#but i'll leave that open to interpretation

[blusocket]

I've seen some people express some confusion about what Fortnight is about, why it opens the album, what's happening in the video, etc, so here's my attempt at an analysis. For the most part I'll be referring to the characters in the video with the names of the people playing them (Taylor and Post) but at times I'm going to be making direct reference to the events of Taylor's personal life and referring to the muses by their names (Joe and Matty) for the sake of clarity and simplicity.

The song itself uses the suburbia conceit as an extended metaphor for the beginning of her relationship with Matty (he's the neighbor she runs away to Florida with, Joe is the cheating husband.) For more eloquent and detailed thoughts on the narrative of the song you can check out Jaime @cages-boxes-hunters-foxes's post here.

The video is really dense, and I'm not 100% confident in every aspect of my interpretation, but I feel pretty sure that it's making extensive use of visual metaphor in order to tell roughly the same story as the song, just in a different setting. To start, Taylor wakes up chained to a bed in a white dress.

To me this suggests that she's been driven mad by being left at the altar, and is now trapped, surveilled and controlled, in a type of asylum. This represents the end of her relationship with Joe--waiting for a marriage that never came, feeling trapped, mentally unwell etc.

She then takes 'forget him' pills which reveal Post's tattoos on her face when she looks in the mirror.

This represents Matty (the "miracle move-on drug") and shows that he made a mark on her while she was still in the asylum--that is, still in her relationship with Joe. Additionally, in the wide shot where we see the mirror, its size and shape are very reminiscent of a one-way mirror, often seen in interrogation rooms and psychological experiments, further reinforcing the idea that Taylor is imprisoned here.

She then is able to go to the typewriter room and do her work, creating art about how she's feeling, shown by her repeatedly typing "I love you, it's ruining my life" on the typewriter. She's still in pain and feeling trapped. While there, she encounters Post and they create art together, which creates beauty and color in her life. The blue and gold obviously reference her writing about Joe, but the fact that her work is gold and Post's is blue may be a deliberate choice to draw parallels between Matty and Joe, as she does on numerous songs throughout TTPD.

The next scene, where Taylor's hair is down and she and Post are wearing the same black coat and pants, takes place inside her head (symbolized by the shape of the papers they're laying on.) She is dreaming about them being free and creating art together, represented by the papers surrounding them and book she's holding, which has the word "us" written on the cover. She's writing their story before it's begun.

She then reaches for his hand in her fantasy, accepting and asking for this relationship

Then we see that she's being studied and experimented on--the results of the lie detector test read "I love you, it's ruining my life." Her pain is an object of fascination.

Interestingly, Post is part of the group experimenting on her, but when the experiments begin to cause her pain, he liberates her.

This inspires Taylor to destroy the place where she's been trapped, which we see through her opening the filing cabinets that cover the walls and destroying the mirror. I also find the shot of her standing still while papers burn around her interesting and significant; I interpret this as Taylor destroying her own work about Joe. By choosing to leave, she is metaphorically burning--rejecting--the story she wrote about them.

Finally, Taylor and Post enter the dangerous outside world together; the rain echoes the lyric "I chose this cyclone with you" on the album's title track. While I do feel the meaning of Post being in the phone booth is somewhat ambiguous, the framing and the accompanying lyric--"I've been calling ya but you won't pick up" suggest that he's attempting to communicate with her but can't reach her. They are free of her prison, but still separated.

Then, he hangs up the phone and reaches for her hand, and she takes it. The final shot of the video is a close up on their linked hands, presenting us with a cautiously optimistic ending--they are lost and vulnerable in the middle of a storm, but they have each other.

I feel this is a somewhat less sinister, for lack of a better word, portrayal of the start of Matty and Taylor's relationship than is suggested elsewhere on the record, though I believe Post's character being part of the group experimenting on her is significant and the editing creates some ambiguity about exactly when and why she decides to break free. But I hope this clarifies how the video sets up the beginning of this story, the fallout of which is then chronicled over the course of the rest of TTPD.

#taylor swift #the tortured poets department #ttpd #fortnight

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

i keep thinking about ocelot takarazuka i dont really see the influence like he just looks like a middle age guy with masc features manner and fashion so what do you think the artist actually meant? there's nothing feminine about ocelot like how does the "is that a man or woman" thing play in here cause i don't see it. He's not like raiden or raikov. He's just a guy 🧍‍♂️so how does the all female theatre thing apply

Hello Anon! Full, immediate disclosure, this answer is messy and disjointed. I probably don't even answer the question your asking end of the day, but I'll try my best.

I believe this is the post you're wondering about?

As I said in this earlier post I'm not a Japanese speaker, so I have to go on interpretation, and what has been offered by the translations available. I can't help but think there is going to be some sort of nuance missing as a result, but I'll do my best.

To start, I think you and I might have a slightly different view on masculine and feminine-to me the two concepts are pretty interchangeable, but I do understand where you're (probably, I don't know you personally after all) are coming from and that, no, Ocelot doesn't have many traditional 'feminine' characteristics.

You'll note that in the original post, Shinkawa refers to getting inspiration from the idea of 'women in their 40's (the age Ocelot almost is in MGSV)' and 'long, flashing eyelashes'. (My interpretation here is that by this, he means in the way long eyelashes that are considered sexy have an eye-catching flow to them. Sort of like how we can say 'fluttering lashes'. Intended to draw a person's gaze in, and command their presence).

Doing some cursory research tells me that the Takarazuka Revue (because Takarazuka is also a city in Hyōgo Prefecture, Japan.) is an all-female musical troupe located within that same city. Started in 1913, by Ichizō Kobayashi.

(I also got distracted by this version that is a performance of Casino Royale, so there's that)

Anyway, ahem.

"Kobayashi believed that it was the ideal spot to open an attraction of some kind that would boost train ticket sales and draw more business to Takarazuka. Since Western song and dance shows were becoming more popular and Kobayashi considered the kabuki theater to be old and elitist."

Throughout the article, there is also this;

"Takarazuka has had a profound influence on the history of anime and manga, especially shōjo manga.[27][28] Osamu Tezuka, a highly influential manga creator, grew up in the town of Takarazuka. His mother knew many of the Takarazuka actresses, and as a child he knew them and watched many of their performances"

I can assume that the performances have a lot of influence on media, and it's not uncommon for MGS to take inspiration. There could be an entire article on the things MGS takes inspiration from, even outside the most obvious like Escape from New York, character model bases, etc.

Cycling back to the original point, (there is also a video that exact post comes from, but I don't have the link on hand, on YouTube *no translations). I think that it's entirely possible Shinkawa took 'loose' inspiration, or a little more. I can see why and how he might've based Ocelot's look on the idea. (Loose shirt, tight pants, scarf open neck). But there is also the element of which Takarazuka is a performance, more than anything.

It's acting. Playing. Something Ocelot does all the time. Half of his time on screen, he's putting on some kind of performance. While this is something he does the least in MGSV, that never fully changes 100%. (And after all, he's also hypnotized for most of the plot). So there's a counter argument to be had that this is one of his greatest performances pre-MGS4. But that's a different post.

Ocelot presents/is masculine. But, he has longer eyelashes, his clothes are a little more 'free' than the standard military garb when he's allowed to choose his own outfit. (Again this is specifically MGSV Ocelot, though there's something to be said about his chosen attire being such a sharp 3 piece later on).

At the end of the day, maybe a way you can look at it is to say that, Shinkawa looked to Takarazuka when designing MGSV Ocelot to give him a sort of 'flow' to his looks. He was attracted to the idea of taking elements from Takarazuka, because Ocelot is a performer, and he sees some possibility for feminine additions in his looks *or* might've thought it more 'fitting' than Kabuki.

But again, I don't know if we see fully masculine and feminine the same way, (and maybe Shinkawa personally associates long eyelashes with sexy women; or women made up to look like men but with longer lashes) I can't know for sure myself. I think you would need a native or very good Japanese speaker to interpret it fully.

If I was to offer you a personal opinion-I can see it. I can see where there's a draw that one might have with the look, and where Shinkawa might've gotten said inspiration. But I am not entirely certain how to put that into words either? My perspective isn't going to be 1-to-1 of yours either.

Maybe someone else can interpret all this better than me, I definitely feel as if I've not done this justice at all. Because at the end of the day, I don't see a hard divide in masculine and feminine in Ocelot, but I think that you, Anon, see him as 100% masculine. But again, I can't speak for you and I am not sure.

#asks #answered asks #revolver ocelot #mgs #sorry anon this is probably the clumsiest ive ever answered an ask #i think there's too much thats open to interpretation to give you a clear cut answer like you might want but im not sure #maybe I'll come back to this later if i can think of a better way to explain it anon but i didn't want to leave you just hanging either #i also kept getting distracted by theater pictures so uh sorry about that #character posts: revolver ocelot

[mariipun]

Some Sunny Day

Warnings: N/A, Fluff

Word Count: 1,671

Brief Description: Welcome Home Bakery AU. Wally Darling x GN!Reader. Reader/self-insert. You are learning how to bake, but don’t know where to start. Not wanting to be a nuisance, you’ve begun watching from outside the local bakery café’s window as Wally took notice.

[Characters belong to Clown, aka, partycoffin]

Dedication: @satanic-witchcraft (Inspired by their Bakery AU, although it’s extremely loosely based /I just love the aesthetic/. Just a fanfic I wrote because I dreamt about this scenario lol)

.

.

It first began on a warm Tuesday afternoon.

You stood there outside, writing in a yellow-covered journal as you watched through the window of the bakery café; the blue-haired man glancing up at you every so often as he kneaded the dough. At one point, the both of you had made eye contact and he watched as you smiled. You pointed toward his motions and then pointed at your book with a slight tilt of your head as if asking permission to take notes.

Wally nodded, a smile of his own forming on his lips in return before going back to work on evenly distributing the dough. You continued to take notes, sometimes carefully mimicking some of his movements in the air as if committing to memory the way the dough needed to be handled. You’d be there for about an hour before placing your journal into your satchel, tucking the pencil behind your ear, and waving goodbye. Wally simply grinned, nodding in reply as you walked away.

This continued every week for the next three months.

Like clockwork, you were there every Tuesday afternoon as the café side bustled with life; customers shuffling in or out with pastries, coffees, or teas. Wally had become accustomed to your presence, albeit through the bakery’s window. He wondered why you simply didn’t come in to ask him questions about his work... or why you never seemed to come into the establishment during this time.

The other workers happened to take notice as well, but he assured them it was not an issue, and he didn’t want anyone to pry. He assumed you were wanting to learn how to bake, perhaps even explore new culinary skills. He may not know the extent of your situation, but he was always happy to teach, as you had always been enthusiastic to learn.

You’d watch, you’d write, and then you’d both exchange goodbyes. He didn’t realize when he’d stop working on whatever he was doing to simply watch you walk away to whatever destination you were headed to next.  

.

.

Every Tuesday afternoon, he began anticipating your return.

He didn’t quite show how excited he was, maintaining his cool demeanor, yet mindlessly fiddling with the strings of his apron. As the clock ticked closer to the predetermined time, he would prepare his area, having a different recipe or lesson at the ready.

You had even started noticing the little things he did, perking with curiosity. Some days there would be a recipe for whatever he was making during that time, laid out in front of your view; a list of ingredients meticulously written out in what you assumed was his handwriting.

Was he sharing his trade secrets with you?

You would read through the list of items, jotting them down quickly before watching as he began creating the batch of goods. Whenever Wally shared one of his recipes though, he’d patiently wait until you were done writing before showing you how to measure and make.

On other days he’d start showing off, tossing dough in the air, or elaborately packaging whole loaves of bread for orders. Sometimes he’d get a bit carried away, getting flour in his hair, or accidentally dropping an egg on the floor. He’d shift his eyes toward you to catch a glimpse of your reaction, always earning a giggle or stifling a laugh in your hand before continuing to write away in that yellow journal of yours. His cheeks would dust rouge in embarrassment, but honestly, Wally was glad he had an audience, especially one as devoted as you.

Sometimes, a bittersweet taste would settle on his tongue as the hour would end and you’d retreat into the world while he stayed behind the glass. Your figure would be lost within the crowd of people walking up and down the sidewalk, colors of various shades blending and muting into the background.

He wondered what you did every Tuesday morning before coming to the bakery, and what you did after when your time together would end.

Maybe he’d ask you one of these days, but for now, he enjoyed the wordless company.

.

.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes past your usual arrival time.

You hadn’t shown up yet and the ticking of the clock began to make him restless.

Wally started to wonder if you were no longer available, or maybe, no longer interested in stopping by. A few different scenarios had swirled in his mind from you being at work, maybe school, having gotten hurt, maybe sick? Why was he so concerned about a complete stranger? Neither one of you even knew the other’s name.

Yet… he felt his chest tighten, disappointment prickling at his skin.

Surely, you were just running late today?

He stared at the counter; his mind lost in thought. He didn’t hear the familiar dings of the bell when the front door opened as you stepped inside, yellow journal in hand. He had only looked up when he heard Julie’s voice greet you from the register.

“Finally decided to come inside instead of watching through the window, huh?” Julie chimed.

You laughed in response, the sound filling the bakery with warmth.

Wally’s cheeks lifted as a smile formed on his lips, eyes falling on you. Feelings of elation and relief both washed over him in waves.

He stood still. The world around him seemed to burst into vibrant hues of light. Soft yellows, pinks, and mellow blues dance around you. He continued to watch you in adoration as you placed a drink order and made your way to one of the small tables near the corner of the café.

“It’s not polite to stare you know,” Poppy spoke up from behind him, causing him to turn and stutter in response. She smiled at him and shook her head. “Why not just say hello?” She encouraged, earning a defeated sigh from the man.

Wally took off his apron, hanging it up. “You’re right…” he mused, dusting himself off. “I’m going to take a break…”

“Take all the time you need dear,” Poppy replied, taking over the kitchen.

He carefully made his way over.

.

.

You were comfortably seated in the corner, reading through your writings as you sipped your drink. Setting the cup down, you looked over to the man making his way to you. You gave him a smile as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Mind if I join you for a bit?” he asked, a bit hesitant.

“I don’t mind at all.” You spoke sweetly, gesturing for him to sit.

Wally pulled out the chair across from you, settling down as well. Eyes panning down to your journal, he pointed a finger in its direction. “May I?”

“Oh! Of course.” You chuckled, moving the journal toward him. He began turning through the pages in awe of the detailed notes, scribbles, and even sketches of the baked goods he shared with you.

“Wow, this is incredible.” He breathed, “You even captured some of the techniques I use when I bake…”

“Yeah, I really wanted to make sure I got it right, ya know?” You confessed before clicking your tongue, “…But… whenever I try to bake something myself, it doesn’t seem to turn out right…” You mulled over the words, leaning forward to rest your arms on the table as you watched him read.

After a moment, he looked up at you in understanding before setting the journal back on the table. “Well, if you are interested, I’d be more than happy to teach you one-on-one here in the bakery, so you aren’t just watching from outside.”

“Really?” You squeaked, a bit more loudly than intended, earning a few looks your way. You gave him a sheepish grin, nodding. “Thank you… I would absolutely love that, but…”

“But?” He looked at you quizzically.

“I don’t have much money to really afford private lessons or anything…” You said sadly, reaching over to take the journal back. “I’ve usually just come by to watch you work, which is why I took notes. I tried doing the same with a few other bakeries, but they brushed me off. You were the only one that didn’t really seem to mind…” Sighing, you closed the journal and tucked it away, “I just didn’t want to bother you with it, so I’m just fine watching from the window…”

Wally pondered this for a moment, humming thoughtfully before nodding at you. “Then how about this? I’ll teach you ways you can improve your skills, and in return, you help me organize my recipes. That sound fair?”

“More than fair… That’s just way too generous.” You counter, hands coming up in defense.

“I suppose, but I do need some help with organizing my own notes. And it’d be a great help if you could assist with that, especially with all the ideas and experiments I have in mind... Sometimes I lose track.” He chuckled, gently scratching his cheek. This offer was more of an excuse to get to know you better anyhow. “So, what do you say?”

“Y-Yes…. I say yes, absolutely. Thank you so much, Mr.—"

“Darling”, he interjects, extending a hand for you to take. “My name’s Wally Darling. But please, call me Wally.”

You slowly take his hand in your own, heat emitting from your cheeks as you gave him your name in return. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance… Wally.”

For the rest of his break, the two of you talked, laughed, and talked some more until his attention was pulled away back to work.

You said your farewells, but before leaving, Wally gifted you a small box of pastries filled with new flavors he was working on; contemplating whether they would be good to sell or not. He asked you to try them and write in detail what you thought about each one. You were happy to do so, saying goodbye once more as you left the bakery.

You were both looking forward to next Tuesday.

.

.

#marsfics #mars fics #wally darling x reader #welcome home fanfic #welcome home fanfiction #wally darling fanfic #[will this be an ongoing series? idk... i /could/ continue it...] #[but i'll leave it open to interpretation for now lol] #[im gonna just start titling fics with a color that represents the moods then lmao] #wally darling x gn reader #wally darling x GN!reader #(lol uodated the title...)

[deepersea]

"Schrödinger's strap-on" might just be the worst combination of words I have ever committed to paper.

#lily talks #i should not be trying to write right now but alas the brain can't be stopped #i can't say yet if this will make the final cut but i found it too funny not to share #i'll leave this open to interpretation #maybe i should call it a night

[dearwysteria]

Scara and Venti drawings <3

Thinking of drawing this digitally and coloring it :^

(Guys don't look at my old venti and scara art. It's not that good- ×_×)

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanart #scaramouche #venti #barbatos #scaraven #I SEE THE APPEAL OF SCARAVEN #i'll still leave this for open interpretation #my art lol #fanart

[brittlebutch]

Adaine is such a fascinating character to me because she's such a compelling combination of having debilitating, choking panic and anxiety while also being utterly, stubbornly argumentative and combative with absolutely everyone she meets and i love her for it

#N posts stuff #it is SO autistic to me but i wouldn't call it Inherent or Obligated so i'll leave it open to interpretation in the post lol #but to me she is SO autistic <3 #it's so funny bc at the very front of the 1st episode you could almost think that it's like. just bc she's kind of Socially comfortable #with her family - even though it's clear she doesn't Like them she's still very frank in how she speaks to them #(arguing w/ her dad about the way he talks about the news & telling her mom it's Neglectful of her to not have the schoolbus info already) #but then she goes into a new school she's Clearly so uncomfortable and anxious about attending #and immediately gets pedantic and vaguely argumentative with the very first upperclassman she meets - no hesitation #(pressing Penelope about Why she wants the prom queen thing & correcting her grammar) #she's so much fun i love her <3 #d20: bad kids #d20lb

[distortionenby]

#we all know who this is about #but I'll leave it open to interpretation for more people with their own bbygirls #polls #tma michael #the magnus archives #magnus archives #michael distortion #disenbypost #disenbythought #disenbyfandom

[plenilunaris-m]

He means she beat him with her sword and not (1) hand / fist, right? Right?

#// ooc. #last night I was talking about this with a friend #and the interpretations this sentence has are hilarious djfhg #I'm one to think it's with her sword #but who knows lol #if I have time I might write a small headcanon post #about the fact that she must be something™ in order #to teach him how to use the Foul Legacy #because she could be using it or not #but teaching is a whole thing in itself #like you can do something and be unable to teach someone #to do the same no matter how much you'd want #but she did and to Childe's credit too for honing himself further #she did open the door for him to turn into a beast in terms of strength #enough to worry a dragon sovereign and push him to act fast #anyway I'll stop rambling on tags and save the energy for that post dfjhjg #casually putting here the new separators I made for her too #I'm unsure if to go with more pastel for the purple #or leave it as is

[galacticlamps]

The Doctor, explaining his concerns to the psychologist treating Jamie: I’m worried that these Shard implant things could be altering people’s characters, changing who they are and making them behave in ways they normally wouldn’t. Take Jamie for instance, he’s been off ever since we got here, but you can’t spot it because you just don’t know him like I do.

-30 seconds later-

The Doctor: here Jamie take my arm

Jamie: ah no thanks I’m alright

The Doctor: ヽ(ಠ_ಠ)ノ

#im sorry i know there was no mention of the dr's reaction but why write those lines unless it's e v i d e n c e #second doctor #jamie mccrimmon #the phantom piper #companion chronicles #big finish #fuck it you all know what im getting at here #two/jamie #sorry but i put it on again just to have in the background while i did some tasks #53 dead 847 injured etc etc #i think if anything i liked it even better this time? #the first time i heard it there were a couple of small things where i was like #'eh ok i guess but idk how much i believe jamie would do/say that' #but now im like wait maybe that was the point??? #(and maybe not. maybe some of them are too small to matter & i just differ with the author) #(but the plot still leaves it totally open to be interpreted that way so hey im not complaining) #i still have real thoughts on it i wrote into a draft from the first listen to stop myself making 85 posts #idk if i'll ever bother with sharing them but this bit just demands its own post either way #for the record i do realize that taking this bit as proof of jamie's character being altered as his more distressing memories are erased #kinda makes the argument that his clingyness is somehow directly related to his memories of loss and trauma #im not sure if i wanna be the one to take it that far but. i see the argument. i acknowledge it

[saintedbythestorm]

Reminder to self:

You don't need to know if they've gotten better or worse, they were bad enough that you had to cut them out and that is all you need to know.

#hello we are self doubting today.. #i know i did the right thing to tell my toxic family that it was enough and I'm done with it #but sometimes that damn doubt creeps in. #they wouldn't even bother saying sorry to you for fucks sake. they were willing to call you useless before they said sorry. #like that is all you need to know. you didn't lose anything of value if they thought that was ok. #you do deserve to have your feelings respected and lying for 15 years isn't ok actually. #and it especially isn't okay to be abuse when someone gets upset you lied for them for 15 years. i shouldn't even have to say that. #wait this is working. hm... well maybe I'll leave it here anyway #maybe one of you need one of those tags too. 🤷‍♀️ #you're worthy of love and respect and to be treated with kindness. you're allowed to feel what you feel. #yes despite what some bitch said - idgaf what they said. they were wrong ok. #and extra points for it being a damn parent. they bloody chose to have a kid so step tf up #it is NOT fucking selfish to want to speak with a parent alone for 10 minutes omfg. #it is also perfectly normal for a kid... well anyone really but extra for kid.. to not always be able to control their emotions #remember that it was YOU who called to try to resolve the fight - and all you had done was be upset cause they lied #and told you gruesome details about an animals death while laughing. yes that was extra fucked. #so no don't you damn doubt yourself. there ain't no openings for interpretation on this #and remember... you were a kid throughout like 90% of this shit. You shouldn't be the adult. #ok done spitting facts imma play stray bye #rant #ryder speaking

[stcllariis-a]

@celestibound​ asked: ❛  oh my god. you totally have a crush on that guy !  ❜ ( lumine 👀 )

    “what!” he hisses, before grabbing at lumine’s hand, tugging her away from the other. “could you not be so loud!?” he flushes, glancing back at the other, staring for just a second longer than he should, before turning his face back towards his twin sister. “he doesn’t even know i exist,” the college student huffs, grumpily tugging at his crop top and glancing away. “and i prefer it that way. so could you not? mess up my streak of being okay with him not knowing who i am?”

🐝  *  ―  𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍  𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒.

#celestibound #𝕧: 𝕤𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕦𝕟 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕤 {modern v} #LOL i cant decide who it is so #i'll leave it open for interpretation

[ohproserpine]

iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

#calm before the #before the :)) #sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel vox

[lilithandherharlots]

Too shy to tell you

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

Miguel hides your heals in hopes of making you forget you ever owned a pair...he confesses about his theft during a hot and heavy night of sex.

Warnings: This might be interpreted as possessive or an unhealthy bond. Though its supposed to be just a very shy and respectful Miguel who let's loose during sex.:]

Authors note: I am not a writer!! This is my first time righting fanfic.. like.. ever!!! So don't attack me. Though honest, constructive criticism is something that I would love to hear. Sorry if there are spelling mistakes. Also, I don't know how to put proper description..... enjoy!!!!

:::

"Miggy?" I call out to my boyfriend who's currently towering over the coffee machine, waiting for it to brew.

"Yes, my love?" He responds with a look over his shoulder.

"Have you seen my black pointed heals? I can't seem to find them."

"No. Have you checked by the door?" He was lying.

He was lying. He was lying, and he didn't feel bad about it. The truth was he had stuffed them in the highest cupboard of the laundry room. He knew you couldn't reach it. He liked it that way. He couldn't let you open it since he had stuffed at least 4 pairs of heals in there.

"No miggy, they aren't here." You say after checking everywhere by the front door.

"Idk what to say, baby... we have to leave soon. Just throw on a different pair and I'll buy you some new ones later."

He was a liar... and he was damn good at it... until he wasn't.

:::

It was 2am. This insanity started hours ago, but Miguel's stamina wouldn't let down. Your soft moans could fuel him till sun rise, and he would love to do this forever. But unlike him, you have limits. Limits to your ability to stay strong, or at least keep yourself up right. But he doesn't really care. Your begs for a break won't succeed with a constantly starving man like him.

"One more round, please baby... please. I need you." His desperate begs caress your tear stained cheeks as he whispers them softly, leaning over you and filling you with sloppy thrust.

"Miguel- please.. It's too much.." You whine as you try to pull away, gripping desperately onto the sheets.

"Last one.... I promise..." he lies.

He said the same thing the last 4 rounds. If he could have it his way he'd continue. But he knew you couldn't keep going for much longer, so he used this opportunity to tell you what he couldn't bring himself to say otherwise.

"I lied..." he confesses. Watching your tits bounce with every rough trust, keeping himself busy while you tried to form a reply. It took you a while, but you managed to let out a soft hum, waiting for him to explain himself further.

"I took them. Your heels.. I fucking hate those things.." he thrust get faster as he says it. Hoping to make your brain foggy enough to not remember his confessions in the morning.

"I like your height, so why do you wear those weird things?" His heart felt lighter as he told you.

"I like that your height forces you to get on your tippy toes every time you want a kiss from me.. and even then, I have to bend over to reach you.... I like that you rely on me to reach those high shelves. Every time you ask me, you grow as red as a rose...."

You can feel his movements speed up. You can barely hear him... your mind fuzzy from pleasure. Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin felt like white noise at this point. The dim shadow of his frame covering you completely.

"You're so small under me.. your body falls any way I bend it..." At his point, he was just speaking the first thing to cross his mind.

You didn't hear him, and he knew it. Seconds later, you feel his weight shift, the mattress by your head sinking under his heavy hand as he leaned in and whispered.

"Please don't take that away from me."

His words were demanding. He felt exactly what he said. Even though your eyes were shut tight, you knew his eyes were locked on you. His breath heavy, as if he just confessed a dirty secret. He kinda did...

"Promise me.... Promise me you won't wear them and I'll help you cum."

As tired as you were. You wanted it. You needed it. You needed him. So you give in.

"F-fine... I promise."

"You promise what?" He smirked hearing your whiney voice.

"I promise I won't wear the heels!!"

The pleasure he got from you saying that was immense. He shifted his weight once more as he changed your position like a marionette doll. Spreading your legs apart. His hands wrapped around your thighs, and his claws dug into your skin. The stinging pain of it was a wake-up call, causing you to gasp for air.

This position caused him to go deeper. The sticky mess from your previous rounds was being pushed out of your aching hole. The sound of his hips hitting your ass grew louder with every precise thrust. They got louder and louder until they stopped. Your thighs had clenched closed as you hit that high you were chasing. And you took him with you. Tightening around his pulsing cock in a way that made him fill you to the brim once more.

He watched your body shake. Your hips jerking forward. He would usually take that as his sign to keep going, but your fucked out face was telling him you couldn't take another thrust.

"You did great my love..... my little angel~" He cooed gentle praises as he rubbed your claw marked thighs.

"I'll buy you the cutest flats."

:::

A thing he didn't know.. is that you lied, too. His secret cupboard was emptied, and your heal collection was restored... and yes.. he pouted in silence.

The end

#miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman smut

[cellabratience]

8 years ago today, I called Frank Iero an idiot to his face.

#he didn't deserve it #but man #he is useless with technology #it wasn't a hard thing to figure out #I will not be elaborating #I'll leave it open to interpretation #frank iero #my chemical romance

[edenesth]

[12:58 PM]

"Well, how does it taste?"

Peering through the doorway, you tried not to make a sound as your boyfriend's mother asked, her eyes gleaming with affection, watching as her son, who was finally back home after a lengthy absence, enthusiastically savoured the homemade delicacies before him.

"It's good, as always!" San answered between bites, "Though, I must admit, it's got a slightly different flavour today. Not bad, just different," His mother bit back a grin as she sent a wink in your direction before he continued, "It's got that strong taste of the herb my girlfriend always adds to her dishes."

With a light chuckle, Mrs. Choi inquired, "So, whose version do you prefer then? Mine or your girlfriend's?" He glanced up at her with a puzzled expression, "What do you mean? Didn't you prepare this?"

She shook her head, a cheeky smile on her lips, "Nope, I was lucky to have a very helpful apprentice who volunteered to cook today while your lazy ass slept in."

His chewing halted momentarily as he blinked, straightening up in his seat, "W-wait, you mean—"

Before he could finish, you interpreted his mother's nod as your cue to make your entrance, "Surprise!" You exclaimed, swinging open the door to his parents' room and skipping toward them.

Mrs. Choi cooed as she enveloped you in a hug, "This is my lovely assistant for the day. How did you enjoy her cooking?"

As he took in your presence and processed the fact that you were really here, he crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, "Babe, did you lie to me? I thought you said you were too busy to come to Namhae with me."

"You ungrateful brat!" He yelped when his mother smacked him on the shoulder, "Is that all you have to say to your girlfriend after she took an emergency leave from work just to rush over here so she could surprise you and spend some time with us?"

His eyes widened in realisation, guilt flooding over him for immediately accusing you of lying to him. Jumping up from his seat, he hurried over to you, ready to beg for forgiveness if necessary, "Oh my gosh, you did? I'm so sorry, babe!"

While he tried to embrace you, Mrs. Choi shot him a stern glare, "You better be! Otherwise, I'll take her with me today to meet my friends, and you can spend the rest of the day alone at home!"

You snickered as he cowered behind you, attempting to use you as a shield, "I was wrong, eomma! I'll treat her well, please don't take her away from me!"

With a scoff, she nodded at the food, signalling for him to finish his meal, "You can start by polishing off what she made." Seeing her preparing to leave home, intending to grant you two some alone time before the family dinner scheduled for later in the evening, you moved to help her gather her belongings.

"Bye, eomma! Have fun with your friends! We'll see you, appa, and noona tonight!" He called out from the dining table, bowing his head in shame when she responded with a hand gesture indicating she would be keeping an eye on him.

"Don't worry about us, aunty. I'll keep him in line," You whispered to her as she slipped on her shoes. She giggled, giving your arm a squeeze, "Good, let me know if he does anything to upset you. I'll straighten him out."

You couldn't contain your laughter when you came back to find him sulking while doing the dishes. Snaking your arms around his waist from behind, you nestled your cheek against his broad shoulder, "What's wrong, Sannie? Aren't you glad I'm here?"

He pouted as he set the clean utensils aside to dry, "Seems like you've already had my mother wrapped around your little finger, huh? I swear, she loves you more than she loves me now."

"If you want her undivided attention, I can leave." You teased.

Before you could pull away, he panicked and spun around to hold you tightly, "N-no, please don't go!" He pleaded, burying his face in your neck, "I was just playing with you, babe. I missed you like crazy. I'm so glad you're here, and seeing you bond with my family means the world to me."

You melted at his words, tightening your embrace, "I know, Sannie. I was just playing with you too."

He couldn't resist moving in to capture your lips in a deep kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him back just as fervently. Pulling back slightly, he murmured against your lips, "Well, instead of playing with my feelings, why don't you play with something else?"

Gasping loudly, your cheeks flushed red at the implication, "Wh-what are you suggesting, Choi San?! This is your family's house, it wouldn't be appropriate—"

He burst into laughter, pecking you on the head, "What were you thinking, babe? I was just talking about Byeol. We haven't been here in so long, I'm sure she misses us. Don't you want to play with her?"

Only then did you recall the presence of his cat, and you turned over your shoulder to find her staring curiously at you and her owner, "R-right, of course. I missed her too."

He cupped your face, urging you to meet his gaze, and grinned slyly, "But you know, if you have other ideas, I'm sure we can—"

"No, stop it, we won't!" You squealed, flustered, pushing him away and rushing over to cover the cat's innocent ears from whatever suggestive remark your boyfriend was about to make.

Gently stroking Byeol's black fur, you cooed down at her, "Don't pay attention to your oppa and his filthy mouth, hm? Unnie will shield you from him," When the adorable creature affectionately mewed and nestled into your hands, you turned to playfully tease him, "See, she already loves me more than she loves you."

Rather than feeling envious, your boyfriend's heart swelled with warmth and love at the sight. It was at this moment that he realised you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

ATEEZ Masterlist | My Pookie's Version

Y'all, the way my hand itched the second I saw San's IG update asdfghjkl I just had to write this! My bestie and I both decided to write our own versions of scenarios inspired by these photos. Do check out her version!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list: @aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho @cereal-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #choi san #ateez san #ateez timestamps #san x reader #san x you #ateez drabbles #san drabble #san fluff #ateez fic #ateez imagines

[weirdworldofwinnie]

Happy Halloween!🎃Here's a treat for all you Jonathan Crane lovers out there:

Face Me...

Dr. Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow x Female Reader (NSFW 18+ only smut)

Summary: You work at Arkham Asylum in Gotham and Dr. Crane has been stalking you for a while, but you are leery of him and have been avoiding him outside of professionalism at all costs. One night though as you are leaving work, he tracks you down at your car to see just what you're so afraid of.

Word Count: ~4,426

Warnings: Semi-rough car sex, non-con elements, forced oral (male receiving), dirty talk/language, slight degradation, hair pulling, slapping, stalker behavior, talk of virginity loss, birth control, Dr. Crane being kind of a creep in general

Note: Reader does not know he is actually Scarecrow! And images above are sourced from Pinterest. This story is based only on Cillian Murphy's version in the Batman films and is my interpretation of the character; I don't own him or any part of the franchise, this is just for fun.

Tonight was swathed in misty sheets of rain in the gritty darkness lightly tainted by the glow of streetlights as your car, parked a few blocks from Arkham Asylum, beeped to unlock and you slung your purse over your shoulder, sighing after a long day and wanting to get home to a hot bath and a drink or two. But a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach at a shadow from your peripheral vision made you hesitate and you squinted through the hazy shower that was tapering off to a light drizzle, dampening your hair.

A suited man, height on the shorter side, was stopped no more than twenty feet away and a jarring jolt rushed to your bones when you saw the street light glint off his narrow framed glasses and you paused, hand on the car door. He was utterly silent and you were unnerved by his stiff posture and oddly clenched fists, half thinking to jump in your four-door-sedan and peel out of his presence, but he then walked forward causally, those hands relaxing and slipping into the pockets of his black slacks.

"Good evening," he called out, stepping into view under a streetlight with a smirk and you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms defensively as he slowly approached, that sick smile never sliding off his features that were - you'd have to admit - frankly handsome... No, beautiful was a better term.

"Why are you stalking me, Dr. Crane?" you asked with edginess to your tired voice. It was late and you didn't even live in Gotham City, you just commuted here for work.

"Stalking? Oh no, I am simply observing," he replied smoothy, but it came off as more snappy and insincere.

"Right... Don't you have somewhere to go?"

"Do you?"

"Yeah, home to my apartment miles away. It's been an exhausting day and too late to be out on the town, so if you're proposing anything, I can't take it tonight."

"It's always a long, late night in Gotham."

He moved within a few feet of you and you swallowed nervously, but remembered a man like him could smell fear, so you put up a brave front.

"So when do you finally fuck off and leave me alone? It's unprofessional to follow someone without their permission, you know. Keep this up and I'll need a restraining order."

"But you always avoid me during work and now you reject my offer for simple company?"

"Company late at night at my car in the rain? And aren't you technically my boss? We aren't friends and I don't know why you're so interested in me, but I don't think you should be. I'm not looking for a man like you. Right now I'm just looking for a nice glass of red wine honestly."

"Really...?" he drew the word out to almost a parodying tone and you pursed your lips.

"Yes, really. Now I bid you goodnight, Dr. Crane." You opened the car door fully, ducking and stepping a foot in when the door caught and you looked up to see him holding it in a firm grip. He was stronger than you expected.

"Stop denying it, I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. Stop hiding and face me once and for all," he insisted darkly.

You took a breath, desperately trying to calm your beating heart and yet the horrible feeling that this evening wasn't going to end on a dull note persisted.

"Don't hurt me, I'll-" you started to warn and his eyebrows shot up with a shake of his head.

"Call the police?" It sounded like mockery from his mouth and you scowled as he continued, his pale hand sprinkled with rainwater sliding up and down the car door frame.

"Hurt you, hm? Well, only if you want me to." He chuckled and you stared at his slightly floppy dewey dark hair and raised eyebrows.

"Why the hell would I want you to hurt me?"

"You tell me. I do know you secretly want something else, don't you? Something more... erotic?"

You scoffed angrily, hating how he was worming his way past your exterior and into attraction, but you couldn't let it happen.

"Take a raincheck. I'm going home." You tried to shut the door but he was still holding it in a death grip, knuckles white and veins bursting out the back of his hand.

"Stop fucking around, I don't have time for this sh-" you cut off your sentence with a yelp as Dr. Crane shoved you inside the backseat of your own car and you landed flat on your back as he came inside to hover over your vulnerable body, wetting his pink lips.

"Please! Don't do this!" you cried out of panic and he leaned back, breathing heavily.

"Don't go anywhere," he warned and you struggled to sit up, throwing your purse up front and he slammed the side door shut, getting more comfortable in the backseat, which you were not pleased about.

"This is MY car, get out," you commanded, but he was as cool as a cucumber as he cleaned his glasses with a cloth from his suit jacket.

"I just want to talk one on one, which we never do outside of the usual board meetings and it can be so boring, always about psychiatry and stats and police reports and this patient and these crazies and-"

"Oh sure you just want to talk. I'm not some kind of naive idiot to the desires of the opposite sex," you rolled your eyes and he scoffed, settling back on the seat with a cross of his legs and looking up to the car ceiling.

"It's so cold and wet tonight, shame we aren't someplace more cozy," he muttered and you awkwardly crawled into the driver's seat with your keys and fumbled to insert them in, starting the ignition.

"What are you doing there?" he asked mildly and even that sounded passive aggressive. God, he sure was insufferable.

"Turning the heat on because you're whining about it. I just wish you'd get out of here, completely violating my privacy."

"This is a public street you're parked on, isn't it? And is this how you treat all passengers?"

"I never have any passengers," you remarked bitterly and Crane leaned forward, putting his hands on the back of the seat and peering around to you as you glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"Indeed. I know you're mostly a loner with almost no friends and orphaned from family or maybe you've lied and they aren't dead and are only estranged... Either way, no one cares and no one understands how you spend office hours in a facility full of the most criminally insane but you do it for the money and to quench your curiosity because deep down, you know - you know you're a freak too who sees no normal in what you have deemed a, oh say... corrupt kind of world."

You swallowed at his assertions and unfortunately fairly accurate reading.

"I don't need sympathy from you of all people," you snapped, putting the heat to full blast. It was freezing tonight and the defrost was battling the condensation filling up the windshield.

"I'm only trying to understand you myself, it's my job to psychoanalyze."

"I'm not one of your patients or experiments," you told him in disgust.

"Every human being is an experiment in the eyes of their creator, which is me for you because I happen to be the one who hired you in the first place. Without me, you would not have a job and therefore I created you in that respect," he replied in absurd smugness.

"Then what am I? Frankenstein's monster?"

His eyes flashed and he adjusted his glasses reflexively.

"I wish. No, you're my first prototype I have yet to diagnose."

You shut the heat off once the internal temperature was fairly toasty and cracked a window down a fraction for circulation. A beat of silence befell until he suddenly climbed into the front, dropping into the passenger seat confidently, and you realized how lithe he was, how easily he fit into spaces not designed for someone with such an overshadowing, all-encompassing ego.

"Now what are you doing?" you asked exasperatedly. He didn't answer and you hated the way looking at him was making your heart flutter despite your anger and the alarm bells ringing in your brain. Something about him was always... very off and you never could quite place your finger on it, he was a blind spot, but it was undeniable. Which was telling considering the people you were exposed to every day.

Crane reached up and removed his glasses entirely with a swipe to set them on the dash and your breath caught with that simple action. You admitted how he was very visually pleasing without those lens obstructing his intense blue colored orbs were. You glanced down and fiddled with the keys when he suddenly snatched them up out of your lap and pocketed them into his own pants with a manic expression.

"Hey, give those back!" you yelled and began to wrestle with him, arms flailing as he held his own above his head, palms up and empty.

"You want those? You have to do something for me first."

"I-Okay, what is it?" You dropped your arms and glared at him suspiciously. He smirked once, speaking with a tremor of excitement.

"If I was civilized, which I'm admittedly not, I'd ask you out on an old fashioned dinner date and then walk you to your door, give you a nice polite kiss and send flowers to your desk on Monday. But I can't wait anymore for that saccharine romantic scenario, so we'll get straight down to business. I want to fuck your brains out, right here in the car."

You blinked, rather stunned.

"I... I-I no, I can't, I mean that's-"

And here was where your confidence utterly failed as he suddenly lunged and grabbed you to pin you down inbetween the passenger and driver seats, head flung upside down almost to the backseat floor and legs helplessly kicking towards the windshield.

"Please, don't do this!" you yelped anxiously.

"Don't tell me you're a virgin who has never had a dick in you before," he whispered, misreading your fearful hesitant expression. Actually, you'd had sex once with a lame boyfriend back in college and since then, avoided the dating and hookup scene, content just to masturbate when you could.

"Oh, fuck, I should've guessed. What a shocking discovery," he wrongly concluded rather sarcastically and you cringed, twisting your head away from his warm breath and ridiculously good looks.

"This makes it all the more interesting, then," he murmured with a feathery caress to your cheek and you flinched, giving him a kick and successfully wriggling out of his grasp to curl up against the door in the backseat.

"I've been waiting a long time for our encounter," he mused, utterly unfazed at the negative reaction.

You immediately went to open the door, ready to run for your life if he became overly threatening, but he hit the button that locked all the doors. You manually unlocked your one door - thank God for that safety feature - but his deadly voice made you freeze.

"Are you quite sure you want to do that?"

"T-This is my ensured vehicle and y-you are violating every right of mine by t-taking over like this," you stated, but your voice was shaking like a leaf through the words.

"That's it, you are afraid of me..." he whispered slowly and the pure delight with pride in his voice was unmistakable. You turned to look at him directly, unable to hide and deny anything any longer.

"I think you are being very inappropriate right now," you admitted nervously.

Crane moved to join you in the backseat, but you felt stuck even though you could technically open the door and make an escape. There was no way he could really stop you, was there? He didn't have a weapon on him, did he?

"If you were really frightened, you would have bolted by now," he said as though reading your thoughts and you gulped, realizing he was right.

"Dr. Crane, I-" you were broken off by him abruptly grabbing your face and kissing you, his tongue sloppily forcing its way into your mouth and you naturally reciprocated while inhaling his sharp stinging scent of expensive cologne. He pulled back with a gasp and a mischievous spark in his eyes that made something awaken deep inside.

"You kissed me," you said in a stunned voice.

"That's precisely what I did, Y/N," he answered with another touch of smugness and you closed your eyes, knowing you were in too deep now. He was going to take this all the way and you felt helpless to stop it. Did you even want to stop him?

"I knew if I exposed myself enough to you, you'd finally stop being immune," Crane told you with a sort of self-righteousness as he ran his hands down your back and shrugged your coat off before moving to your front to remove your blouse carefully, button by button.

"I hate to see such pretty tits contained and so oppressed... Let's free them, shall we?"

He unclasped your bra and removed it, tossing it to the floor and you shivered, goosebumps peppering your bare arms and neck.

"Aww, is it too cold?" He made a pout and privately you wanted to smack those stupid lips right off his condescending face but it was if you were under a spell of a sudden, entranced by his actions and his hypnotic eyes. He trailed his fingers down from your throat to your nipples and you hardened at the stimulation, closing your eyes in regret. Dr. Crane was turning you on, dammit.

"Better than I could imagine..." he breathed, taking in your appearance for a minute while groping your breasts, squeezing, and you gritted your teeth as he teasingly tickled you under your arms, making your breath hitch and a stupid giggle slipped out.

"Sensitive, are we? I promise I won't hurt you."

You leaned back, casting a fretful look out the windows in case of onlookers, but the street was empty and the glass was streaky with rain, creating a thickly translucent rippled covering not unlike a shower curtain.

"No one knows," Crane stated flatly in response to your paranoia while untying his dress shoes and pushing them under the seats. You just nodded, taking off your own and then unzipping your pants the same time he undid his own. His tight dark grey briefs were bulging with his cock and you hesitated, absolutely unsure of what to do when he completely stripped and out popped out his erect glistening-at-the-tip penis in full view.

"Take it in your mouth," Crane ordered abruptly, pushing you down beneath him.

"Um, no I think that's disgus-" Your voice was cut off as you nearly choked; he roughly shoved his cock so fast into your parted mouth. The silky end of his tie tickled your nose as he inched closer, and clearly this was much more enjoyable for him than it was for you as he groaned in building ecstasy and you kept your mouth closed around it, afraid that if you moved, you'd gag or get hurt. He forced your head up a little and bobbed, but you could feel a dribble of precum seeping down your throat and now you reflexed, yanking yourself from him with a loud noise and banging the car door open to cough and spit violently out onto the pavement below.

"Get back in, do you want someone to see us?!" Crane hissed and you felt a sharp tug on your hair as he pulled you back. You shrieked and self defensively twisted to slap him straight in the face. He gasped from the unexpected blow, falling back and banging his head on the opposite window as you spat, wiping your lips of his mess.

"Can't take it like a common whore, can you? Feel like being a goddamn difficult bitch, don't you? Think you're better than me, do you?" he seethed, rubbing his cranium and you huffed.

"I thought you'd just put your dick in me, not that bullshit."

"It's called oral and many women in fact enjoy it."

"How do you know, you've done that before?"

He had a strange expression when he replied briskly.

"I've read up on the concept, you know."

"You've studied about women and sex. Amazing. Is that what you do on your lunch break or...?" you almost laughed, but the way he was staring at you wasn't in a joking manner. He had the look of an inmate one straw away from a full psychotic behavior break down. Basing from your training, you decided to distract his frustrating anger and talk nonchalantly to calm him down.

"Okay, I'm kidding around, I get it, and I don't mean to hate or spite you. Remember when I was initially employed at Arkham, fresh out of college, and I met you for the first time? I personally thought you were extremely cocky and looked waaay too young to be a top psychiatrist in such a grand high security institution. Now I can say with certainty that while you are, um, creative in your methods with the inmates and I do admit I find you very terribly attractive, I have to say Dr. Crane... I still think you're an arrogant son of a bitch."

"Call me Jonathan," he replied, unimpressed by the insult and wrestling off his tie.

"Well, Dr. Jonathan, you sure are a pretty piece of work," you replied with ample attitude and he was fed up, dumping his jacket and shirt from his body and twisting the tie in his fingers. He held it up and a muscle spasmed in face, jaw clenching and enunciating his cheekbones.

"You want me to choke you with this?"

"I'd really prefer you didn't and it would be very nice if you weren't such a dick forcing your sex on me," you answered matter-of-factly.

"Lie down or I'll fucking fire you from your position, understand?" he snapped loudly and was extremely serious as you glared, but then reluctantly laid back obediently on the seats just to avoid complications and he came down swiftly, carefully aligning to position his penis at your entrance. He cautiously touched the moist head to your vaginal lips when you held up a hand onto his chest, stopping him.

"Now hang on doctor, don't you want to warm up first?"

"I'm obviously already warmed up, Miss Y/LN."

"But I don't have lubricant on me, so you're going to have to get me naturally very wet for penetration because right now I'm dry as a bone," you warned for your own protection, but hardly expected him to listen.

"Don't tell me how to do it," he replied, snippy.

"I'm serious, you can't just stick it in there; it will be just as hard for you as it'll be for me and I don't want to end up seeing a gynecologist."

"So you aren't a virgin after all?"

"I had my hymen broken with a loser in the past," you told him and he raised one brown eyebrow, creasing his forehead with a few fine lines.

"Then how should I start, Miss doctor?"

You wordlessly took a hold of his index finger and guided it to your opening and he pressed lightly, feeling pooling liquid.

"You little liar, you're already discharging," he whispered disapprovingly and he massaged your clit in slow jerky rhythm. You nodded in approval, losing your control as he slipped a finger in and moved around enough to make you clench a bit, trapping his digit.

"How does that feel?" he asked almost clinically and you closed your eyes, urging him to put in another finger. He did and you almost orgasmed when he extracted much too soon, sighing.

"This isn't much fun for me," he whined and you made a face, shifting position to spread your legs wider, putting your arms up and accidentally smearing the fogged window with your fingertips. You looked utterly submissive, practically begging to be fucked, to get it over with (so you convinced yourself).

But for all his aggression to trap you in your own car for penetrative sex, Jonathan was now becoming oddly timid as he hesitantly closed the gap between you, realigning his bare body to yours.

"Wait, have you done this before?" you asked suspiciously and he was sheepish in answering.

"I told you, you are my first prototype."

"Shit, you're the virgin here?!" You laughed as though this made this experience any less stressful or partially contrived.

"Do you masturbate?" you then asked and he rolled his eyes.

"What kind of man of do you think I am?"

"Is that yes or no?"

"Doesn't matter, Y/N. Now, let me ask you a more important question: are you on birth control of any type?"

"I..." you hesitated to answer because if you told him 'no' would he go any further? You had pills at home as a precaution, but neglected to ever take them, assuming you'd be remaining single. But you had no intention of getting into a full relationship and certainly not being impregnated by this man.

"I left them at home," you finally answered truthfully.

"I have something for that then," he assured and you stared as he leaned back and rummaged in the pockets of his clothes on the floor. He produced a tiny pill container and dropped a pill into your open palm. You didn't ask why he was carrying around birth control pills, but assumed he had indeed been planning this for a while.

"Don't want any unnecessary side effects of something that I'll have to end up terminating anyway," he muttered bitterly as you popped it in and climbed into the driver's seat to swig some water from your plastic bottle in the cupholder, feeling grateful that at least he didn't administer that Fear Toxin he was always messing around with in the asylum.

"Now can we get started?" Jonathan asked impatiently and you took a breath, easing the front seat down so you were lying parallel to him. Jonathan clamored on top of your naked flesh and straddled you, his cock rubbing up against your thighs, then vaginal area and you squirmed, clutching onto his back. He pushed in gradually, but densely, and you whimpered at the stinging pain and then the growing pleasure bubbling around his cock within your walls and you clenched hard, much harder than you had with his fingers.

"Oh... Fuck, Jonathan..." you groaned and he bounced up and down lightly, thrusting with slaps of skin and you felt your bottom sticking with sweat to the leather seat as he kept at it for several minutes, gripping your hips and nearly plowing you apart. It hurt, no getting around it, and he wasn't privy to what you were feeling as he seemed entirely in his own zone, racing for his pleasure until you moaned loud enough to cause him glance down, realizing you were getting close to free falling off the edge.

"C'mon, you're so close with that pretty little pussy of yours, almost..." Jonathan breathed in your ear and as he hit the spot, finally the climaxing orgasm came with a bang and it was so intense, probably fueled by adrenaline and stress more than actual love, that you emitted a high pitched shrieking whine which trailed into a low moan of relief while it tapered off and he grunted, somehow thrusting even further. Yes, you had minimal experience, but had never ever been penetrated this far before and you dreaded how much longer he could rail you, but thankfully his own orgasm came with a grunting groan as he spilled into you and you held on, digging nails into his shoulder blades and nearly biting his neck. He panted heavily in your ear and his tickle of breath made your stomach flip.

He laid still on top of you for awhile, cock twitching and warming your insides. The windows were fogged up completely and the cold was now non-existent with the heat you and him were creating out of friction alone.

"You enjoy yourself?" you whispered hoarsely to Jonathan as his breathing slowed sluggishly and he looked like he was falling asleep, so you shoved him off your aching body and he blinked, rubbing his forehead.

"Yeah, that was satisfactory. Maybe I should bump up your paycheck."

"I'm not a prostitute, but thank you."

He smiled lazily, eyes rather unfocused, and you pulled your seat up with the lever, reaching for his glasses on the dash and handing them back to him. He, in turn, retrieved the car keys from his pants and tossed them back to you with a clanging jingle.

Casting a look around your car, there were streaky handprints on the fogged glass, thin swipes of fingers and imprinted palms decorating the back windows and you reached over to one and drew a heart outline in a patch of blank space. Jonathan's own finger speared through it, making a arrow.

"Very romantic," you commented sarcastically and moved to join him in the backseat as he started to draw a creepy face reminiscent of a familiar spooky icon (a clown? Maybe a scarecrow?) when he stopped and checked his watch.

"I need to go," Jonathan coldly stated out of the blue and began to hastily gather up his clothing, awkwardly dressing before he stepped outside and zipped up his pants, and inhaled the late October city air, somewhat out of breath. The rain had stopped and the skies were clearing, the full pearly white moon slicing through the curtain of storm clouds, and you drew your blouse around yourself with a shiver before sliding into underwear, realizing you'd never look at Dr. Crane the same since this intimately raw experience.

"So I'll be seeing you around tomorrow...?" you wondered aloud and although you meant for that to be purely work related, he clearly took it the other direction.

"Oh, I'll be seeing you." He smirked knowingly and then slammed the car door closed in your face, leaving you sore and to reel from whatever the hell this twisted specimen of a man just put you through. Did you like it?

Maybe.

Thanks for reading 🖤 First time writing for Jonathan Crane, so I hope this was halfway decent!

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