#i feel like i need to go jump around in the snow to chill out bc im just so overly pleased abt this SBDJDML

[cellythefloshie]

;; I Want Your Midnights     𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 from cellythefloshie

Summary: You and Jeremy are forced to ring in the new year together after you find yourself stuck in an elevator. Inspired by that time Swayman got stuck in an elevator. Kinks & TW: getting stuck in an elevator, new years kiss, forced proximity. Word Count: 2.2k

There was nowhere else you wanted to spend New Year's Eve than with your family, so when your brother invited you to his home in Boston to celebrate, you jumped at the opportunity. But you didn’t realize what exactly you were getting yourself into. 

You arrived at his Boston apartment, dressed in a silver mini dress that rivaled a disco ball, a pair of new-years themed sunglasses on your face and a wine bottle in each hand. You had every intention of getting wine drunk and taking drunken pictures with your soon to be sister-in-law. But when you walked in the door to a crowded apartment filled with your brother's teammates among their family and friends, you hid your frown behind a forced smile. You would have to be on your best behavior, or at the very least, try to be.

But you could only tolerate the crowds, the watered down drinks and the fake smile you wore on your lips for so long. You wanted nothing more to be yourself, but you couldn’t. Not with the entire team there. As a promise to your brother, you needed to keep up appearances as his sweet baby sister. But the longer you kept up the facade, the more it felt like the air in the room grew heavy and was suffocating around you. You needed some time alone - you needed to go somewhere you couldn’t hear the laughter, the chatter, or the clinking of champagne glasses. So you grabbed your coat and found yourself outside, alone. 

Compared to the party inside, the streets were quiet. The occasional car would rush through the slush on the streets before disappearing into the city and leaving nothing but the swirl of snowfall in the air. You pulled your coat tightly around your dress, your hands resting at the collar to protect your bare neck from the icy wind. You stood there under the amber glow of the streetlight; the snowflakes danced softly around you like a scene of a snow globe. You smiled at the feeling of the flakes hitting your cheeks, their chill melting away when met by the heat of your skin. Looking up at the sky, you admired how the moon hung high and bright in the skies, waiting for the kiss of fireworks to grace it. At that moment, the world felt calm, like holiday magic was in the air before it would become lost at the dawn of the new year. 

A single hand left your neck to dip into the warmth of your pocket. Frigid fingers wrapped around your phone, bringing the screen to life with a "fingerprint doesn’t match" message dancing at the bottom of the screen. Normally the message would annoy you, but you only needed to see the time–it would be midnight soon.  

Your heels slipped on the icy Boston sidewalks as you shuffled back into the apartment lobby. The door was cold against your shoulder as you leaned into it to push it open, not wanting to remove your hand from the warmth of the pocket, and you stomped your feet on the wet mat on the floor. Each impact made a squish of dirty water with each step that was almost more slippery than the ice outside. And it was just as slippery to walk on in your heels as you noticed the elevator doors closing. You weren't waiting for the elevator to come back down if you didn’t have you, so you rushed to it with quick steps, your hand shooting out of your pocket and between the closing doors. For a moment, you thought the door might crush your hand, but when they parted instead and you saw who was already inside, but you quickly found that you wished it had. 

Standing there, still draped in his coat, and large flakes of snow in his hair was one of your brother’s teammates looking like the male lead of a Hallmark holiday movie. Jeremy. Fucking. Swayman. 

“I’m just going to take the stairs,” you muttered, taking a step away from the elevator. Your hand slipped away, but Jeremy’s hand quickly took its place to keep the doors from closing. 

“It’s a quick ride up,” Jeremy spoke, his voice warm yet teasing as he looked at you with a soft smile. “You’ll only have to tolerate me for 15 floors.”

For a moment, you stood dead in your tracks, looking at him through your lashes in what you were sure was a glare. It was no secret that you and Jeremy hadn’t exactly hit it off the first time you had met and it was to no fault of his own. It was very much the opposite. Jeremy was practically perfect. Handsome. Successful. Impossibly nice. He was the kind of guy your parents wished you would bring home, and that was the very reason you couldn’t tolerate breathing the same air as him. 

You in the phase of your life that you were stuck being drawn to all the wrong things–bad boys, late nights and relationships that went nowhere because the fuckboys ghosted you before you could catch feeling. Men like that paired so perfectly with your desire for loud music and a taste for expensive wine. Jeremy was the very opposite of all that, and because of that deep down,in a place you kept hidden away in the subconscious of your mind that only just the right of alcohol could unlock, you knew that if you let yourself, you could easily fall in love with Jeremy Swayman. But falling for someone like him felt too risky–like too much potential for heartache. 

Sighing, surely loud enough for Jeremy to hear, you stepped into the elevator with nothing more than a nod of acknowledgment. Then you stood there straight and stiff, your hands coming together to wring at one another as you stared straight ahead at the elevator doors. You watch your distorted reflection as the elevator traveled up, only to look away when you felt the elevator lurch. It sent your stomach into your through, your heart skipping a beat as you looked up to the numbers at the top elevator. If the dim light of the numbers were any indication, the two of you were stuck somewhere between the 9th and 10th floors. 

Narrowing your gaze, you looked at Jeremy, who was looking right back at you, but he was no longer smiling. He wore the same concerned expression as you. 

“You’re not fucking with me, are you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice from cracking. 

“Afraid not,” he replied, his tone serious.

A wave of panic blossomed through your chest in a wave of heat that left you sweating. The air around you felt thick and hard to breathe in, as you shrugged off your coat and let it fall to the ground. Without its weight on your shoulders, you reached a hand out and pressed each button. When the first didn’t get it moving, your movements became more frantic. Each button was alight like a holiday tree, but not a single one of them got the elevator moving again. Stumbling back, your back hit the wall of the elevator that suddenly felt smaller. 

You had completely forgotten Jeremy was there, stuck with you, until you felt each of his hands as they cupped your cheeks. His sudden touch was warm, comforting even, as you heard his soft words in the deafening quiet of the elevator. Jeremey’s words were soft as he walked you through your breathing, anxious gasps for air quickly calming into steady breaths with his guidance. It left your eyes shutting, your hands coming up to grasp at his wrists to ground yourself with him for a moment. You leaned into his touch, focused on the warmth of his hands, and welcomed the calmness of his voice. 

Only with his help did your panic subside. 

“Thank you,” you offered quietly. “Does your phone have any signal in here?”

A single hand dropped away from your cheek. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he had looked at his phone. You could hear his sigh leave his lips. He had no signal. Dropping to your knees, you let your eyes fall on your coat. Digging into your coat pocket, you found your phone only to find the same. 

“Well, that’s about as useless as a brick,” you groaned, your hand wrapping around it tightly until your knuckles were white. You wanted to throw it. Let it bound off the elevator walls and leave its screen broken as it lay on the ground–but it would solve nothing, so you just let yourself slip to the ground fully, sitting there on your jacket to keep your ass from getting wet, and sat there defeated. 

You watched as Jeremy pressed the emergency button, waiting for the elevator to come to life with its ring, but there was no call. No connection. Just a droning ring that left your heart racing with panic once more. 

“Let’s hope someone hears that,” he says, his tone becoming heavy with the realization that help might not be coming. 

“If it stops, we will keep ringing it,” you suggest, your voice uneven and shaky. “Someone will notice we’re missing eventually, right?”

“Yeah, right,” Jeremy nodded, offering you another soft smile as he took off his coat and laid it out on the floor next to you. 

Jeremy’s body slid against the back wall until the two of you were sitting side by side in silence. You waited for the ringing to fade before you reached out and pressed the button again. You took turns pressing it every few minutes until. It didn’t take long for the efforts to feel useless and the silence to grow heavy between you. It was then the small talk began. 

“Are you having a good season?” You asked him slowly, your head lulling to the side to look at him. 

Jeremy smiled, and you noticed his shoulders rock as he let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, it’s good, but you knew that.”

You watched a fair share of their games, you couldn't deny that. Not that you watched every game, you had a life outside your brother’s hockey career. Nodding slowly, you let your hand slip down to your phone; the screen illuminating the space between you with its light and the time was blatantly on the screen. Midnight was minutes away, and that fact sent your heart sinking a little. So much for ringing in the new year with family and friends.

“Hot date waiting for you?” Jeremy asked, his tone teasing but gentle. 

“Nope,” you sighed, your head shaking slowly, “just me and a bottle of champagne. You?”

He grinned, a twinkle of mischief that resembled the one you had so often gleaming in his eyes. “It’s just you and me in here, isn’t it?”

Smiling, you looked from side to side playfully, as if someone were hiding in the small elevator. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Swayman.”

“Call me Jeremy,” he insisted, and suddenly your stomach was fluttering with butterflies. 

Your skin flushed with heat, this time for all different reasons that panic. Biting down on the inside of your cheeks, trying to distract your mind from the feelings that crept up on you, you averted your eyes down to your phone screen. 11:59.

The seconds were ticking down to midnight now, and you could feel Jeremy’s eyes on you. You told yourself not to look up, feeling in the very air what would happen if you did. But the moment the clock on your phone struck midnight, your eyes had found him and the air between you shifted. There was no fear or panic of being stuck in the elevator for a moment, there was only the fixation of Jeremy’s lips as he leaned in and pressed his lips to your. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but when your hands raised to grip at the collar of his shirt, his hand came up to cup your cheek. The kiss deepened, and you lost yourself in the warmth of his lips and how he tasted as you parted your lips and welcomed his tongue. It had been enough to make you shudder; the kiss striking electricity to you like a bolt of lightning that sent you recoiling at the realization of what you were doing. 

But as you pulled back, it wasn’t regret you were feeling, nor was it shame. There was a lingering excitement that confirmed all your worries to be true. As desperately as you tried not to let it happen, you were falling for Jeremy Swayman. Choking back your pride, you pressed up onto your knees, ready to lean in for another kiss–

Sudden movement from the elevator sent you lurching back from Jeremy and your neck snapping back to look up at the lights as they illuminated the number ten. Then, with a loud ding, the elevator doors parted, flooding the dimly lit space with light. Squinting your eyes, you welcome the sight of a group of firefighters, your brother, and several party guests staring at the two of you. You should have been relieved to see them, but all you could feel was embarrassment, as on Jeremy’s lips was clearly your own lipstick. 

TAGLIST: @mp0625 , @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @kurlyteuvo , @couldawouldashoulda50 , @hagelpoint-3821

[dandyshucks]

okay i didnt show the counselor any of my selfship art (except that one digital piece i did of julian and star bc i have plausible deniability w that one) but i did show her the one page of Just Guz that I've drawn where its a bunch of wrestling poses djsksl and she said "that actually looks like a real guy!" when I said "he's uhh a fictional character,, from uhmm pokemon i think,,, but I made him into a wrestler here haha" DBDJDKL and now im just feeling like :]

^ me when someone who doesnt know my fictional bf tells me that he looks like a real guy !!!!!

[buzzinrusso]

second chances?

Where ex lovers run into eachother.

Word count : 3k

The snow falls softly, dusting the cobblestone streets and clinging to rooftops like powdered sugar. Christmas lights twinkle above the market stalls, casting warm glows on the festive scene below. The air smells of pine, roasted chestnuts, and cinnamon, and everything feels like it’s straight out of a holiday movie—a perfect postcard moment.

But for you,it’s not perfect. Not anymore.

You pull your scarf tighter around your neck, the chill creeping into your bones. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t come here today, but something in you—something stubborn and nostalgic—had drawn you back. The market was always your favorite part of Christmas, and for a long time, it was something you shared with Lena. The two of you used to come every year, hand in hand, sipping mulled cider and picking out ornaments that you never really needed but bought anyway.

You shake your head, forcing yourself to focus on the present, to stop the memories from swallowing you whole.

It’s been months since Lena left.

Months since she walked away from you and everything you thought you had.

And now, standing in the middle of the busy market, you realize just how badly you’ve been pretending to be okay. You should’ve stayed home, away from this place, away from the past. But you didn’t. The weight of the memories is heavy on your chest, and you feel like you might break under its pressure.

And then you see her.

You freeze. For a moment, you’re sure it’s a trick of the light. But no—there she is, standing a few feet away, bundled in a dark coat and scarf, looking exactly the same and somehow completely different. Her hair peeks out from beneath the knitted hat, and her eyes meet yours before she blinks, like she’s not sure she’s seeing you either.

Your heart jumps in your chest. You want to walk away. You want to turn around and pretend this isn’t happening. But you can’t move.

Her gaze softens, and she steps forward hesitantly, like she’s testing the waters. Her eyes are wide, filled with something you can’t quite place.

“y/n?” she says, her voice thick with disbelief.

The way she says your name, it breaks something inside of you. You thought you were done. You thought you’d buried it all, that the past was something you could leave behind. But here she is, standing right in front of you, and everything inside you shifts. It’s as if time hasn’t passed at all. The ache in your chest feels as fresh as the moment she left.

“Lena.” The word slips from your lips before you can stop it.

You see her flinch, just for a second, and you hate how it makes you feel. It’s not supposed to matter anymore. She’s the one who left, after all. But still, you can’t help the rush of emotions that hit you all at once. Anger, sadness, relief, longing.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but it cracks. You hate how fragile it sounds.

“Just… looking,” Lena replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” you ask, the words leaving your mouth sharper than you intended. You can’t seem to help it. You’re still angry, still so deeply hurt.

Lena looks down, rubbing her hands together, and the silence between you stretches. It’s thick and heavy, like you’re both too scared to say the wrong thing.

You almost turn away. Almost. But then, she looks up at you again, her eyes searching yours like she’s trying to find the right words.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Lena says, her voice small.

“Me neither,” you mutter, shifting on your feet. You try to move away, but she steps closer, and something inside you tightens.

“I… I should go,” Lena says suddenly, stepping back like she’s afraid you’ll push her away.

And for a moment, you almost want to. But then something else rises up in you, something too tired to ignore. It’s been so long. You’ve spent so many nights missing her, hating her, hoping that she might come back. And here she is.

“Wait,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

She freezes, her hand hovering in midair. She’s looking at you again, searching for something in your eyes. The moment hangs between you, fragile and uncertain.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice faltering. “Just… wait.”

Lena hesitates, looking torn. You know you’ve hurt her—left her when she needed you most. But you can’t stop the words from spilling out, can’t stop the part of you that still wants her.

Finally, she nods, and you both walk to a nearby bench. It’s tucked away from the bustling market, quieter here, but it doesn’t feel peaceful. It feels like the calm before a storm. You sit beside her, close but not touching, like you’re both too afraid to cross the invisible line between you.

“So..."lena says softly, after a long silence. Her voice is shaky, unsure, and it kills you to hear it like that.

You swallow, trying to steady yourself. It’s not easy. You don’t know how to start, don’t know how to face the mess you’ve both made.

“I’m sorry,” Lena says, her voice breaking just slightly.

You blink, surprised. “That’s it?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intend.

She flinches, and your chest tightens at the sight. You didn’t mean to hurt her again. But you can’t help it. You’ve been carrying the weight of her leaving for so long that it feels like it might crush you if you don’t say something.

“No,” she says quickly. “No, it’s not. I just—” She runs a hand through her hair, like she’s trying to find the right words, but they’re tangled up in the same mess of emotions that you’re both holding onto. “I don’t know where to start.”

You nod, your lips pressing into a thin line. “Maybe start with why you left.”

Lena’s face falls. You see the flicker of pain in her eyes, and it cuts you deeper than you expect. She takes a deep breath, and for a moment, you think she might not say anything. But then, finally, her voice comes, quiet and broken.

“Because I was scared,” she admits, and it’s as though all the air leaves the space between you. “I was scared of losing you, of how much I loved you.”

You don’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t the only one who was scared. You were too. You still are.

“I thought I was going to ruin everything,” Lena continues, her voice thick with emotion. “And I couldn’t live with the idea of you waking up one day and realizing I wasn’t enough for you.” She pauses, her gaze dropping to the ground. “So I ran. I left before you could leave me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of all the things that were left unsaid. You can feel the anger rising again, but it’s not just anger anymore. It’s hurt. It’s betrayal. It’s all the years of being afraid to love her because you weren’t sure if you could trust her.

You shake your head, your heart pounding in your chest. “But you didn’t have to run, Lena,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “You could’ve stayed. You could’ve fought for us.”

“I know,” she replies, her voice tight. “And I hate myself for it. But I was so afraid. And now… now I can’t take it back.”

You stare at her, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. How do you go back after all of this? How do you forgive something like this, when the wound still feels so fresh?

“I know I hurt you,” Lena says softly. “And I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But I need you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.” She looks up at you, and there’s something raw in her gaze. Something vulnerable that makes your heart ache.

You want to scream at her, to tell her that she doesn’t get to just show up and make everything better with a few words. But instead, you say nothing. You just sit there, letting her words sink in, letting the silence hang between you.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Lena whispers. “But I’ll do anything. Anything to make it right.”

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the weight of her words wash over you. You’ve spent so many months in pain, convincing yourself that you’d be better off without her. But now she’s here, and all the walls you’ve built are starting to crumble.

“Why did you leave?” Lena asks, her voice quieter now. “Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you fight for us?” She’s reaching for something—some answer that you don’t know how to give her. And it makes you feel so small.

You want to tell her everything. The fear. The uncertainty. The way you never thought you could be enough for her. But how do you say those things when your heart is still tangled up in the wreckage she left behind?

You may not have left physically,but you certainly left mentally.

And then, with a deep breath, you say, “I was scared too.”

Lena doesn’t say anything. she just looks at you, her eyes wide with something you can’t name. And for the first time in a long time, you feel the possibility of something else—a chance, however fragile, that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other.

The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of your words. The words you’ve never said before, the truth that’s been buried beneath layers of pride and fear. It feels both freeing and terrifying to admit it out loud.

Lena’s gaze softens, her lips trembling like she’s fighting against something—tears, maybe, or just the overwhelming flood of emotion that’s been building for months. She opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out at first.

“I didn’t know,” she says finally, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know you were scared too.” She looks down at her hands, rubbing them together as if trying to ground herself, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened.

You nod slowly, your eyes tracing the patterns in the snow beneath your boots. "I think I was more scared of being left behind, of never being enough. I couldn’t let myself be that vulnerable with you." The admission feels raw, the truth cutting deeper than you expected.

Lena’s gaze is gentle as she watches you, her own pain evident in the way she’s holding herself. "I thought you’d never love me the way I loved you," she whispers, and there’s an edge to her voice now, one that carries the ache of regret. "I thought I had to leave before you realized I was too broken for you."

The cold bite of the winter air seems to grow more pronounced as you sit there, in the space between you two, the distance once again palpable. But this time, it's not about rejection—it's about understanding, raw and real, in a way you’ve never experienced.

"Do you ever think about what we could have had?" Lena asks softly, her voice quiet but steady.

It’s a question that leaves you still, leaves you breathless. Do you ever think about it? Of course you do. You think about it every day—about the Christmases you spent together, about the laughter you shared, the soft moments when it felt like you were a part of each other. It was the kind of love that seemed invincible, until it wasn’t.

"I think about it every day," you answer honestly, the words slipping past your lips without hesitation. "But I also think about how much it hurt when you left. How you didn’t even try to fight for us. How it felt like you gave up."

You can’t stop yourself now. You’ve held it in for so long, and now it all comes pouring out—your fears, your pain, your loneliness. "You left me, Lena. You didn’t even look back. And that hurt more than anything."

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, it looks like she’s about to break. But she doesn’t. Instead, she looks at you with such sincerity in her eyes that it almost knocks the wind out of you.

"I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you," she says softly, her voice low and trembling. "I left because I loved you so much that I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. I thought leaving was the only way to protect us both."

The way she says it—so fragile, so raw—hits you harder than anything she’s said so far. You thought you were done with her, that you could move on. But as much as you want to stay angry, as much as you want to keep the distance between you, a part of you still feels the pull. That old connection, the one you buried beneath all the hurt, begins to resurface.

You take a shaky breath, the words threatening to tumble out before you can stop them. "I never wanted you to leave, Lena. I just… I didn’t know how to stay in something that felt so uncertain. I didn’t know how to fight for us when I was so afraid of losing myself."

Your withdrawal wasn’t out of a lack of love, but from fear—fear of vulnerability, fear of losing yourself, and fear of an uncertain future with Lena.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The snow falls gently around you, blanketing the world in silence. But it’s not the cold that’s suffocating—it’s the weight of everything unsaid between you, the things you’ve both been holding back, the memories that you’re not sure whether to cherish or curse.

Lena reaches out then, her hand trembling as she brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. It’s a simple gesture, one that used to feel so natural, so effortless. But now it feels like it carries a thousand unspoken words. The moment hangs there, charged with the quiet intensity of everything that has been left unresolved between you.

“I know I hurt you,” Lena says quietly, her voice thick with emotion. “And I don’t know if I can ever make it right. But I need you to know that I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. To prove to you that I’m not running this time.”

You feel the vulnerability in her words, the openness that she’s never shown before. And for the first time in months, something shifts inside you. Maybe it’s the way she looks at you, or maybe it’s the tenderness in her voice that pulls at something deep inside of you. But whatever it is, it cuts through the walls you’ve built.

You close your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you, a storm of emotion breaking over the dam you’ve tried so hard to keep in place. "I don’t know if I can trust you again," you whisper, your voice unsteady. "But I want to. I want to believe that we can fix this."

Lena’s eyes search yours, and she takes a deep breath, her gaze intense. "Then let me show you. Let me prove that I’m here to stay. I’ll do whatever it takes."

You nod slowly, your heart pounding in your chest, unsure of what comes next. But you can’t bring yourself to pull away. The old hurt is still there, lodged in the deepest parts of you, but the possibility of something new—something real—feels almost too tempting to resist.

For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to feel something other than pain. You let yourself feel hope.

"Okay," you say softly, your voice barely a whisper. "But I’m not making promises. I need time."

Lena’s lips tremble, and you see the tears she’s been holding back, the weight of her regret and guilt, threatening to spill over. But she doesn’t cry. Instead, she smiles—a small, tentative thing, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough.

"I’ll wait," Lena says softly, and the sincerity in her voice makes your chest tighten. "I’ll wait as long as you need."

You don’t know what the future holds. You don’t know if this is the beginning of something new or if it’s just another false hope. But for the first time in a long time, you’re willing to take the risk. Maybe this time, things will be different. Maybe, just maybe, you can find your way back to each other.

And with that thought in mind, you take a deep breath, let it go, and step forward—into the unknown, into the second chance you’ve both been waiting for.

Christmas Day

The morning of Christmas is peaceful, quiet. The snow has stopped falling, and the world is wrapped in a blanket of white. You and Lena sit by the window, sipping your coffee, both of you lost in the moment.

It’s not perfect. It’s not how you imagined things would be. But it’s real. And right now, that’s enough.

Lena reaches for your hand, her fingers trembling slightly, but you don’t pull away. You let her hold you. You let her in.

And as the Christmas bells ring in the distance, you know that, for the first time in a long time, there’s hope for a future you once thought was lost.

-----

HELLOO!! Merry Christmas my loves <33 this is the first part of my Christmas trilogy 🤶 I will admit this is one of the longest fics I've written and it took me like 2 weeks and I kept having chat gpt spell check for mistakes...

[midnightwriter21]

Until Now~ (Tanjiro x Reader Angst)

characters: Tanjiro x reader, zenitsu, inosuke

warnings: angst, unrequited love, blood, injury, character death (reader)

an: Part 3 of the Open Wound series!! Read part 1 & 2 before reading this one! This is the last part!

Open Wound (part 1)

Distant (part 2)

It takes several hours to reach the base of the mountain. It takes several more to climb to the peak. By the time you make it there, it is pitch black outside. As you walk through the snow covered forest, you strain your ears trying to figure out the location of the demon. There are no footprints to track. The snow likely covered them up.

After walking for a while, you conclude that you cannot track this demon based on sound. Because there is no sound. It is eerily quiet. The other slayers that were supposed to be on this mission haven't showed up. There are no animals. The wind is not blowing, rustling the leaves. Everything is still, except for the falling snow.

Chills crawling up your body, you whisper to yourself, "Something is wrong here. Where is everyone?" Throwing a glance at the crow sitting on your shoulder, "Where are the animals?"

Your crow cocks its head at you before launching itself into the air as you gasp, "Wait! Where are you going?"

As it flies into the distance you look around the dark, snowy forest. Finding yourself completely alone.

——————————————————————————

A few hours later, at the butterfly mansion, Tanjiro sits outside pondering over the situation.

‘Should I have told her from the beginning? I only wanted to spare her feelings… but I think I made it worse.’ He thinks to himself when suddenly his train of thought is interrupted.

“Y/N L/N!! IN NEED OF IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE!! MOUNT KOMOTORI!!”

“That’s Y/n’s crow!” Tanjiro says out loud.

“Y/N L/N!! IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE!!” The bird repeats.

Snapping into action, Tanjiro runs to get his sword, passing a frazzled Zenitsu, who turns to follow him, also running.

“Did you hear?” Zenitsu questions, “Y/n needs help!”

Tanjiro glances at him, “Yeah… I’m heading there now.”

“So am I.” The blonde nods.

“I’m coming too!” A third voice joins in.

“Inosuke?” Tanjiro questions.

“You didn’t think you could go on a rescue mission without King Inosuke did you?” The boar-headed child laughs, “I’m gonna get there first, save her, and make sure everyone knows how awesome I am!”

“Y/N L/N!! IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE!! HURRY!!” The crow swoops down pecking Zenitsu on the forehead.

“Alright! Zenitsu, you’re faster than us so you go ahead. We’re right behind you.” Tanjiro orders.

For once, Zenitsu is serious, “You got it.” he nods, before dashing away.

Tanjiro, looks up with a plea to whatever god is listening, “Please let Y/n be alright until we get there!”

—————————————-—————————————

Hours later, Zenitsu is the first to arrive at the peak of Mount Komotori, it is nearing midnight.

“What happened here…” he breathes.

The surrounding area is torn to shreds. Trees snapped completely in half, sharp shards of ice sticking straight up from the ground, and blood, lots of it, smeared in the snow.

Realizing he is in the middle of a fierce battlefield, Zenitsu unsheathes his sword. Shaking slightly, he takes small steps into the forest.

“This is terrifying! I need to find Y/n and get out of here!” he squeaks.

He walks aimlessly for a while before the shaking of a bush paralyzes him in place.

“Coming through!” Inosuke jumps through the bush, pouncing on top of Zenitsu.

“Inosuke wait!” Tanjiro’s voice flows through the air.

Zenitsu, screaming at Inosuke for scaring him, suddenly pauses, snapping his gaze to Tanjiro.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? Did you see any sign of Y/n?” Tanjiro questions.

Zenitsu pushes Inosuke off of him, straining his ears for the sound, “There! That’s it again!”

“What is it?”

“A sword!” the blonde exclaims, “I hear a sword! It has to be Y/n!”

Quickly, Zenitsu leads his friends toward the sound.

“Must be a hell of a fight…” Inosuke mumbles, observing the damage as they run through the snowy forest.

Getting closer, Tanjiro and Inosuke are finally able to hear the sound of the sword that their friend was leading them toward. Moving to a clearing to see you facing off against a demon who seems to use a blood demon art involving the manipulation of ice.

As they sprint into the clearing, you lock eyes with Tanjiro. Just as a spear of ice, launches itself into your abdomen.

“Y/N!!!” All three boys scream.

Inosuke and Zenitsu take your place against the demon, as Tanjiro runs to your side. Quickly, he pulls you a safe distance from the battle, his frenzied eyes roaming over your battered figure.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he repeats, “Focus on your breathing and you’ll be fine.”

You’re not sure if he’s reassuring you or himself.

Choking on a breath, you whimper, “Tanjiro…”

“No. Don’t talk, just breathe. Use your breathing to stop the blood,” he coaches.

But the open wound continues to pour more and more, staining the snow underneath you in a puddle of red.

“Y/n please, you have to breathe,” he pushes down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, “Y/n you have to listen to m-“

“Tanjiro…” you interrupt, “it’s okay. I’m okay.”

You gasp for air, “It doesn’t hurt.”

At this, tears begin falling down his cheeks, as he whispers your name, pleading.

“I’m sorry.” he hiccups, “I should’ve been faster-, I shouldn’t have kept it from you-, I should’ve done-“

“It’s okay,” you interrupt once more, a whisper this time, “It’s not your fault.”

He brushes the hair from your face, and as he holds you, bloody, battered, and dying, in his arms, he sees you in a different light.

Tanjiro realizes he never quite noticed the sparkle in your eyes until now, when it’s fizzling out.

Or how soft and clear your skin is until now, when it’s covered in blood.

Or how rosy pink your lips are until now, when they’re turning blue.

“Why?” He cries, “Why is this happening?”

You lift your arm, as heavy as lead, to lay your palm on his cheek, “I’ll see you again soon, yeah?”

He runs his fingers through your blood soaked hair, sniffling, “Yeah…”

Your hand falls from his cheek, your eyes close, and you exhale one last choked breath.

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

X. we don't fight fair.

parts: previously / next plot: you and bruce talk some more about your arrangement. everyone wants to know what's going on with you two. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, angst is back baby, but so are the romcom plot beats, somebody get gordon a drink and get one for me too. words: 7.6k. a/n: LOTS of plot this chapter, but also some maybe cute things coming later. in between the horrors :D

It takes more coaxing than you would like for Bruce to let you leave alone two days later. Even with proof of a patient, he insists he send you in his car, with his driver and his guards. One of the cops on your detail had confessed they were feeling redundant, leisurely as they were anyway, parked outside General with coffees barely keeping hot in the November chill, “Just the one today, right doc?”

You snuggle deeper into your coat, hands eagerly grasping at the warmers in your pockets, “Just the one. If everything goes smoothly, I’ll be out before lunch.”

“Well, we’ll be here. Holding down the fort.” The two of them snicker to themselves. Glancing to the side, you see Bruce’s men: one in the driver’s seat of his car and the other waiting by the entrance for you. Unlike your detail, they dared not crack a smile for fear of looking too cheerful. You wouldn’t admit it out loud (because these cops were being paid to keep you alive), but you felt like your life was in much better hands with people who weren’t currently goofing around on the hood of their car.

“Right. Thanks, fellas.” You can’t be bothered to sound sincere, and from their general lack of acknowledgement, they don’t seem to care.

You spin on your heels, preparing to follow Bruce’s guard into the hospital, but nearly crash into a woman walking behind you. The collision has you stumbling and jumping back, Bruce’s guard jumping forward, and the woman baring her teeth at you in a… smile?

Her teeth glint bleach-white off the gathering snow, a few shades lighter than the hair smoothly pinned at her crown. Unlike everyone else shuffling past on the icy sidewalk, she is perfectly content with standing right in front of you under the porte-cochère. You supposed the black, mink coat wrapped around her person kept her all warm and toasty. You felt jealous. Then you felt like you should apologize for ramming into her, but nothing came out.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you,” The extravagant woman speaks first, glancing over her shoulder at the guard who now looms between the two of you, prepared to defend if need be, “Oh! Hello, pleasure to meet you.” She reaches a hand out to the guard and when he doesn’t go to take it, she snatches his hand up from his side in a firm handshake.

You’re more forthcoming with your hand when she turns to you, though you’re not at all sure why she’s bothering to introduce herself. Anyone else would’ve moved on by now. And flipped you off while they were at it.

“Ma’am, is there a problem here?” One of the cops pipes up from behind you, eyes fixed on the woman.

Her smile grows wider, “Not at all, officer. I just thought this all looked so… curious.” She gestures between the cop car and Bruce’s car with one French-tipped finger, “You wouldn’t happen to be a celebrity doctor, would you? Plumping up the pillow-faces of our city’s darling socialites, perhaps?”

You try to scoot around the woman, but she moves with you, keeping perfect eye contact with you the whole time, “I’m real sorry, but I need to get going. I have an appointment-“

“With Bruce Wayne?”

You flinch. The woman looks… familiar, now that you’re looking at her more closely. Her name escapes you. “Excuse me?”

“Bruce Wayne. That’s his car- well, one of them anyway. A source of mine says it’s the same one from two days ago when you both arrived together for… something. And the same one from a few weeks ago; if I recall, Mr. Wayne made a generous donation—a whole wing!—to Gotham General earlier this month. And now you’ve been spotted using his car. What’s that all about?”

The same cop from before flanks your side, locking you in with Bruce’s guard and this mysterious woman, “Lady, they’re busy. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“I only want to ask a few questions.”

“And they don’t have to answer. If you keep this up, I’m gonna write you up for harassment.”

She looked like she’d been waiting to hear that. She reaches within the folds of her coat and pulls out a badge, brandishing an ID for the cop to read, “Whatever happened to freedom of the press?”

You peer at the ID yourself, at the impeccably styled photograph of the same woman with the same blonde hair falling in loose, Hollywood curls that frame her smile. Beside her photo is her name: Vicki Vale. You suddenly remember where you’d seen her before.

Vicki knows you know, too. You try to sidestep her for the door but she crowds in on you, barreling through the arms that attempt to hold her back, “Are you Mr. Wayne’s doctor? Is he sick? Is he dying?”

Your lip curls back in a snarl, “What ever happened to HIPAA?”

That amuses her. “Is he in the car right now? Is that why you’ve got all this security? Is Bruce Wayne paying for your protection after you were taken hostage a few weeks ago?”

The cop grabs Vicki by the upper arm, managing to wrangle her away from you, but she only pivots to the car, tapping her nails on the tinted windows and calling out for Bruce to comment. You almost feel sorry for her, in the way you might feel sorry for a rabid dog walking in circles on a busy street.

You feel a hand on your back and Bruce’s guard ushers you quickly into the hospital, even as Vicki shouts after you for clarification on Bruce’s whereabouts. His expression, as always, is flat.

When you’re far enough away from the lobby, you ask, “Does that kind of thing happen to… him a lot?”

The guard doesn’t bother to pause in his stride, doesn’t even bother to look down at you as he answers, “Yes.”

You supposed if you had to deal with people like Vicki Vale all your life, you’d become a recluse too.

At the very least, you hadn’t said anything damning. She would have nothing to go off of with whatever soundbite she managed to grab from you, and God save her editor when they’d inevitably have to cut out her getting threatened by a cop.

She’d been waiting for you, though. How she knew you’d be here, at this time, meant she’d either been tailing you or she had someone on her payroll doing it for her. The thought makes your stomach churn.

Bruce had been in your office twice, but you had never been in his.

It was bigger, obviously; it’s two floors below the penthouse with a receptionist outside and some hallways leading to God knows where. The receptionist—Jennifer, who insists you call her Jenny—is very forthcoming with refreshments as you wait outside for Bruce’s meeting to finish. You decide there’s no better time than now to pick apart the marble floors and TVs on the wall replaying WE’s corporate reel.

The lobby downstairs was modern, clearly remodeled, but Bruce’s office and penthouse were comparatively frozen in time. You could almost picture the first Waynes walking through here all those years ago. Everything—from the luxurious leather chair you were sitting on, to the warm low light, to the gentle clicking of Jenny’s fingers on the keyboard, to the empty glass of sparkling water she’d given you had almost made you forget that you were currently living in the penthouse upstairs.

The door to Bruce’s office opens, breaking you out of your contemplation. A man in a fine suit walks out, chatting with Bruce, though you couldn’t see the latter from where you were sitting. You can only catch the last half of their conversation: something about an auction?

You don’t have much time to think on it. Jenny quickly rises from her desk and slips into Bruce’s office, and a few seconds later comes out to invite you in.

You don’t see Bruce at first. The room is just as big as you imagined. Bruce’s desk is right across from the doors, backlit by large windows letting in the noonday light. It’s a heavy, wooden thing that is far bigger than it really has any business being with next to nothing actually on it. And, notably, he is not sitting at it.

It takes you a second to spot him to your left at a built-in bar, washing out a glass of what looked like dark liquor down the drain. It isn’t until Jenny shuts the door behind you that he looks over at you, setting the empty glass on the counter.

Today, he’d forgone a sweater for a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. You noted the healed over cuts and scars on his arms and wondered if people asked about them the way you had, enchanted (rather than perplexed) by stories of martial arts hobbies with no concerns for where he went at night. He watches you thinking about it, but before you can ask, he speaks first, “So, you met Vicki.”

Your shoulders slump just at the mention of her. Bruce catches it and a smile, however small, warms up his expression. “Unfortunately.”

“Bet she made an impression.”

You cross the room in a few strides, undoing your coat and throwing it over a nearby chair, “She’s tactless. She said her source recognized your car and now she wants to know what we are to each other,” You pause in your ranting when you see him pour a bit of brandy into the glass next to him, “Is that for me?”

He casually hands it to you, “You look like you need it.”

You don’t have the marbles to take offense to that at the moment. You knock back the shot in one go, then go to pour yourself another one as Bruce watches you. After you throw back the second one, you realize that he hasn’t responded to you. “Weren’t you listening? I said she’s following us.”

“Plenty of reporters are, she’s not special.”

“Wh- sorry, what?”

Bruce shrugs, “Vicki Vale isn’t the only reporter in Gotham who knows what cars I drive, who I go to lunch with, or where I put my money.”

“Isn’t that…” You start to ask, but the way Bruce is looking at you makes you feel like your perfectly reasonable question has a perfectly obvious answer already, “…isn’t that bad?”

“Not when I know what cars they drive. I know who works for them. When I don't want to be seen, I’m not seen. They don’t have that luxury.”

“You keep tabs on all of them?”

You watch Bruce lean against the bar to face you, one hand in the pocket of his- okay, whoa. Either his thighs were getting bigger or his pants were getting tighter. You don’t remember his other suits being this… formfitting. You can’t help but notice how they stretch as he reclines, and though your eyes flick back up to his before he can catch you, he makes no mention of it… even if his eyes narrow some. He waits until he’s sure he has your undivided attention, “I like to be informed. Especially since we’re selling a narrative, now.”

“A narrative.” After a moment, it clicks in your mind. “That we’re together. The narrative we never agreed on selling.”

Bruce brushes right past that, “So what’d you tell Vicki?”

You pour yourself a third shot, though it’s a bit more modest. You cap off his brandy and move away from the bar as if it would silence the siren song of day-drinking, “I told her that asking if you're dying is a HIPAA violation.” Bruce's mouth twitches as if containing a laugh. "What?"

You watch him contemplate telling you, and then, as if he suddenly thinks better of it, he shakes his head. “You just reminded me. If we do agree to do this, I will have to fire you. Patient ethics."

“Which is another reason why we probably shouldn’t do it.”

His head tilts, “Probably?”

You flush. You sip on your drink, folding your other arm around your waist as he questions you with his eyes, “I just… I’m frustrated. I hate this. I hate that the safest choice here is to hide away while you take care of it. It’s not that I don’t trust you to do it, I just don’t want to run away.”

Bruce watches you in that way of his, calculating and assessing. “Going in alone is running away too. You’d be Isaac bound at the altar.”

“And you, Abraham? Delivering me to a cruel god?” A rush of exasperation sours his expression. “I’d be stopping him. It’s me he wants.”

“And what about your parents? Your friends? Judith? You’d be fine leaving them to bury you?”

“Of course I’m not- of course not.”

“Then you don’t have to do it. Trust me.”

“I do trust…” You stare at him for a moment, “I trust you. I have to. But you get that this is weird, right? Getting together for the press? Putting all eyes on us? You get why this feels weird for me, don’t you?” Bruce is quiet, holding your gaze steady. You know that this plan wasn’t his first choice, and yet he didn’t look nearly as put off by it as you were. Perhaps it was another way you two differed. Something else to chalk up to being so rich that things like this- maneuvers like this become necessary. “Why do you want to do it?”

He pushes himself off the bar, taking a step and then another until he’s squarely in front of you. You have to squeeze your hands into fists to tamp down the immediate flight response you feel being this close to him, seeing this almost unguarded side to him. It was different from the deer-in-headlights deal he had when you first met: open, but unsure. It rocks you that he doesn’t look so unsure anymore. You swallow and keep his gaze, but it feels like a lot more work for you than it is for him.

“You said you don’t want to hide, and I don’t want to make you. We need a good reason for me to stick by your side. This is a solution.”

“You don’t need to stick by me. I’ve got a detail, remember?”

“I don’t trust two cops to keep you safe.”

“Your guards, then. You’ve got more than enough to do the job for you.”

Something in Bruce’s eyes flicker, “Maybe I want it to be me.”

Your courage slips. Your lips part, sounding out words you can’t bring yourself to say. What do you say to that?

He wants it to be him. He wants to be the one to keep you safe.

Logically, you know he’s right. GCPD’s finest couldn’t hold a candle to his strength and dexterity. They couldn’t even keep him out of their servers. And his guards were better, but they were still fallible. A gunshot or a stab wound would take them out just as easily as it would anyone else. The man before you had survived both of those things and more.

Uncanny warmth unfurls your fists. It curls around your rib cage, through each bone, around each lung, worming its way up your throat and unspooling in your mind. You feel warm all over. It is a terribly strange feeling to have for Bruce Wayne, but you’re having it all the same.

If he was still just Batman to you, you might’ve done something you couldn’t easily take back.

You suddenly wish for the times when that was the case, when blindfolds were commonplace, so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eye or think through how one might have gone through with those thoughts, if one had the chance- “As far as reasons go,” you struggle around the lump in your throat, “That’s not the worst.”

Bruce smiles.

He skirts around you and heads for the desk as you watch him go, the scent of him finally permeating past your defenses. He didn’t smell like green apple today—more sandalwood or pine—and as you debate on the specific notes, he comes back to you with a flier in hand. It takes your scent-drunk mind a minute to read it.

Gotham City Food Bank presents: The Thanksgiving Bachelor Auction!

You stare. Bruce is still holding the flier out to you, expecting a reaction. You can’t really think of one. “Uh.”

“I’d like you to come.”

“Why…?”

“The food bank puts together Thanksgiving baskets every year for the needy: turkeys, tofu, yams, stuffing, the works. They do a charity event to raise money to stuff the baskets. It’s for a good cause.”

“That’s awesome. What does this have to do- oh, fuck.”

Bruce raises his eyebrows. You recall what the man from earlier mentioned about an “auction”. You snatch the flier away to look at the finer details. It would be this weekend, there were six bachelors planned (including Bruce), and each person was encouraged to bid big for charity. Dinner would be provided. It sounded nice.

“You can bring Dr. Madison,” Bruce offers, “I think she likes me.”

She does. She painfully does. You could imagine her emptying this month's and last month's paycheck on a date with Bruce. Taking him to the nicest (and least vandalized) sushi joint in the city, engaging him with tales of the kids she's saved and her love of Broadway. Pampering him with praises for his charity work, admiring him openly and easily, charming him the way she charmed him at General.

She is a charming, sweet, beautiful woman. Bruce would look very good with her, even for charity. You wonder what things would've been like had he broken into her apartment instead of yours.

“Just wait 'til she finds out you personally invited her," you force a laugh, "She's going to have to take out a loan."

"I didn't know you were planning to bid on me, too." He's joking. Obviously, he's joking, if the barely restrained smile is anything to go by.

"In your dreams, maybe." Bruce shrugs. "But... I thought we were creating a narrative. Letting someone else buy you for a night isn't very romantic." You hate how hesitant you sound, like the idea of it displeased you. You don’t mean to sound that way, of course. It's just that if anyone were going to go on a date with Bruce... shouldn't it be you?

“The dates are just for fun. You'd be my real date.” His real date. God. “It would make you look like a good sport." He sees you mulling it over, still unsure. He folds the flier into his pocket. "Or not. We don't have to tell them anything yet. I wouldn't want to make it awkward for Dr. Madison if-“

If what? If she found out you were "dating" Bruce days after telling her to her face that you didn't know his relationship status? God forbid she rub it in your face after you spent so long being indifferent about him. “It's fine. We'll come. But maybe hold off on calling me your real date until you’ve fired me. Officially. You know.”

“I'll have my people talk to your people.”

You feel queasy at the smile he gives you, so casual and reassuring. You could really use a lie-down right about now. “Okay. Well. I’ll see you at home.”

Bruce blinks, but you’re already heading for the doors of his office before you've realized what you just called his place. You hear a quiet “see you” from behind, but you don’t dare to look back.

“Please don’t agitate the inmates. We are liable for anything that happens to you on the premises, but if you go poking around where you shouldn’t, that’s on you.”

The corrections officer hands you a clip-on badge with your name on it, but when she goes to ask Batman for his ID, she hesitates.

“He’s with me.” Detective Gordon assures her from his other side. The officer’s eyes narrow. James raises an eyebrow, “I talked to the warden about it. If you’d like to bring it up with him.”

That seems to be all the convincing she needs. She passes James his badge and gestures for you three to continue on down toward the visitation room.

It had been a hassle getting Bruce through the metal detectors, and it had been distraction enough that it didn’t weigh on you just who you were going to see until you were already in the room.

It was wide, with vending machines and a couple of tables scattered about, barred windows allowing a look into the unusually sunny afternoon outside. A handful of inmates were already there: some visiting family, others meeting with lawyers. It made it easy to spot him. Lucien was the only one alone, and from the looks of him, he was more happy to see you than you were to see him.

As you three walk over, he stands from the table, grinning ear-to-ear. You barely remembered his face from when you were younger, save for the same patchy beard that had yet to fill in after all these years. He greets Bruce first, holding out a hand, “Wow. You know, I’ve never seen you up close before. Kinda glad about that.”

Bruce does not shake his hand. Lucien’s smile is unwavering. His eyes slide past yours to meet the detective’s, and James shakes his hand out of pity.

It isn’t until you and James sit down that Lucien finally looks at you dead on. “You look good.” You feel your stomach lurch. It didn’t feel good to hear, especially when he looked at you like freshly caught prey. When you make no move to reply to that, he shrugs, “I almost didn’t recognize you. I hear you’re a doctor now. Really worked your way up from gutter trash, huh?”

Your expression hardens and he snickers.

James cuts in for you, “Mr. Goulding, we requested a visit because we think you might be able to help us with an ongoing case you were involved in. Can you tell us what you remember about Dimitri Young?”

Lucien’s eyes slither back to James, “Not much. Kid wasn’t with us long. He was… skinny. Cried easy. Up Nat’s ass all the time.”

“Were you close with Ms. Young?”

“Yeah, yeah. You could say that. We worked with each other. Ran the trade for a while with a couple other kids. Got a lot of customer service experience back then. She was… nice. Shame what happened.”

James raises an eyebrow, “Seems like you were on good terms. And after Natalie was killed, did you keep up with Dimitri? Visit him at Arkham, maybe? Write him letters?”

Lucien glances at you. “Well… it was tricky. Thanks to the good doctor and friends, I had to steer clear of the whole thing for a while. Felt bad for the kid, though. When I heard about the plea deal… I’d have taken life here over Arkham. I don’t care how fucked up the kid got over Nat’s death. What they’re doing down there?” He looks over at James and grimaces, “That’s the real criminal shit.”

You remembered that. His lawyer had pleaded insanity under the guise he’d get parole on good behavior, gain sympathy for having lost his only family so brutally. You remembered what Bruce said too; he’d been good. He was doing good until he saw you.

James gears up to ask another question but Lucien cuts him off, “Are they gonna talk or are they just decoration?” He points his finger at you and Bruce who hovers over your shoulder.

You wring your hands underneath the table, feeling Bruce’s eyes burning into the back of your skull. The truth was that you had a list of questions to ask him. You’d stayed up all night writing them down, rehearsing them.

Now, you could only remember Natalie and the barrel of her gun.

Lucien was there, too. He was on the frays of the memory as he always was. The shootout had yielded successes and failures, and Lucien, who’d been there that night—who laughed as Alex laughed and laughed harder when the bullet nestled itself into the meat of her brain—had not been found for years after that. You thought sometimes that you saw him on the street, but his appearance in your memory was just as frayed.

It all comes back to you now that you’re sitting in front of him. The everyman, a person meant to blend into the crowd. It didn’t surprise you that he’d managed to stay out of here for so long.

“…You don’t have to if you’re not ready.” James’ voice floats in between your musing, making you aware of his and Lucien’s eyes on you. Lucien is still smiling, strands of golden hair slipping out of the small bun at the back of his head.

“Why did you stay with the Vipers for so long?”

Your question surprises him, like he hadn’t expected you to have a voice after all these years, “I was open to new opportunities. But they paid well and you’re almost guaranteed a good position if you don’t get gunned down before 18. I was running my own little unit of teenyboopers before I got locked up.”

You frown. How casual he is describing it all. “They didn’t toss you aside as soon as you got too old to control?”

“No, no. That was your friend’s big issue, wasn’t it? Scared to be controlled. Nah. The boss man liked me. You know they like ‘em young, easy to impress upon and all that. They want the lifelong loyalty. I’ve never been that devoted, you know? But I liked the money.”

“Do you know what happened to Dimitri?” This question, Bruce asks. For the first time, you see Lucien’s smile dim some.

Lucien clears his throat, “No. Kid kick the bucket?”

“He broke out with some inmates not too long ago. He’s on the street hunting down people related to Nat’s case.”

Lucien looks from Bruce to you, then breaks out into a fit of hysterical giggles. The sound is grating to your ears. “Holy shit. He wants to kill you.”

“He’s killed one person already,” James stresses, trying to save you the humiliation. “We need to know if you think he could be working with the Vipers again. We believe someone is supplying him with… venom.”

“Venom? Fuck me. That’s expensive, especially those newfangled strains they had on the street when I was out. Can really fuck you up if you’re not careful.”

“Did the Vipers have their hands on that kind of stuff? You were a lieutenant after all.”

“Maybe. Not as much as they did drops. That was all the rage. Venom’s too volatile and, like I said, it can really fuck you up,” Lucien exhales hard through his nose. “If Dimitri’s on that, he’s not gonna last. Especially if the Vipers are giving it to him.”

You frown, “Why especially?”

“I mean, come on. Same reason you and your friend beat the shit out of him all those years ago,” You flinch at the memory. “He was weak and nobody gave a shit about him except Nat. My guess is the kid probably went back to ‘em for help, and they saw an opportunity to make him a lab rat.” You feel Bruce shift behind you as his cape brushes what little of your arm you were allowed to leave exposed here. Lucien’s eyes drift up Bruce’s body, sparkling with some new recollection, “And with Mr. Vengeance on the streets, I imagine juicing your best men up with venom oughtta make a nice challenge.”

Lucien watches as you process what he'd realized instantly. Behind the feigned impassivity, some little bit of him seems to find this just as awful as you do. Even if it's just pity, a shake of the head as foresight grants him the knowledge that what comes next will undoubtedly be a tragedy.

It had to have been Dimitri’s first time on venom when he attacked Russo, and as uncoordinated as he was, he had put up a fight against Bruce. You couldn’t imagine what he’d be like if he got better at it. If he got more of it. And he would, if the Vipers had any sense. You knew they didn't give a shit about you, or Russo, or Alex, or Dimitri. They were just hoping that his rage would make a casualty out of the Batman.

He was going to kill himself for the chance. And the Vipers wouldn't care. They would leave his doped up, bloated carcass in the street like they had left Nat.

You realize that you aren't breathing when you feel a cool hand on your upper back, closing around your scruff and sending a jolt of awareness through you. You almost think that it's Dimitri—having crawled out of your racing thoughts and come to take you once and for all—before realizing that it was Bruce, hovering so close now that his cape brushed your shoulders. His leather-clad thumb brushes against the nape of your neck, and when you look up to see him looking down at you, you catch him imploring you for something. Urging you to get out of your head.

Looking at him reminds you to breathe. You take one deep breath in, holding his gaze, and turn back to Lucien.

When you do, he looks different now. His eyes linger on Bruce’s hand. When you ask him your next question, he doesn’t seem to delight in the drama of it anymore, “After Dimitri was put away, what did the Vipers do?”

Lucien stares at you, then past you. His tone is solemn after a few moments of silence, “It was business as usual. They packed up what they could, moved to their other safe-houses in the city, relocated and reallocated. They talked about… the kid costing more than he was worth. Handful of us pitched in and got Nat a grave. I’ve been a few times. Not recently. It was nice.”

“Where?”

His eyes narrow at you, “Why do you give a shit? You feel guilty? Wanna leave some flowers for the dearly departed?”

You feel your lower lip wobble and you curse the feelings burning inside you. You were trying so hard to keep it together. “Do you think any of the Vipers would bother to tell him?”

He stares at you for a minute. Someone new walks into your peripheral view. It’s one of the correctional officers warning you about time. Something soft coats Lucien’s voice then, "She's in St. Agatha’s cemetery, near the treeline. The name on the marker is Adelpha Lions. We couldn't bury her as Natalie.”

Adelpha Lions. St. Agatha's. You think about bringing her flowers, but the thought leaves a terrible taste in your mouth.

The officer from before comes back to escort the three of you out, and Lucien doesn't bother to acknowledge her or James thanking him for his time. He only watches you, leveling you with a look of such contempt that you feel your chest hollow out, breath stolen again. He watches you well until the door to the visitation room swings shut.

Bruce and James walk ahead of you, though you notice that Bruce lags behind, glancing back at you every once in a while to make sure you're keeping up. James mentions something about keeping an eye on the cemetery, just in case Dimitri does know about it, and it leaves the same terrible taste in your mouth from before.

You know you ought to say something, but you find yourself drifting after them, mind elsewhere, stuck on the way Lucien looked at you. It was like a switch flipped when he saw Bruce touch you.

Why had he touched you? So blatantly, so intimately? He had to have known how that would look. Could it have been that he didn't care? Or, that he cared more about you?

You peek at Bruce’s profile as you walk; the cold lights above you both make the black of his cowl stand out, but they also make the blue of his eyes that much more piercing when they suddenly zero in on you. Your name is called. You look to the side and see James staring at you, expecting, worried almost, “You good back there?”

“Sorry. What?”

“I said I’d like to talk to you.”

“Oh. Sure.”

“Alone. If you don't mind.”

You look at Bruce. His eyes have focused on James now, searching for what he might want to talk about. You wished you could read minds. You decide it couldn't hurt to ask, “Can I ask what about?”

“Just some... questions. We haven't had the chance to really speak since the night you were attacked. I'd like to follow up with you." You bristle when you realize he expects Bruce to fully leave. James notices, glancing between you and Bruce. "I’ll drop you back at Wayne Tower, since your detail says that’s where you’re staying now.” When you don't make a move to confirm, he sighs, jerking his thumb toward the exit, "...I'll let you two talk."

You watch him walk toward the parking garage, just as Bruce crowds up against you, dropping his voice to a whisper, "He wants to know about me."

"Yeah, no shit. What do I say to him?"

"I told him I'd look into Bruce Wayne to keep him off my trail. There's not much I can do since you told him what you saw." You can hear the irritation bleed through his words. "As far as he knows, Bruce Wayne could be a suspect and you could be in danger."

You curse under your breath, "So I need to clear your name."

"What exactly did you tell him the night you were attacked? Exactly."

"I... I said that I had reason to believe... uh, confidential information was leaked to Bruce."

"Did you tell him exactly what the information was?"

"No."

"Did you tell him where you saw it?"

"No. Just that I knew you knew something you shouldn't. But he knows I had no proof."

Bruce goes quiet. You see him looking off to the side, eyes flicking to and from as he thinks about what to say next. Each second feels like a minute, and you keep watch over the direction James went for fear he'd come looking for you after too long.

You feel Bruce's hand take your upper arm and he brings you closer, tucking you away from the security cameras overhead and into him instead, "Can you lie?"

"You want me to lie to a detective?"

"We don't have a lot of options here. Can you lie?"

You frown, biting into your bottom lip to ground yourself. The pain focuses you some, "What do you want me to say?"

It's your luck that James is patient. A few minutes later, you find him propped up against the trunk of his car, hands in his pockets as he waits patiently for you and Bruce. Bruce gives you both a single nod before heading off to his own car, leaving you alone with the detective and the world of questions he could be gearing up to ask you.

But before you prepare yourself for the first one, James walks around to the driver's side door, flashing you a playful look, “You ever seen the Bat Signal up close?”

The answer was obviously no, but now that it was right in front of you, you wanted nothing more than to see it turned on. You'd seen it light up the cloudy night sky a million times it felt like, and it never failed to take your breath away. It's far too sunny out to see it now. As the chilly breeze tries to sneak under your clothes, you turn to watch the sunlight glint off the skyscrapers, enjoying the little bit snowy Gotham afforded this late in the year.

The city’s still loud from this high up, but it’s different. Kind of like how it felt watching the city from the penthouse. Up here, it felt secluded. Private. Perhaps that’s why James picked it. He kicks the base of the floodlight with his shoe and it barely tremors, “Was a hell of a time trying to get this thing up here. Chief's still coming around to it.”

You think about the burner phone in your pocket. Bruce’s relationship with the rest of the GCPD was… strained at best, but he and James seemed close; you wondered just how deep their relationship went, exactly. Apparently, not deep enough to tell him who he was.

His voice catches your attention just then. “You living with Wayne, now? How'd that happen?"

You breath out a heavy sigh, “I uh… yeah. He offered. After the whole thing with Dimitri. Just until he’s caught.”

“That’s awfully generous.” You don’t respond to that, so he presses more. "Did he offer or did he...?"

"He offered. No coercion." That wasn't entirely the truth, but you had no room for nuance right now.

“Do you feel safe with him?”

“I do.”

“You seemed worried when we first talked about him. You said he had your file.”

“I... I said that I thought he had access to it. Because of something he said."

James’ eyes narrow at you, watching you with his head tilted. “What'd he say to you?"

"He just mentioned something about the... the case. I told him where I grew up and it jogged a memory."

"Is that so?"

You cursed how apathetic James could make himself look. You had no clue if this was working on him, only that you had to follow through with this, seams tight, no loopholes. "He heard about the shooting. His butler, Alfred, he's always been really protective of Bruce. Everyone knew the Vipers snatched kids with no one to check on them, I think he just wanted Bruce to stay safe. Make sure he didn't make the wrong decision if he went out and got himself in trouble. Like I did."

"So, you told Wayne where you grew up, he brought up the shooting, it triggered something in you. You assumed he knew about your file and you felt threatened. That's why you went to the Bat."

"Yeah."

"And now... nothing?" James raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the empty air. "It's all good now?"

It wouldn't be a good story if it was all good. You twist away from James, leaning against a nearby pillar, "Not exactly. I don't know if he really knows or not, it just felt like a scary coincidence. You know? But I told Batman and he said he'd look into it. I trust him above all else."

"You seemed so sure the night I interviewed you."

"I was looking for patterns."

James hums. "The Bat seems to really like you."

That was a shift. You perk up a bit. “What do you mean?”

“He speaks highly of you. Says I can trust you like I trust him. If you say you feel safe for now, I trust you." Your skin prickles with flattery. "There's just something that's not quite making sense to me."

“Oh?”

"When I looked into your file, nothing looked out of place. GCPD keeps a log of who accesses a file, and from what I could tell, it hadn’t been touched in years. It looked fine… at first.”

Had this been a few days ago, this information would have shook you to your core. It still does, but for an entirely different reason now.

“I’m—admittedly—not great with computers. Normally, I’d ask the guys down in IT about this kind of thing, but seeing as… anyone could be involved, I had my daughter take a look at it. She-“

“Your daughter?”

James pauses. You were no cop, but that didn’t sound particularly legal. Then again, you didn’t have much room to speak. “She… she showed me the metadata, beyond just the stuff we usually see up front, and she found something. The database logs who accesses what because poking around files you have no business looking at can get your badge taken. Needless to say, she found more than a few things wrong.”

“Oh?” This time, your “oh” sounds decidedly more nervous.

“The name and badge number of the last person to access your file was scrubbed from the frontend, but it was still available on the backend. It was an officer, Paul Brown. When I pulled him aside to ask why he needed your file, he claimed he didn’t know anything about it or you. He seemed to be telling the truth, but doing some further digging, I found a trail of cases he’d been accessing over the past two years. Cases related to certain notable figures in the city.”

Notable figures. Like Bruce? Was there more he hadn’t told you?

"I found a connection between those cases and some recent movement from the Penguin. Turned out the guy was a mole feeding intel to Cobblepot. And not just him. I was checking the files he accessed against a timeline of events, and I have reason to believe he’s been feeding a couple of politicians the same need-to-know information. Politicians like Daniel Roberts.”

“Councilman Roberts.” You feel your blood pressure rise as James nods, “Detective, I don’t mean to be rude, but should I even be hearing about this? This sounds serious, way too serious for me-“

“You were there that night at the party Wayne threw, and so was Roberts.”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. There were tons of politicians there who support the mayor. Bruce is interested in politics. Doesn’t mean he’s in bed with them.”

Your defense seems to intrigue James. He rests an arm on the floodlight, “Did the two seem chummy at the party?”

“They didn’t really… talk. I mean, he intervened when I got into an argument with Roberts, but-“

“An argument about what?”

You could kick yourself. It was like this man had a skill for drawing the truth out of you. “It was stupid. He said some stuff about Batman and it got me riled up. Bruce put out the fire.”

“Roberts is the most vocal anti-vigilante member on the city council. Now I know he's connected to a dirty cop, and that he's in Bruce Wayne's circle. Doesn't that seem a little strange to you?”

You swallow, “What exactly are these questions leading to, detective?”

James moves away from the floodlight, approaching you slowly, cautiously, as if he expected you to take flight the second he got too close. “You told me that night that you knew Wayne had information about you he shouldn't have. I found the thread, I pulled it, and now I find Wayne at the center all over again. I'm looking for patterns, too. So, I'm going to ask you again," You watch him reach into his pocket and pull out his phone, flipping the screen to you. In big, bold text, it reads, "NOD IF WE'RE BEING RECORDED" "Are you sure you're safe?"

You should win an Emmy for how you school your expression into one of complete nothingness. All the while in your head, you are cursing the very bed Bruce was conceived upon. You curse him for leaving you here to explain all this, but most of all, you wish you’d kept his bottle of brandy.

You shake your head. James blinks. "I'm sure." You watch him exhale heavily, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "I'm telling you what I believe, detective. I believe I was wrong about Bruce Wayne."

"Maybe. But maybe there's more out there I still need to find."

"You're a good detective, James. Thank you for caring so much. If you can't trust me, trust Batman. If there's something to find, he'll find it."

You can see the slight shake in James’ shoulders. You wonder if he’s starting to freeze up here. You reach into your pocket and hand him one of your warmers, and though he recoils when you first hold out your hand, he thinks about it for a moment, then takes it. "You and the Bat..." He starts, rubbing his thumb against the heat pack in his hand. "He tell you who he is?"

You dodge the question as stealthily as you can, "Did he tell you?"

James considers your question, stern-faced and shivering, “No. But I have my theories." After a moment, he side-eyes you. "You didn't answer my question."

"It's... not for me to say."

He's not satisfied, and you didn’t expect him to be, but he looks too tired to argue now. He runs a hand along his face and looks out onto the city horizon. Under his breath, you hear him whisper, “Yeah. I figured.”

"He trusts you a lot, you know. For the record. I can see why."

You watch him reach into the pocket of his coat and pull out a lighter and cigarette, bringing it to his lips to take a long, deep drag. He holds one out to you, but you shake your head. You'd never been one for smoking (you'd seen the effect it had on the insides), but you could envy the temporary peace on James' face as he blows out a cloud of smoke. "Not a lot of that to spare these days."

a/n: this was a bitch to write with a headache

[llamagoddessofficial]

A (late) birthday present for the coolest lady in the universe, @aka-indulgence , featuring her two favourite omnics. Because if anyone on this earth deserves to be squashed between two handsome robots, its her

---

“Human.” Zenyatta’s voice was... different.

You blinked, pulled out of your reverie. Ugh, you had just managed to stop thinking about how cold the monastery floor was under your butt. The omnics around you were meditating, as they often were; unimpeded by heat or cold, they sat dressed in only loose Shambali robes with their meditation balls floating effortlessly in front of them, utterly impervious to the snow piling onto the monastery roof above them or the icy chills that occasionally swept through the wide stone rooms.

Not like you. Even wrapped up in the only hoodie and coat you had bought with you, you were freezing.

You looked over at Zenyatta, sat right beside you, as he often was. Your knees were almost touching. Mondatta often joked that the two of you were ‘partners in crime’, a moniker that you were more than happy to adopt. Though out of the two of you, Zenyatta was by far the most criminal. 

Zen’s voice... it had a lilt to it you hadn’t heard before. Something almost careful - like he was worried about how you’d react to his words.

“Yeah?” He was actually sitting, too. Not just floating a few inches above the ground. He was looking right at you, cute head turned a little to the side. His constant expression was as sweet and gentle as ever, regardless of how he really felt.

“Are you alright?” 

Your brows furrowed. “O-of course?”

“You’re shaking.” He moved his hands from upturned in his lap, to flat on his knees. “You have been, for several minutes.”

You always appreciated how much Zenyatta emphasised his physical movements. It almost felt like he was doing it specifically to make life easier for you; he was always nodding, gesticulating with his hands, letting out affirmative hums and sighs, anything that would clue you in to his current thoughts. As if pantomiming human expressions for your benefit.

“I’m sorry. Is it making it hard for you to concentrate on meditating?”

“You’re cold. Aren’t you?”

You were embarrassed. Everyone around you at that moment literally didn’t feel the cold. The Shambali Monastery accepted human visitors throughout the year, but in winter, hardly anyone wanted to make the trek - and you were currently the only human in the entire building.

“A-a little.”

...

Zenyatta slumped. “We forgot you get cold. It’s the middle of winter in a mountain monastery. How could we forget you would get cold?”

You let out a tiny laugh. “I’m ok. Really.” 

A deep and reverberated voice, right behind you. 

“You’re cold?”

You jumped, at the sound. Holy shit Ramattra was literally just in the spot directly behind you. You looked over your shoulder at him - he was sitting cross legged, casual, as if he had been there the whole time. He definitely hadn’t been there when you sat down earlier. How did he move so quietly, when he was so huge? Those dark eye slits were watching you so very intently.

“H-how did you...?”

“You are.” Ramattra didn’t let up. He leant forward, it felt as if he was staring into your soul. “You’re quivering.”

His tone made you shudder. Even though Ramattra spoke far more softly with you now than he initially did when you first met, it was still often hard to tell whether or not he was upset. He definitely didn't make the same effort Zenyatta did to show you how he felt. “You surprised me.”

“Human,” Zenyatta’s voice was delicate. “Do you need to take a break?”

“I-I’m good.” You forced yourself to smile despite the two omnics insistently closing in on you. “I mean... yes, I am cold. But it’s just temperature. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I really think you should take a break.” He sounded insistent.

“I’m fine. Really.”

Zenyatta turned to look at Ramattra. They held eye contact.

... Zenyatta nodded.

When Ramattra stood up, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was just going to find a new spot. He stepped forward, probably to go past you.

... He leant down and picked you up. 

You yelped, suddenly snapped out of your cold-induced stupor, as you were swept clear off the ground by arms that clearly carried you with absolutely zero effort - he scooped you up like you weighed about as much as an empty cardboard box, hefting you up into a secure grip against his massive chest and beginning to walk. Zenyatta stood too.

If it were anyone else you would’ve started kicking your legs, shouting, freaking out. But it was Ramattra. It really wasn’t fair that you had two omnics here that you were crushing on... you absolutely couldn’t move, your body had seized up, flustered beyond belief. Your face and ears were pounding, so you just immediately clung onto him.

“P-put me down!” you squeaked.

His response was a chuckle. He moved so fluidly, so casually, carrying you out of the main room. “This is your own fault, human. We gave you a chance to take a break willingly.”

Your heart was hammering. “That doesn’t mean you can just - ”

“This isn’t a conversation.”

Ramattra eventually came to a room you recognised - your room. Considering you were one of very few members of the monastery that actually needed to sleep, you had been given somewhere private to rest your head whenever required. Ramattra pushed the door open with his foot, allowing it to swing shut behind him.

“O-ok, I get it, I need to rest.” You felt dizzy. “Put me down now.”

“Hm... no.” Ramattra sat, still holding you tightly. “I don’t think I will.”

“Huh? G-get - ”

That’s when you felt it, bleeding through your clothes. Warmth. Instinctively, you inhaled - Ramattra was hot to the touch. Heat was emanating from within the very metal he was made of. Every part of him was hot, like a hot water bottle, it was as if you’d stumbled in from an icy storm and come home to an open fire. You immediately stopped flapping and just curled into him.

“You’re so warm?” you blurted.

“Omnics can raise and lower their body temperature at will." He settled, seemingly getting comfortable. "Now relax. No need to be foolish.”

Zenyatta re-appeared, closing your room door behind you. He was holding something. By the time you figured out what it was, it was already being tucked around you; a thick down blanket.

Woah. Going from freezing to this was amazing. Tingles spread across your back and chest... you let out a shaky sigh of delight. 

You didn’t catch the look that Ramattra and Zenyatta cast between each other. 

“Human,” Zenyatta hummed, sitting down beside Ramattra. “might I have your hands, for a moment?”

You were confused, but absolutely utterly pacified by the heat, you offered your palms to him. Zenyatta reached out, and wrapped his metal digits carefully around your distinctly soft and fleshy ones. 

... They were hot too - you gasped. You felt Ramattra’s chuckle through his chest. It was like your very own personalised hand warmers, how long had the two of them been able to do this? Heating their bodies? Zen’s hands immediately flushed out the horrible numbness you’d grown accustomed to over the course of the day. 

Everything was warm... finally, you were warm. Inside and out.

Your head rocked, cuddling against Ramattra’s chest. You couldn’t help but hum in delight.

“Is that better?” Zenyatta brushed his thumbs over your knuckles, but eventually let your hands go. Entire body sufficiently restored to a comfortable temperature, you could do nothing but enjoy the sensation. 

“Mhm,” your response was grumbly and relaxed and tiny, face against Ram’s sternum, feeling the warmth leaking into your skin. One large hand gave you a gentle squeeze.

Ramattra’s tone was the softest you’d ever heard it. “Am I forgiven for kidnapping you?”

“I guess.”

“I have spoken to Master Mondatta.” Zenyatta said. “Someone else will take care of your chores today.”

... Huh? Your eyes suddenly opened (you hadn’t even noticed you’d shut them), you sat up. “W-wait. I can’t just bunk off,”

Ramattra’s grip, though gentle, was ironclad. “We insist.”

“But that’s so rude!” 

Ramattra was having none of it. He pulled the blanket tighter around you, restricting your movements and preventing you from wiggling free. “No struggling. You’re staying right here.”

“It’s a matter of your health.” Zenyatta pointed at you disapprovingly. “And you have no right to fight it. You brought this upon yourself - you delayed in informing us of your discomfort. We must make sure you are adequately warm for the rest of the day. Frostbite is a very real concern for you, at this altitude.”

“You’re not letting me go?”

“Absolutely not,” Ramattra hummed.

You exhaled through your nose, like a sulking child, but said nothing. 

Zenyatta sounded softer, now, less like he was lecturing you and somewhat more imploring. “I only wish you’d mentioned how cold you were sooner. Most omnics have the ability to warm their core. I could have assisted. Though Brother Ramattra is most likely best for warming you up, considering he possesses more body to warm you with.”

“You are indeed very small,” Ramattra tutted.

You let out a tiny laugh, much to the delight of the two omnics, but the laugh quickly morphed into a yawn. You shivered one more time, but not because you were cold - it felt more like your body was shaking away the last vestiges of cold that’d clung to you through the day. 

With that, your entire being was toasty from the inside out. If you could purr, you would.

You made a contented and comfortable humming sound, relaxing back against Ramattra’s huge chest. Again, you didn’t catch the look they shot between each other. The two omnics knew each other well enough for the slightest glances to say more than hours of conversation could.

“Tired?” Zenyatta asked, gently.

“A... a little.” Your eyes felt heavy. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Because of the cold?”

“Mhm.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “I’m sure Brother Ramattra would be happy to accompany you to bed tonight.”

Ram snapped. “Quiet.”

“... Would you? To keep me warm?” From Ramattra’s chest, you could just about peek up and make ‘eye contact’ with him. “I’d like that a lot.”

Ramattra, strangely, didn’t reply. He just stared down at you, for a few moments, then looked away - lifting his hand to his mouth like he was covering it.

Zenyatta spoke up. “Of course. Either of us would accompany you, if it would make you more comfortable during the night.”

“Both would be nice,” you mumbled.

You were so sleepy now. You yawned one more time. Maybe... maybe you could just skip your chores after all. Mondatta said it was fine, right? You were so tired. And so warm. No one was really checking... you had permission. And two bodyguards to keep you safe. Maybe you should just...

... A few minutes of complete warm bliss passed.

Ramattra’s voice thrummed through you. “... She really is like a little kitten, isn’t she?”

“Indeed. I told you.”

“Did her shaking not bother you? It was adorable. In an infuriating manner.”

“Of course it did. My motors ache from restraining myself. But unlike you, I know to keep my thoughts to myself.”

“Tch.”

“Hm?” you hummed, not at all catching what was being said.

“Nothing.” Ram hummed. “Go to sleep.”

“Mh. Ok.”

[eddiesxangel]

HOE HOE pantyHOES | Eddie Munson x Reader

CW: Christmas theme smut. idk what else to tell you; read it and find out. minors dni 18+ only.

Word count 1.9k

You sat in front of your vanity mirror, frantically preparing for Steve’s annual Christmas party. You got home late from work and had to pick up dessert from the bakery before heading home to get ready. Now, you managed to get yourself half dressed before getting distracted by your hair and makeup.

You heard a knock on the front door and yelled for them to enter. You were expecting Robin to pick you up tonight; she probably got fed up waiting in the parking lot for you.

A muffled “hello” was barely audible over your Christmas carols. You reply with a “in here!” As you fixate on the sequinned black bow to the back of your head.

“You’re not Robin,” you smirked, seeing who poked their head through your bedroom door.

Eddie stops in his tracks as his eyes drink in your body. You had managed to get into your matching black bra, panties and black stockings but nothing else before you remembered you needed to fix up your makeup.

“Uh- sorry, I uh- I’ll wait out here.” he quickly looks away before shuffling around the room, clearly flustered.

“It’s okay, Ed’s, I’m almost done,” you shrug.

“You sure?” He still isn’t looking at you, but his cheeks are red like Santa’s.

You stand up and walk towards him; your dress is on your bed.

“Yea. Nothing you haven’t seen before.” you give him a coy smile because technically you are fully covered; your black opaque stockings are just like leggings, and your bra is like a bathing suit.

“Sure, yeah.” He peeks up to get another look.

Fuck, did he like what was in front of him. You managed to pull off cute and sexy all at the same time as you step into your dress and slowly pull it up your body.

“Can you zip me up?” You ask, turning your back to him.

Flustering Eddie was one of your favourite things to do.

He doesn’t say anything; he just steps closer with shaky hands to accept your request. You feel him slowly brush your hair off your back and over your shoulder out of the way. You could feel his breath hit your bare neck before he bravely bent down to kiss where your shoulder and neck meet.

“Eddie,” you moan. The visible chill of the kiss apparent over your flesh.

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” he jumps back. And you can’t help but giggle.

“It’s okay, Eddie, baby. Just zip me up?” You asked again in the most sickly sweet voice and you feel his hands quickly tug in the zipper of your holiday dress.

Baby. That was new. Eddie fixated on the way the word fell off your lips. It was so sweet he could almost taste it.

"You ok?" You look over your shoulder to see a look in Eddie's eye you hadn't seen before.

Something primal had taken over Eddie. It was like he was entranced by you. He felt his hands run up the sides of your thighs and under your dress. Feeling how soft the stockings that encased your legs were. He ran his hands up higher and higher to where the waistband met the skin of your soft middle.

More goosebumps covered your body as Eddie didn't say a word while tracing your figure with his calloused fingers.

"Mmmm, Eddie," You softly moaned, filling the silent room with the most beautiful sounds Eddie had ever heard.

"Yeah, baby girl," he whispered as his soft lips grazed the same spot he had kissed a moment ago.

"We- we are going to be late." You stuttered.

"We are already late; we will blame it on the snow." You felt his hands brush the straps of your dress off your shoulders so it landed on the bedroom floor.

You stood there in just your bra, stockings and matching panties before you felt Eddie push you forward so you were bent over for him, your ass sticking out, so much so, that Eddie could see the outline of your thong as the thin material spread over your perfect ass.

Eddie bent down so he was at eye level with what he wanted. "Oh, baby," you hear Eddie whisper under his breath before placing a firm hand on each cheek. Moulding and massaging the muscle.

A small smack echoed in the quiet room when his hand came down and lightly hit your bottom, wanting to see it jiggle. You arched into the feeling. The Christmas party you were supposed to be getting ready for suddenly slipped your mind. The only thing consuming your thoughts was Eddie's strong hands on your body, and you wanted more.

"You like that baby girl? I can give you more. Just say the word." He hummed as he trailed a finger lightly down the seam of your pantyhose.

"Yes," it was small, but Eddie still heard it, allowing him to do what he's wanted since he met you.

You felt Eddie's lips graze over your covered pussy; you were already so wet it was seeping through the two thin layers of material that were covering what Eddie wanted most. His hot tongue licked a strip from your clit to your hole before humming into your centre.

"hmmm, I can already taste how ready you are for me…Tell me, baby, that's all for me? I did this to you?" he massaged his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Yes," you breathy sigh as you push back into Eddie's hand to create more friction.

"Now tell Eddie what it is you want?" He sat up and kissed the bare skin of your back right above your waistband.

"Please touch me," you sighed.

"Sucha good girl; I think you made it on the nice list this year." He praised as he cupped your wet heat. "But after what I'm about to do to you, I think you'll be on Santa's naughty list for sure," He growled in your ear before his fingers hooked into your tights, ripping them open and exposing your bare ass.

"Eddie!" you scolded. Those were the only pair you had left without any runs in them.

Eddie ignored you as he hooked a finger around your thong, moving your panties to the side. He was so fixated on your wet cunt being centimetres away from him.

He could smell your heat radiating; it was intoxicating. He took in the picture-perfect sight in front of him. Wanting to memorize every detail. Your pussy was so pretty, he committed it to memory.

Eddie didn't waste another second before diving in. He ate you like a man starved. His warm, wet tongue had you crying out with pleasure as it grazed your inner lips, to your throbbing clit, and back down again.

"Fuck this is the sweetest pussy I've ever tasted," Eddie said before giving your ass another light smack. You moaned with pleasure. The sensation only made you wetter.

"Eddie, please," You panted.

"I don't know, naughty girls don't get presents." Eddie slowly massaged your clit with his index finger as he teased your hole with the tip of his thick thumb.

"No! I'm a good girl; I've been such a good girl." You protested. Your cunt was throbbing as it clenched down onto nothing.

Eddie stood back up, his body towered over you, and you felt his arm wrap around your chest to help you stand up straight.

"Eddie, wha-" you were cut off, being spun around and pushed back onto the bed, only this time on your back.

You could see the sheen of your slick coating Eddie's chin as he glared down at you.

You slowly spread open your legs while you move your panties to the side. You let Eddie take you in before circling your swollen clit with a manicured finger, hoping to taunt Eddie into giving you what you wanted. You wanted all of him.

With this new angle, you could now see how strained his cock was in his jeans; the looked so tight around his waist you knew he was dying for some release.

"This is mine" Eddie smacked your hand away from your clit before replacing it with his own. "This is my pussy." he repeated.

"Then take it." You command.

You hadn't seen Eddie move so fast since you had known him. His pants were down in half a second before leaning down and plunging into you, bare.

You both let out screams of pleasure as Eddie entered you. Your hot, wet cunt felt so good wrapped around Eddie's long thick cock. It was hitting places inside of you that you hadn't known existed. It was like it was made for you.

"Oh my god, Eddie!" you cried as his cock continuously brushed the walls of your cunt. Each stroke built that feeling in your lower tummy.

"Take it, baby girl, you're gonna take all of it." He gritted through his teeth. His eyes concentrated on where his cock was disappearing inside of you. The delicious feeling of your cunt wrapped around him was too good to be true. His dream girl, beneath him, looking so cute and fucked out just for him. It had him almost cumming in seconds.

"You're doing so well, baby, taking me so good, I'll have to give you your present. You want that?" He chides, cupping your face with one large hand.

You nod your head dumbly, getting lost in the feeling of Eddie's cock and words.

"Say it, baby girl." His thrusts were getting harder and deeper.

"I want my present." you pout. God you were so fucked out you didn’t even know what you were saying.

"Good, just gotta cum for me first, then I'll fill you up nice and good." Eddie leans down to kiss you for the first time. You moan into his mouth while his tongue slips inside, and his fingers find your clit again.

The coil that built up in your lower tummy finally snaps, and you clench down on Eddie's cock, making it so much tighter to keep thrusting into.

"Fuuuuuuuuck baby girl, that's it; keep cumming on my cock, and you'll be back on the nice list." Eddie's hips kept pounding your sensitive cunt, prolonging your orgasm.

Your body jerked and spasmed under Eddie's weight before he finally came inside you.

"That's it, sucha good girl, you deserved every last drop." he slowly ground his hips into you, pushing his seed all the way in before pulling out.

You moaned at the loss of him inside of you.

"Don't worry, baby girl. you'll still have me in you." He winked before helping you stand up. He put your thong back over your pussy lips and helped you discard your ruined stockings, before zipping it up your dress.

You look at the clock on your bedside table.

"Fuck we are so late!" you rush to grab your coat, giving yourself a once over in the hallway mirror. Shit. All that time running to fix your hair and makeup was wasted. You look thoroughly fucked out.

"Eddie!" You whine, trying to fix your smudged red lipstick as Eddie hugs you from behind, kissing up the side of your neck.

"Sorry, can't help it. Need everyone to know that you're mine." His hand grazed behind you and cupped your cunt again. Feeling his cum that had now pooled in your underwear.

“Ok, I'm ready.” You sigh as you turn. It was like he had you under his spell. Eddie smirked with pride as he opened the door for you, only to see an angry Robin standing outside your door.

"You said you would be ten minutes!" She yelled before storming back to the running car she had been waiting in for the past twenty minutes.

Shit. Busted.

Master list

[everythingacotarbxm1012]

They Mates - with Y/N Pt 4

Summary - Hybern’s a problem (but when is he not), and this whole Cauldron situation… Out. Of. Hand. Based on Ch 19 of ACOMAF

Notes/Other Warnings - ‘Vulgar gestures’, language, my grammar. As always lines/plot points directly or heavily inspired by the series itself. 1.4k words. 2nd pov again for a more intimate look into Y/N and Az’s relationship.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Masterlist

You stood with Azriel near the window in the sitting room of the townhouse. It was snowing lightly outside, dusting the outside world. Cassian lounged near the fire, next to Mor. He felt tense, like an animal waiting to jump out of its cage after spending too much time cooped up. Amren was not present—where she was, you did not know. You all were waiting for your High Lord and Feyre to return from their trip to the Bone Carver for information. 

As you watched the snow build up outside your mind wandered back to earlier that morning. Nearly five-hundred years Azriel had been your mate, and still every morning was utter bliss. You could still feel his teeth scraping lightly across the shell of your ear and his lips trailing—

“Amren’s right,” Rhysand said.

You snapped out of your thoughts to see him standing in the threshold. Feyre stood next to him.

“You are like dogs, waiting for me to return home. I ought to buy treats for the lot of you,” Rhys continued.

Cassian flipped him off, the tension in his system still evident. You stepped forward to smack Cassian’s shoulder. The general gave you a withering look. The High Lord of Night narrowed his eyes at the pair of you. You stepped back as Feyre, who looked chilled headed for the armchair near the hearth. You returned to your spot next to your mate who stood in contemplation, a constant for him.

“How’d it go,” Mor asked to quickly glance between Feyre and Rhys, who had finally stepped into the room. 

“The Bone Carver,” Rhys said with a sigh, “has too much time on his hands considering how often he likes to pry into others people’s business.”

You reached for Azriel’s hand, unsure of what to do in the moment. Your mate didn’t protest, his shadows swirling around your wrist for a few moments. You could see Feyre’s eyes dart to the sight. The mortal said nothing.

Cassian broke through the silence, his hands falling to brace his knees. “But…?”

“But, the busybody can be useful, when he chooses,” Rhys replied with another sigh. “He informed us that the Cauldron was originally hidden at the bottom of the frozen lake in Lapplund, but vanished a while ago. But three of the feet on which the Cauldron used to stand were cleaved from it, in an attempt for power. Each foot was hidden in a different temple.”

You didn’t exactly need Rhys to spell out the rest for you. People were after the Cauldron, after its power again. “Shit,” you murmured. Cassian, to your surprise said nothing, only sat up a bit straighter.

“Cesere, Sangravah, and Itica,” the high lord listed out. “The King of Hybern seeks to return the Cauldron to its full glory.”

It was a suspicion most everyone in the room had. You could sense the grimness of it all, the way the room shifted even though most were expecting it. You glanced to Mor who looked back at you, giving a well this isn’t good look. 

“The mortal queens have one part of the Book, Tarquin the other,” Rhys finished.

You sucked in a breath before Azriel stepped forward, his shadows lightening from around his form. “I will contact my sources in the Summer Court about the other half of the Book of Breathings on where it is hidden. I can aldo fly to the human world. See if I can locate their half before we ask them for it.”

The High Lord of Night shook his head. “I don’t trust this information, even with your sources, Azriel. Not anyone outside this room, except for Amren.”

“They can be trusted, Rhysand,” you defend as Azriel’s shadows grew thicker for a moment before lightening up. Az let go of your hand, fists curling slightly, staring at his high lord. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“I, we, are not taking risks where the Cauldron or the Book is concerned,” Rhys responded calmly. Rhys returned his spymaster’s stare. 

You reached for your mate’s hand, and his fingers slowly uncurled, eyes drifting away from Rhysand’s face and back to your own. You gently intertwined your fingers with his.

“So what do you have planned,” Mor asked. 

“Well,” Rhys responded as he picked at absolutely nothing on his leathers. A habit you had noticed he got when growing up. “The King of Hybern sacked one of our temples for a piece of the Cauldron, which, as far as I am concerned, is an act of war.”

“Of course he wants war,” You interjected more strongly than you had anticipated. “For the Mother’s sake we were an ally to the humans during…the War. He would never dare sway you at risk of revealing his plans.”

Cassian nodded in agreement before adding, “Amarantha’s cronies likely reported to him Under the Mountain.”

“Hybern and his forces successfully infiltrated our lands, without detection. I have every intention of returning the favor.” Your high lord straightened himself up slightly.

“How?” Mor asked, before you could. 

“We go to Hybern to bring the Cauldron back or go to nullify it.” 

You thought you might just laugh at that. “Hybern would already have countless wards to protect it.” 

You could feel Az’s thumb over the back of your hand, gently rubbing as if to try and ease some of the tension from your body. “Y/N’s right. We would need to find a way to get through them, undetected,” your mate added.

“Then we start, now while we hunt down the Book. We do it swiftly, so by the time we have both halves we can get through without word spreading quickly,” Rhys said like it was the simplest solution possible—the simplest task possible.

“And how qre you planning to retrieve the Book?” Cassian added.

“These objects are spelled to each high lord and can only be found using their power.”

You looked to Feyre, almost apologetically. Thrown into this life and world and she was being asked to find pieces of the Book of Breathings itself using powers she received because she died. A shuddering feeling went through you. As if in defense of the girl you looked at Rhys. “You don’t know that it will work.”

Rhys smiled slightly. “True—but there is a way to test it.”

“Mother’s tits! Here we go again,” Cassian grumbled from his place besides Mor. 

Your eyes danced over to your mate whose eyes had narrowed slightly, your fingers still intimately intertwined.

“With your abilities, Feyre ,” Rhys began, ignoring his Inner Circles words, “you might just might be able to find the half of the Book in the Summer Court. To be certain, to make sure when it counts, when we need it, when we need you, we’re going on another trip… see if you can find an object that I’ve been missing for quite some time.”

You let out another heavy sigh knowing exactly where this was going, Az still rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Shit,” Mor groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Where,” Feyre asked tremulously.

“The Weaver,” Azriel responded. His thumb stoped rubbing your hand. 

“Who is the Weaver,” the new fae asked.

“An ancient and wicked creature,” Azriel responded with a sharp exhale, that tickled the back of your ear. “Who should remain unbothered,” thr spymaster shot in Rhysand’s direction.

Rhys pushed on. “I want to see of Feyre can identify the object amongst the Weaver’s trove.”

“Oh! By the Cauldron!!” Mor exclaimed. You couldn’t disagree with her.

“The Weaver,” Feyre began to press, “the Bone Carver. Can you just call someone by a name?”

You let out a soft chuckle with a slight angling of your head. She had a point. Something in the sound your momenary joy eased the shadowsinger. 

“What about adding another name to that list?” Rhysand asked Feyre who had finally seemed to warm up.

A few grumbles sounded about the room, including your own.

“Emissary,” Rhys said ignoring the room. “For the human realm,” Rhys clarified, looking to you as if ensuring you weren’t about to be fired from your position.

Good, Azriel thought to himself. You needn’t make any more travels than you were doing at present as Rhysand’s emissary in every other aspect. One less place for you to be caught in something dangerous. One less thing to pull you from his arms in the morning, and leave half of the bed empty at night. Truth was, even after nearly five-hundred years together, all he wanted to do was lay in bed with you and never leave the comfort of your embrace. Too bad the world had other plans.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria, @5onedirection5, @emryb, @azrielrot

[sokkadora]

something there — mizu x fem!spider-woman!reader

summary: landing in a new place, and time, leads to new experiences and friends… and a hot samurai?

a/n: mizu having a thing for competence and her s/o’s being capable of handling themselves babygirl i got that you want me!!!

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): injuries, mentions of gunshot wound, passing out from blood loss yippee!!!

ALSO REMINDER THAT MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN SO FEEL FREE TO ASK!! <3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

︿︿︿︿︿︿ ✎ᝰ . . . .

Your eyes shot open, the sudden cold chill of the snow beneath you shocked you into a sitting position. You ripped off your mask and panted, taking in your new surroundings.

You were still in your suit, which explained why you were so cold, but you were also in the middle of a dark forest. The snow seemed to cool the burning from the gunshot wound in your shoulder and the cut across your thigh, but it didn’t distract you from your entirely new surroundings.

The last thing you remember was being in New York, fighting some gang members who had stolen an artifact from the Sanctum Sanctorum… you’d taken a gunshot to the shoulder, which… ow. But anyway, you must’ve been thrown out of New York into… wherever you were now.

Shivering, you shakily got to your feet and steadied yourself against a tree. You needed to find warmer clothes, fast. You pulled the hood from your suit over your head and your mask back on for the sake of preserving body heat.

You attempted to be stealthily while stepping through the forest, not knowing what wild animals or people could in the darkness lingering beyond your eyes grasp.

After about 5 minutes of walking, you figured it would be better to scale up a tree to get some lay of the land. Maybe a city’s lights nearby to give you an idea of how far you hade to go until you reached some sign of civilization.

Placing your hand onto your eye level with the tree, you easily pulled yourself up and began scaling the tree. It took a minute to maneuver through all the branches with your injuries but upon reaching the top, you noticed a small clearing in the trees that was dimly lit, and you let out a sigh of relief.

After getting down, you corrected your course and started trekking towards your new destination. It took longer than expected because your injuries were slowing you down, but you webbed them up and continued over.

These people were sure to help you, you’re a well known super-hero. Spider-Woman, and if you were still around the vicinity of New York you should be alright…

Right?

It took until daybreak to reach your destination, you figured it would, but that didn’t make you pleased with how long you took.

Your hands were shaking profusely from the cold, and you were beginning to wish that you let Peter put the heater into your suit for days like this.

You heard rustling from a few yards ahead and scaled up the tree closest to you, your head spinning from the blood loss. You grunted softly, beginning to leap from branch to branch to get closer to the noise.

Finally, you made it a few trees away from the source, and were surprised to see a man dressed in… what looked like a chef uniform. You squinted behind your mask, watching as he cut off plants with the knife strapped to his wrist, since he didn’t have any hands.

You were about to get down yourself and approach him, but a nap just sounded… so… nice…

Ringo jumped at the sudden loud thud behind him, his humming being interrupted by a sudden gasp as he whipped around. He gulped nervously before rushing behind a tree, and peeking out from it.

He saw a figure laying motionless in the snow, that seemed to be non threatening, but the attire they donned was bizarre. Skin tight, covered their whole body… what were they?

Ringo cautiously held his knife out while stepping out from behind the tree and making his way to the body.

Were they already dead?

He gulped as he kneeled in front of the person, now clearly seeing that they’re a woman, nudging them with the arm not armed with a knife. After waiting a few more moments to confirm they were really passed out, he bit down on the dull side of his knife and placed it into his pack. He noticed the wound on their shoulder and thigh, along with smaller cuts through the clothing along the arms and torso. He carefully picked the limp body up, and began to carry them back to camp.

He knew Mizu wasn’t going to be thrilled with this new person joining, neither would Taigen, but they’d have to deal with it. He wasn’t going to leave a random woman out in the woods to die.

Upon arriving to camp, he noticed Taigen on the other side of the abandoned shrine writing something down on a piece of paper. Ringo slipped into the house from the far side to carry the body to the room Mizu was resting in.

He lowered the woman onto his futon, pulling the blanket up to just below her chin. He pulled off your mask successfully after a few attempts, and was shocked by your appearance. Mizu wasn’t in the room, but just as he was about to go looking, she stepped into the room.

Mizu’s gaze immediately fell to the figure on Ringo’s futon, a prominent frown taking place.

“Master, just listen-“

“Ringo, I can’t have anymore strays tagging along on this,” Mizu scolded, brushing past him to step over to you. Her anger paused quickly as she noticed how different you looked from them. “Who is..”

“I don’t know,” Ringo replied, stepping onto the other side of you and kneeling down, peeling off the blanket to reveal your injuries and strange clothing. Her eyes widened. “I was going to come find you to stitch up her wounds. I don’t want to encroach on her privacy since she’s a girl.”

Mizu sighed, her eyes shutting tightly. She was reluctant to do so at all, seeing as she doesn’t know you, and your attire was setting off alarm bells in her head. But she agreed, and Ringo took off his medical supplies and handed it to her before wandering off to make the medicine for when you woke up.

Your first meeting with Mizu after waking up was… interesting. She certainly didn’t act warm towards you, with her threatening you with a sword to the throat as soon as you sat up.

But after traveling with her since leaving Taigen behind, you’d began to slowly grow closer to her; more attached. She was distant at first, but slowly warmed up to you after finding yourselves in the same position.

Now, you found yourselves sparring in the middle of the woods before you hit another town the next day.

Mizu wanted to test out your spider sense; she had been intrigued by your powers since she’d first found out about them, wanting to test the limits of them, but not wanting to harm you on accident. She didn’t know how skilled you were yet.

She stood behind you and tied the blindfold over your eyes gently, making sure not to get your hair caught in the knot. She resisted the urge to let her hands wander across your taut shoulder muscles, not yet being willing to openly admire your looks.

“Alright, you’re set,” Mizu said, patting the top of your head before moving to stand a few yards in front of you from where you stood in the center of the clearing.

“If I get hurt, I’m gonna punch you,” You warn playfully, biting back a grin as you heard the sharp sound of Mizu’s sword unsheathing. You could practically feel her smirk as you remained still, but alert.

“Good thing I know what I’m doing then,” She rasped, making you swallow thickly.

The was lingering tension in the air as you heard Mizu’s footsteps go to the left, your enhanced sense cluing you in to her minuscule movements as you took a deep breath.

Before you could really tell with your own perception, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. Mizu had swung her sword skillfully at you from behind, barely grazing the hair flying from your braid as you ducked into a lunge, sliding away.

She huffed, impressed. And continued to slowly taunt you with her attacks, which you quickly dodged each time. Eventually she had sheathed her sword and began using her arms and legs to kick and swing, until you ended up pinning her against the ground, your thighs on either side of her waist.

You quickly brought your hands to her wrists, pinning them against the ground and smirking as you heard her grunting underneath you. After a moment of struggling, she groaned but you knew she enjoyed the round.

“You win, god,” She chuckled lowly. You released her wrists and tugged the blindfold off, grinning down at her.

“Not so bad, huh?” You smiled, raising an eyebrow at her as she let her hands fall onto your thighs.

“Not at all,” She returned the smile, trying her hardest to hide the warmth growing between her thighs at the thought and demonstration of your capabilities. “Is it… hot out here?”

You pursed your lips before laughing, getting off her waist. “Mizu, it’s snowing outside.” You scoffed playfully, rising to your feet.

She hummed bashfully, taking your hand when you offered to tug her back to her feet. She gazed down at you softly as you brushed off your haori, smiling proudly once it was rid of the frozen mud and snow flecks.

She couldn’t help but feel her gaze soften almost inevitably as she let herself lovingly look at you for a moment while you were distracted.

Reaching down, she softly touched the braid that was slung over your left shoulder, admiring your (h/c) hair gently. You looked down at her hand, eyes wide before you tilted your head up to look at her face.

Her eyes moved back to meet yours, and you forced the fluttering feeling in your stomach away with a smile.

“Round two?”

[percyjavksongf]

𝐈𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬.•☆

➤𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐨 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐳 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

➤𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏’𝟓𝟏𝟐

➤𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐛𝐡, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐚𝐟

all you could feel was warmth, a delightfully cozy knitted blanket was tucked firmly around you and your pillow was slightly lumpy. Your eyes fluttered open and took their time adjusting to your surroundings, you peered down and noticed your pillow wasn’t a pillow at all, but Leo’s camo jacket folded up under your head, he must’ve noticed you drifting off before you had even realised.

You scanned the cabin for the man in question and quickly spotted him sitting hunched over by his work desk, the sheen layer of sweat reflecting off the dying fire that accompanied him. You watched him quietly, not wanting to break his concentration from whatever new project he had come up with while in your slumber.

Your eyes fell once again onto the glowing fireplace, this was Leo’s first winter at camp and thankfully he had been enjoying himself so far, you know from experience that some campers find the holidays to be a solemn time but you had been keen on making sure Leo enjoyed his first winter and didn’t fall into the seasonal depression that was easily obtained, you weren’t judging of course, if you didn’t have Leo by your side you’d be dealing with it.

Your gaze shifted back over to Leo, who, despite the snow that was pounding against the exterior of the cabin, was only dressed in his white tank top and cargo pants, you were always jealous of his inability to feel the cold, his body did always seem to run warmer than anyone else’s at camp.

You watched as he wrote quickly on his oil stained notepad, throwing it aside to continue at the practical work needed for his latest idea, you smiled against Leo’s jacket and continued to watch his every move, taking this opportunity to admire all the ways his personality shone through, the bouncing of his left leg when he was really concentrated, the way his dark hair curled around his ears and fell against his eyes, you always adored his curls, each strand adorned a beautiful golden hue from the dime fire in front of him, those curls of his also always seemed to have a mind of their own. His dark eyes were concentrated and sharply focused on his work, his face flushed slightly from the heat of the room and every minute or so he’d use his free, non oily hand to push his curls out of his field of view.

You didn’t know how long you’d been watching for, but Leo had you in such a dream like trance that you didn’t really mind, you had finally started to feel the chill of the room kissing intensely against your exposed skin through the holes of the knitted blanket, you shifted as quietly as you could in the blanket in an attempt to warm up but after a minute of this you gave up, deciding to sit up from your current position.

You looked over and noticed Leo had moved in his seat and was sitting with his back towards you, seemingly unaware of your movement, he always got like this when he was invested in his work, a bomb could go off outside and he wouldn’t hear a thing. You let your sock cladded feet hit the cool wooden floor and walked softly towards him, the blanket long forgotten. Once you reached his hunched frame you wrapped your arms around him and rested your chin on his exposed shoulder, you felt his jump slightly beneath you before settling, relaxing under your touch

“sorry, did I wake you?” his voice was laced with exhaustion and you shook your head no

“nah, just got cold and thought I’d come see what my human heater was up too” you felt the smile that spread against his face when his cheek pressed against your temple, Leo pushed his chair back and beckoned you to sit in his lap, which you did so without protest. Once you sat comfortably with you side pressed against his chest, he wrapped his arms around you to keep you from slipping away.

You looked outside again and noticed the snow was calming now, you were glad that they let the outside weather enter camp sometimes, you knew it would look like a dream outside tomorrow morning.

“we’re gonna build the best snowman tomorrow” you sigh happily

“obviously” Leo grins. You huff at the thought of having to make your way back to your cabin in the snow, it was pretty to look at in the warmth of Leo’s cabin but actually having to go out into it? You’re sure you’d get lost.

“cielo? Whats wrong?” you feel his hand come up to mess with your hair, running his fingers through and brushing against your now warm cheek.

“just thinking about having to track through that snow, you might have to go collect my frozen body tomorrow morning” your dramatics earn you an eye roll and a pinch to your side,

“hey!”

“you really think I’d make you walk back to your cabin in that weather? Cariño I never thought you’d think so little of me” the kiss pressed to the top of your head confirms that you’re not going anywhere tonight, you grabbed Leo’s free hand and inspect his fingers, oil covered and slightly scratched as always, you tutted and grabbed the pack of wipes you left on Leo’s worktop a couple of days ago, cleaning the oil off gently, ignoring Leo’s protests on how you didn’t need to do that for him

“i’m not sharing a bed with you if you’re all greasy” you laughed at the false offence Leo displayed at your objections

“fine, fine, I’ll get cleaned up and you make yourself comfortable”

you jump off Leo’s lap and make your way to the makeshift bed, dragging it closer to the fire and plopping yourself down on it, burrowing yourself into the soft wool blanket. You hear Leo come back into the room and peak up from under the sheets, blushing under Leo’s curiously intense gaze

“you ok in there?” he calls out as if you’re gone far away, you imagine how silly you must look to a man that’s never needed to swaddle himself for warmth and you laugh at the idea of it.

“I’m cold”

“that’s what I’m here for” he says boastfully before sliding himself beside you, if the heat is too much for him he doesn’t mention it.

Your hands find each other and you let yourself enjoy the feeling of his body next to yours, you both lay on your sides staring at each other for awhile, making each other laugh with lame jokes and recapping the best parts of the day before. The longer you laid beside Leo the more you knew he was the person you wanted to lay beside forever, it just felt so natural with him, no need to put up a front or act like everything was always ok, because being demigods meant that there were hard times, tearful goodbyes and painful memories, but its easier to deal with the hardships with someone like Leo by your side, you know from the bits he’s told you of his life before finding out he was the son of a god that he didn’t have it easy, but he made it through. Being a demigod means being a survivor, being viewed as determined, skilled and strong, but theres strength in numbers, being with Leo made you stronger, and the same can be said for him.

You didn’t notice the silence that had taken over the two of you, the feeling of Leo’s fingers brushing hair out of your eyes brings you back to the present, blinking up at him, you notice the softness in his dark eyes, his fingers dragging down your face and to resting against your cheek and neck.

“you know I’ll always look after you, right?” you furrow your brows at the confession, and Leo smiles that soft sort of smile, like when someone knows a secret that you don’t.

“I know” you whisper back, “i’ll always look after you too”.

Leo leans forward and presses his warms lips to your forehead, shuffling closer to you and bringing the blanket closer to you, not that you really needed it anymore. You let your tired eyes drift back to the window, the snow had finally stopped, leaving behind frosted windows and what you guessed was a foot of snow outside waiting for the eager campers tomorrow morning, you smile at the thought of everyone getting a snow day, no fear of monsters and prophecies, just teenagers being teenagers. You press your nose into the side of Leo’s neck and revel in the feeling of Leo’s hand drawing patterns on your back, you let your thoughts drift back to your conversation minutes prior, in this moment you knew that you were done for, not that you didn’t succumb by choice.

I’ll always look after you.

a/n: hola bitches, this ie sorter then i usually do but i wanted some sweet Leo stuff asap. Hope yous liked it!! Ik it isnt lik fanon Leo where hes super flirty and all but i lik sleepy sweet Leo. Anyways i hqve more Percy Jackson stuff coming so stay tuned ❤️🤭

[darkshadow90]

Art the Clown: Reader Calls 911

Summary: You wake up to get a glass of water and hear snow crunching outside. You see a very scary looking clown, he notices you, and you immediately call police for help. It doesn’t end well.

A/N: Hey guys. A little something different this time around. I came across a Character called Art the clown. He’s from the Terrifier movies. I haven’t seen any of the movies, but I’ve seen clips of Art. He’s so fucking scary but can also be funny. I have to give props to his actor. Art never says a word, but his facial expressions and his gestures communicate so much. He’s a silent character with so much to say. The actor gave him so much personality. Anyway, I got an idea for a one shot in which the reader wakes up to get a drink and hears snow crunching outside. She notices Art outside her front door. He notices her, and feeling very uneasy she immediately calls 911. It doesn’t end well. I apologize if Art is out of character. I hope you still enjoy the one shot 🙂 Warnings: Art being creepy, implied death of reader but nothing specific. I’m leaving that up to your imagination.

It was a cold winter day. You woke up from an afternoon nap. Still drunk from sleep, you went to the kitchen to grab something to drink. As you were walking back to your room, you stopped in your tracks as you heard snow crunching outside. You turned to your front door and froze at what you saw. Standing outside your front door was a clown. He had a small black hat on his head. He was wearing a black and white clown suit. His face was panted white. His eyes and lips had black paint around them. That wasn’t the most unsettling part, though. As he turned his head toward the little windows on the side of the door, he noticed you, smiled at you and waved. You got a better look at his face. It seemed unusually large for a human face with sharp features. His teeth were huge. They looked rotten. You wondered if this clown was even human. He certainly looked demonic. That smile chilled you to the bone. It screamed dangerous. You quickly grabbed your phone and called 911.

“911, what is your emergency?” “There is a very creepy clown standing outside my front door.” The dispatcher paused for a minute. “A clown, ma’am?” “Yes, he’s just standing there smiling at me. He hasn’t moved. Can you send someone out here?” “What is your address?” You gave the dispatcher your address. “Are you alone?” “Yeah, I’m alone.” “Okay, I’ll notify a squad, but it’ll take some time since you’re quite a ways out.” You were trying not to panic. The clown was still standing there smiling it was like he was frozen. “Are all of your doors and windows locked? Stay on the phone with me, okay? We need to check and make sure everything is locked.” She was trying to keep you calm. “Well, I know my front door and all the windows are locked. I’ll check the back door.” You slowly backed away from the front door, not taking your eyes off the clown and as you got further away, you ran to the back door and locked it.

You hoped maybe the clown was just messing with you. You walked back to the front door. “This might sound strange, but I really hope…” The clown now moved to your front window, his face and both hands pressed against it. You jumped back, startled. “What the fuck?” “Ma’am, are you still there?” “His face…it’s pressed up against the front window.” “Ma’am?” “He pressed his face against the window and his smile is even wider now. What the fuck?” Your voice is becoming more panicked. “Can you please send someone here fast?” “I’ve notified officers and they’re on their way. Try to stay calm, okay?” “He’s got no color in his eyes. He…” That was when you lost your composure. “Please can you help me?” “Just stay on the phone with me, and calm down. Everything will be alright.” You began to doubt that it would be okay.

You knew something was very wrong. This clown seemed to enjoy tormenting you. “Go away!” He pulled out a scalpel and tapped on the glass, grin still wide. “He won’t stop staring at me. He’s gonna hurt me. Jesus, please help me. Why won’t you fucking leave?!” The clown mimicked your crying, mocking you. He was laughing, but wasn’t making any sound. It occurred to you he was mute. “Is there somewhere you can hide until police get there?” You kept sobbing. The dispatcher kept trying to talk you through the situation. “I need you to lock yourself in a bedroom or a basement until the police get there. Do you have a place like that where you can hide?” The woman was still speaking to you calmly. She knew how to comfort you at least a little bit. This definitely wasn’t her first tense situation. “Yeah…I’m gonna go hide in my room.” “And you’re absolutely certain you’re alone?” “Yes, I’m alone in the house.” The clown was no longer smiling. He now looked eerily serious. He began to move. “He’s moving. He’s shaking his head. Oh God, he heard me the entire time!” He was shaking his head to tell you that you weren’t alone.

All the dispatcher could hear was glass breaking and a loud thud. “Ma’am, are you still there? Can you hear me? If you can hear me press a number key.” All that followed was the call being disconnected.

[callsign-rogueone]

nothing burns like the cold - r.g.

what's supposed to be an ordinary afternoon sparring with your friend goes wrong in an unexpected way. words: 1.4k 🏷: one incredibly mild Iron Flame spoiler (Ridoc's signet), she/her reader, very brief description of friendly sparring, no real physical injury, nothing too bad... both of you have Feelings and need to talk about them, Ridoc being sad deserves it's own warning, wingwoman Violet to the rescue! this can be read as a standalone or you can consider it a way-back prequel to hey roomie, my poly Ridoc/Sawyer/reader fic (more of that trio coming soon, by the way!)

Ridoc’s fist lands against your ribs, and you don’t know how to describe what happens, other than cold. Coldest shower of your life, bucket of ice water over your head, jumped into the river in late December cold, that shocks your senses and has you crumpling to the mat beneath you.

Your friends gasp, at your side in an instant.

You’re indoors, but your shirt is soaked like you’ve been out in the rain for twenty minutes, and your hair is dusted with… snow? You blink the wet flakes from your eyelashes, stunned.

Rhiannon helps you to your feet, and you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering.

Sawyer removes his flight jacket, draping it over your shoulders. The fabric is warm with his body heat, but it doesn’t do much to fight the chill you feel around your heart; the way the wet material of your clothes clings to your skin.

“I’m so sorry,” Ridoc breathes. “I had no idea that was going to happen.”

You still haven’t said a word, your entire body trembling — you’re in shock, unable to process your friend’s words.

“Get her into dry clothes,” Bodhi instructs quietly. “She should be fine in a few hours.”

Rhiannon nods, leading you out of the gym and toward your room.

Ridoc stares at his hands, at the frost that still coats his fingertips. You should be fine? Gods, what had he done?

Now he knows how Sawyer felt when his metal-bending signet manifested and he nearly skewered his sparring partner. But that’s the operative word — nearly. He’d definitely hit you with… whatever this is.

“You’re an ice wielder,” Dain answers before the boy can ask, dry and straightforward as always. “Professor Carr can explain.” He takes a few steps toward the door, realizing that Ridoc isn't following him; the younger boy is still stuck in place, silent.

“She’ll be okay,” Violet promises, touching a hand to his arm.

Sawyer offers some encouragement as well: “She knows you didn’t mean it.”

That’s not what he’s worried about.

————————————————

You aren’t at dinner that night, nor at evening formation; he doesn’t see you until breakfast the next day.

Your heart aches as he takes a seat clear across the table from you, as far away as he can be.

Violet comes to sit at your side instead, not mentioning yesterday’s events, but she gives you a soft smile that says I’m glad you’re okay.

You return it, though it doesn't feel as genuine as hers— the cold feeling is long gone, but it’s been replaced with something else that feels just as terrible.

You push the feeling down, waving Sawyer over to sit at your other side and extending him his flight jacket with a soft smile. “Thank you. That was really sweet of you.”

“Of course,” he says, reddening slightly as he puts it back on. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he quiets when he sees you glance at the other end of the table, deflating when you realize Ridoc is already gone.

Ridoc continues keeping his distance. You stand between Rhiannon and Sawyer at morning formation, and sit with them during Battle Brief, Ridoc at the end of your row, uncharacteristically silent.

You don’t see him that afternoon; you haven’t manifested a signet yet, so you aren’t attending Professor Carr’s class. You choose to sit in the study room instead, a textbook in front of you that you hardly touch; you can’t bring yourself to focus.

It’s getting dark out before dinner these days, the winter solstice approaching quickly. It’s supposed to freeze tonight, you’d heard someone say this morning. How ironic.

You sigh, curling up in the chair and tucking your legs to your chest, trying again to start the reading you’d been assigned.

“Mind if I join you?” Violet asks, a matching book of her own in her hand.

You smile softly, gesturing to the chair opposite you.

She sits, but doesn’t take out a pen or paper. “Don’t take it personally,” she says quietly, being mindful of the few other students across the room. “It really spooked him when… that happened. I think he’s afraid he’ll hurt you -- or someone else -- again if he gets too close.”

You’re silent for a moment, your chest aching at the idea of Ridoc, warm, happy, confident Ridoc being afraid, feeling guilty over what had happened by pure accident.

“I talked to him, but I think he needs to hear it from you,” she says gently, opening her book and starting to read, ending the conversation there.

You gaze down at the text, not reading the words -- instead thinking of what you could say to him to make him feel better, to get him back into your life again.

“The truth,” your dragon suggests. “The whole truth.”

————————————————

As soon as Sawyer sees you, he knows what you’re here to do. He excuses himself quietly, mumbling something about forgetting his book upstairs before he shoves everything into his bag and practically bolting away — not subtle at all.

Ridoc blinks in confusion, looking up to ask his friend what the hell that was, but he falls silent when he sees you.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

You could nearly cry at the sound of his voice as he responds, speaking to you for the first time in two days. “Hi.”

You pause, just looking at him for a moment. He looks like he hasn’t slept well for a few nights, his usually vibrant curls and glowing skin flat and dulled. A few of his cuticles are bleeding — he must have been picking at them as a nervous habit.

It hurts you to see him like this.

“You can do this,” she encourages. “Speak from the heart.”

From the heart, you say to yourself. It should be easy enough to say the things you’ve wanted to tell him for weeks.

He speaks before you can, but remains seated, making no move toward you. “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “I know saying it won’t change anything, but I really am sorry.”

You smile at him softly. “It’s okay. I’m fine, really. I slept it right off.”

You’d looked and felt so cold yesterday, but here you are, healthy and smiling, not mad at all.

“I’m still sorry. It was an accident, but if I had hit any harder, or hit you somewhere else, I don’t know…” he chews his lip, clearly still upset. “It scared the crap out of me, seeing you like that.”

You slide into the seat next to him and take his hand gently, interlocking your fingers. The warmth of your skin comforts him — that, and the fact you’re still willing to touch him after the other day, when that same hand had nearly frozen you to death.

“I never want that to happen again, especially not to you,” he says softly, gazing at your hands. “I really like you, you know.”

“You like everyone,” you say, not quite following. “That’s your whole deal. You’re easily the most likeable and easygoing guy in the quadrant.”

He cracks a smile, and you feel every ounce of stress melt from your shoulders at the sight of him happy again. “I’m glad you think so, but that's not what I meant.”

Your breath catches. Is he saying what you think he’s saying? He can’t be.

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

You blink at him once, twice, letting out a shocked laugh.

His face falls, and he pulls back, starting to gather his things from the table. “Forget it.”

“No, hey, I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you,” you say quickly, reaching for his hand again. “I was laughing because I came here to say the same thing. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.”

“Really?” he breathes, starry-eyed.

“Really,” you confirm. “I have been for a while.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, maybe a little too eagerly.

You smile. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

His lips are on yours before you can blink, soft and plush and perfect. He lifts his other hand, settling it on your waist ever-so-gently, stroking over the slightly tender spot in your ribs in a silent apology. The warmth of his palm against your side soothes the ache, relaxing you completely.

He pulls back after a moment, gazing at you softly.

“I think I’m more than pretty sure after that,” you breathe, stunned.

It’s his turn to laugh as he presses another soft kiss to your lips. “Me too, princess. Me too.”

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Coriolanus Snow x Professor!Reader

University!Coriolanus Snow x Professor!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Obsession, cussing, rejection, angst, no happy endings, making out, kissing

You're 25 years old, live in Capitol City, Panem and work at the University as a professor. It wasn't your dream job, but yet again you never really even figured out what your dream job was.

But at least you're successful. Well, to a point considering you're single while all of your friends are married with children. But that's not your fault.

Really, it's not.

Your ex, Odysseus Odair, was a bit of a beach bum. His father owns a luxury cruise line based out of District 4, so the bronze haired Adonis prefers the sun, sand, ocean, and chilled out vibes of the fishing district over the glitz, glamor, and sophistication of the Capitol.

Couldn't pay you to leave the Capitol. Hell, you won't even leave to go visit your brother at the district base he lives on as an Officer in the Peacekeepers.

So that's why things didn't work out with you and Odysseus. He wanted to relocate to District 4 and live in a beach house, but you didn't want that. You have a good job and a nice apartment that you're not giving up to trapeze to a place where your children can be reaped for a death royale battle that's televised across the nation as a form of fucked up punishment for the war; the Dark Days.

But, as you understand from the grapevine, Odysseus is doing fine. He met somebody and they're having a baby.

If only you'd meet somebody.

It seems like all the eligible bachelor's your age are complete assholes.

Lucky you…

Maybe your soulmate got run over by a bus? What? You haven't met Mr. Right yet, so…

Coriolanus Snow’s favorite class at the University was yours and it wasn't because of the subject matter either. No, it's his favorite class because of you. Yes, he has a little crush on you.

Okay, that's a lie. Coriolanus is obsessed with you. So much so that he decides to approach you one day after class to see if you'll make good on an offer you extended in the beginning of the semester.

“Professor Halvir, I was wondering if you could perhaps tutor me.” Coriolanus told you, nearly scaring the shit out of you while you cleaned your blackboard- since you assumed all your students had left.

Jumping slightly and turning around, clutching the eraser in your dominant hand, you give Coriolanus a line of a smile. “Of course I'll tutor you, Mr. Snow. I did say that I can tutor any student that feels they need it.”

“That's very good to hear, Professor Halvir.” The platinum blonde smiles wide, all his teeth on display as his icy eyes twinkle- looking a bit unnatural, like a maniac serial killer or something.

“I have an open slot on Thursday afternoon at 4, does that work for you?” You ask your student, hoping that he wouldn't have another engagement during that time.

“That's perfect, Professor. I'll see you then.” Coriolanus smiles, showing off too many of his pearly white teeth to be considered polite, and walks out of your class with a bounce in his step.

Thursday afternoon at 4pm, right on the dot, Coriolanus Snow showed up at your office for his private tutoring session. He was polite and knocked on the door, to which you opened it and greeted him with a professional smile and told him to come in and have a seat. Which in turn resulted in the two of you sitting at your desk, books and notebooks open, as you discuss the course material. Material that Coriolanus didn't truly need help with, since he's highly intelligent and understands it completely.

The platinum blonde’s icy eyes wander down the v-neck of your shirt, checking out your cleavage. His tongue barely juts out and he subtly licks his lower lip. Oh, how Coriolanus loves titties; he just can't help, but want to see yours. He can tell by your cleavage that you must have beautiful tits.

Oh, and how he wants to see them right now.

Goddamnit, right now!

Coriolanus’ brain is nearly fried with thoughts of you as he scoots his chair closer to yours. He hooks his foot around your ankle, running it teasingly along your ankle bone, while slinging an arm around the back of your chair; essentially caging you in with his body. Coriolanus leans close to your ear, only to pur, “Professor, I think I'd rather have you tutor me in the art of lovemaking than in military political theory.”

“What?” You ask, taken aback by his smooth line.

Coriolanus’ hand began to caress your thigh as his breath tickled your ear. “You’re a very beautiful and intelligent woman; you've captured my attention and I’d like nothing more than to be with you.” His lips softly pressed against the sweet spot below your ear.

“Mr. Snow-” You begin to say, only for the platinum blonde to interrupt you with the request of, “Please, call me Coriolanus or Coryo.”

“Coriolanus, I'm your professor. It's not ethical for us to sleep together.” You told your student, struggling to get the words out of your mouth as his lush lips danced poetically up and down your neck.

“We're both consenting adults.” Coriolanus protests your rebuttal, his lips ghosting your skin. “There's nothing wrong with us giving into our desires.” He whispers against the hollow of your neck before nipping and biting at your collarbone.

“Coriolanus, we can't do this. I'd be jeopardizing my job.” You tell him around a wispy moan as Coriolanus’ hands start to massage and grope your breasts as he peppers kisses along your jawline.

Coriolanus’ head back and his icy eyes, blown black by lust, locked onto your gaze. “I'd never do anything to jeopardize your career, darling. I swear, I won't tell anyone about us; it'll stay a secret.”

Coriolanus was a very handsome man, a pretty boy with the looks of the ancient gods of the old myths, so it was hard to turn down such an Adonis throwing himself at you. But, you had to turn him down. It didn't matter that his kisses and touches were lighting a fire inside of you, it was too risky to do anything with him.

Shaking your head, you sigh, “I'm sorry, Coryo, but as long as you're my student we can't be together.”

Coriolanus was gutted at your rejection. He was so sure that you'd swoon over him. Girls always fell at his feet now that he was the heir to the Plinth fortune and had a very classic, sophisticated style that oozed old money. But you pushed him away in fear that an affair would ruin your career.

Fine, if your career's more important to you than he is then he'll let you have it. And he'll show you just what you're missing by turning down his proposition.

“Well, it looks like I don't need your tutoring after all, Professor Halvir.” Coriolanus coldly told you while untangling himself from you. “I'll leave you alone, darling, but mark my words you'll regret rejecting me.” He said before standing up and storming out of your office.

You felt horrible for rejecting him. And if things were different, you would've had no qualms with hooking up with him. But you can't risk your job; your reputation.

You can't help, but dread having to see Coriolanus during your next class. You're never going to be able to look at him the same way ever again after the way his kisses made you feel.

But the look in his baby blues when you rejected him will haunt your dreams. The platinum blonde man looked so broken, so betrayed by you pushing him away. You only hope that he doesn't dwell on the rejection; that it doesn't hinder his grades.

But unknown to you, the hots he has for you won't simply go away. And one day, many years down the road, you'll find yourself at a political fundraiser dinner party being thrown for Coriolanus as he embarks on a Senatorial campaign. But when he makes his next move, he'll make sure that his heart’s well locked away behind a brick wall.

Snow lands on top and one day he's sure he'll land on top of you. But right now you're the professor that he's obsessed with, but can't have.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @princess-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[eroscomet]

Echoes of the Past

Chapter one- The Unexpected Hour

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Paring: Wednesday Addams X Fem!OC

Context: During her winter break, Wednesday Addams notices a strange girl entering the empty house next door, claiming it as her own. Intrigued, Wednesday confronts her, only to uncover eerie inconsistencies in the girl's story that hint at something far beyond the ordinary. As the girl’s strange familiarity with the house clashes with Wednesday’s reality, a chilling mystery unfolds, leaving Wednesday to question what forces might be at play.

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Word count: 2.3k+

A/N: Hey lovelies, it has been a while since I have been active. I made a different post somewhat explaining why. I am back though and ready to write! While I was gone, I got more ideas of different stories! Let me know what you guys think! This will definitely be a series and I hope you guys like where this one goes. I think this will be a bit of a slow burn.

Not proof read

╰┈➤Series Masterlist

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Nevermore had gone on their Christmas break, meaning Wednesday was back home in the Addams' manor with her family. The original Addams manor was known to be alone atop a hill, secluded from all those who were anywhere near normal. Alas, Gomez and Morticia felt that it was time for a scenery change, so they had moved when Wednesday was about ten years old, long before she had been sent to Nevermore.

This manor was just as brooding and perfect for the family. They had accommodated to the home quickly as their last. They familiarized themselves with their neighbors, though they wanted nothing to do with the strange family. All but their neighbors next door, the Walters. They were an old couple who didn't know much about what was going on around them half of the time. This made them almost as strange to the neighborhood as the Addams. The Addams were most friendly to the Walters over the years as they had been just as kind to them since the beginning. 

Wednesday found that winter break was the perfect time to catch up on her writing, especially since her family knows not to bother her during this writing time. She spends her time in her room using her typewriter to finish her novel. Feeling like she could never finish it at Nevermore due to Enid's constant need to express herself on the form. Whether it be music, talking, inviting people over to their dorm, or gossiping, Wednesday had found it exceedingly difficult to focus on her work.

Again, like any other day, she was writing. She always had her desk in front of her window to peer out every once in a while. As she was typing away on her typewriter today, something had caught her eye. A girl? Wearing odd clothing that seemed far too old-fashioned for these times. Wearing a white collared shirt that seemed to be a button-up shirt, a black tie with a v-neck dark green colored jumper, a pair of black pleated pants, accompanied by a pair of black boots, and a black leather jacket. 

The girl wiped her hands on her trousers as if she had just jumped the fence that guarded Walter's home. Her boots made a trail of shoe prints in the snow, almost as if she had come out of the woods behind the home. Wednesday, never in her time in the neighborhood, had seen or heard of the Walters having a daughter. They had only ever said they never had children and couldn't have them even if they wanted. Given that, the Walters were out on a Christmas vacation, and they had been for over a week now. 

They don't have any pets that need tending to... Then who was this? A vandal? A thief? Is someone coming to rob the poor old couple's home? Wednesday's thoughts were cut off by the girl reaching the opening in the backdoor that seemingly was left unlocked by the couple. Just then, the girl had disappeared into the home, out of visible sight from Wednesday's window.

Her curiosity had been piqued, who was this girl? More than that, what was her purpose in breaking into her family's dear friend's home? Wednesday stopped her writing, closing the lid to her typewriter. Taking another glance out the window to the new 'character' in Walter's residence, narrowing her gaze as she did her best to get a good look at the girl.She glared out the window with her arms crossed while she debated whether or not she ought to investigate.

Her curiosity had gotten the better of her in the end, and after a good moment of thought, she decided to pay the girl a 'visit' next door. Grabbing a coat and slipping out of her bedroom as well as out the manor's back door. As she walked across the snowy grass and swiftly exited the Addam's family manor's backyard through the gate. Her footprints followed behind her on the snow as she followed the girl's footsteps past Walter's back gate. 

"This better be good.." Wednesday had grumbled under her breath as she neared the backdoor of Walter's home.

Surprisingly, when she had turned the knob. The door opened without a hitch. She didn't waste any more time as she walked right in, closing the door behind her. The girl was in the kitchen, back turned from the backdoor, which she didn't realize she left unlocked when she entered. The footprints of her boots on the door's mat. Her eyes had been scanning the kitchen, brows knitted together in a confused state.

"Quite the trespasser, aren't you?" Wednesday's voice broke through the silence of the house. She had taken slow and measured steps toward the girl, a smirk on her face.

The girl had acted quickly, as she heard Wednesday speak up, her hand reaching to grab a knife that was slid inside ofthe rack. She turned around quickly to face Wednesday.

"No, what are you doing in my home?" She said defensively as she pointed the knife towards Wednesday's direction, her eyes scanning over the brooding girl's figure.

Wednesday's eyes flickered down to the knife in the mysterious girl's hand, but she didn't make any effort to back away. Instead, she leaned against the nearest counter, folding her arms over her chest and tilting her head to the side with her usually daunting smirk,

"Your home? Don't be ridiculous, you're a burglar."

"This is my home! I just came back from a walk through the woods!" She had said back defensively as she shook her head.

"Look, my other pair of shoes are right by the door!" The hand that held the knife pointed at the kitchen's doorway, nothing there. Her eyes had been trained on Wednesday, not noticing that her shoes weren't there.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to pull, but they're not there. Do you expect me to believe you somehow teleported into your own home, unannounced? No, you're a thief," The Addam's girl said as she pushed herself off the counter, taking a step closer.

The other girl's expression hardened as she looked over by the kitchen doorway, realizing that her shoes weren't there.

"What the..? They were just here!" She said in confusion as she stared at where she knew her shoes had once been.

Wednesday couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as she continued to watch the girl look around the kitchen in confusion.

"So... What? Are you claiming that that just vanished into thin air? That's impossible, you and I both know it."

"I live here, I'm telling you!" She replied as she shook her head, putting the knife back into the rack before speaking again,

"Look, if this isn't my house, then how would I know that the living room has a dark green rug and black leather furniture?" She crossed her arms, leaving the kitchen and entering the living room where the rug was instead a red and gold color with an old design, along with brown furniture that wasn't leather.

"What..?" She said in confusion as she looked at the living room. She slowly stepped forward, looking at the living room in utter confusion and shock.

Wednesday, who had followed her into the living room, not far behind her with her arms folded across her chest. A dry laugh that sounded almost like a scoff escaped Wednesday, her suspicions slowly being confirmed.

"I knew it. You're a trespasser, and you're a very bad one at that. No good thief would make such a stupid mistake."

"What the..." The girl had muttered out breathlessly, unable to focus on the words leaving Wednesday's mouth. All she could focus on was the living room that had drastically changed for her. Her eyes searched every inch of the living room.

"Where's my mom's lamp and painting? It was just...here....and so was my father's wrenches that my mom begged for him to put away.." She said as she eyed the coffee table and the room. Her eyes landed on the flat-screened television in the home.

"What the hell is this?" Her hand reached out and continuously pressed on the screen as if something was going tohappen.

The Addam's girl only watched quietly as the girl paced the room, more amused with every second that passed. As the girl looked at the television and tried to interact with it, Wednesday had to bite back a chuckle.

"That's a television... Surely even you know what a television is. What, are from the 1800's?"

"What? Where's the RCA CTC-11? My dad worked overtime just to afford it for the family.." The mysterious girl said as she ran her hand across the television's screen, watching as her hand left a trail across the screen. Her eyebrows only knitted together further into confusion.

"We could never afford something like this.."

"RCA? The television you speak of is very outdated, especially when we have this." Wednesday replied. The girl's confusion was a bit strange, and Wednesday was growing more curious by the second. She could hear the slight hint of disbelief in the girl's voice as her hand had retracted from the television.

"What? How could the RCA be outdated when it's 1964 and the television just came out in 61'? That doesn't make any sense." She said so confidently as if it were true, looking at Wednesday as if she were in the wrong.

Wednesday's eyes had slightly widened for a brief moment, her mouth agape in disbelief. 1964? No, something was wrong with this girl, and the more she spoke, the more Wednesday was beginning to understand. She paused for a moment as if processing the information she just received.

"..1964? You're sure of that?"

"Yes!" The girl exclaimed, looking at Wednesday as if she were crazy, "I was just here! My family was just here!"

"And what year were you born in?" She asked as her eyes darted over the girl's face, searching for any sign of deceit or a hint that she may be lying. But there was nothing. The girl was confused, and she firmly believed what she was saying. Wednesday's curiosity peaked again.

"1947? Why?" The mysterious girl had said in confusion, "Are you the new neighbors or what?" 

"No, I'm not a recent neighbor. We've been living right next door for quite some time now.."

"What? Surely I would have known of you?" Her eyes scanned the brooding girl's figure before returning to her face, "This feels like someone is pulling on my leg. Where did everything go then"

"This is going to sound like a strange question, but just humor me for a minute," Wednesday said as she followed the girl into the kitchen, keeping a few feet of distance between them. "What's your name?"

"Alex Davis- Well, Alexandra, but I always hate when people call me my full name. My family bought this house in 1951." Alex muttered as her hands ran over the new counters, she was utterly confused.

"Alex Davis.." Wednesday repeated to herself as she searched her mind for any remembrance of the name but nothing came to mind, "How old are you, currently?"

"I'm seventeen?" Alex said as she looked out the kitchen window over to the Addams' manor, eyeing it for a moment. "Huh, someone painted the witch's nest. Looks newer than before.."

"I was only gone for a couple of hours." She added as she continued to look at the manor. Wednesday's eyes darted across the girl's body and clothing, taking in every detail. She couldn't recall a time when she had seen someone around here wearing anything like this, let alone someone her age. It was outdated and began to confirm her thoughts.

"A couple of hours. How much time do you usually take on your walks?"

"I don't. I had an argument with my parents and ran out from the back gate and into the woods. Just to cool off for a couple of hours..and now I come back and everything is...gone, replaced.." Alex muttered her eyes darting down at the sink, trying to wrap her head around everything.

"Everything has been replaced?" The Addam's girl repeated as her mind began racing with potential answers for the situation: time travel, magic, a dream. It all sounded unreal but she knew that one thing was for sure, Alex was being genuine.

"This is my house, but everything is just...replaced." Walking back over to the living room once again, reaching down to grab the photo frame on the coffee table. The photo consisted of an old couple, The Walter's, but she hadn't recognized them.

"You're certain you don't know them...? You sure you didn't just run into a different house?" Wednesday asked, her voice still monotone now with a more serious tone to her voice. 

"This is my house!" Alex said now more urgently as she shook her head, her hands now balling up into fists at her sides. 

She quickly began walking upstairs, walking down the hallway, and opening every door. She opened the door that once led to her little sister's room, which was once painted with pink walls, now has grey walls and is an empty guest room. Shaking her head, she angrily walked over to her parent's room, opening the door and only finding, once again, differently painted walls, and now the bedroom belonged to the old couple she saw in the picture downstairs. 

She shook her head again, walking further down the hall to the restroom and slamming the door open. It was also differently painted and looked as if it was an entirely different bathroom. She walked backward, her back hitting the hallway wall as her head began spinning. Her family was no longer there. 

Her mind raced with all kinds of thoughts: Where did they go? Did they leave her behind? Were her parents so upset with her and the argument that they left without saying a word? If so, then why is everything so different all of a sudden? How did these people buy her home and quickly renovate it?

┗━━━✦❘༻♡༺❘✦━━━┛

[lawrites]

Just Enough (NSFW)

Jonathan Crane x Plus Size Gender Neutral Reader

You've always fantasized about Jon and his Scarecrow persona...well...what if he felt the same?

CW: dead dove, talk about getting dosed with fear toxin, Jon being creepy and scary, bit of non-con if you look at it but nothing explicit.

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Do you feel a little bit bad that you are attracted to Jonathan while he's in his full scarecrow costume? Well...no...but you probably should, which does make you feel bad.

It's no secret that Jon is a slight man, and his figure, while attractive to you, is not exactly intimidating when dressed in his sweater vests and khakis. But when donning his alter ego? He drapes himself in flowing, dark fabric that hides him, making you see shapes, limbs, even faces where they aren't there. It builds him up, even makes him intimidating.

His fingers are extend into needles which look like claws, to you. It makes you fantasize about how they would feel...tracing along your body...pressing into your skin. And his mask...it's a grim visage with deep, dark buttons for eyes and an eerie smile stitched in blood-colored thread.

All of that together would make most people run, even without the knowledge of who The Scarecrow is. But you? You've found yourself crossing your legs more often than not as he starts getting ready to head out. You usually lounge around, wearing a comfortable set of pajamas and watching him don his terrifying (sexy) garb, trying to babble away about any inane thing so he can't tell how much you want to jump his bones.

Tonight is a bit different. Jonathan doesn't know it, but you have something pretty for him under your usual comfy clothes. He hasn't told you of any plans to go out, so you are hoping that he will return from work, collapse, and let you spoil him for a bit. He does work so hard, and you would love to give him a nice treat. And maybe...you could bring up something you've been wanting to try for a bit.

You return from your daydreaming to your current focus, lazily stirring the chicken stew you have put together and making sure there are no burned bits on the bottom. The slight chill outside is making you feel like you need to take care of the handsome, skinny Professor. He must be freezing.

And with that thought, you hear the jangle of keys being inserted clumsily into the front door. You smile and turn the burner to low heat, giving the stew one last stir and tapping the spoon on the edge before laying it down. You wipe your hands and hurry to the living room just as Jon opens the door.

"Jon! Hi! Welcome back!" You do your best to not immediately run into his arms.

He looks a bit haggard, shaking off the bits of snow from his coat, but he also looks invigorated. His eyes glow with excitement. "Darling!" You blush. "I have had the most wonderful idea for a target for my fear toxin. It must be done tonight but I think-"

You don't catch the rest of his sentence, feeling yourself collapse a bit in defeat. His sentence ends and you manage to get out, "That's great Jon!" Before turning to go back to the kitchen, trying to hide your irrational tears.

It wasn't like he promised to be available tonight, so the only person who let you down tonight is yourself. You shouldn't hype yourself up with plans when you know he has goals that he has to achieve. It's time to start being more realistic, especially with Jon as a partner. He would understand your feelings, but would be more annoyed by them than anything.

As you hear him set down his briefcase and meander around the living room, you let a few tears fall before wiping them away and trying to get yourself in order.

"I-I made chicken stew, Jon! If you want some!! It looked cold out there."

Jon's voice responds, too close and right behind you, "Sounds delicious."

You jump, involuntarily, causing a bit of the hot soup to splash on your hand. A hiss leaves you as the sting registers, reddening the back of your hand.

Jon tuts and turns you around, immediately inspecting your hand gently. He grabs a paper towel and wipes the soup off, holding it up to the light and turning it to and fro. He nods at it, almost to verify that you aren't seriously injured. "I'm sorry, dear, I just wanted to see you a bit afraid." His smile is wolfish. "You know I would never hurt you without your consent first."

He winks, and you can't help the blush that takes over your face. One of his hands comes up to lightly brush your cheek, and it makes you want to swoon a bit. At first, you think maybe he is just trying to comfort you after your injury, but then you realize that he is tracing the tear tracks that must be visible, moving his thumb up and down, his brow furrowing.

"I have to do this, tonight, darling. And I'll be back, don't worry." You can't escape his gaze, and your blush deepens a bit further when you realize that he knows why you are upset in the first place. Of course he does, it's his job to read people.

You nod, still a bit sad that your plans won't work but happy that he at least is acknowledging your feelings. "I understand." His brow stays furrowed, and he opens his mouth like he is about to argue, but you cut him off. "Really! I do. I...I want you to succeed, Jon. Your work is important to you and you are important to me."

He seems to at least be placated by your answer, releasing your cheek and moving to hold both of your hands instead. Silence takes over for a bit, both of you unsure how to change the subject. You start, unsure of what he wants you to do tonight. "Would you like me to stay up? I can wait until you get ba-"

He vehemently shakes his head, cutting you off. "Don't worry, I may be out late. Go to bed at your usual time and get a full night's rest."

He releases your hands from his gentle hold, clapping his own together. "Well! I must have some of this stew and then head out to work. You are right, it was cold out there," he admits with a sheepish grin.

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

Watching Jonathan get ready to go was even more taxing than usual today, knowing that you had lingerie underneath your clothes the whole time. The temptation to tear them off, showing him what he would miss by leaving you here tonight...maybe timing it so he would be in his full scarecrow costume...

It had you fantasizing and looking off in the distance instead of prattling on as usual. Jonathan may have noticed this, as he reached out with one gloved hand, a needle extending to gently press right into the softness under your chin. Even if you weren't paying attention before, you are now. You try not to breathe too heavily, knowing that even a slight prick could have you seeing visions for hours.

"You'll be good and go to bed on time for me? Hmm?" His voice is deeper, lower, when he's in the mask. It comes out whispered, like he wants you to lean in to hear him and pierce yourself on his needle. Your thighs subtly shift together.

You would nod...but that's probably not the best idea. "O-of course, Jon. I'll go to bed on time, for you."

His needle clad finger retracts, and he reaches over to find his cloak, placing it over his shoulders in a sweeping motion. "Good. I'll be back soon."

And with what seems to be a swish of his cloak, a bathing of your vision in darkness, he's gone.

Thank God.

If you weren't going to get any direct action from him tonight, especially after he seemed to be more loving than usual, then you needed to find relief in other ways before bed. Having his hands on you and knowing that it would lead nowhere tonight was torture.

You hum to yourself, stripping off your clothes and looking at what you had picked out in the mirror. A burnt orange babydoll shift, in his colors. The sheer, silky fabric hits just right at the midpoint of your hips, which allows the tiny panties you had on to peek through. So much discomfort, if you're being honest, was worth at least a bit of enjoyment, even if it's just on your part.

Suddenly a chill moves through you, once you are only in your lingerie. Someone's here, your body is telling you. They're in the window. You glance at the window...and see nothing. Shaking your head and trying to convince yourself not to look, (this is how people die in horror movies!), you walk slowly over to the window to check, pulling back the sheer curtains.

You see nothing there. Chuckling, reminding yourself that you are on the 8th floor and the fire escape is so flimsy you would hear someone breathing on it...you walk away. But the nervousness doesn't fade as it should. It sits, uneasy, in the depths of your body.

It works for you, in an odd way. Maybe Jon had a point about the intersection between fear and pleasure...because your nipples had pebbled in the cold air near the window and the chill you experienced from the fear. It makes them sensitive to the silky fabric encasing your chest.

Finalizing your preparations, you pull back the comforters, set down two massive towels, and turn the lights off, leaving only one lamp on your bedside table.

Settling back against the pillows, you reach for a silky bag you keep in your bedside drawer. The toy encased inside is lovingly maintained, batteries replaced and the outside sanitized after each session.

The bottle of lube is opened by your hands, carefully measuring out a perfect portion and running them up and down the main shaft of the toy. Your mind drifts, already thinking about Jonathan. You imagine it's him you are running your hands over and an involuntary sigh of his name leaves your mouth.

The fire escape creaks.

Ending all prep work as your heart drops to your stomach, you freeze and your muscles stiffen. Carefully placing the toy down, you walk slowly over to the window again, feeling your heart beat in your throat.

Step. Beat.

Step. Beat.

Step. Beat.

Your hands grab the curtain and yank it back, trying to stare into the inky blackness of a Gotham night. And you, again, see nothing. The howling of the wind outside picks up, and your eyes are drawn to a slightly loose panel of the fire escape as it clanks, metal on metal.

You must be on edge tonight, being alone, you tell yourself. There is no reason to think that anyone would be coming for you. Jonathan must just...be in your head. Maybe he did prick you with some fear toxin earlier...or maybe it's just hard for your brain to focus on anything when he's not near.

Tired of standing by the coldness seeping out of the window and hugging yourself to stay warm, you make your way back to your bed. Your eyes fall on your toy...right.

And suddenly, a wave of warmth takes the place of the coldness. You had finished lubing it up before, so all that was left to do was to prepare yourself.

Laying down right in the middle of your towels, you sigh as a hand traces over your chest. You see thin, clever fingers doing the work in your mind's eye.

Jonathan. You sigh again.

The wind howls, the fire escape creaks, and you ignore it. Your thoughts are consumed with your love, instead.

Running your hands down the sheer fabric encasing your body, hearing his gorgeous voice in your mind, "My colors encasing your form...does that make you mine?"

Your hands grip at the softer flesh of your hips like he would, digging your nails in and gasping. "Yes Jonathan!"

Another creak, but you don't even notice it this time.

Desperately, you reach for the toy, surprisingly keyed up tonight and already ready for it. (You try not to think about Jon's theories any more). Pushing aside the fabric covering you, you tease around with the toy and your own fingers for a bit, moaning and wanting to be filled, soon.

You are so, so desperate, that you don't even notice the window opening. Maybe it was the hum of the toy vibrating...maybe it was the expert way that the perpetrator knew the window. But either way, you don't see a shape moving in the dark.

You gently ease the toy in, letting out a groan of Jon's name. "Jon, please!"

The shape gracefully keeps to the shadows, pausing when your groan reaches its ears. It stops, then, watching as you fill yourself slowly, letting out mumbles of nonsense around your pretty sounds.

You get a feeling that something is watching you, somewhere in the back of your mind. But, as you've gotten that feeling all night, you ignore it, favoring the pleasure coursing through your veins as you manage to work the entire length of the toy into you with a gasp.

Deciding that Jonathan would tease you, you let it still for a second, and then your mind imagines him filling you, asking you what you want around your moans.

"What do you want? You are so desperate, I can't understand you. Use your words, darling."

"Jonathan, please, move!"

And just as you begin to pull the toy out of you, the shape pounces out of the dark.

With expertise, the shape finds your mouth quickly, silencing your scream. The feel of its body surrounds you, a cloak and sharp claws are what you feel against your skin as you kick and struggle.

And then, a singular claw finds its way to the soft underside of your chin. Your mind jumps back to only an hour earlier, when your lover pulled the same move...

You pause, for just a moment. "J-Jon?"

A dark chuckle reaches your ears. "Clever mouse."

Expecting him to move the needle away, you are instead surprised to hear his breathing pick up as he traces it down your body, digging into your flesh just enough to not break it. You can't see his actual eyes in his mask, but you notice how his head angles towards where the toy landed on the towels. His mask snaps right back to where that toy was only moments ago. "I noticed, you know." His voice rumbles out.

You are a bit dazed. Pleasure, fear, pleasure, fear, pleasure...it's left your mind floating, especially since Jon is actually here, now. His needle traces over your nipple and it makes you squeak out in response: "W-what?"

Another chuckle, and suddenly you feel the rough texture of his mask against your cheek as he leans in to whisper. "I noticed, all those times you wanted to fuck me in my Scarecrow costume."

He pulls back, and you can't help your reaction to his voice, clenching around nothing and watching his mask angle to take it in. Hoping you didn't somehow make him uncomfortable, after the initial onslaught of warmth from his words, you try to explain yourself, "Oh, Jon, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He cuts you off by carefully gripping your chin with his gloved hand so his needles don't pierce it, forcing your mouth to meet his. A deep groan emanates from his throat, making him pull apart from you after he ravaged your mouth. "Dear, do not apologize. I am delighted you find me attractive in this form, for you see..."

He rests his chin on your shoulder, hugging you to him tightly and whispering into your ear, "...you are my perfect test subject for a theory about my toxin."

You balk a bit, "T-test subject?" Trying to get out of his hold, he instead keeps you close, chuckling.

"Please, darling, let me explain. For you, at least, I'll need...informed consent." If you could see his face through his mask, you can tell he would be smirking by the tone of his voice. The needle continues tracing your body, moving to your ass and digging slightly into the soft flesh, making Jonathan pause. "God, I've been thinking about piercing you here for ages, now. Testing how the toxin causes reactions when injected in different areas of your... delectable form."

But the needle keeps moving and he continues his explanation, as well. "You have been paying attention to my lectures about fear and lust, haven't you pet?" You nod, unable to use your voice as his needle is tracing up and down your soft side, paying special attention to your hip. "Good." You shiver as his usual baritone deepens, and Jonathan lets out an exhale of air to show his amusement.

"All of my theories are, so far, theories...at least where my toxin is concerned. But seeing you so eager to...what is the term...jump my bones in my cloak and mask made me consider a new experiment." Your whole body is keyed up thanks to the low sound of his voice and his needle tracing the softness at your belly, picking up the silky fabric with it.

"You see, I need to test my theories, and I need a subject that is not only attracted to me, but that I am attracted to as well." His mask nuzzles into your neck, "And you obviously fit the criteria, my pretty crow." His hips press against you from behind, causing you to moan as you feel his cock hardening already.

Another chuckle can be heard from behind his mask, "And you have already given me wonderful notes to start with, haven't you?" He grinds against your ass, making you whimper and causing his hands to dig deeper into your hips, careful to avoid his needles, "Calling my name while so afraid of what was outside your window. Were you really that desperate for me?"

You nod, "J-Johnathan, please! I've been ready for you all night." He groans, and then he suddenly moves your body so you are facing him. When you try to get closer, he once again presses a singular needle into the softness of your chin, keeping you at bay. He pushes up with it, forcing you to look up at him to avoid being pierced.

His voice comes out of the mask, flustered, "W-we'll keep you in the apartment. I don't need anyone else seeing what is mine." The last word comes out in a growl, his needle moving from your chin to the side of your neck. You obediently keep looking up at him.

His voice struggles with the next sentence, seeming to be affected by your gaze. "T-this will give us the best results, and I-I'll start with a low dose." He gathers himself, more sure, "What do you say, pet?"

Your mind struggles, trying to consider what this truly entails. His fear toxin isn't a joke, it has seriously injured people in the past...and even if it is a low dose, you know you'll be out of your mind, not even yourself for a while.

His mask gazes down at you, unfeeling, unreadable, but you can hear his breathing. He's trying to keep it subtle, but he's gasping for air, already desperate for you and this as much as you are for him. And...as much as Jonathan is terrifying...if he truly thinks you are in danger, you have enough trust in him to stop you and possibly administer an antitoxin. It will hurt him, but he will do it. You just have to trust him.

"Jonathan..." You look unsure. He gently traces the needle up and down your neck, making you shiver. "Pretty crow, I need a concrete answer." Convincing yourself, you reach up to grab his hand.

"Yes. I'll do it. Just...treat me gently."

If you could see behind his mask, you would see his face practically split in two by his grin. "Excellent. And don't worry."

You feel the sting of his needle as it pierces your neck. "I'll give you just enough to make you whimper for me."

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

So yeah. uhhhh lemme know what you think lol

[theweepingangelofcas]

Hi can you do one with William and Sherlock (Moriarty The Patriot) meeting and later falling in love with a female pickpocket reader? The reader meets William/Sherlock after the reader steals their wallets. And maybe put a part where the reader gets into a bit of trouble and William/Sherlock saves them.

Idk if you've ever played Skyrim, but you can be a thief/pickpocket in that game. In my cringey middle school years, I wrote SO MUCH FANFIC about thieves and pickpockets omfg-

So yeah, I might be a little overqualified to write this lol. I just wrote for Sherlock for now, but hopefully William's will come along soon.

*******************

PickPocket - Moriarty the Patriot x Reader

Sherlock Holmes

To put it plainly, you were a good thief.

Really, really good.

It was rare you messed up your goals. After all, that meant going without money for food. Messing up a job meant that you would go hungry until you did it right again.

That was why, on that cold December day, you were so desperate to succeed in getting a single wallet that day.

You had fucked up. Your last job had left you injured, unable to sneak around in the way you needed to. You had been caught by the police, thrown into one of their carraiges... It's a miracle you'd been able to escape. The handcuffs they'd strapped you with were good, but your ability of breaking your own thumb to slip out of them was apparently better. But, that left you with a problem. You had a bounty on your head, a broken thumb, a rather nasty cut on your leg, and not a cent to your name. Anyone in your situation would've been desperate. There had been so few people out today. The weather was cold, snow falling in sheets from the clouds. The few people who passed you were obviously just as bad off as you were, vagrants who just needed a break. You didn't have the heart to take from them. That was why, when that tall man appeared, you jumped at the opportunity. But with cracked hands, and a broken thumb, it was no wonder you messed this up too. The wallet was in your hand, but his eyes were already on you, his strong hand reaching out for yours. You did the only thing you could think of.

You clasped the wallet to your chest, and ran. With the cut on your leg, it felt near impossible to get to a good speed, but you managed well enough. He had been hot on your tail for a long while now, and you were getting tired. The cobblestone street was wreaking havoc on your poor feet, and you could feel your stamina running low with each pound of your shoes hitting the ground. Your eyes looked around frantically, searching for anything that could help you, until- Aha! A different man, standing in the street. You could make out that he wasn't one of the vagrants that frequented this area, so maybe, just maybe, you could get him to help you. You released a chilling cry, calling out, "SOMEBODY! Please! Help! This man, this man, he's trying to hurt me!" You pointed hysterically to your victim, turning back to scream some more, before you collapsed into the other man, your savior, and you were both knocked to the ground. You continued to act like a damsel in distress, not even looking at the new person as you cried, "Oh thank you. Please, please help me, he's trying to-"

"Y/n L/n, right?" You finally looked at your supposed savior. Oh no. The shiny police badge was obvious now that you were close to him. "That man over there, he's-" "Trying to get his wallet back, I suppose?" The cop gestured to the leather in your hands. You could run again. You could try. But with your victim catching up to you, a police officer within mere inches of you, and your exhausted body, you knew it would be futile. "Did she steal your wallet, sir?" You couldn't even look up from the ground as the officer spoke. He'd say yes, and you'd be carted off to jail, too weak to fight- "What? God, no!" An exasperated voice raised you from your thoughts. Your victim. His hair was in a disheveled ponytail, his plain dress clothes crinkled, but he didn't look angry. No, if anything, he looked excited. "I- Excuse me?" The officer scoffed. The man nodded, "My good friend and I were just playing a good old game of keep away. She always plays so dirty with it." He mocked a frown, before chuckling, "Come on, let's go back home."

The cop hesitated, his grip on your arm tightening, "Sir, this is a wanted criminal." The man cocked an eyebrow, "So? Here, this might change your mind. And tell Lestrade to stop locking so many innocent people up. It looks bad for the Yard." The man pulled out an ID, showing it to him. Sherlock Holmes. The officer dropped his arm, "Fine. Have her. When she robs your house, don't come crying to me." The officer walked off, leaving you two alone. You had ended up in the middle of a shopping district, cold and in the dark. Where on Earth had you run to? Sherlock chuckled, "You can keep the wallet." You looked down at the leather in your hands. Opening it, there was nothing inside. "You ever hear of a group called the Baker Street Irregulars?"