…don’t let him go, okay?’ You whispered and he shook his head.

‘Not in a million years.’ He surprised you as he leaned down and kissed your cheek, causing you to blush a dark red shade and him to smile before walking out the door.

•You spent the next hour getting tests done with Doctor Mikaelson who insisted you call him Klaus. You told him all about your relationship with your Ex and he was very interested to know more. In turn he told you a lot about himself and Elijah. Klaus told you all about his father and the abuse he suffered, explaining that that’s why he became a Doctor, to help people like himself when he was a boy. In turn, it’s also why Elijah became a cop because he couldn’t protect his little brother and he wanted to make sure he would never fail again. It touched you to know that and these men made you feel so safe that you trusted them, which was a strong development as you didn’t trust anyone

•Unfortunately, Elijah had to inform you that since the apartment wasn’t in your name, you had no right to kick your Ex out and now he was kicking you out, leaving you with nowhere to go until Klaus offered for you to stay with him. It was a shocking offer but after some discussion and both men insisting that they refused to leave you in a homeless shelter (as your only family lived across the country and wouldn’t talk to you anyways) you finally caved and agreed to stay with them.

•They both had an incredible plot of land in the woods, away from everyone and everything. It made you feel safe to know that even if your Ex was released, he would never find you here

•They brought you home in the early hours of the morning when Klaus got off work and you drifted off (unaware of the drugs Klaus had put into your juice in the ER as you were leaving) only to be carried into the house by Elijah who pulled you as close as he could before laying you onto a large bed in the guest room

•Klaus got you some clothes from his room and when he entered the bedroom he found his elder brother trailing his fingers down your torso and towards your pants.

‘So impatient.’

‘I’m impatient? You are such a hypocrite.’ Elijah laughed, unbuttoning your pants and getting a peek at the lacy white panties that you were wearing.

‘Such a innocent little thing…imagine how sweet she tastes…’ Elijah could see the gears turning in his younger brothers mind and he made him a deal.

‘You can taste her first, but I get to fuck her first.’ He proposed, knowing Klaus couldn’t resist.

‘Deal.’ Klaus climbed onto the bed, tossing the clothes aside and yanking her pants and panties off of her body.

‘Gentle! Don’t wake her-‘

‘I know exactly what I gave her Brother, Y/n will not be waking up for several hours at least. We have plenty of time to play with our new girl.’ The smirk on his younger brothers face probably would have frightened Elijah if he were anyone else but he knew Klaus. He knew his brother needed control over everything in his life since he had none in his youth, since Mikael took it from him every day like a sick game, and Elijah couldn’t fault him for that…especially when he needs the same thing…

•Claiming her together wasn’t something they had ever done before but it felt like second nature. They had shared everything their whole lives, why should a women be any different?

Klaus buried his face into her cunt and ate her like a man possessed. She was sweet and delicate and everything he had always wanted to love and protect his whole life. Elijah briefly thought she would wake up as her hips began rocking up into Klaus’ face making him groan but her eyes stayed closed, even as she whimpered and whined like their perfect little Princess.

Elijah removed his clothes quickly as Klaus dropped her legs, having finished in his own pants when Y/n came on his mouth. Elijah had never understood his brothers obsession with eating women out (not that he didn’t enjoy it himself once in a while) as Klaus could do it for hours and never tire of it, even as a women nearly rips his hair from his head from overstimulation.

‘That idiot boyfriend never made you cum did he, not once? She’s so Goddamn tight Brother, Christ!’ He pulled her up against his chest so that he could thrust up into her at a better angle. ‘Wanna live in this sweet little pussy, gonna let me whether you like it or not, aren’t you pretty girl? Fuck!’

•They both fucked her twice before they pried themselves away from her body, cleaning her up and dressing her once more before tucking her into the bed and laying on either side of her, drifting off for the night

•Y/n was comforted by the fact that they both slept on top of the covers under their own blanket to not make her uncomfortable, a sweet gesture that truly tricked her into believing they would never do anything to hurt her or make her uncomfortable.

•The both of them talked her into staying with them until she found a new place for herself, though they never helped her do that. Instead they manipulated her into a relationship with the both of them, making her never want to leave.

Klaus and Elijah didn’t mind having to share their girl in the end, quite content to have a girl who was as sweet and submissive as Y/n. She was perfect for them and they weren’t planning on ever letting her go.

Elijah Mikaelson Masterlist

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

[fluentmoviequoter]

Family Name

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader (reader was in the Army and SWAT in Central City)

Summary: After ten years away, you return to Gotham. When you discover you know the true identity of the Joker, you join Batman's fight to save Gotham.

Warnings: angst, fluff, vague references to several DC Comics movies and timelines, murder (I can't get too specific about the murder warning without spoiling a plot point, but there is a friendly fire aspect and an assassination by a sniper)

Word Count: 6.6k+ words

A/N: This is my first time writing for Bruce Wayne (or at least posting it lol) so he may be OOC. I actually wrote most of this a year ago and just put the finishing touches on it, so I'm not sure if it's worth reading. Feel free to let me know what you think and send any Bruce Wayne requests you have so I can keep practicing for him! (If you want a specific characterization/actor let me know.)

The map that I used as a reference while writing is included at the end!

Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info

Gotham is still cold, wet, and smelly. Some things never change, no matter how hard a certain vigilante tries. It’s been nearly ten years since you last set foot in Gotham, and things have changed. For better or worse? Who can tell?

It is raining as you walk out of the train station on the outer border of Gotham City. You shiver and pull your jacket closer to your body as the cold drizzle starkly contrasts the sunny Central City you came from. You hail a cab and tell the driver the address of your temporary apartment. The news station on the radio catches your attention, and the driver turns it up when you ask.

“After a fearsome showdown last night with the Joker, who is still missing from Arkham Asylum, the Batman has been spotted in downtown Gotham. The GCPD is on high alert following several tips of illegal business at the Iceberg Lounge,” they report.

“You new in town?” the driver asks.

“Not exactly. I haven’t been here in years though,” you explain.

“Then you’re new. This is a whole new Gotham. Just stay on the good side of the Batman and you’ll be fine, kid. This is you.”

After paying the driver and pulling your bags from the trunk, you stand on the sidewalk and look up at the place you now call home. The apartment building is old but in decent condition. Especially considering where it is. As the rain grows heavier, you move inside, climbing the stairs to the third floor and entering your apartment. The unit came furnished, so you only have some clothing to unpack. You start a list of the housewares and cleaning supplies you’ll need to buy. Walking around the living room, you notice the cable is hooked up and turn on the television. The local television channels are either out because of the rain or playing broadcasts of last night’s story. Any background noise will do, you suppose, as you leave a news channel on and begin unpacking and cleaning with what little bit of supplies you have.

After cleaning, you take a break and fall back onto the couch. The news is still on, and a face flashes across the scene, filling you with an odd sense of recognition. You lean forward to get a better view before exclaiming, “No way.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“When did you come back?” someone asks as you enter a small department store.

Looking up, you smile when you see a familiar face. “Barbara, hey! Last night. Been in Central City for too long.”

“Should have stayed there,” she says, laughing humorlessly. “Gotham is quite literally the most crime ridden city in the world now. It’s on the sign and everything. At least in Central you have a vigilante to protect you.”

“So does Gotham,” you point out. “He’s all over the news.”

“Yeah, we do. But for every criminal he puts in Arkham, ten more pop up.”

“Is your dad still a cop?”

“He’s the commissioner now. Actually…” She pulls a card out of her wallet and hands it to you. “Call him if you ever get in trouble. Be careful, okay? This isn’t the Gotham you remember.”

“I will. Thanks.”

You watch her leave before you begin shopping for the items on your list. After shopping, you are back in your apartment, cleaning and organizing. The Gotham News has more showtime than Hannah Montana in the 2000s. You find yourself invested in every story they present. Maybe this isn’t the Gotham you remember, but it is still Gotham and your home. If this city needs help, you'll offer everything you have.

“Citizens of Gotham, I am Police Commissioner James Gordon. Regarding the recent red alert at Arkham Asylum, the GCPD is urging residents to stay indoors, lock doors and windows, and most importantly, stay calm. We are not sure at this time how many, if any, patients escaped the asylum. Anyone with information is encouraged to contact crime stoppers at 800-”

You mute the television and look at your closet. An armour-plated uniform hangs front and centre, practically begging you to put it on and fight for your home. If Barbara doesn’t think Batman can handle all the criminals, maybe he would appreciate a little help.

“Don’t be stupid,” you chastise yourself, still looking at the closet. A few minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of the closet, thinking, “But you have the training.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Gotham looks much darker from a rooftop. You find a lookout spot a few blocks from Arkham, assuming anyone who escaped will have to pass you eventually.

“Oh, sweet Gotham! Riddle me this!” a high-pitched voice calls. A moment later, you see a man dressed in a green suit entering the alley below you.

“Now or never,” you whisper as you move toward the edge.

“The more of it there is, the less of all you see. What is it?” Riddler asks.

“Darkness,” you answer as you grab his shoulders.

You pull him backwards and knock him to the ground. His breath rushes out at the impact, and you bring your elbow down to his face, rendering him unconscious before he can catch his breath. The burner phone you bought earlier is programmed with James Gordon’s number in it.

“Gordon,” he answers.

“Riddler is unconscious in the alley at Tomlinson and Pygall,” you say lowly, hoping your voice is disguised enough, before hanging up.

Your attention is ripped away from the unconscious criminal as a silhouette of a bat floats across the sky.

“There’s hope yet, Gotham,” you say, smiling.

✯✯✯✯✯

It seems as though you are better at vigilantism than you expected. Everywhere you go, Batman is either already there or crosses your path. He has yet to see you, that much is sure. Lurking on a dark rooftop, you hear the telltale sign of his grappling hook and are a second too late in realizing he is moving onto the same roof as you.

“So, you’re the one who’s been stealing half my jobs?” he asks, walking toward you.

“You seem busy, thought you might like some help,” you respond, shrugging as you change your voice again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the thought. But you need to go home. This is dangerous and you could get hurt.”

You internally roll your eyes at his obvious arguments. “So could you.”

“Doesn’t matter if I get hurt.”

“Me neither. Any idea how many more of them are out there?”

Batman sighs and turns away from you to look over the city. “One or two,” he answers. “The city got lucky; Joker was in solitary and didn’t get out.”

You nod to yourself, moving toward the edge as you ask, “Why does it seem so easy to escape Arkham?”

“Poor security, not enough staff, an old building. The list is endless. Every time someone tries to strengthen it, a stronger foe comes along and breaks it again.”

“You’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Yet nothing’s changed.”

A sound behind you stops your answer. Turning toward the sound, you launch yourself onto the fire escape, ignoring Batman’s pleas to stop. 

“Whoa,” you breathe, looking at the plants growing in the alley. 

“You’re not the Bat,” Poison Ivy, whose news special aired last night, says. “You’d look much better in green than him.”

“Every plant I’ve ever owned has died. It’s one of my talents,” you taunt before throwing a canister from your belt. 

“It won’t work, Buttercup. I’ve been tear gassed many times.”

“It’s not just tear gas,” you call as the plants begin to wither. “It’s concentrated sulfur dioxide. Deadly to plants and debilitating to people.”

She coughs several times before falling. An arm wraps around your waist, and you are hoisted through the air before landing on a rooftop. 

“What was that?!” Batman demands.

“Sulfur dioxide.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! You can’t just run around taunting criminals in a mask. What if that hadn’t worked and she had hurt you?”

“She didn’t. Besides-“

“No! You don’t get to justify this.” He keeps talking, and you feel like you have heard him before. You watch him closely as he continues berating you. 

“This is not a game. Do you understand that?” Bingo. You smile at him, his chest heaving as he prepares to yell at you again.

“You’re still really protective,” you say lightly. 

Batman turns toward you quickly, shaking his head before asking, “What?”

“In middle school you wouldn’t let me jump from the top of the swing set. Just funny that you’re still so protective when you risk your life every single night.”

“What are you talking about?”

You move toward the edge of the building and look over your shoulder at him. 

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

Batman runs to the edge after you jump, but the alley is empty. 

“Alfred,” he calls into his earpiece. 

“You’ll figure it out, sir. Eventually.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Didn’t I tell you to stay home?” Batman asks as he walks up behind you. 

“No. You told me I couldn’t run around taunting criminals in a mask. Which, by the way, I have some questions about. Can I walk and taunt criminals in a mask or is it the taunting that’s the problem?” you tease, looking up at him from your crouched position. 

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “I’ll give you a pass for the other night, but you need to go home. Right now. I’m not letting you get hurt for this.”

“Then don’t. Watch my back and I’ll watch yours.” You extend your hand for a handshake as you stand. 

“No deal. Go home.”

“I’m not going home. So, stay with me and we can help each other or I’m going to go hunt him down on my own.”

He narrows his eyes at you before sighing and shaking your hand. 

“Why are you smiling?” he asks as he releases your hand. 

“We always were a pretty good team.”

You see the moment of recognition as his jaw drops under the cowl. He recovers quickly and points at you. 

“Ground rules. Number one: you don’t engage. Two: stay hidden. Three: run if things go south.”

“Got it. Be boring,” you relay. 

“This is not the time for jokes. Our lives are on the line. You don’t even have a good reason to be here.”

“Yeah I do.”

“Please enlighten me,” Batman prods impatiently. 

You can tell he is mad you were here and are not listening to him. Too bad, Bats, you think. Gotham is your home, too, and you aren’t going to let it fall into the hands of some crazy clown or any other criminal. 

“But before you tell me that, tell me what makes you qualified to be out here.”

“Look at me. Armoured uniform, tear gas, I’m a CCPD jacket short of official.”

“You’re CCPD?”

“I was. SWAT officer for five years after I got out of the Army. But I grew up here and I’m not letting this city go without a fight.”

“Why this fight? The one criminal we haven’t been able to stop for almost a decade?”

“Because...” You look up at him and smile. “I know who he is.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Thank you, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon says, shaking Batman’s hand. “We’ll get him in solitary.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Batman replies. 

“Who’s your new helper? Everyone at the station is talking about the reaper that popped up and knows how to take them all down.”

“An old friend. Try to keep them in a while longer this time, will you?”

Commissioner Gordon turns around to see Batman is gone. “We’ll try,” he mumbles into the dark. 

✯✯✯✯✯

The next night, Batman is gone. You don’t so much as see his shadow all night. There is only one criminal out; maybe they’re all on vacation, too. Killer Croc used Arkham’s sewer system to escape and pop up downtown. It was a long and tiresome fight, but you got him on the ground, and the GCPD took it from there. You finally reach the rooftop, preparing to cross them to go home, but don't make it far. Hitting the roof, you feel pain shoot through your ribs. After running your hand across the area, your skin is stained red. Great, you think. 

“What were you thinking?!” Batman reprimands you as he appears and kneels beside you, pulling items from his utility belt. 

“Mostly about what I was going to eat for dinner,” you joke, hissing when the antiseptic hits your skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Batman says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy. At least it wasn’t my neck this time.”

“I told you not to use your belt to traverse the jungle gym,” Batman mumbles. 

“So, you do remember me,” you say happily.

“You’re still an idiot with a death wish.”

“And you’re still Mother Hen Bruce.”

“This’ll help for now,” he says, helping you stand up and hooking his arm under your shoulders. “But I’m taking you back to the cave to get you checked out.”

“Didn’t do enough checking out in high school?” you slur before passing out.

“Alfred, we’re inbound,” he says into his microphone. 

“Glad to see blood loss doesn’t dampen her sarcasm,” Alfred responds, “I’ll be ready.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What did you mean you know who he is?” Bruce asks. 

You blink several times to make sure you aren’t imagining him. He looks different than the last time you saw him. Without the mask, he’s more like the Bruce you grew up with, just older and barely holding Gotham together.

“You got hot,” you say without thinking. 

“Thanks. Now tell me what you meant.”

“That I know who he is?” you clarify, standing up. 

“Please stay down,” Alfred chides as he returns with tea. 

“Thanks, Alfred. Good to see you again.” You smile as you accept the tea. 

“You as well. Now take it easy. You should be battle ready in a day or two but that’s only if you rest properly.”

“No, you will not be battle ready. There is no more battle for you,” Bruce adds. 

“You know I’m not going to listen and if you tell me no I’ll just do it myself.”

“We’ll have this conversation later. For now, tell me what you know about Joker.”

“Okay. He’s my uncle. Like twice removed, or-“

“There’s no way you’re related to that monster,” Bruce interjects. 

“I’m not, really. We’re related by marriage. His aunt or somebody else married my cousin and I happened to meet him a few times. Fate, I guess.”

“Do you know his name?” 

“No. Everyone in the family called him J. I thought his name started with a J but see now that it’s because he’s cuckoo for cocoa puffs.”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head before turning serious again. “Are you really okay?”

“I’m great. Thanks for the assist.”

“I’m glad you’re back. Even if you are endangering yourself and ignoring everything I say.”

“Me too.”

“But Alfred’s right. You need some rest. We can finish this conversation later.”

“I can go home,” you say, standing up.

You stumble slightly, and Bruce catches you, holding you upright against him. 

“Can you?” he asks, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“I think I found something,” you cheer when Bruce answers the phone. 

“Where are you?”

“My apartment. It’s by Sacred Heart.”

The line goes silent, so you say Bruce’s name. 

“You’re living by the Narrows? I thought you just went out there to fight.”

“It’s a fine building. I’m not in the Narrows.”

“No but you’re between Crime Alley and Arkham Island. You need to find a new place. Now.”

“I can’t afford anything else, Bruce. It was this or Slaughter Swamp.”

“Pack your essentials. I’ll be there in twenty.”

He hangs up, leaving you with a dozen questions. However, you know he means what he says, so you pack the stuff you can’t live without and are ready to go when he shows up twenty minutes later. 

“You’re staying at Wayne Manor until we find you a new place.”

“That is not necessary.”

“It’s not just that this is close to the Narrows. We’re going after Joker, and I need to know you’re safe.”

“We’re not going after Joker,” you correct, “we’re finishing this.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bruce, I can’t find a marriage certificate. They may not have been married; maybe they were just living together or something and didn’t want to explain it to a kid,” you admit, disappointed in your lack of findings. 

“It’s okay. We will find something. And if we don’t, we can do it another way,” he assures. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“This is the fourth Arkham breakout in as many weeks. When do you sleep?” you ask. 

Alfred laughs faintly through the communications system. 

“During Wayne Enterprises meetings, usually,” Bruce answers. 

“I got one. Going dark,” you alert before jumping to meet Captain Boomerang. 

After a short fight which results in your earpiece breaking, Captain Boomerang is unconscious, and you prepare to call Gordon. 

“Ha ha ha ha,” an eerie voice cackles behind you. 

You freeze in place before turning slowly and coming face-to-face with the Joker. He knocks your helmet off in one swift move, and your face is now visible. 

“I remember you. My aunt married your second cousin. Horrible family you have. Or should I say had? Ha ha ha ha.”

“What do you want?”

“Is a family reunion not enough? No, I guess you’re right. I mean, marriages end so are we even related anymore?”

“We never were.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Reaper! You know everyone calls you that, don’t ya? Personally, I think it’s a bit morbid but to each their own. I also heard from a little bird that you’re working with the big, bad bat. I had such great hopes for you, and you let me down.”

“What do you want?” you repeat slowly. 

“To be family again,” he answers, smiling as he runs his fingers over your face and hair. 

“What about Harley? Isn’t she your family? You were all she could talk about the other night.”

“Not anymore. She settled for some used piece on her Suicide Suckers. But me and you? Me and you could be the dream team. The family to end all families.”

“I don’t want to be part of your family.”

“When I found out Harley was a harlot, you know what I said? I said I’d peel off her skin and put it on a new body. But I can’t imagine those words coming from her. So, from now on…” he moves his hand to rest in front of your throat as his smile drops. “If Harley wouldn’t say it, you don’t say it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Alfred, where is she?” Bruce asks.

“Toxic Acres. She’s still not responding,” Alfred responds, watching your tracker blink in the same place for the fifth consecutive minute.

“I’m going after her,” Bruce declares.

“Be careful, Master Bruce.” Bruce doesn’t respond, and Alfred mutes the private connection as he watches Bruce’s tracker move toward yours. “And don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re making a mistake, J,” you hiss, the pressure of Joker’s hand on your throat making it hard, but not impossible, to breathe.

“No, they made a mistake,” he argues, moving his hand slightly as he steps back to look at you.

“Who?”

“Your family. All families. Everyone who treats people like outsiders.”

“You mean to tell me you’re doing this - all of this - because you never felt like you belonged in a family?”

“No!” Joker yells, leaning his weight against your throat as he smiles in your face. “Because no family has ever accepted me. I know I don’t belong, but everyone expects families to lie, right? Especially their own, but no, poor Joker always got told the truth! ‘You’re too strange,’ ‘You’re dangerous,’ ‘The kids are scared of you,’ yet no one ever offered to help me fit in.”

You raise your hands to his arm and claw at his skin, growing desperate for air as he rants. He looks over when your hits grow weaker and pulls his hand back. You fall to the ground, wheezing, as you try to take deep breaths. 

Holding your neck, you look up at him and ask, “Then what do you want?”

He kneels in front of you and holds a knife out in his hand. “I want you to find a family and make a Joker-sized hole for me to fill.”

Shaking your head, you argue, “I’m not like you. I won’t do that, J.”

He cocks his head as his smile falls. “Harley wouldn’t say that, would she? And, besides, you’re more like me than you think, aren’t you? And what’s more interesting is that I think you know it. We’re the same, you and I, whether you like it or not.” The knife is raised to your throat as he threatens, “Do it, or I will make another hole in your family.”

“Another?” you ask.

The blade presses against your skin, and you close your eyes, unwilling to give him the theatrics and attention he so desperately seeks. A grappling hook sounds somewhere above you just before the blade is removed from your throat. Joker’s words echo in your head, and your eyes stay closed. Someone gently touches your neck and your face, but you don’t open your eyes, in case it’s him trying to trick you. He does that; you remember that too well.

An arm loops around your waist as a hand pulls your arms over broad shoulders. Only when you’re flying through the air and clinging to him are you ready to admit that Bruce is saving you. Opening your eyes, you see Wayne Tower in the distance. You tighten your arms around Bruce’s neck, and his hand squeezes your waist in response. He lands on the roof of Wayne Manor and rushes into the Batcave.

“What did he do to you?” Bruce asks as he sets you on a medical exam table. The same table you sat on when he saved you after the fight with Killer Croc.

Bruce tries to step back, but you cling to him. He’s the only family you have left, and Joker opened an old wound with his talk of carving a hole in a family to fill himself. That’s what he tried to do with your family, but when he still didn’t fit, he kept carving.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whisper into Bruce’s suit.

Bruce’s arms wrap around you, pulling you to the edge of the table as he cups your head to his shoulder.

“I’m right here,” he soothes. “Not going anywhere.”

He holds you for longer than you realize; time slows down in Bruce’s arms. When you pull back, he cups your face in his hands and looks at you intently.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not right now,” you whisper.

“That’s okay,” he promises, nodding.

“The guest bedroom has been prepared and dinner is awaiting you, Master Bruce,” Alfred calls, briefly appearing in the doorway of the Batcave.

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” you ask.

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready. And you’re staying here tonight.”

You don’t argue, nodding as you stand and follow Bruce upstairs. He shows you to a guest room with clothes, toiletries, and more books than you can count. Telling you to use whatever you want; he leaves to change before meeting you for dinner.

When you enter the bathroom to change into the clothes you found in the closet, you see yourself in the mirror. Mostly, you see the red line running across your neck. Joker has hurt more than enough people, you decide, and you meant what you told Bruce; you plan to finish this.

✯✯✯✯✯

Bruce sits up suddenly. The sun is coming through the cracks in his curtains, but something feels off. He pulls a shirt over his head and walks down the hall, knocking on the door to the guest room where you’re staying. After a moment of no answer, he lets himself in. There’s a note on the bed in your handwriting.

I can’t let him do it again, especially not to you. Please stay home tonight and let me finish this fight. I should have done it ten years ago, but I was scared and ran. This is my chance to make everything right. Please forgive me.

Bruce takes a deep breath, suppressing his urge to punch a hole in the wall. Alfred wouldn’t appreciate another one. He rereads the note, then goes downstairs for breakfast like everything is fine.

“Where is our guest?” Alfred asks when Bruce enters the dining room. “Resting, I hope.”

“She’s gone. She left in the middle of the night to, quote, finish a fight like she should have done ten years ago.”

Alfred’s eyes widen as he stops moving trays onto the table. “You’re going after her, then?”

“No, Alfred, I am not.”

Bruce picks up the paper, as nonchalant as ever, and more convincing than when he turns on his Brucie Wayne charm.

“Why ever not, sir?”

“She asked me not to. And after her reaction to me last night, I’m inclined to listen to her.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Bruce drops the paper and looks at Alfred. “I am going to do exactly what she said.” When the paper covers his face again, he adds, “For a while.”

“Good man,” Alfred mutters, returning to serving breakfast.

✯✯✯✯✯

Realistically, you know that breaking into Arkham and executing a patient isn’t the best idea, but it would solve the problem. However, there’s the downside of life in prison for first-degree murder that you’d have to contend with. Bruce would surely visit you, but you don’t want to lose him before you get him back.

Perched on a rooftop, you watch Arkham and hope your trap is being laid as planned. The security lights blink on seconds before the alarm sounds. If Arkham Asylum is good for anything, it’s the consistency of frequent breakouts. No matter who breaks out tonight, you’re prepared. All you have to do is convince them to lay a trap for Joker, convincing him that you killed someone, and then you can pounce. Watching the alley below you, you furrow your brows as you lean forward.

“Catwoman?” you ask incredulously.

She looks up, tilting her head at the sight of you. “Reaper?” she asks, sounding far too excited.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Thieving, I presume?” She nods, and you lower yourself onto a fire escape before jumping to meet her. “There’s nothing here worth stealing.”

“Maybe.”

You clench your hands into fists and look down the alley.

“I think the better question is what are you doing here, Reaper? I’m not exactly in your demographic.”

Under your mask, you press your lips together and consider confiding in her. She cares about Batman as far as you can tell, so if you tell her Joker is planning to kill him (though, in reality, Bruce is his likely target), she may be willing to help.

“Batman dump you? He does that,” Catwoman hums.

“What? No, no, we’re not together like that.”

“Yet,” Catwoman interjects.

“Look, Joker is going to try to kill someone that I love. He’s already ruined my family forever.”

“You just moved here, who could you possibly love here? I thought I fell fast.”

“I grew up here, and-“

Your mind races as you remember that you haven’t been seen with Bruce since returning, but Joker has been out since then. Pulling the earpiece from your pocket, you hope someone is in the Batcave.

“Hello?” you ask into it, desperate and terrified for your family. “Take whatever you want,” you tell Catwoman when you don’t get an answer, “heck, take something for me too. But if you see Batman, tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Sure.” You move toward the end of the alley before Catwoman asks, “What should we call you?”

Smiling, you answer, “Reaper is growing on me.”

“Good luck, Reaper.”

You could have taken a grappling hook before you left Wayne Manor last night, but you were more concerned with Bruce’s safety than yours. Getting off of Arkham Island and into Gotham Heights will take too long on foot.

“Batman?” you ask, trying the comm again. “Anybody?”

“You called?”

You slide to a stop, nearly falling over, when you see Batman perched on a roof, looming like a gargoyle. He spreads his cape as he moves to the road before you. Looking down at you, though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s trying to ensure you’re safe and unharmed.

“He’s going after Barbara. I thought he meant you, but he was out when I saw Barbara.”

“I’ll call Gordon. We need to get to Gotham Heights.”

“We’ll never make it in time. The alarm sounded twenty minutes ago.”

Bruce’s head turns toward you as he presses a button on his utility belt. The Batmobile turns a corner, coming to a stop beside you. Your eyes widen as the top opens, jumping in the passenger seat as you look at everything in awe.

“Barbara is stronger, and knows more than you think, but she can’t hold him off forever.”

You nod, prepared to do whatever you have to do. Even if it means making Bruce hate you.

“And I forgive you. Whatever you do, I understand,” Bruce says quietly. “Just- just remember that your actions affect more people than just you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s a trap. The driveway beside Barbara’s place is decorated like the cookout where you met Joker.

“Go check on Babs, I’m right behind you,” you tell Batman.

He hesitates, noticing exactly where your focus is, before tapping your shoulder and running toward Barbara’s door. When Batman is out of sight, Joker’s laugh surrounds you.

“Did you do it?” Joker asks, stepping out of the shadows.

“No.”

“Whyever not?” he asks with a laugh.

“Because I’m not a killer. We are not the same.”

“Come over here,” he demands. You listen despite your body’s urging to leave. “And give me a real reason,” he adds when you stop across a picnic table from him.

“That is the real answer. I will not do to another family what you did to mine. I’m not a killer.”

“Now, now, now, that’s not true.”

His eyes are fixed on your mask, likely imagining your furrowed brows and scared eyes. “Is the mask necessary, Reaper? We know one another. It’s just family here.”

You swallow as you rip the mask off, levelling your gaze on Joker, determined not to show him how much he is affecting you.

“If you hurt her, I will end you.”

Joker flaps a dismissive hand. “She’s fine. I just needed a reason to celebrate, but you didn’t keep your end of the bargain.”

“I’m not-“

“A killer, yes, so you say. However, there’s a family out there that begs to differ.”

You lick your lips, unsure how he knows this. The record was redacted and eventually destroyed, so no one outside of your team at the time should know.

Joker’s laugh draws your attention back to him. “You are a killer. Just like me.”

Shaking your head, you flinch when Joker slaps his hands onto the table, leaning forward to get closer to you. 

“Joseph,” Joker whispers, smiling widely at your surprised movement.

Someone screams in the distance, and you remember your promise: to protect your home, no matter the cost. Unholstering the gun you hadn’t carried in years, you hold it to Joker’s forehead.

“Do it,” he begs, leaning against the barrel. “Show them how alike we are.”

Your arm shakes as you fight to do it. With a finger on the trigger, Joker should be gone already, but you can’t do it.

Lowering the gun, you sigh, preparing for Joker’s next idea or a surprise dose of his laughing toxin. He watches you until he reaches for something. Before you can lunge forward to stop him, a shot rings out in the Gotham night. You hear it as Joker jerks to the side, slumping to the ground. Turning toward the right, you search the skyline for the shooter. You see a familiar salute and laugh to yourself as the silhouette disappears.

 “Reaper!” Batman yells, rushing toward you. He slows as he sees you standing over Joker.

There’s a note, half blown apart. He took credit. You laugh again, oblivious to Batman’s concerned gaze on the back of your head. The laughter quickly turns to hiccups as you fight to remain composed. You walked out of Wayne Manor prepared to assassinate Joker. Now that you have essentially been an accomplice to his death and reminded of your worst mistake, you’re falling apart.

Bruce whispers your name, a hand on your arm as he turns you away. He raises a hand to your jaw as the first tear rolls down your cheek.

“I killed him,” you admit.

“No, you didn’t. That shot was too far away, no one will blame you.”

“I killed Joseph,” you repeat. “I didn’t see him, and there was so much fog and- I shouldn’t have taken the shot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I left the Army and joined SWAT because I killed a civilian. I don’t know how Joker knew, but he was right. I am a killer.”

“Hey, hey.” When you don’t respond, Batman summons the Batmobile, whispering to Gordon on the phone as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Once you’re in Wayne Manor, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and one of Bruce’s shirts, he pulls you into his arms.

“You’re not like Joker, and you’re not a killer. Friendly fire is a terrible thing, but it’s not your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself for that. Saving people has its costs, and if I could take the guilt from you, I would.”

“I don’t even know how it happened,” you confess, “I dream about it all the time, but I don’t remember actually pulling the trigger.”

“You may never know. But either way, you can forgive yourself and move on.”

Wiping under your eyes, you lean against Bruce’s chest as you ask, “What did Gordon say? How’s Babs?””

“Their ballistics team is examining the velocity and angle to find where the shot came from. Barbara didn’t even know anything was happening, she’s fine.”

“The roof of Verdant in The Narrows,” you whisper, laying an open hand over Bruce’s heart.

“That’s too far for a shot like that.”

“Not for Army snipers.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Used to be,” you shrug before adding, “Lawton started killing for money, and I couldn’t support that.”

“Wait,” Bruce interjects, pushing you back slightly, ducking to look into your eyes. “You’re telling me that Deadshot just killed Joker? For free?”

“He doesn’t do anything for free,” you answer, smiling. “But I didn’t pay him if that’s what you think. Besides, he left a calling card of sorts.”

“Not at all. Batman will call Gordon tomorrow and let him know.”

“What’s Batman doing tonight?”

“He’s on vacation,” Bruce sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. “And Bruce Wayne is catching up with an old friend.”

Smiling, you turn sideways to press your chest against Bruce, laying your arms over his shoulders.

“I think that sounds like a great night.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“I found something,” Bruce says, removing his cowl as you enter the Batcave.

“A life?” you joke.

“Ha. No, I had a friend of mine go searching for that destroyed Army record.”

“Why?” you ask quietly, wringing your fingers together.

“Because you didn’t kill Joseph. Your gun never went off, and the shot came from a different direction with a much higher velocity. This looked like sniper.”

“You think it was Lawton?”

“Wouldn’t be surprising.” Bruce tilts your head toward him and looks you in the eye to add, “But the important thing is that you have no reason to keep carrying that burden.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Come on patrol with me.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“You won’t. Not with me around.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, Bats.”

“Catwoman,” Batman answers.

“Reaper was looking for you a few nights ago.”

“Yeah, we ran into each other. Thanks, though.”

“She said you weren’t together like we were, but I find that very hard to believe.”

“Give them back,” you say, surprising both Catwoman and Batman.

“Give what back?” she parrots.

You hold your hand out. “The pearl necklace and earrings you stole. They’re not worth anything to the woman, but they’re sentimental.”

Catwoman huffs, pulling a small bag from her pouch and tossing it to you. “I chose them for you anyway.”

“What?”

“You said to steal something for you too.”

“I thought my best friend was about to get murdered, I didn’t mean it!”

“And did you mean what you said about not being with Bats here?” She places a hand on her hip, and you take the opportunity to look at Batman before answering.

“He’s just not my type,” you answer, shrugging one shoulder.

You see his jaw twitch before he nods his farewell to Catwoman.

“I didn’t mean it,” you whisper as you walk past him. “And we’ve got a crocodile to catch.”

Batman sighs. “Welcome to Gotham.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Whose are they?” Bruce asks as you examine the pearl jewellery.

“Mine,” you answer, not looking at him. “What are the chances she’d use my permission to thieve to rob me?”

“Not bad with Sel- Catwoman.”

“Selina Kyle, yeah, I know.”

“Sentimental, huh?”

You turn toward Bruce, passing him the necklace.

“I told your mom that I liked her pearls, like five months before she was killed, and the next day she surprised me. She picked me up from school and told me we were going shopping. They’re the cheapest ones the store had, but I’ve loved them ever since because they came from someone I loved and… I guess they made me feel a bit more like her, and she was amazing.”

When you look back at Bruce, he’s still holding the necklace, but his gaze is on you. He sets the necklace down, stepping toward you. Gripping your waist, he pulls you against him with a wide smile.

“You’re amazing too.”

“Not like her.”

“There’s no one quite like her. But she loved you too, more than you know. Actually, she thought we were going to get married,” Bruce adds, nudging his nose against yours.

“I did too,” you whisper.

Bruce kisses you quickly, pulling back to gauge your reaction.

“Based on the newspapers, I thought you’d be better than that,” you tease.

Bruce clicks his tongue before pulling you into another kiss. While he takes your breath, he fills you with love and hope. His hands keep you as close as possible, one sliding up to hold your head as he deepens the kiss, whispering something against your lips.

“Wait,” you mumble, moving your hands from his jaw to his chest. “What did you say?”

Bruce smirks, the charm that no one gets to see any more on display. “That I love you.”

Your eyes widen, and you grip his shoulders as you rise to kiss him, informing him that you feel the same. “I love you more,” you say against his lips, melting into him as you become one.

“My mom would want you to have her pearls,” Bruce whispers, rubbing his thumb in large sweeping motions against your upper hip. “And she’d want us to see where this goes.”

“Your mom was very smart,” you muse, putty in Bruce’s hands as he moves to the couch, tugging you into his lap.

“Did you love my mom enough to take her last name eventually?”

“This is more important – I love you enough.”

“Finally!” Alfred exclaims as he walks in with a tray of tea and biscuits. “It is about time you officially join the family and take the name.”

[multiheadcanons]

THE MERCS BUT THEYRE THE CLEANING CREW ON HOARDERS. I DOMT KNOW WHY I THOUGHT OF THIS.

scout: he is gagging. retching behind his mask. giving the camera hard stares while the client is speaking. scout will make anyone feel embarrassed about the state that they live in, and not in a good way. if it wouldn’t catch him a lawsuit, he would shake some of these people by their shoulders. takes a scalding shower after every house. he is a commercial liability in those houses, honestly. but his interviews make the episodes… so funny. you know if scout is in an episode because the ratings on those episodes are solidly tripled and intensively meme’d. and the studio is not losing their viewers. so scout stays on the show.

soldier: a commercial and legal liability except he is interacting directly with the clients. soldier will shake them by their shoulders and tell them to get their life together. but he’s not the therapist. he is a cleaner. single handedly costs the studio the entire lawsuit budget for emotional damages. soldier will absolutely just… physically remove the client from the house and return them when they’re done. they don’t even have to pull soldier aside for the interviews, you can hear the man down the street. viewership is doubled when soldier is in an episode, and react youtubers have a field day with him.

pyro: pyro is all of us in some of those episodes. pyro is only called in by the sheriff’s department or the police department to torch the house to the ground. nobody calls pyro in for anything other than absolute incineration of a condemned property, or incineration of contaminated items. and they’ll let pyro do it with plausible deniability and give them the time to get out of the scene before they feel obligated to take pyro in for their multiple felonies and warrants. but really, they consider that community service. pyro just considers it a good time. sometimes though, that stench is awful.

demo: one of the therapists. he can usually hold it together, but the extreme cases will drive him to drink once filming is done. he is a kind man, understanding and patient, but he also will get in the client’s face and become a very direct man if they start getting aggressive with the rest of the team. the client is not to get in his team’s face. they can feel however they want to, and demo will let them, but they won’t take it out on his team.

heavy: the best therapist saved for the worst cases and he hates it. they only call him in for the most combative clients. able to maintain composure through the most explosive moments, heavy is not a man who is easily intimidated, especially not by hoarders. he will touch your hand and let you know you live in filth, and will immediately point out exactly where this behavior is coming from. react youtubers have a field day with him too, since he seems to be the only person speaking any real sense on the camera.

engineer: head of the cleaning crew. he will call the cops so fast at any escalation, and the southern charm is enough that he can generally manipulate and sway most clients into getting rid of more than they otherwise would. before the client can second guess themselves the dump truck is speeding away, and engineer will continue to work. fast, efficient. will usually just bring a pickup truck, fill the bed of it, and speed it off so that the client simply doesn’t have the chance to try to go back through it. by the time the client starts asking, engineer is already steering their attention elsewhere.

medic: the worst therapist. he will find the most sensible adult and put them in charge. will just physically remove the client from the property, offer them lunch, directly lie to them, hardly actually figure out why they are the way they are, give them a referral to someone else and drop them off to a clean house and speed away. he’s not there to actually help, he’s there as a distraction for the rest of the team to work with the family to clean the home. whatever the repercussions of it, he won’t be there to experience.

sniper: will normally drive the dump truck. he would prefer to not go into the house, but he will if absolutely all hands are needed on deck. he can maintain a straight face, unlike his offensive teammates, but the second he thinks he's out of earshot he is gagging behind his mask. and the mask will never come off, because then it's obvious he's grimacing. he attempts to hold the nuance that these clients are sick, that this is an illness and they are suffering, but holy hell. he can't even begin to imagine what could happen to someone that would turn them to this. doesn't have nearly as much of an issue with demo's drinking after these jobs.

spy: resident lawyer. exhausted and inundated with countless court cases from soldier, every time the team gets called to a house spy has to triple check the paperwork to see if there's any possible way to make the contract more iron-clad than it already is, but somehow soldier always finds a way nullify those attempts. if it were up to spy, soldier would've been fired by now. soldier would've never been hired. but the ratings are too good. so instead spy has to work for every penny he makes. will never show up to a client's house unless it is an emergency, and to spy, there is no emergency dire enough for him to have to show up to the house. you can meet him in his office.

[razzellyn]

Happy Holidays, Happy New Year, Happy Everybody!

MCB & Reader

Reader is called Emsy because

M= Em

C= Sy

Therefore

Em + Sy = Emsy

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The blankets were all carefully laid out on the grass. Food, snacks, and drinks were placed neatly on the blanket, enough food to fill almost two blankets full. You couldn't be any more excited. After having to explain exactly why this day was going to be special to the bots, you managed to gather everyone you knew to this little party.

Fairy lights hung from tree to tree, branch to branch, dimly lighting up the hill with its soft glow. There was a table on the side, used merely to store some extra foods and firecrackers. You knew it would all be a hassle to clean up alone, but you couldn't have cared less.

Now, the only thing left to do, is to wait for them to arrive...

░░░░░░░░░░░░

It had only been an hour, yet it almost seemed like the whole world was here with you! The bots were careful enough around the little space you've made, treading lightly whenever they had to pass by. Sure, there's already a few accidents here and there, but you managed through with a smile.

"Emsy! Thank you for inviting us!"

A voice you had long gotten accustomed to greeted you softly. Jun's mother had always been a delight to be around with.

"It's no problem, just thought it'd be nice to have everyone around for this."

"Well, isn't that sweet! I've brought a couple of things that Jun liked to eat, some fuel for the bots too!"

You simply thanked her and went back to tidying up a mess that Mega Trucker had made, her attention was already on Buffalo Crush anyway. You find yourself smiling at the scene, before something—or someone— tapped on your shoulder.

"Do you need assistance, Emsy?"

Blue Cop appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. It almost scared you at first, but you were quick to regain your composure.

"Not at the moment, no. Just keep an eye out for the others first will you?"

"Of course."

He answered, though he seemed a little disappointed. Perhaps he was really looking forward to helping? You'll have to apologize later if it makes him sad. Either way, you still had a mess to clean up.

░░░░░░░░░░░░

8:25 PM.

"Are you two serious right now?"

You say, as Black Hook and Heavy Iron stared into each other's eyes—optics—whatever they called it. Shaking your head in disbelief, an idea suddenly caught in your mind. You handed them a cleaning rag.

"... What-?"

You cut him off before you could speak any further.

"Clean the mess you two made!"

"Tsk, as if we'd-"

"Clean or you're not invited!"

For some reason, with that sentence alone, they immediately went to work. You let out a satisfied huff as you watched them work. You could even hear a slight chuckle from a voice you distinctly remember as Buster Gallon.

"What a bunch of idiots."

░░░░░░░░░░░░

9:00 PM.

Setting up the fireworks were... surprisingly easy. Sure, Phoenix Fire were reciting what could possibly go wrong, but Mega Ambler had been there to calm him down. Albeit, slightly calmed him down. You could tell he was still a bit stressed out.

"It's not that bad."

You spoke out softly, walking over to where Phoenix Fire stood just a few feet away from the fireworks.

He sighed, or at least sounded like he did. He was looking at you with worry.

"I know, I know. I just... I wanted to make sure."

It was quite endearing how concerned he was for everyone, but at the same time it could be a little bit too much. Still, you gave him your best smile, hoping that it would ease his worries.

"I can see why you'd be worried. But don't worry, everything is under control!"

"Hrmn... I hope so."

Seems like he still needs some convincing. But it's no problem, you've always been good at making others feel better! You gently placed a hand on his arm, patting softly, wondering if he could even feel that.

He seemed to be, as he glanced down at you with his optics, and you smiled up at him.

"Well, if something were to happen... I've got you and Mega Ambler to assist, don't i?"

Phoenix Fire pondered your words for a moment, then he smiled. Well, he can't. But you can always tell with their optics.

"Yeah... You've got me! Don't worry, I'll keep you—all of you—safe!"

And out of the corner of your eye, you could see Mega Ambler nodding as a thank you your way.

░░░░░░░░░░░░

10:41 PM.

"Again?!"

You exclaimed loudly as you stared at Mega Trucker and Shadow X, both desperately trying to fix the hanging lights they 'accidentally' kicked off the tree. They stared at you with wide optics, before Shadow X quickly pointed toward Mega Trucker.

"He did it!"

He vanished immediately.

"Wha- hey?! Where do you think you're going?!"

Mega Trucker pointlessly swung his arm around in the air. All the while he was scooting away from you, slowly but slowly.

"And where do you think you're going, hmmm?"

Mega Trucker paused for a moment, before deciding to make a break for it. Before you could even stop him however, a loud thud echoed through the air. For a moment you were scared to turn around, but when you did you couldn't have been more surprised.

Wild Guardy was seen, dragging a seemingly unconscious Mega Trucker by his arm.

"I hope he's not bothering you."

He spoke ever so calmly. Meanwhile you were too stunned by what happened to be able to verbally answer, and instead gave him a nod.

At least that's one problem down.

░░░░░░░░░░░░

11:30 PM.

"What... Are you guys up to?"

Well actually, you didn't really need to ask. It's obvious just what happened here. Dexter has managed to lure Blue Cop and Buffalo Crush to hold and play with stray cats.

Safe to say, Blue Cop feels awkward holding them, yet Buffalo Crush was definitely amazed by them.

"They're playing with strays that Dexter has managed to catch."

Fleta Z answered, seemingly out of nowhere. Perhaps he had noticed that the other three have yet to notice you.

Not that you minded, they looked so silly like this! You decided to just take a picture of them with your phone.

░░░░░░░░░░░░

• 11:50 PM.

As of now, everyone has gathered around. Some sat on the blankets or close to it, while only a few were still helping setting up the fireworks. Those few, of course, included you. Helping Edo and Jun's father to set up the fireworks.

At some point, Jun, Theo, and Anna approached. Deciding that they'd lend a hand in however way they can.

• 11:55 PM.

Can you believe it? Ha, you couldn't! 2024 has ended, and a new year awaits you. You don't even know what lies ahead of you. But seeing all these people around you, these friends, family, and even strangers...

It makes you feel as if everything would be okay.

And it will be.

And as you sat on the blanket, alongside everyone that you knew, looking up at the sky, awaiting the lights decorating them, there is only one thing that i want to tell you.

Thank you.

00:00 PM.