#fully finished pieces by themselves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meshiinuma · 1 month

Text

type

relationship: poly satosugu x reader

desc: clearly satoru has a type + bed time

wrd cnt: 3.3k

warnings: the reader is so fucking specific . like theyre chubby, brown, have glasses, dark hair, n dark eyes. sorry 2 anyone who isnt that HJSJDHSJ, gn reader, fluff

a(shley's)/n: first post whoopie !! also . chubby sugubooboo REALNESS !!!!!!! visit sometime is being worked on PROMISEEE its at 12k words rn n its only the first chapter [im planning on writing the rest of the chapters b4 publishing bcuz i feel bad abandoning things so its probs gonna b over 300k by the time im done w the whole thing . sigh.] ok. enjoy . [also u can tell whos my favorite]

the tiny couch the three of you crammed onto every evening felt incredibly warm. it did every day.

suguru was on the farthest left (when you’re sitting on the couch and facing the tv in front of it), laying back on the couch with a pillow underneath his head. satoru was on the farthest right, using the armrest as a prop for his head and playing on his nintendo switch. you were leaning back on suguru’s stomach, on your phone.

gurgle! grrk!

“your stomach’s talking shit about you, suguru.” you warned, scrolling through the comments on a post.

“what’s it saying?” he asked offhandedly, turning a page.

“‘s gonna kill you man.”

“crazy…” he trailed off and you noticed his reading glasses slipping down his nose slowly.

you pulled yourself up his body and pushed them up with your pointer finger, then laid a kiss against the apple of his cheek.

suguru looked down at you, dark brown eyes so clear you could see yourself reflected in them almost. he put a pretty bookmark with a nice yellow tassel between the pages and set it on the side table.

“now what do you from me? hm?” he drew you fully to his chest where he started to nip at your cheeks and jaw. giggle “kisses sugu! gimme kisses!” you exclaimed as he started to lay light kisses from the tippy top of your head down to your collarbone. everywhere his lips touched made little sparks fly under your skin, love flooding through every vein in your body at suguru’s affection.

you kept giggling with suguru, returning his little kisses, straddling his thighs, and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“ewww!” satoru suddenly interjected. looking behind you, your third was sticking his tongue out and powering his switch off, “get a room,” he said and tried to crawl between you and suguru.

“what are you- ack!” satoru nestled himself sideways in the little pocket of space between and was already half hanging off the couch. suguru got elbowed a bit.

you pulled back and sat on your haunches to let satoru get comfortable, “everything good?” you asked, waiting for him to finish wriggling around, “it’d be better if you could get down here…” he asked and gazed at you over his shoulder coquettishly. the look made your stomach suddenly combust into a horde of butterflies that expressed themselves through possessing your body and draping yourself over your two lovers.

satoru got a kiss on the little circle at the top of his head where his hair grew from and a bit of scalp shone through, “better?” quietly suguru mumbled into the air.

“mhm…” was satoru’s response.

you shifted around to get satoru and suguru in your sights at the same time, enraptured with the beauty of your lovers. if you lost the ability to see them everyday, you think you’d sob inconsolably.

eventually, you shoved yourself into the space between suguru and the back cushions, finding the best view.

suguru had slid further down the couch, fully using the arm rest as a pillow with eyes closed and glasses firmly placed at eye level. satoru faced the tv, eyes closed as well, and was clutching suguru’s arm wrapped around him.

and then you.

you glanced up to see a vague shape of your body reflected in the dark tv screen, a part of a blob of skin and other various hues. the final piece to the puzzle.

as you settled into the warmth of suguru’s chest (his arm went around you straight away, no looking) and wrapped your arm around satoru’s shoulder (he grabbed it and tucked it close to his chest), you faintly realized something.

“you have a type satoru,” you said quietly.

out of the corner of your eye you saw suguru’s eye peek open.

“no i don’t?” he rolled in place to face you, hot breath fanning over your exposed arm.

“yeah you do.” this time you were looking directly into his eyes, challenging his denial.

“oh yeah? what’s my type?” satoru fired back, cocky sounding.

“dark hair, dark eyes, glasses, brown skin, chubby, and a little mean to you.” that seemed to shut him up, suguru’s eyes fully open and filled with mirth.

“...dunno what you’re talking ‘bout…” satoru pouted at being found out so quickly.

“think about it! i have dark hair, suguru has dark hair. suguru has dark eyes, i have dark eyes. we both wear glasses-”

“not all the time!” at satoru’s interjection, you and suguru shared a look and stared back down at him.

“...nevermind. continue.”

“we’re both brown and chubby-” as you said this, you moved satoru’s hands up to yours and your dark haired lovers stomachs, making him squeeze them a bit. satoru blushed.

“and we’re mean to you! it’s like me and sugu are the same people, it’s crazy.” you finished and looked up at suguru for approval on your insight.

“they’re not wrong,” he added, “and we’re dating each other, so it’s like how people are attracted to similar personalities.”

satoru shook himself out of the brief pull you and suguru had on him, “then what does that say about you two for dating me?” he asked genuinely.

“hmm…” you held your chin, submerging into deep thought.

“oh! we like annoying guys like you!” suguru replied for the two of you.

“yeah!”

now satoru really was pouting.

“but we love you for it ‘toru! its cute!” you amended, pulling his face towards you so you could pepper him with kisses.

suguru joined in and wrapped his arms around the two of you, giving satoru kisses all over his head.

“haha! okay, okay!” satoru’s face was tinged pink all the way up to his scalp and his smile stretched wide. you think his eyes were glowing twice as much, filled to the brim with emotion.

“getting shy?” suguru mumbled coyly into his ear. satoru looked away bashfully and his face turned five shades deeper, “no…”

you planted a wet kiss right on his burning cheek mwah!, “cutie…now go turn the tv on,” you said with a snicker as the red slowly faded from satoru’s face.

“really?” he grumbled, but got up anyway to turn the tv on and grab the remote.

“thank youuu!” you cooed when satoru came back and rewarded his efforts with a kiss right at the junction between his neck and jaw.

he just mumbled something and cuddled back into you and suguru. the top of his head was a bit red.

“what do you wanna watch?” you asked.

“i demand...netflix!” satoru exclaimed and raised the remote high above his head.

at the same time, you and suguru spoke, “alright.” satoru looked back, “jeez maybe you two are the same person…”

you brushed the comment off and urged him to pick something to watch. satoru chose a k-drama series he was halfway through and started from the beginning, “just for you two! no one else,” he said and put the remote on the side table.

an hour or two later, the three of you reached the point satoru had gotten to. or rather the two of you, as satoru had fallen asleep after the first episode and was snoring into suguru’s hockey jersey sleeve.

suguru had his head turned and was just staring at the screen, a bit bored looking.

you had both your hands buried under his jersey, absentmindedly kneading at the pudge lining his midsection and brushing his happy trail back and forth, “ready to sleep?” the question was gently whispered by you, taking care not to wake satoru.

“yeah,” suguru said, moving the hand that was caressing your back to the back of your head and kissed your crown. he turned around to reach the remote, but you stopped him.

“wait! wait!” you protested quietly, “i can get it.” suguru gave you a skeptical look, “okay…”

and then you fully shoved yourself under his oversized st. louis blues jersey.

“wh- hey!” he patted your back, trying to track your wriggling body. you shoved your arm through the neck hole and scrambled for the remote behind suguru’s head.

once you finally got a hold on the plastic device, you pointed it at the tv, “can you pause it and turn the tv off?”

sigh “you know? i don’t think you and i are alike at all.” his hand engulfed yours and clicked around a bit before the remote was slipped away from your hand.

“you’re so warm sugu…” you slurred, the feeling of being comfortable and lack of sleep getting to you.

underneath suguru’s jersey, you were surrounded on all sides by warmth.

above you was the white of his jersey, underneath you was his warm and fuzzy torso, and radiating all around you was warmth. you snuggled into the artificial embrace, kicking your legs underneath his.

then suguru suddenly yanked the top of his jersey above your head.

cold flooded straight into your bones. you expressed this with a shiver and tightening your fetal position on suguru’s midsection.

“c’mon. up.” he urged you up and off the couch, slinging satoru over a broad shoulder.

“you can cuddle when we’re in bed, alright?” he held your face in the palm of his very big hand and tilted his head to the side a bit, “yeah,” you said, a bit spacey at the thought of being cuddled up to one of the men of your dreams (you get to paw and chew at him like a dog every night, but that didn’t mean it felt like a bit of a privilege to haul suguru around in bed like that).

he kissed your head, “good.” and trodded off to the bedroom with his two lovers in tow, of course.

suguru laid satoru on the bed first and caressed the side of his face with the back of his hand. the love that suguru exercised for you and satoru shocked you to your core sometimes. it was easy to forget the gentle touches amidst all the roughhousing shared between the three of you.

after he leaned down and laid a featherlight kiss between satoru’s eyes, he looked up at you.

“ready?”

without waiting for a response, he glided to the bathroom. assured in your ability to follow.

a quick pit stop was made before you joined suguru in the bathroom. you hovered over satoru’s slumbering body, clad in an oversized band tee acquired the summer before and basketball shorts from suguru (maybe. possibly. it’s gotten hard to tell over the years). he looked beautiful with the moonlight flooding through the huge window next to the bed.

with the same gentleness suguru possessed, light fingers skimmed across his forehead and drew his hair away from his eyes. you planted a big wet kiss right at the center of his temples.

that stirred him awake.

“mngh…” his eyes fluttered open, but eventually decided to close.

“go back to sleep for me baby, ‘kay?” you whispered into his ear, already holding the top of the thirty pound weighted blanket satoru slept with every night.

once satoru settled down again, you tiptoed to the bathroom, light already on underneath the door.

“hi,” you said at a volume less than normal.

suguru had his jersey sleeves rolled up and was applying face cream when you walked in, “hey.” he replied in kind, gave you a kiss on the cheek, and went back to making sure all of the product reached every nook and cranny of his face.

you slithered behind him and wrapped your arms around his cinched waist. you squeezed a little, making suguru wheeze a bit unexpectedly, an inside joke from before any romance entered your lives.

then your hands dipped above the hem of his jersey, still craving body heat.

“if you tickle me, i’ll punch you.” he warned, looking back at you over his shoulder.

if you were to be on the receiving end of any of suguru’s attacks while he does martial arts training, you think you’d ascend to something higher than heaven.

you didn’t say that though. all you did was look up at him dopily and smile, “okay.”

he looked at you suspiciously and went back to finishing his nightly routine. maybe you should start on your own as well. but what kept you from pulling away wasn’t the wonderful texture of suguru’s body, no, it was him expanding and deflating his chest in a timely manner.

he was breathing. and you were right there feeling that.

this was real. the fact you got to wake up everyday, be with your two lovers, come home to a warm couch, and hold the people you love like this all the time made you feel like puking. in a good way.

suguru was completely oblivious to the lovey-dovey thoughts circling your head. he had moved on to dental care and was currently on the last step, scraping his tongue.

you watched him through the mirror, sighing and swooning over every little action he made. the way he flexed a bit when he pressed the metal scraper on the back of his tongue, the way nails covered in flaking black polish pried the storage for the scraper open, the way he reapplied pomegranate chapstick, the way he turned to you with a look he only reserves for you and satoru, the way his mouth moved-

wait. his mouth is moving?

you snapped yourself out of your stupor and tuned back into the conversation.

“-and then we can sleep, don’t want to keep satoru waiting.”

yeah, you have no clue what he’s talking about.

you tilted your head, a little smile teasing your lips, “what’d you say?”

suguru’s face fell from something loving and soft into a deadpan, the reading glasses he still had on emphasized his disappointment.

“you’re such a bad listener, you know that right?” he grabbed his bottle of amla hair oil (almost empty, you’d need to stop by the international grocery store to get more soon) and placed it on the counter.

“i just need you to oil my hair for me, it’s been getting a little dry.” a simple request you’ve fulfilled many times before.

you don’t think suguru needed a verbal response with the way you pulled out the shower stool stored under the sink and patted the seat, urging him to take a seat.

he sat down and tugged the hair tie holding his half bun in place. a bad habit suguru has is leaving his hair ties anywhere and everywhere, today was no exception.

suguru flicked the scrunchie away somewhere in the bathroom and let his lovely tresses fall down his back.

one of you would get that. later.

for now, you wanted to focus on suguru’s dying and unhydrated hair (it wasn’t that bad, just felt a little rough in your hands is all).

the motion of pouring oil onto your hands, rubbing them together, then starting at the roots was a well practiced routine. oftentimes, you and satoru would tackle suguru’s full head of hair at the same time to split the workload and provide the man with a relieving head massage.

unfortunately, satoru’s incapacitated state on the bed meant he couldn’t help out this time. whatever. you’d get all the kisses and cuddles from suguru as a reward later.

you finally started to get to the ends of his hair, a particularly dried section.

“careful with the oil, don’t want it to stain my shirt.” he says that every time.

and you were careful. every time.

suguru’s hair was freshly oiled and you dried your hands with a hand towel hanging on the towel rack while your boyfriend pulled on his long satin bonnet. he started to walk out of the bathroom before you remembered something, “!”

he turned around at the doorway, “what?”

“i forgot to do my own routine,” you said, turning to the vanity and picking out what you needed for the night.

“i can wait.” suguru closed the door and slumped onto the toilet seat cover.

“you don’t have to-”

“i’m staying.” he leaned back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

you just rolled your eyes and started your night routine.

the silence between the two of you was nice. all that filled the quiet was the low hum of the bathroom fan. (you missed the way suguru was eyeing you with hooded eyes and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. he really loves you.)

by the time you finished, suguru had gone back to his stationary position with his eyes closed. you admired him and then leaned down to nuzzle your head against the crown of his head, his eyes opened pretty fast after that.

you laid a sweet kiss right against his lips, the fruity taste from his chapstick transferring to your own. then to tease him, you licked a little stripe up the center of his lips, coating his ashley piercing in spit.

“blegh! don’t do that!” and he smacked you away as you giggled.

suguru stood up and started to walk ahead of you, “i think the lack of sleep is getting to your head…”

“whatever.” you turned the bathroom light off and closed the door behind you.

you threw yourself onto the bed and writhed in place a bit, trying to find the best sleeping position. on the contrary, suguru sat on the bed, swung his legs around, and tucked himself under the edge of the blanket pretty fast.

eventually, you found a good position. your back was to suguru’s front and you were curled facing satoru’s sleeping front. this was what you settled on every night.

but despite how tired you were, something in you still made you want to twist and turn in place like a worm. just to get all the energy out.

behind you, suguru was setting the digital alarm clock on the nightstand for some ungodly time in the morning (so he can get his workout routine out of the way). you found your perfect victim.

you pounced on suguru as softly as you could (once he turned around of course, you’d feel bad if he fell off the bed) and smothered him in kisses.

“hi, hey, what’s up?” he sounded like he was trying not to giggle and laugh too loudly, for fear of waking up satoru.

“i dunno.” you teased and peppered featherlight kisses from the bottom of his frames down to his little double chin, giving him a big kiss where it dipped down the most. (a little freckle was right next to it. your eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet, but you knew it was there.)

suguru returned your affections with kisses on your cheeks that pushed so far you could feel the pressure on your tongue. you snickered bashfully and kicked your legs a little.

after that, all the fight and energy left you in favor of fatigue slipping into the cracks. you flopped beside suguru and gave him a final kiss on his right temple, “love you.” you whispered.

he turned your body around so you were back on your side and facing satoru. “love you back.” suguru whispered and kissed the back of your head.

you missed your third dearly. so in tandem, you and suguru reached out to pull satoru into your combined warmth.

at the same time, you and suguru each gave him a kiss at random points on his head, whispering the same thing, “love you so much.”

satoru woke up at the combined affection. just enough to finish the final step before sleep could claim you. he leaned forward enough to brush his lips against your nose, “love you baby.” then he reached as far as he could and kissed suguru’s neck, “love you su.” and he collapsed in front of you, back to sleep.

suguru shifted behind you, something clacking around on the side table. he put his fingers around the bridge of your glasses and folded them carefully. they clacked next to his.

your eyes closed as a big warm arm laid across your waist and extended outwards to the body in front of you.

240 notes · View notes

rosemarydisaster · 2 months

Text

I actually think that the difficulty in reading The Locked Tomb is that we're used to having things "confirmed" for real at the end of the book. When a character watches the sky be cut up by flaming swords, usually someone else points out there was a meteor shower. TLT does this sometimes, but other times it leaves you to fit the pieces together. It doesn't tell you "congrats, the final image is a red balloon", you put the pieces of the puzzle together and then observe the image on your own.

You're meant to do the work on your own, and if you're not paying attention you're fucked. You might miss pieces because they didn't seem important, you might try to fit things that don't go together. When you have all the pieces and you have the final image it's really easy to solve it. Tamsyn doesn't necessarily give you the final picture for a lot of things and that's fine. You have the pieces, trust in your intelligence to put them together. It's okay if you forgot about something and you need to read the wiki.

These books are not the easiest read if you only have time for a chapter or two each day. It's hard to remember everything, you may lose some pieces along the way and now you can't solve it. That's not the book's fault though, they were written to be like that.

If Tamsyn gave you the picture at the end of every mystery there would be no incentive to put the pieces together on your own. Does it suck for the people that can't finish the book in one sitting? Yeah! But that doesn't make it impossible to understand. Tamsyn didn't make an upsie, it's a key feature of her writing.

You need to fully engage with the text. They're not a casual read, and it's okay if you're not in the headspace for that or if you prefer to just look at the wiki at the end. I simply want people to understand that just because a book doesn't feed you the answers it doesn't mean it was badly written. If it's not for you, that's fine. You're allowed to dislike things even if they're not bad! Something can be perfectly correct and not be your cup of tea/not come easy to you.

Authors don't need to over explain themselves over the fear of readers "not getting it", especially not now with wikis and podcasts. Let authors do weird shit.

#tlt #the locked tomb #tlt meta #tamsyn muir

228 notes · View notes

bambithewriter · 1 month

Text

Little tawtute

Spider(23) x fem!human reader(21) x Neteyam(22)

Content: MDNI, 18+, threesome, dom Spider, dom Neteyam, sub reader, oral (f receiving), p in v, voyeurism, slight Lo’ak x reader

Summary: Neteyam walks in on a private moment between Spider and a cute little tawtute.

A/N: I literally had this draft saved for weeks but didn’t have any motivation to finish it until today. After my hot girl walk, I was full of ideas and this smutty piece was born. This is my first time writing Spider so that was a new experience. I’m not going to lie, this was supposed to be a drabble yet it turned out way longer🤭

Also, let’s just pretend like the masks are not necessary for the sake of this fic😭

tawtute - human

yawntutsyìp - little loved one

Growing up on Pandora had been tough, being one of the only humans her age. The only one around was Spider. It’s no wonder they grew so close…perhaps too close.

Turning into a woman changed her body.

Her body became heavier and plumper. Her curves filled out perfectly. She couldn’t wear the Na’vi clothes she used to love as a child. It simply didn’t feel as comfortable anymore, too revealing.

Activities such as exploring the forest, climbing, and running no longer felt comfortable for her body.

Spider wasn’t the little kid he used to be. He grew into a fully adult man with a strong body. It showed how much he had adapted to the Na’vi lifestyle.

Spider never strayed from the Na’vi culture while she felt more comfortable in the lab with the humans. Their relationship never faltered despite their differences.

There was one they did have in common. The craving for intimacy. Sexual intimacy. With the two being the only ones around their age, what choice did they have?

Tonight was one of those nights.

A night filled with nothing but the sound of their lips smacking together, hands exploring each other's bodies.

Their clothes were scattered on the forest floor.

They didn’t talk. No, not tonight. Not when it had been weeks since they last had intimacy together. It had been tormenting for both of them.

She had been busy helping around the lab, assisting Max whenever needed.

Spider, as usual, spent a lot of time in the village. He may not have an avatar but that never stopped him from helping the people.

Spider was tough, brave and loyal. He may not have been born with the same physical as the Na’vi but what he did have was their mentality.

The only times they'd see each other was when Spider entered the lab to replace his mask or to stuff down some food.

That's why when they finally had time for themselves, Spider took her to a spot in the forest just a couple minutes away from the lab.

Spider was playful but he was no tease. Not when both of them were so desperate for each other.

That's why instead of teasing her as he usually would, he took off her clothes without hesitation.

He had her naked in seconds, two fingers stuffed deep inside of her wet cunt, thumb teasing her little nub.

If it weren't for those damn masks he'd have a taste too.

Neteyam was tired, exhausted even. Today had been awful.

He was tasked to train the young warriors, forced to attend a meeting regarding the sky people and got yet another scolding for not having found a mate already.

He was always on duty, helping everyone but himself. Oh, to be the future olo'eyktan. What a dream.

His father had tasked him to deliver some samples to the lab before dismissing him for today.

It was already late, forest lit up with the bioluminescent flora and fauna.

He swiftly moved to the forest, bow and arrows on his back, warrior gear still on.

He wanted to get the samples to the lab and get it over with already.

Despite his tiredness, his senses were still on full alert. A warrior never weakens.

His ears twitched when he heard the sound of whimpering, tail flicking up in interest.

He approached the sounds, crouching down and staying hidden while trying to get a closer view.

His pupils dilated at the lewd sight in front of him, hairless eyebrows raising.

It was Lo'ak his friend, Spider. He was kissing a woman, a tawtute woman. Her back was pressed against a tree, eyes closed while Spider had two fingers stuffed inside her pussy.

His other hand held her leg up around his waist just to get better access to her dripping cunt.

Neteyam's eyes darkened when he saw the tawtute's slick dripping down Spider's fingers before falling to the floor.

He knew it was wrong to stay instead of leaving the two of them, but how could he? He was pent up, in need of a release. Seems like he had found his destresser tonight.

His cock instantly hardened, one of his hands moving down to untie his loincloth. As soon as it fell off he took his cock in one hand, pumping it slowly, eyes never leaving the sight in front of him.

A smug grin appeared on his face when the tawtute opened her eyes and made direct eye contact with him. She squeaked in surprise, alerting Spider of the third person watching them.

Spider spread her legs, revealing her hole of glory.

“Spider.” She softly whined, feeling shy with her pussy exposed like that.

Neteyam shushed her, affectionately caressing her hair. “Ssh tawtute, you’re okay. I won’t do anything bad to you. I think you’ll like it a lot.” His words may have been reassuring but his smirk said otherwise, a silent reminder of how screwed she was.

“You’re okay, pretty girl. I’m here.” Spider comforted her, his hands caressing the side of her waist.

Spider was sitting on the forest floor, his back resting against the tree. He had her sitting in between his legs, her legs spread wide for Neteyam who was crouched down in front of her opened legs.

“So pretty, so soft,” Neteyam mumbled, inspecting her body. His gaze was so intense and focused, making her shy. Neteyam didn't fail to notice this, sensing her nervousness.

“Ssh, tawtute. I’m here. Neteyam will make it all better.” He said in a hushed tone, hands gently caressing her body.

He started by cupping her face in his large hands, running them down to caress his fingers over her delicate neck.

He leaned closer to her neck, taking in her scent. “Mmm.” He grunted softly, continuing to sniff at her neck. His hands, however, continued to explore her. His hands fondled those heavy breasts, not used to their size.

Neteyam inched closer to her pussy taking in its appearance and smell. “Such a small pussy.” He mocked her.

“Lay off her man.” Spider hissed at him, an annoyed look present on his face.

Neteyam shot him a warning glare.

The moment he caught a whiff of her arousal, it was over for her.

His pupils dilated and a crazed look appeared on his face. Before she knew it he pulled her closer by her thighs, burying his face in her pussy.

“N-Neteyam.” She whimpered, hips bucking up when his big tongue lapped at her pussy like a starved man.

He pulled the hood of her pussy up, revealing the small nub hiding underneath, his tongue swirling over it. She cried out in pleasure, hands holding onto Spider’s firm thighs.

Spider squeezed her breasts together, teasing the nipples. His cock was hard, aching to be stroked. He had to wait. He knew he couldn’t stop Neteyam now, not when he was this feral.

“I can't." Neteyam, it’s too much.” She whimpered, chest heaving up and down, her hips rolling against his face.

Neteyam didn’t bother to hold them down, loving the way her pussy smothered him.

“It’s okay yawntutsyìp. I’ll take care of you hmm?” He said in a caring manner only to push a finger in her pussy, making come here motions.

"Nggh, Neteyam!” She whined, her hands holding onto his braids. He only groaned at the feeling of the pair of small hands in his hair, in return making her feel even better with the vibrations sent to her pussy.

Neteyam thrust into his hand, unable to keep himself from pumping his cock with the way she was clenching around his finger and the overwhelming scent of my pussy.

She was sent into a frenzy when he added yet another finger, pumping them at a tantalizing pace. With each pump, they’d grind against her sweet spot.

His fingers along with his tongue massaging her clit became too much for the poor girl. “Mmm, am cumming!” She cried out, warm slick drizzling out of her pussy. Neteyam was quick to lap it all up.

It was only when she desperately started tugging at his braids that he granted her mercy and pulled away.

He sat up on his knees, pumping his cock in his hand while staring at her swollen pussy and fucked out expression. “So…fuck…such a delicious tawtute.” He hissed, glaring down at her.

She barely had time to catch a break before she was lifted and shoved down onto Spider’s cock. Spider was huge. Every time with him felt like the first time.

Spider wasn’t a talker. No, he was a grunter. Never able to stop himself from grunting and groaning whenever her tight heat would be engulfed around his cock.

Her mouth was open agape, silent moans escaping her lips, face scrunched up in pleasure. Wet smacking sound could be heard each time Spider would bounce her up and down onto cock.

Her hand rubbed tight circles around her little nub, getting herself closer to the edge.

“Mmm, you’re so cute playing with yourself like that. Such a little tawtute.”

Neteyam grinned, getting more breathless the closer he was to cumming.

He wasn’t the only one.

“Spider, I’m c-close,” She whined, chest heaving up and down.

“M-Me too. Cum for me, pretty.” He grunted behind her, bouncing her faster.

She cried out in pleasure, walls squeezing his cock tightly when she came. Her juices dripped down his shaft while he painted her insides with his seed.

Just as he pulled out of her cunt, Neteyam positioned his cock right in front of her pussy, covering it with his glowing seed.

The two men groaned in pleasure while she was a whimpering mess, trying to calm down after cumming twice.

Spider affectionately caressed her arms and sides. Neteyam hungrily stared at her pussy that was now covered in all three their cum.

A chill ran down her spine when she heard a third voice.

“That was hot. I’m taking you next, mamas.” Lo’ak already had his tweng down, stroking his cock at the sight of her cream-covered pussy.

314 notes · View notes

creepy-friday · 10 months

Note

Hi, i really like your "life as a female proxie" post and was wondering if you could write a second one😊

Sure thing!

Life as a female Proxy /"things you love"

Warnings: blood,violence,NSFW mentions,suggestive content

It was the mundane,really.The early hours of the day,the smell of the forest,the somewhat warm funny feeling you shared with some of the other creeps,knowing you are all stuck as slaves to a tall being that lacks a face almost as much as it lacks a heart.

The respect the others had for you,some more than the others, the way some passed you and titled their heads that made the strings inside your head tighten about the fact that a faceless creature entrusted you with this responsability.

Maybe the slurs..the constant anger towards your position above the other proxies and below The Operator,it reminds you that you are being seen,that you're not a ghost or a random demon you have to hunt.

Your dreams,where numeros entities showed up,entities where Candy Pop,Jason and often LJ were present,and even if they loved to fuck with your brain,they all acknowledged your power,and sometimes even seemed to guide you to a "better world",almost as if they wanted to have you all for themselves.

The feeling of normality once every two months or so when four residents were assigned to go out to buy necessities for the mansion.Going out in public,being able to make jokes,as if roleplaying normal 9 to 5 working people.

The sex.You could ask for it,you can get it either way,your position certainly gives you this advantage even against the ethics.Not only every resident shared a human known loneliness,but you could wait for some problematic thing to happen that has to be reported to the big boss and you could blackmail any fucker into finishing you off,they can live on without any sort of punishment after that.

The power.Nothing really stops you from being a menace in the mansion.I would say that you can use Slenderman's preference to you to your advantage,but he expects you not to..but after all you're a mortal being,he would be disappointed but not surprised.Nothing stops you from ordering people around,from degrading others,from being a bitch like others chose to be.

The late nights after finishing a week old mission.The last night before heading back to the mansion is filled with a family like atmosphere,almost like all of you are siblings and teasing eachother around.

"It's fucking burnt Brian." Masky commented on the toast his friend gave to him.

"Not as burnt as your head.Quit the drugs." the brunette answered calmly."Are they even allowed?"

"Not sure.Is the witch gonna tell on us?" Masky locked eyes with you as you simply shrugged while crossing your arms.

"W-Well?Are you?" Toby asked while a tic escaped from him."Why do you care Rogers?Your burnt as well?" the white masked man asked while taking another bite.

"No.It's seems..white." he answered while looking at the piece of bread in his hand.

"Fucking idiot.." Masky facepalmed himself while Brian chuckled as you placed a reassuring hand on Toby's back.

The love.The eternal need,the awful dreadful and oh-so-terrible lust,desire,total despair to be loved,accepted and fully knowing you belong.The quiet giggles between some residents,the close bond between Masky and Hoodie,the gazes that some shared that made tension rise in the room..even between demons like us,love wins against all odds.

#creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #y/n #headcanons #creepypasta scenarios #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jane the killer #female proxy #proxy x reader #creepypasta proxy

759 notes · View notes

butterfly-lies-chase-them-away · 6 months

Text

Office Hours/Bells - Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader (Part 1)

Pairing: Professor!Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 12 640

Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, Professor x Student, mild body horror, fear gas, lowkey prey/predator kink (chasing), kidnapping

Summary: Y/n, a university student, forms an unexpected friendship with Professor Jonathan Crane. But are his intentions what he says they are?

A/N: This one accidentally became a bit of a slow-burn but hey! it is what is~ I didn't know which one to call this so I just did both 💀 My initial plan for this was just a short one, around 2k-3k words... guess that didn't work out. A lot of it may be repetitive, so apologies A/N: This one accidentally became a bit of a slow-burn but hey! it is what is~ I didn't know which one to call this so I just did both 💀 My initial plan for this was just a short one, around 2k-3k words... guess that didn't work out. A lot of it may be repetitive, so apologies - (Part 2) (Part 3)

Y/n entered the psychology lecture hall, the familiar scent of old textbooks and the low hum of whispered conversations enveloping her as she took her usual seat near the front. The lecture hall was spacious, rows of worn-out seats filled with few students, as most dropped the class within the first week, due to the Professors harsh attitude. As she settled in, her eyes wandered to the front of the room, where Professor Crane's desk stood. He usually entered on the dot so it wasn’t strange to see his desk empty.

The sound of the office door's wide swing echoed through the hall, Professor Crane walking in, his presence evoked a collective hush in the lecture room. As if choreographed, he navigated the room with an air of precision, placing his meticulously organized files and papers onto the desk.

Professor Crane wasted no time, setting the tone for the day's lesson. It became immediately apparent to every student that patience was not a virtue Professor Crane indulged in. The swift, deliberate motion of his hand grabbed a piece of chalk, and with a decisive sweep, he began writing the day's lesson on the board.

As the lesson drew to a close, marking the end of another lengthy lecture, Y/n found herself grappling with the weight of the information presented. Despite her best efforts to remain focused, the sheer volume of content in today's lesson proved to be a challenge for her to fully absorb. The struggle to grasp the concept left her feeling both mentally fatigued, yearning for a moment of rest.

“If there’s any trouble, my office hours are available for help,” Professor Crane finished, as the students left.

Despite being aware of the option to attend Professor Crane's office hours, Y/n hesitated, daunted by the intimidating presence of the man. The memory of him calling on classmates during class, casually degrading them when they struggled to grasp concepts, lingered in her mind. The thought of engaging in a one-on-one conversation with him only stirred up anxiety. Opting against visiting Professor Crane's office, Y/n retreated to her dorm.

Back in her dorm, Y/n sank into her desk chair, frustration evident on her face. The psychology book lay open before her, its pages a source of bewilderment. Despite her earnest attempts to comprehend the material covered in class, the concept continued to slip through her grasp. With a sigh of exasperation, she tossed her pen onto the desk, leaning back into her chair.

The struggle was real, and Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of being lost in a sea of incomprehension. Even reaching out to fellow classmates had proven futile, as they too found themselves in the dark. The weight of confusion hung heavy in the air, leaving Y/n grappling with the unsettling realization that she may have to push her anxieties away for help.

Glancing at her class calander she made at the beginning of the year, Y/n noticed that Professor Crane had office hours scheduled a couple of hours before tomorrows class. A moment of contemplation ensued, marked by the rhythmic bouncing of her leg. Eventually, she reasoned that giving it a shot couldn't hurt. After all, even if Professor Crane were to belittle her, at least there wouldn't be an audience to witness any potential humiliation.

The following morning, Y/n gathered her books and essentials, preparing for another day at the university. As she stepped onto the campus, her destination clear, she headed towards Professor Crane's office. Each step felt burdened, her legs heavy with nervousness that clung to her as she approached the looming encounter.

Standing in front of Professor Crane's office door, Y/n took a shaky breath before knocking. The response came swiftly, "Come in," in Professor Crane's authoritative voice.

Twisting the handle, she entered the room. Professor Crane, engrossed in some papers, looked up as she stepped in. Y/n found herself at a loss for words, her shyness momentarily stifling her thoughts.

Breaking the silence, Professor Crane inquired, "Can I help you with something?"

Caught off guard, Y/n stammered, "Uh, yes, sorry. I was, umm, trying to go over the things we learned yesterday, but I had trouble trying to grasp the concept. I was wondering if you could help me go over it?"

Jonathan regarded her for a moment before gesturing towards the seat opposite him, a silent invitation for her to sit. Y/n promptly took the seat, positioning herself across from him.

Y/n looked around the room, taking in the surroundings. Bookshelves adorned with a myriad of psychology titles graced the walls, that offer a visual journey through the expansive world of the mind. Disheveled piles of papers and folders, likely files from Arkham, added an air of mystery to the atmosphere. The walls were adorned with various academic accolades and framed degrees. The inviting couch, a standard feature in university offices, seemed strangely pristine and untouched.

"Do you have anything for me to look at? Anything specific?" Jonathan inquired, shifting his papers to make room for her.

Nodding, Y/n retrieved her textbook and a few of her own papers. As she handed them over, Professor Crane asked, "What part did you not understand?" The question, though genuine, had a way of making her feel a bit foolish, and a sudden warmth crept into her face.

"Well...I had trouble with the start of it so...I didn’t understand...any of it," Y/n admitted, a tinge of embarrassment coloring her words.

Avoiding eye contact with her professor, Y/n couldn't help but feel small in his presence. She felt like a complete idiot.

"Well..." Crane sighed, surprising Y/n with a comment that sounded unexpectedly friendly. "Looks like we got a lot of work ahead of us."

Despite the friendly remark, Y/n remained on edge. Professor Crane pulled the book closer, running his pen tip over the first couple of sentences. Reading them aloud, he delved into more depth, echoing the teaching style she was familiar with from his lectures.

Y/n clung to his words, processing and understanding the material more with each passing moment. Her notebook lay open beside her, writing brief notes that she intended to expand upon during her own time. To her surprise, Professor Crane exhibited an unexpected gentleness and patience, allowing her the space to ask questions and guiding her through the material at a measured pace.

In this one-on-one session, Y/n found herself gaining more information that surpassed what she could have achieved on her own. The personalized attention and the chance to delve deeper into the subject with Professor Crane were proving invaluable to her comprehension of the challenging concepts.

"Has that helped?" Professor Crane inquired, reclining in his chair.

"Yes, thank you. This makes so much sense now," Y/n replied, unable to contain her smile.

"Glad I could help," Professor Crane acknowledged. "Thanks for coming in; don't hesitate so much next time," he added.

Y/n couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised by Professor Crane's kindness throughout the entire session. The encounter left her with a newfound appreciation for his approachability and willingness to assist.

Y/n finally looked up at him properly, meeting his gaze for the first time in that half-hour. She was taken aback, realizing the striking blue hue of his eyes, a detail she had never noticed before as she avoided looking at him in lectures, hoping he wouldn’t call on her.

Quickly averting her gaze, she began packing away all her materials. "Thank you again, sir," Y/n expressed, her smile lingering.

"Feel free to come back after today's lesson too if you're having trouble," he suggested, offering her a slight smile in return.

The unexpected kindness from Professor Crane left Y/n pleasantly surprised. "I will, sir. Thank you," she replied before leaving the office, carrying with her a newfound appreciation for the approachability and support she hadn't anticipated.

With a newfound sense of confidence, Y/n practically skipped her way to the library to finalize her notes. The weight that had initially clung to the prospect of talking to Professor Crane had lifted, and she discovered that he wasn't as intimidating as she had initially thought.

As class approached, Y/n felt a wave of optimism about the upcoming lesson, knowing she now had the option to seek more help later. The prospect of understanding the material became less daunting.

When Professor Crane entered the class, the usual hush fell over the room. Unfazed, he seamlessly resumed his routine, initiating the lesson with his familiar writing on the board. The air was charged with anticipation, and Y/n felt a renewed sense of readiness to tackle the subject matter with the newfound support at her disposal.

Not even 10 minutes into the class, Y/n watched as Professor Crane once again questioned a student's intelligence, a sharp contrast to the kindness she had experienced earlier. It caught her off guard — his demeanor seemed to shift dramatically when addressing individuals in front of the class. She wondered if he found enjoyment in embarrassing people publicly or if there was another motive behind his approach. Y/n instinctively shrank back into her seat, hoping not to be the next target.

As the lesson concluded, Y/n made a quick move toward the door, only to find herself intercepted by Professor Crane stepping in front of her.

"Understand today's lesson?" he inquired, hands clasped behind his back. His slight smile surprised her, considering the belittlement she had witnessed throughout the class.

"Yeah, I think I got it," Y/n responded quickly.

The Professor nodded. "Alright, just don't be scared to ask for help," he advised before strolling back to his office. Y/n stood there, grappling with the unexpected duality of Professor Crane's demeanor, thankful for the support she had received earlier but still perplexed by the contrasting experiences in the classroom.

Regrettably for Y/n, the intricacies of today's lesson eluded her, slipping through the gaps in her understanding during the last 10 minutes of class. Her meticulous note-taking proved insufficient, she clearly didn’t get the last part of the lesson. The idea of seeking help at Professor Crane's office hours lingered, but a sense of unease settled in after the day's earlier interactions.

The peculiar contrast in Professor Crane's treatment of her versus the rest of the class left Y/n feeling unsettled. Was he kinder to those who sought help, or was there a different dynamic at play? It remained uncertain, casting a shadow over the prospect of returning for assistance.

Yet, the urgency of understanding the material prevailed over any reservations. Realizing the potential consequences for future lessons, Y/n knew she would have to get help. Y/n considered asking another classmate again, but preferred the way in which Professor Crane was indepth and had more to offer. She acknowledged the necessity of visiting Professor Crane's office hours the next day, and it didn’t feel as daunting as it did the day before.

Approaching Professor Crane's office for the second time, Y/n hesitated for a brief moment before knocking on the door.

"Come in," Professor Crane's voice called out.

Y/n opened the door, offering a tight-lipped smile as she entered. "Thought you'd come back," Professor Crane remarked, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

Taking the now familiar seat across from him, Y/n observed as he pushed aside his work to focus on her. Placing her books on the table, she turned to the last page of the chapter, the faint rustle of paper filling the room.

"It was just the end bit that I kinda lost track of," Y/n admitted, her voice portraying a hint of uncertainty.

“This should be a lot quicker than yesterday, then,” the Professor smiled, joking lightly.

Leaning over the book, Professor Crane again took her through the paragraphs slowly, picking them apart one by one, making sure she understood each thing he said.

As she attempted to maintain focus, the alluring scent of Professor Crane's cologne began to weave its way into her senses, creating a subtle distraction. The close proximity, both of them leaning over the desk to study the book, allowed the fragrance to unfold in intricate layers. The cologne, not noticeable the day before or perhaps just more subdued, now revealed itself with greater prominence.

The scent was strong, but not unpleasant. The fragrance enveloping him carried a sophisticated blend of notes that gracefully danced in the air. A distinct combination of musky undertones and woody accents created an aura of timeless masculinity. As he moved, subtle hints of citrus and spice gently emerged, adding a layer of complexity to the scent.

"Y/n? Did you get that?" Professor Crane's voice pulled her back to reality.

Y/n shook her head, attempting to refocus. "Oh, sorry, could you repeat that last part?" she squinted, her face warming with embarrassment.

Professor Crane patiently reiterated the information, ensuring she grasped it this time. Internally, Y/n chastised herself, questioning how she could be so easily distracted by a man's cologne.

"You want to write that down?" he suggested, studying her expression.

"It might take a while..." Y/n admitted, well aware of her heightened distraction today.

"That's fine; we have all the time in the world," Professor Crane assured, leaning back in his chair.

"But another student might need help," Y/n hesitated, considering the potential impact on others.

"That's not a problem. No one comes to office hours. Just you," Professor Crane revealed, a statement that slightly shocked Y/n. She had assumed his intimidating demeanor might keep some students away, but the revelation that she was the only one who sought assistance caught her off guard. "O-oh," she stammered in response.

Y/n focused on her notebook, diligently transcribing the information provided by Professor Crane. As she carefully jotted down the details he emphasized, she couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed, a vulnerability that crept in unnoticed.

Glancing up, she caught Professor Crane looking directly at her. Despite the file in his hands, his gaze remained fixed on her. The realization left Y/n feeling a bit uneasy, unsure of why she suddenly felt so exposed under his scrutiny. Opting to dismiss the discomfort, she decided to concentrate on her writing, pushing the unease to the back of her mind and assuming it was just a fleeting moment of self-consciousness.

Having finished writing her notes, Y/n placed her pen down and looked back up at her professor. As he set his file aside, he directed his attention to her notebook. "Finished?" he inquired.

Y/n nodded in confirmation.

"Any more questions about yesterday's lesson?" Professor Crane asked.

She shook her head, indicating her understanding.

"Well, I suppose you're free to go then," Professor Crane remarked. Y/n began packing her belongings when, unexpectedly, he continued, "Unless... would you like me to teach you today's lesson?" The offer hung in the air, leaving Y/n momentarily surprised by the unexpected opportunity for additional guidance.

"But... office hours end in like half an hour," Y/n pointed at the clock, expressing her concern.

"They're my office hours; I can change them however I want," Professor Crane replied, his words softened by the friendly smile adorning his face.

"Are you sure you want to waste your time teaching me? I'll just hear it in a couple of hours anyway," Y/n expressed her uncertainty.

"I'd like to teach you; no one's more eager to learn than you are, my Dear. I insist," Professor Crane insisted, the endearment slipping into his words. Y/n almost missed it, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in her professor's tone. It was a side of him she hadn't anticipated, and the kindness he displayed left her pleasantly surprised.

Y/n sighed with a mix of relief and gratitude. "You're too kind, sir. Thank you," she expressed, recognizing this as a valuable opportunity to get ahead in the class.

"Don't need to thank me, Dear," Professor Crane replied, a slight smile playing on his lips as he again tested the newfound name.

As she retrieved her books, Professor Crane opened them to the latest chapter. Patiently, he guided her through each part, allowing her the time she needed to take thorough notes. Engrossed in the material, Y/n's awareness was focused on the subject at hand, and she failed to notice Professor Crane's not so subtle staring for the second time.

Unbeknownst to her, he watched as her hair gracefully sat behind her ear and took note of the delicate way her fingers held the pen. The Professor's attentive gaze added an unexpected layer to the lesson, one that went beyond the academic content and into the realm of unspoken dynamics between student and teacher.

Y/n looked back up at Professor Crane, anticipation in her gaze as she awaited the next part of the lesson. As the professor spoke, Y/n found herself gazing up at him, absorbing only fragments of his words. Amid the intricate details of the lesson, her thoughts drifted to a deep appreciation for the professor and the invaluable assistance he was providing.

Glad she had returned to his office hours, Y/n reflected on the decision to have him teach her this lesson. The material was notably more information-heavy than previous lessons, and she couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude. Without this one-on-one guidance, the complexity of the subject matter would have left her utterly lost in the classroom setting.

Professor Crane skillfully condensed what could have been a two-hour lesson into just over an hour. The efficiency of the session left Y/n feeling remarkably more confident in her understanding of Psychology.

"Thank you so much, Professor," Y/n expressed her gratitude with a genuine smile.

"Don't have to keep thanking me, Dear. Just doing my job," Professor Crane replied, returning her smile with a warmth that surpassed the formalities of a typical teacher-student interaction.

Checking the clock, Y/n realized class would commence in 20 minutes. "I should head off to give you time to prepare," she suggested, preparing to rise from her seat.

Professor Crane, however, suggested otherwise. "You might as well just wait here. You won't get in the way."

Unsure, Y/n hesitated before asking, "You sure you don't want a break before teaching? You're probably tired of me."

"Not at all... I could use the company," he reassured, his smile indicating a genuine desire for her presence rather than any sense of obligation.

Y/n couldn't help but smile. "Feeling lonely?" she teased, a newfound comfort allowing her to engage in a more playful manner.

"You could say that," Professor Crane replied, meeting her teasing with a genuine smile.

Reclaiming her seat and settling in, Y/n sought to initiate a conversation. "So... not many students come to your office hours?" she inquired, curious about the dynamics of student-teacher interactions.

"None... you're the first to come," Professor Crane admitted.

"Oh..." Y/n's realization set in. When he mentioned earlier that no one attended, she assumed it might be an exaggeration. Now, it became evident that she was indeed the sole student seeking assistance during his office hours.

Y/n had an realization; perhaps the reason Professor Crane treated her so nicely was that she was the only student attending his office hours. It occurred to her that he might genuinely appreciate her active approach to seeking help, recognizing her passion for the subject.

"I guess the other students are just too intimidated, or don't care," Professor Crane mused, his words carrying a subtle tone that hinted at his sentiments towards the rest of the students.

She sensed a certain disappointment in his words, an unspoken judgment on the other students who, for various reasons, didn't take advantage of the opportunity to seek additional guidance. The realization left Y/n feeling a mix of gratitude for the personalized attention she received and a touch of sympathy for the potential missed opportunities by her peers.

"Gee, you think very little of them, don't you?" Y/n quipped, her tone half-joking. It was her subtle way of delving into why Professor Crane sometimes treated the class so harshly.

She recognized that she might be overstepping, but a genuine curiosity about the man behind the professor prompted her to seek more insight.

"The class is full of imbeciles. They don't know a thing about psychology. The lot of them couldn't tell a psychopath from a sociopath," Crane vented, a hint of frustration in his words.

"Hey, they're not all idiots," Y/n tried to offer a more different perspective.

"You haven't read their papers," Crane rolled his eyes, a touch of exasperation evident in his response. The exchange revealed a layer of dissatisfaction with his students' grasp of the subject, providing Y/n with a glimpse into the source of his occasional sternness in class.

Though Y/n recognized the impossibility of psychoanalyzing her professor, curiosity had taken a firm hold, compelling her to want to understand more about the man behind the lectern. The enigma of Professor Crane's demeanor and his candid assessments of the students intrigued her, prompting a desire to unravel the complexities that lay beneath the surface.

"Well... what about my papers?" Y/n inquired, a mix of anticipation and curiosity evident in her expression. She was eager to hear how Professor Crane would describe her work.

His gaze intensified as he began, "It’s clear through your writing that you’re passionate about psychology. You beautifully discuss topics in a way that engages readers and sparks interest. Your ability to convey complex concepts with clarity and enthusiasm is truly commendable. It's evident that you not only possess a deep understanding of the subject matter but also a genuine passion for sharing that knowledge."

His words hung in the air, the intensity of his gaze holding a weight that went beyond mere academic assessment. Professor Crane's thoughtful analysis revealed not only an appreciation for Y/n's proficiency but also a recognition of the passion that fueled her exploration of psychology. It was a validation that made her feel proud of herself, creating a moment of mutual understanding and acknowledgment.

Y/n was taken aback, her eyes darting all around the room as her face warmed with disbelief. Praise of such magnitude was unfamiliar territory for her, and coming from Professor Crane, renowned for his exacting standards, it added an extra layer to her astonishment. "Gosh, my work couldn't have been that good, sir. You're too kind."

"You know I'm not kind just for the sake of it. I don't praise just any student's work, dear," Professor Crane responded, his expression serious, the weight of his words emphasizing the sincerity behind his commendation. The gravity of the moment lingered, leaving Y/n grappling with a mix of surprise and gratitude for the unexpected recognition of her efforts.

Y/n acknowledged that Professor Crane wasn't the type to dispense niceties without genuine merit, intensifying the authenticity of the moment. "I... I just don't know what to say," she confessed, her words laced with a mix of humility and gratitude.

"You don't have to say anything; just know that you're a brilliant student, and I'm glad to have you in my class," Professor Crane asserted, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped together.

"Thank you," Y/n replied with a genuine smile, the warmth of the professor's acknowledgment lingering.

He nodded politely, reciprocating the smile. "So, what would you be doing right now if you weren't here with me?" he asked, a subtle inquiry into her interests without directly posing the question.

Indulging the curiosity, Y/n shared, "Usually, I'd be back at my dorm studying or maybe out with friends."

"Are these of yours friends taking different courses? It's just that I never see you sitting with anyone in class that much," Professor Crane probed further, expressing unexpected interest in the dynamics of her social circle.

She hadn't anticipated his curiosity about her friends. "Yeah, most of them are taking things like English Literature, History, Biochem," Y/n answered, providing a glimpse into the diverse corses her friend were taking.

"I see... and are all of them…just friends?" Professor Crane asked, his gaze intense, as if searching for something beyond the words.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows, a touch of confusion coloring her expression. "I'm not sure I understand the question," she admitted.

"Are you seeing anyone?" he asked, taking the conversation into unexpected territory. It caught her off guard. Why was he interested? What prompted such a personal question? Despite her surprise, Y/n chose to keep the conversation flowing, steering clear of awkwardness. "No, I'm not," she answered. Professor Crane nodded, his focus unwavering.

Feeling a degree of boldness, Y/n decided to reciprocate, nervously asking, "How about you? Any wife or anything?" There was a hesitancy in her voice, a fear of overstepping.

"Nope... just me," Professor Crane replied, his tone casual yet offering little insight into his personal life.

Wanting to explore a topic outside the realm of teaching and relationships, Y/n sought a new avenue of conversation. "So you're also a Doctor at Arkham. What's that like?" she inquired.

Professor Crane sighed, a subtle chuckle escaping him. "Every day's a new challenge. I do enjoy my work there, but the patients can be a handful sometimes," he shared, offering a glimpse into the complexities of his dual roles as a professor and a practitioner at Arkham.

"From all the news, it sure sounds like a lot," Y/n remarked, sharing a laugh at the intriguing tales surrounding Arkham Asylum.

"You could come see it for yourself if you'd like. I can take you," Professor Crane offered, extending an unexpected invitation that caught Y/n off guard.

"W-wow, really?" Y/n's eyes widened with excitement. The prospect of exploring the infamous Arkham Asylum, even with it’s poor repetuation, was a dream come true.

"Of course, it would be a good learning experience," Professor Crane affirmed, his smirk hinting at a certain familiarity with the inner workings of the institution.

"Are you sure it's allowed?" Y/n inquired cautiously.

"I'm pretty high up in that place, so I can pull a couple of strings," he responded with a confident smirk, revealing a hint of his influence.

After a quick glace at the clock, Professor Crane rose from his seat. "People should be coming in right about now."

Looking at the time herself, Y/n gathered her belongings and prepared to leave. "We can talk more later about showing you Arkham if you'd like," Professor Crane suggested, holding the door open.

"That sounds perfect. Thank you, Professor," Y/n expressed her gratitude, making her way to the door.

"Talk to you after class, then," he said, smiling at her before returning to his desk.

Walking out of his office, Y/n couldn't fathom the extraordinary opportunity that had just presented itself, and the thought that such an experience might await her left her both thrilled and intrigued.

The class came to a close, and Y/n eagerly approached Professor Crane, who had already neatly packed his things, a shared smile bridging the distance between them.

"Let's talk about Arkham, then," Professor Crane suggested, leading the way to his office, Y/n following in tow.

"Do you have any lectures tomorrow?" Professor Crane inquired, his voice carrying an air of anticipation.

"Not tomorrow, no," Y/n responded.

"Then that sounds like the perfect time for me to take you," Professor Crane declared, a warm smile playing on his lips.

The reality of the situation began to sink in for Y/n. It was happening — the chance to explore the mysterious Arkham Asylum with Professor Crane as her guide. The thrill of the unexpected adventure filled her with a sense of wonder and disbelief.

"Oh my god, thank you so much, sir. This means so much to me," Y/n exclaimed, genuine gratitude painting her expression.

"You deserve it," Professor Crane replied, his assurance carrying a sense of sincerity.

"So umm... how will we go about this?" Y/n asked, eager to plan the logistics of the upcoming adventure.

"I'm assuming you stay at the university dorms?" Professor Crane inquired.

"I am, yes," Y/n confirmed.

"I suppose it would be easiest for me to pick you up from there. I can come get you at 8, if that works for you," Professor Crane suggested, offering a practical solution.

"Of course," Y/n agreed, the excitement bubbling within her, the prospect of exploring Arkham Asylum with Professor Crane creating a sense of giddiness that was hard to contain.

"Perfect," Professor Crane remarked. "Now, I should let you get back to your dorm and get a good rest; tomorrow's gonna be a big day for you," he added with a confident smirk.

Y/n chuckled in agreement. "I could imagine. Thank you, sir. Goodbye."

Professor Crane nodded politely as she exited his office. Y/n practically floated back to her dorm, the anticipation building within her. Following his advice, she decided to rest for the remainder of the day. The excitement of visiting Arkham Asylum, coupled with the mysterious allure of the institution, fueled her imagination.

As night fell, sleep proved elusive for Y/n. Her mind buzzed with anticipation and curiosity about the impending visit. What would she discover within the walls of Arkham? The prospect of the unknown, guided by Professor Crane, fueled her restless excitement, and she could barely contain her anticipation for the extraordinary day that awaited her.

The rhythmic buzz of Y/n's alarm clock greeted the new morning, a herald of the exciting day that awaited her. Brimming with anticipation, she practically bounced out of bed, fueled by a burst of energy that could only be described as a cocktail of nervousness and exhilaration. The bathroom became a sanctuary for a swift but thorough morning routine, cleansing her senses and preparing her for the significant day ahead.

As she perused her wardrobe, each garment held the weight of consideration. Y/n recognized the importance of making a favorable impression, especially considering the potential encounters with the discerning doctors at Arkham Asylum. She chose an outfit that balanced professionalism with a touch of her own style, a subtle nod to the gravity of the impending visit.

A glance at the clock revealed that she was ahead of schedule. It was 7:48, and uncertainty lingered about Professor Crane's punctuality. She realised she had no way of telling when he would arrive. Determined not to keep him waiting, Y/n decided to head outside, leaving the dormitory corridors.

The university grounds welcomed her with a subdued ambiance, the early morning calm only disturbed by the distant hum of city life. Y/n found a spot on a sturdy bench at the front of the dorms. The atmosphere was draped in the typical Gotham gloom – a ceiling of gray clouds stretched endlessly above, holding the promise of impending rain. Yet, for now, the air bore only a biting chill, a forewarning of the unpredictable Gotham weather.

Seated on the bench, Y/n couldn't escape the palpable excitement that rippled through her. The visible breaths she exhaled added a tangible layer to the anticipation, creating wisps of mist in the frigid air. The quietude of the campus seemed to magnify the significance of the moment as she patiently awaited the arrival of Professor Crane, the orchestrator of this extraordinary excursion into the unknown.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/n was blissfully unaware of someone approaching until a familiar voice cut through her reverie. "Good morning, Y/n," Professor Crane greeted her, his presence catching her by surprise.

Looking up from the ground, Y/n beamed a warm smile at him. "Good morning, Professor," she responded instinctively, the habit of addressing him formally ingrained in her.

"We're outside of class, my Dear, you don't have to call me Professor. Just Jonathan is fine," he suggested, a rare invitation to familiarity that caught her off guard. Testing the waters, she hesitated for a moment before tentatively trying out his first name. "Okay, Jonathan."

His smile in response conveyed a subtle warmth, as if sharing this piece of himself with her was a gesture of trust. "My car's just around the corner," he mentioned, and she rose from the bench to follow him.

As they made their way to the car, Y/n couldn't shake the peculiar nature of the situation. Getting into her professor's car in full view of her dorms was certainly out of the ordinary, but the sense of trust she felt for Jonathan quelled any reservations. The gentlemanly gesture of him opening the car door for her only added to the surreal atmosphere.

"Thank you," she expressed her gratitude with a smile as she settled into the car. Jonathan circled the vehicle and took his place in the driver's seat, the engine humming to life. As he secured his seatbelt, he shifted the conversation to a more mundane topic. "Have any breakfast before leaving?" he inquired, glancing over at her.

The realization struck her – breakfast had slipped her mind in the whirlwind of excitement. "Uh, no, I didn't," she admitted, a slight sheepishness in her tone.

“Well we can’t be having that,” Jonathan said, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes behind his glasses.

“Oh, it’s fine really,” Y/n tried to reassure him.

"You're in for a long day; you need food," Jonathan remarked, his concern for her well-being evident in his words. "Besides, I haven't eaten yet myself. I know a lovely cafe on the way; don't worry about it."

Grateful for his thoughtfulness, Y/n smiled and responded, "Thank you."

"Not a problem, my Dear," he assured her, his use of the endearment somehow making the situation feel even more surreal. With that, he skillfully maneuvered the car into the flow of traffic.

To her surprise, the chaotic Gotham roads seemed unusually cooperative, allowing their journey to unfold with an unexpected smoothness. The city, notorious for its perpetual hustle and bustle, offered a brief respite as they cruised toward their destination. In the serene confines of the car, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the contrasting calmness outside.

Jonathan expertly maneuvered the car into a parking space just outside a charming diner nestled on the outskirts of the Narrows. Exiting the car, the duo made their way into the cozy establishment.

"Seat yourselves, I'll be right with you," greeted a friendly waitress.

Jonathan gestured towards an inviting booth, Y/n slid into the seat, the comfortable booth promising a relaxing start to the day's adventures.

As they settled in, Jonathan reached for a couple of menus discreetly tucked beneath the cutlery. He handed one to Y/n with a casual smile. "Choose anything you'd like—drink and food. I'll pay," he generously offered, his gaze shifting to his own menu.

"Oh, I can't have you pay for me. You're already doing so much for me," Y/n insisted, a hint of guilt tainting her expression.

Jonathan chuckled warmly, his eyes reflecting a genuine understanding. "You're a university student staying at the dorms; money is not something you should be throwing around. I, however, am well off with my jobs. Don't worry."

Despite his reassurance, Y/n couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness. "I just feel bad that you're doing all this for me," she confessed, her sincerity evident in her eyes.

"If you want to so badly, you can pay next time," Jonathan suggested, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

"I'll hold you to that," Y/n responded with a smile, the lighthearted banter momentarily easing the weight of gratitude she felt. The easy camaraderie between them made the ordinary act of sharing a meal feel like an extraordinary moment.

She appreciated the effortless flow of their conversation, finding an unexpected camaraderie with Jonathan. The notion of befriending a professor initially seemed peculiar, but with each passing moment, it felt surprisingly natural. Their discussions swayed seamlessly between topics, and Y/n discovered a side of Jonathan beyond the classroom, making her appreciate him not just as an educator but as a genuinely pleasant individual.

As the morning sunlight streamed through the diner's windows, casting a warm glow on their table, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which they interacted. The atmosphere was friendly and unburdened by the typical student-teacher dynamic. In that little diner booth, they were just two adults enjoying each other's company, forging a connection that went beyond the confines of academia.

The array of options on the menu presented Y/n with a delightful dilemma. The diner's atmosphere was lively yet intimate, with the aroma of brewing coffee and sizzling breakfast filling the air.

The waitress gracefully returned to their table, pen poised over her notepad. "What can I get for you two?" she inquired with a welcoming smile.

Jonathan was quick to respond, "I'll have a coffee and a breakfast bagel." His eyes then shifted to Y/n.

Feeling more on the sweet side, Y/n replied, "A berry smoothie and a brownie, please."

The waitress, attentive to details, followed up, "Would you like cream or yogurt with the brownie?"

"Yogurt, please," Y/n said.

The waitress jotted down their orders. "Is there anything else?" she asked, awaiting their final decisions.

"That'll be all," Jonathan confirmed, and Y/n nodded in agreement. With that, the waitress gracefully glided away, leaving them to resume their conversation in the cozy diner booth.

Jonathan chuckled at Y/n's choice, "A brownie at 8 in the morning?" he teased playfully.

"I know, it's a bit sweet," Y/n admitted, laughing along with him. "But treats like this are rare for me."

"Everyone deserves a morning indulgence now and then," Jonathan responded with a smile.

Their conversation continued to flow effortlessly, exchanging bits of information about their lives, particularly revolving around university.

Around 10 minutes later, the waitress returned with their orders. "Here you go," she said, placing the plates in front of them.

"Thank you," Y/n expressed her gratitude, eagerly eyeing the delicious spread in front of her.

As the waitress left, Y/n took a moment to appreciate the aroma of the coffee and the vibrant colors of her berry smoothie. Jonathan sipped his coffee and leaned back, a relaxed smile on his face. The atmosphere was comfortable, the diner buzzing with the low hum of conversations and the clinking of cutlery.

Jonathan leaned forward, taking ahold of his bagel, a faint smile on his face. "I hope you don't mind the detour for breakfast. It's good to start a day like this every once in a while."

Y/n chuckled, feeling the ease of their interaction. "Not at all. It's a pleasant surprise, actually. I didn't expect today to begin like this."

Jonathan nodded. "Well, sometimes it's the unexpected moments that make the day memorable."

Jonathan took a sip of his coffee before speaking, "So, tell me more about your interest in psychology. What drew you to the field?"

Y/n took a moment to savor her smoothie before answering, "I've always been fascinated by the human mind and how it works. It's like this intricate puzzle, and psychology helps me unravel its complexities. Plus, the idea of helping people through understanding their thoughts and behaviors would also be pretty cool."

Jonathan nodded, "It's a noble pursuit. Psychology has the power to make a significant impact on individuals' lives. Do you have any specific areas within psychology that you find most intriguing?"

“I won’t lie, Arkham has always been an interest of mine. Not necessarily the famous rogues that are constantly escaping, but the more troubled souls that had a rough start,” Y/n shared.

“Not so interested in the Joker then?” Jonathan teased.

“God no,” Y/n responded.

Jonathan chuckled, "Can't blame you there. The Joker is a whole different level of chaos."

Y/n took a sip of her berry smoothie, enjoying the refreshing taste. "But seriously, the idea of helping those who are struggling mentally, especially the ones society tends to overlook, that's where I want to make a difference."

Jonathan nodded, sipping his coffee. "Mental health is often stigmatized, and people don't realize the impact it has on individuals and society as a whole. Your dedication to understanding and helping is commendable."

The conversation continued, effortlessly weaving between casual banter and more serious topics. The comfortable atmosphere of the diner, coupled with Jonathan's easygoing nature, made Y/n feel at ease discussing her aspirations.

As they drove toward Arkham, Jonathan and Y/n continued their conversation, Jonathan sharing about the intricate workings of the human mind. The cityscape changed as they delved deeper into the Narrows, with its dodgy alleyways and poorly lit streets, which even in the dark made it difficult to see, creating an atmosphere of unease. The air felt heavy, carrying the weight of the stories locked within the walls of Arkham Asylum.

Jonathan glanced at Y/n. "It's a unique place, Arkham," he remarked, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

Y/n couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. The legendary reputation of Arkham Asylum had always fueled her curiosity, and now, with the prospect of exploring its mysteries, she couldn't contain her anticipation.

Securing a parking spot proved effortless in the vast, desolate parking lot. Stepping out of the car, Y/n gazed up at the imposing structure – a stone fortress that housed some of Gotham's most notorious criminals. Jonathan, an experienced guide in this ominous environment, approached her and led the way inside.

With a swift display of his ID, Jonathan gained entry, Y/n following suit without a single question. He grabbed a visitor badge for her before securing it around her neck.

The echoing clang of the heavy metal door closing behind them filled the entrance hall. The dimly lit corridor stretched ahead, lined with security personnel stationed at various checkpoints. The cold, sterile air of the facility sent shivers down Y/n's spine as she adjusted the visitor badge Jonathan handed her.

The corridor seemed to wind endlessly, each turn revealing another layer of security. Jonathan led her through the labyrinthine structure, his familiarity with the layout evident. The occasional distant echoes of unsettling sounds from within the facility heightened the tension in the air.

As they passed by the barred cells, Y/n couldn't help but steal glances into the shadows, catching glimpses of faces that seemed to hold a myriad of stories. The residents of Arkham Asylum, each with their own struggles and torments, observed the visitors with a mix of curiosity and detachment.

Jonathan explained the varying levels of security, detailing the procedures in place to ensure the safety of both staff and visitors. Y/n absorbed the information with a mix of fascination and a growing sense of apprehension. The weight of being surrounded by some of Gotham's most troubled souls pressed down on her.

They eventually reached a central area, a hub of activity where staff members bustled about their duties. Y/n observed the dynamics, the interplay between doctors, guards, and the patients who moved within the confines of their respective spaces. The atmosphere was a blend of tension and routine.

Approaching a door, Jonathan turned the doorknob, revealing the door marked with his name – Dr. Crane. The office, his domain, welcomed them, and Jonathan efficiently navigated around his desk to retrieve a couple of files.

Jonathan gathered the necessary files and responded, "Just a regular in-patient for the first session, but the second might be less conventional."

"Will they be okay with me being present?" Y/n asked.

"Well, if you're concerned, you can always ask them. Consent is important," Jonathan replied.

"Thank you," Y/n expressed her gratitude.

Jonathan guided them through the dimly lit halls of Arkham, arriving at the room where the first session would take place. They waited at the door, observing the tense atmosphere. Soon, a guard led a patient down the corridor, and from Jonathan's focused gaze, Y/n assumed this was the individual they were there to see.

"Mr. Wilson, you seem to be in good spirits today," Jonathan remarked, his tone carrying a sense of monotony.

“Mhmm,” Mr. Wilson responded, his eyes wandering around the hallway.

“I have a student from Gotham University joining us today. She's here to observe the session. Would that be acceptable to you?” Jonathan inquired.

Mr. Wilson finally looked up, his gaze meeting Y/n's. It appeared as though he hadn't encountered a woman in years. After a moment's contemplation, he nodded slowly.

“Great,” Jonathan said, holding the door open for everyone to enter the room.

The room was clinical, with pale walls and minimal furniture. Jonathan guided Y/n to a seat near the back, gesturing for her to take a comfortable position. Mr. Wilson settled into a chair across from Jonathan's desk.

As the session began, Jonathan engaged Mr. Wilson in conversation, discussing various topics. Y/n observed the interaction closely, trying to discern the nuances of the therapy process. She noted the controlled detachment in Jonathan's demeanor, a stark contrast to the patient's erratic and paranoid behavior.

Throughout the session, Y/n was captivated by the exchanges between therapist and patient. Mr. Wilson's responses were often fragmented and disjointed, revealing the complexity of his mental state. Jonathan navigated the conversation with finesse, probing gently into sensitive areas while maintaining an air of professionalism.

As the session concluded, Jonathan thanked Mr. Wilson for his time, and the patient was escorted back to his room by a guard. Jonathan turned his attention to Y/n, who had been silently observing.

“What did you think?” he asked, his expression betraying a genuine interest in her perspective.

“You're a really good doctor,” Y/n chuckled softly.

"I appreciate that," Jonathan replied modestly. "It's crucial to establish trust and understanding with the patients here. Each case requires a unique approach."

Y/n nodded in agreement, absorbing the gravity of the therapy session she had witnessed. Jonathan guided her out of the room, and they continued to explore different areas of Arkham, with Jonathan sharing insights into his work and the challenges he faced.

As they walked through the eerie corridors, Y/n couldn't help but feel a mixture of fascination and trepidation. Arkham held a dark allure, and she marveled at the intricate dance between the staff and the troubled individuals confined within its walls.

"So, your next patient?" Y/n inquired curiously.

"I'm sure you've heard of Edward Nigma, otherwise known as the Riddler—a real piece of work, that one," Jonathan remarked.

Y/n felt her heart skip a beat. The Riddler, notorious for creating horrifying traps and puzzels for his victims.

"I'm assuming you're going to sit out on that one?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, please," Y/n replied.

Jonathan chuckled, understanding her hesitation. "Not a fan of riddles, I take it?"

Y/n smiled nervously. "Let's just say I prefer my challenges to be in textbooks, not in the form of elaborate mind games that may or may not get me killed."

"Well, you're not alone in that sentiment," Jonathan assured her. "Nigma is... unique, to say the least. We'll proceed cautiously, and you can observe from the safety of the mirrored room."

They continued down the hall, passing by cells where other inmates were confined. Each face carried its own story, and the air was thick with an unsettling atmosphere.

As they approached the next room, a heavy door with a small window, Jonathan peered inside. "Edward, good afternoon."

The Riddler, a man with sharp features and an air of arrogance, looked up from his seated position. "Crane, always punctual. Who's this?" He nodded toward Y/n.

"Edward, meet Y/n, a psychology student from Gotham University. She's here to observe our sessions," Jonathan explained.

The Riddler's eyes narrowed as he examined Y/n. "Ah, another curious mind seeking the secrets of the human psyche. Fascinating."

As they entered, Nigma looked up, his eyes locking onto Y/n through the window. A sly smile crossed his face. "Are you here to solve my riddles?"

"She'll just be observing," Jonathan explained, gesturing towards the second room—the observation room.

Y/n's discomfort grew at the Riddlers staring, but she managed a polite nod. Jonathan guided her to the observation room, assuring her of the safety measures in place before going in to talk with Nigma.

From behind the one-way mirror, Y/n observed the intricate dance of intellect between Jonathan and the enigmatic Riddler, realizing that the challenges in the academic world seemed trivial compared to the complexities of Arkham Asylum.

The atmosphere grew more uncomfortable, and Y/n felt a chill run down her spine. She could tell Jonathan was reaching his limit with Edward's antics, his patience visibly waning.

"Riddle me this... how much does the Doll behind the window know?" Edward provocatively inquired, locking eyes with her.

Edward, ever the provocateur, threw a cryptic remark Jonathan’s way, using the unsettling nickname "Doll." She couldn’t understand how he knew where she was behind the window, considering it was a mirror from his side, but he was looking right at her.

Jonathan's reaction was subtle but telling. A momentary pause in his movements, a flash of irritation across his face, and then he composed himself. "My, my, getting lousy with the riddles, are we?" he retorted, his tone laced with thinly veiled frustration.

Edward, undeterred, pressed on, "Then let me ask a question..Why did you really bring her here?...Does she know about Scarecrow?" His tone held a hint of malevolence, making Y/n acutely aware of the dangers potentially surrounding her.

Jonathan decided that enough was enough. "That's it for today, I believe," he declared, swiftly closing his file and rising from his seat.

Edward, seemingly amused by the exchange, reclined in his chair, his laughter lingering as the guard escorted him out of the room. Jonathan approached Y/n, his expression a mix of exhaustion and determination.

Even after that chilling session, Y/n found herself increasingly drawn to the complexities of mental health and the delicate art of psychiatric treatment. As the last session concluded, Jonathan silently walked her back to his office, both seemingly lost in their own thoughts.

Packing away his last thing, Jonathan moved over to Y/n, “Come on…” Jonathan's voice broke the quiet, quietly guiding her out of Arkham, his hand resting on the small of her back.

Reaching his car, Jonathan moved to her side first, holding the door open for her.

"I hope this was an insightful experience for you," he remarked, opening the door for her.

"Absolutely," Y/n replied. "Thank you for the opportunity, Jonathan." She hopped into the car, and Jonathan closed the door behind her before taking his place in the driver's seat.

The day at Arkham had left a lasting impression on Y/n, sparking a newfound interest in the intricacies of the human mind and the challenges faced by those dedicated to healing it.

The occasional streetlight cast shadows across his face as she looked at him from her side. However, her mind couldn't shake the lingering questions from the Riddler's cryptic words at the end of the session. Did Jonathan have another motive for bringing her to Arkham? And what was he referring to with Scarecrow? What was Scarecrow, and what role did Jonathan play in it? The mysteries lingered, casting a shadow on the experience that, despite its profound impact, left Y/n with a sense of curiosity and unanswered questions.

She hadn’t even noticed Jonathan pulling up in front of the University dorms. It took a moment for her to realize that they had arrived, and Jonathan's gesture of opening the car door for her snapped her out of her daydream.

Jonathan opened her door and extended his hand to help her. "Thank you," she expressed meekly as she accepted his assistance.

“Don’t mention it...” Jonathan replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

“...You’ve been so kind to me, Jonathan. I really appreciate it. I honestly couldn't thank you enough,” Y/n conveyed, looking up at him.

“I’m just giving you what you deserve,” Jonathan responded, a warm smile still playing on his lips.

Jonathan walked her to the stairs and as Y/n stood by the entrance of the dorms, she hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was appropriate to ask what had been lingering in her mind.

"Jonathan," she began, "about what the Riddler mentioned... Scarecrow, and your motive for bringing me to Arkham. Is there something more I should know?"

Jonathan's expression shifted ever so slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like he was carefully choosing his words. He leaned against the car, a thoughtful gaze in his eyes.

"The Riddler likes to play games with words," Jonathan began, "and sometimes, the less you know, the safer you are. It's part of Arkham's peculiar charm."

Y/n nodded, understanding that some things might be better left untouched. "Okay..Thank you, Jonathan."

He nodded in return, a sense of mystery lingering in the air. "See you Monday."

With a final nod and a friendly smile, Y/n made her way into the dorms, the encounter at Arkham echoing in her mind.

Monday came around, and Y/n hadn’t stopped thinking about her indirect encounter with the Riddler. The weekend had been filled with a mixture of fascination and apprehension. She went about her usual classes, but the questions surrounding Jonathan's involvement with the Riddler and the cryptic mention of Scarecrow lingered in her mind.

As she entered Professor Crane's psychology class, she couldn't help but wonder if he would address anything related to their visit to Arkham. The room filled with students chatting, the usual buzz before the lecture, but Y/n found herself scanning the room for any signs from Professor Crane.

The door to the classroom swung open, and in walked Professor Crane, looking as composed as ever. He started the class without acknowledging Y/n at all, diving into the lecture material as if it were any other day. Y/n's curiosity grew, but she decided against pressing further, at least during class hours.

After the lecture, as students filed out of the room, Y/n lingered, waiting for the opportune moment to approach Professor Crane. Once the room emptied, she approached his desk.

"Professor Crane," she began, "I've been thinking about our visit to Arkham. I know I shouldn’t, but I haven’t stop thinking about what the Riddler was talking about?"

Professor Crane looked at her, his gaze unreadable for a moment. Then, he sighed, realizing her curiosity wasn't easily deterred.

"Y/n," he started, "Arkham is filled with various personalities, each with their own stories. The Riddler is among many. Some tales are better left in the shadows. Focus on your studies and leave the mysteries of Arkham where they belong."

It was a cryptic response that left Y/n with more questions than answers. She felt unsettled in the way Jonathan was dismissing it so easily.

Jonathan sighed, observing her detachment. "Just forget about it, Nigma is in Arkham for a reason. Don’t take what he says seriously... He’s just trying to mess with your head," Jonathan said.

Y/n nodded. "Okay... sorry about that. I won’t ask again."

"No need to apologize," Jonathan replied, his eyes showing a hint of understanding.

“I’ll be off now,” Y/n said, sensing a slight awkwardness in the air.

“You don’t want to stay?” Jonathan asked, his expression softening.

“Uh... would you like me to?” Y/n inquired, feeling a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

“Only if you wish to,” Jonathan said, leaving the decision up to her. The room held a lingering tension, a silent invitation for more conversation or perhaps a shared moment of quiet reflection.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, considering the unspoken offer. Eventually, she decided to stay.

"I don't mind staying for a bit," she said, offering a tentative smile.

Jonathan gestured toward one of the chairs in his office. "Please, have a seat."

As they settled into a conversation about various topics, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Y/n found herself opening up to Jonathan about her experiences and interests, and he reciprocated by sharing anecdotes from his work at Arkham. The initial professional boundaries started to blur, and a genuine connection began to form between them. It was an unexpected and refreshing turn of events for Y/n, adding a new layer to her academic journey.

In the following weeks, Y/n continued to attend Jonathan's office hours, not just for academic assistance but also for the engaging conversations they shared. Their discussions spanned beyond the realm of psychology, delving into personal stories, interests, and even occasional light banter.

As the semester progressed, Y/n found herself becoming more captivated by both the subject matter and her professor's unique approach to teaching. Jonathan's guidance extended beyond the classroom, as he recommended additional readings and shared insights that went beyond the standard curriculum.

The day that followed unfolded in a way Y/n hadn't anticipated. Making her way into Jonathan’s office for their customary daily discussions, she greeted him with a warm "Hiya," bearing a takeaway tray adorned with a coffee and a smoothie – their usual indulgences.

"Evening, Dear," Jonathan reciprocated, his smile adding a touch of warmth to the comfortable atmosphere of his office.

Choosing the inviting couch over the formality of the desk, Y/n settled in, and Jonathan joined her after finishing up his paperwork. The shift in seating only enhanced the coziness, turning their daily talks into a more intimate and relaxed exchange. Y/n handed the cup of coffee to Jonathan, a small gesture in their routine. She indulged in the refreshing sips of her smoothie as Jonathan accepted the coffee.

"Thank you, my Dear," he expressed with a grateful smile.

"Anytime," Y/n responded, the casual exchange feeling comforting.

Sipping her smoothie, she rested her head on the back of the couch, facing Jonathan.

"..I know I said I wouldn't ask again, but.. I just can't shake off what the Riddler was saying..back at Arkham" Y/n said, slowly looking up at Jonathan.

Jonathan huffed, a hint of frustration showing in his expression. "What the Riddler said is not important," he dismissed.

Y/n sat back up, "I know that's not true. I don't understand why you can't just tell—" Y/n was abruptly cut off.

"There's nothing to talk about!" Jonathan suddenly snapped.

The sudden outburst startled Y/n, witnessing a side of Jonathan she wasn’t used to being directed at her. She could feel the tension in the air. Jonathan, realizing his sharp reaction, sighed. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his face with his hand, frustrated.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm just... trying to protect you, okay?" Jonathan explained, his voice softer, revealing an undercurrent of concern.

"..How is this possibly protecting me? The Riddler was taking about me... I need to know," Y/n insisted. She realized she had pushed too far, but this seemed like something serious that Jonathan was intentionally keeping from her.

Jonathan stood up slowly and approached his office door. Y/n heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking, sending fearful shivers through her body.

"What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room," Jonathan stated with a gravity that heightened Y/n's anxiety.

As Jonathan turned around to face her, setting his coffee down, he sighed and began tapping his feet with his hands on his hips—an unusual display of nervousness. Y/n, taken aback, had never seen Jonathan appear so uneasy.

"I will admit, Y/n, the feelings I have for you are not entirely appropriate," Jonathan confessed, avoiding direct eye contact.

Y/n let out a shaky breath. "What?"

"The real reason I brought you to Arkham was to make you feel special... to show off, even," Jonathan revealed.

Y/n's mind raced back to the Riddler's insinuations about Jonathan's potential ulterior motives for bringing her to Arkham. The revelation left her bewildered and unsure of how to respond.

Y/n tried to push aside Jonathan's unsettling confession, focusing on the second thing the Riddler had mentioned. "So what is Scarecrow?" Y/n inquired, curiosity driving her to seek answers.

She could sense Jonathan's breath hitch. "Scarecrow... is an individual with a fascination for fear," Jonathan explained, his gaze fixed on the ground, hands still on his hips. "I'm sure you've been hearing about the recent patients being admitted to Arkham with strange yet similar symptoms of hallucinations."

"So what does this individual have to do with me?" Y/n pressed further.

"Let's just say... his fascination doesn't stop there," Jonathan replied cryptically.

With each passing moment, Y/n's tension heightened. "Jonathan... who is Scarecrow?" she asked nervously.

"I think you already know," Jonathan responded, finally meeting Y/n's gaze with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

Y/n found it difficult to catch her breath as her eyes darted around the room. Setting the forgotten smoothie on the ground beside the couch, Y/n stood up.

"I should probably go," Y/n attempted to make a quick exit past Jonathan, only to be halted by his firm grip on her arm.

The touch made her jolt, but his grasp didn't loosen. "I can't let you leave," Jonathan declared.

"P-please, I promise I won't say anything," Y/n pleaded, feeling tears welling up in her eyes.

"How do I know that?" Jonathan questioned.

Her blood ran cold. "I promise you, I'll do anything," Y/n begged.

Jonathan looked at her curiously. "Anything?"

Y/n gazed at him, her stomach jumping. Acting on an impulse she couldn't quite comprehend, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. His eyes widened in shock, but the desperation in the air forced him to give in.

Jonathan couldn't resist, kissing her with a passion he had suppressed for months. His hands moved to Y/n's waist, pulling her closer. In that moment, Y/n thought, this was the perfect distraction.

She slowly moved one of her hands behind her, fumbling for the doorknob. Finally getting a firm grasp on it, she slowly turned the knob to open the door. However, luck was not on her side when the lock clicked loudly, the sound echoing in the room. Her heart dropped, and Jonathan's eyes shot open. Just as Y/n was about to hastily open the door, Jonathan pushed her back, causing her to scream as her body slammed against the door, keeping it firmly closed. Harshly grabbing her arms, he held them above her head.

He stared down at her as tears streamed down her face. "Trying to distract me, huh?" Jonathan said, an evil glint in his eye.

Y/n tried to yank her hands out of his grip, but it proved impossible given the strength he had over her.

"Please, Jonathan! You can't do this!" Y/n cried.

Jonathan brought his face closer to hers, she turned her head in fear, closing her eyes tightly. Jonathan dragged his nose up her neck, breathing against her skin. "I'll do what is necessary," he whispered.

In a desperate attempt, she brought her foot up, trying to stomp on his foot, but that only seemed to anger him more. Jonathan aggressively threw her around and shoved her over his desk, holding her down by her hands again. However, this time, he stood between her legs, preventing her from using them.

Y/n whimpered beneath him, but he remained unyielding. "I never wanted this to happen, but you don't leave me much of a choice," Jonathan spoke through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, I'll be nice, but you have to let me go," Y/n pleaded.

"That's not going to happen, my Dear," Jonathan said.

Before Y/n could react, Jonathan swiftly brought his sleeve-covered wrist up to her face, a faint hiss preceding the release of a mysterious puff of gas. Y/n's immediate response was a piercing scream as the unexpected spray hit her face, sending shivers down her spine. The gas had an acrid smell, and as she inhaled, an unsettling sensation crept over her. The world around her started to warp and distort, as if reality itself was bending to the whims of her deepest fears.

Y/n's vision blurred, and her surroundings became an eerie dreamscape. The once-familiar office now transformed into a haunting image. Jonathan's figure morphed, his features elongating and contorting, creating a grotesque visage that sent chills down Y/n's spine.

A sense of dread settled over her, intensifying with every passing moment. As the fear gas took hold, Y/n felt a chilling coldness crawl up her spine. Her body became increasingly heavy, and the room seemed to close in on her, suffocating her in a nightmarish reality. The longer she stared at Jonathan, the more the lines between nightmare and reality blurred, until the gas finally overwhelmed her. Y/n's consciousness waned, slipping into the abyss of her deepest anxieties, and the world around her faded to black as she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Waking up was excruciating, her head pounding with unbearable intensity. Fear pulsed through her, her heart racing in tandem with the throbbing ache in her temples. As she reluctantly opened her eyes, a disorienting mix of darkness and blinding light assaulted her senses. Surveying her surroundings only deepened her confusion; it appeared as though she had awakened in some kind of forest, a surreal landscape that contradicted Gotham's urban reality. Yet, her vision played tricks on her, rendering it impossible to discern between what was real and what was illusion.

“It’s good to see you’re awake, my Dear,” a voice echoed beside her.

Startled, she turned towards the voice, recognizing it but struggling to reconcile the distorted tones with its origin. The person wore a burlap mask, concealing their identity.

“J-Jonathan,” Y/n stammered, feeling a profound sense of weakness.

“I’m giving you a chance to run,” Jonathan declared.

Confused and disoriented, Y/n attempted to question him, but Jonathan interrupted her.

“I'll give you a 30 seconds headstart. If I can't find you, I’ll leave you alone. But if I catch you…I won’t let you go,” he ominously proclaimed.

“J-Jonathan, I can barely see!” Y/n cried.

“Get up, Y/n,” Jonathan commanded.

“Jonath-”

“Get. Up.”

His authoritative tone sent shivers down Y/n's spine. Trembling, she maneuvered to kneel on her knees, only to be met with a searing pain radiating from her ankles. A guttural scream escaped her lips as she gazed down, her vision still distorted. Through the haze, she discerned the ghastly reality – two bells, meticulously sewn into her flesh on either side of her ankles. The skin threaded through them, attempting to heal around the foreign objects. The grotesque sight made her stomach churn, and she screamed in sheer horror.

“What did you do to me! My fucking feet! You fucking bitch!” Y/n cried, her voice filled with rage and terror as she screamed at Jonathan.

He sighed before grabbing her by the arm roughly and pulling her to her feet. She sobbed, attempting to push Jonathan away, but his strength prevailed, keeping her on her unsteady feet.

“Listen, Y/n... I’ll give you a minute to get ready, but after that, you have to run... I don’t want to hurt you,” Jonathan said, his voice carrying an unsettling mix of calm and sincerity.

“You fucking liar! You put bells on my fucking feet! You gassed me! You have no fucking intentions of letting me go!” Y/n tried shoving Jonathan, her desperation evident, but his unwavering strength proved impossible.

Y/n felt a mix of fear and desperation as the distorted voice of Jonathan haunted her in the dark forest. The minute he gave her felt like an eternity, her mind racing with confusion and terror. She could barely comprehend what had happened to her – the bells on her feet, the agonizing pain, the disorienting surroundings.

As the seconds ticked away, Y/n attempted to collect herself. She fumbled to her feet, the pain shooting through her legs with each movement. She desperately wiped away her tears, trying to focus on her surroundings. The distorted voices in her head urged her to find a way out, to escape from this nightmare.

"Jonathan, please!" she pleaded, her voice shaky and weak.

But Jonathan remained silent, hidden behind the burlap mask, his presence lingering in the shadows. The ominous silence amplified Y/n's anxiety as the countdown continued. The forest seemed to close in on her, each shadow playing tricks on her mind.

As Y/n continued to struggle against Jonathan's grip, he finally let her go. She stumbled backward, her vision still blurry and disoriented. Tears streamed down her face as she realized the gravity of her situation.

“Your minute is up, Y/n,” Jonathan said coldly.

Panicking, Y/n attempted to move, but the pain in her ankles was excruciating. The bells on her feet jingled with each step, amplifying her fear. She could barely see the distorted figures of trees around her, unsure of where to go.

Jonathan's distorted voice echoed, “Run, Y/n. Run if you want to escape.”

With her heart pounding in her ears, Y/n turned around and limped forward, desperately trying to navigate the nightmarish forest. The fear of being caught and the pain in her feet merged into a tormenting symphony.

Every step felt like agony, the pain from her ankles shooting through her with every move. Determined, Y/n forced herself to pick up the pace, only to be met with the relentless jingle of the bells on her feet, echoing through the unsettling silence of the distorted forest. Her screams of frustration reverberated, a desperate attempt to drown out the haunting sound. Uncertain of the reality around her, Y/n pushed herself forward, driven by the primal instinct to escape from the unknown horrors lurking in the shadows.

The echoing chime of the bells attached to her feet seemed to resonate through the eerie forest, an ominous soundtrack to her desperate flight. Despite the seemingly impossible task of escaping undetected, Y/n pressed on, fueled by fear and rage.

Tears streamed down her face as she navigated the distorted landscape, grappling with the stark contrast between the professor she respected and this nightmarish pursuer. Regret and self-blame consumed her thoughts as she questioned whether she had unknowingly unlocked a darker side of Jonathan Crane or if this twisted game had been his true nature all along.

As the forest blurred around her, Y/n couldn't gauge how much time had passed, but the feeling of being hunted intensified with every breath.

The shadows danced around her, but Y/n had more pressing concerns. The closest forest was on the outskirts of Gotham, and by her knowlegde, this wasn’t it. The trees surrounding her didn't match the familiar landscape. Adding to the surreal experience, the echoing sounds of concrete beneath her feet contradicted the visual illusions that played out around her.

Although the effects of the gas were gradually diminishing, the horror lingered. Trees transformed into buildings, and lampposts seemed to sprout from the ground, creating a nightmarish dreamscape that defied the logic of Gotham's familiar streets.

Navigating the unnaturally morphing terrain was challenging on its own, but the addition of bells sewn to her ankles introduced a cruel twist to Y/n's desperate attempt to escape. A sharp turn around a building resulted in the bells grazing against a rough surface, tearing at her delicate skin. Agonizing pain shot up her legs, forcing her to collapse in sheer torment. A cry of pain escaped her lips, quickly stifled in the realization that Jonathan could be lurking anywhere, ears attuned to her distress.

As she sat on the ground, cradling her injured foot, hot tears streamed down her face. The sight of her foot revealed a troubling scene – it was red, irritated, and blood slowly trickled to the ground. Cursing under her breath, she was foolishly leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, marking her path for Jonathan to follow.

Defeated and desperate, Y/n closed her eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming hopelessness that enveloped her. Resting her head against the wall behind her, she weeped. She damned from the very beginning. Jonathan's idea of escape left her grappling with uncertainty – was his definition of ‘escape’ merely leaving this immediate area, contacting the police, or leaving Gotham altogether? Didn’t matter, she didn’t know.

Even if Y/n managed to ‘escape’, she knew all too well that Jonathan wouldn't simply let her be. Having spent months in his company, she had learned that determination and obsession defined him. The prospect of escaping his clutches seemed increasingly elusive, leaving Y/n trapped in a sinister game of hide and seek.

Refusing to succumb to hopelessness against the wall, Y/n gathered her remaining strength. She couldn't accept this as the end; she needed to keep going. Rising to her feet with deliberate determination, she carried on moving. Instead of running, which would only amplify the bells' noise and her exhaustion, Y/n pressed on with a steady walk. She was determined not to let Jonathan's twisted game break her spirit.

Undoubtedly, the blood marked her path, but Y/n had no other choice. Pressing forward was her only option. The effects of the gas seemed to have worn off, revealing a less distorted reality, albeit no less grim. She recognized that she was now in the Narrows, but the specific location remained a mystery.

As she moved cautiously ahead, a voice, dripping with malevolence, echoed from behind her. "I see my Dear has hurt herself..." Her blood ran cold. She didn't need to turn around to know she was in deep trouble.

The tears flowed freely down Y/n's face. "Why are you doing this?"

Jonathan remained silent, a chilling stillness in the air. He took a step forward, and instinctively, she took one back.

"Please..."

Suddenly, Jonathan lunged forward, catching her off guard. Y/n had no time to react as he tackled her to the ground, his weight pinning her down. She screamed and thrashed, the muffled sounds of her distress lost in the indifferent hum of Gotham's background noise. People in nearby buildings likely heard, but in a city like Gotham, such cries often went unanswered.

"Like a doe that's been shot," Jonathan spoke in a low, unsettling tone near her ear.

A syringe emerged from his pocket, and panic surged through her. She squirmed and fought, but his hold was unyielding. The needle pierced her upper thigh, and a sudden rush of paralysis coursed through her body. As consciousness waned, she heard Jonathan's remorseful voice.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," he uttered, holding her captive on the unforgiving ground.

"I thought you were my friend.." Y/n cried, her voice echoing in the desolation of the Narrows.

The world around Y/n blurred as the drug took effect, robbing her of control over her own body. Jonathan's mask became an indistinct smudge, but his unsettling presence still lingered. The last words she heard before succumbing to unconsciousness were Jonathan's remorseful apology, leaving her with a sense of betrayal and a haunting question: What had she done to deserve this? -

A/N: I think it's pretty clear by now I have a chasing(Prey/Predator) kink🧍‍♀️I don't know about you guys, but I want that adrenaline rush of being chased by an obsessive man 😫🤚 Thank you for reading and I hoped you enjoyed it. My requests are open for feel free to request 💚

#batman #the dark knight #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #jonathan crane fanfic #dark!jonathan crane #scarecrow #professor crane #dr crane #professor crane x reader #professor jonathan crane #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy x reader #Dark!Jonathan Crane #Batman scarecrow #dark!scarecrow

272 notes · View notes

nyoomerr · 5 months

Note

Only if you want but phantom thief! Binghe x rich boy Shen Yuan, heir to a famous jeweler/jewerly store business.

It can be Bingge or Binghe, whatever you want! Love your work!

dont mind me using this as a sort-of warm up for writing a much bigger bingge pov binggeyuan thing ehehe 😌 ty for sending this prompt in!

---

Luo Binghe does not get caught. It’s in his title, even - a phantom thief, completely untouchable.

Well, perhaps not completely untouchable. After all, many times the most efficient way to get his hands on a particularly valuable set of jewelry is to let the lady wearing it put her hands on him. Flirtations and bold fondling in a dark corner of a party, hands on the woman’s face and shoulders and the diamond necklace around her neck -

Normal things for someone in Luo Binghe’s line of work, really, when that someone looks the way Luo Binghe does. Charm is as indispensable a tool as a lockpick.

It’s only a tool that Luo Binghe dares to use when he knows it will be well received, though. Unwelcome advances are more likely to get a mark to grow more defensive on all lines, not just towards sexual advances, and then the whole job gets more difficult. Still not impossible - not for Luo Binghe - but Luo Binghe has a messy habit of turning theft into murder when he’s faced with rejection.

It isn’t his fault. The people who turn Luo Binghe away - who look at him with cold disinterest and disgusted sneers plastered across their ugly, painted faces - they deserve to die. Luo Binghe is only doing the world a service.

Still, the cleanup becomes much more difficult when Luo Binghe’s mouth is stained with blood rather than smeared lipstick, so he learns to assess his marks carefully. Those that would think themselves clever and better than Luo Binghe get stolen from in the traditional sense, and they never see Luo Binghe during the process.

Shen Yuan is one such mark. Oh, Luo Binghe could break him in, probably - he watches from a distance as Shen Yuan’s eyes linger on the strong forearms of the barista who hands him his coffee, and he knows without testing that Luo Binghe could fluster such a small thing like Shen Yuan without much effort.

To actually touch Shen Yuan, however, would be far more difficult. Luo Binghe knows this much from even the most basic of background searches: Shen Yuan takes pretty girls to banquets despite never touching them, and the way he dresses… yes, Shen Yuan certainly would like to think of himself as a straight man, the poor thing. Not the sort of nut Luo Binghe cares to crack when it’s for business rather than pleasure.

Besides, most of Shen Yuan’s valuables are kept in his family’s home. The pretty things Luo Binghe could nick off Shen Yuan’s person are limited and hardly the most enticing of Shen Yuan’s things, so there’s no need to push it.

Shen Yuan will simply be the sort of mark that never sees Luo Binghe, never gets close enough to touch.

That’s the sort of mark Shen Yuan is supposed to be.

“Um,” Shen Yuan says, standing awkwardly in the doorway of the very high security office that Luo Binghe has just broken into. “Can I, um. Help you…?”

Luo Binghe stares at him. He’s just finished picking the lock on one of the glass cabinets in the office, and he knows that from Shen Yuan’s perspective he must have a very clear view of the ruby earrings that Luo Binghe had plucked from the case.

He doesn’t stare long. Hesitating only ever gets someone caught, and Luo Binghe does not get caught.

The office has no windows, so Luo Binghe will have to exit through the door that Shen Yuan is standing in. He turns to face Shen Yuan fully - he empty hand neatly plucking a few more pieces from the cabinet and tucking them in his pockets as he moves - and starts sauntering over to Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan was not meant to be one of the marks he seduced, but plans can change. He’ll just need to fluster Shen Yuan long enough to make it past him to one of the several exit plans Luo Binghe had planned.

That should be enough - Shen Yuan is only wearing an oversized shirt and boxers, clearly having gotten up from bed without dressing properly, and he doesn’t appear to be carrying anything in his hands. All that together means he’s likely not carrying his phone, and Luo Binghe knows the security schedule well enough to know that Shen Yuan yelling wouldn’t have anyone arriving quick enough to stop him.

Shen Yuan takes half a step back as Luo Binghe approaches, but he doesn’t leave the doorway. He must have some idea that he’s the only obstacle in Luo Binghe’s way, then. Luo Binghe smiles at him, only half faking the predatory look of it.

“Yuan-er,” Luo Binghe croons, and Shen Yuan shuffles back another half foot, his ears turning pink where they stick out from some truly terrible bed head.

Spoiled, Luo Binghe thinks in the privacy of his own mind, poisonous and bitter. A child who’s always been allowed laziness.

“Yuan-er, you’ve really got to put better locks on your things,” Luo Binghe says as he approaches. “Isn’t this your family’s precious legacy? That sort of thing should be protected…”

Shen Yuan’s brows furrow. Luo Binghe can very clearly read the baffled what the fuck that silently twists his lips, but Luo Binghe doesn’t react.

That’s it, little rabbit - just stand there, and let yourself be confused and taken aback by the thief in front of you, and I’ll escape before you have to worry your spoiled little head about it.

Luo Binghe is only a few paces away, now. He’ll brush past Shen Yuan’s right side to avoid getting caught on the arm he has resting on the doorway, and -

“Say please,” Shen Yuan says, glaring up at Luo Binghe as he crosses his arms.

Luo Binghe falters. “What was that, Yuan-er?”

“You’re clearly capable of sweet talk, so you should start with asking nicely before you take our shit,” Shen Yuan scoffs.

Luo Binghe stops in front of Shen Yuan, close enough that Shen Yuan has to tilt his head up to maintain eye contact with him.

He should just brush past, really. Shen Yuan is small, and Luo Binghe already knows he doesn’t have a way to raise alarm in an effective way.

Luo Binghe does not brush past.

He kind of wants to slit Shen Yuan’s throat for thinking he has any right to tell Luo Binghe to say please, sitting comfortably in the lap of luxury like he is.

“I’m impressed,” Luo Binghe says, his smile so sharp it may as well just be a baring of his teeth. “Yuan-er knows so many big words for a little princling of such an important business. Did you learn them from listening to clients speak to your daddy?”

Shen Yuan’s eye twitches. “Ah,” he says. “You’re an asshole on top of being impolite, then.”

Luo Binghe’s fingers twitch towards the switchblade in his pocket. He wouldn’t be able to clean up a body before security loops back around to this wing of the house, and Luo Binghe has already left a mess from being interrupted in the middle of his heist. He hasn’t left any fingerprints, but he can’t be sure about hair -

Shen Yuan reaches up and flicks Luo Binghe’s forehead. Luo Binghe goes dead still. That’s it, then. He’s going to kill Shen Yuan, this rich little brat -

“Oi, you’re going to ruin your pretty face with a mean expression like that,” Shen Yuan complains. “Just get out of here if you aren’t going to listen nicely - I already called security before coming over here to tell you off myself.”

Luo Binghe pulls out the switchblade, snarling down at Shen Yuan. “Oh, Yuan-er, I think there’s something much better I could ruin.”

Shen Yuan shifts uncomfortably at the sight of the blade, some of his irritation replaced with the faintest glimmer of fear. Luo Binghe pushes closer, wanting to see more - wanting to see Shen Yuan’s delicate face contorted with the sort of despair that a little lordling like him would never have known before, wanting to see him cry -

There’s footsteps from down the hall. Shen Yuan had not been bluffing; he really had called someone, then. Luo Binghe cannot guarantee he’ll be able to kill Shen Yuan quickly enough that Shen Yuan is unable to give a description of his murderer to the help before he dies.

Hesitating gets people caught. Luo Binghe does not get caught, so he brushes past Shen Yuan harshly without another moment’s pause, even though what he wants to do is something far more violent and time consuming.

Luo Binghe hasn’t failed a heist like this since he was a damn child, and this stupid little twink dares to just stand there and watch Luo Binghe run down the hallway to the nearest window instead of lay bleeding on the ground like he should be doing, Luo Binghe will come back to kill him -

“At least say thanks!” Shen Yuan calls out as Luo Binghe approaches the window. “Even if you can’t ask nicely to begin with, you should at least say thanks, ah!”

Luo Binghe ignores him. He’s busy pulling his jacket off to wrap around his arms, preparing to jump through the window’s glass in such a way that he can avoid getting cut and leaving his own blood at the scene of the crime.

“Aiya, what an asshole…” Shen Yuan is grumbling behind him. “You know, you may regret not bothering to pay me a bit more attention.”

Oh, Luo Binghe is paying attention. He’s very vividly imagining what Shen Yuan’s neck would feel between his fingers, right now, even as he backs up several steps to get a running start at the window.

The office had been on the second story, so Luo Binghe has to roll to mitigate the force of the fall. He stands quickly, does a perfunctory check of his pockets to ensure nothing fell when he hit the ground, and -

He’s missing the jewelry he nicked. He has the ruby earrings, but the others he’d stolen as he was leaving are gone. Luo Binghe searches the ground around where he’d fallen frantically; he has to move now, but he can’t leave those behind either. After all that this heist has brought, Luo Binghe can’t allow it to not even be profitable.

Above him, Shen Yuan clears his throat from the broken window. Luo Binghe whips his head up to look at him.

In one hand, Shen Yuan is holding the missing jewelry.

“I told you,” Shen Yuan says. “Jeez, as if I’m that useless.”

Luo Binghe stares up at him. No one has ever dared to steal back from Luo Binghe.

“...Aren’t you going to leave? Security really will be here soon.” Shen Yuan calls down at him. Then he pauses, and even in the darkness Luo Binghe can tell his ears have gone pink again. “...I let you keep the rubies. They, uh. Would probably go well. With you. And your eyes. And uh. Anyway, say thanks!”

“...Thanks?” Luo Binghe says, baffled and furious and still sort of itching to take his switchblade out and throw it pointy-side first at Shen Yuan’s pretty face.

“You’re welcome, asshole!” Shen Yuan calls back, clearly pleased.

Luo Binghe stares for a moment longer, then turns and runs. He will not get caught, even on nights that have gone as stupendously terrible as this one has. So long as he doesn’t get caught, there’s always next time.

So long as he doesn’t get caught, Luo Binghe can come back here, to the office of jewels he failed to get - to Shen Yuan.

Next time, Luo Binghe won’t fail.

#ok now onto the bigger bingge pov thing....#svsss #binggeyuan #bingyuan #fic drabble

238 notes · View notes

ollieolliewrld · 4 months

Note

Welcome to the tumblr writing space! I'm confident you'll do amazing here!

If I may request DMC- and take your time with it -what kind of partner the twins would realistically prefer. Whether it be personality types, deal breakers, what they are willing to compromise for/with, what they expect etc. I'm curious of others takes on these types of things and I'd like to see yours, when you have the time. Whether it's DMC 3 or 5 (or post 5) era, is up to you.

Happy writing! Again, take your time and polish as much as you feel you need to. Have fun!

Love, love, love this! Thank you for the request and the kind words <3 I’ll be taking the DMC 5 and post 5 era but I may revisit this once I finish playing DMC 3 fully!

**This is not a fluff piece it is a bit more serious**

1.3K words

Dante

✭ Ideal Partner

-Dante’s ideal partner would be someone who has a good understanding of their surroundings

-He’s looking for someone perceptive so that you both share a mutual understanding of situations

-Basically, he doesn’t want to hold their hand and baby them through life

-If something happens he is going to make sure they are ok but also expects that they will not crumble completely

-Dante has been through hell and back when it’s time for him to settle down he is not playing games

-He’s a grown man who wants his chance to finally relax

-The cocky attitude he keeps up can get him through a lot but his partner is the one who truly pulls him through it all

✭ Deal Breakers

-Will not put up with tantrums

-He can understand if you get emotional at times, he doesn’t expect you to have it all together 24/7

-But you cannot throw a fit if something does not go your way

-Dante cannot be everywhere at once and with the state of things there are going to be times when he will have to cancel a date or movie night

-If you cannot understand that he will not stay

-If he is going to be with someone long-term they need to be understanding of his background

✭ Compromises

-Dante would not want his partner anywhere near combat unless they have proven to be fully capable

-After that, if you really wanted to he would be willing to let you take on some missions of your own

-He would also compromise if his partner wanted to do very typical couple things

-Like he would get a matching jacket with you or something like that but he would not do anything with writing or graphics

-If you two are going to do something it will be done tastefully and hopefully in red

-Dante wouldn’t have many things he would not compromise on, if he truly wants to stay with you he will make it work and swallow his pride once in a while as long as you are willing to put the work in to meet him halfway

✭ Expectations

-He expects that you have life skills

-You would not need to be a pro at finance or a god in the kitchen but you would need to know how to live on your own

-Dante cannot always be there even though he wants to be and he does not want the additional worry that you are going to explode when he leaves

-His ideal partner would have their head screwed on, not perfect, but able to pick themselves back up when they get knocked down

-He also expects you to support him and be there for him

-There are times when he needs a shoulder to rest on and he would expect his partner to be willing to be that

✭ Must-Have Qualities

-Dante requires someone with a sense of humor

-You need to be able to laugh and understand his jokes

-You would also need to be a good listener

-He won’t talk your ear off but he needs you to remember what he tells you

-It would mean a lot to him if you remembered the small things too

-Being sociable/outgoing must be your personality type

-He needs someone who can go out into the world with him and interact

-Yes he enjoys spending time rotting on a couch with you but when you two are out he wants to show you off proudly

-Having you being confident and able to explore with him is a must

Vergil

✭ Ideal Partner

-Vergil needs a patient lover

-He is not socially inept but he is not extremely experienced in how to lead an average life and relationship

-Ideally, they would be willing to understand what he has been through and all that has shaped him into the man that he is today

-He is a loyal lover who needs someone that will stay with him through it all

-Someone resilient would fit him

-Again, like his brother, he is a grown man he does not have it in him to baby someone through life, you need to be able to stand on your own before he could settle down

✭ Deal Breakers

-He is not messing around

-No one-night stands, no FWB, he is going for the long-term

-It is end game or nothing with him

-If you could not take things seriously he would leave

-Vergil looks at life with seriousness he is not going to be with someone who continuously makes jokes every two seconds

-He is also looking for someone more submissive as in they will follow the decisions he makes without fighting him

-He is willing to take the time to explain why he made the decision but he will not take the time to go back and forth with you when he knows what the right thing to do is

✭ Compromises

-Vergil can be a little too serious at times and forgets to relax

-He wants to get things done the right way and will lose himself to his work

-Being with someone who can let loose and live would be a change in pace for him but he would be willing to compromise

-As long as everything is handled he could spend time with you having fun

-It is very hard for him to let go of his control as he wants to be constantly motivated However, learning to take a step back and take a breath is not going to throw all of his work out the window

-Once he sees that you could slowly work him up to the very mundane aspects of life like reading a book at the beach together

✭ Expectations

-He expects you to be willing to work with him

-As I have been saying, you need to be patient with him

-Vergil is willing to learn and change but he has his own problems he is working through

-Life has not been kind to him and he will be open about that so he would expect that you do not hold that against him

-Any mistakes he makes are not done to harm you, they are done because of a lack of experience

-He is not in tune with his emotions and has a hard time expressing his feelings as well as picking up on yours

-Hopefully, you would be able to work with this and understand where he is coming from

✭ Must-Have Qualities

-It cannot be stressed enough that he is looking for someone patient

-You do not have to be a saint he will be working with you as much as you are working with him

-He doesn't want you to give up on him

-Vergil is looking for someone who is level-headed, not over-emotional

-He just does not know how to be around someone who can fluctuate in emotions very quickly

-You would need to be intelligent, not like a genius, but able to understand directions and pick up on your surrounding

-He wants you to be a safe place for him so you being understanding and willing to take the time to get to know him means a lot

-It will take some time for Vergil to open up to you fully but once he does the man is locked into you and not going anywhere

Author’s Note: I really hope this is to your liking! I would love to hear what you think and if anyone has any opinions of their own! <3<3

I had a blast brainstorming this, thank you for sending in this request!

#dante #dante sparda #dante x reader #dmc dante #vergil #vergil sparda #vergil x reader #dante devil may cry #dmc vergil #request #reqs open #devil may cry 5 #devil may cry

210 notes · View notes

elliotsblunt · 13 days

Text

Girl in New York | 5

pairings - art donaldson/reader | challengers au! |

“_ _" = Y/N

masterslist | next chapter | last chapter

sypnosis - you have lunch with Art’s girlfriend and your parents….

warnings - messy blowjobs, dirty talk, slut shaming, cheating, voyuerism

word count - 2k

You and Art….came to an understanding.

It was odd. Although it was winter—the sun was shining today. White shorts hugged your hips, showing off the curve of your ass. A black tank top let your breasts spill out just enough without flashing the entire tennis club. Birds chirped at the sudden heat, spreading their wings and able to fly away from their problems.

Sweat had gathered at the top of Art’s lip as he drank from his hydro. You two had agreed to meet on Fridays instead. He hadn’t mentioned what occurred Sunday night, diving right into your usual routine. The both of you had just finished an hour long practice—but Art didn’t seem it was long enough. “Let’s go again.”

You groaned, throwing your head back before plopping down onto one of the chairs. There were a ton of tables since there was a food court nearby and people liked to judge the players while stuffing themselves. “My legs are killing me. Can’t we just wait until tomorrow?” You kicked your legs onto another chair, looking up at him. “Matter of fact, let’s get ice cream. I’m craving it.”

“You should lay off the carbs,” Art placed his hands onto his hips, raising a brow at you. Something glinted in his eyes. “It could mess with your cardio.”

You sleep with a guy once and he thinks he could tell you what to eat.

“Whatever. I’ll get it myself.”

Art lit a cigarette, “Least you’ll be getting off your ass.”

You pushed yourself off the chair and hit his shoulder whilst passing him. As if you hadn’t just spent the last hour aggressively dodges Art’s stroke’s. You were pretty sure there were three bruises on your knee from falling to strike back. And on top of that, the concealer you applied on your neck to cover his hickeys was melting off. It was fucking December—why was it ninety degrees?

Bees buzzed around lavender colored flowers. You spotted around the corner the food truck. A familiar pair of pretty brown eyes and a charming smile popped into view. Humming to yourself, excitement flourished within you, approaching him. “Oh hey—it’s you again,” his brown orbs not so swiftly racked up and down your figure. “I was gonna text you but my phone broke. It like won’t turn on…it’s a piece of shit.”

You raised your brows, “Can’t even trust your own phones these days to not cockblock you.”

He laughed, “Literally. What can I get you? On the house.”

“A chocolate ice cream on a cone, please.”

A wink was thrown your way—shooting right down into your core. But his eyes didn’t swirl with the same hungerness as Art. This was more like desire…curiosity. It didn’t feel as exhilarating as tossing flirty banger with the gorgeous blonde. This guy was younger, and seemed like he tried too hard to impress you. Whereas Art didn’t give a fuck what you thought, he still said it regardless.

It didn’t irritate you that he wasn’t acknowledging the situation. All you knew was that it surely wasn’t a one time thing. Whether he expects it or not, he’ll eventually give in. And if he didn’t—you wished to savor his taste on your tongue for as long as possible.

“Here ya go, gorgeous.”

You snapped out your daze. There was a cutie in front of you—and were off thinking about Art. Get it together _ _.

He handed you the vanilla cone. There were sprinkles on top of the perfectly scooped ice cream. But before you could thank him, Art grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the guy. You knitted your brows, “Art what the f—thanks uh, Chase! Or Chad!”

“It’s Chris. How do you flirt with guys you don’t even know,” Art eyed you from the corner of his eye, not fully turning his head. Once you two got far enough, you tugged from his grip.

Your eyes narrowed into daggers. “Says the guy who cheated on his girlfriend.”

That shut him up. Ignoring the non-staggering death stare he was burning into the you—you licked at your ice cream. His eyes focused on the way the tip of your tongue twirled around the cream. “Perhaps I should’ve went with vanilla,” you tasted, locking eyes with his. They were hooded and cloudy, drinking in every movement you made with your mouth. No longer thinned into knives penetrating your skull.

And then it flew out your hand. You’re ice cream.

“What the fuck, Art—“

“Get behind that wall,” he sneered, shoving you anyways. You almost tripped before his hands pushed your shoulders downwards—guiding you to your knees. When you got the message, your eyes rounded up at him. “Art—we’re at the club. Your girlfriend—“

His fingers gripped your chin in a bruising hold. Taking out his cock with the other hand by pulling his sports shorts down, he then tapped the pink top onto your bottom lip. “Don’t mention her before I’m about to throat fuck you,” he smirked, before watching his head vanish between your lips. A salty undertone filled your taste buds, his thick head pulsing on your slippery tongue. Your eyes don’t leave his as you hummed, savoring the taste of his pre-cum. Sucking and swirling with your mouth, and jerking the rest with your hand, you put yourself to work.

His hips harshly snapped into your mouth. Art’s eyes were barely open, bliss taking over his features.

You couldn’t get enough of him. You wanted to see him break above you. Moaning around his dick, you felt it twitch in the warm walls of your mouth— before more of his salty liquid dribbled out. Signaling he was getting close already, your wrists began to twist the base of his cock. A patch of blonde hairs resided above it. He held his shirt up with one hand, holding the back of your head with another.

“Fuck, that’s it. Take it all like a good fucking girl.”

Sticking out your tongue, you continued to jerk off his huge cock. “I’m gonna—fuck—“

His cock twitched, blue eyes boring into your wicked ones—taking everything he had to offer. The liquid shot out all over your tongue, and on the ground.

“We would like to meet your instructor.”

You almost dropped your spoon, choked on your mashed potatoes, and screamed at the top of your lungs. Perhaps your mother had gone crazy. She took a sip of wine, shrugging her shoulders at your father. “She seems passionate about Tennis. It seems as if he inspired this newfound hobby.”

Oh…you have no idea.

“We’ll come watch you play next week. It’s set,” your father nodded, taking a bite of steak. A know it all look crossed his features. “You know—I used to dabble in the sport back in high school…”

You tuned out your father out.

Your parents were going to meet Art?

This could not fucking happen.

“How ya doing? I’m Bradford Smith, and this is my wife—Fiona Smith. _ _’s mother.”

Art’s eyes flew over to you. The sun shined without mercy, the tight long-sleeve that covered your tits due to your parent’s presence making you itchy. And to make matters worse, a high pitched hello sounded from behind. A pair of blonde pigtails came into view, and as soon as she spotted you, her arms clung to Art. “_ _! What a surprise! Speaking of those—I was planning on surprising Art. I didn’t know you were bringing your family as well.”

You laughed in disbelief that this was all happening. “Well isn’t that just strawberries and confetti throw up fun.”

Art sent you a behave look, earning an eye roll from yourself. Your mother chuckled, probably just as confused as everyone else, “_ _ wants to show us what the two of you have been working so hard doing.”

“I love watching you play, baby. Let’s do it!” La-la loopsie cheers, clapping her hands excitedly. You refrain from rolling your eyes again, grabbing your racket from the table and heading to the court. You overhead your mom tell your dad that Art’s girlfriend was cute—leading you to make a disgusted sound and warm up.

Art bounces his ball of the ground before hitting it with the racket. Just how you liked it. He started out aggressive, but you expected that, hitting it with yours quickly. The both of you dove into your skills, hearing your current audience clap every once in a while.

After about thirty minutes, you began to grow winded, and called for a break. Your father ended up talking to Art about his old tennis team. Surprisingly, the two got along—sharing a few chuckles here and there. Tiffany kept kissing your mother’s ass, asking her about the mug’s she liked to design. Just from listening to the conversation, you began to grow nauseous.

“I’m getting slushie,” you muttered, walking away from the scene. But before you could get too far, Art overheard you—his head whipping away from your still speaking father.

“I’m actually thinking about getting something too. I’ll go instead,” he offers, Tiffany noticing his sudden interest. You knit your brows together.

“I got it.”

“No seriously. I’m good friends with the dude anyway.”

“Chad?” You raise your brows, causing him to send you a glare before walking away. Tiffany followed him—wearing a painted smile. You thought the encounter was weird, but before you could think too deep into it, your mother pulled you aside.

“You should wear longer skirts, _ _.”

“Mom—I’m an adult. Please.”

Your father kissed the side of your head, “Why don’t the five of us have some lunch. There’s a cafe right there. Go let your friends know and we’ll grab a table.”

Before you could reply, they walked away to find a spot. Tiffany and Art returned back, him handing you a cherry slushie. “It was all they had.”

“That cashier guy asked about you. Is he like, your boyfriend?” Tiffany asks, sipping your Diet Coke. You didn’t see the point in diet anything if there was no sugar. It made everything taste a million times better.

Art pressed his lips together. You shrugged, sipping your slushie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” your tone was uninterested. Being in the same vicinity made your blood boil. She had the ability to kiss him in broad daylight—and didn’t even take advantage of it. No wonder Art came to you for his sexual needs. It seemed like she was plain and simple. If a boy likes you, date him. If he doesn’t, run away.

She doesn’t know how to take care of someone like Art. Someone like you.

“Anyways,” you look at your nails, tension in the air. “My parents what us to have lunch together. I can tell them you guys are busy.”

“No that sounds fun!” Tiffany chimes in, holding onto Art’s arm again. His eyes slightly widen, face paling into a white sheet. He ground his jaw.

“I’m actually really tire—“

Tiffany tugged on his arm, whining in a tone that made you want to pierce your ears. “Please babe…”

“Yeah,” you smirk, thinking of a fun idea. Art’s eyes instantly met yours, a worried look crossing his features. While his girlfriend was looking at him, your tongue poked out and swirled around the straw—his teeth gritting at the sight. You noticed his fists ball at his sides. Tiffany looks at you, beaming excitedly. You send her a fake smile,

“You should taste this slushie I had last week. It was super creamy.”

“Alright let’s go.” Art grabs Tiffany, dragging her over to find your parents. You giggle to yourself, enjoying seeing him flustered.

“My mother is a Stanford graduate. That’s actually where Art and I met.”

Tiffany wouldn’t stop rambling about the history of her and Art. It was driving you literally insane. Your father helped himself to his club sandwich, barely listening to what she was even saying. Your mother on the other hand was absolutely ecstatic for the couple, sharing her own experiences about meeting your father.

You picked at your salad, glancing at the fair haired boy. He had been sipping his coffee—clearly uncomfortable with this entire situation. You decided to tease him a bit, taking advantage of the fact that you were seated beside him. Brushing your heel against his calf, he suddenly jerked, catching the attention of everyone at the table.

He cleared his throat, “Uh—a bee. It flew away.”

“Right. You remember that time we went to Cuba for that tournament, sweetie.”

He hummed, pulling out a cigarette from his back pocket. Tiffany made a face, “If you’re going smoke, at least go to the parking lot. Everyone’s eating.”

Jesus. What a bitch.

“I don’t mind,” your mother placed her hand on Tiffany’s. She smiled warmly at Art afterwards. “Bradford used to chain smoke those things until I eased him off then. Looks like we’ll have to do the same thing to you.”

Art returned her smile, ignoring Tiffany’s eye roll, sparking the cigarette. “_ _. Tell them about how you used to dance in the bathroom with my old tennis racket. It was the cutest thing. She’d be naked—“

“Actually, I’m gonna spark one up too. I’ll go to the parking lot though so no one complains.”

“I’ll come with you,” Art shot up, offering a nervous smile to everyone. “I just—feel so guilty.”

“Okay kids. We’ll be here.”

“What the fuck, _ _?”

You never thought it would be so hilarious to see someone smoking a cigarette whilst looking immensely frazzled. As soon as the two of you reached the back parking lot, out of sight of people, Art let you know how he truly felt. Fortunately, you weren’t in much of a talkative mood, so you listened patiently whilst finishing your cigarette.

“Not only are your parents here—but your mom loves my girlfriend. This fucked situation just got entirely more fucked.” He ran a hand through his light strands, pacing back and forth.

“I hate when she does shit like this.”

“Who?” You mumbled, leaning your back against the wall.

“Tiff!” His hands flew in the air, shaking his head. “She always pops up unannounced. I hate that kind of shit. She has no respect for my time nor schedule. I mean—what makes her think she can crash my lesson? “

“Why are you even with her?”

Art looked at you with a sudden calmness. It was as if your words urged him to think.

“I….don’t know.”

That made you pause. The cigarette burnt as the both of you stared at one another. For the first time, he was expressing his feelings. It was different than usual. “She doesn’t let you breathe. You’re a free soul, and she wants to keep it caged. You won’t stay with her for long. It’s only a matter of time.”

“I guess I like her company. She’s always there for me when I need it,” he shrugged, standing beside you. He looked away from you, “But if it came to actually being in love with her—I couldn’t tell you. She doesn’t accept me for me.”

“Then she’s a fucking idiot,” you smirk, “—because you’re like…kinda cool I guess.”

His eyes twinkled, your gaze meeting once again. You smirk was met by a sheepish smile from him.

“You’re pretty aggressive, you know that?”

“You love it.”

His eyes fell to your lips. “We should stop sneaking around, _ _. This is going too far.”

You laughed, throwing the cigarettes off the ground before crushing it with your heel. “C’mon, lover boy.”

#mike faist fic #mike faist fanfic #mike faist smut #mike faist #patrick zweig challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers smut #mike faist imagine #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art donaldson imagines #art Donaldson blurbs

100 notes · View notes