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the-daydreaming-show · 2 months

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 — “I am, I have been, and I was born hungry.”

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: An abandoned son makes a decision. The cared for son is taken away.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬): Bruce Wayne X ScarletWitch!Reader; Jason Todd x Batmom!ScarletWitch!Reader; Tim Drake x Batmom!ScarletWitch!Reader; Jason Todd x Tim Drake.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: kidnapping, mention of PTSD, weapons, threats (silent), drugs and forced drug use, death of Janet Drake, and mention of Jack Drake in the hospital, Jason is mansplaining, manipulating and manslaughter his way through this sequel.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This took a while because I had a precise plan for this sequel, but writing this chapter, something possessed me and changed everything. So, now I'm not sure what's going to happen, it's all in destiny hands now on!!!

Thanks to our beta reader, the wonderful @igotmessymind for her work, as always, I appreciate you very much!!

Now, I would like to make a special mention of @andieperrie18, who made a playlist base on the Batmom Scarlet Witch.

And I need you to admire this masterpiece, because this playlist doesn't just include songs. NOO, It also has dialogue between Batmom and Bruce at the beginning, and it's just gold. Also go to check the other playlist in her channel, they have some good stuff. The small talks and slow dancing with Bruce Wayne is one of my favorites!!!

So, thank you very much to you @andieperrie18 for your love and the dedication it took to make this playlist. I don't have enough words to show my adoration and gratitude for this playlist. So everyone, please go give them love to the playlist while reading this chapter!!

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬 / Prelude / Next Part

Jason knew he was not walking on good ground. He hadn't been since he was revived in the Lazarus Pit. He hadn't been when he had killed criminals to try to control Gotham's crime. Nor when he had to escape from Arkham Asylum after Batman had locked him there, under the excuse that it was best for him.

Lies.

All were lies.

He knew it now more than ever as he looked at his wall.

Jason was sitting in an old chair facing the wall, where a variety of photos, newspaper clippings, maps, and notes were displayed.

Seeing that wall told him that he was definitely slipping into a new territory of madness.

But-he-couldn't-stop. It was like he was on a slide, and he couldn't dig his heels in to stop. A part of him didn't want to stop.

Just as he hadn't wanted to soften the news of his return to Bruce, that part of Jason wanted revenge with every atom of his true self. And now it was pushing him towards that wall.

Another part of him, though, didn't want to do this. It was the part that still made him want to put his hands in his mouth to eat his cuticles, like he had done as a child. That part wanted to approach you on the street, and calmly let you explain why you hadn't sought him out. So that he could move on somehow, in a way that would make you proud of how Jason had handled everything.

But you had abandoned him.

After Bruce found out he was alive, Jason had hoped that once he told you all of it, you'd show up at his door. Jason had been ready to listen to your logical arguments and leave the whole killing thing behind.

¿Who cared about revenge and Gotham if there was a chance to get back with his mom?

Not to Jason.

You didn't; you never showed up.

And now the part that wanted revenge was screaming too loud for him to hear anything else.

So there he was, sitting in a chair, arms crossed, as he carefully admired the wall he had created.

There were pictures of you picking up Timothy Drake from school, taking him shopping, hugging him at galas, and chatting with him at fashion events. Events that you had probably only been invited to, but you had convinced the team to let you take someone else, the same way you did with Jason when he was young. You probably took him to eat at your favorite restaurant every Friday after school, like they did with him. You probably also turned off the light in his room every night after saying goodnight, like you did with Jason.

No shame; you had given everything that was Jason's to that boy.

That's why you weren't looking for him when you found out he was alive. You had replaced him with that kid, the same way Bruce had, and you deserved the same kind of punishment.

You deserved his revenge. And you will receive it.

You were in your office, in your brand's office building, a few blocks from Wayne Tower, where your entire clothing brand has done most of its business since you married Bruce. The official and original store of your brand is still in Metropolis, where it all started, but you moved the main offices to Gotham when you got married. So all of your children spent time between Wayne Tower and your building.

Usually, that was where they ended up after school.

Tim was supposed to go there after school. Typically, you would go pick him up. But that day he was staying a few extra hours at school for his Debate Club, and he would walk with his friends to their houses and meet you before you left the office that afternoon. So you were surprised when, as you were evaluating some new designs, your phone lit up with your youngest son's phone number.

“Mom,” Tim’s voice immediately sounded on the other end of the phone when you answered. He sounded nervous.

“Tim, honey,” you said, looking up at the clock. “Did I forget to pick you up?”, and immediately, your mind goes into paranoia, convinced that Tim had asked you to go look for him, and that's why he was calling you, and you had forgotten.

“No, no. Mom, it's fine,” he assured you quickly. You could hear chatter in the background, like someone was encouraging him to talk. “Mom, do you know today is Friday, right?”

Obviously, you remembered that it was Friday. On Fridays, when Tim came home from school, the two of you would go out to dinner at your favorite restaurant as a traditional mother-son activity.

“Yes, I've noticed,” you said, closing the sketchbook to give the boy your full attention.

“And we always go to eat at Julián's on Fridays after school, without fail,” he continues explaining. You assumed he was going somewhere, so you murmured an affirmation. “Well, you saw Dylan, my chemistry classmate. He and others are going to eat at a pizzeria near the school, and they invited me. After eating, we are all going to go to his house to play video games. If you're okay with that, I would like to go. Or I'll just go eat and go back home early. I-” Tim was already in babbling territory; you could barely contain your laughter when you interrupted him.

“It's okay, Tim. I don’t mind a change of plans, darling,” you assured him, and you could see his shoulders relax even from your building. “I'll take advantage and visit your father's office; I'll ask him to accompany me on an impromptu date.”

“Okay, okay. Yes, that sounds good.” Tim was smiling as big as he could, while around him, his classmates were singing victory for the afternoon they had organized. “I'll let you know where we are and call you when it's time to come home. I love you.”

Before you could tell him that he didn't need to tell you exactly where to be and at what time, Tim hung up the call, too excited about the whole thing. To which you inevitably laughed, happy that Tim had an activity, say a boy his age, and that he was so excited about it. You had met Dylan a couple of times; he was a good kid, so you were sure everything would be fine.

Jason watched Tim walk with his friends all night.

After observing him for weeks, he realized that the chic lived based on a fairly consistent routine. One that repeated itself almost around the clock for some reason, but Jason suspected that it had to do with the post-traumatic stress the boy must have had after the Joker's attack on his biological parents the year before. The boy's mother was six meters underground, and his father was on medical care for life because of all this. Jason almost felt bad for him. Almost.

This also meant that you and Bruce were very aware of the boy's routine, so if Tim were to disappear for even a couple of hours, it would ruin your plan. So he chanced it, waiting for the ideal moment to feed his need for revenge.

So when the sixteen-year-old decided to leave school one afternoon in the company of a group of other kids his age, he was clearly not on his way to your office like he usually did.

Jason took the phone out of his pocket and gave the order to start.

The group of friends went into a hidden, but sufficiently crowded, pizzeria a few blocks from the house of the boy Dylan, to whom Tim seemed closest in the group.

Jason had quickly discovered that Tim was a smart kid. He was too smart for Jay to trick him or accidentally cause him to fall into a trap of some kind.

But he had also discovered that Tim was, like Bruce, an idiot for justice.

He had watched him risk his life more than necessary for civilians while he ran around as Robin, when Jason from afar could have found about five ways to save the civilians without getting in the way. Tim jumped in to save them with his own hands every time there was a lethal risk. It could be that the weight of not having helped his parents was still eating him alive too.

But one way or another, Jason would use that to his advantage.

Jason walked into the pizzeria, followed by five other men he knew Tim would recognize. It was because he had gotten them out of jail, especially because Robin had dragged them and put them there, with the aim of getting them to help him. The proposed men didn't know he was there for that reason; they were just doing their job for the money, unaware of the mental games Jason was playing with the teenager.

And Tim Drake understood what was going to happen the moment he saw Jason. She looked him in the eyes and smiled as she casually glanced at the table of the group of friends, who were still wearing their school uniforms.

“Timothy, little one,” Jason greeted casually, putting his hands in his pockets and watching as Tim's eyes went to the way that movement revealed the reflection of a gun on his hip. “I've been looking for you!!”

Jason knew exactly how Tim would react and looked at the situation. They had both been trained by the same man at the end of the day. They were a reflection of each other, and that is why it was a dangerous game. “Are you hungry, Timothy? Because I am starving.”

Jason wasn't talking about the pizzas, and Tim knew it quickly. But he couldn't do anything, not with Jason so armed and clearly accompanied. Both were surrounded by so many civilians, and Tim's friends. His new friends, who had been patient with him and had accepted him into his group, which he had been joining since they were children. But they still tried to integrate him and invited him to things, again and again, until that day he accepted for the first time in months.

The table had fallen silent at the extra situation, but Tim seemed to know the stranger who had sat down, so they didn't say anything. But Dylan, as kind and caring as he was, saw the way the color had drained from Tim's face. So he spoke.

“Don't worry, Dylan,” Jason told him, which took Dylan by surprise since he had never told the stager his name, and he got genuinely worried now. “He just needs something to drink; he's just dehydrated. Timmy works a lot and doesn’t take care of himself.”

While talking to Dylan, Tim watched as Jason grabbed his glass of soda that he had been drinking while they waited for the pizzas. Without anyone else noticing, Tim watched as Jason dropped a pill into the drink, which was probably intended to knock him out, or at least drug him enough to make it manageable for Jason.

All without anyone else noticing, just so he could see it and know what was going on. He was faced with the reality that he couldn't do anything, and he couldn't fight, not at such a potential price. He was trapped.

It made Tim feel alarmingly alone, despite being surrounded by people.

“Here, drink something.” Jason handed him the glass, where the gas from the soda easily hid the bubbles that the pill made as it dissolved. “It will do you good.”

The two stood face-to-face for a moment as the older brother offered the glass, and Jason didn't need to make the threat for Tim to understand.

Or Tim drank the soda and voluntarily sedated himself. Or he would get him out of there in a much more aggressive way. And some bullets could be lost in that situation, so Jason could make sure that his friends were the ones who received them.

Tim could see the decapitated bodies of Black Mask's lieutenants, found shortly after Red Hood appeared in Gotham, before Bruce discovered his identity.

So he grabbed the glass and brought it to his mouth. Tim gave Jason a last pleading look, to which the boy just smiled sweetly. And your youngest son just wanted to scream for you, but you didn't know Jason was alive, and you suspected that's exactly what Jason wanted.

He wouldn't put you in danger.

Bruce would handle everything; Tim trusted that.

Tim downed the glass of soda in four gulps and didn't remember anything else after that.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @andieperrie18 @totallynotme420 @igotmessymind @amarawayne @calsjack @kodzukenmaaa @mellowdiy @noah-uhhh-what @blarba-girl @dead-sane-stuff @huhuhhuhh @ashlynnmalfoy @kimmis-stuff @undecided-shipper @justafanficsreader @poppyalice2001 @holdyuhmuda @jiabae @mara-moon @avitute @lafrone

#batfamily x reader #all for us #jason todd x batmom #batmom #tim drake x batmom #batmom!reader #batfam x reader #dick grayson x batmom #scarletwitch!batmom!reader #scarletwitch!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batfam imagine #batfamily #batfamily x batmom

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starryevermore · 3 months

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the house of snow (6) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: now that he knows of sejanus’s interest in you, coriolanus can only think of how to keep you away from him.

word count: 2,566

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: coryo’s pov, hints of manipulative!coryo, obsessive!coryo, possessive!coryo, jealous!coryo

You were maddening. Did you not have any idea of the effect you had on him? Did you not realize that you occupied every single one of Coriolanus’s thoughts? Did you not realize that you made him want to destroy all of Panem if only for a moment of your time? But now, now you looked at him with nothing but loathing in your eyes. Why? Because he gave you a kiss? Did it not take your breath away as it did for him?

Coriolanus could still feel your lips pressed against his. How soft your lips were. The way you gasped as he kissed you. How, for just a moment, you almost allowed him to touch you like that. Then you were pushing him away, looking up at him with nothing but fire in your eyes.

He almost wanted to laugh at the sight. Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your fists clenched into fists at your side. You were adorable when you were angry. No more serious than Coriolanus the Cat when he hissed at Coriolanus (the human) when he walked by. Coriolanus, for a moment, considered laughing. He liked seeing you this riled up. It made him wonder if you would be so…vivacious on your wedding night.

“What the hell was that!?” you shouted. Coriolanus stifled his snort. Were you truly that enraged by being kissed by him? “You cannot just, just kiss someone! We are not married, Snow! You promised that you would not ruin me!”

“Did I? I only recall saying your reputation would never be harmed.” Coriolanus rolled his eyes as he reached out for you again. He liked touching you. It made his mind a little quieter, reminded him that you were his. And now that he’s finally had you in an intimate way—your first and your last kiss—he wanted to do it again, and again, and again—lunch be damned. He imagined your mother still waiting in the dining room as the minutes ticked by, worry and concern and anger racing through her mind as she realized he was, in fact, ruining you for anyone else. Coriolanus licked his lips, realizing you weren’t pushing him away. Was this anger all a façade? Was this just an act for you to make him think you hated him? Were you as plagued by him as he was by you? “And it will not be, I will promise you that. If I wish, however, to kiss my fiancée in private, I shall do so.”

“You only did this so I would feel guilty if I tried to leave you for Sejanus, which I have already told I would not do!”

“No,” he said. “I did this because you drive me mad.”

“Then lock yourself in an asylum. Do not kiss me.”

Oh, there you go again. Saying such outlandish things to get a rise out of him. He loved when you were like this. He reached up, caressing your face. You tried to jerk away. And while he did love you like this, Coriolanus was also keenly aware that he needed to keep you in your place. He pinched your chin between his fingers. “You are to be my wife. You are to be the wife of a king. I shall treat you however I see fit. Do you understand?”

When you said nothing, he pinched harder. “Do you understand?”

“Only if you understand that I will hate you until the day I die.”

Coriolanus finally let out a laugh. Oh, you couldn’t be serious, could you? Were you not aware of the thin line between love and hatred, connected by the heat of passion? Did you not realize how easy it would be to get you to love him when you already felt so strongly about him? Coriolanus was sure that, by the time of the wedding, you would care for him just the same as he cared for you.

“Don’t be ridiculous, petal,” Coriolanus said. He let go of your chin, using that hand to take one of your own. “Come now, let us have lunch now. Perhaps some food will help you calm down.”

“Calm down?” you repeated. “You cannot be serious, Snow.”

Ugh. There you go again—only calling him by his last name. It was an improvement, he supposed, from only calling him “Your Majesty.” But why was he limited to his surname when Sejanus received the honor of being called by his first? Surely there couldn’t just be friendship be you and the Plinth boy. Perhaps that was why you always held him at arm’s length. Perhaps there was more there that you did not want Coriolanus to know. He still did not know what you meant by “Sejanus was right.” What was the secret you were keeping from him?

“And why wouldn’t I be? You have been acting as if I have threatened to lock you away until our wedding day. All I have done is ask one thing of you, and I have kissed you.”

“You asked me to stop talking to my friend. You…You accosted me!”

Coriolanus barked out a laugh. “And I compromised on the first point. I asked for you to refrain from speaking to him until after the wedding. As for accosting to you? What do you think will happen when we are at the altar? Better yet, when we consummate the marriage?”

You looked away from him. Ah, it seemed you hadn’t considered that. Were you as innocent as you seemed? Has your mother not yet informed you of how you would provide him heirs? He supposed that was right. Most Mama’s kept their daughters uninformed about those sorts of intimacies. It helped ensure that young ladies were not tempted in the same way young men were. You were as pure as they came, he mused, and Coriolanus Snow could not wait to ruin you. “Do not patronize me.”

“It is hardly patronizing to bring up the realities of our relationship. Now, come, let us have lunch.”

“Snow—”

Coriolanus ground his teeth together. What did he have to do to get you to refer to him by his first name? The only time he got to hear his name from your mouth was when you talked about that damned cat. He supposed that was better than nothing, but he wanted to be the only man that occupied your mind. For you to say his name because you cared for him the same way he cared for you. He imagined it sounded pretty, his name passing through your lips, honeyed with love and affection. What might it sound like when you were screaming it?

“I believe the terms of our agreement were that you behave, yes? So, I will only tell you once more that we are going to have lunch, and you shall follow me into the dining room. You will sit beside me. You will laugh when I tell you jokes. You will smile and you will be the perfect picture of a Queen. Am I understood?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. For a second, he wondered if you would have a comeback that make him both want to laugh and scream. But, instead, you said, “I will not be who you want me to be, even if I am on my best behavior.”

That day, you ate lunch in complete silence.

“Why is he here?” Coriolanus asked your mother as the Plinth family entered the ballroom.

Your mother was hosting a ball to celebrate your engagement to Coriolanus. He, admittedly, was growing tired of these ridiculous affairs. If he could, he would speed this entire process along and enjoy the month-long solitude that the honeymoon would bring. It would, after all, be one of the rare times he did not have to attend any public engagements, attend any meetings, or ensure that the policies being adopted were following his agenda. He would be able to enjoy you completely and fully. Yet, he had to be patient. These sorts of engagements were tricky. If he moved too fast, he risked the ton thinking that he had already ruined you. The optics of that sort of rumor would not go ever well. It was not enough for Coriolanus to have power—he had to be beloved by the people who mattered.

Of course, the ball might not have been such a terrible idea. It gave him an excuse to be near you. To remind the ton that you were his and he was yours. The only condition he gave when he received the news was that the Plinths not be in attendance.

“She threw a fit when she saw that they had not been included in the invitations,” your mother said. “I did not tell her it was because you asked for them to be excluded, if you are wondering. But she said she would sooner pitch herself out the window than allow her friend to be slighted like this.”

Coriolanus hummed. “You have to admire her loyalty, don’t you? Such a shame she doesn’t extend those same feelings toward me.”

“She will, eventually, Your Majesty. She’s stubborn, but not a halfwit. I’m sure after you two are married and have children, she’ll come to realize that you are the best husband she could dream of.”

“I believe she still hopes for a love match to save her from all this.”

When Coriolanus looked at your mother, she was rolling her eyes. “There is little a love match can provide that a well-bred husband cannot. I must take some blame, of course. I used to tell her about how in love her father and I were in our youth. How it felt like nothing in the world could stop us. I filled her head with hopes and dreams that she might find the same. I forgot to tell her how love can dwindle into nothing. About what happens when you think too much of the present and not the future.” Your mother looked up at Coriolanus. “There is no better man suited for her than you, Your Majesty, and she will realize it eventually.”

“Perhaps.” Coriolanus watched as Sejanus made his way through the crowd, to the refreshment table where you stood. His heart beat quickened. No. Sejanus could not steal you away, and certainly not at a ball celebrating your engagement to the King. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Coriolanus ignored the throngs of people vying for his attention. If he thought the meddling Mama’s were terrible before he was engaged to you, they were even worse now. Despite his obvious commitment to you, they seemed convinced that he could be so easily swayed. It took everything in him to not lose his temper. It would not go over well with the public, and he imagined it would go even worse with you. So, he held his tongue and offered tight-lipped smiles as he maneuvered through the crowd.

As he neared you, however, he began to slow. As much as he would like to get between you and Sejanus to prevent anymore conspiring against him, he was equally interested in hearing what Sejanus had to say to you. Was he confessing his love to you? Was he convincing you to run away and elope with him? The Plinths still owned their home from the times before gaining their title. It would be the perfect place for Sejanus to hide away with you.

Hmm…That was an interesting thought. Not Sejanus with you, of course. But the idea of taking you to a home in the country. Perhaps he could arrange for your honeymoon to be spent away from the Capitol? Coriolanus owned a nice summer home far, far from the Capitol. It might do him some good to get you away from the bustle of the city, to show you that Coriolanus could be a good husband if you would be a good wife. Yes, that was a good idea. He’ll need to make some arrangements as soon as the ball is over.

Coriolanus hung back in Sejanus’s shadow, careful to make sure neither you nor Sejanus did not see him. This could only work if his presence was not noticed.

“May I?” Sejanus was asking you, reaching for your hand. You allowed him to take it, lifting your hand closer to his face. For a moment, Coriolanus wondered if Sejanus was going to kiss your knuckles. Instead, he looked at the ring you wore over your long, white glove. “Coryo knows how to pick his jewelry.”

You hummed. He wished he could see your face. “I think it is a bit…obvious, don’t you? Every one knows his obsession with roses.”

“How fitting, then, he placed a permanent rose on his new obsession.”

“Is it a new obsession? You made it sound like his…so called infatuation with me ran much deeper the last we spoke.” Coriolanus wished you would pull your hand away. Why did you still allow Sejanus to touch you? He was the only person you should let hold your hand. “What is new is the…news of who you have had your eye on.”

The tips of Sejanus’s ears turned red. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Ah, so Livia and Clemmie were only gossiping then?”

“They are good at that, yes.”

It was true, then. Sejanus’s interest in you. Coriolanus crept around, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. Now that this was confirmed, he really did not want Sejanus around you—their friendship be damned. Coriolanus was not going to let anyone stand in between his marriage to you.

“I wish you would have told me, Sej,” you said.

Coriolanus ground his teeth together. Was it not enough for you to call Sejanus by his name? Did you have to have a nickname for him too?

“It wouldn’t have made any difference. Coryo has always cared for you. He’s done so much for me, I couldn’t get in the way of that.”

“It would have made a difference to me.”

Sejanus rubbed his thumb over your knuckles, his thumb pausing over your engagement ring. “It is sweet you think that.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up into a smile. “It is a naïve thought, isn’t it?”

Finally, finally, Sejanus dropped your hand. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the engagement. I’m sure you have many more people to talk to.”

“I would rather talk to you. But…I suppose I should take this as an opportunity to learn more about hosting. I am sure Snow will want many social engagements to prove we are a happy couple.”

Sejanus raised a brow. “Snow? My, that is a new development of your own.”

“Quiet. Were you not just saying you were leaving?” You tilted your head to the dance floor. “Go, find someone to dance with.”

“No one could compare to you.” But he walked away all the same.

As Sejanus walked away, Coriolanus stepped in to take his place.

“He is only a friend, Snow.”

For once, Snow said nothing. Not because he believed you, but because he was thinking of the most effective way to keep you away from Sejanus until after the wedding. Because he will be damned if he let Sejanus attempt anything that could take you from him.

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 months

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ok but imagine

batman with gun tim time travels to the past but instead of trying to seduce baby tim to the dark side he,,, ignores him

after all baby tim is young and pragmatic he'll realize that company policy is ineffective and kill people gets shit done

no bwg!tim has more important things to handle

like killing the ppl who murder his boo danny

and he knows exactly who to target

bonus points if tim and danny aren't dating yet

extra bonus points if they haven't even met yet

The plan was simple really. Time travel and start the correct way to handle criminals early. Take out the people that had taken from him the only person he really loved.

His past self was still running around trying to talk the Bats down from murderous rage, and while that itched, it was a lesson he needed to learn in order to finally wake up and properly get things done.

Tim saw no reason to track him down. He's stubborn as a mule, he can admit that, and his past self heartily believes that the crazy bastards should be locked away instead of put down. It would be ages before he could get close to getting him to listen to what Tim had to say.

Time, ironically, is not something he has to waste. The machine that brought him back had preset departer times. If he missed it then Gotham in ten years would be without it's Batman.

The carefuly iron control he has over the city would be questioned, and some fools would try to make a power grab in the sudden vaccum Batman had left behind.

So while it would take years for his past self to come to his senses, it would happen on its own, and Tim was alright with waiting for it. What he wouldn't allow to repeat itself was the death of his lover.

His plan involved killing the people that killed Danny. What Tim forgot in his grief was that those very people were the ones to raise Danny.

Yes, Jack and Maddie Fenton had killed their son in an accident. The ray gun that they designed had been faulty and had exploded in wide outburst instead of shooting straight.

It was meant to paralyze the ghost for capture.

Instead, it attacked ghost cores in horrific, fast-acting disintegration. Tim remembers the blast washing over him, the green ripples doing nothing to him as a human, and for a brief second thinking it funny that their gun was just a fancy light show, only to hear Jack Fenton's cry of celebration.

Then Danny's scream of agony.

His skin had been falling off, and Tim had been rooted to the spot watching his boyfriend, his lover, his entire moral compass melt before his eyes.

He had watched Maddie's smug face break into hysterical grief when Danny's ghost form vanished, and the sluggish body that fell to the floor with a splat had been her son. The two scientists had reached Danny first, and the fools had begged him to hold on.

As if they were not the ones to have done this, indirectly or not.

Danny's last words had been "I forgive you. I love you"

and then he was gone. In seconds his Danny was lost. He had died painfully, unfairly, and all because his parents had believed in their bigotry so purely they never saw reason to change their minds, even when there were signs their son was part of the group they loath so much.

The Fentons hadn't even been charged with Danny's death. It was deemed an accident; the worst they had to do was pay a fine for their blast, knocking out the power. All because ghosts were not protected under meta laws, and Danny was no longer recognized as human.

Tim hated them more than any villain in the world, hated that they lived well, Danny did not.

His own comfort was that they couldn't live with themselves either. Jack Fenton had taken his life the night after the funeral Jassmin had planned for Danny. Maddie Fenton had lost her mind, speaking to the air as though her husband and son were still there, and was moved to an asylum by a grief-stricken daughter.

There she died of a broken heart.

Tim took care of Jazz, he felt that Danny would have wanted him to, but she was never the same again. She was one of the first to agreed with him that Batman had to stop people before they went too far.

That thinking "they'll come around" was no longer an option. She made him the bullets for the gun that killed Bruce's parents, and she was the one that watched that same gun put down the Joker.

It was the first time she smiled in years.

All that hurt because of these fools.

Tim wasn't going to let them hurt anyone anymore. He aims his gun at the shaking forms of Jack and Maddie Fenton, their pathetic attempt to fight him off, were nothing comparied to his training.

He had them on their knees, bound to hold still, and with one push of his finger, the toxic outlook on ghosts would die with them.

But foolish-loving Danny wasn't about to let him put them in the ground where they belonged. The boy had thrown himself in front of them with a cry, throwing up a shield seconds before the bullets found their mark.

The Fenton couple gasped while Danny turned to them with clear worry. "Are you alright?"

Tim felt as if though he was kicked in the chest, seeing the boy- for he was a boy. How had he forgotten that his love died so young? Now with all the years under Tim's belt, did he truly see how pre-maturely Danny had died.

He was as beautiful as the day Tim lost him, but he was far too pure and innocent now. Tim's killing was a necessary that ruined him, while Danny remained kind and forgiving till the end.

He can't stop the rush of air that threathens to burn tears into his eyes escape him. Thankfully his training kicks in and Batman is able to shut everything that was Tim in his mind.

All that remain was the mission within human shape.

Danny growls, voice as cold as his ice core "Who are you?!"

"I'm Batman"

"Liar!" The boy hisses, thin pieces of frost growing around his green shield. "Batman doesn't kill!"

Tim scoffs, "Killing is the only way to stop more death."

Danny doesn't respond. He merely shoots a blast at him, momentarily dropping his shield, and Batman rolls away. He will overwhelm the boy and get him out of the way.

Then, he will do what he came to accomplish. Danny must know that, for he sees the moment, he shuts away his own human part and melts into Phantom.

The young ghost who took on a King for his people and became the hero that supported Red Robin above all else.

Phantom leaps at him, and Batman meets him halfway, each wearing emotionless expressions that promise a fight to the bitter end.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #dead tired #tw: mention of suicide #Tw: painful charater death #Batman with a gun #Dark #Tim of the future trying to kill the Fentons #The fentons died with their grief before #Danny doesn't even know Tim #Is it love or is it obession at this point?#I did the best I could I don't really know that comic plot well

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pixiecaps · 4 months

Text

it is quite interesting how qtubbo has shifted after having his own egg because he initially felt himself distrust qcellbit and the others because of the fact they had locked qforever up in a cage during the happy pills incident. let me note that he walked in on what was occurring in the middle of it and never saw quite the full extent as to why they reached that final measure so to him it looked quite harsh and all he saw was qcellbit screaming at a man in a cage. now cut to present time after hearing that forever, whilst corrupted, shot eggs and took his own child, sunny, away without his knowledge who could’ve been harmed tubbo immediately agrees that qforever needs to be dealt with harshly either killed or locked up in an asylum of sorts. this is after around four months of development on the island. here are certain moments that were interesting to observe as a change and contrast to his character months ago. behavior he had initially frowned upon now being something he was willingly wanting to partake in.

Phil: At the end of the day he, in his certain state right now, is a threat to the eggs and can’t be trusted.

Tubbo: So let’s kill him.

Tubbo: Wait, genuine question, how many times do we have to lock this fucker in a box and yell at him before we realize we should just lock him in a box forever? Like this is getting silly now.

Phil: I don’t know man as many times as it takes. As many times as it takes mate.

Tubbo: This is a pattern of behavior man.

Phil: I’m telling you man he’s a victim here. He’s a victim of fucking some nefarious shit going on.

Ramon: I think he’s crazy. I don’t even know anymore.

Tubbo: Look even Ramon thinks he’s crazy.

Phil. Right now he is because he’s being controlled.

Tubbo: Okay…

#qsmp

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intimacyequalsdeath · 6 months

Text

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Apple Crumble NSFW Alphabets Day 20: RZ Michael Myers

Day 20 is here! Only 11 more days of Fictober to go. I've decided the masterlist menu of everything on the first of November as that's obviously the first day anything non-Fictober related will go up. I do have something special planned for later in November so do keep tuned it!

Notes: Minors DNI, Smut, NSFW.

A is for Aftercare (What they're like after sex):

Wait? You want him to do what? Um ok? He probably will need a bit to warm up to anything really fluffy since he doesn't really know what aftercare and even after you explain it he'll probably be puzzled as to why that's something you want from him so take it slow.

B is for Body Part (Favorite on them and their partner):

He like his hands. All those years locked away in the mental hospital with all the time to make his masks the way he wants them. He doesn't really know emotions but he'd like to think he's proud of them.

On you it's your neck. His hands fit perfectly around it and he can give you a little squeeze if he wants. He has no desire to hurt you but he's also literally Michael Myers so the deep down urge is still always there.

C is for Cum (Anything to do with cum):

Michael isn't really a picky guy so anywhere is fine with him. You don't really get a say in it though, he cums where he wants and if you don't like it then that's too bad.

D is for Dirty Secret:

He sometimes pictures you in his head when he's out and about killing people and gets hard. The thrill of the kill only adds to this horniness and sometimes he's forced to jerk off right then and there, an image of you riding his cock in his mind and a dead body at his feet.

E is for Experience (How experienced are they?):

He's been locked in an asylum since he was a kid so no experience when you first meet but he's a really really quick learner. After the first couple sexual encounters he's pretty much got it down pat.

F is for Favorite Position:

Again something he's not too terribly picky about. Though he does prefer ones where he's in full control of you and your body (or should I say his).

G is for Goofy (How serious are they?):

Are you kidding? I don't think he's ever cracked a smile in his life. The most you'll get out of him is an amused sounding snort but that's about it. He takes sex like killing, very seriously.

H is for Hair (How well groomed are they?):

They don't let them have razors in the asylum and that's really all I'll say. So buy him a razor and maybe at least some instructions on what he should do.

I is for Intimacy (How are they during the act, romantic etc):

Doesn't know what romance is really. I mean he knows he feels at least something for you, isn't sure what it is, but he knows he feels it. So he'll try and focus on both your pleasures while he's fucking you.

J is for Jackoff (Do they masturbate and how often?):

He does it sometimes as it says under dirty secret. It was also the only form of anything sexual he could do in the asylum so when he got out he slowed down cause he had you but he never stopped doing it.

K is for Kink (Their kinks):

Big on predator and prey, he's not going to actually kill you but he likes to chase you through the woods then have his way with you on the forest floor. The thrill of the hunt really gets him going.

L is for Location (Favorite places to have sex):

Yet another thing Michael isn't going to be picky about. He can do it anywhere and everywhere he literally doesn't give a fuck. He prefers to have a bed at least for your sake since he can get...rough but if not he'll work with what he's got.

M is for Motivation (What turns them on?):

He's just kinda always turned on? Especially when he's around you. The whole thrill of the kill and all that's been mentioned also helps to get him going. Even if it's not particularly sexual it's more adrenaline then anything.

N is for No (Something they won't do):

There isn't really anything he won't do. He quite literally down for pretty much anything. If he wants to try something it's not like you really have a say it anything anyway.

He'll never actually force you into anything though, if you don't want to have sex he'll back off and go kill someone instead.

O is for Oral (Oral Preferences):

Hear me out, I can see him as someone who doesn't really enjoy getting his dick sucked. He just doesn't see the hype around it sure it feels good but he's just kinda eh about it.

P is for Pace (How fast or slow? Are they rough?):

Really really rough and medium speed. Like I'm talking your getting pinned down with your hands above his head while he bottoms out and thrusts his entire length into you at a pace he gets to set.

Q is for Quickie ( Do they like quickies?):

You have things that can be counted as quickies but Michael really is just gonna keep fucking until he's satisfied so don't expect quickies that are actually "quick".

R is for Risk (Are they down to experiment?):

Yeah he's pretty much down for just about anything. The only thing stopping him from doing something more then once is if he doesn't like it or if it doesn't do anything for him.

S if for Stamina (How long can they go for?):

Literally forever. Don't ask me how but literally forever.

T is for Toys (Do they use toys and do they like them?):

Another thing on the list of he's down for it but if he doesn't like it he's out. He does really like watching you fuck yourself with toys though, well until he starts to get jealous and throws the toy away so he can fuck you.

U if for Unfair (Do they like to tease?):

He teases but doesn't realize that's what he's doing. Like he'll get you so worked up then just toss you aside to leave for a night of murdering people and you'll just have to wait and suffer till he gets back.

V is for Volume (How loud can they get?):

Not a peep. Dead silence. The only sound that can be heard is you if you make any noise (He makes you) and the sound of skin slapping on skin.

W is for Wild Card (Random things):

Sometimes, rarely but it does happen. If he recognizes he's been just a bit too rough with you the next morning you'll wake up to a really poorly made attempt at a breakfast and no Michael in sight. He'll deny adamantly if you EVER ask him about it but he's obviously the culprit.

X is for X-Ray (What are they packing):

9 inches, and I'll be taking no further questions at this time.

Y is for Yearning (How high is their sex drive?):

As previously talked about he can really go whenever he feels like it for however long. Especially with you around, He may not be right in the head about whether or not he loves you but he knows for sure he loves fucking you.

Z is for ZZZ (How fast do they fall asleep?):

He doesn't really ever sleep to begin with? Sometimes you'll catch him dozing off after but only for a couple hours before he's up again ready to terrorize Haddonfield.

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #halloween #Fictober #rz michael myers #michael myers x reader #slasher fic #slashers x reader #rz halloween #rob zombie halloween #halloween franchise

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helpfandom · 2 months

Note

could I request prompts 1+10 for nolanverse scarecrow? You can choose wether or not you wanna do it romantic or platonic

I know that this was requested a long time ago, but I need time to cook for stories like these /hj.

Words: 1.3k

Oh, this? Don't worry, the blood isn't mine."

"Well, there's no point for me to keep up the act anymore is there?"

Continuing your route to Arkham for your daily visit to the hospital, you ignore the violence on the streets, keeping your mind focused on your priority. You were visiting Arkham again for your friend, seeing as they had asked you to visit. You actually liked visiting those with genuine medical conditions rather than those like Victor Zsaz who have none, but use it as a way to escape jail.

Using your visitors pass to easily get into the part of the asylum you actually wanted to visit, you pause in the hallway when you see Crane, as he is usually no where to be found during visiting hours. He pauses as well, when you look up, his face had changed from a smile to a neutral expression.

"Hello, Dr. Crane, you're not hiding like you typically are." He chuckles, not a long chuckle though, simply a few sounds. "No, I'm not, I was visiting a patient." "Well, that's rare." He softly shakes his head, "Rare for you, but I actually do my job unlike a few others."

A slight, polite, chuckle from you, and the eerie silence settles. You look awkwardly at him before giving up mentally and giving a slight wave. "Well, bye." You continue walking off, and when you glimpse behind him, you see a burlap mask in his hand.

You whip your head around again, and focus on getting to the room, deciding to talk about it later to someone who wouldn't spill about it to Crane.

Upon reaching the room, you put the visitor pass up to the lock on the door and open it, there was no window in the door, seeing as they had clawed at the glass and almost broke it, so you had to open the door to see inside.

But inside was your friend strapped to a chair with duct tape taped over their head, the only thing open being the nose hole, with little screams being let out by them.

You gasp, and then turn around, forgetting the door and rush over to where you had seen Crane. You run down the hallway, hand hitting the wall to guide you as you turn and use the force to push you to where Crane was.

"Dr. Crane! Dr!" He turns around at the sound of you calling his name, and his title, with a concerned look on his face. "Yes, what's the matter?" He raises an eyebrow at you running at him, after all, you rarely ever talk to him, but you seem in distress and call on him first?

He grabs your shoulders, and steadies you before you slam into the wall. "What seems to be the matter?" You gasp a little bit, and start talking a bit faster than normal. "My friend is tied down to a chair and has duct tape all over, I think someone hurt them!"

His face turns to a surprise expression and he starts walking briskly to where that room is, having grabbed your arm to steady you and bring you.

You both arrive at the room with the door still open, so he rushes inside while you stand outside, frozen at the sight of your friend like this. Crane begins undoing the duct tape and bindings, and the rush out, attacking what they see.

They hit you, screaming and crying their eyes out while pummeling their fists into your torso, attempting to claw at you. "STOP! IT'S EVERYWHERE! HELP!" They scream, attracting the security guards. The security guards run over and grab them off of you, but it's almost too late, you've sustained substantial injuries.

They take them away to a different room, and Crane walks over to you with a dazed look on his face. "Are you alright dear?" He crouches down and looks at you, inspecting what may or may not be wrong. He grabs the back of your head gently, lifting it while you get reoriented. "I think I'll take you to the infirmary."

He stands up, bending over to help you up, and as you stand, puts his hand on your back to stabilize you. "Don't worry, the infirmary has plenty of stuff, this sort of thing happens all the time. We'll get some ice for your head and go from there, okay?" "SCARECROW!" The screams from your friend echo in the hallways, but they get silenced as they get put into a differing cell, a padded one.

A few tears slip out of your eyes, even though it doesn't make sense to be crying, but their screams invoke a primal sense of pain, of fear. That, mixed with the pain of fingers attacking, attempting to fight in desperation, biting like a rabid dog in a corner, lead to a few tears.

You two walk in silence, or rather, silence between you two. The facility is all aflutter with sounds, after all a regular who visited often was attacked, and attacked by a passive person, someone who was nearing being able to leave.

The walk is long, but he hands you a handkerchief he had in his pocket, and holds you steady as you walk. Slowly, you near the infirmary. As you enter, you notice it's primarily empty, the only other people there being a guard who was sleeping, and the nurse on call.

"Oh, honey, what happened?" She asks, cupping your face and inspecting your eyes. She lets go of your face and walks over to the fridge with ice and medications that need to be frozen, grabbing a bag with ice and handing it to you. "Dr. Crane, d-do you know what happened?" She stutters when she sees it's Crane specifically who brought you here.

He gestures in the direction of you, watching as you sit down on a cot. "Are they okay?" The nurse sighs, "I don't know, I have to check for concussions and the like, do you know what happened?" He nods. "I'll write a report, focus on them for now, and then I'll tell you what happened."

He walks off, leaving you in the room with the snoring security guard, who she then wakes up and he walks off, before walking over and asking questions. "Do you have any cuts? Any bruises, or spots that particularly hurt?" You groan, and whisper no to the questions, just the shock and hitting your head being the issues. "M'kay, honey, I'm going to have you rest here a little bit and then after a while you can tell me more about your head, that sound good?"

You nod, making your brain feel funky and sloshy, and lay down on the cot. "S-sorry ma'am." "No need to apologize honey, it wasn't your fault was it?" "N-no. You're right, I guess." You fight the urge to go onto your phone, instead thinking what happened through.

After a few minutes, the intercom sparks on, calling for her. "Nurse Cherry, we need you at room 23. Nurse Cherry, room 23." She rushes out, apparently that was a room of great importance, seeing the way she ran, and you close your eyes slightly.

Footsteps echo down the hallway as it spurs you to sit up to see who's coming. It wasn't the Nurse's flats, but rather Crane's shoes clacking against the linoleum.

He leans against the door frame, a bit of blood splattered upon his shirt and lab coat. The blood startles you, so you jolt. "C-Crane?! Are you okay?" You rush over to him and drop the ice, checking if he's okay. "Oh, this? Don't worry, the blood isn't mine." He responds, a slight smile upon his face.

"W-what?" He begins moving closer to you. "Well, there's no point for me to keep up the act anymore is there? After all, they weren't supposed to hurt you, so I had to gas them more. I found out the amount of fear gas someone can take before their mind dissolves."

You back away, but he reaches out and grabs your shoulder as he had done when he helped you up. "C-Crane?" He chuckles, "Oh no dear, Crane checked out, Scarecrow's in town."

#yandere x reader #platonic x reader #platonic yandere #tw yandere #x reader #platonic #headcanon #yandere #yandere batman #yandere scarecrow #scarecrow #jonathan crane #the scarecrow #dc scarecrow #cilian murphy scarecrow #Helpfandom's writing

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prying-pandora666 · 9 months

Text

Do you ever think about the characters when they’re alone?

You know, the things the narrative pretty clearly communicates but which we never actually see?

Like how many nights Zuko must’ve laid on his cot in his ship and cried, missing his home, his family, his bed, his life… How many times he wrapped himself up in a blanket and pretended it was his mom holding him again. How many times he woke up from a dream where he’s back home and unburned only to wake up on a cold, hard metal ship, uncomfortable and shivering, hearing the groans of strained metal. Alone. You have no Nation. No place you could settle down. Everyone hates you but none more than your own homeland. What if Uncle dies? Or leaves too? What then? What will he do?

Or how many times Katara dreamed that her mother dying was just a nightmare! That it was all a dream and mom is still alive, dad is still home, her childhood didn’t get cut short. How many times Katara must’ve woken up and sat up looking for mom only to find she’s in the middle of nowhere, in a bedroll, surrounded by other kids she feels responsible for. How many times she cried by herself, wishing she had someone to “mom” her the way she does for everyone else. How often did Sokka have nightmares? How often he feared the Fire Nation showing up and killing them all. That he alone would have to stand up and fight them. How many nightmares of being burned alive, failing, and then watching his tribe suffer the same fate because he couldn’t protect them. How often did he cry out for Hakoda quietly, muffling his words into his pillow, wishing for dad to protect him again?

Surely Toph had her share of night terrors. They’d be dark because she doesn’t know sight, but surely there’d be sounds and a sensation of being trapped, locked in, like in a tiny metal cage. The kind where she discovered metalbending. How many times did she cower and flinch at night, dreaming that metalbending really wasn’t possible? That she’d spend the rest of her life trapped, forced to be an isolated, beautiful bobble, seen but not heard, never allowed out of her prison again?

How often did Aang wake up to the sound of Gyatso calling him, only to sit up and realize it was a dream? His people are dead. His entire way of life is dead. It’s never coming back. No, really. It seems too horrible to be true, but it is. They’re all dead. You are all that remains of your culture and you’re only 12. You can’t possibly know enough to preserve it. What are you going to do? You want to ask Gyatso. You can’t. He’s dead. He’s been dead for 100 years. He’s not even close to having been alive. And yet he feels like he was just here…

And then there’s Azula. Whether living in Ozai’s palace and forced to live every day in anxiety - forced to be perfect in every way - because you know that no one in this world loves you. The only thing keeping you from being the new Zuko is your usefulness. You keep father’s favor by performing, no matter how horrible or traumatic the task, hoping it’ll finally be enough to earn his love and you can finally know what it’s like to be cherished and held and wanted the way mom loved Zuko. Or… when she’s in the abusive asylum. Chi blocked so she’s immobile. Stuffed into a straitjacket. Mistreated and unable to defend yourself. You can’t even tell anyone because no one comes to visit until your brother needs something from you. You cry only in the dead of night, muffling your sobs into the mat you sleep on, brushing away your tears with its coarse fibers since you can’t even use your hands to move your bangs out of your eyes. Never show weakness. You know that much.

How often did they all dream of a warm and safe place where they’d be loved and protected? I hope they all got it in the end, LOK be damned. Every last one.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar #Aang #Katara #Sokka #Toph #Zuko #Azula

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 10 days

Text

A Danish Werewolf in The City

The First Taste - part 1

Note: eh... surprise! the fic was getting too long for my liking, so I splitted it up and decided to drop the first part already. So... here's the first part of the last chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it!

previous chapters: part 1 - part 2

Pairing: werewolf!Sihtric x you (f)

Warnings: 18+, angst/horror. mention of blood, brief mention of (child) murder and alcohol.

Wordcount: 2,4k

Masterlist

You woke up when a cold wind embraced your body as you laid in bed, hands searching for the warm covers to pull over you when you suddenly realised something was missing. You opened your eyes and found yourself all alone, your window still open and the shredded curtains dancing eerily in the early morning breeze. You felt the pillow next to you and discovered it was cold, as was the side of the bed next to you…

Sihtric was gone.

He had gone without a word, sneaking out of your window at a time you were sound asleep, and he had left nothing except for traces of dried blood. Vague memories of the night before began to creep back into your mind; the horrifying transforming of your boyfriend into that beast, the awful slaughter of the vampires, and the warmness you had felt when you cried into the wolf's fur after Sihtric had crawled in bed with you. Your eyes welled up at the disturbing memories, and the sight of dried blood on your sheets and windowsill were cause for concern. Sihtric had clearly been injured during the fight, but you hadn't noticed it when he was in his wolf shape.

You jumped up and got dressed in a hurry before you rushed to your car. You knew exactly where you would find Sihtric, as there was only one place a wounded animal like him could go to…

You ran up to the doors of your occasional workplace and found them unlocked, a sign that your gut feeling had been right. The vets didn't work on weekends, unless it was an emergency, but you hadn't received any calls and so you knew that Sihtric had found his way there to fix himself up. He betrayed his presence when he heard the entrance door slam shut after you had walked in, and he accidentally knocked over a tray with medical tools in his slight scare. You were fast to figure out which surgery room he was in, and you both froze when you found each other and locked eyes.

There he was, your boyfriend, sitting on the veterinary table in his human form. He was dressed in black sweatpants with black leather boots underneath, clearly old and worn, and probably were clothes that had been tucked in a locker in his vet office in case of emergencies. His toned upper body was bare and decorated with cuts and bruises which he had collected the night before. All wounds were stitched up by now, but fresh blood was still smudged over his pale skin, as you had caught him before he could clean himself up. Sihtric's hands trembled as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights, holding a blood drenched cloth in one hand, while his other held a half empty bottle of alcohol.

'I… I'm paying for this, don't worry,' Sihtric managed to whisper hoarsely, 'I always do.'

'What do you mean you always do?' was all you could bring out.

'This… it's not the first time I come here to fix myself up,' he said, clearly ashamed, 'I heal fast, but sometimes I need stitches. And I can't go to a hospital like this without being put into an asylum or something,' he chuckled faintly, 'hospitals aren't keen on treating werewolfs anyway. And a full sized werewolf would scare the shit out of any veterinarian too. So where else am I supposed to go? I can only go here because I work here… I didn't raid your vet place because it could get you in trouble-'

'Why didn't you ask me for help?'

Sihtric stared at you, his mouth half open as he hadn't finished his sentence, and he then looked away with a light shrug. He shook his head, indicating he didn't know why he hadn't asked for your help, and had instead left you with blooded sheets and blood stains on your bedroom floor and windowsill. But the truth was that he knew very well why he hadn't asked for help, because he knew you were afraid of him and that everything had changed.

'Why didn't you wake me up?' you asked, anger and sadness evident in your voice, 'how could you… do you even know-,' you scoffed as you couldn't find the right words, and you threw your hands up, 'what… what am I supposed to do with… with you? What… how could we ever… I- I need answers, Sihtric. I need some fucking answers.'

'I'll tell you everything,' Sihtric said gloomily, 'just ask.'

You sighed, your breath was unsteady as you grabbed a chair and sat down at the desk across from the table Sihtric sat upon. You dragged your trembling hands over your face while Sihtric was quick to gulp down the remaining alcohol left in the bottle, and he placed it on the table once it was emptied. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then stared at you intently, waiting for you to speak.

'Those vampires,' you began, holding back your tears, 'how… I mean, you killed them. I know you did, so there must be evidence left in the woods-'

'It's taken care of,' Sihtric said curtly.

'How?'

'My pack. They took care of it when I went to find you.'

'Your… pack, okay,' you nodded slowly, slightly agitated, 'and… would you turn me to make me a part of your pack?'

'No,' he said, pained, 'never, my love, never. I would never want to turn you.'

'But why not?' you frowned, almost offended at his answer.

'Because that very first transformation is awful. It hurts so much it… it cannot be put into words. And that is a pain and a fright and a torture I wish to never put you through. Nor the… the bloodlust that comes with it afterwards. And more than anything I wish to be human, darling, more than anything,' he said softly, 'I would never want to turn anyone into something I do not wish to be.'

'So… you've never turned anyone, not even those in your pack?'

'The werewolves in my pack are stray wolves I befriended over the years. I've never turned anyone. I… I've only killed.'

'Killed,' you repeated softly, and scoffed, 'those humans and those… those babies you've killed, did you enjoy that?'

'As a human? No,' he said firmly, 'but… as a werewolf? Yes, I do. Hunting and killing is part of a wolf's nature, so it feels natural. However, when I shift, half or full, I… I am still very much aware of what I do. My human mind is there, it's just not in control-'

'So you are aware that you've killed?'

'I am,' he said sadly, 'and I am not proud of that. And I haven't killed or even attacked a human in many years, I promise.'

'Then how do you feed as a werewolf?'

'Animals,' Sihtric said quietly, 'sometimes I feed on animals.'

You gasped lightly and shook your head. For a moment you buried your face in your hands, collecting your thoughts and unable to look at the man you had been so in love with less than twenty four hours ago who now looked nothing like him anymore.

'So… those wounded animals we treat here-'

'No,' Sihtric interrupted, 'I've never attacked or wounded an animal that came through here.'

'But some… some markings on them-'

'That wasn't me!' he almost barked and threw the empty glass bottle on the floor with such force, it shattered and splintered all over the ground.

You jumped up at his sudden aggression, immediately reaching for the door and wanting to leave, but you stopped when he suddenly breathed down your neck and grabbed your arm. He backed you up against the door, his trembling hands lightly holding your face, giving you every chance to shove him away, but you just couldn't get away from him, because you just didn't want to.

'I'm sorry. I am… and I… I don't know where this leaves us,' Sihtric spoke soft and hoarsely, 'but if… if you can't be with me because it's too much,' he swallowed hard, trying to sound confident and tough, but it was evident he was heartbroken, 'if my werewolf side is too much, then I understand you do not want to be with me anymore. I already… tried to accept the fact you will break up with me. And I'm sorry… I'm sorry for everything you had to witness,' his voice died with a whiny sob as he desperately fought his emotions, without success, 'I know you will leave me… I know it, but I… I don't want you to.'

You sniffled and placed your hands on his neck, while tears rolled down his cheeks as he leaned his forehead against yours. You wept silently and slowly reached for his face, gently cupping his cheeks and moving closer to kiss his lips. A kiss you drowned in as soon as he wrapped his arms around you, and you melted in his warm embrace while you tasted the alcohol with a faint hint of blood on his tongue.

'It's you,' he whispered against your lips as he cried, 'you… please, I only want you. I'm sorry. Please, don't… don't leave me… I know it's a lot, but please-'

'I- I need time,' you whispered with a sob, 'I don't know if I can… if we could ever be- I'm sorry, Sihtric, but this is just the first taste I'm getting of this side of you,' you looked up at him as he stepped back, and you wiped your tears, 'just… please, just know that I love you, okay?'

You stared up at him when his eyes became threatening while his jaw was clenched tightly. And suddenly you began to fear the man in front of you, and no longer just the beast that was inside of him.

'Sihtric,' you began to stammer as you watched him back away, 'I… I love y-'

'You don't!' he suddenly raised his voice, then exhaled sharply and looked away from you again as he started to pace around the room, 'you don't love me,' he muttered as if speaking to himself, his voice trembled while his hands raked through his loose hair and the broken glass crushed underneath his heavy boots with every step he took, 'you couldn't possibly love me, you couldn't. No one can. No one could love a monster. Just… just go, please, just go.'

'Sihtric,' you tried, 'please, just-'

'Go!' Sihtric snarled as he lashed out, 'just go and leave me!'

Several months passed since you had last seen Sihtric. You had replaced the curtains and scrubbed the blood off your wooden floor, but the claw markings outside your window were still there. You had been heartbroken since you last saw him, and even though you had expected that time would heal you up, it simply hadn't. You were still in love with him, and it was an ongoing battle inside of you ever since that frightful night in the woods. How could you love a man who could shift into a werewolf, being fully aware of his doings? Sihtric was a monster in a way, you knew that, but you also knew that he was a good man who truly loved you.

After your abrupt break-up you slowly started to research werewolves and all beings alike, after you had taken some time to let it all sink in. You read frightening lore and heard the strangest stories as you spend hours listening to podcasts about apparent sightings. You desperately wanted to understand Sihtric and prove to yourself that he wasn't dangerous, or a monster. But you couldn't deny the horrors he had participated in and those you had witnessed yourself. And yet, after everything that had happened, you knew too that Sihtric had never harmed you and only ever wanted to protect you.

But Sihtric was, like you, conflicted about his being. He had been at peace with it and in control for the most part, but knowing it was the reason you couldn't be with him had ripped him apart. You had never called him a monster out loud, and you never had to, Sihtric could clearly read it in your eyes whenever you had looked at him the last time he saw you at the vet. And he figured that if the monster inside of him was going to destroy his life anyway and take all he loved, he might as well embrace his being

And that's what he did.

When human, Sihtric had delved into researching and tracing down every vampire coven nearby after you had split up. For it was vampires who had caused him to shift that night in the woods, with you by his side, so it was on them he sought his revenge. He stopped chaining himself up during the full Moon, completely destroying the set up he had made in his shed and allowing himself to shift without keeping any control over it, only to then roam the dark streets as the beast he was. Lurking in the darkness with his pack, hunting down and slaughtering every vampire they could possibly find after scouting their hideouts during the day. And the blood on his paws stained his hands too, for every cut and bruise he received as a werewolf in his reckless attempt to mend his broken heart, his human body suffered the very same damage and his eyes witnessed the murders.

Every night Sihtric would stroll by your home in his full wolf form, observing the area for hours to make sure you were safe. Some nights you woke up in the dead of night, swearing you had heard his howl in the distance or his soft whines just outside your window. But every time you looked outside, hoping to see a black wolf with mismatched eyes looking up at you, you found nothing but darkness as far as you could see. And your heart sank as you believed that it had just been another dream you had about him, like almost every night.

Sihtric became battered and bruised over time, and it angered him that he never felt better after each slaughter he had survived and each win he gained. As time continued to pass, he slowly began to realise that even if he killed every other creature of the night, it still wouldn't bring you back to him and his beating heart would remain empty and broken inside of his chest. He knew nothing would bring you back and, to his horror, he started to realise he was turning into his father after all; a cold-hearted killer. Because he may have only killed vampires, but he knew very well that, just as werewolves, not all vampires have ill intent.

And when another full Moon was approaching, Sihtric stepped into the shed in his backyard and made a list of everything he needed to restrain himself again, in order to not roam the streets and kill more of the creatures he would forever blame for losing you.

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#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #tlk au #sihtric au #werewolf #werewolf fic #werewolf au #horror fic

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lily-radiance · 1 month

Text

Picture Perfect Psychopath

Doctor Jonathan Crane/ fem reader.

3.9k words

(So far, this is just a drabble, but I do have an idea of where this story could go. I've been watching The Dark Knight trilogy and got inspired. Reader works at Arkham Asylum as a psychiatrist, sharing the field of study with Scarecrow and old flame Harley Quinn. Likely not canon-compliant. Kinda merged various movies since I'm no comic book expert.)

Arkham Asylum is a cesspool of depraved criminals, as it has been for the past few years. Typical people who are suffering from mental illnesses and were sent away without care were obvious. This institution was the cheapest and easiest way to lock up the sick, even before the creation of the vigilantes. Everyone in Gotham City knew to keep their eyes on the ground and act as if crimes were invisible. If you cause a fuss in any shape or form, don't be surprised if you get dragged away in a body bag. You hated the mere thought of disregarding the pain of the city, but what could you do if no one would listen? Criminals, no matter the type, always have a story to tell.

“Bruce, the next time you interrupt my work for a house call, I'm stealing your Batmobile!”

You've been sitting in Wayne Manor for the past two hours, all because your friend wanted to “check-in” on the status of the newest patients. On any other day, you might have given him leniency, but he's been siphoning you for information without a decent break. Now, you not only have to write and submit a few dozen reports before sunset, all while juggling Bruce Wayne. The billionaire rolls his eyes but smiles, enjoying a day where he can loosen up and act as a person instead of a shadow.

“Nice try, but the garage is foolproof. I learned my lesson when you took my ride for a spin last year.”

You sip the cola in your hand, amused at the memory of speeding around the house and getting the vehicle caked in dirt. You apologized to Alfred when realizing the butler had to clean it afterward.

“Too bad, I was hoping to test the maximum speed,” you said with a chuckle, “I'm kidding, of course.”

“Sometimes, I worry about your coworkers. Do they know how much damage you can cause when bored?”

You glare at him from the couch. Work was something you liked to keep separate from life; he knew that very well. After all, if someone identified Batman successfully, then Wayne Enterprises would crumble in on itself.

“Do you know how much damage you cause when I'm not around to cover your tracks? Honestly, you may give Alfred a heart attack.”

The butler frowns at your humor before taking your empty glass. You notice the lipstick mark left over, reminding yourself to reapply the makeup. Psychiatric professionals do their best to look formal, and this habit has followed them since college. When you consider the many polished individuals at the facility, one is always at the forefront of your mind: Doctor Jonathan Crane. No matter the time of day, his appearance is that of near perfection, or you like to think so. Today, you have a briefing with him, and the idea has prompted you to dress to impress; the shade of cherry red on your lips is a testament to that.

“I'm always careful, (Y/N). I have Gordon, Alfred, and Lucius for that very purpose. You know Arkham is filled with lunatics and, more specifically, the worst villains.”

“We've had this conversation before, Bruce. I'm good at my job, and the people you lock up are kept in the deepest parts. Plus, I always hear exciting stories, which makes time fly by!”

He gives you a stern glance, not happy with your unbothered attitude. You drop the smile and sigh.

“I know you think I can't handle myself in that place. You get up close and personal with villains more often than I do. Every floor has a ton of security guards, not to mention cameras and passcodes in each room!”

Eventually, he gives up the protective demeanor. If you needed his help, he was the first in line. If not, he would be prepared for the future.

“Right, I know you're responsible and cautious, (Y/N). It's still the institution with the most significant number of patients in Gotham, so I want you to stay alert. Tim and the others are patrolling tonight if you run into trouble. Remember, the GCPD is conducting investigations on a possible new perpetrator.”

You nod to his speech, tapping your heels underneath the coffee table. He is about to give you another piece of information, but the sound of the front door opening and hurried footsteps is your cue to leave. Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, and Jason Todd enter the room, waving a synchronous greeting in your direction. Your phone beeps in your jacket pocket, and you fumble the device when the caller is listed. Barbara notices your excitement and chuckles, watching as you answer the phone.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) (L/N); how may I help?”

“It's Dr. Crane, as you probably knew judging by how quickly you answered. The administration got caught up in other matters, so it's just you and me. Don't be late.”

The voice catches you off guard, your heart beating too quickly regarding the abrupt message. You lose your ability to speak, and like everything else, he's already caught a glimpse of it.

“Doctor—what about the meeting on security clearances? We still have much to discuss with the board; isn't this important?”

“I've already taken care of most of the concerns. Currently, my priority is talking to you about your individual endeavors regarding Arkham. Do you have an issue with this?”

As he asks, you know he's not looking for an honest answer. You swallow your pride, although tempting to draw on this further.

“No, Doctor. I'm on my way right now.”

“Good, I have high hopes you'll be fascinated by my newest work.”

You have nothing else to add as he hangs up, an annoying habit you wish didn't leave you bitter. Barbara steps over, raising a brow in examination. Your behavior, coupled with the alluring cosmetics on your face, indicates an attention to detail made to attract. The young woman tilts her head, examining your efforts, and pauses. She prevents your curiosity by grabbing a maroon scarf hung on the hat rack and placing it on your neck. As she wraps the fabric loosely around your collar, she discreetly whispers, “In case whoever you see leaves a mark or can't keep you warm. It also matches your lipstick.”

The redhead winks at you, knowing that finding worthwhile men in Gotham is a rare treat. If only you knew who you were falling for, maybe someone else could have turned your head. The likelihood of your coworker getting obsessed with another pretty face was nonexistent, especially when he knew every method of pushing your buttons.

Gotham weather stands to be frigid regardless of the season, and the cold water on your cheeks proves it. Hurriedly, you head to your car, jumping in the driver's seat and turning the hot air on. You flip the sun visor down, using the compartment mirror to double-check your appearance. You smile, wink, and perform other expressions to understand if this is too much. It's not like you dressed yourself in fancy attire, but the makeup sensation tells you this is different—the scarf clings to your shoulders, adding an extra layer of comfort.

The City appears as dreary as ever, with gray clouds looming over the skyscrapers. You knew this landscape was not as picturesque as the Bahamas, but it was familiar. In this place, you felt like a necessary presence, that your actions were genuinely helping people live. Others complain that they think soulless thoughts and have no purpose in a city of thugs, but they don't see the possibilities. No, you appreciated the constant ebb and flow pattern because it meant everything was up to chance. Unlike Harvey Dent, you had no interest in flipping a coin to decide your fate; if you wanted something and could achieve it, why worry about the downfall? Bruce told you to avoid trouble, and maybe if you tried harder, you could, but curiosity always took control. The night turned Gotham into a place of both dreams and nightmares. When the streets glow amber and the windows shine with the moon, the law is subject to change.

Rain slams against the windshield, the downpour forcing you to drive at a snail’s pace. Common sense doesn't stop other drivers from taking risky turns; some cars cut in front despite your right of way. You honk your horn at the reckless speeding, internally regretting this venture. At least twenty minutes have passed since you left, and yet you're still running late. Luckily, most security guards let you pass immediately, while one or two demand identification. If you weren't so anxious, you would see the multiple faults that made Arkham’s reputation. People were lazy, some slacking without a care. Others were too busy dealing with life changes to support this institution.

The repetitive sound of your heels clicking on the tile floor draws someone's attention. Unfortunately, you can barely avoid this girl regularly, so it makes sense that she would be another obstacle.

“Woah, pudding, you getting ready for the runway or something? I haven't seen you wear red in a long time. It makes a girl wonder, what's the occasion?”

Harleen Quinzel stands in her cell, dressed in a jumpsuit that does her no justice. Her usually dyed hair is unkempt and faded, now a dirty blonde with pigment spots. Despite her living situation, her personality is still bubbly. She holds a bent cigarette and takes a drag, then tosses the leftovers underneath her boots. The woman approaches the metal bars, wrapping her hands around two and leaning through the gap. A stream of smoke is exhaled into your face, the delinquent playfully puckering her lips.

“I have a critical meeting with Dr. Crane, and it was supposed to be with the rest of the board until something got in the way. I'm running late, and if I don't get to that office in time—”

Harley raises her index finger, pressing against your lips to stop your words.

“That does sound like a pretty jumbo deal, dollface! From one doctor to another, rescheduling an administrative meeting is unnecessarily convoluted!”

She moves her hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face in multiple angles to glimpse your handiwork. A smile spreads across her lips, her tongue licking the front of her teeth. It makes you nervous, and she knows it.

“I mean, he said he ‘took care of it,’ but I don't know if that necessarily means it was rescheduled. The board could have discussed several possibilities, so I can't guarantee anything.”

You don't know what she's trying to prove.

“Something tells me your lover boy isn't inviting you for a simple coffee. No, with a mind as unpredictable as his, I bet you'll leave here with more than a headache. That is, if you leave at all, dollface.”

Her voice digs further into your mind, higher-pitched as she giggles to herself. You adjust the scarf to distract yourself, but she won't let this topic rest.

“Harley, as much as I appreciate what I assume is a concern, I know what I'm doing.”

“Sure you do, pudding. You think he's all sweet and charming, right? Doctor Jonathan Crane, who wears a nice suit and never gets his hands dirty? He probably compliments your work and swears to get back to your questions. I'll even bet he holds your hand a little too long when he shakes it, and you don't say anything because you want his hand on yours.”

She sees the blush rising to your cheeks and continues to torment you. You can't breathe clearly, not when your lungs burn like this.

“Oh, I bet you want him to do all sorts of things to you. When he holds your hand, do you imagine it somewhere else on your body? Do you think he'll have you by the waist while his other hand traces your neck? Will he squeeze your throat and bruise the pretty skin, rubbing his tongue up and down? Will you let him devour you as I did? I bet you'll have his handprints on your thighs for weeks, the dirty little secret that you keep to yourself?”

She plays with the ends of your hair, curling the strands around her fingers. You haven't been this close to her in years, and your proximity reminds you why. Getting close to villains is a quick path to insanity. You step away from the cell, regaining your focus. A pair of footsteps echo down the stairwell, slow and precise. When you turn, your coworker is impatiently waiting, a scowl etched onto his features as he stares between you and Harley Quinn. The blonde enthusiastically waves at him, earning a glare.

“Come along; we have lots to discuss and little time to waste. I thought I clarified that I wanted you in my office five minutes ago.”

You follow his figure, a knot in your stomach at his unusual mood. The doctor could be a pain when it came to protocols, but you two got along reasonably well. He gave you criteria to follow, and more often than not, he liked to debate your findings. You hoped this was a quick conversation, but then it didn't make sense that he instructed you to take a ferry for something he could have said on the phone.

“Yes, I had to drive through the rain and rush in traffic. I wasn't counting on the weather to be so awful or for Harley Quinn to pull me aside.”

He waits by the top of the stairwell for you, watching as your heels tap the concrete. It amazed him: the concept of walking on elevated stilts that could snap like a twig. You don't miss how he scans your legs or how the muscles in your calves tighten. He extends a hand, presenting the cordiality that made you admire him in the first place. You hesitate with trembling fingers, muttering a quiet “thanks” as he holds your palm. He's warm, and it gives you too much satisfaction. Instead of letting go, he merely continues walking, carefully trailing his fingers over your radial pulse. Each thrum of your heartbeat is now in his possession of knowledge, tipping him off on your anxiety. The door to his office is down a corridor, only accessible to visitors and himself.

“Had you considered wearing gloves, Doctor? You might want to invest in case the temperature drops. If you can't use your hands, I suppose the mind is sufficient, but exhausting yourself unnecessarily is no good to anyone.”

You sit in one of the two chairs, removing your scarf and placing it in your lap. Crane takes his place behind the desk and falls into the chair, folding his hands on the flat surface.

“Believe me, if I could grab a few extra layers, I would have. I was visiting a friend when you called, and since you requested I hurry, there was no point in going home to change. I've lived in Gotham for a long time, and a storm isn't enough to stop me from doing my job. Anyway, you said there was something you needed me to examine?”

He slides a manilla folder towards you, numerous papers spilling from the seam. You take the hint to inspect the documents, flipping through the pages and absorbing the content. MRI scans, coupled with test results and psychological jargon, cover the sheets. You wrinkle your nose in focus, recognizing the highlighted areas of the brain as the amygdala and the frontal lobe. The human brain structure separates information based on its importance, using the amygdala for the fear response and the frontal lobe for rational thought. If one of these locations is compromised, whether by neural chemicals or injuries, the body cannot regulate its reactions to stressful environments. You continue reading, wholly fascinated by the hypotheses listed. The last few pages are still being worked on, primarily blank except for messily written notes. While your train of thought is still understandable, you remove a pen from your coat pocket and begin scribbling. He stares in amusement, pride blooming at your coinciding wonder.

“Doctor Crane, this is beyond incredible! If you were to develop this drug, who knows what group might want it? Not to mention the possibility of designing a formula with the opposite goal of annihilating fear entirely!”

He doesn't bother to hide the smirk on his face as you supply him an ego boost. Initially, he worried you would have an adverse reaction given your good-natured spirit, but those doubts were put to rest by the sight of your smile. The longer he allows himself to relax, the more his eyes are drawn to your lips. Red was a beautiful color on you, contrasting the dim aura of this hospital. As you revel in this energized state, you do not anticipate the foreign sensation of his mouth against yours. Recognition dawns on you as the scent of his cologne lingers, and the papers fall to the ground. You cautiously lean into his touch, grasping his shoulders to bring him closer. The fabric of his shirt bunches as you dig your fingers into the material. He has no qualms with your proximity, but he recognizes the trepidation in your movements for what it is: the worry that you'll scare him away. It's ironic, and it tells him that the only way to disprove your doubt is to make sure you know that this encounter isn't based on the heat of the moment.

He kisses you harder, pushing his tongue inside your mouth. You gasp in surprise, allowing him additional access, as well as the ability to overpower you. Never had you thought that the absurd fantasy of him kissing you would come to fruition, and certainly not in his office over research data. This was supposed to be a dull day of filing paperwork and overhearing business, not the instance where your co-worker, technically your boss, would be sharing saliva. His lips travel to your cheek, then your jaw, trailing down your neck. He has to remove the scarf and unbutton your collar to reach the desired location. You tilt your head back, moaning as he grows closer to your carotid vein. Similar to your earlier encounter, he locates your pulse, biting and sucking the skin as your heart rate increases. You admittedly have no idea what you're doing, but you do know that the image of him making out with you is extremely hot.

Yet, rational is a demon that you cannot leave behind. You're a scientist through and through, which means taking time to analyze the effects of this situation is necessary. Gently, you press against his chest, halting his actions and putting space between you. He looks down at you quizzically, adjusting his glasses that had fallen from the bridge of his nose.

“We could keep going with this course of action, not that I would complain, but maybe we should consider what we're getting ourselves into. I mean, we work together, and if we pursue a relationship, that could cause an entire slew of issues. Let’s cool our jets and think about this objectively before getting too deep.”

You feel a new weight on your chest as you try to analyze his expression. Most days, you could guess his emotions based on small talk, if he even spoke to you. Unfortunately, he's again acting like a blank slate, unreadable as the silence grows longer. Somehow, this enigma of a human specimen has become a magnetic field, drawing you in despite your better judgment. It's not that you don't want to see where this night goes, but the idea of committing to him, especially in the workplace, sends a chill down your spine.

“I see what you are getting at, (Y/N). It's not a problem if you want to think this over. Honestly, I prefer my opinion, but I see no fault in mulling it over. We wouldn't be scientists if we didn't leave decisions up to logic, would we?”

He seems calm enough, and that takes some of the pressure off. You breathe out a sigh before stretching your neck, still a bit unsure of what to do. Another beat of awkward silence follows before you work up enough courage to face him. Blue eyes catch your thousand-yard stare and dart back to the ground.

“It's getting late. D-do you need anything else from me, Jonathan?”

He is not expecting you to refer to him by his first name despite the circumstances. The sound of your hesitancy is still cute, and he wasn't expecting his name to sound so good on your tongue.

“No, I have everything I need. Do you want me to drive you home? The weather is still raining cats and dogs. Not only that, but Gotham is dangerous already, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt.”

The offer seems adequate, and you know precisely the dangers lurking outside. If not for crime and insanity, you wouldn't have a job, but that doesn't mean you want to get caught up in legal shenanigans.

“I drove to the docking bay with my car, so assuming you drive, that would leave one of us without our respective vehicles…”

“You're partially correct. I take a taxi to get around town most of the time so that I won't abandon my car here. Then again, if I drove your car, I would still have to call a cab at one point or another.”

His analysis has you pondering the options until you decide to wing it. You've already made out with your boss, how much worse could it get?

“Screw it, I'll call you a taxi myself. If the weather gets too bad, you can stay at my place for the night.”

You pick up your scarf from the chair, throwing it around your neck in preparation for the cold air outside. The hallways are still empty, and for once, you're glad since the quiet gives you space to think. All that's left is to descend the stairs, pass security, and get the hell out of there. You place your hand in your pocket to grab your identification card but pause as your co-worker is two steps ahead of you, already swiping his badge across the checkpoint. That's right, he has a higher security clearance than you; no wonder he's always early to the office.

“There ya’ are pudding! How'd that meeting go—”

Harley Quinn wastes no time in asking questions as soon as she sees you approach. The doctor next to you gives her a scowl like last time, but the reason behind it is different. Before, he was irritated by her peppy attitude, and now it's jealousy. The blonde’s expression turns into a frown, but covers it with her usual distaste for nitpicky professionals. You would find their disagreement amusing if not for your fresh taste of humanity from the critical doctor, his shell still rough around the edges. You let your mind wander, barely recognizing the arm around your shoulder until you feel the support of his body against you.

These moments are the ones that make your heart race and your mind split. You know this guy, right? He has to be one of the good men in this rotten city. If not, what would you do anyway?

If you like this check the updating version on ao3: Click

#x reader #fanfiction #batman begins #dark knight #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #drabble #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader

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pip-n-chips · 9 months

Note

This line right here has had a choke hold on me for the last five minutes, sir, on god?

hnnnnfggshshjsk SIR

quick content warnings: pregnancy talk (PC used to be pregnant), Harper being a right fucking creep, kidnapping kinda??

If I remember correctly, IRL, there's a certain amount of time that has to pass before it's safe to have sex again after giving birth (seems like it ranges from 2 to 6 weeks), and Harper would be mindful of that before doing anything to you. (He doesn't want to damage to your pretty little hole!)

But here's the issue- Harper wants to be the FIRST one to fuck you postpartum. He's been thinking about knocking you up with your next kid ever since you got pregnant with the first one, and there's no way in hell he's going to let someone else get that chance before him. He's earned it, he thinks. He's been so helpful throughout your pregnancy; he's been there every step of the way. He deserves it, he knows. You owe him that.

His solution is to keep you somewhere safe, somewhere monitored, where he KNOWS you're safe. Maybe it's a private room in the hospital, locked behind a keycard swipe. You'll be allowed visitors, at first. He's not some monster; if your loved ones want to come see you, they may. But he doesn't like the way some of them look at you, and he hates the way you look at them back. So the visitor hours grow shorter and shorter, effectively cutting people off. (He's also very particular on which nurses come to treat you. This hospital is full of dangerous people, and, unfortunately, he doesn't have the authority to fire whoever he pleases.)

If people ask, he mentions something about irregular results. Uses a lot of buzzwords, says it's not safe for outside germs to come near you. That they need to be extra careful around you, so it's best to leave you be. To rest.

This moves onto the next part, he needs to keep you in his grasp long enough for it to be safe to fuck you again, to breed you again. (And yes, Harper could get you pregnant in other ways- he could insert his sperm via tube/syringe like he's done to many test subjects before, but his cock disagrees. He needs to feel himself inside of you. He's waited long enough. He can wait a little more, the prize'll be worth it.) He uses similar excuses explanations as to why he needs to keep you with him at the hospital longer. He needs to monitor your levels, your progress.

"Something seems wrong," he'd say, "best to keep you longer, for your health."

It's easier to handle when other people come to him for answers, looking to call him out on his bullshit. They have no power here, he doesn't even have to talk to them, if he really didn't want to. (But he's no coward, he can stand tall with a smile that'll make others shy away.) All it takes is a little manipulation to get them to turn around. He's the expert here. He knows what's best for you, not them. If they refuse, well, it's bad to cause a ruckus in a healing environment, yeah? They'll be kindly escorted out.

It's harder when it comes to you, though. It's not like he wasn't expecting it- he's prepared- but it's still disappointing when you start getting restless. You want to leave, he gets that. You want to go home, to be with your kid. And he understands that. But you can't go yet. Not yet. Not until he gets what he wants. Not until you're ready. But, unfortunately for him, your patience runs out before the timer does, and you're,,, less than happy. And he didn't want to do this (he did, he was just waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect excuse), but your behavior starts to get so erratic and upsetting, so he throws you in the asylum. (Poor thing. So distraught, you're a danger to yourself. He had to step in.) Somewhere even more isolated safe, and he keeps you there for as long as he needs.

When the time comes, after one of your examinations, Harper is shaking from restrained excitement. He almost forgets to hypnotize you, drug you, whatever- he's just so eager to be inside you and pump you full of his seed.

And when he does get to... oh boy, it's heavenly. The wait was worth it.

#cw pregnancy #was gonna write actual smut at the end but my brain stopped working when I tried sorry lmao #degrees of lewdity #dol #harper the doctor #dol harper #ask #unsure about tagging as scene sharing because that line looks like a default npc dialogue #still neat tho !#thirsty #pippywrites

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moonpetrichors-blog · 1 year

Note

hi lovey 🫶 i was thinking about another lo’ak idea for a request and this is what i came up with! so as we know, the sully family had to learn sign language while living with the metkayina clan.. so i was thinking the reader would be metkayina and would take it upon themself to help teach them (at this time the sully’s know certain phrases) and lo’ak is drawn to the reader and asks for private lessons but in actuality he’s pretty good with signing so the reader is like “ur already pretty good but ig so 🤷” and in that lesson lo’ak kind of makes his feelings clear and asks to learn how to say something like “you’re ethereal” and once he learns, he signs it to the reader? idk i just love how you write lo’ak so i just thought of anything really 🤭

🦕

Teach Me

Tags: Lo'ak x Metkayina!Reader, Oneshot, Fem!Reader, Fluff, Private Tutor, Crush Blush, They’re Both Oblivious, Shy Reader

Warnings: None

You caught the eye of Jake Sully’s second son, and he has made it a point to try and woo you. When you try and teach his family the way your clan communicates underwater, he asks for private lessons, knowing full well he has already excelled in sign language far beyond his siblings. A few more lessons couldn’t hurt, right?

Your requests are always such a delight to see :) Lo’ak tryna finesse the reader into private tutoring sessions just to spend time with them is such a Lo’ak thing to do lol ALSO YOU’LL NOTICE THAT IVE TAKEN A LIKING TO ADDING A BONUS TO THESE

* ˚ ✦ 1453 Words • Read below the cut

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [05/01/23] ❞

Ever since the Sully family arrived at your doorstep seeking asylum, your father, Tonowari, had entrusted you with teaching the children your ways so that they were not entirely useless.

You did not appear to mind. When you locked eyes with Toruk Makto's youngest son, he captivated you. He was considerably different from your people, with golden eyes, darker skin, and even being a half dream walker! It was alluring, even if your brother didn't find Lo'ak's unique traits as attractive as you did.

You brushed your burgeoning feelings aside so you could do an excellent job of showing him your ways of life. Tsireya, your sister, had previously taught the Sullys about breathing techniques and diving, but you still stepped in whenever you could. You would've been more involved in the lessons if you weren't so timid around Lo'ak.

He figured you didn't like him as much as he liked you, which stung a little. However, that did not deter him. No, he was determined to get your love! (Little did he know.)

During one of your lessons with Tsireya and the Sullys, you were discussing how you employed sign language to communicate underwater. Of course, you were as far away from Lo'ak as possible to avoid becoming a blundering fool.

The Sullys certainly understood a few basic phrases, but you thought it would be incredibly beneficial in the long run if they knew it fluently because it could save their lives one day. You never know what sea creature you'll have to converse with!

By the end of the lesson, you were eager to get out of the water and rush home so you wouldn't have to interact with Lo'ak; you couldn't stop stuttering whenever you were near him! Eywa, on the other hand, had other plans for you.

Lo'ak softly tapped on your shoulder before you could depart, and you could already feel the tips of your ears burn from the contact. Lo'ak didn't notice, but that didn't matter because he was plotting something. One that he believed was brilliant.

He smiled at you. God, his smile was lethal. “Can I get more lessons with you? I need to work on my sign language a bit more.”

He scratched the nape of his neck shyly, clearly hoping for you to say yes.

You sighed, unable to say no when it’s him. “Okay, sure. We can do some private lessons aside from the main ones.”

Lo'ak cheered inside his head. What you didn't know was that he was already pretty proficient in sign language, and that his request for additional lessons was only a pretext to spend more time with you. Others called that manipulation, he called it chasing his dreams.

...

It was difficult for you to concentrate on teaching him at first. He was so attentive to everything you said that it made you feel so self-conscious! You'd take notice to the way he looked with his hair down, or how mesmerizing his eyes were every time you tried to teach him new terms. You could lose yourself in them for hours.

Snap out of it!

You'd think he was aware of the influence he had on you, because every time you'd lose concentration from gazing at him, he'd simply smile. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you swore his cheeks reddened when you stared at him. What was he blushing about? He's the one who makes direct eye contact with you every time you speak!

...

You felt foolish. You were foolish.

After a few days, you realised Lo'ak had duped you into thinking he needed the extra support. In your opinion, his acting skills when feigning to not understand what a phrase meant were atrocious. When you confronted him with the fact that he was already pretty fluent, he sulked.

“I’m still not sure if I’m doing it right, though. Just a few more lessons, pleaase?”

He was going to be the death of you. “You’re already pretty good, but I guess it won’t hurt to help build your confidence more.”

Lo’ak grinned, but you could feel your palms getting sweaty at even the mere thought of having prolonged interactions with him.

...

Here you were, sitting on the beach with Lo’ak as he manipulated you into weeks worth of lessons with his stupidly gorgeous puppy dog eyes. Again.

You improved your interactions with him, this time concealing the effect he had on you. You shook your head, ignoring those wandering thoughts and concentrated on his lesson.

“Okay, show me something you’ve learned.”

Lo’ak beamed, and signed with his hands, “Y/N, I want you.”

Okay, you lied. You certainly did not grasp the capacity to conceal his effect on you. He had this smug look on his face once you registered what he had signed, while you fanned your heated cheeks, claiming it was simply the weather. You concluded he was having difficulty asking for something since 'I want you' sounded a little broken.

Yeah, that’s all there is to it.

You laughed nervously. “You definitely still need to work on your sign language. You didn’t even finish your phrase!”

Lo'ak grumbled. From your perspective , it appeared that he did so because he did not accurately sign what he meant to express. But really, Lo'ak was particularly annoyed because you didn't pick up on his blatant hint.

He recollected himself. “Okay, how about this. How do I say you’re ethereal?”

Compliments. That’s a new one. Nonetheless, you showed him how to sign it.

“You’re ethereal is a little bit hard though, so you’d need a bit of practice with the hand movements for that.”

Lo’ak nodded, very focused on the motions of your fingers.

...

You were disappointed to realise that this was your final private lesson with Lo'ak. You were standing near his marui, too indolent to enter the water. Lo'ak had finally mastered sign language, and you were overjoyed to know you were the reason for it. You requested him to show you some phrases right before you concluded your lesson to ensure he sounded like a true Metkayina.

“Okay. What’s something you’re confident you can say?”

Lo’ak was incredibly anxious. With shaky hands, he signed, “you’re ethereal, and I want you to be mine.”

If Eywa could read your thoughts, you wished she’d take a shovel and beat you six feet beneath the sand. Your cheeks were impossibly dark, and you knew what Lo’ak signed couldn’t have been a mistake. Not with those difficult hand movements.

Curse you for being so stupid. You chastised yourself in your mind for honestly thinking his sign language was broken weeks prior. His skills were perfect, you were just too oblivious to realize that he was saying that he wanted you!

Lo'ak sat there patiently, gazing at your immobilised form. His self-assurance was eroding as you sat there, unresponsive. You coughed sheepishly, your cheeks still blazing, before he could retract his statement.

“You’re ethereal too.”

He felt his entire body heat up. He was not expecting you to sign it back, and now you were both sitting there like startled morons, looking like you had been baking in the heat for hours. You were neither smooth nor subtle in your flirting.

“So you don’t hate me?”

That shook you out of your daze. “What?”

“It’s just that, before these lessons you avoided me all the time. I thought you didn’t like me back.”

Your jaw was on the floor. All shyness disappearing, you practically bellowing across the beach. “Since when? I’ve liked you for weeks!”

“Oh.”

Ensue silence.

Lo'ak had to conceal his visage due to the blush on his cheeks. He could try to hide his face from you, but he couldn't prevent his tail from swishing excitedly. You giggled at his reaction, but the embarrassment of how direct you were hit you a moment later.

You two exchanged glances before laughing at each other's expressions. Lo'ak inched closer to you, intending to plant a soft kiss against your heated cheeks.

You immediately swiveled your head to see what he was doing, and he kissed you on the lips by accident. Lo'ak felt like he was going to burst into flames, not intending to do that.

It was now your turn to bury your face in your palms, your heart practically bursting out of your chest. You couldn't believe what had just transpired!

Ah, young love.

Bonus!

“No. Fucking. Way.”

Jake screamed for his wife to come over. Neytiri ran quickly, abandoning her unfinished basket. Something terrible must’ve happened!

“What’s wrong?”

Jake wiped a tear away, dropping his binoculars. “Our son has finally become a man.”

Neytiri threw her basket at his head.

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hatelangdon · 7 months

Note

Omg just read your fav genre is whump and i literally never seen any whump blog for American Horror Story, lol...

As someone who is also obsessed with AHS and whump myself, can i possibly request a whump story for Kit Walker inside Briarcliff pls? That poor babe just suffered so much in there, but i gotta say i just love the dramatics 🤭

Tysm, I'd really appreciate that!

Fragile

Kit Walker x Fem!reader ✩ 1.2K words

Summary: Dr Arden was never a merciful man, Kit soon became an interest of his. Someone needs to extend him some kindness and nurse him back to health.

Angst, Hurt-comfort, semi-fluff

**Not proofread and probably an insane amount of commas and other errors but it'll be aight.

Warnings: (🚨 Talks about infected wounds, fever, bruising, medical abuse, Mental abuse, physical abuse, asylums, bleeding, and time period inaccuracies probably 🚨)

(A/n: Kitson, my angel, my beloved. I hate hurting him but I love the angst. Thanks for the request I didn't know what kind of whump you were interested in so I tried to combine all aspects 🤭 I was gonna k!ll him but I was feeling nice)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆

You and Kit weren't too different from each other, both convicted on crimes you did not commit.

Female hysteria. That's what they call it when a woman was too smart, so a man locks her up to keep her quiet.

This was a cruelty that was extended to you by your own husband.

Kit was thrown in on convictions of murder, bloody face is what they called him. People wanted someone to pin a string of murders on, it was a convincing smear campaign that even you believed at first.

But as you got to know kit as a person, as you got to know his heart, you realized he could never be capable of inflicting so much pain, especially on a woman. His character proved his innocence.

A friendship blossomed quickly between the two of you, and a delicate love that remained unspoken. It communicated itself through stolen glances and kind words

It was something just for you two to understand.

Kit was always a gentle and kind man. He always stood up for what he believed was right which is what often got him in trouble, he was too headstrong.

It had been three days since the last time you saw him, he had been dragged away by the guards for “inciting a fight�� after some pervert had tried to grope one of the newer patients without her consent, you were hoping that he had just been bent over sister Jude’s knee and caned a few times, although she was harsh she sometimes had an understanding side to her

but alas, Kit hadn't returned.

That was until today, when kit was dropped off in the community room completely unraveled from his usual charming self. His eyes were glassy and seemed to stare into a void, and his body was scuffed, scraped, and bruised all over.

“Maybe that fried some sense into you walker” The guard chuckled as he dropped kit’s limp body onto the floor right in front of the couch where you sat.

You felt your throat tighten as the tears welled up in your eyes. You kneeled down to comfort him.

Immediately you pushed his hair back, your hands gentle and forgiving against his damaged skin, you could see where the metal from the shock therapy had burned him, he must've been under it for a while. His cheeks were flushed and feverish, his breaths shallow, you could tell it was hard for him to breathe from the way he winced as his chest rose and fell, the bruises on his back made you wince, the purple wounds spread across the sides like an angel that had its wings clipped.

He leaned into your touch, scanning your face like he was trying to remember who you were, if you were kind or if you would also cause him pain. His eyes were empty and lacked their usual warmth he tried to speak to you, his attempted words becoming sobs when he noticed how you were looking at him. How you pitied him.

"y/n-" he started, his voice hoarse.

“You’re gonna be okay kit, you gotta be okay. Can you walk? I can help you, but I need to get you out of here," You shushed him

He nodded, holding onto your shoulders.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling a wet spot as you pressed your abdomens together.

You looked down...Kit was bleeding, a lot.

",we're going to our special place, okay? I stored some of my things in there"

There was a small storage closet hidden away in the corner that was accessible just down the hall, it was empty except for a couple of desks and chairs from when Briarcliff used to be a school. You and Kit would usually sneak off to smoke together and talk about what you would do when you finally got out of this hellhole.

Since you were technically a non-violent case you weren't searched as thoroughly when you arrived, In school you had received a bit of nursing training, you knew Briarcliff could be rough, you heard the stories and rumours, so you brought a first aid kit in your bags and stored it away the first day you were allowed in the common room.

You two took small unsuspecting steps towards the room making sure that the guards were not looking, as you slipped into the closet, closing the door behind you.

“Kitson, I'm going to put you down OK?” you warned him

He nodded as you gently lowered him onto the cold ground. He winced feeling the pressure against his bruised back.

You pulled the first aid kit from its hiding place in one of the desks. It was complete with some gauze pads, rubbing alcohol, a spray disinfectant, rags, medical grade needle and thread, and and a roll of bandages.

You rolled up his shirt to examine the site of the bleeding, he had been practically cut in half and badly stitched up. The wound was jagged and puffy, it was definitely infected or on its way to being.

"It was Arden," Kit managed to speak up, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to catch his breath "If this takes me, you gotta tell 'em it was Arden." He cried out

"I won't let you die Kit, i'm going to save you," you tried to sound confident, for both of your sakes. You pulled one of the rags out and folded it into a thick square, placing it in between his teeth "This is going to hurt angel, you're gonna want something to bite down on."

He obliged, fully trusting you and biting down.

"Just keep breathing, it'll be over before you know it."

He looked up at you wide eyed as you shook the can of wound wash.

"3....2...1" with that, you sprayed the wound down.

Kit struggled against it, immediately crying out, his face turning bright red as the stinging engulfed his body in what felt like the fires of hell, pure agony.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's to stop the infection. The hard part is over!" You graced him with a kiss to the forehead, as he sobbed.

You covered it in some gauze, applying slight pressure to soak up the fluids of the wound, before gently wrapping his abdomen in bandages to keep it safe from further harm.

"We'll have to change this out in a couple of days instead of everyday. We don't want to run out" you sighed, removing the rag from kit's teeth.

He was still in massive amounts of pain from all of his injuries, the road to recovery would be difficult.

After laying there for a couple of minutes, while you cupped his face, gently rubbing his tears away with your thumb and cooing to him, he spoke up.

"...Arden says I got two days to recover. Then he's gonna continue his research." He swallowed, his tears falling rapidly.

"That's not going to happen, my love," You pressed his hand to your lips ever so gently "save your strength, the rumours of a tunnel to the outside are true, and I know exactly how we can get through them."

Kit looked into your eyes, a glimmer of hope shining. He even managed a small smile.

"I believe in you doll, I always have. I always will."

#ahs asylum #kit walker #fanfic #reverse comfort #evan peters #american horror story #angst #whump #ahs fandom #ahs murder house #ahs fanfic #ahs hotel #ahs coven #tate langdon #james patrick march #evan peters fanfic #evan peters x reader #kyle spencer #asylum au

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evanpetersmybf · 2 months

Text

Scary Love

Kit Walker x female!reader

Summary: A future nun with trust issues and a falsely accused gentleman.

Genre: Fluff and some angst.

Word count: 1,381

Warnings: Catholic reader and mention of some religious items (not really sure if this counts as a warning, but okay)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

...And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

Amen.

You crossed yourself, still kneeling down in front of the crucifix, hands holding a Holy Mary medal.

The chapel was quiet and peaceful, a big difference in comparison to the rest of the asylum, which was always filled with screams and many other disturbing stuff. How did you end up in this hellhole? That’s the question you ask yourself every night before going to sleep. Ah yes, you were the one who took this decision. No one forced you.

You returned to the main room; a jukebox eternally playing Dominique non-stop while all the patients coexisted in the common hall.

And there he was. The one and only Kit Walker. Probably the most sane person in the habitation right now, besides you of course.

The handsome man saw you and a sweet smile appeared on his face, cute dimples along the lovely grin. Seeing him made you feel multiple things at the same time. Things you didn’t allow yourself to feel. With a heavy sigh of remorse, you avoided his gaze and kept walking around, finding an excuse to get away from him.

Kit’s brows furrowed, not getting what was happening. Why were you avoiding him? He thought you two were good friends now. In reality, you were one of the few people in the psychiatric who actually treated him as a human being and not as a crazy murderer -which he clearly wasn’t, tho- and that melted his heart.

He followed you from behind, but you kept escaping.

“Sista’!” He pleaded, until was finally able to catch up and grabbed your hand, making you turn around to face him. “Sista’ Y/N, what's goin’ on?” His dark doe eyes tried to meet yours, as an attempt to find an answer.

Nothing.

Kit scoffed, making early assumptions due to your lack of reaction. “So do ya’ really believe in that bullshit, huh? Ya’ really think I killed my wife?” Annoyed, the man let go of your hand, but deep down he hoped you didn’t think of him that way.

“No, wait!” You replied, looking down at the floor while fidgeting with a cross necklace hanging around your neck. “Is not like that, Kit…”

“Then what is it, sista’? Are ya’ scared of me?”

“I actually am.” You took a deep breath and stared at his eyes after hesitating for a while. “I’m afraid you are the temptation, Kit.”

The brunet raised an eyebrow, having more questions than answers. “Whatcha’ mean, sista’? Da’ temptation?”

“The temptation I always pray to God to keep far from me.” Your gaze drifted to his forearms; thick veins and big hands. Oh Lord.

Kit realized you were staring down. He tried to discover what were you looking at, until he noticed your eyes and a subtle blush on your cheeks.

He smirked and crossed his arms in front of him. That cheeky smile. The one who made you head over heels.

“Oh, so now I’m da’ devil, hm?”

You didn’t say anything else. You ran away from him and locked yourself in your room.

Kit was always on your mind. No matter what you did, he was always there. Even when you attempted to pray, you heard his voice. Maybe you need to be the patient and not a novice.

After a long sleepless night, you found yourself in the kitchen early in the morning, just to find Kit kneading dough and mumbling some things to himself.

“Mornin’, sista’” Voice soft like honey, yet it showed some concern because of what happened yesterday between you two. “Ya’ ‘kay?”

“Mhm…” Of course not. You weren’t okay. You felt conflicted.

“If I may ask… Why did ya’ become a nun?”

“I’m not a nun yet. I haven’t made my vows. I’m here tryin’ to find out if this truly is my vocation or not.”

“And? Have you made up your mind?”

You shook your head no, hugging yourself and looking at his arms, again. “You’re the reason why I don’t know if I belong here.”

Kit let out a chuckle, feeling amused by your shyness and obvious fixation on his limbs.

“Why do ya’ always stare at my hands, sista’? Do ya’ like ‘em?”

Your face went red, eyes slightly widened. Damn. He noticed it.

“I’m not supposed to like those sinful things.”

“Ya’ a human too, Y/N”

“But I wasn’t made for this. For affection or lust.”

Kit was curious about what you meant by that. You explained everything to him, saying you felt out of place because when you were growing up not a single boy flirted with you. Besides, you said you had many awful love experiences and, after a serious heartbreak, you began to wonder if possibly your destiny was staying single and dedicating the rest of your life to God. Furthermore, you mentioned your fear of physical touch, and how you still desired it. It was complicated.

The man listened to you, looking at how you fidgeted with a chain while you nervously told your story, taking note of how your soothing voice cracked from time to time.

Everything about you was so alluring to him. He couldn’t believe no one treated you right. And, as the gentleman he was, he wanted to change that.

“Well, sista’... To me, you’re one of da’ most beautiful women alive. I mean it.” Kit took a few steps closer to you, but kept a fair distance in order to not make you uncomfortable.

He cracked a smile, in love with those charming eyes of yours.

“If I’m that beautiful, why haven't I been loved, Kit? Tell me why–”

Kit was now some inches away from your face contemplating your lips. He placed a hand over your mouth, not letting you finish your sentence.

You tried to speak, but it was nonsense; his palm muffling your words.

“Y/N, ‘m not like those assholes. Not at all. Trust me, please.”

He let you speak again, now intertwining his fingers with yours. His body was warm, his touch was gentle and comforting, the type of connection you’ve been craving for too long. Walker was so good-looking; you could look at him forever… And he could look at you for the rest of eternity, too.

“Can I, gorgeous?” His thumb brushed your lips and part of your cheek, sending electric waves to your spine.

Was this even for real? You doubt it. You thought he was messing around, but he wasn’t.

Fearfully, you agreed.

Finally, Kit leaned in and pressed his chapped lips against your velvety ones. The kiss was tender, full of endearment. His heart was beating fast, so was yours. Pupils dilated and breathing deep.

He cupped the side of your face, rubbing the flesh with his digit while you melted under his touch.

This was the very first time that someone held you the way he did. Embracing you as if you were the most precious gem, or as if you were made of delicate porcelain.

Eventually, he pulled away and grinned, both of you feeling like dorky teens after having their first kiss, even if that wasn’t the case. “Ya’ so divine…” Kit mumbled and then, his lips were dancing with yours.

He stepped back from time to time exclusively to flatter you, saying corny compliments between the kisses.

His hands were roaming all over your body, caressing every right spot to make you feel in heaven.

He was so good at this.

But… Did this have a future?

Kit was here in Briarcliff, falsely accused of committing a murder. Not only that, you were a novice. This love couldn’t be.

Your mind overwhelmed you with those thoughts, making you abruptly get away from him.

“No, Kit, I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” Or perhaps you could. You felt like losing your mind. Love was making you crazy. However, you couldn’t allow yourself to feel, nor risk his safety for this. Maybe you were scared of his love. Of how much he was caring for you. You didn’t understand.

Without further ado, you left the cold kitchen, once filled with sweetness and adoration.

Kit remained there, a single tear drop falling from his eye, wondering if he could ever be happy again.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

A/N: English isn't my first language. Sorry if this has grammatical mistakes. Also, I tried to be respectful with the religion, I'm catholic myself and I'm so sorry if this offends someone. Hope you enjoy it! ^^

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