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purple-plum-petals · 2 months ago

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Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!

⊱ Those Three Words ⊰ || Mr. Silvair X Reader

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (specifically Route End: Mr. Silver Hair 1), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and Horror-Elements), Cultural Barriers (Mr. Silvair Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions). Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Slight Angst, Pre-Established Romantic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~3,280 Request: “Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!” Author’s Note: Mr. Silvair!!! He’s genuinely so pretty, y’all – it’s not fair. 😔 I find his overall character to be quite fascinating, and a part of me is really hoping the game gets a DLC or something to further expand on each of the character’s lore (and more moments with the MC, of course). Like game, what do you mean that some of the monsters may have been humans while others probably never were?? I desperately need more food… I headcanon that Mr. Silvair was either 1. never human, or 2. has been in the other world for a very long time, resulting in the loss of his memory as a human which could be why he’s so interested in researching them/maintaining the MC’s humanity. 🤔 But that’s just a theory – a game theory! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated! ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

Even after everything that had happened between you and this world’s resident human-enjoyer, you surprisingly still felt at ease with Mr. Silvair. That comfortability, though, made you think hard about your sanity. After all, it probably wasn’t normal to be comfortable around someone who enjoyed taking you apart and watching your body put itself back together over and over again. Yet, you did, and you didn’t mind your current arrangement as much as you probably would have in the past.

Mr. Silvair’s home was destroyed in a fiery explosion (courtesy of himself), so you had offered to help him find a new one. You managed to locate a large room, one that he deemed satisfactory enough to call his base, and you had been staying with him indefinitely since then. As long as you had a comfy bed to lay in and someone else to keep you company, you were happy.

Your other friends(?) frequently stopped by as well to say hello, the most common ones being Mr. Crawling and Mr. Chopped. While you were occasionally hit with a feeling of loneliness, it was hard to feel that way with so many friendly faces around. Well… maybe their faces weren’t that friendly, but they were kind and gentle with you, and that’s what truly mattered.

You hear the sound of Mr. Silvair moving around in the room adjacent to the one you typically stayed in, and you wonder to yourself what his plans for today are. The tall, long-haired man spent most of his time engaged in research. You didn’t see him as frequently as one would expect despite the fact you two were practically roommates. All you could do was hope he wasn’t messing around with and subsequently angering any more terrifying, violent ghosts. You enjoyed your current home, and going out to look for another one wasn’t very high on your list of things to do.

The Rubik’s Cube in your hand was still as scattered as ever, and it seemed like, no matter how long you spent trying to solve it, you were only able to successfully complete one side. Mr. Masque was kind enough to give it to you (he apparently had a whole stash of the things somewhere), and his gift was something you were immensely grateful for. Attempting to figure out the puzzle helped you pass the time wherever you were alone (and it most likely helped you keep your head on straight).

You’re currently lying flat on your back atop the plush bed in the relatively empty living space, looking up at the gray concrete ceiling with a blank stare. Once you decide you’ve loafed around for long enough, you stand up slowly from the bed, placing the cube gently on the covers of the cot. You stretch your arms above your head, a strangled noise coming from your throat at the movement of your stiff muscles, and you begin to make your way to the other room where your…

What even was Mr. Silvair to you? While yes, you were fond of him – hell, you’d go as far as to say you loved him – you knew he didn’t feel the same. You remember the moment he told you “I not understand like”, and that he didn’t want to save you from your condition, no… he found you entertaining to keep around, and that’s why he did what he did.

It was complicated, you thought, trying to have a relationship with a being who didn’t grasp what the concept of love was. Deep down, though, you knew you wouldn’t change it for the world. He enjoyed your presence, and that was all you could ask for.

You walk over to the metal door and knock, waiting for a response. After a moment, you hear Mr. Silvair’s voice echo, “Enter.”

The door opens with a slight creak as you twist the knob, peeking your head inside the somewhat grimy space. The room, still fairly new, didn’t have as much blood or gore as his old one did. There were fresh stains on the floor and wall, you noted, and you couldn’t help but wonder who or what they were from exactly. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, though, so you didn’t bother asking.

You grin up at the taller man and give him a small wave, saying softly, “Hello. I not bother?”

He returns your smile, placing the scalpel in his hand on the stainless steel tray that held a variety of medical tools. It looked like he was in the process of cleaning the many, typically blood-stained, pieces of equipment. Mr. Silvair turns to face you and replies gently, “Hello. You not bother. Enter.”

Tilting his head to one side, his long, silver locks move when he does, cascading down his head and slipping off his shoulder at the movement. His smile drops slightly before he asks, “Feeling unwell? Injured? Need cure?”

“No, no cure.” You quickly say, not quite in the mood to be dissected or taken apart right now (honestly, though, you never really were, even if you did understand why it needed to be done). You pause by the door before finally shutting it behind you, the both of you now alone in the private and secluded space.

Ugh – why was it so hard to say what was on your mind??

After taking a moment to build up your confidence, you tell Mr. Silvair while fidgeting with the rubber of the clear raincoat you wore, “I want see you. Communicate.”

He hums and smiles at your admission, walking over to you before placing a calloused hand on your face. Your eyes close on instinct, and your breathing shutters when he rubs his thumb across your cheek. A part of you wanted to be annoyed with him since he had to be aware of the effect he had on you, yet you didn’t want to run the risk of him removing his cool palm from your skin, so you kept your mouth shut.

It had taken quite some time for Mr. Silvair to get to this point of physical affection with you (something he began doing more often after he saw how much you enjoyed getting head-pats from Mr. Crawling), so you didn’t want to ruin any progress you two had made in your complicated and unconventional relationship.

“Okay,” Mr. Silvar starts, removing his hand from your face as he gestures to one of the two chairs in the room. He smiles down at you before saying, “Sit. We communicate.”

You do as you’re told without speaking another word, your hands folded in your lap after you sit down, watching Mr. Silvair take a seat on the chair across from you. You talk with him for quite some time, doing your best to update him on your current progress with the puzzle since that was pretty much the only thing you had going on in your life. While it wasn’t satisfying to speak in the other world’s language because it tended to miss most of the nuances of speech, it was the only way the two of you could communicate.

Mr. Silvair seemed to pick up on your frustration, seeing you were growing annoyed at the lack of words in your arsenal – the term you were looking for wasn't coming to mind. In response, he tilts his head to the side and asks you, “You upset. Why?”

“Not right words.” You reply, brows furrowed when you look up at him, your gaze landing on the bloody bandages wrapped around his eyes. You turn your head to look down at the floor, the somewhat fresh pool of blood perfectly matching the color of the Rubik’s Cube. You point to the puddle and turn to ask Mr. Silvair, “What’s this called in your language? Can you tell me how to say this color?”

“Blood.” Mr. Silvair responds, not understanding what you wanted him to explain.

“No, no.” You quickly reply, shaking your head. You continue to glance between him and the blood, enunciating your words even though he didn’t understand your language the same way you were able to understand his. You didn’t back down or give up, though, saying again, “The color – I want to know what color blood is.”

He pauses, one hand under his chin as he seemingly takes a moment to figure out what you are asking him. After a few beats, Mr. Silvair replies with a word you haven’t heard anyone speak before, “???”

You visibly brighten at the new word, and the expression on your face causes Mr. Silvair to let out a light chuckle before he crosses one of his legs over the other. You take a breath before telling him, “Okay. Thank you.”

After another pause, you continue to speak, “So… One part object done, red part. Other parts hard – not finish.”

Mr. Silvair had been leaning forward in his chair, his elbow digging into his knee while his hand rested under his chin, holding his head up as he stared at you with an unwavering gaze. He always listened to you with rapt interest, and you would be lying if you said the constant attention didn��t make your heart stutter in your chest. However, he suddenly speaks, pointing to the pool of blood you had been gesturing toward moments before, “What you call that?”

“Huh?” You ask, pausing your story to look at him. Mr. Silvair doesn’t say anything else, though, giving you a moment to comprehend what he has asked you. You perk up when your brain finally registers what Mr. Silvair had said, replying to him happily, “Oh, that’s the color red. So, blood is typically red – blood red.”

“R-ehd?” He echos, and the sound of his voice speaking a word that you were able to understand without having to flip through your mental dictionary had your breath hitching. It sounded so strange but so nice coming from his lips.

“Yeah, red! Blood is red!” You say, sounding excited and oh-so happy. Mr. Silvair would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find the look on your face and the tone of your voice endearing. Then, your expression shifts slightly as you lean forward in your chair, saying enthusiastically, “Oh my god – I just got an idea! Me teach you me language!”

“...You language?” Mr. Silvair asks after a moment, shifting in his seat slightly.

“Yes! Me teach you!” You reply, gesturing to both him and you with your hands. Your mind remembers the way Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped helped you shortly after you first arrived, teaching you directions to walk, facial expressions, and more. They had helped you expand your knowledge of this world’s language, and they were probably responsible for your survival in so many of those early interactions. So, you smile at him as you say, “We same.”

He returns a smile, nodding his head and replying with a simple, “Okay.”

“Alright, so, let me think here…” You hum to yourself, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes while you consider what you should start with. Body parts seemed to be the first thing that popped into your head, so that’s eventually what you decided to start with. Sitting up in the chair, you point toward your hand with the other, tapping a finger to your palm as you speak, “Okay, so, this is my hand – hand. Can you say hand?”

It was kind of cute, strangely enough, seeing Mr. Slivair take the time to repeat the word you spoke over and over in his mind, trying to match the movement of your mouth with his own. Your languages were quite different in sounds, syllables, and the like, so he was practicing what to say before actually speaking. After a few moments of contemplation, he replies, “...H-ah-nd.”

“Hey, that was pretty good! Not bad for your first try, Mr. Silvair, even if the pronunciation is a bit off.” You say with a wide smile, clapping your hands together as you applaud him on his efforts. He chuckles again, finding your way of teaching to be… sweet.

Then, you speak again, once again grabbing his attention. You tap the pad of your finger under the skin of your eye, asking him, “Do you remember what this is called? I think I’ve told you before.”

Mr. Silvair is quicker in his response this time, having heard you ask him about his own eyes before as he smoothly says, “Eye.”

“Yes! Good job!” You praise once more, giving him a thumbs up in response. Then, he stands up from his seat, walking over to you while his once-white lab coat flows behind him. You crane your head back to look up at him from where you were still sitting, a simple and stupid, “...Huh?” leaving your mouth.

Mr. Silvair reaches a hand to your face, cupping your chin gently in his hand. You feel his thumb resting on your bottom lip, and he begins to move his finger back and forth along the slightly chapped flesh, tugging at it slightly. He tilts his head to the side, asking you seriously, “What this called?”

“Oh, uh…” You know your face is probably flushed beyond belief at this point if the heat cascading through your head is anything to go by, and your mind and heart are completely caught off-guard by his sudden touch and question. You avert your gaze to the side, swallowing harshly before you finally reply, “They’re my lips – they’re, umm… similar to mouth. Lips, mouth, same.”

“...Lips?” Mr. Silvair asks again for clarification, his voice having an almost husky tone to it that has a shiver travel down your spine.

You nod in response, muttering a barely audible, “Yes…”

Mr. Silvair hums at your response, a small smile gracing his lips. He leans down, face so close to yours, before he inquires with an almost teasing tone to his voice, “You want touch?”

“Y-Yes.” You answer at an almost embarrassingly fast speed.

The man who you had grown so fond of chuckles at your enthusiasm before leaning forward, pressing his lips softly to yours while he holds your face between his palms. Kisses weren’t a common thing between the two of you, and they were really only something Mr. Silvair initiated when he felt like it. You could feel the intensity at which your heart was beasting due to his sudden affections, and there was a part of you that was worried it would burst out of your chest right then and there.

Your eyes flutter shut and you tilt your head to the side, your hands coming up to rest atop his – his hands that were holding your cheeks so, so gently. It was almost sickening the way he was holding you like you could break at any moment.

Then, almost as quickly as it began, the kiss ended before you even realized it did. Mr. Silvair’s forehead was now pressed against yours, and he doesn’t make any move to remove his hands from your face. Your lips were no longer touching, and yet he still lingered.

Mr. Silvair didn’t play fair, you thought, yet you couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to kiss you so suddenly, so randomly. You close your eyes and your brows furrow at the tightening in your throat, an aching sensation slowly spreading throughout your chest like a disease before you whisper, “...I love you.”

There’s a silence, a stretch of nothingness before Mr. Silvair suddenly asks you, his voice just as soft as yours had been, “Repeat?”

“...No,” Your response is nearly immediate, and you shake your head before repeating once more, “Nothing.”

“...I love you.” The sound of those three words leaving his lips nearly causes your mind to implode. It sounded so sweet, yet it also felt worse than any suffering you had experienced before. The searing and excruciating pain, the feeling of a blade digging itself into the flesh of your torso couldn’t compare to the deep-seated torment you felt right now.

Mr. Silvair hums, tilting his head to the side as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks, “What mean?”

You knew there was no point, no reason to try and explain your feelings again, but you do. You still do, even though you know it’s pointless to try. You can’t bring yourself to look at him as you speak, finding the concrete floor more interesting, “Mean… mean me like you. Lot like.”

There’s a pause, a moment of contemplation before Mr. Silvair says, “...Not understand.”

“I know.” You reply, nodding your head once in response.

“You know?” He asks you, sounding somewhat confused, a tone you very rarely heard from the man. Had he forgotten that moment that you couldn’t seem to forget, the memory that you continuously found replaying in your mind like a broken record? It wasn’t fair, you thought, that only you were forced to hold onto such a painful memory.

“You communicate before.” You clarify, finally willing yourself to look at his face. Mr. Silvair’s expression was tight, his lips drawn into a flat line.

You needed to get away, to just run from this moment in the hopes he would forget the whole exchange just as he apparently did the last one. You take your hands and grab his wrists, removing his palms from your face before you stand up from the chair. You refuse to look at him as you turn, heading to the door as you utter, “...I’m going to go for a walk, so I’ll be back later. Goodbye.”

Then, you feel something tug at the sleeve of your raincoat. It wasn’t strong, nothing that would actually stop you from moving, but your legs proceeded to hault at the small action. Mr. Silvair says, his tone not demanding in the slightest – if anything, it sounded like a plea as he speaks, “No exit.”

You take a deep breath and turn around to face him, asking in such a small voice that it even caught yourself off-guard, “...Why?”

“I want you here.” Mr. Silvair responds quickly, so quickly it seems to have taken both of you by surprise. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he asks, finally releasing the material of your jacket from in between his fingers, “Stay… Will you stay?”

You once again find yourself wondering if Mr. Silvair was aware of the effect he had on you as a sigh leaves your mouth. You nod your head lightly and reply, “I will stay.”

“Good.” He says in response, a gentle smile on his face as he says for the second time, “I love you.”

You frown at him and shake your head, saying with a slight edge of frustration in your voice, “No speak. Not true.”

“True… Believe true.” He says quickly, reaching out to once again place a hand against your cheek. You don’t move, don’t flinch away from his touch – you still relish the way he’s holding you like a fragile piece of glass. Mr. Silvair’s brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he mutters, “Confused.”

“You’re telling me… How do you think I feel?” You say with a huff, your hand holding into his as you find yourself nuzzling your nose into his palm. The painful feeling in your chest was still present, but it wasn’t nearly as excruciating as it had been now. You find it in yourself to smile, gazing up at him as you speak, “...but we’ll get through it together – we together. Right?”

“To-geh-ther…” He repeats, leaning down to press his forehead to yours once more as he says softly, “Yes.”

#🌸 . plum writes #💌 . anon #homicipher #文字化化 #homicipher x reader #homicipher x you #mr silvair #mr silvair x reader #mr silvair x you #homicipher imagines #homicipher drabbles #imagines #drabble #one shot #fluff #x reader #reader insert

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just-aake · 1 month ago

Text

A Feline Connection Part 7

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has to face the harsh reality that she can’t help everyone.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 3790

“Whitney Frost, daughter of Byron Frost—a typical Wall Street tycoon,” Tony’s voice echoes through the phone as he reads out the details FRIDAY managed to dig up.

On Natasha’s screen, she can see multiple files and articles pulled up on Tony’s monitors, the holographic images casting a blue glow on his face as he continues.

“There are plenty of articles about her earlier years. Standard socialite magazine garbage—life of a spoiled rich kid, extravagant parties, lavish vacations. You get the idea.”

Natasha lets out a dry scoff at the irony, her lips curling slightly.

“Coming from the playboy billionaire who once blew up half of his mansion?”

Tony gasps theatrically, placing a hand over his chest in a wounded gesture.

“Watch it, Romanoff. I’m helping you here.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha nods. “My bad. Please, continue.”

Tony huffs, turning his attention back to his screens.

“After her father’s death, she goes dark for a couple of years. No public appearances, no sightings—nothing. Coincidentally, around the same time, reports start cropping up about a new leader rising within one of the East Coast’s major crime families. Descriptions of the leader consistently include one distinct detail: a golden mask, giving them the title–”

“Madame Masque,” Natasha finishes for him, her tone flat.

“Bingo,” Tony confirms. “Over the years, she’s pulled off some pretty big moves. Arms deals, arson, major heists—she’s dangerous, Nat.”

There’s a shuffle of papers in the background, and Peter’s voice chimes in.

“I don’t get it, Mr. Stark. If she was already rich, why turn to crime?”

Natasha doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“It’s not always about money,” she says. “Sometimes it’s just about power and control.”

A brief silence follows, the weight of her words sinking in.

Tony’s expression darkens slightly, and even Peter doesn’t offer a rebuttal. They all know Natasha is right.

People like Whitney thrive on domination, bending others to their will.

Natasha’s frown deepens, her thoughts drifting back to the night before—the memory of you leaving with Whitney still fresh and raw. She exhales slowly, the sting of hurt in her chest flaring again, though she pushes it down.

Suddenly, Tony’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“Okay, I can’t ignore this anymore. What are you doing?”

Natasha’s brows knit in confusion as she glances at the screen. “What do you mean?”

Tony leans closer to the camera, pointing a finger at her with exaggerated disbelief.

“Why are you bottle-feeding that cat like it’s a baby?”

Natasha pulls Widow closer, cradling the tiny feline protectively against her chest. In her free hand, she holds a small baby bottle filled with water, offering it near the cat’s mouth.

“She still won’t eat complete meals,” Natasha explains defensively. “At least this way, she’s staying hydrated.”

Widow lets out a faint, sad meow, turning away from the bottle and burrowing deeper into Natasha’s arm.

Natasha sighs softly, her expression tinged with disappointment as she looks down at the cat.

Peter’s voice pipes up from off-screen.

“Miss Romanoff, I could go pick up some different kinds of cat food if you’d like?”

Before Natasha can respond, Tony waves him off.

“Great idea, kid. Take my card and have at it.”

“Awesome,” Peter replies, his excitement evident as he disappears from view.

As soon as Peter is gone, Natasha raises an eyebrow at Tony.

“Was that really a good idea?”

Tony shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Eh, it’ll be fine.”

“So, what is it?” Natasha asks knowingly. She can tell Tony got rid of Peter so that he would not hear whatever it is Tony was holding back.

“Some tough love,” he says bluntly, his relaxed demeanor shifting into something more serious. He leans forward, fixing her with a pointed look. “Look, Nat, if your friend is running with people like Whitney Frost, you might need to face the facts.”

“Which are?” Natasha’s tone grows colder, her jaw tightening.

“She’s a criminal,” Tony states flatly, the words landing like a stone.

Natasha’s frown deepens, the label grating against her as she reflexively clutches Widow a little tighter. “And?”

Tony sighs, shaking his head as if she’s missing the obvious.

“You need to start treating her like one.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow.

“Did you forget I used to be an assassin?” she counters, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“And now you’re an Avenger,” Tony fires back without missing a beat. “Not everyone’s like you, Nat. Not everyone wants to change.”

The silence stretches between them, tension simmering as Natasha processes his words.

Seeing her still hesitant to accept the fact, he adds softly, “You can’t help someone who doesn’t even want it.”

Natasha frowns, her eyes drifting down to the little cat in her arms. She strokes her fur delicately, and Widow returns a faint purr in response, though she still refuses to move much more than that.

“Send me everything you have on Whitney and Madame Masque,” Natasha says, her determination resolving.

She’s not going to give up on you so easily.

Tony studies her for a moment, his expression knowing before he sighs and leans back in his chair.

“Already done.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

A deep sigh escapes Natasha as she rubs her tired eyes, trying to dispel the exhaustion. The hours have stretched into the late night, a glance at the window and then at the clock on her tablet confirming just how much time has passed.

Beside her on the couch, Widow is curled into a small ball, her tiny body seeming to shrink further with every passing moment.

The meal Natasha had prepared for her earlier sits barely touched—a few nibbles at best.

Though, in her tired mind, Natasha can’t help but let a stray thought creep in: maybe her cooking is bad enough to deter a cat.

The self-deprecating humor makes her sigh again, a sure sign of just how drained she feels.

Setting the tablet on the table, Natasha leans back against the armrest of the couch, her head tilting to rest against the cushion. She raises an arm to cover her eyes, allowing herself just a brief reprieve, not planning to sleep but needing the darkness to ease the strain from hours of research.

For a while, the silence wraps around her like a blanket.

Natasha focuses on her breathing, the steady rise and fall helping her ground herself.

Eventually, she debates whether she has it in her to dive back into her work for the night when a sudden movement shifts at her side.

Tiny paws pad up her torso, and then a soft weight settles against her stomach.

A familiar, distinct meow breaks the quiet—a chirping, happy sound Natasha hasn’t heard from Widow in days.

She freezes, her body going rigid as suspicion blooms in her chest. Breathing slowly, Natasha tries to maintain her sleeping position so as not to give herself away.

Widow’s sudden shift in mood—it could only mean one thing.

“I know you’re awake,” your voice cuts through the stillness, warm and teasing from just above her.

Realizing she’s caught, Natasha exhales softly with a mix of both relief at your presence but also mild frustration at the fact that you were able to sneak up on her again.

She removes her arm from her eyes, blinking up to meet your gaze.

You’re leaning casually against the back of the couch, your head tilted and resting atop the cushion, a small smirk on your lips.

“It’s way too early for you to have fallen asleep,” you tease lightly, your voice carrying that familiar playful lilt.

Your attention shifts to Widow, who’s now eagerly leaning against the cushion to lick at your outstretched hand.

“Isn’t that right, Widow?” you coo, your tone softening as you address the little cat.

Widow chirps again, louder this time, in agreement and nuzzles against your hand with obvious affection.

Natasha can’t help but scoff lightly, shaking her head at the way the two of you seem to operate as a perfect team.

Carefully, she sits up, trying not to disturb Widow perched atop her.

However, the movement brings her face unintentionally close to yours. She stills as she realizes the proximity, her lips parting slightly as the quip she intended to deliver gets caught in her throat.

Instead, all that escapes is a soft exhale.

Your smirk falters, replaced by a small, almost sad smile. Your eyes search hers, lingering as if you can see something more beyond her carefully maintained exterior.

The intensity of the moment steals Natasha’s breath, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you.

Breaking the tension, you lift a hand into view, holding up a bag of takeout containers.

“I brought dinner,” you say softly, the warmth in your tone cutting through the charged silence.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha sits cross-legged on the couch, a takeout box resting limply on her lap as her attention drifts away from the half-eaten meal inside.

Instead, her gaze falls on the two of you.

You’re seated on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, also cross-legged, with Widow nestled comfortably in your lap.

The little cat looks more content than she has in days, her tiny paws resting on the edge of the table as she eagerly eats the torn-up pieces of meat you prepared for her.

A wave of relief washes over Natasha at the sight of Widow eating normally again, her movements lively and natural. It eases the knot of worry that’s been sitting in her chest, but as always, her focus inevitably drifts to you.

It’s a pull she can’t resist, her gaze lingering on the subtle details in your expression, the quiet ease with which you handle the moment.

Natasha absently stirs the noodles in her box, her mind turning over the question she’s been holding back since you arrived. It gnaws at her, but finding the right way to ask feels like navigating a minefield.

“How…” she begins, her voice hesitant, but the words falter.

Natasha bites her lip, uncertain whether she has the right to pry into your life any deeper.

You glance up at her, catching on to the unfinished question. Setting your takeout container on the table, you tilt your head slightly, offering her an easy opening.

“How am I here?” you ask knowingly, your voice gentle.

Wordlessly, Natasha nods, grateful but wary of the answer.

“You didn’t look at the USB?” you ask, a touch of curiosity in your tone.

Natasha shakes her head.

“I was busy worrying about more pressing matters,” she says, her eyes flicking meaningfully to Widow, who’s still munching happily in your lap. “And anyway, it didn’t seem like she wanted me to have it in the first place.”

You huff lightly at her words, and with an amused shake of your head, you turn Widow to face you, your fingers gently scratching behind her ears.

“You were supposed to give it to her,” you chide playfully.

Widow lets out a small, sassy meow, as if to argue her point, and then wiggles free from your grasp.

Natasha watches with mild curiosity as the little cat pads over to the side table, where the USB has sat untouched for days. Widow grabs the small device in her mouth and trots back toward Natasha.

Stopping at her side, Widow drops the USB onto Natasha’s lap with a decisive plop before looking up at her with a smug little chirp, her tail swishing behind her.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching with the faintest hint of a smile as she picks up the USB.

“Thank you,” she remarks dryly, her tone soft but teasing.

Widow lets out a pleased meow, circling once before hopping back into your lap, her little body nestling comfortably against you.

Natasha’s gaze shifts to the USB, her fingers brushing over its surface thoughtfully, before lifting her eyes to meet yours.

“So,” she says, her tone calm but tinged with curiosity, “what exactly am I going to find on here?”

You glance down at Widow, stroking her head absently as you answer, your voice steady but carrying an undertone of something more.

“Whitney had a scheduled meeting out of state with some buyers tonight.”

At the mention of the other woman, Natasha narrows her eyes slightly, reading between the lines.

“So this is…?”

“Everything you need to finish your original mission,” you reply evenly, meeting her gaze with a serious expression. “The buyers’ identities, their locations, the details of each weapons deal. Enough to track them down and stop the weapons from being used in the wrong hands.”

Natasha studies you closely, her sharp instinct catching on to the underlying reason for your sudden assistance in her original mission.

“To shift my attention from Whitney.”

Your silence at her pointed remark is telling.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, the unspoken truth hanging between you. She tilts her head, her voice firmer now.

“Why are you protecting her?”

You flinch slightly at the accusation, your hand pausing mid-stroke on Widow’s fur. After a moment, you let out a sigh, your gaze drifting downward.

“You know, it wasn’t always like this between us,” you say quietly.

Natasha stays silent, letting you continue.

“Her dad—her real dad—was the original leader of the organization,” you explain, your voice tinged with something softer, almost nostalgic. “I met her when she was training to take over his position. Or, rather, she found me. I was just a simple thief back then. But not to her.”

You pause, your hand resuming its slow strokes over Widow’s fur as you collect your thoughts.

“She made me an offer—something I never expected. Another opportunity for my life. To join her. She saw something in me. Something…more.”

The words hang in the air, and Natasha feels a pang of understanding, recalling her own experience from the past.

“It felt good,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Having someone look at you like that, like you’re worth something. Like you could be more than you ever thought of yourself.”

You let out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“She’s always been good at that. Making you feel special. Like you’re the only one who matters.”

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly, her arms folding across her chest as she listens. She doesn’t interrupt, sensing the weight behind your words.

“No matter what she did—how far she went—I always found a way to forgive her,” you continue, your tone darkening. “Until I couldn’t anymore.”

There’s a long pause, the quiet broken only by the faint sounds of Widow’s contented purring. Finally, you lift your gaze to Natasha’s, the vulnerability in your eyes stark, unguarded, and disarming.

“And then I met you,” you say softly, your voice carrying a bittersweet edge. “And for a while, I felt that same thing again. That feeling from the beginning—when it was just lighthearted, fun, and flirty, intoxicating even.”

Natasha’s breath catches, her chest tightening at the quiet admission. The honesty in your words cuts through the usual banter and teasing, leaving her unsure how to respond.

“But I already know how this ends,” you add, your voice softer now, tinged with resignation. “I’ve seen it before. And I can’t…” You trail off, shaking your head slightly, the words left unfinished.

Natasha watches you closely, her sharp gaze softening despite the weight of your rejection. She leans forward, her voice low but steady in understanding.

“It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

Her tone shifts, gaining a quiet intensity and insistence.

“But you don’t need to stay with her either. We can figure out a way to disengage the bomb without you returning to her. A way to keep you both safe.”

Your gaze lowers, regret flickering in your expression. When you finally speak, your voice is heavy with sorrow.

“I have to go back.”

Natasha’s lips part in protest, her brows knitting together in frustration, but before she can speak, you cut her off, your tone firmer now.

“Not because of the bomb,” you clarify. “But because of what I did to her.”

You rise slowly, retrieving the tablet from the table, its screen still displaying the research Tony sent on Whitney. Sensing the shift, Widow hops into Natasha’s lap, purring softly as Natasha strokes her fur, grounding herself.

Sitting down beside her, you scroll through the files until you find what you’re looking for. Wordlessly, you turn the screen toward her.

Natasha scans the report, her frown deepening with each line.

It details a failed raid on a Stark Industries facility, ending in a catastrophic explosion. Operatives were killed or gravely injured. Their leader, however, was not discovered among those found.

“I abandoned her that night,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “None of that would have happened if I had stayed.”

“You don’t know that,” Natasha counters firmly, her gaze snapping to yours, her hand reaching out instinctively to rest atop yours.

A faint, sad smile tugs at your lips at her touch, and you shake your head slightly.

“I appreciate the thought,” you reply, your voice tinged with bittersweet humor, “but we both know that’s not true—especially considering how I’ve managed to sneak past Stark’s defenses twice now without any problems.”

The smirk you add at the end is small, almost fleeting, but it carries a sting of truth that Natasha can’t ignore.

You’re exceptionally skilled. She can’t deny that.

Your fingers brush hers lightly, tracing the bandages covering her knuckles. A contemplative sadness crosses your face.

Then slowly, you lift her hand to your lips, pressing a soft, almost apologetic kiss against her skin before lowering it back onto Widow’s fur.

“I’m not innocent here, Natasha,” you continue resolutely, your voice low, as if the words are for you as much as for her. “I never was.”

Natasha’s jaw tightens at your words, but she doesn’t interrupt as you continue.

“I owe her a lot,” you admit, your voice heavy with the weight of your past. “She gave me a chance when no one else did. She saw something in me that I couldn’t. And yet…” Your voice falters slightly, but you press on.

“I still betrayed her in the end.”

Your gaze shifts to Natasha, your eyes meeting hers with a depth of emotion that makes her chest ache.

“You deserve more than to wait for me to eventually do the same to you,” you say softly. “More than I already have.”

Natasha’s chest tightens, the quiet ache spreading as she watches you, her gaze taking in every flicker of pain and regret etched across your features.

But this time, it’s not sadness that rises within her—it’s anger. Not at you, but at everything else.

At Whitney, for manipulating you. At the circumstances that have pushed you to this breaking point. And most of all, at the invisible chains of guilt that hold you hostage, preventing you from seeing a way out.

Her hands twitch, the urge to reach for you almost overwhelming. She wants to close the distance between you, to grasp your shoulders and shake you free from the weight of your past, to tell you that this isn’t your only option.

But she hesitates, her fingers curling into fists as she forces herself to stop.

Forcing you to accept her help, no matter how badly she wants to, would make her no different from Whitney. It would just be another form of control, another pressure you don’t deserve.

And Natasha refuses to become that.

Instead, after a long pause, she speaks with quiet determination.

“What will happen to Widow?”

You look down at the small cat, curled up peacefully in Natasha’s lap, and sigh.

“I can’t bring her back with me,” you admit, your voice thick with regret. “But I’ll stay with her as long as I can tonight. Make sure she’s okay, and I’ll explain it to her—let her think it’s like last time, when she stayed with you while I was away.”

You glance at Natasha, searching for her response.

“If…you’re still willing to take care of her?”

Natasha straightens slightly, her expression softening as a small smirk forms on her lips.

“I promised, didn’t I?”

Your lips twitch into a faint smile at her answer, gratitude flickering in your eyes.

But Natasha isn’t done. She leans forward, her tone resolute as her gaze locks onto yours.

“You don’t have to keep punishing yourself,” she says, her words deliberate and carefully chosen. “If you feel guilty about what you’ve done, you can always make it right for yourself. You still have that choice.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, an unspoken plea woven into her steady tone.

Natasha’s expression holds no judgment, only quiet insistence and something deeper—hope.

The silence that follows feels fragile, as if it could shatter at the wrong move.

Widow shifts slightly in her lap, her tiny body curling closer as her soft purring fills the space between you.

It’s a faint sound, but comforting nonetheless, grounding you in a moment that feels far too heavy for words.

For a fleeting second, Natasha sees something in your eyes—an almost imperceptible flicker, as if her words might be reaching you.

But then your gaze drops, breaking the connection, and the moment slips away.

Without a word, you gently lift Widow from her lap, cradling her with the same care Natasha has come to associate with you, and rise to your feet.

Natasha sits up a little straighter, her sharp eyes following your movements as you step toward the hallway, your figure outlined by the dim glow of the room.

“Try to get some rest, Miss Black Widow,” you say softly, your tone steady but carrying a subtle finality that roots her in place. You pause just before disappearing from sight, your head turning slightly as if debating whether to say more.

“You, out of everyone, deserve it.”

The words linger in the air long after you’ve gone into your bedroom, wrapping around Natasha like a quiet echo.

She stays where she is, her fingers drifting absentmindedly over the fabric of the couch where you’d been sitting just moments ago, as if tracing the memory of you.

The warmth of your presence is gone, replaced by an emptiness that spreads through the room, making it feel colder, quieter.

Natasha exhales slowly, leaning back against the couch and staring at the space where you had disappeared from her view.

She knows you meant those words for her, but the ache in her chest tells her they’re something you’ve denied yourself for far too long.

“So do you,” she whispers into the empty room, her voice barely audible but filled with a longing that she knows you’ll never let yourself hear.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Fair warning, I believe there’s only a couple parts left in this series. But don’t quote me on this cause we all know I’ve never been good at predicting the number of chapters left. Again thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it or if the tag did not work for you, please let me know.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta, @azaleavolkova, @gay4wandanat, @escapereality4music, @caspianalexander007, @henkermen, @xxnaiaxx, @alyssa-bessse, @alianovnasposts

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

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bananarrlele · 7 days ago

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"big love mess" plot: in a world of shifting grounds and endless chaos, a peculiar bond forms between you and mr. hugeface, a towering, enigmatic monster with an unorthodox sense of care. after a devastating earthquake shatters your tiny sanctuary, destroying the delicate creations you hold dear, despair threatens to consume you. but mr. hugeface intervenes in his own clumsy yet heartfelt way. notes: established relationship, sfw, fluffly, mr. hugeface x reader, self-insert, bold writing is the otherworld´s language.

The dwelling of ghosts had never been a particularly stable place. Nothing there remained in the same spot indefinitely, nor were things particularly conventional. In a netherworld of inhuman creatures scattered across an inhospitable and chaotic labyrinth, where walls groaned and the chill wind whistled along with hissing shadows, there was a little box. An improvised refuge, a haven for everything frail and delicate, though it appeared to be a concrete cubicle, with its icy walls and devoid of windows. At the top, a disproportionately gigantic and monolithic figure — Mr. Hugeface — peered inside, his eyes ever vigilant. He did so every day, in a constant longing to see you engrossed in something entirely new.

Mr. Hugeface watches you closely as you work on a dress made of light fabric, in an ethereal pale pink hue. The soft-textured material was a true treasure in that underworld, its acquisition having been quite costly and meaningful, since that weave of threads had been kindly given to you by the ever-cordial Mrs. Bride. You are busy adding some clumsy bows to it, finishing a delicate seam and attaching some beads and colorful buttons for a touch of greater authenticity and life to the dress.

“Something is still missing here,” you murmur to yourself, pursing your lips slightly in subtle consideration. “I know!” — In a burst of enthusiasm, almost vertiginously, you move to a corner of the cubicle where you keep your belongings, grabbing tiny glass eye embellishments to better adorn, perhaps, the bodice of your garment. “Voilà!” — Elated, you examine yourself in the old, scratched mirror, the green and bluish beads gleaming sinisterly, giving the impression that something was peeking out from each of them. The entire ensemble — the delicate pink dress, the eccentric accessories — looked absolutely perfect. Until the ground began to shake.

You emerge from beneath the rubble of your tiny belongings. Everything is destroyed. Your house of felt fabric pets, including the one you were working on to represent Mr. Hugeface — a small, inaccurate monster for the true size of the creature with deep, dark eyes, stitched clumsily yet lovingly, full of imperfections that only made its smile even stranger and more endearing. Also lying shattered was your melancholic music box, a gift from Mr. Masque for your “underworld birthday,” with its bent metal blades and the mirror decorated with ribbons and embroidery, now broken into a thousand pieces, reflecting only emptiness.

The tears you had so stubbornly tried to hold back roll freely down your cheeks. There was no longer a smile capable of camouflaging the enormity of your frustration. You crouch amid the remnants of your creations, sorrowful over them. It was excruciating how everything that mattered to you had collapsed in an instant, as if the universe were mocking you.

It was then that you perceived the presence of a companion, a witness to your immense sadness. An immense shadow was cast over you until you saw him, finally. As silent as a mountain that simply decides to be there, there he was, Mr. Hugeface. He tilted his head slightly to the side, as if trying to understand the reason for the distress displayed on the face of his dear, tiny human.

“Doll. You sad. Not good.” — His hollow eyes fixate on you, his colossal, overwhelming presence suddenly as strange as it is comforting.

You try to stand up, your tears bubbling stronger, as he collects in one of his hands the tiny shards of the mirror, placing them on the ground as if they were pieces of a lost puzzle.

“Leave it, Mr. Hugeface! No fix!” — You murmur, trying to feign indifference. However, it’s evident from how your eyes glisten that it has affected you.

“You cry.” — His voice sounds strangely gentle and concerned as he leans further into the box. “You no cry. I here.”

He continues to gather the shards of the mirror, as if rescuing a collection of undervalued treasures. His movements are imprecise and gradual, as though he doesn’t want to cause more discomfort or exacerbate your inner turmoil.

“No. No good. I change this. You no sad.” — He murmurs to himself, suddenly shifting to get a better look at you. He leans further into the improvised box, the walls of the room trembling with his approach. His colossal hand extends toward you, and before you can protest, he gently picks you up, his giant hand enveloping your tiny body like a protective dome.

“I care you.”— He says, his voice laden with newfound and intoxicating excitement — “I make you pretty. Pretty doll!”

You audibly gasp in surprise, but before you can protest his actions, he is already entirely engrossed in the task of dolling you up. Who knows where the man managed to find so many beauty artifacts, but he was entirely prepared, as if he had awaited his entire monstrous existence for that moment. Sparkling necklaces, multi-colored silk fabrics already worn by time, delicate bows, and frayed ribbons. He grabs everything and arranges the items with an almost childlike joy. His darkened eyes, in their devouring emptiness, seem to hold a distant, slender gleam at that moment as Mr. Hugeface carefully examines each piece.

From an unknown place, the colossal man sets down a large mirror with a golden, worn frame in front of you. He holds it up so you can see yourself, as if silently seeking your approval.

“Look, little doll. Pretty, yes? Like?” — He inquires gently, as he holds up necklaces of various colors in front of you, with beads of striking hues and peculiar trinkets that sway and emit a sound oddly pleasant to your ears. It contrasts with the usual ghostly silence, the unsettling hiss of the cutting wind, or the constant dragging of the man who never walks, obstinate and persistent like crimson entangled in webs of illusion.

Among the singular pieces of jewelry, there is a necklace of large, slightly yellowed pearls that he adjusts around your neck, and you laugh, shaking your head.

“Mr. Hugeface, don’t you think it’s a bit too eccentric? Too much!” — You mutter softly as you run your hands over the necklace, considering removing it since it was heavy and musty.

Despite everything, it was undeniable how the giant with gray hair seemed entirely devoted to the moment and immersed in the mission of making you smile, and it softens your eyes. Your shoulders and jaw, once tense, relax languidly before suddenly shaking in response to his deep voice.

“No!”— He protests, trying to tie the ribbon that secures the necklace in place. — “You need look cute.” — He declares, then picks up a red silk cloth, almost transparent, letting it fall clumsily as if draping a princess’s mantle over you. — “There! Perfect you!” — He chuckles proudly as he observes you, a grin adorning that emptiness where his mouth should be.

You’re not sure whether to laugh in indignation at his ignorance or in delight, as the disaster, in all its entirety, was well-intentioned and touching in its own way. He only wanted you, his cherished little doll, to forget about those troublesome earthquakes and move on smiling and being beautiful for his contentment. But you couldn’t help but laugh about the fact that the pieces were far too big for your size, gradually falling and forming a pile around you. He seems satisfied, though, as if he’s doing the right thing.

“Look! Cute, yes?” — He says, trying to adjust a fabric covering your shoulder. The man couldn’t help but furrow his brow slightly when he notices your vaguely amused expression. — “You laugh. I think good. But you mock I? Dislike clothes?” — He asks, his tone faintly distressed at the possibility of having overestimated his own fashion skills and undervalued your own human’s preferences.

You choke slightly on your own laughter, making a dismissive gesture with your hands to reassure him. He wraps the fabric around your shoulders, but it’s so large it drags along the floor like a cape. “It’s a little too big, Hugeface. Clothes big. Don’t fit.”

He looks at you, confused but determined.

“Ah, yes, big clothes. I forget. This?” — He picks up another cloth, a light pink one smaller than the previous, but still disproportionate to your size, and drapes it over your shoulders. — “This better, yes?”

He begins to arrange the cloth carefully, adjusting here and there, but doesn’t realize that he’s accidentally twisting your hair while doing so.

“Oh, sorry, sorry! Little doll…” — He murmurs, his big fingers slipping away as he tries to smooth out the folds of the cloth.

“This is hurting, Hugeface… Hurt.” — You say, trying to keep your voice gentle, even though his fingers were pressing a bit too hard. Multiple times he neglects the dimension of his own strength. One wrong flick from him and you could fly across the ghost-building, if ever he decided to do so, for some reason.

“I so sorry. I forget strength, yes? Sorry, sorry.” — He says, looking genuinely remorseful. — “I try paint face, yes?”

He picks up an old, huge tube of red lipstick, big as a spear, and approaches, the tip of the tube lightly bumping against your face. — “There, sorry!” — He quickly retracts, eyes wide. — “Understand. Slow.”

With a concentrated expression, he tries again, this time more slowly, moving the lipstick towards your lips. But his fingers are so big that he ends up scraping your lips with the tip of the tube, and then, beyond your lips, paints a third of your face red. Your irritated expression immediately intensifies.

“Hugeface, what are you doing?” — You say, with an irritated grimace while looking at the makeshift mirror. Half of your face was completely smeared with carmine-colored lipstick.

“I wrong, yes? I sorry again. I just want you pretty.” — He grumbles, catching the reprimanding tone you’re using despite him not understanding the words in the human language. His eyes focus on you with a genuinely lost expression, as if he truly wanted to learn the right way to beautify your face, with features so soft and cherished by him.

You sigh, partially defeated, but secretly enjoying that clumsy display of affection from your giant partner. Your eyes soften as he continues to watch you with a concerned expression, as if trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Paint face is hard. Try hair do, yes?” — You try to change the subject before things get worse. — “Clean me face first, and you try hair.”

He nods vigorously, looking relieved to have a simpler task to focus on. — “Yes, yes, we do that. Clean you face first.”

With careful movements, he picks up a soft, wet cloth, trying gently to wipe away the smeared lipstick from your lips and face. His fingers are too big to handle cotton effectively, so he does what he can, helping to remove the makeup smudges.

“Slow, Hugeface. Very slow.” — You warn as he approaches, his giant hands swaying side to side as he tries not to hurt you. — “Careful eyes, yes?”

He responds with a concentrated expression, his eyes focused on his movements. — “I know, I know! Me not hurt you. Promise.” — He continues carefully, wiping away the lipstick from the corners of your mouth, then moving to your cheeks and forehead. Each touch is gentle, though still quite awkward, but you feel the genuine affection in each gesture.

After a while, he sighs, finally satisfied with the result. “Clean face. Now hair, yes?”

“Now hair, yes.” — You smile, giving him a little wink to calm him down. — “Be gentle with the ends.”

He seems more confident now that he’s dealing with something more familiar. — “I be slow. You trust me, little doll?”

“Trust, Hugeface.” — You nod and sit in his palm, allowing him to start arranging your hair. — “Very slow. Like this.”

He begins to gently run the brush through your hair, his big fingers but delicate, as he slides the brush to avoid pulling or snagging the strands. Each touch is like an attempt at care, his movements slow but careful.

“You okay? Mr. Hugeface…” — You ask, seeing that he looks worried about getting everything right.

He stops for a moment, his eyes on yours, as if searching for confirmation. — “Good… good, yes? No hurt?”

“No hurt.”— You smile reassuringly, gently patting his hand as he continues brushing. — “You’re doing very well. Good, big man.” — You gently give his hand two taps as a thank you.

“Almost end.” — You look at the result in a makeshift mirror as he says it, smiling to see your hair finally well-combed.

— “You look pretty.” — He looks more confident now, continuing to brush your hair more easily. — “I do better next time, yes?”

You shake your head dismissively once more, your eyes soft with affection. — “You good already.” — You say tenderly. — “Thank you for the try.”— You bite your lip shyly, suddenly rising from your position, perched in the palm of his hand. You stretch your hands up, bouncing a little to get his attention, silently asking him to lift you closer to him. — “Hey, up me! Please!”

He tilts his head, curious, before nodding. “Yes, yes. Up you, little doll.” — He murmurs, carefully enclosing you between his fingers, like walls of protection, and bringing you closer to his colossal face.

“Just a little more. Stay still, yes?” — You ask, extending your hands to reach his cheek. You smile as he stops, keeping you in front of his cheek. The warmth of his skin and the somewhat rough texture are unmistakable. You lean forward and place a brief but full of affection kiss there. — “Thanks, all done.”

He remains motionless, his eyes shining as you pull away.

“You kiss?” — He asks, with a tone that oscillates between surprise and admiration.

You laugh, shaking your head. — “Of course, yes. You deserve it.”

He smiles shyly, his eyes fixed on you as if you were something precious. — “More kiss?”

You blush but decide to try something bolder, leaning towards his lips. — “Just one more…”

He notices your intention and stays still, but as you approach, you realize it's impossible. His mouth is so big, and you simply can’t reach a specific spot without potentially sinking into the surface of his lips.

You try. First, with a direct kiss, but as you lean in, you lose your balance and hold onto the edge of one of his lips, leaving a tiny smudge of dried red lipstick there. — “Wrong happen.” — You admit, nervously laughing.

He laughs softly, a deep sound that makes the ground tremble slightly. — “Big mouth. You small. Difficult, yes?”

You nod, laughing too. “Yes, hard to do. Cheek, just. Face, better.” — You gesture towards your own cheek, instructing him on your next step, before pointing towards his cheek.

He nods, repositioning you closer to his face, where you place another delicate kiss, this time without incidents.

“Better this way. Thanks, cute, big man.” — You mutter, beamingly.

He gleams wide, satisfied. “Always make you happy. You my little doll.” — He whispers, with a genuine smile that almost breaks your heart with its purity. — “You make me happy, little doll. Very happy.”

“And you make me happy, even when you’re clumsy. Me not sad anymore, you make me laugh.” — You say, laughing softly as you stroke his skin. — “But we try kiss later.”

He nods vigorously, almost shaking you in the process. “Yes, yes! We practice. Kiss very hard, but good.”

You laugh, hugging his giant hand as he keeps it close to his face.

"Very good, Mr. Hugeface. Very good."

"mr. hugeface" art by owenun.

(https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/8567773?q=owenun) ♡ text eligible for review (english is not my first language! original is in portuguese.) hope the 3 mr. hugeface´s fans out there are happy!

#homicipher #mr. hugeface #mr. hugeface x reader #otome game #doll #self insert #mr hugeface #mr hugeface x reader

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fancyfeathers · 1 year ago

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

Chapter Twenty, Part Two The Masque of the Red Death

(A/N- not a full chapter but very important)

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven, part one

Chapter seven, part two

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Throughout the night, music and chatter filled the hall. The familiar face of Gaston Leroux stands against the wall, a glass of champagne in hand, he was going his best to keep his eye on Ayatsuji, members of the Hunting Dogs, and other government workers, if any of them interfered with the plan it could be all over. His eyes also kept darting to the door, keeping an eye on who came in and left, making sure none of them would cause a problem either. Then his eyes fell on a familiar man, through not many would recognize him with the masquerade theme of the night, it was Mr. Tonan’s assistant. He was leaving the room but Gaston spotted Mr. Tonan talking to Victor not a moment ago. Without a word to any other society members Gaston activated his ability and stepped through the wall, disappearing from everyone’s sight. Gaston walked out into the hallway, keeping his ability activated to keep his foot falls non existent. He silently followed the man, upstairs, into another meeting hall, one that would be used for the auction that would be held tonight. Gaston hid himself behind a long window curtain, watching. The assistant went over to the table of cases, full of items for tonight’s auction, he was trying to tamper with the lots. Gaston stepped out from behind the curtain and deactivated his ability so that when his heels hit the floor it made a sharp clicking sound, getting the assistant’s attention.

“Did you get lost? I believe the party is downstairs.” Gaston said, looking the man over with a polite smile, but one that quickly fell when the man didn’t say anything. “Or perhaps you meant to come here?”

At that the man slowly turned to look at the composer and that wicked grin came across his face that gave even Gaston chills. Then Gaston gained notice of his eyes, green and blue, they weren’t that way before. Then the scar over his eye, that also wasn’t there before. Then it was the hair, black to white, then the clothes to that of clown’s, and a card coming to cover his eye, but what stayed the same was that horrifying smile. It was an ability that was changing him of that there wasn’t a doubt, a teleportation ability perhaps?

Then he felt it, behind his head… the barrel of a gun…

That’s when he knew…

“Nikolai Gogol, I’ve heard of you, didn’t I think I’d meet you in person ever.” Gaston said, staying calm despite the gun on his head. “And what would a criminally insane or perhaps just an insane criminal want here? This auction doesn’t seem like your style not to mention this is far from Europe and your home ground.”

“Let me answer your question with another question.” Nikolai replied as Gaston felt the gun move down onto his neck. “What is Fyodor doing here?”

The composer’s eyes widened at the mention of the name, he was so much in shock that he would have stepped back if it wasn’t for the gun behind him.

“What?”

“Don’t worry he’s not actually here as in this building, but why?” There was a long pause in silence, Gaston didn’t actually know why he was. He had been helping try to stop the Guild and he knew why, but why are they still here? Their goal wasn’t Fyodor, so why were they? “Ohhh you don’t actually know, such a shame… but I can’t just let you leave after what you’ve seen, I’m sure Dostoy would love to see you.”

Gaston felt the gun move down his spine, pressing into the small of his back. He could feel the pressure shift as Nikolai pressed his finger on the trigger.

3…

2…

1…

BANG

…But the bullet never met skin…

Gaston activated his ability just in time, letting the bullet fly right through his ghostly body but then in a flash of gold it disappeared…

Gaston looked around confused…

Oh no…

Gaston saw the bullet reappear in the corner of his eye. The flash of gold then the searing pain in his side as the bullet drove into his skin just above his hip. The world went white in pain as Gaston fell to the floor. His vision was rapidly fading and the last thing he saw was Nikolai’s smiling face…

Gaston Leroux, Society Member

Status: missing

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murderousginger · 4 years ago

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Tommy Shelby

Cops & Robbers Masterlist (8 part series)

Mr. Rattlebone (x Lizzie Stark)

Good Night (x Lizzie Stark)

They Lie Together (x Lizzie Stark)

She's a God (x reader)

I Promise (x reader)

Demons & Angels ( x reader)

Secrets ( x reader)

Liar ( x wife reader)

Everybody talks (x OC Elsie)

Stumble Through Heaven ( x reader)

Diamond Mind (OC Marjorie)

Lovely Things (OC Marjorie)

Nightcap (x new bride) (x Alfie Solomons x OC Marjorie)

Tommy x Grace

Nothing at all to me

Nightmare (Werewolf Tommy)

Disease (Based off Poe's The Masque of Red Death)

Savage (Tommy x Tatiana)

Gun headcannon

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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calwrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Halloween Party

Summary: Reader has lived across the hall from Penelope Garcia for a couple years and considers her to be one of her best friends. That’s the only reason she agreed to go to a Halloween match making party.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.2k

I wrote this very quickly so it’s not the best, but I couldn’t let Halloween go by without writing something for Reid.

——————

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this stupid match making thing,” you grumbled at the blonde currently on your couch.

Penelope Garcia smiled at you over her wine glass. “Well I wanted to go but only if my favorite neighbor did it too.”

“I’m the only neighbor you talk to,” you pointed out. Penelope stuck her tongue out at you and waved her empty glass in the air. You rolled your eyes, but refilled her glass anyway.

You and Penelope had lived in the same building for a few years. When you had seen the brightly dressed woman lugging boxes down the hall, you had offered to help her move everything in. She had intrigued you. You had passed each other in the hall a couple of times after that, but had never really talked until one evening when you heard a knock on your door.

It had puzzled you because you were still pretty new to the area so you didn’t have any friends who would be dropping by unexpectedly. Opening the door, you had found Penelope standing in the hall crying.

“I had a really bad day at work. I just really need someone to talk to,” she had said. You ushered her in and spent the night learning about Penelope’s job as a technical analyst for the BAU. Now whenever Penelope’s team got through with a tough case, she would come collapse on your couch while the two of you drank wine and decompressed.

“You’re also the one who told me to get out there and forget about Kevin,” Penelope countered.

“Yeah well I didn’t think you’d drag me along.”

“It’s not just you! I convinced some of my friends at the BAU to sign up too. Besides, I know you’re excited for the party. You already bought two dresses.” She pointed at the dresses still laying out on your kitchen table. You were trying to decide whether a black dress or white dress would be better for your costume.

“I’m always excited for a Halloween costume party. I just never thought I’d be one of those sad people who signs up for a matchmaking party.”

“Y/N, you are one of the smartest people I know. And I work for the FBI. I know a lot of smart people. The only reason you’re still single is because whenever you get time off from teaching you spend it trying to solve impossible math equations. And I thought you said your match sounded nice.”

You sighed. “Trying to solve an impossible math equation is arguably the most important part of my job. I think the university cares more about that than the courses I teach sometimes. I guess he does seem nice. He’s either very smart or he’s very good at using google to sound smart. Either way, when you look at the data, the likelihood of finding a long term partner through a survey is-“

Penelope groaned. “No! I get enough info dumping at work. Let’s just talk about the party. It’s next weekend and you’re buying clothes for it so I assume you and your partner decided on your costumes. What is it?”

When Penelope had invited you to a Halloween costume party, you had been quick to accept. She then told you that it was a matchmaking party where you had to fill out a survey and were then matched with another attendee. Pairs would have to decide on costumes and then find each other at the party. Until then, pairs wouldn’t know who the other person was. Definitely not your usual definition of fun.

“I’m not telling you,” you teased. Penelope gasped on faux anger before the two of you burst into laughter and decided on a movie to watch.

——————

You stared at your computer screen intently, willing the message to change.

I’ve been out of state for a work trip for the past few days. I didn’t mention it earlier because I was hoping that we would get back in plenty of time. It took a couple more days than we were anticipating though. We’re about to take off, so I’ll make it back in time for the party but I won’t have time to put out on my whole costume. I can just wear the cape or something if you don’t have any better suggestions. I’m looking forward to meeting you tonight.

You chewed your lip thoughtfully before an idea popped into your head. And you began typing back a response.

That’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing your Masque of the Red Death costume. I have a new idea though. What character refused to wear a costume to a costume ball?

The response came back almost immediately.

And I was looking forward to seeing your Leonore costume. I’m sure that there are a number of characters who fit that description. Would you like a list?

You smiled and rolled your eyes.

It’s another gothic story. He’s throwing the fancy dress party, but he refuses to dress up. His new wife’s costume causes a bit of a stir. Enough clues?

The reply caused you to get up quickly to begin sorting out your new costume.

I’ll see you tonight, Mrs. de Winters.

A few hours later found you ready to leave. You were thankful that you still had the white dress you had previously purchased with the idea of using it for Leonore. You were even more thankful that you still had a wig from a few Halloween’s ago that worked for your costume. So now, with a white dress and curly dark hair, you were ready to leave.

“Ok I give up,” Penelope said when she opened her door. “What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m the narrator from Rebecca,” you told her. “It’s kind of a last minute costume. I’m glad your case wrapped up today. I would be bummed if I had to go without you.”

“Well it’s a good thing it didn’t come to that.” Penelope looped her arm through yours and pulled you down the hallway, the two of you laughing as you went.

——————

Thankfully the room wasn’t too loud when you and Penelope arrived. Jack-o-lanterns and bowls of candy sat on tables around the edge of the room, and bats and ghosts hung from the ceiling. You and Penelope made a circuit around the room, trying to find your matches.

“Maybe ours guys are running late,” Penelope suggested. The two of you had moved to a snack table while you surveyed the sea of costumes around you.

“Or they’re ditching us.” Penelope gave you a playful swat. You were saved from another attack by Penelope’s phone dinging.

“Oh! Some of my friends are here. Come meet them.” Before you could protest, Penelope was dragging you across the room. Two people stood against the wall talking, but broke into smiles and waved when they saw Penelope approaching.

“Y/N, this is Derek and Emily. Guys, this is my neighbor Y/N.”

You smiled and shook hands with the two FBI agents.

“So you’re the famous Y/N,” Derek grinned. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Famous? If anyone is famous it’s Derek “chocolate thunder” Morgan. The way Penelope talks about you, I was imagining a superhero. She wasn’t wrong.”

“I like her,” Derek laughed.

Emily groaned. “He does not need a bigger ego.”

“Where’s Reid?” Penelope asked. “Don’t tell me he bailed.”

“He said he needed to stop by his apartment first. We came straight from the plane. And don’t worry, Hotch and JJ both assured us they would take pictures of the kids in their costumes.” Penelope squealed and clapped her hands excitedly.

You chatted with Penelope and her friends for a few more minutes before Penelope spotted a man wearing a matching costume to hers. She waved bye to your little group and rushed off to meet him, leaving you with the two FBI agents.

“Oh there’s Pretty Boy,” Derek cried.

“I was kind of expecting you to show up in an intricate costume. You love Halloween, Spencer,” Emily said.

You turned to find a handsome man approaching your group. He was wearing a nice suit and had a leather satchel slung over his shoulder.

“No time, unfortunately.” The man shrugged. “I just had to pick up some books from my apartment. Hi. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. You must be Garcia’s friend.” He turned to you, but didn’t extend a hand. You realized that this must be the young genius Penelope mentioned from time to time.

“Y/N,” you replied. Spencer’s eyes took in your costume carefully. You tried not to shift uncomfortably.

“Are you planning on doing some reading tonight?” Derek asked.

“No. My date and I were discussing a volume of poetry that I have, so I wanted to bring it to show her.”

“What a ladies man,” Emily teased. “How’s she going to know it’s you though? You’re not wearing a costume.”

“Actually, I am.” Spencer smiled slightly at the confused looks on his friends’ faces. What he just said clicked for you suddenly.

“Maxim?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

Spencer blinked at you in surprise before smiling widely. “Mrs. de Winters?”

Emily and Derek looked between of you in slight confusion, but you and Spencer smiled at each other in delight. “We’ll leave you two to it,” Derek teased as he and Emily walked away.

“I’m glad that you’re a friend of Penelope’s and not a complete stranger,” you admitted. “I was a little worried I’d get stuck with some weirdo. Not that you sounded weird when we talked!”

“Well our first conversation was about the statistics of meeting a murderer when online dating. That’s a little weird.” The two of you laughed slightly.

“I’m a math professor, so I’m interested in anything statistics,” you admitted. “I’m kind of a nerd.”

“Same,” Spencer laughed. “You know these last minute costumes were a good idea.”

“I still want to see your Masque of the Red Death costume sometime.”

“Deal, but only if you tell me what you teach.”

You waved your hand. “Oh nothing exciting. Just some upper level math that nobody wants to take. The fun part of my job is trying to solve the Riemann hypothesis.”

“You’re trying to solve one of the Millennium Prize problems?” Spencer asked in surprise.

“I’m surprised you know about it.” Most people you talked to had no idea what the Millennium Prize problems were. You were sure they wondered why a university would tenure you just so you could keep trying to solve a math problem.

“I’ve looked over them before,” Spencer admitted shyly, like he was waiting for you to make fun of him.

“No luck?”

“Way beyond my level.” The two of you laughed slightly. A slower song began to play and couples danced slowly across the dance floor.

“Want to dance?” you suggested. Spencer hesitated and you worried for a second that you had overstepped, but then he smiled and held out his hand.

Neither one of you were very good dancers, but what you lacked in talent you made up for in smiles. You continued to discuss everything from mathematical theory to what working at the FBI was like to classic literature.

“Do you think this is how the Manderley fancy dress party would have gone if Mrs. Danvers hadn’t sabotaged the narrator?” you asked. “They could have been as happy as us dancing.”

Spencer thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I don’t think they could have been truly happy together with all of the secrets still between them.”

“True,” you agreed. “So you think we’re happy?”

When Spencer smiled at you, your heart fluttered. “I’m pretty happy. This is going a lot better than I expected. Not that I didn’t think you sounded great when we talked online! But Derek said something about you sounding too good to be true, so I started to worry that you wouldn’t be as amazing in person, but I shouldn’t have. You’re even better in person.”

You smiled gently back at Spencer. “You’re better in person too.”

Spencer studied your face intently for a few seconds, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Can I kiss you?” he asked quickly, like he was afraid he would lose his nerve if he waited.

Your smile grew. “I’d like that,” you responded.

Spencer put one hand gently on your cheek, the other still resting on your waist, and brought his lips down to meet yours. When the two of you broke away, still smiling widely, you were totally oblivious to the looks of shock and delight on the FBI agents’ faces.

“I think we might have to do this again sometime, Mrs. de Winters.”

“I think so, Maxim.”

Without speaking, the two of you leaned in again, and you were able to capture Spencer’s lips once more. You didn’t think you’d get tired of this any time soon. If only you had taken Penelope up on her offer to set the two of you up last year.

#Spencer Reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #calwrites

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erensproudsimp · 4 years ago

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Masquerade

Eren Jeager x reader oneshot

⚠Sexual Content Ahead⚠

Summary : Attending a ball on behalf of your sick mother, you meet a fine gentleman there leading to unexpected ~things~.

Word count : 2.4 k

'Claire de lune' by Claude Debussy was floding the hall into a fanciful series of secrecy as everyone hid their identities behind a masque. Sitting by the counter of the bar, a glass of wine on your left hand, you witnessed your best friend, Sasha, being a complete dork at the open buffet accompanied by Connie and Jean. How she contradicted the regal delicacy of the atmosphere really brought a smile to your face as you watched her snatch a chicken wing from Connie.

"Come on Sasha! It's going to be fun I swear", you begged your roommate into coming with you in this masquerade ball that you had to attend on behalf of your mother because she was feeling somewhat under the weather and you didn't want to be there alone.

"But a masquerade ball sounds sooooo booorriinngg y/n", Shasha dragged her words while munching on some potato chips.

"There will be an all you can eat open buffet unless you really don't want to come with me then so be it I'll go alone", you turned your back on her crossing your hands and smirked knowing that the brunette can't say no to this.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR Y/N? WEAR THAT DRESS AND LET'S GO", she jumped as soon as she heard you say that proving you right.

"LET'S GET TO DECKING UP!"

She wore a pretty reddish brown knee-length dress and a brown mask which suited her perfectly while you wore (fantasise your dress) with f/c mask

You decided to invite Connie and Jean to the ball to give them a break from their mundane everyday school life who would keep her company as well to prevent her from dying from boredom.

The clock struck 06 00 pm when y'all left the campus in Jean's car. Thirty minutes later the car reached a magnificent vintage styled mansion located near the sea. Apparently the ball was organised by Grisha Jeager to celebrate his wife, Carla's, birthday. Your mother was her best friend which is why she had requested that you handed her the gift on her special day itself. Jean parked the vehicle and you came out taking a deep breath of the fresh air.

Adjusting your masks respectively the four of you stepped into the premises. What came in sight was simply mistical. Everyone was dressed in gowns and suits while a soft classical music was playing in the background. The chandelier being the main source of light softly illuminated the room. Candles were set almost everywhere bringing a sweet scent of floral combined with a distant wooden smell. Without wasting any time Sasha sprinted to the food with Connie and Jean ran after them to make sure they're behaving and not causing any chaos.

For the time being your main objective was to hand over the gift so that you could enjoy the party. You found Carla after a few minutes of looking around. She was looking wonderful in a flowing golden white dress complimented with a white mask. She recognized you instantly as your mother was always talking about you to her.

"Happy birthday Mrs. Jeager. My mother offers you her sincere apologies that she couldn't be with you on this special day", you said giving her the gift.

"Please drop the formalities and call me Carla and oh no worries my dear, tell her I wish her a quick recovery so that we could meet as soon as possible. Now go and enjoy the party to the fullest", Carla cheerfully said.

"Of course and thank you umm Carla", you hesitated not realizing that there was someone who was gazing at you since the moment you entered the ballroom.

After that you joined your friends in the buffet to eat and have fun when suddenly you craved wine. Excusing yourself from them you walked to the bar and requested for some red wine which you sipped while looking at your surroundings with a gentle smile resting on your face.

You didn't realise a man was approaching you until his shadow fell upon you. At first glance at him your body seized. This man was.. gorgeous. Though you couldn't clearly see his face with his black mask on but you just knew that he was handsome underneath it. He was wearing a back suit his hair tied back in a manbun with strands falling on his face.

"Umm Hello?"

You were brought back to earth and when you realised that you were staring at him for quite a while, your face turning beat red.

"Hey", you uttered quickly trying not to further embarrass yourself.

"Do you mind me sitting next to you?"he asked in his hand a glass of wine too.

"Not at all, go ahead", you waved your hand.

"So, how do you find the ball so far?" he questioned you taking a sip of the liquid in his glass.

"Absolutely lovely. To be honest it's my first attending a ball so I was so nervous that I made my friends tag along with me", you replied looking into his green eyes.

"I'm glad you're liking it. My mom really goes the extra mile when it comes to things like this. "

"Wait your mom? Mrs. Jeager' s your mother?" you said bewilderedly.

"Hell yeah she is",he stated looking adoringly at the lady in question joyfully talking with the guests, "So what's your name?"

"Y/n, what about you?"

"Eren."

"Pleasure to meet you Eren", you raised your glass, "Cheers to this acquaintance?"

"Cheers," you both said clicking your glasses together.

Soon you two were having conversations after conversations and you realised that you really began to like this guy.

Out of the blue, Sasha came up to you looking pretty tired and full. She noticed Eren's presence and asked if you would return to the campus with them or would rather stay longer. You looked at Eren who suggested to give you a lift which you happily accepted as you would be spending more time with him.

As such Sasha, Connie and Jean left after saying bye.

Eren cleared his throat and proceeded, "There's going to be a dance later, do you have a partner?"

"I'm literally alone right now so of course not dummy, "laughingly you told him.

For a second you swear you saw a red tint on his cheeks.

"Well then, Would you like to offer this dance to me m'lady?" Eren offered his hand.

You nodded and without further ado he took you to the centre of the ballroom. One hand on your waist and the second held your hand gently. Eren was beaming with joy and his contagious smile spread to you too as you could feel your lips pull into their smile. Once the musicians saw you two they began playing a slow song which signaled the beginning of the dance. Several other couples joined in but you could barely notice them as you were drowning into his mesmerizing green eyes.

Butterflies filled your stomach as he pulled your body closer to him yet holding you so gently as though you were a fragile flower that could break anytime. His eyes were fixated on yours and you still wondered how he looked under the mask. He twirled you and took you into an embrace. You could feel his hot breath fanning as your faces were inches away from each other but both of you stayed in the same position as everyone was dancing around. You placed your hand on his cheek caressing it gently with your thumb as you felt the sexual tension increasing second by second.

"Can I kiss you?"

Though there was loud noise around you, you heard those words as clear as a cloudless sky. At that moment time stopped. You could feel the beat of your heart so hard and clearly. Without wasting anymore second, you pulled his tie and crashed your lips against his.

He was taken aback by your boldness but held you tighter and leaned in.

Soon enough the gentle tenderness of his lips turned into a passionate fiery makeout that sent electrics down your spine. Realising that you two were in public, Eren pulled you into the nearest room he could find and locked it.

Muffled music could still be heard through the closed door. The room was elegantly modern with celtic furniture alongside a bed in the middle and led lights which Eren turned to red.

Finally he took off that mask. You were right about him being extremely attractive as you stayed still to admire his beauty.

"What?" he tilted his head which you found utmost adorable.

"Nothing just looking at how beautiful you are," you admitted.

Eren's face went through a fifty shades of red.

Taking this into advantage you pinned him to the wall with your body pressed against his and arms on each side of his torso as you looked at him deep in the eyes. His one hand was wrapped around your waist and second one tilted your chin as he locked his lips with yours.

He pulled back to untie your mask. When he removed it, he stared at you because you were the prettiest angel he had ever seen.

"Wow, you're gorgeous," he complimented skilfully unzipping your dress which one side fell down your shoulder as you let it slide off you.

Eren's breath hitched as he stared at you in your black laced underwear. He couldn't seem to be able to process things as his mind was clouded with all the dirty things he could do to you. You proceeded to unbutton his shirt and almost ripped it off him. You couldn't tear your eyes off his well-built toned body.

Neediness growing he took you in bridal style and threw you on the bed. From the floor he picked up his tie and tied your hands together with it above your head. Taking a bottle of wine from the shelves, Eren opened it with a pop. He put it in his mouth and kissed you to transfer the liquid in your mouth. Drops fell down from your neck to your breasts. Eren licked them off you.

His hand went your bra's fastener, "Are you okay if I remove it?" You hummed to give consent.

He unclasped it to reveal your top body bare. He admired your figure before taking one bud into his mouth.

You threw your head back and looked at the ceiling only to see that there was a mirror right above. Your eyes widen at this.

From the mirror you saw Eren spilling wine on your body. The sensation was cool at first until he started licking it off you. The view was so erotic. You could see him drag his tongue across your boobs. Slowly the licks became kisses as it went lower from your stomach to your folds. He held your tied hands in place so that you wouldn't move away.

He kissed your core right through your underwear and you couldn't help but let out a small moan. Hearing that Eren got turned on and dragged his lips from the inside of your thighs back to your covered slick cunt. He removed the cloth and without warning his mouth was onto you. You screamed his name.

You flushed when you looked into the mirror and saw Eren clearly between your legs with your hands tied. You grabbed his hair and played with it to signal him to continue.

"Don't stop, don't stop,"you repeated as your lips were quivering.

He rubbed little circles with his tongue around your opening. You could feel him smile down there as he sucked your clit indicating that he was enjoying the effect he had on you. This threw you in a rollercoaster of pleasure.

"Fuck Eren don't stop," you gasped as you felt the knot in your stomach starting to unravel. Eren continued to play around leading you closer to your orgasm.

"Cum for me y/n, go ahead release everything you've got to me. "

This was the last straw as you came all over his face.

"You taste delicious,"Eren said licking your juices from his lip.

You were still shaking and Eren came up to you to kissed you so that you could taste yourself on him. This felt so sinful.

Stabilizing your breath you switched positions with him making you on top and unleashed your hands with the help of your mouth. You could feel how hard he was through his pants. You pulled them down to free his bulge.

You grinded on him slowly as you dragged your hands on his abbs.

"Y/n stop teasing me," Eren moaned.

You took his dick in your hands and spread the precum oozing out with your finger. Eren whined. You loved the control you were having over him.

Sucking the tip then dragging your tongue up and down the shaft made Eren whimper. Unexpectedly you put his member into your mouth and began sucking him while your hands were playing with his balls.

"Y/n, "Eren purred your name.

Slowing you picked up speed and watched him fall into the mercy of your touch. Shortly after he released inside your mouth. He watched you swallow every single drop which turned him on more. You kissed his shaking lips to make him taste himself like he did with you.

Again he switched positions to make him on top. He positioned his dick in front of your entrance.

"Are you okay with us doing it?" he asked for consent.

"100% sure"

Eren inserted himself in you slowly and waited for you to adjust to his size. Once your hyperventilated breathing calmed you told him it was okay to move which he started at a slow pace. You could feel his veins pulsating inside you. However, you couldn't take it the slowburn anymore, you wanted more of him. No, you wanted all of him.

"Eren please go faster", you begged.

"Your wish is my command m' lady, "as he picked up speed and nuzzled in the crook of your neck. You put your hands in his hair and pulled it while the other was busy making marks on his back with your nails.

Looking at the mirror you saw the whole scenario. The marks on his back was so attractive and made you feel powerful to be marking him. You watched as you both came at the same time.

Eren collapsed himself next to you and fell into a deep slumber. You chuckled and removed his hair from his face.

You cuddled closer to him and covered the both of you with the bedsheets.

End.

Thank you for reading :)

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bloodblanks · 22 days ago

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i am caving in… i will try to write some nsfw headcanons, which character(s) would you guys like the most?

(i am not sure if this changes anything but just in case it does, i thought i’d mention that i usually write darker dead dove content)

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dark-raven-666 · 9 days ago

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The red rose

Mr. Masque x reader

A/N: I made it so Mr Masque can actually speak properly just because I loved this idea with him.

@mychmyxoma. You requested before of him so I'll @ you in this one too

♥*♡∞:｡.✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿｡.｡:∞♡*♥

The days have been blurry, you don't remember when you got here, the time is unknown. Feels like months have passed, but it could only be days..

You and Mr. Crawling have walked and walked every day. Well, you walked... He crawled close behind you.

The one time you would feel joy is when you were sat watching this worlds magician.

He was so beautiful, his movements fast and magical.

How did he do any of those tricks? Not like any human magician. The fact that you actually couldn't figure out the trick made your love for his magic even deeper. It made you feel like a child filled with wonder again.

One day, you had been walking for a long time and decided to take a break. Sitting on the worn sofa in the room you let out a breath.

The he appears. The man of magic.

"Oh? What's that behind your back?" he questions and you seem confused, that is until he reaches back and pulls out a red rose.

"This beautiful rose is for you." he says his voice just as smooth as always.

Taking the rose from his hand you thank him with a smile.

he smiles seeing your reaction. He slowly moves closer to you without taking his eyes off you

"As beautiful as you".

he then reaches forward and tucks the rose behind your ear, letting his hand linger on the side of your face.

Without thinking twice you whisper to him " not as beautiful as you... "

he laughs quietly and takes your hand in his.

"Oh stop, I'm flattered. I think you're a lot brighter than me"

he lets his hand go to your chin, gently directing your gaze at him*

"Have I ever told you that your eyes are incredibly beautiful.." He asks.

"I'm glad you think so. I find them rather boring" you respond back to him.

He shakes his head, slightly pulling you closer

"No..No, never say that. Your eyes are beautiful. So dark and deep. Like two E/C pearls."

He gently runs his thumb over your cheek

"I can get lost in them." He whisper more to himself than you.

"Yours are hidden beneath your mask... Yet.. I'm sure they are as beautiful as the rest of you.." You respond with equal dreaming in your voice. What were you doing? We're you crazy? Yet your hand found its way to his masked cheek and cupped it.

*he feels your touch, closing his eyes and lightly pressing his cheek into your palm. His breath hitches.*

"Ah..my eyes? You can't tell how they look like."

He lets out a shaky breath before opening his eyes again, feeling your touch on his skin.

"But you're too kind..you wouldn't say they're pretty if you saw them, really. " he responds to you.

How could he say that? How could anything about him NOT be beautiful?

Suddenly in your haze of love, you lay your head on his chest, you hand on it too, the other hand on your side, it looked like a beautiful Reneccance paintimg from any other view.

His breath halts for a second before he feels your head against his chest. It's such an intimate moment that he can't find the words for. He gently brings his arms around you, holding you close. His chin rests on the top of your head.

Still hazy you whisper "I may have feelings for you."

He let out an exhale, letting his arms tighten around you. He leans his chin on the top of your head, taking in your scent slowly as the realization of what you said hits him

"You do...?" He whispers quietly.

"Yes.. " you whisper back.

#homicipher game #homicipher x you #homicipher x reader #homicipher #homicipher x mc #mr mask #mr masque x reader #mr masque

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missjondrette · 6 years ago

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A Time For Us

Arkham Knight-verse Jason x Reader

Notes: 4000 words of reader and jason as childhood friends, set roughly one year after Arkham Knight.

---

One look at Mr. Wayne’s face and you knew it would be the worst possible news.

Framed in your doorway, he had a look on his face you’d never seen before. A quiet, dark anguish seen in the new lines around his mouth, the thousand-yard gaze in his eyes. He was nothing like the man you’d seen a handful of times before – the glamorous Bruce Wayne who dominated the media. He didn’t even look like Jason’s charming—but somewhat peculiar—foster father. He was a stranger.

You felt cold, suddenly. Like all the heat had been yanked out of your body in one swoop.

“What is it?” You begged, hand tightening on the doorknob. “Is there any news? Mr. Wayne?”

In the shitty lighting of your apartment’s hallway, Mr. Wayne seemed shrouded in shadow. “May I come inside?” he asked, hollow.

You realized slowly that you were shaking your head. “No. What is it? What did you come to tell me?” You demanded.

Bruce Wayne stared at you for a long minute then sighed, low and weary. “Jason is dead,” he said. “I am… sorry.”

Blood pounded in your ears. “No,” you said, numb. “No.”

“I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. His… kidnappers. They sent me proof. Jason’s dead.”

You flinched from the words. “No,” you said, louder. At some point, your breathing had turned into rapid, harsh pants. “Shut up, just—stop talking,” you pleaded.

“I—the police haven’t found his body yet,” Wayne said. Everything out of his mouth felt like a knife. “But we’re still looking. We’ll bring him ho—”

“Shut up!” The scream ripped out of you, a wave of raw fury on its heels. In a surge of mindless rage, you threw up your hands, brought them up to Bruce Wayne’s front, and shoved, shoved as hard as you could. He took a few resigned steps back. A mix of resignation, pity, and sorrow shone in his eyes.

You slammed the door in his face.

Bile rose in your throat. Whirling around, you barreled through the small apartment until you reached the fire escape outside the living room window. You clambered onto it, clumsy in your haste.

A burst of cold air, unforgiving and without mercy. You barely felt it, though. And you were already shaking, trembling all over, with the effort of holding back tears. Tiny, muffled whimpers escaped you even though you pressed your lips together as tightly as you could. It felt like great big cracks were splintering through your body.

So… you gave up.

And let it all out.

All the grief poured out from you in noisy, broken sobs. You gripped the icy railing until your palms burned. Tears streamed down your cheeks. You cried until the twinkling dusk faded into the black night, until you felt empty and hollowed inside-out. Until the grief became a void in your chest.

“Jay,” you whispered, and the idea that you would never get to call him by his name again—it hurt, worse than any pain you’d felt. You closed your eyes. “Jay.”

***

For the past few weeks, the same man had been coming to your bookstore.

You didn’t register his presence properly, at first. The first day or so, you caught a glimpse of dark hair and a red hood – near the back shelves, browsing the titles under Horror. Nothing significant enough to leave an impression. Just another customer who flipped through some pages and left without buying anything.

A year after the Gotham Exodus (as the media had taken to calling it), the city struggled to adjust. No more Batman, no more Bruce Wayne. Billions in damages to infrastructure. People missing in droves.

Even more dead.

One year later, you were only just managing to pull yourself into some semblance of normal. Like rising out of a fog to notice the new dawn.

So you thought you could be forgiven for not being the most observant person in the world.

Then you started to notice him more and more. He didn’t show up every day, but often enough that you grew used to his presence. He moved around the store but tended to stay near the back. You never saw his face. Instead, you came to know him by the red jacket he wore, the hood always pulled up. He wore a surgical mask too – maybe he was ill? Some kind of… immunodeficiency? Whatever the reason, he was clearly a man who didn’t want to be identified.

Crime Alley born and bred, you maintained a healthy sense of distrust. Especially for the first handful of times that he showed up to the store. No one lived in Gotham for more than a month and didn’t pick up a radar for when shit started to feel wrong. So you went about your business while making sure to keep him in your peripheries.

Just try me, buddy, you thought at him once, narrowing your eyes at his broad back while he flipped through Poe’s The Masque of the Red Death. He looked pretty built, but you’d pulled yourself out of hairier situations than a creepy stalker at work. Gotta love Gotham, huh?

But he kept showing up, day after day, doing nothing more than perusing the shelves for an hour or so before disappearing. It irked you a little that he never bought anything – but then, your parents had always encouraged people to browse to their heart’s content without dropping a penny. Not the best business model, but miraculously the store had always pulled through. Long after your parents were gone, you tried to keep their legacy alive.

For their sakes, you said nothing and kept a polite distance as Tall, Dark, and Silent loitered in the back, shoulders hunched and a dark cloud hovering over him. It started to feel like you’d acquired a stray cat, actually. You couldn’t just go up and start petting a wary cat. That would pretty much guarantee a frosty, injured silence. And maybe some vicious scratches. Instead, you had to sort of quietly exist around them, going about your day and letting them grow accustomed to you. Maybe set out a bowl of milk and hope to coax them out.

In this case, substitute milk for a worn copy of World War I poetry.

After a few weeks, you’d observed that your mysterious regular drifted to that book more than any other. It was an old book. You remembered reading it as a teenager, sitting on the floor with your back against the hard shelving. The stranger clearly liked it. He even seemed to linger on certain pages. Briefly, you thought about going up to him and saying, “You can have it if you want. No charge. Think of it as a gift.”

But what if it scared him away? Or he got offended?

You’d grown used to him, over the weeks. It would feel kind of weird now if he didn’t show up anymore.

Once, when he wasn’t there, you’d picked up the book. It fell open to a creased page. The Death Bed, by Siegfried Sassoon. Automatically, your eyes fell to lines halfway down the page – He swallowed, unresisting; moaned and dropped through crimson gloom to darkness.

You shut the book and replaced it back on the shelf. It had felt almost like infringing on the stranger’s privacy to open it.

The pattern continued for almost a month.

He would show up about an hour before closing. Hang around silently before stepping out and vanishing into the Gotham fog. You’d stay near the front and daydream about things to say to him. The perfect words to magically draw him out of his shell. A charming quip, a witty one-liner.

But when you finally spoke up, the words that came out were far from perfect. They were clumsy, unplanned, and probably sounded like nonsense.

Mansfield Park drove you to it. You were sneaking glances at the stranger while pretending to be engrossed in shelving books when you saw the cover of the book he was reading. And before you could stop yourself, your mouth was falling open and you were saying, “I had a friend who refused to shut up about that book.”

Wait.

What just happened?

You were so busy being horrified by what you’d just done that you almost missed the stranger’s reaction. He didn’t turn around, but the lines of his shoulders tensed up a bit. His voice, when he spoke, was rough. “Did he.” Not a question.

That should have been your cue to shut up and quietly return to the cash register. To never speak up again and pray that you hadn’t ruined everything. Instead, oh god, you just kept going.

“We had to read it in high school,” you said into an awkward, strained silence. “No one in our class liked it. Except for J—my friend. He said none of us got it. That it was all about the patriarchy, and corruption, and the failings of conservatism. He knew all about the historical context too. He… was kind of a nerd. But, um, sorry, I noticed you reading it and—and it just reminded me of him. I didn’t mean to bother you. Just… go back to reading, sorry.”

It couldn’t have been worse if you’d gone up to him and thrown up all over his feet. Christ. Face burning, you eyed him nervously to see what would happen.

He shut the book. Put it back on the shelf. And, as you watched with increasing guilt and misery, he marched out into the autumn chill without a word.

He kept his head low and carefully turned away as he passed you. But, for a split second, you thought you might have caught a glimpse of his eyes. A flash of blue, like cold Gotham rain. And…

Something that had looked a lot like furious anguish.

You stood at the window, staring at his retreating figure until he turned the corner. Confusion mixed with regret until your head hurt.

For the past few weeks, the same man had been coming to your bookstore.

And you were starting to feel like… you knew him.

***

You didn’t see him again for several days.

Your brain refused to quiet down even in his absence. If anything, it seemed like your imagination grew wilder and wilder when he wasn’t there. Little things suddenly seemed much more significant.

Blue eyes. You’d never forgotten Jason’s eyes – they could shine as cold as ice or glow incandescent like flames. You used to tease him about his long eyelashes. That always made him snort and shove you lightly.

The stranger had blue eyes. You were sure of it. Of course, Jason had been on your mind at the moment you saw them… so maybe you were just seeing what you wanted?

Had the stranger sounded like Jason? What had he said… nothing more than a few words, right? You couldn’t remember clearly.

The books he read! You smiled triumphantly. Those were definitely all books Jason liked or would have liked. Your smile faded. Then again… plenty of people liked those same books. It was hardly conclusive evidence.

With a groan, your head dropped into your hands. This was insane. How could you possibly entertain the idea that your childhood friend, dead for years, had mysteriously come back to life… just to hang around your bookstore while refusing to say a word to you?

Actually, you mused. That does sound like something Jason would do.

You shook your head. This was pathetic. After all these years, you still hadn’t moved on. Like a desperate child, you still held on hope for a miracle that was never going to happen.

“Therapy, that’s what I need,” you announced into the empty store just as the bell above the door jingled merrily. You turned to greet the customers, unable to squash the spark of hope that the stranger had come back— and your voice died in your throat.

Two hulking brutes stood in front of you, one slowly drawing a handgun from his jacket. They didn’t look like they’d come in because of the window display.

Oh.

Oh hell no.

“Look, assholes,” you snapped. “I know fucking Penguin or whoever didn’t send you to rob a goddamn bookstore, unless things have gotten really desperate in the crime world. If you wanted lunch money you’d have better luck hitting up a middle-schooler. This bitch,” you nodded jerkily at the cash register. “Is empty.”

“You’re a mouthy one, ain’t ya,” said one of the thugs, chuckling. “How about you let us take a look and see for ourselves, sweetheart?”

You stared. “Ew, what? Yeah, don’t call me that shit.”

“I’ll call you whatever the hell I want—”

CRASH! The world exploded in a shower of glass.

You threw your arms up instinctively to shield your face. Sounds of thuds and pained screams ripped through the air before dying into a grim silence. Trembling a little, you lowered your arms just enough to see the two brutes sprawled on the ground, completely knocked out.

What the…

Slowly, shakily, your eyes rose— and you found yourself staring into redness.

You inhaled sharply. A figure in red and grey stood over the two limp bodies, his heavy boot pressing down with careful deliberation on one of their necks. Beneath him, the thug stirred mulishly.

The deafening crack! of a gunshot. You flinched.

He didn’t stir again.

“Woah,” you said, voice wobbling a bit.

The figure turned to you. You brutally squashed another flinch and forced yourself to meet his gaze unflinchingly – or where you assumed his gaze was, at least. He wore a full-face helmet that betrayed nothing of his expression. It felt like staring into a sea of blood.

You’d thought he was just a rumor. The merciless, brutal vigilante who clearly followed a moral code all of his own.

But everything else you thought you knew had changed, hadn’t it?

The Red Hood stood silently in front of you. Something about the tense lines of his shoulders, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides – it looked almost like uncertainty. Then, with a sharp jerk, he spun around and strode towards the shattered window of the storefront.

You made a small sound, unable to stop yourself. You had no idea what you planned to say to him.

Red Hood stopped again. Was he hesitating? He tilted his head in your direction. “Are you okay?” he asked, low and rough.

You stared. “Am I—” You broke off and laughed, a touch hysterical. You didn’t even know anymore. Taking slow, deep breaths through your nose, you forced yourself to calm down.

Red Hood still didn’t leave.

You summoned the effort to keep your tone light. “After all these years, I was afraid I’d forgotten the sound of your voice.”

Silence. Red Hood went alarmingly still.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, finally, after a long pause.

“Don’t you?” you cried, voice raw. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. Everything is screaming at me that I’m being stupid, that I’m seeing and hearing things that aren’t there. This isn’t rational! It doesn’t make sense! But all I know is—all I know is that I thought I’d forgotten your voice, but I hadn’t. It was in my brain all this time, and I just needed a— a push. I’ve been waiting to hear it. All. This. Time.”

You broke on a ragged sigh. “Also,” you said softly. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours in anyone else.”

Red Hood made a noise somewhere between a snarl and a shaky exhale. “We’re not doing this here,” he growled. In quick, sharp movements, he covered the short distance between the two of you and grabbed your wrist. Dazed, you followed him to the window – or what was left of it.

His arm dropped to your waist and pulled you tightly to his side.

Your jaw dropped open. Well, this was fresh. “Hey, what are youuuuuOH MY GOD!” The whooshing wind swallowed up your shriek as you zipped through the cold air.

It felt like you’d left your stomach back on the ground. It took a second for you to realize that you were once again on solid footing. You looked around frantically –somehow, you’d ended up on top of a tall building.

“Holy shit, that was terrifying!” You said, trying to stay up on quivering legs. Your lips twitched into a grin. “We have to do that again later.”

A snort. Red Hood took a few steps back, taking his body heat with him. You watched him carefully.

“I didn’t…” You sighed. Rubbed your eyes, suddenly feeling completely drained. “You can just walk away, you know. If that’s what you want. We can both just pretend that I’m some sad, confused hot mess—”

Red Hood reached up and removed his helmet.

Your breath caught in your throat. No mask, no hood – you stood face-to-face with a ghost, a memory, a buried wish.

“Is this a dream?” You asked, choked. Tears filled your eyes and you blinked them away furiously, desperate to keep your vision as clear as possible.

He wasn’t the Jason Todd you remembered – not the young boy with the devil-may-care grin and bright eyes. But, instead, a man grown. You searched his features, finding the familiar blue gaze now hardened with years and experiences you couldn’t begin to fathom. The Roman nose, already a little crooked in childhood from healing poorly after a fight. Unruly black hair. And—a scar.

“Jason,” you managed, the tears managing to spill free down your cheeks. You ignored them, taking a step forward. “Is it really you? Am I—am I really not dreaming?”

His eyes met yours. Your heart soared, impossibly ecstatic. You knew, you knew you hadn’t forgotten what his eyes had looked like.

“This is nothing like a dream,” Jason said harshly. His knuckles were bone-white against the red of his helmet. “I’m not the kid you once knew. He died a long time ago. Alone. Broken. If you think you know who I am, if you think—that things are just going to go back to the way they were—”

“Shut up, Jason.”

Jason’s jaw shut with an audible click. He blinked, looking a little stunned, like he hadn’t thought there were still people in the city dumb enough to tell the Red Hood to shut up to his face.

“You think I don’t know that?” You demanded, scowling at him. “Of course we can’t go back to what we used to be. I have no idea what you’ve been through, but I know it must have been… unimaginable. But you’re not dead! You’re here, standing right in front of me, and you were the one who kept showing up to my shop, over and over and over. And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because of our Shakespeare collection. You’ve changed, Jason, but I see now that one thing’s still the same. Jason Todd, for all his prickly attitude and righteous temper, has always wanted a place to belong. People to call his own.”

It hurt to keep looking at Jason. You’d never seen him look so—raw, so blown apart. He hunched his shoulders, keeping his face carefully turned away from you. A muscle spasmed in his cheek.

“That’s not something I can want anymore,” he whispered.

“It’s always going to be something I want to give to you,” you said plainly.

Jason laughed, a little brokenly. “I don’t even know where to go from here. It was stupid to keep coming to see you. There was no reason for it. Nothing logical, anyway. I didn’t want you to find out who I was. And I was risking everything by doing it. But… I just couldn’t stop myself,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

“Good,” you said, smiling weakly at him. “I tried so hard to learn how to carry the grief, Jason. But I never stopped waiting for you to show up again.”

A car alarm rang out into the air. Jason’s fingers twitched, and he bit his lip. He made an awkward gesture at your face. “Um, by the way… you’ve got, uh. Glass. In your hair.”

You blinked. “What? Oh!” Startled, you moved to touch your head.

“Wait.” Jason took a few steps forward, neatly entering your space. “Let me?”

You dropped your hands, hoping you weren’t blushing. He did have gloves on. It only made sense. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Slowly, Jason reached out with one hand, hesitating right before making contact. “Close your eyes,” he said huskily.

You did, suppressing a tiny shiver at the first brush of his fingers against your temple. Jason was gentle and quick, but you still felt a tiny sting on your scalp and cheeks as he swept the broken glass from your hair. If anything, though, the burn made your nerves sing until your skin became even more sensitive to Jason’s touch.

“There,” he said, low. “You can open your eyes now.”

You opened them in time to catch an almost… tender expression on Jason’s face. Muted, but there nonetheless. You blinked up at him, suddenly self-conscious.

“Thanks,” you said, face growing warm.

“I missed you,” Jason said abruptly. “I’d be lying if I said I thought about you all the time while I was gone. Sometimes I even tried my best to forget you. For a long time… I only had one goal. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else could matter. I lived in a world you could have no part in.”

It hurt to hear. Not the idea that Jason didn’t want to remember you—that notion paled in the face of all the things Jason had suffered, in a time and place where you couldn’t reach him. Your heart ached with a desire to erase all the pain and misery and suffering. Even as you knew that you couldn’t decide that for him.

You stayed quiet.

“But being around you again,” Jason said. “It felt a little like being happy again. At first, I just wanted to remember what it used to be when were kids. Friends. But then you would do things. You’d hum along to a song on the radio, tell a customer about what book you were reading. You’d make funny faces at a kid. You’d tell off some asshole and make him cry.” A helpless smile tugged at the corner of Jason’s lips. “All of a sudden, I wasn’t thinking about when we were kids. Instead, I wanted to get to know you. All over again.”

You swallowed and waited until you thought your voice wouldn’t shake when you spoke. “I missed you too,” you said softly. Carefully, you held out your hand, letting it hover in the space between the two of you—not a demand, but a quiet offer if he wanted it.

Emotion flickered in Jason’s face, too quick for you to scrutinize. After a beat, he took your hand. His fingers curled around yours, warm and solid.

You smiled at him. Your eyes felt a little wet, but you could see Jason’s face, clear in the moonlight and city neon. That was what mattered.

“We’ve got time now,” you said. “Jay.”

***

EPILOGUE/CODA

“Admit it,” you said with a grin, setting down the steaming mug on the coffee table. “You’re just with me because of the books.”

Jason glanced up, flashing you a quick smirk before going back to his paperback. “Yeah, that was the plan all along, babe,” he said. “I was taught by a master strategist, you know.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped down on the couch. Jason shifted a little, angling and moving until his legs were tangled with yours. You kicked him playfully.

“You can pay me back,” you said pointedly, “by helping with the new window display.”

“Do I get to pick the theme this time?”

You let out a snort and brushed your thumb over the jut of his cheekbones. The novelty of touching him still hadn’t worn off. You had a feeling it never would. “Only if you can keep it PG-13 or below,” you said.

Jason tossed the paperback—the copy of WWI poetry, which you’d given him shortly after your reunion—to the side. He grabbed your wrist and slowly, carefully took your thumb between his teeth—biting down just hard enough for electricity to race up your spine.

“Are you trying to bribe me?” You asked with a laugh.

Jason released your thumb and pressed a lazy, open kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Nah,” he said. “This? Is for me.”

***

Fin.

I wrote the epilogue after realizing that otherwise it would just be “what if we stood on a rooftop after i killed two guys and we held hands 😳”

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #batfam #batfamily #arkham knight #red hood x reader #batman #my writing

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