#not to crane he's garbage

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || since you're the only one of his coworkers at arkham who doesn't seem to be intimidated by his intelligence, jonathan decides it's time he finds out what does scare you... and how he can embody it. unfortunately for you, turning into your greatest nightmare doesn't prove very difficult for him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || EXTREME AND EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ only and please proceed with caution), drugging and kidnapping, paralysis, traumatized reader, forced orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, unprotected sex/breeding, misogyny, jonathan is very much in character which means he is incredibly evil and has incel vibes (I know y'all are not about to get mad at me for writing a villain being a villain and not uwu babifying him...)

When you interrupted and corrected your colleague, Dr. Crane, about the correct combination of pharmaceuticals for a certain schizophrenic patient in the asylum who happened to have diabetes, you thought nothing of it.  After all, the whole point of staff meetings was to discuss and debate these things, and you weren’t about to let him damn-near poison a patient by giving him something that would interfere with his insulin.  You weren’t trying to be snarky about it, but you did sort of make a joke about how dangerous his suggestion was— and you didn’t notice the way Jonathan’s nostrils flared and jaw tightened when some others chuckled at what you said.

When you received an email from your therapist’s office informing you that there was evidence of a break-in in her building, but that the police were unable to officially determine if confidential client files were compromised, you thought nothing of it.  It was a big complex, these things happen, and you knew from being a clinician yourself how tricky the laws could be surrounding that stuff: she had to email you, legally, if there was any chance your file could’ve been accessed, and that didn’t mean you had any reason to fear your private therapy session notes had been read.  Besides, who would want to read about you and your boring life, diving into your mundane hopes and fears and daily stresses?

And when Crane came into the office with tea for you, you thought nothing of it.  Sure, you seemed surprised when he popped into your office with cups in hand— you asked him why he had two cups of tea, assuming they were both for himself, and he laughed.  Just that was out of character, he wasn’t much of a chucklehead or anything.  “Green tea, right?  With lime and honey?” he asked, setting one cup down for you.  You were still taken aback, but you had to admit defeat.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the cup as he sat down across the desk from you.  “Yeah, that’s my order— I didn’t know you drank tea.”

“Sometimes,” he informed you, hoping his poker face was holding up as he watched you take a sip.  He couldn’t help but stare at your lips wrapping around the little hole in the lid, the print of berry-red your lipstick left behind.  His heart was racing already, more than he expected.

When you finished the first sip, you smiled at him and let out a small, nervous laugh.  “Thank you,” you finally said.  So, yes, even though you clearly noticed this was slightly odd behavior, you thought nothing of drinking the tea.  That was one thing he hated about you: the thoughtlessness.  You didn’t seem to second-guess yourself much, if anything you were a little on the cocky side.  He found it so irritating— that confidence.  Sure, you were smart and you deserved to take yourself somewhat seriously, but the way you walked around this place— the way you ignored him so easily, or spoke over him if you wanted to, or ignored his suggestions when he gave them… you were a bitch, basically.  You clearly thought you were better than him— better than everybody else— for no reason at all.  Just because you were pretty and had a good job you thought you could get away with anything, surely; pretty girls always think that way.

He made casual conversation with you as you sipped the tea, asking questions he already knew the answer to, hoping to catch you in a lie.  For the most part, your stories matched up with what he’d learned from that file.  But, you left out the gory details— you left out the best parts, really.

You mentioned where you went to medical school and that you transferred mid-way through due to ‘stress’, but you didn’t elaborate on what really happened to you.  You mentioned having your own therapist— something you said passionately that every client-facing mental health professional should have— but left out what you were actually being treated for, not to mention the PTSD diagnosis.

He had to hide his smirk behind the paper cup every time you seemed to lose your train of thought— it wasn’t like you, so focused and determined all the time.  No, it was the drugs finally kicking in.  You went for bigger gulps of tea each time your eyes looked heavier, hoping the caffeine would work— but the trace caffeine in your green tea was nothing compared to what he’d added.

You tried to warn him that you were suddenly not feel up to par— that he needed to leave, and you might try to wake yourself up— but he just sat and waited.  He watched you try to get up, and lose your balance.  He watched you stumble, trip, and ultimately fall onto the floor limply.  He watched your eyes flutter shut and the final ounce of energy to fight it fade; he quietly took a final sip of his tea.

~

You woke up on the floor.  You could barely feel it beneath you, but you knew it was the floor— it was cold, and hard.  And you were looking up at the dark ceiling, at the fan spinning at the lowest speed; so you were definitely on the floor.

Jonathan was standing above you, not too far off, flipping through papers.  You couldn’t move— no matter how hard you fought to, you couldn’t.  You barely managed to turn your head, but it felt more like it rolled to the side on its own.  You tried to yell for Dr. Crane’s attention, for help, for him to explain what happened to you, but even your mouth couldn’t move.  The best you could do was breathe harder— actually, you were pretty sure your body was trying to hyperventilate, but you were too incapacitated to even have a proper panic attack.

He heard you, though; he looked away from the papers and grinned down at you.  “Comfortable down there?”

You started to put together a few things.  One, that the last thing you remembered was being in your office, and now you were in your apartment.  Two, that those papers were photoscans of chart notes— obviously you couldn’t make out the words from here, but the format gave away that it must have to do with a patient.

And three, that Crane was neither surprised that you were paralyzed on the floor, nor interested in helping you.

He half-rolled the papers in one hand and playfully hit the other hand’s palm with them.  “These have been quite interesting… revealing, to say the least,” he informed you, like it was a compliment— something you should be proud to hear.  “You’re quite the enigma, Doc!”

He sat down beside you on the floor, leaning on his hand first to find his balance with a little sigh; he seemed amused, actually, and your heart began to race.

As he started to read aloud from the page in front of him, you felt nauseous.  He was reading patient data, describing a client who was receiving individual counseling— or that’s what the CPT code indicated, at least.  As he listed the client’s demographic data— age, race, gender, height, weight— it became eerily obvious what he was doing.  You refused to believe it until he went on: “Client was recommended to Dr. Min Zhang for individual therapy concerning PTSD following sexual trauma.”

Your therapist.  This was a file he’d copied, which belonged to your therapist.  And it was obvious whose file it was.

As you tried with all your might to scream, Jonathan flipped a few pages ahead.

“Session fourteen, eleventh of June,” he continued.  “Client expressed frustration with an increased recurrence of nightmares and flashbacks to her assault.  Up until now, she has struggled to explain what triggers her anxiety without having to actually elaborate on the circumstances of the event.”

He stopped, but you weren’t exactly relieved.  In fact, you were horrified.  He had a little grin on his face when he looked at you, but you could finally see the rage in his eyes.  Suddenly, you realized how long it had been there.  You had sort of picked up on it before, the resentment he had towards you— and it didn’t take a Freudian expert to figure out that he was threatened by you, especially as a man.  He didn’t respond well to feeling upstaged and he clearly had an issue with women.  Maybe not that issue— he was good-looking and well-off, he didn’t need to have any issues with women if he didn’t want to— but an issue nonetheless.  

“Now,” he added, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before, “client states she is ready to describe the incident in full detail.”

He set the papers aside for a second, leaning over you and almost looking… giddy, really.

“I won’t read you the rest, I’ve already pretty much memorized what goes on from there.  It was fascinating— seeing how what happened that night connected to the fears you still have today… the nightmares.  You said that you still feel sick at the smell of alcohol, you still don’t like to wear pinstripe skirts, and even just the wrong few words can make you feel like you’re right back there where it happened— on the floor of your apartment.”

All you could do was look up at him, and you felt your eyes get hot as they welled with tears.

“Not this apartment, obviously— the one by your old school,” Jonathan sighed, “but this will have to do.  And the smell of alcohol, well, I wouldn’t want to let anything cloud my experience— but I dabbed a little gin on my wrists, what do you think?”

He held his hand up by your face, caressing your cheek for a second, and you imagined yourself pulling away— turning your head and shrugging his touch off of you with a grimace.  But nothing happened, of course, and you were entirely helpless as the acidic stench of liquor became apparent.  You couldn’t give your typical outward reaction of a frown, but inside, you felt just the same as always: your stomach twisted, your heart pounded, your head swirled.

“Smell is such a… primal trigger of memory, isn’t it?” he mused, watching your face reverently.  “I can see it in your eyes, it’s affecting you even more than I expected.  You act so fearless at work— but I knew you must have been overcompensating.  God, you’re terrified— I would say you’re paralyzed, but, well… it would be too literal, I think.”

You knew that Crane studied fear and phobias, even trauma occasionally, as a personal interest within the field.  It was normal to have a favorite subtopic, and to conduct related research on it— but obviously, this was far from normal, this was absolutely deranged.  You knew that part of this was vengeance, in his own mind at least, but you didn't feel like you'd done anything actually wrong to him.  And the rest of it, well, it seemed like some twisted experiment, but if you were able to speak you would've tried to remind him that this 'research' wasn't going to get him published or advance his career— but of course, that wasn't what he wanted.  He just wanted to humiliate you.

“I was worried I didn’t have enough to work with, you know,” he added.  “I knew I couldn’t get you to where it happened, if I could even figure it out since you never filed that police report… and the skirt, well, I considered it.  It sounded pretty exciting to dress you up like the night it happened— what I would give to know everything you were wearing that night, but I don’t have a ton to work with.  Obviously, you don’t own any pinstripe skirts anymore, so I would’ve had to buy one… and I wasn’t quite ready for the looks I’d get shopping at Macy’s, so…”

Carefully, he reached up to take off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on your coffee table.

“You know how detail-oriented I am— I mean, I went to all this, didn’t I?” He continued, reaching down and brushing his fingers for a moment over your leg.  It was so instinctive to pull away that it took you a moment to realize you hadn’t… because of course, you couldn’t.  “But it’s impossible to recreate it all perfectly.  Clearly, I don’t need to— if only you could see it, Doc, you look… you look so weak.  Pathetic.”

Since the only thing you could do was look around, you tried to look away— to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror in your eyes.  He grabbed your face and turned it until you looked up at him.  

“Did you think you’d be able to face your greatest fear?  Perhaps with a bit more dignity?” he mused.  He looked different without the glasses on; and, ironically, you felt like he could see you even better now.

It was obvious that he enjoyed lording complete power over you, but a quick glance down to his suit trousers made it clear just how much he enjoyed it.  You quickly darted your gaze away, but it was too late; he started to climb on top of you, staring at your face uncomfortably close, and worked on opening his belt and fly.

“Fear rules us all, doesn’t it?  Everything you did, it was guided by your fear that it would— well, why paraphrase?  Let me find exactly how you put it…”

He picked up the papers again quickly, licking his thumb and flipping around until he found the right entry.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is: client states she lives in almost constant fear that it will happen again.”

So that's what this was: his disturbed take on exposure therapy.

As he tossed the copied charts away for the last time and reached up under your skirt, he leaned down and whispered in your ear— and you couldn’t even flinch from the harsh sounds of his words.  “It took you over fifty sessions to admit it,” he recalled, “to tell her the whole truth.  Not just what he did to you… what you did.”

With a small growl, he yanked your panties down your legs and rubbed your thighs with far too much aggression, such that you expected bruises from his hands— just like the ones you’d had before.

“You said he made you do it,” he continued, “you couldn’t help it, right?  But you said nothing’s ever felt like that— that you’d never had such a powerful orgasm.”

You would’ve vomited, except that that, too, requires your muscles to not be paralyzed.  Rolling your skirt up and spreading your legs, he positioned himself right between them, rubbing his cock's leaking head around your hole.

“Your greatest fear isn’t really that it’ll happen again, is it?” Jonathan taunted.  “You’re afraid someone’s going to find out how much you liked it.”

With that, he punched his hips forward and speared you on his cock.

It had been years since you'd had anything inside you, even your own fingers.  You couldn't even remember if being penetrated hurt like this during your assault, and you would've sworn before that you remembered every detail perfectly.  But this was so real, not a memory or a nightmare.  You couldn't cry out from the sting.

"God, it's tight," he groaned, "I bet you weren't this tight when it happened— you'd been whoring around, hadn't you?  Letting all kinds of guys use you… just ran into the wrong one and got your drink spiked.  But now…"

He hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on your hip.  

"Now it's all mine, isn't it?"

Inside, you were screaming and kicking and pleading for mercy.  You imagined you would be angry and violent, beat him to death with your heel or something, but you wondered if you'd be forced to bargain with him— apologize for whatever you did to upset him, promise you wouldn't tell a soul about this as long as he left you alone.  But either way, it didn't matter… on the outside, you were useless, laying there and letting him use you.

"What made you come so much before?  Did he have a big cock, is that it?” he asked with a snarl.  “Did he know exactly how to touch you?  Or was it just that you’d been craving it, needed it really rough to get off properly?  Is that why you came while he raped you?”

It was a biological response, you told yourself like you had over and over, I couldn't help it, it wasn't my fault, it was a biological response— it wasn't my fault, I didn't like it, it was a biological response.

“I think I know what it is,” he mused, looking down at you with heavy eyes and almost purring as he watched your limp form bounce on the floor.  “I think you wanted to be put in your place.  You act so liberated, so empowered— but you’re a creature of instinct, like anything else.  You need someone to remind you how weak you are, I know, fuck, I know you do…”

He fucked you just a bit faster, grunting and tightening his fist on the floor by your head.

“You haven’t been able to have an orgasm at all, since then,” he stated— almost making it like a question, with the way he said it, but he obviously already knew it was true.  He sounded shockingly sympathetic— not even pitying, not condescending, for once.  “I’m sure for a while you didn’t even try, afraid it would remind you— but that’s the thing, you can’t finish unless you’re reminded.”

You almost surprised yourself when you heard a whine come from your throat; he smiled proudly.

"It's wearing off, I think," he noticed.  "I only gave you a small dose.  Can you move at all?  Can you beg me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try to say everything you'd wanted to since you awoke, but all that came out was a moan.  You hated yourself for that, and he laughed happily.

"You don't want me to stop," he decided.  "Feels too good?"

I fucking hate you, you wanted to scream, you sick son of a bitch, I fucking hate you—

"You didn't say it outright, but he must have said something to you— during, maybe after," Jonathan theorized.  "You didn't say what it was, but you told your therapist about having a vivid flashback after being accosted by a delusional homeless man on the street.  He called you a bitch, seemingly for no reason… is that what your rapist said to you?  Did he say you were a stuck-up little bitch?"

As burning hot tears striped your temples, you curled your fingers over and over— maybe you could move your arms if you really tried…

"He was fucking right about you.  You think you're so much fucking better than everyone else," he growled.  "You think you're so fucking smart, and special.  But you're no fucking different, you're nothing—"

You whined and reached up, weakly trying to push him off of you, but all you could do was limply grasp at his shoulders.

"Nothing but a stupid—" he grunted the word as he slammed himself into you— "fucking—" he did it again— "bitch."

"No!" you finally heard yourself sob, clutching a weak fistful of his white shirt, but he grabbed your hands and shoved them back down to the floor.

“God,” he choked, holding your wrists tightly until you whined, “it’s so much better when you can fight— fuck, it’s so much better.  Keep struggling if you want, Doc, you’re still too weak for me…”

Your legs moved a little, but they felt heavy.  Sensation was only just beginning to return to them, like pins and needles, and it stung; you winced as you managed to squirm a bit beneath him.

"That's it," he praised, "this is probably just how you did it before.  Too drunk and too desperate for cock to really do much, but trying so hard to look like you hate it— I understand, you don't want anyone to know that you need this.  They'd never look at you the same again: the smart, accomplished psychiatrist who likes getting treated like fuckmeat.  What would they think of you if they knew?"

"No…" you said again, too weak and traumatized to say much else— but it wasn't what he said that made you say no, it was the pulse of pleasure inside your cunt.  He must have felt it, and if he didn't, he surely felt the next; yes, he did, because he smiled down at you excitedly.

"It's happening, isn't it?  You're gonna come."

He held on tight to one of your legs, gripping your thigh and staring uncomfortably into your eyes as he kept going— faster and rougher with each thrust.  You choked on your throat, trying to stop any part of this, but the pleasure was undeniable; it still hurt, yes, and you still felt so angry and sick and numb, but something familiar and desperate was tightening in your gut.  It’d been so long since anyone touched you… you’d forgotten how natural it could feel, even when it was so horrible.

"I read it in your file, but I still couldn't really believe it,” he laughed quietly, “I couldn't believe you came over and over while being raped— but here you are, wow, look at you… you’re so beautiful when you’re scared.”

A long, heavy sigh fell from your lips; your eyes got heavier, and your whole body seemed to relax— in a way totally different from the medication-induced paralysis.

He cooed at you, seeming oddly proud, and you were oddly compliant as he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.

Tears streamed across your cheeks as he held you close, one hand around your back while the other moved your hips against his.  “There you go— come for me, I wanna feel it— another one, baby, for me…”

It wasn’t much longer before another one came— from what you remembered, it was a lot like the first time, this terribly wonderful way your body protected itself from the trauma by immersing you in pleasure.  Of course, Jonathan helped you along by rubbing your clit with his thumb, excited to watch you surrender to ecstasy even when you begged him to just stop and leave you alone.

Of course, your protests were less and less believable as more of your strength and mobility returned— you could’ve tried harder to get away, but instead you found your hips rocking with his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.  No, you didn’t want this— you never wanted this— but you found the way he spoke to you impossibly comforting even while it was still deeply upsetting.  “Tell me about the nightmares, darling,” he whispered— some impossible mix of pleading and ordering.

“A-almost every night,” you whimpered.  “I… I got used to it, but I used to… I used to wake up and think I was still…”

"They felt so real, hm?" he presumed, and you nodded.  “It’s real now… you don’t have to be afraid of the dreams anymore, it’s all real— I’m right here.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare or comfort you; he pet your hair, clinging to you tightly, kissing your face and neck along the lines of the tears soaking your skin.  

You felt his grin against your cheek when another wavering moan echoed in your chest, and he laid you back on the floor to hover over you again.  “Was that your third one, already?” he noticed.  “This is so much easier than I thought… you needed this so badly, you poor girl.”

A quick wave of panic settled over you when his hand wrapped around your neck.  “W-wait,” you pleaded instantly, as if you really feared he would just strangle you to death right then and there.  Your hands, still weak and tingly, reached up to his arm, and you felt his cock throb inside you— of course that was what he wanted, to see you react in fear again.  So many other emotions were at play right now, even some you didn’t know existed (like whatever the word would be for longing for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, or feeling like the only person you can trust is the person hurting you the most), but fear was still going to rule it all as long as he had any say.

"How many times did you come before?" he demanded to know, nostrils flaring as he fucked you harder.  "Tell me how many times you came when he raped you."

"I— I don't—" you stammered.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I— I don't know!" you yelped, whimpers falling to silence as he tightened his grip on your neck. 

"You don't fucking know?" he snarled at you, watching you fight for air.  You clawed at his shirt, his wrist, tried to pry his fingers away, but he just sneered as he stared at your numbing face.  "You don't know how many times you creamed on your rapist's cock?  Bullshit."

"I—" you gasped when he let go of your throat, "I lost count…"

He went from livid to ecstatic in a second, laughing proudly and dipping down to kiss your neck passionately.  "Good girl," he mumbled against your skin, fucking you even faster.  "That's what you need to do for me now— come for me until you lose count."

“I— I can’t,” you choked, grabbing at his shoulders as he seemed to overwhelm you just by pressing his weight down on top of you.  “I’m sorry— you… you proved your point, I— I just need a break—”

Even though the drug he’d injected you with was wearing off, you realized you were just as limp and helpless as before… after all, some of the most powerful chemicals come inside the body.  You didn’t even fight it when he put his hand over your mouth, spitting out a quiet but hateful shut up and continuing with his quick and forceful thrusts into you.  

He kept you conscious and lucid by occasionally hitting or choking you, talking to you, once or twice even ordering you to kiss him.  Like you mean it, he’d said, slapping you as punishment for doing it wrong.  Truth be told, you hadn’t kissed anyone in so long that you’d really been trying your best the first time.  Sometimes he told you to beg him for more— or to beg him to get off of you— and yet he would usually punish you for speaking at all.  He was completely unpredictable, and you figured that was part of the plan: take away any shred of control you might try to get by making it impossible to follow his rules.  Keep you confused and crying, keep you fearful, keep you obedient.

But, he did seem to enjoy when you could only just choke out a broken please.  He laughed at you, pinching your sore clit in response until you sobbed and tried to jerk your hips away.  “‘Please’ what, honey?  You mean, ‘please keep fucking me, Doctor Crane, you’ll make me come again?’” he taunted.  “Something like that?”

“Please… please,” you swallowed around your whines, “please just… finish, and go…”

“Oh,” he purred, “you want me to come?”

You’d specifically not phrased it that way, but, yes, that was what you were asking for.  You weren’t sure what else he wanted from you now, it felt like he’d drained you of everything.

“You can just say that, baby— you wanna make me come?” he grinned, moving in closer for a kiss, but you turned your head away.  He grabbed your jaw again and stared at you with an angry glare.  “This isn’t about me.  This is what you wanted.  This is what you fucking wanted!”

As he screamed in your face, you sobbed and tried to look away again, but he hit you hard on the face and covered your mouth before the cry of agony could come out.  

“This is what you wanted, right?” he insisted again, forcing your head to nod with his clammy, iron-tight grip.  “Uh huh— and you wanna make me come, don’t you?  You understand now that’s all you’re good for.”

As sick as it was, you felt yourself fall into another orgasm when he said that; your eyes rolled back a bit, and for a moment you felt even hotter between your legs.

“I think, if you beg me to come, maybe I will,” he offered— bargaining with you, probably another way to trick you into clamoring for some control only to yank it away.  Unfortunately, you were in no position to turn down a deal.

“Please,” you blurted out the second he released your mouth from under his hand; when you blinked the tears from your eyes, you saw him clearly again and realized how completely different he looked from the arrogant-but-generally-unassuming man you knew from work.  His hair was fallen beside his face, and he was close enough that the ends were tickling your forehead.  His eyes were bloodshot, crazed, and dark.  His lips, always full and plush but usually in a tight frown or neutral look of condescending boredom, were curled around the teeth he bared at you.  He looked animalistic, for a man typically so measured.  Only he could do something so animalistic in a way that required such intellect, foresight, and contemplation— using his superhuman skills to treat you in a subhuman manner.  You realized that you were really seeing him for the first time— the person you’d known before was the mask.  This was something horribly freeing for him; and you were having a much easier time analyzing and thinking about him to distract from how sickly freeing this experience was becoming for you.  “Please, Jonathan—”

“Doctor Crane,” he corrected.  Apparently this wasn’t enough to put you on a first name basis…

“Doctor Crane,” you repeated, “please… come.  I want… I want you to come.”

“Hmm,” he considered, and you worried he’d decide he was unimpressed with your effort and hurt you again— but, he did maybe the only thing worse.  “Okay,” he agreed, “if it’s so important to you.”

Just when you shut your eyes tight and hoped you could just get through this— just hold on for a few more minutes at most and then this would be over and done with— he whispered in your ear that he needed you to keep your eyes open if he was going to finish.  

Though, when you obeyed, he purred at you and let his own eyes flutter shut for just a moment.  For once, he actually seemed affected by all this physically and not just psychosexually.  “I think I’ll come inside, like he did before,” Crane decided with a groan when he opened his eyes, biting his lip for a moment as he stared down at you.  “I didn’t see any birth control in your listed medications on chart… I guess we’ll find out if you have a fear of getting pregnant.”

"Jonathan— don't," you whimpered.  "Please, don't do that—"

"Shh," he soothed, petting the top of your head and laying his weight over you.  "Shh, it's alright.  I think you need to be filled with come… I think that might be the one thing that’ll get you to settle down, now just hold still.”

“I— please… please…” you began to beg again, but your words faded away as another wave of sensation washed over you— they started to blend together, like before, and you realized you were doing what he’d asked: you were losing count.

“Good girl,” he praised under his breath, “like that— fuck, I’m close.  Fuck!”

He held onto you tight— one hand on your thigh and the other on your neck as his thrusts sped to a desperately, impossibly fast pace.  You moaned— or cried, or yelled, or something— as he pushed just a little too deep and your toes curled in your heels.

“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “just one more while I come inside you— I think you can manage that, just one more good squeeze on my cock— oh, fuck, that’s it, yes, just like that…”

You stopped being able to understand what he was saying, but you heard the wavering groan that came a few moments later when his movements suddenly stopped.  He gasped and kept himself as far inside you as possible; you shuddered, blinking fresh tears out of your eyes, and felt paralyzed in an entirely new way as you laid under him, staring up at your ceiling, seeing how far the sun had set since it began— actually, it had started to rain, making it even more impossible to tell how much time had really passed.  Eventually, though, he took his head out from the crook of your neck and propped himself up enough to look down at you.  

Reaching to your coffee table, he fumbled his hand around until he found his glasses, and shakily put them back on.  “Well,” he grinned, still panting but seeming to be mostly back to himself (whoever that was).  “I never thought I’d meet someone who loves fear as much as I do.”

#jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #cillian murphy x reader #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut #IM SO SORRY TO THIS MAN #not to crane he's garbage

[rowarn]

afab!reader, gn!reader, simons a fighter, protective!simon, blood mention, fingering, lil bit of mean!simon for flavor <3 MDNI

simon riley is by all means a "do what you want, i can fight" kind of man. and fight he will. simon will go to the ends of the earth to protect you. and that's always been incredibly hot to you. you'd never had a man so eager to defend you.

especially to the point that simon was. more than once he'd come away from a fight with bloody knuckles and a split lip. 

that's exactly how he looked now, but he also sported a cut across his eyebrow as well. the guy he'd beaten in the alleyway looked much worse, but he got a few good hits in. 

all you knew was that he said some revolting things about you that simon happened to overhear. simon refused to tell you specifics, citing that you didn't need to hear something like that. 

you both had gone home quickly after that. but the sight of simon all beat up, knuckles split and bruised from the force he'd used to beat the man had something stirring in your stomach. butterflies. 

as you cleaned his cuts and wiped away any blood that stained his skin, you could feel the wetness growing in your panties. you clenched your thighs and shifted as that began to uncomfortably stick to your pussy. 

simon, always attentive, noticed right away. his pretty, brown eyes lit up in interest, a brow raised as he watched you shift on your feet. 

"something wrong?" he asked, as if he couldn't tell what was going on. 

"n-nothing, si," you responded sheepishly, tossing the bloody gauze into the garbage can before stepping away. 

simon doesn't let you get very far before his arms are wrapping around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. you can feel the heat radiating off of him and feel how his heart pounds on his chest against your back. craning your neck, you look up at him. 

"ain't nothin'," he says, voice low and quiet, "and i'm not lettin' you walk out of here with that pretty pussy drippin'.''

you swallow around the lump in your throat as he says it. he wraps his big hands around your waist and moves them downwards, slipping under your shirt and pawing at the hem of your sweatpants. he dips his head down so he can kiss along your neck, practically purring when you sink into him. 

he takes the opportunity to slip his fingers under your panties, thick fingers prying your pillowy lips apart. you adjust your stance, leaning back against him for support as you spread your legs a little more so he can slip his fingers further down.

first he glides over your clit, pausing to stroke and roll the tender little bud under his fingers. your whole body twitched at that, trembling hands reaching to grip onto the fabric of his hoodie. your head fell back against his chest, giving him more access to your neck. 

his fingers dip lower, finding your entrance, slick and drooling all over the digits as he strokes back and forth, teasing you with their presence. 

"tell me," his voice vibrates in his chest, deep and low, "what's got you this wet?"

"mmm, d-dunno, si," you lie right through your teeth at him. 

he hums, pulling his fingers away from your sweet little hole to go back to your clit, pinching the bud. you whimper at the feeling, hips rabbing back to get away from the little pain, "you're lyin'. i want you to tell me the truth. what has this pretty little cunt all wet?"

"simon..." you whine. he knows you don't want the embarrassment that comes from the confession but he teases it out of you anyway, "y-you got me wet, si!"

"me?" he grins, wolfish and predatory, "i didn't do anything, love,"

you whine, rocking your hips forward. he took some mercy on you and slowly sunk one, long, finger into the tight clutch of your cunt. the stretch wasn't enough, he knew that, you'd become so accustomed to the fat girth of his cock that one single finger would never be enough to satisfy you now. he'd ruined you. 

"y-you beat that-that guy up for me..." you finally manage to squeeze out of your dry throat, "'s hot..."

he scoffs as if he didn't already know that that was the reason, "you like me beatin' some bastards head in for you?" you nod, sighing in pleasure when he rewards your with a second finger, "you're fuckin' filthy. you think he'd be happy to hear that it turns you on?"

"don't care about him," you quickly answer. 

his grin broadens, "that's the right fuckin' answer, love."

he finally gives you the third and final finger. you keen when he stretches you open on those digits, curling them just right to hit that gooey, spongey little spot inside you. his palm curls around your pelvic bone so the heel of his hand grinds against your clit just how you need to cum nice and hard for him. 

he works his fingers slow and deep, making sure to hit that spot every time he stuffs his fingers back inside you. his other hand comes up, wrapping around your throat to pin your against his chest. you moan freely, clawing at his tattooed arm desperately as you rock your hips against his hand. 

he can hear the wet, slick sounds of him fucking your precious little cunt open. you work your clit feverishly against his hand, helping yourself along to the high you so deserve. you're dripping down his fingers, making a mess of him and yourself but you don't care. 

"'m gonna cum!" you needlessly warn him.

"i know," he grumbles, tilting your head up so he can press his lips against yours, hand still firmly wrapped around your throat. 

he sees your eyes roll back before you melt into the kiss, your orgasm washing over you. he groans when he feels you squeezing and clenching around his fingers, pathetically humping against his hand to work your clit even harder. he slowly strokes that spongey little spot to help ease you through your high. you tremble and clutching desperately at his arm as you start to come down, whimper and panting into his mouth before he lets you pull away. a string of spit connects your lips and you look completely dazed as you gaze up at him. 

he always did enjoy the way a good orgasm had you looking all dumb and pliant for him. 

he pulls his fingers out of your panties and you whine at the loss, watching him bring those cum-covered fingers up to your face. you could see the way the bruises and splits in his knuckles were covered in your cum and had to hold back to keep from moaning at the sight. 

he popped them into his mouth, sighing at the taste of your sweet cum on his tongue. 

before you knew it, he was breezing past you out of the bathroom and down to the living room, no doubt on the hunt for something to eat. 

"simon!" you called petulantly. 

you heard him laugh from the living room, "what?"

"you aren't gonna fuck me?" you complain, feeling heat flood your cheeks when he laughs again.

"dunno, love," his tone is teasing, "we'll see."

ugh. he could be so generous one second and mean the next </3

mwah here is some food my beloveds

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #cod x reader #cod smut

[xiaowhore]

you're a pain in the neck. (literally.)

premise. in which you make a nuisance of yourself in every train ride you share with scaramouche. (inexplicably, he doesn't stop sitting next to you anyway.)

note. we pretend i didn't disappear for months :D enjoy

Neck pain has been increasingly common in Scaramouche's life these days.

The cause of which is sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, snoring softly as the train rattles past. The way you remain deep in slumber despite the constant lurching is impressive, but your knack for unwittingly making yourself a menace to society is even more spectacular.

Scaramouche takes a deep breath—Kazuha always did advise him to be more patient—yet the moment he does, tufts of your hair curl against his skin. A flush rises to his cheeks, body caught between freezing in place and jolting out of his seat, but he digs his fingers to his thighs and wills himself to dispel the urge to shoot upright, in fear of...

In fear of what? Shocking you awake?

Nonsense. He's never been that considerate.

(Still, once the tension bleeds from his body, he lets his shoulders drop, fitting your head snugly against the crook of his neck. He grabs your phone from your loose grip, tucks it securely in your pocket, and allows himself to stare at the dark circles beneath your eyes.

He can let himself worry for a bit.)

--

“What's wrong with you?” Kazuha's concerned gaze settles over Scaramouche's hunched figure, slumped miserably on the desk. His head is craned in a particular angle, and Childe, obnoxious as he is, had erupted in boisterous laughter when Scaramouche entered the lecture hall tilted the very same way. Unfortunately, Scaramouche had been too sore to swat away Childe's phone as he took a picture of him in a zombie filter.

“Got a crick in my neck.”

Kazuha frowns. “Did you sleep badly again?”

Scaramouche scoffs in defeat. “You could say that.”

The next time he sees you enter the train, you're drenched.

You make an effort to dry yourself, wiping rainwater out of your hair with a handkerchief and packing your wet jacket in your bag, but you're still undeniably soaked. Some passengers don't bother to hide their distaste, scooting away to other vacant seats as they shoot you a scornful look. Others aren't so cruel, offering packets of tissues and initiating small talk over the worsening weather. Scaramouche watches as your apologetic expression turns into one of gratitude, sheepishly admitting to the nice aunties you forgot to check the forecast.

Scaramouche doesn't quite give you a spare towel or send you a reassuring smile, but he broods silently from where he sits beside you, scowling at the impudent lot now sitting far, far away. Insolent fools, tactless jerks, ill-mannered garbage—a barrage of insults fly in his head, ones he has learned not to verbalize lest he gets in trouble for his crass mouth again.

When the train pauses to his stop, he pulls out a foldable umbrella from his bag, still seething. He hands it out to you, not making eye contact as he's still glaring at the woman giving you a side-eye. “Take this.”

“Uh...?” Perplexed, you hesitantly accept it. “But...”

“It's fine.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder, walking toward the sliding doors. “So don't come here drenched in the rain next time.”

He doesn't get to hear your response as he speeds off.

--

“I'm an asshole.”

“Is this your moment of self-discovery?”

“Congratulations.”

Scaramouche's eyebrow twitches, but he's much too panicked to make a snarky quip to fire back. It's his fault for picking the wrong people to talk to, anyway—Heizou is a smartass and Xiao has a perpetual stick up his ass. He should've confided to the empathetic Aether instead, or to Venti who gives surprisingly good advice when you least expect it.

“So what made you realize it?” Heizou bites down on a pork cutlet, apparently finished with his daily quota for pissing him off and now fulfilling his obligations as a friend. “Did something happen?”

“Does it have anything to do with how you arrived soaking wet to class?” Xiao adds, poking the tofu on his plate.

“Perhaps you tried stealing an umbrella on your way here?”

“You got it backwards, dumbass. I gave away mine,” Scaramouche scowls.

“That sounds like you did a good thing, then. What's wrong?”

The way he gave it away so roughly. The way he said you could use it so condescendingly. How he'd forgotten to offer words of comfort, no matter how painful or awkward for him, because he'd been so absorbed in pointless matters. How he'd completely ruined his chances of being friends with you by acting like an indifferent jerk.

All because he was too embarrassed to say he's worried you'll catch a cold from the rain.

--

When Scaramouche takes the train the way home, it's him who's dripping rainwater everywhere.

Karma had gotten his new umbrella stolen from the rack, it seems. He just bought it from the convenience store, damn it.

So now he stands by the doors, too reluctant to go any further inside the train. His wet sneakers squeak beneath his feet, hair sticking uncomfortably on his forehead. His shirt clings to him like second skin, and the only thing retaining his modesty (because of course he falls prey to downpour the one time he wears a white button-up) is a heavy sweater vest soaked in water.

“So much for telling me not to come here when I'm drenched.”

A small towel drapes itself over his head, and Scaramouche quickly turns on his feet. Your mouth is curled into a grin when you step to the spot by his side, but not unkindly—you aren't here to mock him or return his cruel words.

Scaramouche grabs the towel sitting atop his head, drying his hair with it. As he does so, you make no move to leave even with plenty of vacant seats remaining unoccupied.

“... Aren't you going to sit?”

“Hm? No.” You're already holding onto a handrail, staring ahead.

“...Why not?”

“I'm keeping you company.”

???

“Oh, and your umbrella.” You fish it from your bag, holding it out for him to take. “Cute pattern, by the way.”

“Wha-” he's about to say ‘what are you talking about,’ but then he sees the cute star print, the gold sparkles bright against navy blue, and his hair rises on end, face flushing a deep red. Nahida was the one who packed it for me...!

“...Cute.”

“I heard you the first time,” he grumbles under his breath, accepting it from your hand.

An endeared smile crosses your face, one that he doesn't see as he stuffs the umbrella into his backpack.

I wasn't talking about the umbrella.

Scaramouche has always made it a habit to take the train before rush hour, but his report is due today, and so he slept for a grand total of two hours last night just to finish it. It wouldn't even be two hours if he hadn't slept through his alarm, but he wishes he'd woken up earlier; if it meant he could've avoided a crowded train, he could stand to lose some minutes of sleep.

“Can you move a bit?”

“Ow, ow...”

“Sorry, I stepped on your foot!”

“I hope nobody comes in at the next stop...”

Scaramouche empathizes with the last remark in particular, because he really couldn't handle it any more.

Presently, he's staring at the ceiling, praying for divine intervention. His neck is starting to hurt but he forces himself to face upwards, otherwise he would...

“This is tough, isn't it?” You laugh awkwardly, your chuckle turning into a wince when an elbow digs to your side. The train car is packed at full capacity, and you wouldn't be exaggerating if you were to say you felt like you were drowning in a sea of people.

“That's a massive understatement,” Scaramouche replies, wishing for death.

“Sorry. I can't go any farther than this.”

“It's fine.”

Actually, nothing is fine.

Scaramouche is trapped against the wall in the farthest location from the exit, surrounded by people from all sides, his stop is two stations away, and he has no idea how he's going to swim all the way through the doors.

Oh, and he's caged between your arms, pressed against your body, and feeling very much like a pervert for sniffing your scent, but it's simply impossible not to smell you at this close proximity (however, it's entirely his fault for thinking you smell good and trying to pinpoint what cologne you use).

Your head is resting on his shoulder, and Scaramouche learns quickly this position is a lot more embarrassing when you're conscious. And fuck, this time he can feel you breathe directly against his neck, puffs of hot air blowing on his reddened skin, and he can only hope for the best you can't sense his racing heartbeat.

You're too goddamn close, even though he can tell you're exerting your utmost effort to create some distance between your bodies. Your arms are straining pushing on the wall just so you wouldn't crush him under your weight, and as much as he should appreciate it, he can hardly think straight over the sound of his pulse in his ears. He's hanging precariously over the edge, and if he crosses his limit, he might just pass away on the spot.

Hell, if he so as much looks down, he's close enough to kiss your forehead, and-

He really shouldn't be thinking about that right now.

So yeah. Scaramouche may look like an idiot facing the ceiling, but at least he isn't at risk of cardiac arrest.

It's fine. This is fine. I'm one stop away. I can survive this. Just a little more.

But the gods above must hate his guts or something because the train screeches to a rough halt at the station, the car rattles violently, and you're squirming underneath him, his hands instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you, but your head moves to look up at him and-

Scaramouche very nearly astral projects to another plane when he feels your lips graze against his chin.

“Hey, you okay?! Did you hit your head on the wall or something?”

He feels like he did. He's so dizzy and the world is spinning around him, but at the same time you're the only one he can see. This must be unhealthy, Scaramouche thinks, and he wonders how much blood has rushed to his head, coloring his cheeks bright pink, and if he can die from losing too much blood this way.

“Kuni?”

How do you know my name, Scaramouche isn't sure if he really says it, mind still whirring with thoughts, and oh god his hands are still on your waist-

“Your umbrella had a name tag...” You squint at the neon letters displaying the current station, “Hey, your stop is here, isn't it? Excuse me! Coming thro....”

He vaguely remembers your hands pushing him forward and the crowd parting obediently to make way for him when they see his face becoming visibly ill. The rest passes in a blur, and when Scaramouche finally comes to, he's already outside the train station.

For a brief moment, he stays frozen. Then by the corner of his eye, he notices the shopping center.

He stares at the pastel decor from the cosmetic store, approaches the vanity mirror, and if possible, his mind turns even more blank.

A faint kiss mark is stark against his chin, the same color as the lip tint you wear everyday.

“I'm not going.”

Venti sighs, disappointed but not surprised. “You never go to drinking parties with me. Why do you always head straight home after class?”

“Reasons.” Scaramouche closes his laptop and slides it inside his bag, making quick work of packing his things. “In your case, I'd advise you to go less. Being an alcoholic isn't a good look.”

“My liver is strong,” Venti insists, a cheeky grin dancing on his lips. “But seriously, what's up? Don't tell me you have a secret girlfriend you meet up with after class?”

“I was starting to think the same thing,” Aether pipes up, matching curious looks with Venti. “Or maybe you have a boyfriend? Either way, what are they like?”

“I have neither,” Scaramouche grumbles, coming off more pitiful than spiteful. “And I'm coming home early today because Nahida wanted me to get something for dinner.”

“Ehh, that's boring.”

“You're the ones making assumptions by yourselves!” Scaramouche snaps, treading towards the door. “I'm leaving. Don't call me to pick you up when you're wasted, it's Xiao's turn this week.”

“Okay, enjoy your date~”

Scaramouche doesn't even bother replying.

--

You get on the train scheduled for 4:15 everyday.

It's not that Scaramouche deliberately researched this information; he really did just catch the same train rides by chance. Over time, he began to recognize you as a familiar face, and eventually, he even became your headrest.

Not by choice, but he supposes he just has to live with it.

It's not that Scaramouche intentionally takes the same train so he could see your face. At least, that's what he tells himself as he silently pressures the retail cashier to scan his items faster and practically flies out the convenience store to rush for the train.

He glances at his wristwatch. 4:11. I'll make it. He breathes a sigh of relief, and checks the shopping list Nahida texted for good measure. Curry mix, milk, a carton of eggs...

A notification sound rings from his phone.

‘Sorry for the late notice, could you get pudding for dessert too?’

Shit.

Panic flares in his eyes and he spins on his heel, returning to the convenience store. Do I sprint? No, it's still not humanly possible to buy pudding and go back in four minutes... But I could try. Wait, wasn't there a line of customers behind me earlier? I'd still have to wait in line.

Finally, he stops running. This is stupid. Why am I working so hard just to catch this train, anyway?

Before he could even properly sulk about it, Scaramouche bumps into someone hurrying for the train. “Oh, sorry! I wasn't looking-”

Much to his surprise, your face comes into view when he looks, chest heaving for breath. You look like you've been running for a good while, hair in disarray from the wind, the reading glasses perched on your nose askew. And that's how Scaramouche knows you're in a real hurry, if you didn't even have the time to put on your contacts.

“It's okay,” Scaramouche quickly replies, stepping aside out of your path. “The train is still there, don't sweat it.”

He turns to the convenience store, mood lifted. I got to see them, so I guess this way is fine, too.

--

When Scaramouche returns from shopping, he comes back to a strange sight.

“Huh?”

“What are you looking at?”

Good question.

Why was he looking at your figure, still waiting for the next train to come by?

“No, well...” The plastic bags in his hand crinkle when he tightens his grip on them. Scaramouche blinks repeatedly, trying to see if you'll somehow fizzle out of existence if he closes his eyes enough. “You definitely could've made it in time for the train, so why are you still...”

Your lips stretch to a small smile. “I didn't.”

No. You definitely did.

You were at a distance where it'll only take three minutes max to reach the train even if you walked the same pace as a turtle. So why...

“Your face can be surprisingly expressive sometimes, Kuni. You're practically a walking question mark right now.”

“Ku-” He stops himself from speaking before his voice could crack.

“Sorry, you don't like me calling you that?” You're tilting your head at him, putting on puppy eyes. Oh no.

“...No. It's fine.” Damn it. Aether was right—he really is a softie.

However, he's still busy pondering. Sure, it's a stroke of luck and Scaramouche won't look a gift horse in the mouth, but why didn't you take your usual train? You were even running towards the station, arriving with wind-tousled hair and disheveled clothes.

“I was waiting.”

Scaramouche blinks. “For what?”

You stare at him in disbelief, like you seriously can't believe he doesn't know. That's when Scaramouche notices some things about you are a little different from earlier.

Your hair is fixed now, no strands randomly sticking up in the air. Your clothes are neat and tidy too, creases patted down. Your glasses are gone, and Scaramouche isn't sure if it's just his mind playing tricks on him or the color of your lips appears more vibrant from earlier.

He flinches when a sigh escapes you. But then the frown on your face is replaced with a dazzling smile, exasperated but fond.

“Who do you think I'm waiting for, dummy?”

BONUS: A look into the future.

“Has anyone ever told you your chin is really sharp?” Scaramouche grumbles under his breath, movements heavily restricted when your arms are wrapped tightly around his torso and the edge of your chin is stabbing his neck. Cooking breakfast proves to be a lot more of a challenge when a koala is clinging on his back.

“No,” you chirp, grinning ear to ear as you watch him stir the pancake batter over his shoulder. “Has anyone ever told you how cute you look in an apron?”

Scaramouche glowers. “No.” If a living person actually did, they wouldn't be for long.

“That's good.” If possible, you squeeze him even tighter, nuzzling against his face. “I want to keep the adorable Kuni to myself.”

“Disgusting.”

So he says as he leans his head closer when you peck him on the cheek.

Some things just never change, he guesses.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fluff #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you

[nouearth]

once upon an eggnog.

clark kent x male reader.

summary: there's nothing better than physical touch to sober reader up after a christmas party.

wc: 1.1k. warnings: fluff, holiday!season, drunk!reader, maws!clark, worried!clark, co-worker!au, reader doesn't know clark is superman, non-descriptive mention of reader throwing up, clark has very warm hands and is a simp because he wants to make reader happy.

a/n: aaaaa, hiya! it's been a long time since i've written anything, but i'm finally on break and i thought a nice fluffy fic would help me warm up to writing again! i was going to do one of my requests, but they were all smut LOL, and i know i cannot do smut after such a long break. i need to warm up, so apologies if this is rusty! happy holidays and i'll be writing more!!

The groan you let out was feeble. Your shadow trailed behind your sluggish steps as you foraged through neighboring street lights, gravel and pavement, for a stake of its emanating warmth.

“Hey—“ A voice called out from behind you, the blanket of snowflakes and cold dulling the panic in the man’s voice. You rested your body against the lamppost, finding the warmth to be exemplary over your frosted cheeks, but unbearable for your insides.

You let out a deep sigh. The longer you stood under the light, sweat droplets began to frame your face, followed by an overwhelming urge to cleanse your body from the inside out.

“I don’t feel…” You slurred in your speech, holding your stomach as you craned over until you slid onto your bottom, head exposed to the light as you faced the comforting snow.

“Wait up!” He called out to you several more times in midst of his trudge, his panting audibly close. 

You began grumbling incoherent sounds in response as you clumsily whipped off your coat. Your mind was frosted like the windows on the cars lined down the street as you drew in the cold air with a greed to pacify the strange feeling in your stomach. 

“(M/N), keep that on!”

“What are you…?! My mom—“ The constant shifting and turning of your body, all in an attempt to strip yourself of the restrictive wool of your vest and reindeer sweater, churned the bottom of your stomach until it was mush. 

Absolute.

Mush. 

It was funny how the human body worked because even in your drunken state, your natural instinct to find the nearest public trash can surfed through the flood of eggnog and booze, and you immediately emptied the toxins out of your body with several strong hurls. 

“Geez, I told you not to run off…” A messenger bag and a familiar coat dropped near your foot, and the man did not spare a single second to come to your aid. “And also not to drink that much...” He rubbed your back in slow and soothing circles, then in vertical swipes as you coughed out the remaining poison. The strong bass pulsating into his palm as a special way of saying ‘thank you.’

“Clark, it was just a sip—“

“You had six cups….” Clark confessed and your immediate frown was telling in whether you were an innocent bystander, or the reason why the office was running low on drinks. Rummaging through his pockets, he then offered a handful of crumbled napkins that he took from the party.

“The last two didn’t count.” You slurred again, slowly regaining your strength as you stabilized yourself over the rim of the garbage can before wiping your mouth with the napkin. “I needed a drink with my food—“

“You barely touched your plate—“ He cut himself off as soon as he caught you staring at him, the eggnog stupefying you into a dazed state in which crickets and holiday festivities replaced coherent thoughts. 

“We gotta get you home. It’s freezing.” He said, and you swayed in place as if you were a palm tree basking in the summer breeze. Or maybe like a giant marshmallow floating yet sinking in the warmth of hot cocoa.

Clark tried his best to fight the smile that was creeping upon him as he tidied your outerwear for the fourth time tonight, shielding you from the dusting of cold when he layered you with your coat.

His jaw clenched while he chewed back an adoration for your nearly frost-bitten visage, stalling the fixing of your reindeer headband to be closer to you a little while longer.

Though he couldn’t tell whether the deep flush of your skin was caused by the weather or the booze, it didn’t matter in the end because the winter of your skin magnetized a bravery in Clark that stilled you in place. Warmth sprouted over your cheeks like an approaching spring, and you closed your eyes peacefully.

Clark had put his bare hands over your cheeks, cupping them like a delicate bowl of snowflakes until they melted into his skin, until all he could feel was you and your equally delicate skin.

“Better?” Hesitantly, his thumbs followed the trail of your dark circles. It was something you’d always complain about yet ironically, your evident lack of sleep ranked high on his ‘favorite things about you’ list.

“Mhm. If only your hands were a little warmer.” You sighed again, the snowing melting into your hair and skin battling Clark’s warmth.

“Hm…” Clark held your cheeks closer, deepening his palms into you, and he closed his eyes, silently channeling his energy into his affectionate hold over you.

Maybe it was the booze playing tricks on you, or perhaps it was your body shutting down for the night, but you physically felt his hands heat up, warmer than his previous offer. Nonetheless, you gave him a nod of approval, and despite drowsiness approaching, your eyes opened bright to thank him with a smile.

“I’m guessing that’s why you don’t wear gloves?”

“Uh…” Clark laughed, an anxiousness you could point out, but you couldn’t exactly trust your judgement in your current state. “I guess you could say that’s why.”

“Well,” You said before a yawn slurred your speech even more, feeling the muscles in your body losing its strength by the second. “Remind me when you’re nearby so I can use you as a…”

“As a..?” There was a slight push to his palms, a strange sudden heaviness before Clark realized you were gradually leaning forward. “(M/N)—“ 

Gravity pulled your eyelids down, then your body forward, a striking contrast to the graceful dance of snow that dusted the ground. “As…”

And you completely slumped into Clark’s arms. Thankfully, his reflexes were quick to catch you before you could even feel the slightest breeze.

“Let’s get you home…” He smile mirrored the gentle frame of your body as you sunk into him. 

And he held you close, accompanying your deep slumber with a warmth that surrounded and protected your body like a string of Christmas lights weaved through pine needles and tree branches.

A warmth that campaigned against the icier gale, the ego of a higher altitude, during Clark’s flight to take you back home.

And a warmth that was victorious when Clark tucked you into bed, a measly makeshift of comfort and peace you thought during your stir of sleep.

Because Clark’s warmth was a newfound establishment from this night onwards.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#✰ : nou.fics #✰ : nou.dc #✰ : nou.clarkkent #male reader #x male reader #clark kent x reader #clark kent x male reader #superman x m!reader #clark kent x m!reader #superman x you #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #superman x y/n #superman x male reader #superman x reader #dc x reader #dc comics fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc x male reader #dc imagine #clark kent imagine #clark kent fanfic #clark kent fanfiction #superman fanfic #superman fanfiction #x reader #x you #x m!reader #m!reader #male reader insert

[strawberrynull]

──౨ৎ ˙🔥 ̟ burn it down

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | Nishimura Riki

──Pairing: riki x afab!reader

──Genre: fluff

──Synopsis: After a busy week, Riki decides its time for the two of you to hang out and have fun rather than working

──Warnings: cursing, starting fires, mentions of burning (things, not people), kissing, established relationship

──A/N: I've actually thought of this so many times and finally got the motivation to write it lol

The car came to a stop, parking in front of an abandoned building. It was an old warehouse but was now used for people to just drop off their junk. It almost looked like a horror movie scene.

"Ki, where the fuck are we?" You asked, gripping onto your seat belt strap. You turned to look at Riki, hoping he was joking about going there.

"Get out. I'll show you." You looked at him like he was fucking insane. Then he grabbed your hand gently and laughed. "Just trust me." His sweet smile was enough to make you give in.

The two of you hadn't been hanging out very often as of recently. Riki had practice almost every day and you were always busy with work and studying. So it had taken you by surprise when Riki snatched the notebook from your desk, claiming that he was taking you somewhere fun today.

You stepped out of the car, following your boyfriend as he approached the building. With a good bit of force, Riki manages to open up the big rusted doors to the abandoned warehouse. He disappears into the darkness of the building. All you can see are the silhouettes of large piles of trashed furniture. Riki returns, hauling a ton of junk like old car parts and barrels. He continues to disappear into the piles of garbage and reappear carrying trash and throwing it into one big pile. Once he's brought out enough shit, he tosses you a lighter. You roll the small black lighter in between your fingers before looking up at your boyfriend with a puzzled expression.

"Go on. Burn it down." He says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"What? You really want me to burn this stuff? Out in the open?" You question, eyes wide with shock. He nods. "Isn't that considered arson?" Riki chuckles at your concern. Your heart does flips in your chest hearing his deep laugh.

"Trust me. It's fun." He reassures you, pulling his hands out of his pockets and reaching for your hair. He ties it back gently, pulling any loose strands into the messy ponytail.

You flick the lighter open and hold the flame to a stick you found on the ground. Once it's lit, you toss it into the pile of trash. Riki finds himself a broken off car chair and sits on it, leaning back to watch you. You observe the beautiful flames as they dance around. While the flames rose, occupying your attention, Riki could only focus his gaze on you. His heart pounded as he watched you happily play around, lighting different items on fire.

"Woah, holy shit. That's a lot of fire, Ki."

"I'll put it out before we leave. Just go have fun." He waves his hand, telling you not to worry about it.

You skipped around the lot, deciding to add more trash to what you now called the "arson pile," making the flame grow stronger. You gaped in awe as the fire crackled and rose higher, sending smoke into the air.

You found yourself a wooden bat lying around the junkyard so naturally you took the handle and gave it a test swing. Once satisfied, you walked over to some old appliances and began beating the shit out of them. Then a loud crack was heard, making Riki shoot out of his chair. He craned his neck to find you standing with a broken bat and wide eyes. You had snapped the poor bat in half.

With a huff of defeat, you trudged back to your boyfriend who just laughed at you. He manspread so you could sit comfortably between his legs on the old leather chair. Riki wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you so your back was flush against his chest. He dipped his head down to the crook of your neck. The boy placed a few light kisses on your shoulder making you giggle.

"Sorry, you're just so pretty. I can't hide my love for you anymore." He says, half jokingly. He was being silly of course but he wasn't joking whenever he called you pretty. You were practically the light of his life.

You quickly turned around to hit his chest. "Ah you're so corny and annoying." You complained with a pout.

"Just admit that you're madly in love with me."

You glared at him with squinted eyes and a scrunched nose.

"Nope. You're the one who's obsessed with me." You sighed, turning back around and crossing your arms.

Riki just rested his chin on your shoulder. "You're right. You're a bad bitch. I can't help being in love with you."

© strawberrynull, 2024. Do not copy my work. Please DM for permission before translating or reuploading. Thank You

#enhypen #enha #kpop #enhablr #enhypen imagines #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen niki #enha imagines #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enha fluff #niki enhypen #niki fluff #niki imagines #niki x reader #nishimura riki #riki fluff #riki x reader #enhypen riki #riki enhypen #riki nishimura #ni ki #niki #strawberrynull

[agirlcandream84]

you write a lot of boyfriend!frank but how do you think he would be before that/at the beginning of the relationship, who would be the first to ask the other out? do you think frank would be confident in himself or a anxious mess during a first date? would he try to kiss her? and the same when it comes to first sex- confident or rather anxious? love your writing!! 💗

First of all -- thank you! So glad you're enjoying reading. Second -- such great questions! So much to think about.

Ok, so I imagine the relationship not following a typical linear path. In a lot of ways, I sort of envision my Neighbor!Frank stories to be a prelude to Boyfriend!Frank though there are a lot of differences between the two. They're not technically the same "character" but I still envision the relationship starting in a similar way. Meaning, you're in each other's orbits for a long time -- neighbors who rely on each other a lot (more like you relying on him more tho) and in a lot of ways, it's a very intimate, nearly romantic relationship. Frank sort of makes it his job to make sure you're taken care of, even if it is from down the hall. Hauling your packages up to your unit, fixing your jammed window, installing your garbage disposal for you.

And most of the time, he's anticipating your needs before you get a chance to ask him. Like that jammed window-- you worked up the nerve to knock on his door and ask for help and all you say is "Frank, I was wondering if maybe you could--" and he's finishing your sentence with "fix that jammed window? Yeah sweetheart, I saw your curtains blowin' in the breeze last night and knew that window must have been jammed open. Piece-of-shit landlord shouldn't be leaving you in a unit without locked windows" while he's grabbing for his toolbox.

And this goes on for months -- with the moments growing more intimate but still never romantic. Like when he was gone for 9 days straight and you couldn't stop checking the peephole everytime you heard footsteps. On the ninth day, when he finally came home, you barreled out of your apartment door and nearly crashed into his arms mumbling, "was so worried about you Frank. You didn't tell me you were leaving," and he's just rubbing your back and murmuring, "hey hey, I'm here sweetheart. Shit, didn't mean to worry ya -- just had some business I had to do. Hey I'm alright, I'm alright." And it was that moment that Frank decided he wasn't gonna leave you like that again.

Because as far as Frank was concerned, he was gonna stay in your life whether it was romantic or not. You were it for him. He was in it for the long haul. Now he was just gonna give you time for you to realize it too. And that came a few weeks later when a particularly pushy date was at your doorstep, pulling out every excuse in the books to get into your apartment, in the hopes of getting into your pants. He's got one foot in your door, going on and on about how he could really use a coffee and maybe you just could just make him a cup and you're politely declining over and over until you see Frank's door creak open and he casually leans against the frame, arms folded across his broad chest, and asks "everything alright sweetheart?" and the guy just cranes his neck back to say "fuck off buddy." Frank only smirks a bit before he makes eye contact with you and says "Say the word honey," and you just give him a quick nod. Frank is on the guy in two strides, stomping his foot with a sickening crunch and the guy is hunched and howling. Frank leans towards his ear, his arm looped around the guy's bicep as he hauls him upright and says "Apologize-- now" and the guy is spewing I'm sorrys at you as Frank shoves him with a "now get the fuck out of here."

Not a moment later and Frank is back in front of you, a hand cupped to your jaw and a thumb rubbing the skin of your cheek asking if you're ok and "he didn't touch you did he?" You lean into his hand and shake your head no, offering a quiet thank you for his help. You both stay like that a moment, reveling in the closeness. The safety of it. Frank's eyes are searching your face as he asks, "When are you gonna stop wasting your time with these assholes?" He had seen the dates come and go, never lasting more than a few awkward encounters. For a moment, you can't meet his eye but you force a smile and and ask "What asshole should I be wasting my time with?" He lets out a soft chuckle and his other hand lands on the opposite cheek, tilting your face up towards his as he says "this asshole" and guides your lips to his. At first the kiss is slow, tentative. Like he'd be asking permission if his mouth weren't already occupied. He's gauging your comfort but he soon finds confirmation when you let out a small whine as you raise to your tip-toes to deepen the kiss.

Like a powderkeg, Frank hauls you closer to him, guiding your bodies back into your apartment with your lips still locked. You're nearly floating, the strength of Frank's grip carrying you into the bedroom where he lifts you onto the bedroom and undresses you as he kisses along your body, telling you how fucking beautiful you are. And throughout it all you hear Frank's plea-- let me love you, let me love you, let me love you-- in the way Frank fills you up slowly, the way he asks "you ok sweetheart?" every time he draws a whimper from you, the way his hand is soft on your stomach as an orgasm tears through you.

And that was it. Not another moment passed that Frank didn't let you know you were his and he was yours.

Not the most storybook love story but it's how I envision it.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfic #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle smut #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle fluff

[jackhues]

the group chat? - mockingbird! au (platonic! hughes)

requested by: anon :))

notes: continue sending in requests for the au! check out the request rules below! thanks for requesting &lt;3

likes are good, reblogs are better &lt;3

mockingbird! au request rules! || mockingbird au! masterlist

gif not mine

"oh, i love this song!" your friend, em, shouted over the music.

downing her drink, she grabbed another friend of yours, raya, and pulled her to the dance floor. you and talia, another friend of yours, laughed as you watched the two stumble to the dance floor.

it was girls' night, the first one ever since you all graduated. it'd been a tough few months, all of you busy with new jobs and trying to navigate this new life. but it was worth it. because of nights like these.

"five dollars em comes here to throw her shoes off," talia nudged you, nursing her drink.

you took a sip of your own drink, laughing. "oh, you're on! she's gonna either throw them in the garbage, or at some man."

talia laughed loudly, spilling some of her drink. that made the two of you laugh some more.

"come on," talia said, finishing off her drink. "let's join those idiots."

you downed your drink, "let's go!"

the two of you stumbled across the dance floor, laughing to yourselves as you danced your way to your friends.

em was currently drunk as hell, and her shoes were missing.

"told you!" you elbowed talia, laughing at the face she made.

in your tipsy state, everything was hilarious to you. from the way em danced without shoes, to the way raya danced with talia, to the way the world felt fuzzy around the edges.

the only thing that wasn't funny was the guy staring at you.

he stood near the bar, sleeves rolled up and his bald head reflecting the lights of the bar. he nursed a drink in hand, but kept his eyes trained on you.

you made a face at him, moving out of his line of vision. he craned his neck, before switching seats to keep watching you. you furrowed your brows.

by now, he knew that you knew that he was watching him. but he still made no effort to try and hide what he was doing.

with a start, you realized that you'd seen him at a few other bars and restaurants before. and he was always staring at you.

"yeah, i'm not doing this tonight," you muttered to yourself, reaching for your phone.

you pulled out your last chat, jack, and texted him.

'theres sume werd guy straring atme ie sen him at otger plasces and hes crepy come pick mup plx?'

your phone buzzed with a positive response, followed by many more notifications. you ignored them all, just ready to go home and fall asleep in jack's arms.

"creepo behind me," you whispered to em. "i'm heading home. don't wanna die before seeing quinn play the boys tomorrow."

"jack's picking you up?" she asked.

you nodded.

em yawned, reaching out to grab raya and talia (who were still dancing together). "come on. we'll go wait for him. i think i'm gonna head home too."

"thanks."

em linked her arms through yours, the four of you making your way outside to wait for jack. behind you, the creepy guy was beginning to make his way to his feet.

"oh, we're going to die," you muttered. "he's coming."

"no we won't," raya assured you. she tapped one of the bouncers, "hi. there's that guy inside being a creep, and messing with my friends," she pointed at the person in the bar. "we're heading home because he's making us uncomfortable. if you don't mind, could you keep an eye on him so he doesn't follow us?"

the bouncer nodded, "don't worry. that's my job."

raya grinned as she turned back to the rest of them. "see? all handled. besides, jack's only a few minutes away from here."

"i just texted my brother," talia said. "he'll come pick the rest of us up."

you took a deep breath, feeling the tears building up. maybe it was your tipsy state, but you were feeling more emotional than usual. "i'm so sorry guys. this was supposed to be a fun girls' night and i ruined it."

"not you, it was that creepo dingbat," em assured you. "besides, it was fun. we had lots of fun. and none of us can handle hangovers, so it's best we didn't stay out any longer."

the four of you laughed quietly, remembering your university days. none of you were good at handling alcohol or hangovers.

you looked up as a familiar car pulled up, followed immediately by jack running out the back door and pulling you into his arms.

"you're okay? were you followed? did he hurt you?"

"you're shaking," you whispered, hugging him back.

jack took a deep breath to calm himself, still holding you close. "i was freaking terrified. i couldn't even drive because i was losing it."

"you made luke drive?" you asked, pulling away a little. you held his face in your hands, knowing the touch was the only thing keeping jack calm.

"are you alright?" luke asked, coming out of the passenger seat as the car parked. "that guy didn't come after you, right?"

"no, we left," you answered, giving luke a hug as well. "the bouncer's keeping an eye on him, making sure he doesn't follow us."

"that was smart of you guys, telling the bouncer," quinn added, stepping out of the driver's side.

you stared for a moment, before remembering quinn was in town for the game.

"raya's idea," you motioned towards your friend.

she sent a two fingered salute, before hugging you and following em and talia into talia's brother's car.

"alright, let's head home now," quinn said, pulling out one of jack's hoodies from the car and passing it to you. "it's best not to stay here any longer than we have to."

you thanked him, following jack into the car. the ride home was silent, but peaceful. all of you were shaken up a bit, but you were okay. that was the big thing.

making your way into jack's apartment, quinn locked the door behind you guys while luke brought a glass of water over to you.

"thanks kid," you smiled, finishing off the glass. you looked at quinn and jack as well, "thank you. all three of you."

"you don't have to thank us," quinn reminded you. "you texted the group chat, and all three of us came over immediately. we're family, y/n. we're gonna come for you no matter what."

you smiled at the three boys around you. you loved them so much, and times like this was when you realized they loved you too. you were family.

"i texted the group chat?" you repeated. "i thought i texted jack."

quinn laughed, "it was the group chat. and good thing, because jack was freaking out and didn't know what to do."

the three of you laughed a bit, grateful that the stress was gone.

now that the night was over, and you were finally home, the high of the alcohol was fading. your head was starting to hurt, and so were your feet. jack helped you change into some pajamas and wipe your makeup off.

the two of you headed back to the living room, where luke and quinn were fighting over what to watch on netflix.

"finding nemo," luke said.

"no, we're watching moana," quinn argued.

"you're both wrong. we're watching despicable me," you told them, lying down on the couch.

jack flopped down next to you, "oh, i like that movie!"

quinn and luke got excited as well, searching for the movie and pressing play. you cuddled into jack as luke and quinn camped out on the floor.

one by one, the boys fell asleep, the movie playing softly on the t.v. you smiled to yourself as you lay in jack's arms. this was what your childhood should've looked liked. a loving family, ready to do anything for you.

even though you didn't have it then, you were happy to have found it now.

---

tags: @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme , @svechnikovvv ,  @hockeyboysarehot , @jimothystu, @mysticaldonkey ,  @lam-ila ,  @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy , @kjohnson-91  , @moldenhauers, @hischierdevils, @jackhughesily , @panarin10 , @equallyshaw , @power2myheart , @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @nowandkei , @cinnamonpancakes ,  @mitchymainer ,  @lifeofpriya , @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 , @emsully2002  ,  @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 ,  @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj , @fandom-oneshots-etc , @ajbird18 , @cherrysodadevils , @cixrosie , @iikximii , @xcicix , @wbkz3gras , @cole-mcward48 , @starjoyyy , @eagerkya , @idontlikelizards , @trevzeags11 , @al-lie-cat , @kjohnson-91 , @bitchy55 ,

join my taglist!

#naqia's au's! #mockingbird au! #platonic!reader #platonic #hughes family #quinn hughes #hughes brothers #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes blurb #luke hughes #platonic!hughes #hughes bros #hockey one shot #hockey fic #hockey #nhl one shot #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl

[homelanderbutbig]

The Brutus To His Caesar (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1942 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You get a dog without telling Homelander, and he is not a fan. Inspired by a conversation with @sehtoast. (thank you again bruv ;_;)

Homelander's days follow a predictable pattern. He wakes up in the morning, performs his superhero duties and events in the afternoon, then comes back to his penthouse to spend his night with you. From when he was a child in the lab, he's come to appreciate having a steadfast routine to follow, without the fear of something unknown causing a disturbance.

That is why he can't hide the utter disbelief painted on his face when he comes back to the penthouse in the evening, and finds you sitting on the couch with a dog.

"What… what is that… thing doing in here?" he sneers, eyeing this filthy creature that is blissfully laying its head on your lap. He can feel tightness constricting his chest as a wave of anxiety begins to spike inside him.

"One of my co-workers couldn't care for him anymore," you explain. "They had to re-home him on short notice, so I offered to take him. I'll bring him back to my apartment tomorrow, but we had plans for tonight so I brought him here with me."

"You… y-you took this mutt in without consulting me?" Homelander interrogates you, words laced with his discontent. Walking in front of the couch, he glares down as you shower this mongrel with your affection. He should be the one lying in your lap right now, not this dumb animal.

"I wasn't going to let this poor guy go to the pound if I could help it," you respond, doing your best to reason with him. "He's a senior dog, he needs extra care."

"Y-you're going to be keeping this thing?" he scoffs, finding it hard to believe you could do something like this to him. "Don't you know how many people get killed by dogs every year?"

"You think this little fella is going to do something like that?" you retort, looking down at the docile, sleepy dog on your lap and back up at the eight foot tall murder machine looming over you. "Honey, he's a couch potato that sleeps 20 hours a day. He may not have very many years left, he deserves to spend that time somewhere where he's safe and loved. I'm not getting rid of him."

Letting out an exasperated chortle, Homelander shakes his head while putting his hands on his hips. He's quickly realizing you're serious about keeping this dog, and there's nothing he can do to change your mind. How could you do this to him? He thought you loved him, that he was the only one you would ever love. Then you go and give your love to something else?

His jaw tenses while he feels himself spiraling from his initial thoughts of you loving this pet, to his all-too-familiar fear of losing you. This dog, this supervillain, is conspiring against him to ruin his life and you can't even see how it's manipulating you. It's going to usurp him in his position as your favourite, leaving him tossed aside like yesterday's garbage. He can't let that happen, not again, not-

"Hey," you exclaim, seeing Homelander spin further into his inner turmoil. You knew he would have trouble accepting this change, but you weren't expecting him to be so dramatic about it. "Sit down next to me, okay?"

Your words snap him out of this headspace, though he is still quite distraught. With a hard swallow, he reluctantly sits down beside you, tight fists in his lap, keeping a space in between him and that diabolical homewrecker.

"You know this dog is not going to replace you, right?" you console him. Even sitting at an equal elevation you are only eye-level with Homelander's pecs, so you have to crane your head up to look at his face.

He stares down at the ground, avoiding eye contact with you as he feels tears beginning to form in his eyes. However, his nerves deflate ever so slightly from feeling your hand touch his fist, and he loosens his stiff grip enough to let you slip your fingers in between his knuckles.

"I care about you Homelander," you continue, giving the leather of his glove a gentle squeeze. "I love you more than anything in the whole entire world. This dog doesn't take away any of those feelings. I just wanted to help him, because he can't help himself. You can understand that, can't you?"

With a deep sigh, he gives you a feeble nod and finally turns his head to look at you. His big blue eyes are glassy as a single tear rolls down his cheek, his nose is sniffling, his lips are quivering, but his mind is solely focused on you now.

You figure this is as good a time as any to introduce him to the dog.

"Can you take your gloves off for me?" you ask tenderly, and Homelander does so immediately, freeing both of his hands and leaving the gloves on the adjacent couch cushion. He returns his left hand to you, entwining it with your fingers and relishing the feeling of your soft skin.

"I want you to meet Murphy," you say, gesturing to the dog. "You can give him a pet. He's a good boy, he won't bite."

"I… I-I don't…" he stutters, holding onto his breath as his eyes dart back and forth. You notice his face subtly twitching, along with his hands going rigid.

"You don't what, sweetie?" you ask him, using your free hand to give the dog a little scratch behind his ear. Slowly, it perks itself up from your lap to angle its head towards your fingers.

"D-don't… don't know h-how…" he mumbles in a voice barely audible to you, sounding more like a small child than a grown man.

"You've never pet a dog before?" you enquire.

The way he once again refuses to look in your direction tells you that you've hit the nail on the head. Owning a pet is just another average human thing Homelander has never been able to experience. He was never permitted to be around animals in the lab, nor has he ever really interacted with them during his tenure at Vought. Not that he would want to anyway, with how delicate and finicky animals are with his size. Regular people can barely handle him, how on earth would a dog that narrowly reaches past his ankles react?

"Hey, hey, it's okay," you reassure him, stroking the top of his left hand. "I'll teach you. Here, just put your other hand out so he can sniff you. It's how dogs say hello."

Although he is hesitant to get acquainted with this scruffy menace, his newfound mortal enemy, he doesn't like to go against your wishes. With the utmost caution, he holds the back of his right hand to the dog's snout. It lazily inspects his large fingers, giving them a plentiful sniff before glancing up at him.

"H-he's staring at m-me," he stammers, his distress creeping up again. What exactly does this fiendish hellhound want from him? Can it smell his fear? Is it out for blood?

"He wants you to pet him," you clarify. "Just right on the top of his head, he likes it there."

He envelops your comparatively tiny hand in his own, trying to keep himself grounded. With a deep inhale of preparation, he shakily uses his index finger, middle finger and thumb to lightly scratch the dog's head. It closes its eyes as it enjoys the superpowered head massage, making content little noises to itself.

"That's it! You're doing great!" you encourage him, putting your other hand on top of his left one. Your praise does wonders to his worries, and he begins calming down enough to relinquish your hand from his iron grasp.

"Listen, I'm gonna go get him some dog treats from the kitchen," you say, sliding off the couch. Homelander looks at you like you've just stabbed him through the heart. You're leaving him alone with this… this beast? All by himself?

"Hey, you'll be fine!" you giggle at his expression, patting him on the knee before heading out of the living room. "I'll only be a second! I'll be right back, I promise!"

Now left unattended with his cunning adversary, Homelander does all in his power to keep his mind stable, and to stop enemy from figuring out how uneasy he feels right now. His hands are close to his abs while he fiddles with his thumbs, and he bounces one of his knees in quick succession.

Suddenly, he notices the dog leisurely get up on the couch cushion, and begin plodding closer to him. His whole body freezes in place at the horror of this mutt hopping up on his thighs and making itself a comfortable bed in the soft padding of his suit. Despite the dog only weighing twenty pounds and barely taking up any space in his lap, it feels like a ticking time bomb set to explode at any moment.

When you come back into the living room, you have to choke back a laugh at the sight of Homelander so utterly terrified at the dog laying on him. However, you swiftly turn your emotions to concern when you see him practically hyperventilating. His first time interacting with a dog is moving so fast, he's finding it hard to calm down.

"W-w-what do I do?!?" he panics, his heart pounding out of his chest as he rapidly becomes overwhelmed. He is about ten seconds away from running out to his balcony launch pad and flying far away.

"You don't have to do anything, he just likes you sweet pea!" you try and comfort him as you climb up on the couch, leaving the box of dog treats on the floor. "He trusts you!"

When Homelander shoots you an expression equal parts terrified and confused, you stand up on the cushion to get close to his face. Keeping yourself steady with a hand perched on his shoulder, you start combing your fingers through his undercut. Your touches are the one sure-fire thing to quickly dampen his anxieties. He can't help but lean his big head closer into your palm, craving your affection.

"Dogs aren't like people, they don't judge. And they have a pretty good sense of character," you point out, giving him a little scratch on his scalp. He gives you a little whine in return. "I have a feeling that Murphy knows you aren't as scary as you look. I think he can see what a gentle giant you really are."

Contemplating what you've said, Homelander glances back down at the dog on his lap, just now realizing that it has fallen asleep. This mongrel, what he suspected to be the Brutus to his Caesar, has trusted him enough to guard its dreams, when it's at its most vulnerable.

The only other being to assume their safety to sleep in his presence was… well, you. Because you don't perceive him like all the others around him do. You don't treat him like he's some incredibly powerful and massive monster; you love him for who he really is, for the truth that he hides and keeps buried deep down in his psyche. You love him unconditionally, just like this dog does.

Homelander's rollercoaster of emotions has finally come to a complete stop, letting him see this situation in a different light. Maybe this creature… this dog isn't out to take you away from him after all. If it can accept him without the prejudice he's experienced his whole life, it can't be all bad.

Maybe he can allow it stay with you… under his supervision.

#the boys #the boys tv #homelander #homelander x reader #g/t #size difference #my writing #homelander is just the reader's oversized dog

[unlust-fvck]

hi bestie!!! 🫶🏼 i’d like to formally request more sub!schlatt pls

you’re doing chores around the house and schlatt does a task for you, when he’s done you call him a a “good boy” and go about your day but he can’t stop thinking about it 🤧 he does a million other tasks for you to hear you say it again but you don’t bc you don’t get what he’s in it for yk

he starts being more… obedient

lots of “yes ma’am,” looking to you for approval before he does anything, being a good pup

i rly just want my subby baby boy pls

headcannons or a fic or a blurb or whatever I just NEED sub!schlatt

thank you!!! 🫶🏼

oh my god vic you are so right.

he’s my little niño🤲🏻

**use of ma’am targeted at reader**

it was sunday which meant one thing; chore day.

though schlatt was still curled up in bed, a pillow tight in his grasp, you were already gathering all of the laundry strewn around the house.

with one load in the washer, you started to sweep and dust; waiting to vacuum until schlatt was awake.

as you got wrapped up in your chores, you didn’t realize the creaking of the bed and the footsteps that followed.

arms were placed around you as you wiped down the counter and you jumped.

“jesus, hey baby,” you said with a breathless smile as you craned your neck back to peck schlatt’s cheek.

he smiled sleepily and pulled off. it was very evident he was still half asleep as he mumbled something quietly.

“what’s that?” you hummed, continuing to wipe down the counter. he was quiet. that’s when you turned to face schlatt completely.

he was in his typical sleep attire; his wilson hoodie and a pair of plaid boxers. his hair was disheveled and his eyes squinted.

“i said goodmorning.” he said with a small grin, starting to come out of his sleepy trance.

you smiled back, “goodmorning to you too.” you paused for a moment. “hey! don’t get all lovey with me so that you don’t have to do chores.” you said firmly. “go wash up, mkay? you’re on garbage duty.”

schlatt groaned and sauntered off to the bathroom.

it wasn’t long before he was behind you again, grabbing at your waist as you finally made breakfast.

“be patient, sweetheart. did you even take the garbage out yet?” you asked, your eyes not leaving the frying pan.

“mhm, it’s all outside.” he responded, his chin rested on your shoulder.

“good boy,” you praised, reaching back to rub his hair.

schlatt wasn’t sure what had clicked inside of him when those two words left your lips. he knew you didn’t mean it in that way, right?

schlatt tried to ignore the fluttering sensation in his chest and play it off as a joke as he pulled off of you and grabbed a cup of coffee.

"d-do you want some?" he painfully sputtered. he mentally cursed himself for sounding so stupid.

"yeah that would be nice, thank you love," you said sweetly.

schlatt was a mess now, every pet name buzzed around his head and straight down to his stomach. it was embarrassing really; the two of you had been together for years and he still got flustered over things like this.

oddly enough, schlatt loved the feeling and found himself doing anything he could to hear those two words fall from your mouth.

"j, baby, can you please clean the bathroom after we eat?" you asked gently.

schlatt nodded quickly as he poured your cup of coffee. "yes ma'am." he responded, passing you your cup of coffee.

the rest of the day went relatively smoothly, at least you thought so.

schlatt continued mindlessly doing tasks; changing the bedsheets, finishing off the laundry, cleaning the mirrors throughout the house.

you were surprised with how motivated he seemed. towards the end of the night, the two of you sat on the couch cuddled up next to each other.

"you were really good today j," you mumbled into his shoulder as his eyes focused on the tv screen.

you felt his breath hitch and a small shudder as he exhaled.

you picked your head up to look at him confusedly. it started to piece together in your head but you wouldn't make that evident.

"you were a huge help baby, seriously," you spoke again.

schlatt couldn't help it as he buried his face into your lap out of embarrassment.

you chuckled to yourself and ran your fingers through his messy curls,

"good boy." you whispered.

#jays fics !! #schlatt x reader #jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #chuckle sandwich fluff #chuckle sandwich #fanfiction #jschlatt fanfic #schlatt fanfic #schlatt fluff

[drnikolatesla]

One of the Greatest Inventions of All Time

Nikola Tesla has many revolutionary inventions to his credit, but he is best known for his pioneering work in the development and promotion of alternating current (AC) electrical systems. Tesla's innovations in AC technology revolutionized the generation, transmission, and distribution of electrical power, becoming the foundation for the modern electrical power systems that we use today.

There is a common misconception made that Tesla was the first to invent, or discover, AC, but this is not true. It is well-known that Hippolyte Pixii was the first to discover AC in 1832. Pixii was an instrument maker from Paris who built an early form of an alternating current electrical generator (based on the principle of electromagnetic induction discovered by Michael Faraday), and thus started a new industry in power transmission. Tesla was not the first to discover or invent an AC motor, but he was the first to invent a practical AC induction motor with commercial value that could outperform all other motors. It must be noted that Italian inventor Galileo Ferraris also invented an induction motor similar to Tesla's, but it had no commercial value, and he even admitted himself that it was useless. Tesla's induction motor operates on the principle of electromagnetic induction, properly utilizing a rotating magnetic field that induces a current in a stationary conductor, resulting in rotational motion. The utilization of the rotating magnetic field makes the motor more simple, robust, versatile, efficient, and cost effective in that it has less moving parts reducing the likelihood of mechanical failure (as was common in other motors).

Tesla's induction motor became a fundamental component in the field of electrical engineering and is used today in various applications, being one of the most widely used devices in the world. The motors play a crucial role in transmitting electrical power to homes and businesses. They are commonly used in power generation plants to convert mechanical energy into electrical energy, which is then transmitted through the power grid for distribution to various locations. Induction motors are also widely employed in appliances and machinery within homes and businesses for various applications. These applications include conveyor systems, hoists, cranes, lifts, pumps, fans, ventilation systems, compressors, manufacturing machinery, wind turbines, washing machines, refrigerators, garbage disposals, microwaves, dishwashers, vacuums, air conditioners, robotics, electric vehicles, trains, power tools, printers, etc. Basically, anything that requires a spinning action for power.

The induction motor is widely considered one of the most important inventions in the history of electrical engineering. Its importance lies in its transformative impact on industries, its efficiency and reliability, and its role in the broader electrification of society.

#nikola tesla #science #history #invention #discovery #induction motor #electricity #power #goat #ahead of his time #ahead of our time

[thrawns-babygirl]

Stake Out (Thrawn x GN!Reader 18+)

YALL! This idea was floating around my head for so long because there is a severe lack of Ascendancy Era!Thrawn x reader content but while I was writing this fic I seem to have forgotten how to write? IDK I think this is self indulgent as fuck lmao hope u enjoy this garbage <3

Synopsis: Mid Captain Thrawn has been making eyes at the human pathfinder that navigates the Parala from time to time, totally sick of them on her bridge, Senior Captain Ziara sends them off on a mission to work out their tension.

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Unprotected sex, creampie, alien dicks, virgin!Thrawn Word Count: 2800+

Masterlist

You had no idea what you were doing out here. Then again, a pathfinder isn’t really supposed to ask about the specifics of their commissions. You go where the clients tell you, don’t speak unless spoken to, collect your pay and head back to the station. That’s it.

That doesn’t stop you from being the tiniest bit curious about why you were ordered to accompany a single officer out into, what appears to be, the middle of nowhere.

You’ve worked with the Chiss before, more times than most of your compatriots, given that you tend to actually enjoy working with a species that most other pathfinders consider to be stuck up and unbearable. You enjoy how efficiently they seem to work; you enjoy listening to them speaking Cheunh around you, the language seemingly incredibly complex but it has an almost melodic quality that enraptures you every time you hear it.

And on some level, you will admit to yourself, you find them dangerously attractive.

You’re lost in thought as you stare out the viewport, thinking about the number of times senior captain Ziara has requested specifically you for whatever voyage the Parala needs to take, she’s always been nice to you, accommodating even. A far cry from how your other pathfinders often describe the Chiss.

You’re shaken from your musings as you hear Cheunh spoken behind you, the pleasant-sounding language bringing a smile to your face as you turn to look at the other occupant of the small shuttle.

Mid captain Thrawn is sitting against the hull, questis in hand as he makes what you assume to be a routine check in to his ship and his commander. You hear who you think is senior captain Ziara on the other end before he finishes what he’s saying and looks over to you, fixing you with that enchanting glowing red gaze. You feel your cheeks warm as you turn back around in your seat and return to staring out into space, quite literally.

“I apologise if you are bored” accented Minnisiat forces your gaze over towards the mid captain again as he rests on the floor of the ship, back against the hull, looking relaxed. You give him a warm smile and reply “Oh no, don’t worry about me, it’s not the first time I’ve been in one place for a while”.

His lips quirk in a small smile as he looks back down at his questis, seemingly done with the conversation. Inwardly, you groan in frustration. You’d been admiring the mid captain from afar for a while now, every time the Chiss request a pathfinder from your station you jump at the opportunity. Hoping that you would be able to work with him again, hoping to see his sharp cheekbones and hear his gorgeous voice and watch his lips as they wrap themselves around those Cheunh words you so desperately want to understand. And now you’re here with him, totally alone for the foreseeable future and you have no idea how to interact with him.

You look behind you again, craning your neck around the large, tall backed navigators chair to look at him again. He looks so invested in whatever he’s doing on his questis it almost feels rude to interrupt him.

“What are you looking at?” you ask before you can talk yourself out of it and he turns to face you. He doesn’t seem annoyed or offended you interrupted him so that’s a good start.

“Vagaari art” He replies simply, his focus returning to his questis “You are welcome to join me if you are bored”.

Trying not to seem too eager, you get to your feet and walk towards where Thrawn is sitting. As you approach you notice he’s spread out what appears to be a bedroll and some blankets beneath him to cushion the hard metal of the hull. Taking a seat next to him on the bedroll you lean towards him to gaze at his questis.

He seems to stiffen slightly as your shoulders touch and in the dim light of the shuttle you aren’t sure if you see a dusting of purple over his high cheekbones or if you’re just imagining things. Shifting slightly closer so that your sides are pressed together you begin asking him about each piece of art he flicks through.

He’s actually incredibly open to talking to you about it, more open than you thought he would be. He enthusiastically explains each piece he shows you, you don’t fully understand everything, but his eagerness is contagious and you find yourself smiling and becoming wrapped up in each painting and tapestry he has saved to his device.

You lean further into him, the warmth of his body radiating even through the course material of his CEDF uniform. Your hand brushes his thigh and you hear his voice catch as he explains the nuance of the composition of a specific piece. You think he’s going to ask you to move away, give him back his personal space, so it surprises you when he moves closer to you, his body pressing slightly tighter against yours.

Now it’s your turn for your breath to hitch. Testing the waters, you decide to be a bit bold and place your hand on his thigh. The usually entirely composed Chiss stumbles over his words for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing with what he was saying, his hand coming to rest on your thigh as he speaks.

He seems to be following your lead, what you do, he mimics. Testing this theory, you begin rubbing small circles on his thigh with your thumb and sure enough Thrawn begins to do the same.

Interesting… very interesting…

You rest your head on his shoulder, and he leans to rest his head on top of yours, you squeeze his thigh softly and he does the same, you move your hand slightly towards the inside of his thigh and he follows your lead, doing the same to you.

You’ve been so invested in your little experiment you didn’t even notice that Thrawn’s stopped talking about the art, he’s breathing heavily next to you as you move your hand slightly higher on his thigh, towards where you hope his cock is, unless Chiss have a vastly different anatomy than what the rest of them alludes to.

Your hand moves beneath the bottom of his uniform tunic, and you feel him, already as hard and throbbing. He chokes out what you assume to be a curse as you begin stroking him over his pants.

Looking up towards his face you notice his eyes half lidded and a very definite purple hue to his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he breathes heavily. He drags his gaze over to you and you have the overwhelming urge to kiss his slightly parted lips. Do Chiss even kiss? Is something as simple as a kiss taboo in their culture? You curse silently for not knowing his customs, but then again how could you?

Thrawn must see your eyes flicking down towards his lips because he cautiously leans forward towards you, and with a hesitance you feel is vastly uncharacteristic of the stoic Chiss, gently places his lips over yours. The kiss is clumsy, unfocused, unsure, but ever the mastermind, he quickly catches on, becoming more confident as his lips move against yours with more passion, more hunger.

You continue stroking him over his pants, and you hear the clatter of his questis being placed down somewhere off to the side as he moves a hand to the apex of your thighs, rubbing his long fingers over the fabric.

Breaking the kiss, you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before Thrawn brings his other hand over to rest on your hip. His touch is tentative, unsure, but surely you can’t be the first person the mid captain has been with… right?

It’s like he can read your mind because the moment the thought occurs to you, he clears his throat. “I apologise I have never… with someone…” he sounds almost embarrassed over that fact, and you try to give him what you hope is a reassuring smile “That’s fine, I can… teach you if you like?” you bite your lip as he pauses for moment before nodding.

“Yes please… I would appreciate it if you… took the lead in this encounter” you don’t know if its his lack of familiarity with Minnisiat causing him to speak so formally or if this is just how Thrawn speaks, but either way you nod before leaning in to kiss him again.

You manoeuvre yourself so that you are sitting in his lap, his hard length pressing up against your core as you deepen the kiss. His hands on your hips begin to feel more sure and more confident as you run your fingers through his silky blue-black hair and begin to slowly grind down against him. He groans into your mouth as you move your hips harder and faster and you feel white hot arousal pool in your belly at the sound.

You reluctantly remove your hands from his hair to begin fumbling with the fastenings of his uniform tunic, breaking the kiss as you fumble with it. He chuckles and replaces your hands with his as he helps you open his tunic revealing a form fitting undershirt that hugs his chest highlighting the definition of his muscles.

He quickly shucks off his jacket as you untuck his undershirt pulling it over his head, uncovering his sculpted chest and you swear your mouth waters at the sight. He’s always cut an imposing figure in his uniform, but seeing the broadness of his chest unobscured, is a sight that you swear you will remember for the rest of your days.

Returning to kissing you, Thrawn’s hands move to the hem of your shirt, only breaking the kiss to pull it over your head. “Bat…” he breathes as he looks at your body, his voice husky as he runs his hands up and down your sides. You begin kissing along his jaw down to his neck, further down until you reach one of his nipples, sucking it into your mouth causing him to let out a curse in Cheunh as his head lolls back against the hull of the shuttle.

“S-sensitive… Very sensitive” he grunts out and you smile as your mouth continues teasing his nipples, moving from one to the other as he moans and begins bucking his hips up, grinding against you. His hands move to your chest, his fingers pinching and playing with you as you continue teasing him, angling yourself so that you can begin to unfasten his pants when he reaches a hand down to stop you.

“I do not know… what my stamina will be like I am already very-” he pauses as if Minnisiat is eluding him “worked up” his voice is strained, and his eyes are hooded as you look up at him.

“Don’t worry… let me make you feel good” you whisper to him before kissing along his neck again. He removes his hand and allows you to unfasten his pants, bringing them and his briefs down his thighs far enough for you to retrieve his large swollen length. He follows suit, his hands moving to quickly remove your pants as you awkwardly shift so that you can fully remove them.

You take a moment to admire him, he looks similar to a human cock, you think to yourself, besides the colour some ridges that look like they will feel absolutely divine when he’s finally buried inside of you. He fidgets slightly under your scrutiny “am I… to your liking?” uncertainty lacing his tone as you wrap your hand around him.

“Yes… yes very much so. You are… perfect” you reply breathlessly, his cock twitching as you speak, the tip leaking more slick fluid. You use your free hand to grab one of his, bringing his fingers towards your lips, sucking on them, coating them in your saliva before moving them between your legs.

He looks at you curiously as he begins prodding your entrance with his long fingers. “You are very… large… you will need to prepare your partners for your size” his expression turns to one of understanding at your explanation as he slowly works a finger into you causing you to gasp as he moves it in and out of you. As he adds a second finger you rest your head on his shoulder, moaning into his neck when he begins scissoring you open.

He continues fucking you open with his hand, his fingers occasionally brushing your sweet spot making you whine into his neck. He mutters something in his native language as you continue stroking him in time with his fingers moving inside of you, for a man with no experience he is a very quick study, his fingers hitting that spot with more consistency as he drags you agonizingly close to your peak.

Not wanting to finish without him buried inside you, you place a hand over his wrist to stop him. “I’m ready” your voice is breathy and strained and you know you look just as debauched as he does. You reposition yourself so that his tip nudges your entrance, and he gulps in anticipation as you begin to slowly lower yourself down onto him, each ridge sending pleasure shooting through your body.

He moans unabashedly as he enters you, screwing his eyes shut as he mutters to himself in Cheunh. Chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, hissing through clenched teeth as he fully sheaths himself inside you. You begin to move before he places his hands firmly onto your hips.

“N-no… if you move I will…” he takes a deep breath “a moment to control myself please…” his accent coming through stronger as he struggles with the sensations combined with speaking in a language both of you will understand. Not trusting your own voice, you nod as you pause your movements, content to just feel him throb and twitch inside you.

After a while he gives you a small nod to proceed. You move slowly, not wanting to overwhelm him as you begin to ride him, resting your head in the crook of his neck, your hands once again tangled in his soft hair. As your movements speed up, he becomes more vocal, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as you bounce up and down on his cock, his hips thrusting upwards to meet yours. You feel each delicious ridge of his cock as the both of you move together, the coil in your belly tightening, your moans mingling in the confined space of the shuttle.

His moans become more uneven, pitching higher and you know he’s close. You bring one of his hands between the two of you, getting the hint he begins moving his hand quickly and its exactly what you need for the coil to break as your climax engulfs you.

The tightening and clenching of your muscles cause Thrawn to let out a loud broken moan of your name as he thrusts his hips up into you once more, burying himself as deep as he can, filling you to the brim with his cum as he pants and moans, his cock twitching as he releases.

You remain in his lap, both of you slick with sweat and other various fluids as you come down from your respective highs, catching your breath. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the rumbling of his voice as he speaks “this has been a very enlightening experience… thank you” he gives you a small half smile as he looks down at you and you smile up at him in return.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the lesson” you chuckle before you remove yourself from him, his seed flowing freely down your thighs “but we should clean up before we have to get back no?” you say as you head towards the refresher on shaky legs.

~~~~~

“We did not locate the alleged pirate base senior captain” Thrawn says as he stands before Senior Captain Ziara in her office on the Parala hands clasped behind his back. She gives him a small smile and looks down at his report “That’s not a problem mid captain, I’m sure you and the pathfinder managed to find ways to keep yourselves entertained” Ziara’s smile widens as she watches Thrawn blush and shift on his feet.

“I’m not blind Thrawn, I see how the two of you look at each other” she stands up from her desk “I’m glad, I was sick to death of the two of you making eyes at each other on my bridge” Ziara chuckles as she walks past her blushing mid captain “come on, lets go to the mess, I’m sure you’re hungry after your… mission”

@ilovestarwarsmen725@ele-millennial-weirdo@al-astakbar@69fandom-fanatic69@blackmonitor@khapikat222@novemberblueskyink

#thrawn smut #thrawn x reader #admiral thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn x reader #thrawnposting #grand admiral thrawn smut #mitth'raw'nuruodo #mitth'raw'nuruodo smut #admiral thrawn smut #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #admiral thrawn

[madlittlecriminal]

Sickfic with Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow where Jon's taking care of a sick reader please? Been feeling not too great lately and maybe reading abt being taken care of by one of my favorite fictional men will make me feel better lol. Signed, H :]

Finest Medicine ↦ Soft!Jonathan Crane × Sick!GN!Reader

awe, I hope you get better soon, H! it's a short one, but i still hope you like it! :)

Warnings: stomach bug, headache, throat pain, coughing, stuffy nose, sneezing, mentions of medicine, mentions of painkillers

*NOT MY GIF*

You felt completely awful; your head was throbbing, your throat was sore from coughing and your nose was stuffy. You hated being sick as much as the next person, but for some reason, Jonathan made it seem like it was the best thing in the world. "Hey darling. How are you feeling today?" You sniffle and look over at your boyfriend. "I feel like garbage. Complete and utter garbage." He chuckled and walked over to you with a ginger tea. "Drink this. It'll help with the cough." You put the mug to your lips, but stopped and sneezed. You groaned and grabbed a tissue, wiping your nose with it.

He gave you a small smile and planted a kiss on your forehead, causing you to swat his face away. "No! You are not getting this sickness too!" He chuckled. "As much as I would agree with you as I have a thing for cleanliness, I really don't mind getting sick if it means you'll get better." You couldn't tell if you were blushing or not because you were already naturally burning thanks to your high fever. "Now, do you need me to get a bucket?" You shook your head. "My stomach isn't bad, but I don't need one now." He nodded. "Still feel weak?" You coughed with a nod and took a sip of your tea, flinching at the pain of the hot tea.

"I probably should've warned you about it." You glared at him, causing him to laugh. "I'm sorry, darling. Forgive me?" Before you could say anything, you let out a few sneezes and groaned again. "Whyyyyy?" He shook his head with a smile on his face. "Want me to make you another soup or do you want to try something heavier?" You shake your head. "A soup is fine, Jon. Thank you." He nodded and planted a few kisses on your face. "Nooooo!" He laughed again and walked towards your door. "I'll take maybe 10 or 15 minutes to get the soup ready. Get some rest and I'll get your medicine. Do you want painkillers too?" You gave him a weak shrug. "Maybe the soup for now, please? Thank you my love."

#dc universe #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x y/n #scarecrow #scarecrow x y/n #scarecrow x you #scarecrow x reader #anonymous #anonymous asks #anon asks #asks #ask #h anon #anon

[ljh-writing-blog]

Batmom #1

     The first time you encountered the Batman, who you would later know as Bruce Wayne and your husband, is a day you would never forget.  Gotham’s Dark Knight had rescued you from a life of villainy and crime, your personal hero. It was the start of something beautiful you always said, although your relationship was anything but smooth in the beginning.

Past 

    You were a test subject of Jonathon Crane, he wanted to use fear toxin and psychological torture to awaken meta-genes in ordinary humans and you happened to be his most promising subject at the time. You remember volunteering for the program, they had framed it as test-trials for a new drug meant to strengthen immune systems and increase quality of life in exchange for a hefty payment dependent on how long you stayed in the program. After two years living in shitty motels and alleys you jumped on the offer. Anything was better than petty theft, eating from garbage cans, and sleeping in corrupt homeless shelters.

     Living in Gotham wasn’t kind, after your apartment and all your belongings had been destroyed when the Joker decided to go on a bombing spree you had no choice but to turn to the streets at 20 years old. Gotham’s Mayor and city officials had promised their citizens they would be rehomed and cared for, in reality the displaced apartment renters received a check for a hundred dollars worth of groceries and a two day stay at any hotel in the city. You gave your hotel and grocery voucher to your neighbor with two small children and an elderly mother to care for, she needed it more than you by far. Recuperating after that was nearly impossible. Anyone who said homeless people should just get a job was a damn fool, it wasn’t nearly as easy as it seemed when nice clothing and access to a shower was in scarce supply. The city had failed it’s people and it wouldn’t be the first time it failed Y/N. 

     In the beginning there was sixteen of you, an even split between the men and women. Some of them you recognized, like the two girls who worked the corner of your “street” night and day. There was a third usually with them but she had been murdered two weeks ago. The cops suspected an overdose but the streets knew, they talked and whispered in the night. She had been killed by a client, dumped in the alley that Y/N usually stayed in. That night had been awful, she had been the one to inform them of their friend’s death. She assumed her death had been a wake up call for the women, it had been for herself. She needed to get off the streets before she was just a girl in an alley, taken advantage of and left for dead. There was a few homeless men you recognize from nights spent around dumpster fires and sharing the days spoils. The rest were strangers and she found herself wondering what circumstances had brought them all together. 

     All the volunteers met at Gotham City Mall where you were given new clothes and bussed to a second location, halfway through your bus ride you were all instructed to put a blindfold on. A black cut of cloth had been given to each person, many of you were confused. Why couldn’t you see where you were going? You spoke up as several exchanged looks of fear, “Why can’t we see where we’re going? What’s going on?” You voiced the concerns easily felt throughout the bus, weary of the answer you would receive. What had you gotten yourself into? “The facility we’re going to is a top secret government owned building. This is standard precaution for any non personnel visiting the building.” A man towards the front answered, easing many fears. Not yours though, something felt wrong, you felt this man was lying. 

     Still, you led by example and put your blindfold on. When you had arrived and been shuffled into the building, your blindfolds being taken off, you were met with a stark white room. A scientist began speaking to you, explaining the trials you’d be going through and how you were to be separated. There would be one man and woman to a room, though when you were shown your “rooms” they looked much like a prison cell. They explained they wanted to study their, each man and woman’s, reactions to the opposite sex as they did their research. You started to  become suspicious as this was explained to you. Why would they need to study your reaction to other patients? You were supposed to be in trials for drugs related to strengthening the immune system, that should have nothing to do with other patients. In your head it made more sense for them to isolate all of you, what was going on? What was she about to be subjected to do? And worse, this had all been her doing. 

In the end, you were the only test subject to have survived the “trials” and torture. The trials, you had never been able to refer to your time in the facility as anything but torture and abuse. The scientists always else referred to them as trials, as if giving them any other name would make what they were doing even more sadistic and cruel. Subjecting you to different drugs like LSD, cocaine, Haloperidol, methamphetamines, and truth serum to expose your fears and use them against you. Sleep deprivation was one of their favorite forms of torture, it not only produced natural hallucinations but with the added fear toxin your hallucinations increased tenfold. After developing a dependency to certain drugs they forced you to consume they began to use withdrawal as a form of torture. 

     Your stay in the facility lasted three years, one year after your torture began your metagene that had previously lay dormant was activated. The scientists hypothesized that because of your mania and emotional displacement along with the fear toxin your metagene was influenced in a way that allowed you to manipulate the mind and the emotion fear. You felt all emotions but fear was much prominent, fear was the easiest to manipulate. Once your abilities manifested they began the brain washing. They knew you would never willingly submit to their commands with how much they had awakened your abilities so they began the brain washing. It was another year of  pharmacological torture before they were successful, you willingly began to do missions for Crane and his friends. You believed he had saved you from the streets and given you extraordinary powers, he had saved your life. Your third year stuck with Crane you commited crimes in the name of several villains, Jonathon gave you the alias the Scarlet Witch. Your powers manifested physically as a red energy, it behaved like a fog in a way: clouding the minds of your victims, manipulating their actions, and bringing their worst fears to the surface. 

     At 23 years old you were just a missing person’s report, a face lost to crime and a failing, corrupt police force. That was until Batman caught you, you were usually gone by the time he arrived to stop you. But this time you had faltered, you swore you recognized the faces you had been forced to mar with a bullet to the forehead. They had tried to speak to you before you killed them, to beg for their lives. But this was your mission, they were your mission. That had been the last mission you ever did for Jonathon Crane, the Batman took you into his custody that night. He delivered you to the Justice League. There you stayed while the League tried to find any information on how you had become this but all they had was a missing person’s report. 

     There they monitored your health and watched you go through withdrawal. It took Bruce three months to find the files that told the demise of Y/F/N Y/L/N. In that time you were diagnosed with a heart arrhythmia from the extended drug use you were subjected to. You gained weight, not so sickly looking anymore. You bonded with Diana, she was one of the few people who didn’t hide their faces from your. Somehow it made you feel more human, while you didn’t trust these people she trusted you enough to see the real her. You hadn’t been around someone so genuine in a long time. It took a year of physical and mental therapy for you to begin unlearning what had been brainwashed into you. In that time you grew closer to Batman. Somehow it seemed he understood what it was like to be unmade and made into something darker. That was the rough start to the beginning of your relationship. 

Present

You never expected to live the life you live now, a life in a mansion with too many kids to count and a husband who loves you unconditionally. A life with friends who she could rely on, some superpowered and some not. A butler who may as well be her father, oh how her young self would scoff at the idea of her life now. Bruce Wayne had given you so much and you only hoped one day you would repay the debt you owed him.

A/N: This is probably absolute shit but this is my idea for Batmom.Rn I’m just setting up backstory. I’ve always loved the idea of Scarlet Witch in the DCU because there’s so much backstory you could put in there. She (you) are still from Sokovia, her immigrant background is going to help tie in with Dick/Damian identity struggles. I also really wanted to do something with fear toxin because I feel Scarecrow is such an underrated villain. So here we have it, enjoy or don’t. I’d really appreciate feedback whether that’s likes/comments/reblogs. Thank you <3 

#batman #the batman #batboys #batfam x batmom #batmom #batmom imagine #batmom x bruce wayne #batmom!reader #batmom reader #batfam x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x batmom #bruce wayne #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #batfamily #batmom x justice league #the justice league #justice league imagine #batmom1

[absolutebl]

Wedding Plan Trash Watch!

You ready to snuffle-kiss the burn? 

Before I start...

Find out about Mame and the Mameverse here.

Find my other trash watches of her and others here. 

We all know what we are getting in for, 7 episodes of BLduggery. To crane your neck as you drive by the car wreck or not... that is the question. Me? I'm wallowing in the guts. 

Episode 1 - In which I craft an ode to Dumpster Fires Everywhere 

I am sorry, but they opened with Battle Hymn of the Republic for PrapaiSky’s wedding? I busted out laughing. 

Also, you KNOW I can’t just let that go. 

Ready?

LET’S SING! (Bet you’d never thought I’d type those words). 

Battle Hymn of BL Tumblr

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the trash This is barely even BL it’s just Mame writing slash  She hath set ablaze such garbage in pursuit of all our cash But the trash watch must go on! 

 (Buh buh ba buh) 

Glory, glory hallelujah!  Mame hit us with a sewer.  Spoiling all our fun, Oh the shit storm has begun, But the trash watch must go on! 

I have seen the dumpster-fires of a hundred BL tropes She will sacrifice her ukes ’til they’ve lost all of their hopes We will watch in righteous anger while the refuse burns and smokes But the trash watch must go on! 

 (Buh buh ba buh) 

Glory, glory hallelujah!  Life’s rough for a BL reviewer.  When OG BL fans run afoul of Mame stans  But the trash watch must go on! 

 Buh buh buh buh! 

Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here for the next 7 weeks. Yes some of my rhyming conventions are awkward af but I never claimed to be a filker. Now where was I?

Oh YES, 

STILL AT THE VERY BEGINNING. 

Where have I seen this seme before? Oh! Top Secret Together. 

Micky D sponsorship? Nice. I’m impressed. 

Too many sound effects, abort! Is that the sound tech from Lovely Writer I sniff? Someone please fire his ass. Yes, it must be him. Only a straight dude misuses buttons like that. 

I feel Nuea’s pain I too hate the gym. 

This better not be in one of those situations where after instalove our seme arranges for the wedding planner boy he likes to plan his own wedding so that he can marry him at the end. 

Lots of pronouns going astray in that sentence, but you get my meaning. 

Drag baby around. Locker room. Kabeldon 

Honestly? And this is not usually a criticism I lob at Mame ( I know is there anything I have lobbed at her?) but the leads seem a bit stiff and uninspired. 

It is just me? 

Episode 2 - What’s this? Oh is that boredom? 

What are these boys in these office BLs doing behind their desks on those computers? They never actually seem to be working at all. They’re like brochure stock art ads for boys on computers. 

I had to skip most of the humiliating stuff with the food in the car and whatever was going on because… aargh. 

They keep ordering food in this episode of nobody’s eating it. And it looks really good and I’m hungry and this is very upsetting to me. 

Lom is just totally jerking Nuea around. Just tell him what your relationship is with the bride. 

There’s no need to be so fucking coy about it. 

I love the flaming yelling fit from Nuea tho.  

It was also a good kiss. 

But that’s what we expect from a Mame. 

Mame giveth and mame taketh away. 

Somewhat dull episode frankly. Even with the kiss.

Sigh. What have I become?

Episode 3 - WHAT IS THIS? There is nothing about this episode that pleased me even a tiny bit. Except Noel’s hair. But that wasn’t part of the script. 

Buckle up, I got A LOT to say. 

It’s a pleasure to welcome you back to your normal and expected ABL meets Mame interface where... ABL LOSES THEIR TINY MIND. 

Right on schedule it feels like. 

Ready?

Oh who am I kidding, you sadists life for this shizz. And you can’t tell me you don’t. 

Lom is so frustrating. 

I wanna punch him too. Sing it, sister! 

Random water sports. (And not of the kind one might expect from Mame. Stop it. You know she would go there. She’d think it was edgy.) 

Peeps! 

We need a name for when a BL reviews itself. 

It keeps happening. 

Should you tell him everything? 

Yes. 

1000 times yes. 

I’m basically screaming it at the screen. 

TELL HIM!!!! 

You tricked him into a date without telling him a single thing about what’s actually going on. Are you insane? 

What the hell. 

You keep kissing him but he is planning your wedding. How fucked up are you? You monster 

A Mame show calling out its own exploitive sexism is so fucking awkward. 

Mame. Sweetheart. Snookums. Sugarbeans. Shaken-baccon. You don’t have enough fucking talent to go meta. Leave it to the better BLs to follow trends. Your shizz is old fashioned and that’s why people like it. Don’t try to be classy, it makes this whole shit show just look even more shabby. 

Poor baby. 

Now he’s doubting himself completely. 

What are these assholes doing to you? 

Come with me. 

I’m going to transport you to this other terrible BL trash watch happening right now, where there is a LOVELY adorable boy named Max and I think you would be perfect together. 

So it’s basically just Narnia-level closet cases we are dealing with here? 

THAT’S IT?

THAT’S THE EXCUSE FOR THIS LEVEL OF MANIPULATION?

WHAT IS GOING ON? 

Nuea is such a cutie.

I want to punch Lom all over again.   

Noel looks v pretty as a blond. 

The proposal sequence was unnecessary. But at least I don’t wanna punch anyone. 

THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE for lying. For manipulation. For not understanding how you’re betraying another person’s faith in himself. 

Especially not if you’re in the position of power: social, cultural, employer. 

Why doesn’t Mame EVER understand this? 

You can’t have a character that is sincere and earnest in love and yet entirely lacking in all forms of integrity. 

This is driving me crazy. 

No one is in the show is as crazy as this show is making me.

I started this episode wanting to punch Lom, and I’m ending this episode wanting to punch Lom.

That’s a mame plot for ya. 

No character development at all, on any side of the screen. 

And someone, mostly me, is always left with a mad desire to punch something. 

Frankly, I kinda want to punch the screen.

Episode 4 - I Am Going to Start Drinking

I like consent especially when “no” is activated. But this being Mame she shoe horns it in and then the seme ignores it. 

It’s so awkward. She’s actually incapable of making any non-problematic tropes sexy. It’s like there is only one lane for her shows and that lane is...

the WORST 

My “Punch Lom in the face 2023” campaign continues.

I don’t see how he can ever become a sympathetic character. He just trundles along lying by omission (when speaking up would make everything better). I hate him. 

I’m glad we get to see Nuea suffering, now show Lom what he has done and make him lose the boy. 

No? No.

Instead Lom gets rewarded with sex for being a sleazy lying gutless jerk? Well terds to both you fine gentlemen. 

I mean, very gay of you, Nuea sweetie. 

“Because just SOOOO hot” being the #1 excuse in my personal “I slept with WHAT?” experience. (Heh, to be fair I’m often the WHAT? in that equation. I live to be someone’s bad mistake... just not Lom-level-bad. 

Where was I? 

Oh yeah, Gaga has the sex scene. FYI. Came outta nowhere, that sex scene did. Very disjointed... not that kind of joint. Not that kind either.

It’s not a particularly impressive sex scene, which is disappointing. Because WHY ELSE WOULD WE BE WATCHING?

I mean, if you’re going to have your characters (and by extension us) forfeit all integrity and taste in order to watch your stupid show, the least you could do is give us decent chemistry. 

I’m not saying this is worse than LITA but at least LITA was hot.

It wasn’t anything else. But it was hot.

This this is 

not hot. 

In conclusion: if Nuea’s baby bro doesnt’t punch Lom in the face next week I will have to start drinking on Weds...

oh wait!

BMF ends this Friday! I can switch to drinking mid week!

YES

(I have a new rule: only one BL a week is allowed to drive me to drink in any give rotation.) 

Imma preemptively point out that I am aware that bearding and lavender marriages are still quite common all over the world. I would whole heartedly support a good depiction of it. (Even one where it stays fix in the beard position.) This is NOT a good depiction. 

I shall draw your attention to 2017′s rarely discussed (not really BL) We Are Gamily out of... you guessed it... Taiwan. You can argue with me about this only AFTER you have watched that. 

Okay, back to the trash watch. 

Episode 5 - I Neglected to Drink and that was a Mistake

Ate a lot of crap traveling home today (feel gross) + tumblr new desktop UX has me pissed + Mame & alcohol? I’m not sure I’d survive. So no alcohol. 

Here we go. 

Poor Nuea feels so guilty. 

Please save me from ever feeling that way after sex. *shudder* 

Before you ask, to the best of my knowledge, I have never slept with a married person. I’ve slept with married people... married to each other mind you... but I hope that makes it clear everyone was consensual. (I recommend it, by the way. Being a unicorn is lots of fun.) 

Where was i? 

We were dealing with punching Lom not my misspent youth. 

(looks at calendar. wait, that was last month.) 

PUNCH LOM 2023! 

Queen! 

I love her.

It wasn’t a physical punch but a verbal one is almost as good. (And can be more damaging in the long run.) 

Could we please still have an actual punch?

Pretty please?

Mame punches her characters all the time. And no character ever deserved a punching more than Lom. 

I do wish there was a nice boy back home to scoop Nuea up. 

That line of boys wanting him, could we see it, not be told it? 

I do like the random sinshine hyung side couple. 

Omg. COLD MICKY D?! 

That might just be the most objectionable moment in this whole show. 

And that’s a tall order. 

Pun intended.

(straight, HA! pun not intended but still very much THERE) 

Was I pleased we got multiple characters who are just outright gay? Yes. 

But representation has not been one of Mame’s issues. 

I mean Tharn was one of the first openly gay seme leads in a Thai BL, and she also had rep for lube and condoms in that show. That’s not the issue with TharnType. Or Mame. 

Her issues tend to revolve around story structure and audience manipulation. 

Was I pleased that Nuea knew what was going on? Yes, I’m glad he’s not totally clueless. 

I still want Lom to be punched in the face and I’m still mad at this show. 

Episode 6 - Too hot to drink, still a Mistake

I finally figured out my real problem with Lom. It’s not that he was closeted and manipulative without good reason (although he is). It’s not that he lied and strung Nuea along for a lot longer than was necessary (because he did). It is that he basically does everything for himself and his own ends. Even when he’s confessing his love it comes off as flat because it isn’t about Nuea and what Nuea wants or needs, it’s about Lom wants.

Hanging a lampshade on it doesn’t make it right. 

It was good bridge kiss. And car kiss. And sex kisses. 

There is something corrupted grunge romantic asking the person you love most in the world to hide that love and climb back into the closet with you for the sake of your nasty arse family (is that a queer taboo, hum). I’m not saying lavender marriages are necessarily wrong, I’m just saying it’s an interesting plot twist in a BL. 

I think we HAVE to hold this up and examine it in stark contrast to the final ep of Bad Buddy. It’s interesting how the closet retreat didn’t bother me at all in BB, and I thought it was quite a clever and elegant ending twist. Whereas here it’s just annoying. It’s not making me as angry as it probably should. But it is annoying as a narrative conceit and denouement.

Can I ask a question.

 It’s not a serious question, of course. 

What is up with all of the shows this year having dates on lakes featuring that thing where you ride a funny little floaty-boat while being dragged behind a fast boat. I’m sure it has a name, but I could not care less. New sponsor? 

The sex scene was fine. But I have to say, I wish they had leaned into the fact that Lom is a virgin and Nuea has more experience. It would’ve been a really interesting dynamic to see honestly represented on screen.

In conclusion, Nuea is a saint and next week everything comes to a head that didn’t already get head this episode.

Episode 7 - Finally I’m drinking! 

I am having a tiki beverage this evening to round out this show. Coconut rum and mango popping Boba are involved. Don’t judge. I have the alcohol palate of a 7 year old. 

I’m ready! Let’s shave this beard!

And, well, that was a pink saturated drama of the mothers in law. Enjoyable lakorn style scenery chewing. The ladies seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Lom pretending to be sad and pitiful. Also funny. 

Using his evil against his mom is acceptable. Suddenly his manipulative lying ways are working in the right direction. 

Honestly? 

This was a fine ending, I’m not mad at it. 

They managed to keep Lom in character until the end, he remained deceitful.  I would never trust him, but clearly Nuea is willing to ride that dragon. 

I guess 7/10? 

If you can tolerate Mame and liars (kinda the same thing) you’ll be fine with this show. 

But, frankly? Lom as a character would sit better amongst the drama bananas of Only Friends.

In summation: 

A lackluster Mame offering with less of her usual stellar chemistry, but all of her usual manipulation. An innocent wedding planner falls haplessly and hopelessly in love with a groom who relentlessly pursues him, even though he’s about to marry someone else. 

(source) 

#The Wedding Plan #wedding plan the series #Thai BL #ABL trash watches BL #trash watches #trash watching mame #save me from myself #trash watch #thai drama #thaibl #save me from mame #can't stope the trash watch

[slocumjoe]

What's a compliment you would give each companion if you were to meet them IRL?

theres a few different ways to answer this. One of them being something personal and related to their character growth. No. That would be deep and philosophical. I'm answering this literally. How would I, a normal person, compliment them, presuming them to also be normal people?

Cait; would be wearing the kind of stompers I'd kill for. Just the chunkiest leather boots that would make me salivate. It'd be the boots, or when she'd walk away, I'd whisper to the person standing next to me, "holy shit, did you see how buff she was???"

Curie; would dress professional, but still fun and cute, so think pencil skirts and maybe a fun blouse. So, I'd probably end up blurting out how cute her outfit was. Complimenting her nails (short but a shiny, glittery color) or her jewelry (novelty stuff earrings, like atoms or chemical beakers) is also on the table.

Danse; id look at him and stop breathing. I would crane my neck up and my mouth would warp into the stupidest grin, incapable of speaking without a choking giggle. My face would go red as a tomato. I physically would not be able to compliment him. I would have to sit down for 15 minutes and remember how to breathe.

Deacon; knowing Deacon, he'd show up wearing the same hawaiian shirt as me

Gage; id follow his lizard Instagram and be completely obsessed with it. I would not approach him in person but I will absolutely leave comments fawning over his pet iguana

Hancock; I imagine he dresses Like That everywhere. Given my reaction when my butch manger showed up dressed as a medieval king, with a crown and embroidered dress coat and boots (i stopped breathing and stared at her for five minutes, jaw on the floor), I would probably react the same to Hancock's manner of dress. I wouldn't need to say anything. He'd get it.

MacCready; he'd make make an impressive trash can shot. Meaning, he'd throw something from yards away and still get it in the garbage. What else can you do but bow before the glory of a college kids dunk skills

Nick; *five seconds after he leaves* "that was the nicest, kindest man I've ever met and I think my daddy issues are cured"

Piper; id follow her tumblr and Twitter for the Chaos. Is that a compliment? Idk but you look at me and tell me that this woman would not EAT any discourse she got into. Even if she was wrong she would still somehow win. I hate her. We should kiss under the moonlight

Preston; *five seconds after he leaves* "that was the nicest, kindest man I've ever met and I think I should chase him down and give him my number?"

X6; I would open my mouth to compliment his jacket and he'd look down at me through his sunglasses with the most digusted grimace, before opening his palm in expectation of money before he would EVER suffer my voice

#fallout 4 #fo4 #paladin danse #preston garvey #nick valentine #x6-88 #piper wright #companions react #robert joseph maccready #porter gage

[localgremlinboy]

I have been sitting on these for a long time because I wanted to have some more varried stuff but I haven't had time to write anything! So here's what I've got! Honestly these are some of my favorites

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6]

- Whenever he's kicked out of an area or event, Oswald proceeds to start shoving anything not taped down into his pockets. He doesn't need the stuff, he just likes to be petty and ruin it for everyone else

- Bane has done a series of infomercials for various products & services that only air on late night product channels. Alfred is the only batfamily member who knows, he was doing laundry late one night and nearly lost it

- Mr Freeze writes restaurants/companies when they wrong him. Like nice formal letters, signing them and everything

- The Joker has an imdb page. Actually a lot of the villains do but like the Joker has one he updates with fun facts. Who says they're accurate but they sure are fun

- Riddler freaking hates puppets. Their soulless eyes say it all. He refuses to or "work" with puppets. That being said, Scarecrow has chased him around with Scarface once or twice "for science"

- Scarecrow has and still does write letters of recommendation for his ex students. He freaking still has Gotham University letterhead paper and everything. Honestly some of his students have gotten the job from his letter alone (maybe it's out of fear but like it's still a win), and they 100% send Jonathan thank you gifts in Arkham. He's got one of those dorky teacher scrapbooks where he keeps the thank you letters. One of his students even crocheted him a little plush scarecrow. It's like, they don't love his crimes but you know that was ol kooky professor Crane for ya

- Harvey kind of has a soft spot for sitcoms, he used to watch them with his mom growing up. One of their favorites, ironically, was night court

- Bane has a famous chili recipe and he makes one batch a year. It's fucking delicious! He makes an edition with meat and a vegetarian version too. Of course consults Ivy for home grown excellent quality vegetables and she gets first dibs in return

- the Joker has not one but TWO released albums. One is essentially a mash up of all the serenades he's made Batman listen to over the years and the other one is called "The Holidays with the Joker: Christmas selects edition"

- Scarecrow's car is a mess. He's got a work truck of course but his main car is like a wood panel sedan that he's been driving since he was a professor and refuses to get a new one. It's a fucking mess, he has like clothes, papers, garbage all over the place. He still has term papers he forgot to grade under the seats. Riddler HATES his car, with a passion

- Riddler has gone through the pain and suffering to teach all the rogues how to use discord, he had once hoped it would make their crimes more efficient. They have a group chat but it's mostly suffering on his end as all chaos ensues

- Scarecrow owns a Halloween train village he has set up in one of his lairs. It plays instrumental versions of Halloween songs as it goes around the track

- Joker will push open cups off of tables because he can. He's got the chaotic energy of a cat awake at 3 am

- Riddler and Scarecrow's friendship starts like super formal and co worker like but after like a year and a half, evolves into a weird symbiosis. Jonathan points at random ass objects or books and goes "you" when he's with Edward. Eddie has a habit of fixing or picking debris of Jonathan, usually when they're crimeing. Also one time, they were both startled so bad by Batman that Scarecrow jumped into riddler's arms like Scooby & shaggy, except they both held onto each other for a second before toppling over. Robin then unmasked them like scooby doo

- Harley & Ivy are frequent Panera customers and often get pick up orders there under "codenames" given by Harley. All the workers know who "Plantmamma" and "the quinnanator" are but like they tip great and everyone should get to enjoy soup

- Bane has one CD in his car, it's a 2010 greatest hits CD that someone accidentally left in there. Who you ask? He has no idea

- Harley has a getaway playlist preloaded in her phone for car chases

- Riddler and Scarecrow watch reality tv/game shows together. They binged all of survivor and the amazing race in a year. It was a joke at first but they both got really into the shows. They have both applied to be on amazing race together and unfortunately haven't been called back

- Joker still uses cassettes (and vinyls probably) except he mixes them himself and labels them all stupid titles like "Birthday bash #9", "Baty's mix", "what's the deal with airplane food?", "etc". But he also has a tape recorder and makes notes to himself and labels those ones too, so he gets his personal notes mixed up with his music jams all the time. He goes to put on some epic clown music and instead it's a twenty minute recording he made of himself eating fruit loops

#dc #silly rogues headcanons #edward nygma #riddler #the penguin #oswald cobblepot #bane #two face #harvey dent #the joker #poison ivy #pamela isley #scarecrow #jonathan crane #look i will defend cool teacher scarecrow until the day i die #he was a rad dude except for like the extreme fear stuff #harley quinn #harleen quinn #scriddler #it's implied a little because they're kinda married