#Your dailies had been recorded!

[ellin-messenger]

Winter Outing

Warning: a pitch of angst with a comfort. fluff. first time writing, implied reader having a slightly insomnia, interaction reader with dan heng are platonic (can be romantic), hinted spoiler of Xianzhou arc (hsr, dan heng's mentioned), ooc(?), series au

Ellin: "Late posting since December, sigh."

Before the mistress's demotion.

Synopsis: It's December, the weather in Coromppo unusually colder than ever. Need a thick clothes since your fragile body couldn't handle such a heavy cold winter. During the winter night, you are not able to sleep properly so you took a glance at the window balcony and decided to go outside for a short outing but.. your childhood friend wouldn't let you go alone.

It's cold, dang, it's too cold.

Your body has been covered a lot of layer of blankets. You wanted to sleep but at the same time, you can't. You wanted to stay awake for awhile. Geez, even you had such a thick layers, you can't win against the cold. Frick this body, you murmured.

Lately, the weather in Coromppo unexpectedly cold during incoming of the winter season. You thought it was normal since the country where you lived right now always been cold for that long, it never been a summer unfortunately.

You sigh, getting up into sitting at the side of your queen size bed. You stretched your arms and covered yourself with the blanket. Geez, how absurd...despite you reincarnated as a person who born in this weak condition. It took a lot of efforts to take a complete recovery. You can't blame anyway since the fate has decide you. Anyway, still, you can't sleep.

You slowly get up and not to make a sound because it was midnight. Most of the maids and servants were asleep. You can't wake up your nanny or else she will nag you as you were caught by getting up very late (it wasn't first time though).

You walk around your room while your body is shivering in cold. To ease your boredom, you sneak the shelter to look up the files of the previous cases.

Taking a time to observe the details, nah, too tired to look at the whole bunch of words, no thanks.

You sigh,

You knee down to observe your sleeping cat, oh my, how cute. You pat it on its head then it lets out a purr. Better not to tease it or it will bite (everytime).

You sigh in frustration and laying down on the cold floor, well, it doesn't matter.

"I'm bored." you murmur quietly.

Oh.

How about.... you should steal the food at the kitchen during the night hours? You carefully open the door without a sound and you saw a dark and empty hallways in the sight.

Nah, scary. You closed the bedroom door out of your fear. The fact your bedroom was at the second floor, meanwhile the kitchen was at the first floor. So, it's too far to walk in the darkest winter night, you fear that you doubt you can walk alone in this villa.

You sigh again, it's too cold to sleep. Not only that, but a sleeping issue! Remind of your previous life that you will spend time at late night gaming.

Oh, let's think about the lores in this life as well! Thinking what is your next move would be...

Your mind felt empty. Ahhhh.... what are you supposed to do?? Walking around and do nothing?? And despite you were awake during the night, couldn't sleep but your brain was not functionally working onto something you need to prepare early and sooner for the future where the story flowed through your strategies.

Hmm...

You scratch your chin.

And.. it left you wonder.. you wanted a breathtaking outing as an idea. You had a feeling to have a sight around the environment once again. Which is.. it leads you glance at the balcony window, you peak into the glass door of the balcony's entrance. It was snowy, it was lucky not to have a blizzard.

Although your nanny warned you to not go outside for too long during this winter December, but you might against her, since you were needing to let your mind rested of the scenery with overwhelming view, along with a feeling of comfort as you walked though this kind of weather. Imagine, you walked in the streets.

In this time, you let it happen today. If it means can let you sleep peacefully after your winter outing.

You carefully rummage the clothes in your closet to search the winter outfit that fits in to your body, that immune slight from the cold because you want to walk in calm way than getting caught the cold within an hour.

You beamed as you finally found the suitable outfit for this night winter and you wear immediately, consider your nightgown can be your inner clothing to prevent from the cold as an extra.

Stockings were must, with a brown palatte added in simple pattern that match to your mood in your outfit aesthetically.

Done and dust. Before you go out from your room, you lit up an antique lamp with a candle.

You slowly open the big well-made door and glance around in the empty hallways. You relief as knowing it was a right choice to give your personal escort for a day off even during the nighttime guard. You pity him whenever you saw him every night as he stood and guarded your door room, to assure your safety. You let him rest him, even he dared to resist (like you attempted to shoo him away because you felt your personal space was at your limit).

You breathe in and breathe out, tried your best to put yourself in bravery spirit while you must overcome by walking through the dark hallway until you able come down to the stairway toward the living room.

Pit pat pit pat,

the way your walking slowed down similiarly to what you tried to sneak in onto something without a sound or being caught by half-sleep servants and maids while you're kept holding your lamp to get rid of blank view from your way.

You successed! You're thankful to the God that you able reach to the stairway by walking alone through the darkness without anyone to accompany with.

Even though the meters were shorten, it doesn't change that was scary too. You fear that you will imagine some random spirits will jump on you. But lucky, nothing serious will happen to you.

As you went down the stairway. You were surprised as you saw a light coming from nowhere in the living room. Wait, did someone was there? You thought, in shiver.

Or someone does up late at night too? Maybe hopefully, you wouldn't encounter on someone who has a bad intention here at night.

So then, you carefully take a peak to witness a figure who was rested on the couch.

As you took a step, hid on the wall, maybe the side wall. Just not get notice easily.

You saw a familiar black hair figure, noticed unique looking earrings as well, wearing a similar white coat that you often see everyday. You saw that a certain young man is reading a book as he sat on the side of the drawer where the small lamp was stood.

"Oh, I thought he was in the room. Guess not." You murmur quietly by your thoughts, hoping he won't hear your voice immediately.

As you took a step, walk into him from the back while attempting to surprise him.. you heard,

"..Pull a prank on me, Y/N?"

You stunned in your track, it was likely he noticed easily by your familiarity presence from afar.

You let out a quiet and awkward chuckle, "Ehehe.. you realize me quickly, Dan Heng."

Your attempt jumping on him was a failure. There is no use anyway since he has a strong 6 senses.

And so, you walked toward him, from the back of the couch. You rest your elbows on the back cushion of the sofa, sigh softly,

"Never thought you were still up at night. You said that you will sleep."

He responded, while flipping the pages, "...I wouldn't be able to rest my mind. So, I read while enjoying the winter as a chance."

Dan Heng, who happens to be your childhood friend after your reincanation. A young man who appears mysterious and secretly to have a soft spot to his childhood beloved. He was taken in by your uncle from somewhere that Dan Heng was lost and bumped into him by accident.

You remembered that time you woke up and saw him that held your hand very dearly, that refused to let go as if fear of losing someone so precious to him.

It left you noticed, that certain mistress or the former soul in this body who always treats him in the way as a family to him, consider she often spends time with him during the past as he and she had a share of loneliness with each other.

"A dream?"

"No."

You acknowledged him that he hardly slept more peacefully than a normal person does.

You may share a struggle as him but you are still able to sleep than he is. But you knew better about his character and his background of his origin. In which his past left unsettled. You knew he was often hunted by a nightmare in an endless loop by a certain person that he desperates to escape. That's a part of the reason he couldn't sleep properly.

And also the part of his strong sense of threat whenever he tried to sleep normally, in fact this former soul experienced a lot of dangers in the past. It's easy he can be anxious. Or rather his life too.

"I lie, this isn't the first time that you were up late."

"wasn't you too?" He looks at you in disbelief.

You smiled, maybe in annoyance, "That's the issue. I can't."

He sighed, continued flipping the pages as he focused on the book instead, "..Then? What are you gonna do for now?"

"I'm not like you. I'm going out." You spoke in response.

"This late night?" He stopped his reading.

You nod, "Yeah. Only for a while."

"Suddenly?" He questions you again.

"Yes."

He looks back to you again, "Why?"

"My mind is empty, I felt like it." You shrug.

"You should've walked around here, you know. It's better than you gets trouble in the winter outside." He suggests, his tone sounds like he worries you, he does refuse for your late night doings.

"They will notice me like I was a menace spirit wandering around the villa that seeks for a threat." You are unamused by his idea.

"I don't know others. But try to sleep then. Ellin does not allow you to go out during this condition." He turns to his book again.

"I can't."

"Playing around? Or maybe try to do something that amuses you." He exclaimes.

"Ellin will hunt me if she awakes whenever I do some stupid ruckus that drag my interest. I metaphor this, like a mom with a slipper when she saw her kid doing their twerking on the floor during midnight after she awakes from the noises." You shiver whenever you remind your nanny.

"Oh, that's unfortunate." He huffs.

"You're no fun." You pout.

He doesn't bother about your comment, "I am. If that's what you think."

You sigh and have no energy to debate him more. You lift yourself from the back cushion couch and decide to walk toward the door entrance.

You can't do anything since your mind is still active in something that you need to experience to do the stuff like feeling the environment again. You felt something that can't let you sleep. You want something that can exhaust you so you able to sleep nicely.

The soft and quietly loud voice that suddenly called out for you,

"Are you really going out for sure, Y/N?"

Dan Heng turns and looks at you again, with that another unusual expression that he makes. He placed his book aside on the drawer which is beside the lamp. As you were about to reach the door but it stopped you as you noticed him getting up from the couch.

"..I'll go with you." He firmly spoke.

You turn to him in confusion, "What?"

"I said, I'll join you." He seriously replied. He does anxious about your well-being.

He walked to you and lowered his head to look at you, "Wait for me. Don't you reach the door yet."

"..huh, right"

You were surprised by his actions and nod anyway.

"I'll get the scarf for myself."

"Okay." You nod again.

He turns around and walks toward the rack, where his scarf hangs on it. He reaches and takes the scarf, immediately wears while adjusting his neck comfort.

As soon as he was ready, he walks back to you, "Let's go."

You dumbfounded, is he really wants to accompany with you?

"What?"

"Dan Heng, are you for real?"

"I insist. Now, we'll go together."

"But-"

He glares at you, "Don't ever think that you can go alone."

You sigh in defeat, "Fine.."

Then, you had no choice but follow him as he walked out to the entrance.

Outside of Villa, Street of Dovinc

You huff as you finally out from the suffocated room, with.. Dan Heng, he was right at your side, keep yourself in secure. That's unfortunately for you not able to go out alone during this late snowy night but it's for your best, at least.

You and him were walking through the snowy road, toward the old bridge and went across over, while you glance the below of the bridge, you saw several swams were swimming around in a cold weather. Oh, the water isn't freezing, how weird.

You glance around the street, some of stores were open, in which the stores' lights were still opened. Didn't expect ho you lived in reincarnation world, being exist here in an old-fashioned generation, the 24-hours store existed to operate in this generation.

Well, neither it's just fictional logic or did happen actually in the old past? You wouldn't know because it makes you think so. But it's good thing some of food stores were opened, so it's a timing to get a light meal during this night.

The street went quiet due of no citizen was around because.. of course, it's late night, everyone- no, almost they went asleep soundly and prepared for the daylight soon while you couldn't sleep neither Dan Heng too, so you had an issue for that and Dan Heng is hunted by a nightmare, how sad.

Sigh, you wished you don't want to involve anything related to certain events but since you were reincarnated, there's no escaping now.

"There's something wrong, Y/N?" Dan Heng was the first stopping his track as he's being attentive as usual by your unusual behaviour, he notied you were zoned out for a while as you walked through the street without considering your surroundings.

Ah, you awfully quiet in the night, he thought that something that might anxious you.

You blinked out a few as you stopped your track as well, leading yourself to look at him in confusion, "Oh, no? Did I act something weirdly?"

He lowered his head to do a check-up on your well-being, dang it, he's being too close!

"You zoned out." He stated.

"Ah, really? I'm just glancing at the stores."

He sighed, "You seemed like thinking on something not necessary."

You le gasped, "Do I look one, Dan Heng?? I'm perfectly fine!"

"And you do seem like hiding. Got some ideas in your thought?"

You looked at him blankly, still confused that he was saying.

"Dan Heng, I know you're concerned. But don't get too overprotective of my beings." you sighed tiredly.

"You hardly sleep. So, I thought there's something in your mind until it gets you a thought of going out alone." he speaks firmly.

"My eyes is refusing to shut. What do you expect? I want to sleep too. But I had an urge feeling to witness the weather and environment again." You replied drastically.

He sighed and looks at you again, "It's.. just, ahem, Y/N. I want you aware that your condition and your safety as well must be a priority. You still fragile, not yet fully cure and you easily get blind by a danger."

"I know. I know what am I doing. And you? You can't sleep as me, do you?"

He widened his eyes with your words and sighed again, "It's normal."

"Then, I thought it wasn't as you think that I wasn't too." you spoke in slight annoyance.

"You-..sigh, alright, I got it." The black hair guy sighed in defeat by your words had strike him back about his beings as well.

You turn back to your surroundings. You seemed some of people as well still awoken and sit on the brick that build surrounded the decorated plants.

You enjoyed the temperature of the weather while walking around the snow happily and Dan Heng follows you quietly as he pays attention on you. He can't help but smile slightly by the view of your figure was a child to him, oh, how it reminds him during your childhood days.

"You were quite an adventurous back then. I guess you don't seem change even single bit." He speaks while keep looking out fo you, as long as you don't get hurt anywhere.

You turn at him by his words, it seemed it popped out in your thoughts of the mistress in this body, from the story plot in your game used to often bedridden in her childhood days. It's lucky that she able to experience to go outside of the world in slightest.

You smiled, it hurts you how badly ended her in the end of the Household Vinc arc leave her in suffering and died from that tragic fate.

It doesn't mean she fully villainess or antagonist she begins with, it's just how the world and society treat her in this way, reminds you also Dan Heng wasn't into himself anymore after his precious's death. He couldn't tell his last word for her before her final breath,

"Oh, how I long to be yours. I'll be no longer myself without your existence anymore."

"...ah, I promised you. To show why your existence is truly meaning among of mankind. I never hesitate to despise them from what had they done to you. Oh, I'll curse them as you did for them."

Look at him, look at the past cutscene! He held her like she was a fragile glass to him, like a precious object that must be taken of nicely. He just kneeled down and quietly crying over her bloody dead body. You looked at him in the cutscene, just how tight can be how he hugged her so dearly, never care the dirt or bloods stick on his clothings. All he cares was her, he refuses to accept her fate as she acknowledged she was dying.

After her death, of course, now he despised the world and society. He dared to curse the world for her.

But the problem is... they were lacking of communication.

It started after the mistress went into a deep coma, it effected her memories as well like you memories were blurry the same, but you managed to recall quickly. They couldn't open up each other, especially to Dan Heng, he hardly to speak up his true origin, because he fears of her leaving him after she acknowledged the truth of his past.

While mistress accepts him no mater what, but he still doubts it by her words and it ended regrettably as he witnessed her death,

Yes, he was too late.

Oh, how he desperated to identified him being a dragon from his past as a sinner, just, unfortunately, he regreted for not telling his true self.

Of course. You turn the event greatly, since you were the one knew the progress of the lores and plots.

"Why are you staring at me?" His voice suddenly snapped back from your reality as you went zoned out again.

"..Oh, am I?" You spoke awkwardly.

He sighed and went closer to you with that unusual expression, slight concern, "What are you thinking? Did something catch your thoughts?"

"Oh, Dan Heng.."

"It's strange how you look at me while thinking about the thoughts so deeply." he anxious as he questioned your blank expression.

The fact you stood there for a while without a single move, he thought you were freezing or something but he's being attentive as usual can tell him that you're in the deep of thoughts.

You shake head with a faint smile on your face, "Ah, it's nothing. I predict that I'll be dying in the future, maybe I was in your arms."

He silenced as he stunned by your words all of sudden.

Dying? You? No, impossible. He thought.

He will never let that fate of yours slide in. Just, no way.

"What do you mean by..?"

You added, "I mean, you didn't hear wrong, no?"

He widened his eyes by your reply. His expression changed into darkened.

He lowered his gaze to the ground, leaving him thinking in bitterness. He can't imagine you will leave this world without him.

It makes him gripping his fist tightly.

"I manage to predict of the sooner in the certain event so I able to turn toward the rightful is." You spoke.

"..And how you knew the future of yours is..dying?" he looks at you in pitiful expression, even he tried to hide.

"I only able to get a hint of my fate, I know what I lead my death such a tragic way. Let's see.. dying by someone's hand because I was losing control until I make the chaos into a war..?" You scratch your chin as you crossed your arms, try to recall the mistress's ending.

"Due of..my dark energy has been taken over me as I wouldn't able to hold it any longer." You added.

"You're making me think about the War of Raging Witch IV from the past centuries. Was it the same pattern as yours?" The black hair male questioned.

"Let's say it's accurately. Since we all have despise by the societies. To add, it's because of the hurtful background of course."

You both stare each other silently. You were calm whenever you said something that related to your future death while Dan Heng was concerned by your statement, finds it hard to accept if it's happening.

"..Is that true? Did you find it accurate by your fate?"

"It's already decided. That's how I'll be facing it." you nodded calmly.

"..You'll be dying?"

"Ah, unless, I should be wary of my well-being, I able to predict that from the changes, it was likely not possible." you assured him, while patting his arm gently.

It's not like you were prepared to die early. Can't you just live enjoyable-ly?

You aware that your condition still not yet to be cure fully. Which how you were facing right now for being an ill person, a fragile body. But CAW was a great support for your strength in any obstacles and serious situation. As long as your body must keep in fit.

"I.." Then, your childhood starts to speak again.

You cut out his word immediately, "Let's keep walking."

You start to go back to your track as you continued enjoy for a scoll, as well he walks behind you, it seemed he thinks of something.

"Y/N." He called out your name.

You're still walking and reply, "Yeah?"

"..Are you just joking or-"

"I'm not."

"I beg your pardon?" he lifted up his head, sees the sight of your back covered with a coat.

"I'll be dying anyway. It's already set it."

He sighed, "Stop playing, Y/N. I'm being serious."

"And while, I am not, Dan Heng." You stop your track again as you turns around to him, in irritation.

You both finally were facing each other again, keep in silence. Meanwhile Dan Heng was in his deep thought, tries to connect to your words. He didn't mean to irritate you but keep his firm expression on his face. But you able to read through his face, he was hurt.

You sighed, waiting for him to talk again as you willing so.

"Speak up."

"Will you leave me?"

"Huh?"

You widened your eyes in surprise by his question.

"You heard me, Y/N." he stares at you so firmly.

You huff, "No. But I don't promise that if anything happens."

"I see." he nodded by your answer.

He hesitated as he wants to tell you more, he lowered his head, refused to look you.

You tilted in confusion by his behaviour.

"Did something wrong? Or my words were hurting you? My bad if I said something unexpecte-"

"Will accept me for who am I?"

You frozed, how surprising to see him this, anxious over his past beings, the past he finds it hardly to recover until he lifted up the guilts and burdens on his shoulder. He can't help but trying his best to open up for you.

"..What?" you dumbfounded.

He huffs in hesitate of repeating, "You heard me right."

You went speechless and it makes him more anxious more. You think deeply again, the last thing is..

He fears losing, losing her like losing you as well.

"Mhm, no matter it is." You nodded.

He lighten up slightly, "..even I'm a sinner?"

"..What?"

"Ah, it's nothing." he huffs, he may accidentally to slip out from his tongue.

"Dan Heng. I know you were refused to open up with me."

"..."

"..."

It went silenced immediately. You knew it. And so, you turn around, walking toward the opened bread store.

"Let's get a bread, I'm hungry." You wave at him from behind.

"Ah, yes." he nodded and followed you from the back, keeping yourself safe.

You both walked toward the store and were greeted by the staff who were taking a night shift. You decided to choose the bread that is enough for your late night snack, neither is Dan Heng too.

You bought the chicken mushroom bread that was baked into a nice crispy. Of course, you bought a hot drink as well. No one misses the milk tea during the night.

Meanwhile, Dan Heng bought a simple bread and share the same flavor as yours. Instead, he decided to buy hot chocolate.

Even if both of you weren't having a conversation with each other, all the gestures and body language is enough to understand what you were doing. He's been observed by your movement to keep yourself close.

You pointed out an empty bench while glancing at Dan Heng as you would like to sit together. He nodded as he follows you.

As you both were taking a seat and adjusting the position to make things comfortable, then you decide to take a bite from the bread.

He attentively looks at you as soon as you eat before he does.

"Does it hot?"

You muffle while you are chewing, "..Nah, it warms that not harm me."

"That's good. Just don't get your tongue hurt."

"And the texture is good to taste, it's crispy. It's delicious. Oh, the flavors blended very well. It's too satisfying to feel the crisp on your mouth. It's so.. good~!" You mumble in beamed while enjoying the taste of texture from the bread.

While the black hair guy agrees with your comments. The fact both of you bought the same bread.

"It's odd that you choose the same flavor as mine."

"I'll taste it from what you had to buy. If it's good, well I find it good too."

You grin slightly, "Oh, wow. Trying to experience the taste as mine, huh."

"It's normal since we can share it with each other. Your interest can be part of mine too."

"Oh, right." You nodded.

"But your intention would never be the same as mine though."

You laughed awkwardly by his suspicions. It's usually for you to come up with such a 'scheme' whenever you try to plan something before.

Both of you are now chewing the bread in silence while enjoying the view of the snowy night. You start to chat a bit about the view, not to miss, he was willing to listen every words that you said.

"The moon seemed to be shaped into lunar now. It's pretty." You lifted up a finger to point out the moon.

"It's 19 December. I guess the full moon will rise for a few days." He stated.

You nodded while smiling as you were gazing at the sky. It was beautifully made in art. Dan Heng looks up to the sky as you do.

"Ah, Dan Heng. If you try to open up with me, it's a sign that you truly trust in me, you know? There's no use of hiding." You look at him with a faint smile in the form of your lips.

Dan Heng silenced and looked down as if he was in the deep of thoughts. You still acknowledged him that he would doubt your words and also himself when it comes related to his past.

"We have already been this together for many years ever since Uncle Welt took you in when you were running away from the certain circumstances. Are you still not to trust me that I'll accept whenever you are?" You continue.

"Ah."

Silence. The question has struck him in. It seems you don't gain his trust yet whenever you tried to talk about his origin. He kept avoiding it when he had a chance, truthfully, he has such a hard head to deal with when it comes to his depress self.

You sighed without a word as you continue to gaze the night sky again.

"If you don't want to discuss about that, I insist not to force you." you smiled.

Soon, he looks back at your face in serious expression,

"Y/N." Dan Heng starts to speak up.

"mhm?"

"Will...you accept me whenever forms that I am from what you witness soon?" he slides in closer to you but not interfer your boundaries.

It gets you a hint, one day, you'll know of his true origin. One day, you'll travel on the trip of certain destination, the Xianzhou.

But you can't letting him hide from you anymore before it's too late but you let him be, give him a mental realization by striking your tragic future from the plots that you kept in flow.

You want him realize, that he shouldn't doubt you due of him, being a sinner. So, you wait for him.

The way he looks at you in desperation, he hates to see you leave from his sight, his life will be doomed without yoour existence.

"Even you're a worm, of course I'll accept you." you joked but it meant it truly.

"Don't joke on me." he frowns.

"No, but really. Seriou- hey!" you whine as you felt his finger on your cheek and pinches you hardly due of your idiotic behaviour. To add, his fingers is darn too cold.

"Answer me."

"Alright! Alright, geez." you pout slightly, still felt his fingers were on your cheeks.

"So, even you were a beast. Yeah." you replied, rubbing your cheeks as his fingrs left from yours.

"Are you even answering though?"

"I am??"

He sighed, "Y/N. What if you..dislike me?"

"What on earth who told you that?" you cringe.

"No one, but myself."

"Should I take out your inner self, then?"

He snickers, tried to hold his laugh, "..pfft- cough, No?"

"He tries to roast the heck of you."

"Why the heck you would bring him up for a blame?" he unamused, but actually he was trying not to laugh for it.

"You said it, that upset me." you sadden.

"I'm sorry but, I just want your honest answer." he coughs out slightly.

"Are you still doubting me now? I thought you guess right about us should believe each other." you huff in upset tone.

"No, I'm not doubting you." he shakes head with a light sigh.

"Then, must you think of me almost hating of your being, huh?" you state.

"I.. wouldn't think of that. But my past rather finds you disappointing."

"Oh." you side eyes him while drinking your hot milk tea.

And you both were enjoying the light meal that you had, you commented the taste of your milk tea while Dan Heng shared his as well. The bread that you had eaten were all empty in the paper plastic.

You decided to come up an idea for a recent case to him, meanwhile Dan Heng being a listener as he is, marks every single detail that you described.

After a while of spending on the bench, you decided to take a walk again, the black hair boy follows by your lead as well.

The snow falls on your shoulder and you were smiling to feel the breeze from the environment again. Oh, how you long seek for a nice peace after such a hard work from the recent cases.

You sigh as you felt the cold on your face again.

You glance at your childhood, who always kept quiet all the time, no wonder.Somehow it felt like lonely, like him.

"Dan Heng." you called out softly, you stopped your track as you saw him walking away without noticing his surroundings.

Your voice manages to reach out for him so he turns around, walk back to you as he realizes that he walked that far.

He replied with slight mumble, "Mhm?"

You beamed, "Hand."

"What?"

"Hand."

He confused, "Hand? ..My hand?"

You extended your hand to his, "Hand."

"..You want to hold..my hand?" he surprised by your sudden gesture.

You nodded.

And he hesitated.

"Was it okay?"

"No worries, it's normal. Consider we both are close." you shakes head.

"I don't think.. it's quite imitate?"

"You don't want to?" you tilted your head.

"Ah, I meant.." he hesitated, but slightly flustered by your odd affection to him.

After a short wait for calming his composure down, he slowly reached your hand and held it carefully, not to miss that his ears are red as well, even he kept denying.

You slowly gripped his hand gently and ready for another walk. You smiled as you felt his warmth from his palm while he refuses to look at you through the eyes contact.

"Did you feel warm?" you asked.

"Your hands are quite cold. Is that what you asking me to hold it for you?" he huffs but hates that he's smiling a bit.

"Nah, it's nothing. We both quite lonely, you know?"

"..It's a purpose?"

"No?"

"Ah, well, I see."

"Was it uncomfortable? I can release my hand from yours." you reconsider.

"No, let's keep..like this. I'm good."

"If you said so."

You both continued for a short outing before you decided to head back to your villa. But something that you want to remind him before the event happens.

As you both were on the way of the villa's direction, you start to break the silence.

"Hey, uhm. Look, here. I'm accepting whenever your forms were looks like. And, even you're a sinner, you still remain as a 'Dan Heng' to me."

He frozes and you stopped as well.

"..Are you..?"

"Ah, I don't know if I misheard your words or sort of, but to me, my thoughts were never changed that how I view you. So, please, do not doubt that."

"..."

"Ever since Uncle Welt took you in, I finally able to have a friend like you but, haha, I admit that you were hardly to approach with. Hey, I'm grateful that have you with me." you chuckled slightly.

"..." Dan Heng stares at you as he lowered his gaze on you.

"From I acknowledged about you from Uncle Welt, you seemed to have your struggle to your past."

"Mhm, yeah." he nodded a bit.

Then, you started walk again, dragging his hand to get moving, "Don't think about past now, we already have been facing to our present now. And.., the future too."

You continue, "Consider you carried such a burden and guilt from the past. But there's no use of that anymore."

According from the story plots, he ran away from the problem that he had been through, the bitterness of the past, which he hardly solved it alone due of he received a backlash by the society from his homeland, Xianzhou.

As he ran to the country in nowhere, he bumped into a man named Welt Yang,.. ahem, it was your uncle, of course, deciding to take him in to be your friend.

Now, it seemed he still struggled toward his past's grief, something left unsolved and needing someone to be his side.

But you don't want him to think this deeply or your destruction trait will lead to the bad end. It's better to act this earlier before he is late.

"Whether your past still left isn't settle yet. I'll tell you, you can't run away from your problem even it's been a long time."

"..."

"You can't leave that aside alone if you were still struggling."

You continue as you both walk toward the snowy path, "One day, I assure you, your problem will be solved if you able to face your fear. Try to rely on yourself than keeping yourself in the shadow."

He slowly nodded.

"As for the certain man who often appear in your dream, ah, there's no need to worry. You need a company then."

"I'm not."

"Sure." you sighed.

You both continue to walk, feeling the warmth hands each other, you smiled as he tried not to grip your palm tightly since you knew he wanted this for so long (according to the system, you can read his mind, the imitate thoughts one, only that you allowed to read).

After a short silence, Dan Heng starts to open his mouth again.

"Y/N."

"Yeah?"

"What if.., you were there in my life, I mean, my past life."

You turn at him in curiosity, "Me? Involved in your past?"

He nodded, "Yeah, what if.. you witness the scene that I used to commit a sin that might against the law of that certain country."

He huffs, looking at you with a straighten facial face, "Will you..be upset and leave me because I was a sinner?"

"Woah, there. I understood, just give me a time to imagine." you panicked.

"Sorry, didn't mean to put you such a pressure."

You once recall of his past, he used to be got chained into a prison cell. You remembered that he was likely that he will be sentenced of his death, unfortunately, he left unsucessed but receive amount of big backlashes from the residents from the Xianzhou, as a unforgivable sinner who against one of forbidden laws,

A curse of immortality.

Which that country forbidded an immortality because of unstable cycle between life and death.

Who those who dared to eat a fruit from abundance tree, they shall curse in suffering as an immortal. Ah, well, let's not to get deep into a detail then.

The fact his past has involve any related to do with 'immortality', so he has been facing such a torture fate after living in a prison.

Maybe related to 'resurrection'.

Of course, if that action is a crime, and unacceptable, it may be a harm to others as well.

You answer, "Ah, I would be disappointed or upset if I ever witness the scene."

"..I see."

"But seriously, you were realizing of your doings just to sacrifice your deeds. And uhm.. look, even i was upset, but, I don't think you did on purpose, so if it was me there, I should tell them not to put you such a cruel treatment."

"Why?"

"Because realize for a mistake that you made, I know you tried to avoid anything. But something it urges you to make things like.."

"Resurrection, yes. Maybe.. my past 'self' did that."

"And here you are, you were changing. You must know that how impressive you are, you were trying your best!" you grinned softly.

He surprised, "..Is that so?"

"Turning over new a leaf, that's the phrase said, right?"

He sighed softly, "Yeah."

"And that's the Dan Heng that I knew. You still remained as yourself right here, right now." you looked at him with a confident.

".And you're not deceiving me for that doings?"

"I'll be lying if I said that I don't. But I don't hate you because of that, you were nice."

"Don't act kind."

"I'm speaking the truth."

He can't help but tighten his grip on yours by your words. Just how badly he wants to pinch your cheek. He was..

..glad to be with you, even he wasn't the chosen one.

"Maybe one day, I'll show you my true form."

You beamed, "Really?"

"Let's see."

"That's not fair." you frown.

"That is not about the fairness. It's about happening for the later." he chuckles a bit.

As you both were walking, share a small laughter each other while kept holding hands each other to make it sure you felt warm.

"Hey."

"Yes, again?" you responded.

"Thanks."

"Huh, for what?"

"For existing."

"You stated that like I was a ghost only was a sight on you."

"Don't joke around."

"Can't atleast you say more nicely?"

"It wasn't my problem." he huffs.

You annoyed but he gripped your hand tightening. As if he refuses to let you go.

"Pat my head later. I'll be in your room." he spoke as you both closely arrived to your villa.

"You said that you don't need my company?"

"I'm just saying."

"Kept denying that then I'll be gone."

"Y/N."

"I'm kidding."

Another pinches from him again from irritation for scaring by your words again. Sigh, what a lovely night.

.

.

.

.

.

In the end, Dan Heng silently needs your company during the night so, he took a one seater sofa and moved it next to your bed. For that, he able to get close to you while holding hands each other,

And that, he manages to sleep in peace without getting a same nightmare again.

Consider he did that to be next to you, he must respect your boundaries as well.

Luckily, you insisted, so you reached your hand to him as soon as you laid on your queen-size bed. He shyly took your hand and both of you fell asleep after felt the warmth from the both's palm.

He is now glad, to be with you ever since you both were young (while he wasn't) without feeling anxious or bother. Because you accept him whatever he is, even you're being an idiot to answer that, but you meant what your answer is,

And he whispers in your sleep, "As a promise, I'll protect you, no matter what are you facing now and then."

And he swore to be your side until you both grown up.

In the morning, you ended up being a bedridden again after a cold has strike you.

Sigh, you must endure of your nanny's scolding then.

End.

[can-of-slorgs]

caw 🦅

[seaofreverie]

I knew about the post concert depression but no one told me about the post concert constant feeling of AAAAAAAAAHHH that lasts days and makes everything much more bearable and beautiful and some sort of ethereal type of hope is restored into the world, or maybe it's just the "seeing your favourite band after first thinking that it would never happen and later spending many months waiting for it all the while fearing that it wouldn't happen after all because of circumstances outside my control or feeling like it was too beautiful and wonderful to be true so ofc it wouldn't come true" part of it all

[qsmprambling]

I am only seeing it in clips, but the trip to old spawn is just reaffirming my feeling that the cost of moving to the new spawn far outweighs the benefit...

[jaysng]

post arguement — park sunghoon

pairing: bf!sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: angst (resolved), fluff

synopsis: waking up the next day after an argument, sunghoon is a little shy to ask you to follow up your daily routine together.

• help palestine, click me

sunghoon had always been the quiet type, never one to express too much, but last night’s argument was different.

it left an uncomfortable tension lingering between you two, something neither of you were used to. you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find peace, the memory of harsh words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

the morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. you had barely slept, your mind restless with unresolved thoughts.

you felt a soft nudge on your arm, and as you blinked your eyes open, there was sunghoon, standing beside the bed, his expression unreadable, a mix of uncertainty and something else you couldn’t quite place.

he hesitated for a moment, as if he was trying to find the right words. “can you… do that thing?” he finally mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze flickering away from yours.

it was unlike him to ask for anything, especially after a fight, but you knew what he meant. every morning, without fail, you’d apply his skincare for him, a small act that had somehow become your routine.

you let out a sleepy groan, turning away from him and pulling the covers over your head. “not today, hoon,” you murmured, your voice muffled, teasing him just a little, but deep down, you knew you couldn’t actually refuse him.

he stood there for a moment, the silence stretching out between you two.

“please?” he added, a little softer this time, a rare vulnerability in his voice that made your heart soften. it wasn’t like him to ask twice.

you sighed softly, sitting up and pushing the covers off. “fine,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully as you climbed out of bed.

“but only because you said please.” despite the remnants of last night’s argument hanging in the air, you didn’t have it in you to say no to him. maybe this was his way of making peace, in the only way he knew how.

“thanks,” he mumbled, almost too quiet to hear, but you caught the sincerity in his voice.

you slipped out of bed, your feet padding softly on the cold floor as you headed to the small vanity where you kept the skincare products.

sunghoon followed you, his steps equally soft, almost as if he was afraid to break the fragile silence that had settled between you two.

“you know, you could’ve just done it yourself today,” you teased lightly, grabbing the moisturizer and turning to face him.

he shook his head, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“it’s not the same,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze fixed on the floor. it was rare for him to be this open, and it made you pause for a second.

you motioned for him to sit properly, and he complied, scooting back a bit so he was closer to you.

you took a deep breath, your hands working automatically as you unscrewed the cap of his moisturizer. the familiar scent filled the space between you, and for a moment, it felt like everything was back to normal.

“you’re such a baby, you know that?” you said, your tone playful as you smoothed the cream onto your fingers.

“only for you,” he replied, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

you gently applied the moisturizer to his face, your touch soft and careful, as if you were trying to erase the harshness of the previous night with every gentle swipe.

sunghoon’s eyes closed, his face relaxing under your touch, and you could feel the tension slowly melting away.

neither of you spoke, the silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. it was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, the kind that said everything you both were too afraid to put into words.

you finished with the moisturizer, your fingers lingering on his skin for a moment longer before you pulled away.

but instead of standing back up, you suddenly decided to straddle his lap, settling yourself comfortably as you faced him. his eyes flew open, a hint of surprise in them as you smiled down at him, your hands resting on his shoulders.

“what are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little shaky, clearly flustered by your sudden proximity.

“just making sure you’re not going anywhere,” you teased, leaning in to smooth out the moisturizer on his forehead.

you could feel the warmth of his body beneath you, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers grazed his skin.

sunghoon was trying hard to keep his composure, but you could see the faint blush creeping up his neck, spreading to his cheeks.

“you’re really… close,” he mumbled, his hands hesitantly finding their way to your waist, unsure of where to put them.

“is that a problem?” you asked, your tone teasing as you finished up with his skincare, your hands lingering on his cheeks for a moment longer.

he shook his head, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for just a second before they darted away again. “no… it’s just… different,” he admitted, his voice barely audible, but you caught the shy smile playing on his lips.

you leaned in closer, your face just inches from his, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “different can be good, you know.”

he didn’t respond, but you could see the way his eyes softened, the way his hands tightened slightly around your waist, holding you just a little closer.

“about last night…” he started, his voice hesitant, his gaze flickering to the side, avoiding yours. “i’m… i didn’t mean to make you upset.”

you felt a small smile tug at your lips, his awkwardness endearing. “i know,” you replied softly, reaching out to take his hand, squeezing it gently.

“i’m sorry too, i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

he finally looked back at you, a hint of relief in his eyes.

“we’re okay, right?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost as if he was afraid of your answer.

“yeah, we’re okay,” you reassured him, giving his hand another squeeze. “just… try not to be such a grump next time, okay?”

he huffed out a small laugh, the tension finally breaking.

“i’ll try,” he promised, a shy smile playing on his lips.

for a moment, you just sat there, side by side, the morning light wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

and though the argument wasn’t entirely forgotten, the weight of it had lessened, replaced by the quiet understanding that you’d work through it together, just like you always did.

• REBLOG if you enjoyed, do not copy or repost.

[axstoria]

Got this idea from another post that I CANNOT for the life of me find.

AU where Clark comes to Earth as an adult, and has to blend into normal human society.

He knows his name is Kal-El, but he also knows that humans don't have names like that. He sees a couple of celebrities and mashes their names together, hoping that it would make him a bit more likable in the eyes of humans.

He hides sharp-tipped ears behind black curls and ball caps, wears glasses so people won't notice his abnormally deep blue eyes, and is constantly in sweaters despite the weather to conceal muscles that shouldn't exist on a "normal human".

When he gets his job at the Daily Planet and has to interview Bruce Wayne, he's scared. This is his first time being near a real human celebrity, and he's mortified that he'll blow his cover.

He sits and stares at the billionaire for several minutes. This human is gorgeous in all the ways a being can be. His eyes are blue like Earth's oceans, his hair falls in perfect wisps against his forehead, and his outfit is perfectly crisp against his body, perfectly tailored to every small curve.

"Uhm... Mr. Kent?" Bruce bats his eyelashes at him, smiling expectantly.

Clark snaps out of it, his pupils dilating ever so slightly. "You're beautiful. Can I court you? What's your favorite planet?— I'll bring you rocks!"

The man is stunned, watching the reporter for some time before replying, "I... suppose Venus is nice."

Bruce is fully convinced that this reporter is autistic. Makes his life easier. They could connect in that way.

Clark flushes, realizing what he's done. He's very happy the interview wasn't recorded in any way.

Bruce shows up to work the next day and there is a box with his name on it in sloppy handwriting sitting on his desk.

He opens it, and to his amusement—and shock— , there is a piece of rock inside with a note that says one word: Venus.

That night, Bruce takes the rock home to the Batcave and analyzes it for its composition. When it is a match for Venus, he immediately connects the dots that Clark Kent is the new meta being that had been parading around Metropolis and surrounding cities as of late. After all, not even the greatest scientists have yet to reach Venus, so how else would this reporter get a rock from the planet unless he could survive the expanse of space and fly there?

He is dumbfounded. And maybe a little in love.

[kurooh]

❆ BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE !

KINKMAS 2024 — holiday hatefucking + sukuna ryōmen

❆ desc. a record breaking blizzard blasts through your city, causing thousands of power outages & frozen pipes. what’re you & your sworn enemy of a roommate to do when it seems to last all night?

❆ warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, hatefucking, some degradation, pussy slaps, orgasm control, arguing, resolving misunderstandings, facesitting, one bed trope. | 6.0k words

“just like everything else, this is all your fault!”

“really, princess? last i checked, i can’t control fucking climate change.”

sukuna’s always been testing your patience, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with daily arguments and snarky comments. you let out a peeved sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. “of course you’d refer to weather as climate change. if i were you, i’d at least mask my stupidity better.”

“tch,” he manages, wordlessly rolling his eyes as he lamely tries to think of a comeback. anger boils in his stomach and burns through his veins, hot as magma. “you’re calling me stupid when you’re the one who fell into the toilet a few days ago, at three in the morning.”

“yes, and that happened because my inconsiderate asshole of a roommate didn’t put the lid down!”

“you deserved it,” sukuna scoffs, dismissing you with a wave of his hand as he turns on his heel. “go take your toilet ass to bed. g’night.”

you’re fuming with anger, but there’s no point in saying anything now that he’s walking away with no intention to listen to you. sukuna’s footsteps disappear into the darkness of his room, and he slams the door behind him.

how insufferable.

living with sukuna ryōmen meant you could never catch a break. between his occasional apartment-trashing parties and stormy demeanor, there was zero chance to turn things around. the feuds had started not long after you first met, and surprisingly, the two of you had actually hit it off pretty well.

your first meeting took place on a street corner downtown, right in the middle of the college district. after a horrible date, you had found yourself waiting on the corner for your delayed uber when sukuna pulled up on his motorcycle, extending his hand. at the time, you didn’t question his kindness, wrapping your arms around him and talking his ear off about being a student. he dropped you off at your apartment and offered to help you sign a new lease, after you had confessed how hard it was living in a dorm with so many fees.

initially, living with sukuna went well. the sexual tension was at an all-time high, but the two of you were always too busy (or afraid?) to make a move on it, so you remained friends. it was when his friends came over for a party during an important study night for you that things changed for the worse. they had been lounging on the couch, drunk and talking way too loudly about you.

remembering the things they said about you still makes you grind your teeth as you stomp down the hallway, pausing at the darkened screen of the thermostat.

“sukuna!” you yell, reading the numbers. “the temperature’s dropping further!”

“. . it’s a power outage,” he calls back after a moment, his voice muffled by the door. “what do you expect?”

it’s pointless but it makes you feel better, so you raise your middle finger to his door before walking off to your room. your door swings open, and you slide off your slippers, preparing to get into bed and wait it out, but you’re met with the not so soft material of the bare mattress.

oh, that’s right.

not long ago, the tv had been glowing with endless reports of the incoming blizzard. it was supposed to hit the city full force in a few hours. expecting a power outage, you’d thrown all of your sheets and blankets into the wash so you’d sleep well during the night in a warm, clean bed. it was as if the blizzard had a personal score to settle—it barreled through the city and prepared to stay, leaving hundreds of people without power or functioning pipes due to the freeze.

now that your apartment has no electricity at all, your sheets and blankets are left soaking in the washing machine downstairs. instead of breaking down and screaming out of frustration, you manage to pull it together with a few deep breaths before marching over to sukuna’s room. it’s entirely sickening that you even have to ask him for something like this, but you put the thought out of your mind and raise your closed fist to the door.

sukuna’s ears twitch when he hears the thumping at his door, and he gets out of his bed to go investigate. he rubs the tiredness away from his eyes and opens the door to see you standing in front of him.

“what now? did you come to tell me it’s snowing outside?”

“no, i didn’t,” you grit out, wringing your hands together, “remember i put my all my bedding in to be washed?”

“remember when i told you not to?”

“yes, thank you!” you reply brightly, “they’re currently soaking in the washing machine and i have nowhere to sleep without getting a bad case of hypothermia.”

“hm. you could always try the couch and some paper towels from the kitchen,” he suggests dryly, pulling the door shut. stubbornly, you push your foot in the way to stop him. “woman,” he clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “if you think i won’t slam this door on your foot, you are sorely mistaken.”

it’s a risk you’ll have to take; you don’t budge an inch, looking up at him furiously. “just for tonight, i’m asking you to let me sleep in your bed.”

“i thought you hated me,” he hisses, “i could feel your little middle finger through the door.”

“i do, but if you had this problem, i’d actually help you, because i’m a good person!”

“keep telling yourself that,” sukuna rolls his eyes dramatically, letting his jaw go slack to mock your stupidity, “i would never have this kind of problem, because i’m not as dumb as you are.”

the wooden edge of the door starts to press into your slipper and a rush of panic strikes you square in the chest. your jaw tightens as hesitate, frustrated with the idea you have to convince him with. finally, your lips part, and the words tumble out sloppily, piling up into a debt you’ll be obligated to pay. “fine, fine . . . sometime i can make it up to you. i’ll even clean up the apartment after a party without any lip.”

sukuna crosses his arms, and the veins ripple beneath the skin with the movement. “oh, i hadn’t thought of that. i would love to see you clean the place without complaining as you usually do. although . . you did say anything.”

“yes, that’s right.”

where is he going with this?

his crimson eyes gleam with some kind of wolfish delight as he mulls over everything he could possibly impose on you. “perhaps i’ll save it and torment you while i think of something.”

“so, can i share the bed?” you urge, slipper tapping on the carpet impatiently.

sukuna offers a hand, and you can feel his black nails dig into your skin when you accept it. he moves out of the doorway at last, sticking out his foot and successfully making you stumble. you nearly faceplant into the carpet but manage to save yourself, biting your tongue even though all you want to do is shout at him.

sukuna simply gets into bed and tugs the blankets over his body, but he looks over at you in confusion when he notices you stacking a wall of pillows between your bodies.

“god, i am not that vile. i showered earlier and i washed my sheets yesterday,” he grouses, eyebrows pulling downwards in annoyance.

“i’m sure you did,” you assuage him dismissively, “i just wanna make sure we don’t touch once in the time that we sleep in this bed.”

sukuna fiddles with his silver lip piercings, tongue prodding into the backings impatiently while his fingers twist at the small spikes. “damn. are you done yet? goodnight.”

“goodnight.” you mutter, dropping down hard against the bed with your back facing his.

sukuna is what every daredevil wishes they could be. he is unique, with different piercings and dark, sharply lined tattoos that compliment his features naturally. all of his piercings had been acquired from bets or dares—he’d gotten his eyebrow done after his brother yuji beat him in a fight (he let him win because he wanted the piercing), his snake bites because he’d been dared (he did it himself with a hot needle and bent paperclips to keep the holes open since it was 1 am and all the jewelry stores were closed), and his ears when he won an eating contest (it was on yuji’s dime, so he got the most expensive jewelry too).

as you drift off, feeling warmer beneath all the blankets, you feel the tension leaving your body. for tonight, you’ll let go of your anger towards him and enjoy the pleasant moment and his rare generosity.

your eyes blearily open to the soft rays of morning sunlight shining through the gaps between the curtains, illuminating the dust in their thin columns over the bed. you let out a yawn, snuggling further into the soft pillows you’d set up the night before—but then your heart jumps into your throat and heat sears its away across your face when you register the warm body nestled against yours.

the position is so natural that it’s as if you slept like this for hours; it’s abhorrent, seeing sukuna sleeping like a baby, his breaths nothing more than quiet huffs into your neck. as the vestiges of sleep start to fade away, you’re all too aware of the sculpted muscle pressing firmly against your body. at some point, sukuna decided to take off his shirt, as evidenced by his bare chest against you.

outside, the sky looks to be a little cloudy, and the branches of bare trees are weighed down with layers of snow. looks like the blizzard came to a stop sometime in the middle of the night.

sukuna’s hand squeezes your side lightly, and he lets out a soft groan, tugging you closer. “ew, what the hell!?” you jerk back immediately, heart pounding wildly in your chest like a caged bird. an uncomfortable heat settles over you as the reality of the situation fully sinks in. he’s still asleep, fumbling around to grip onto you. your breath catches in your throat with each of his confused movements, and the warmth of his strong body leaves you dazed for a moment before you consider how wrong this feels. he firmly grabs ahold of your ass to pull you in, and you gasp, slapping his arm as hard as you can.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

he grunts out a curse, letting go of you and blinking awake slowly. his once relaxed face quickly shifts into one of annoyance, and he fixes you with a displeased glare.

“what’s your problem now, woman?”

“you were cuddling me, man.”

sukuna rolls his eyes so hard you wonder if they’ll ever return to their original place.

“to wake me up over something that trivial is ridiculous. it was a cold night and likely happened by accident.”

“no, sukuna!” you protest, hips swiveling as you push yourself into a sitting position. he hisses, jaw clenching firmly; the words die in your throat when you realize the problem—rather, his problem.

“wipe that fucking look off your face,” he snaps automatically. “ever heard of morning wood?”

“excuse me? you were all over—”

immediately, sukuna claps a hand over your mouth, his palm feeling hot against the lower half of your face. your words are muffled, but he knows you’re swearing and protesting at him—the way your eyebrows angrily move tells him enough.

eventually, you go still, opting to lick his skin. he recoils in disgust, wiping his sticky palm on your shirt to get it off. “you’re nasty, woman.”

“that’s not what you were thinking when you were wrapped around me like a koala five minutes ago.”

he doesn’t even know what to say. anger and something more bubbles up fast, scorching through his body before it finally exits through his mouth. “shut the fuck up. you started it last night, pulling me in and shit.”

“me?” you burst out incredulously, eyebrows furrowing as you lean forward, your stare burning holes the size of bullets into his face. “you’re the one who’s embarrassed for having enjoyed it, if your face is any indicator. you know how much i hate you, i’d never—”

you’re too close. beneath the blankets and sheets, your lower body thrashes while you speak, hips knocking into his a few times. each touch has his cock growing harder, throbbing painfully beneath his boxers and pajama pants.

“god, if you’d just stop touching me!” he barks, cheeks ultra hot now. sukuna’s lips pull into a scowl and he glares at you, annoyed with your sudden cluelessness.

“what is your problem now?!”

“it’s you,” he shouts, throwing off the blanket and startling you. “it’s always been you. since we moved in, since the blizzard, since i even agreed to sharing a bed with you! you’re always—” sukuna’s voice splinters and he swallows, pushing forward, leaving mere inches between your faces. “fuck. you’re always driving me insane.”

“back off,” you hiss, voice trembling. a crackling tension hangs in the air between you, heavy with unspoken words and growing anticipation.

“make me.”

“you’re really asking for it, aren’t you, sukuna?”

his lips curl into a wolfish smile and his eyes gleam with a similar intensity, anger blending with something more carnal. “maybe you can show me how much you love to hate me, princess.”

the demeaning nickname falls from his lips easily, as it always does, and you’re determined to make him choke on it.

“don’t you ever shut up?” your nose crinkles at the puffs of breath that brush over your lips. one of sukuna’s eyebrows quirks upward challengingly—your voice no longer has the bite it usually does.

“i only would if you let me use my mouth another way.”

your heart hammers in your chest, and anger still rushes through every inch of your body, but it’s much hotter now, leaving your skin sweltering beneath your clothes. giving in to sukuna ryōmen is a mistake—he’s your insufferable roommate who regularly makes your fists clench with anger, but he’s also the object of your deepest desires.

you’re too far in to back away now.

“go ahead,” you pause to let out a breath. “right now, i’m all yours.”

when you finally lean in to close the distance, your lips collide in a kiss that’s equal parts animosity and desire. it isn’t gentle, and it isn’t soft—it’s raw and furious, so overwhelming he loses himself and pulls you in, black nails digging crescents into your skin. in a manner that’s just as forceful, your hand finds its way to the nape of his neck and yanks him in, causing your teeth to click together sharply. the hungry kiss deepens, and his tongue slips into your mouth, stroking against your own. the deep-seated anger and tension that had been piling on top of each other is finally dissolving into something far worse—something so intoxicating you begin to wonder how you were living without it.

sukuna pulls back breathlessly, unable to look anywhere but your face. a small, glossy string of saliva connects your lips together, a sign of an encouragement to test the waters and continue. surely a heated makeout session would lead you to a crossroads, where you’d be left wondering how much further this could go, with only each other to figure it out.

sukuna coughs out a rueful laugh. “it’s funny, isn’t it?"

“what is it?” you demand, lips tingly from the kiss.

“i find it amusing this took so long to happen. of course, it was bound to eventually.”

“well, it’s only because you can’t keep it in your pants, sukuna.”

“and you can’t keep yours on,” he retorts, hooking his fingers into the flimsy waistband of your pajama pants before sliding them off your legs. now, only a thin layer of fabric hides the place he wants to see most. effectively silenced and now matching his black underwear, you take him in, eyes sweeping over his features. beneath his black tattoos, his skin flushes red, all the way up to the tips of his ears; his mouth is slick and shiny with a mixture of your spit and his own, and the silver spikes beneath his lip gleam temptingly.

“what’s wrong?” he questions expectantly, fingers curling around your chin with surprising force and tugging you forward. “cat got your tongue?”

“maybe i’m just waiting for the right moment to pounce,” you push forward stubbornly, forcing him onto his back so you can straddle him. you silence anything he would’ve said with another kiss, and sukuna’s hands travel from your hips to your ass. he gifts it with a squeeze and a pleasured groan slips out against your lips before he slides his fingers into your underwear.

the rough pads of his fingertips stroke over the skin of your ass while you suck on his tongue impatiently, hips occasionally rolling against his own. to add to each movement of your hips, you tease him a little more, using your teeth to lightly tug at the jewelry of his lip piercings. each moment of friction is something between solace and torture for his cock—it’s adequate, but it’s not enough and he’s dying for more.

you smile against his lips, sneaking a hand between your bodies to play with his cock. it’s an experimental gesture to test the waters, see how he reacts; the moment your fingers come into contact with his thick bulge, he groans, leaning up. one squeeze has him rushing to sit up so quickly his forehead knocks into yours. ordinarily, sukuna would’ve made a scathing comment, but he doesn’t have much to say when he grabs ahold of your wrist and pushes it into his boxers.

it’s a decision that further stokes the long burning fire that’s been ablaze beneath all the arguments and unbearable conversations; it’s something that has it roaring into an all consuming inferno.

“fuck,” sukuna chokes out, nipples hard against your loose shirt while he rests his hands on your ass. “you’re making me fucking crazy.”

you ignore him, rolling your eyes dismissively at his heavy panting and clenching abs. instead, you focus on lavishing his neck with attention in the form of wet kisses along the skin. he shudders a little as your tongue darts out to wet his skin before he eventually decides he’s had enough and cages you in his arms. you’re startled when you’re caught in something akin to an alligator death roll, opening your eyes to see that you’re pinned down beneath him.

“then do something about it,” you suggest, legs spreading without him having to ask.

sukuna groans deeply, his head spinning at the sight of you being this vulnerable in front of him. “take off that shirt now.”

the demand strikes you hard, his voice reverberating to your core. while you busy yourself with doing as he asked, sukuna kicks the pillows and blankets off the bed before positioning himself on his stomach. now, he’s eye level with your thinly covered pussy. he hasn’t seen it yet, but it’s sure to be everything he’s dreamed of. saliva pools on his tongue while impatience propels him forward, and he skates his fingers along your thighs, taking in the softness of your skin.

it’s not enough to simply touch you.

no, sukuna needs to smell you, taste you, feel you, devour you.

he intends to do so.

“what’re you—?” your voice trembles as you look downwards, nipples hardening at the sensual sight. sukuna’s nose is pressed to your thigh, and he’s breathing in with every inch upwards. you had expected something faster, more filthy, but sukuna’s behaving like he’s absolutely been dying for this.

the dull spikes of his lip piercings press into your plush skin and over a small area of your panties when he finally makes it to your hip. wordlessly, he slips his hands under your ass and raises you up while he takes a bit of your panties between his teeth. slowly, they slide down your legs.

a sweltering heat surges up your neck and to your face while another pools in your tummy like magma beneath a volcano. you writhe on the bed eagerly, too excited to have your panties finally out of the way. those fervent crimson eyes stare at your pussy and watch it flutter around nothing before flickering up to yours.

“don’t blame me if you can’t walk later.”

your face drops in annoyance. “why do you always have to ruin good moments?”

“a warning is hardly enough to ruin this.”

“but—”

a harsh, smarting slap to your pussy has you cutting yourself off with a pitched cry of delight that bounces off the walls and into sukuna’s long term memory. he raises an eyebrow, watching you closely as your legs settle and you return to your spread position.

“you liked it, didn’t you?”

“liked? it hurt.”

“i wouldn’t put it past you,” he says, eyeing your dripping, clenching cunt. “i’ll just do it again.”

you roll your eyes, bucking toward him impatiently. you want him inside you, and he’s hung up on moving slow to torture you.

“whatever. just fuck me alr—”

“ah ah,” he admonishes you with a slap that’s much rougher and directed to your clit. against the mattress, his cock swells with arousal. “i intend to fuck you my way. if you have a problem with that, i’d love to see you fight to be on top.”

tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill over and cascade down your cheeks. desperation and unbridled need easily shifts to frustration and anger that has you spitting, “i hate you.”

“don’t be like that. you’re soaking wet,” he points out with a self assured smirk. sukuna spreads your thighs impossibly wider and leans in, letting the tip of his nose graze your clit. the featherlight touch makes your skin prickle all over.

to be honest, you didn’t expect the events of last night to lead you here in the morning. in fact, you assumed you’d wake up on your respective sides of the bed and argue a little about snoring before departing. since most of your interactions usually go that route, this entire situation is shocking—but a small part of you is extremely thankful it’s finally happening.

there had been days so tense you’d considered sex as a solution, but never brought it up.

“s-sukuna!” you moan helplessly, grabbing at the sheets and twisting them beneath your fingers. with his teeth, he playfully nibbles at your folds, savoring the sudden catch of breath in your throat and whimpery cries. your quivering legs settle over his shoulders, and he appreciates the change, utilizing the new angle to pull you closer.

that sharp tongue of his can certainly do more than hurl creative insults all day long—it’s killer, and entirely hypnotic as he sloppily mouths at your cunt. wet slurps and lewd smacks of his lips have you shuddering, eyes rolling back into your skull.

“‘kuna,” you whine, long and drawn out, “don’t stop, d-don’t fuckin’ stop.”

he pushes his thumb into your clit and looks up, lips shiny with your bittersweet slick. “what did you just call me?”

“sukuna,” you lie nervously, trembling beneath his touch and craving more.

“now, girl,” he scoffs, and the new nickname doesn’t sound as demeaning as the usuals. “that isn’t what you said. go ahead and say it again for me.”

you look him in the eyes, feeling small beneath his heavy gaze. “‘kuna. that’s what i said.”

sukuna offers a gratified hum before returning to your sloppy pussy. a glob of spit sparkles in the morning light as it slips down your hole, making more of a mess. “keep calling me that, i like it.”

white hot euphoria zips through sukuna’s nerves as he dines on the wet dessert your pussy is. it’s the best breakfast he could’ve ever had—sweet as sugar and made even better with your decadent moans spurring him on. oh, the way you shakily card your hands through his hair and let your nails scratch over his scalp . . each electrifying touch shoots straight to his cock, and he discreetly ruts into the matress.

his tongue dips between your folds and he groans against you, eyes rolling back when you squeeze down on him like a vice. the once cold room is hot, your bodies feeling feverish from your own shared heat—if you were outside, you’d have melted the snow into puddles.

sukuna has always had an abnormally long tongue. he ponders your reaction to him pushing deeper, but the fluttering of your walls leaves no room for second thoughts.

“sukuna, holy fuck,” you sob, a tear or two running down the bridge of your nose. “y-your tongue, it’s so big—w-wait, wait a second.”

it’s painful to lose the fullness of his tongue, but you pull back and cup his face in your hands, looking down at him with a desperate look he won’t be able to refuse. “can . . can i ride your face, ‘kuna?”

you’re so cute with that little pout and those glossy eyes begging for more. sukuna smiles meanly, the lower half of his face dripping with your essence while his teeth gleam sharply.

“you liked my tongue that much, huh?” you nod, looking a little dazed as he gets onto his back. he helps you swing a leg over him, but before you sit down, his hand lands hard against your ass. “shit, you’re such a dirty girl. jus’ begging for me to get you off, aren’t cha? show me how much you fucking want it.”

you whimper, gasping out some kind of affirmative answer. sukuna tenses his tongue and sticks it upwards, then tugs you down impatiently.

“shit!” you squeal, startled by how fucking long his tongue is. it fills you up almost entirely, probably an inch and a half short of your cervix. whiny ooh’s and ah’s fall from your lips as you unsteadily rut your hips into his face, grinding your clit hard into his nose. “sukuna, ‘m close, you’re gonna make me cum . . ”

“you’re gonna make yourself cum, girl. ‘s all you.”

his voice is muffled, but you can somewhat hear him over the lewd squelches and noisy moans that fill the room. despite it all, he’s got stars in his eyes as he watches you ride his tongue to oblivion—stringy drool slips past your lips and your tits bounce deliciously while your face crumbles in euphoria.

“oh my god,” you weep, voice breaking, “‘m gonna cum on your fuckin’ tongue—”

one blissful tremor is the precursor to so many more. your jaw becomes slack and tears run down your face as you finally reach your high.

“‘kuna, ‘m cumming!”

the stifling tightness in your tummy finally snaps and leaves you a convulsing mess on his tongue, shaking so hard your teeth inevitably begin to chatter. sukuna smacks his lips, almost entirely satisfied—but then he roughly lifts you and sits you down on his chest.

you’ve got hearts in your eyes and you’re obviously drunk on him, ready for more.

“clean it up,” he demands, tilting his head to the side. without question, you lean forward and kiss him, tasting yourself with a moan. a groan rumbles deep in his chest when you pull back and start to sloppily lick at his cheek, tongue running over his tattoos. “good girl.”

“sukuna, i need—i want . . ” you flounder breathlessly, unsure of how to ask him.

he slaps your ass, scarlet eyes darkening lustfully. sukuna clicks his tongue, egging you on. “beg for it.”

“beg?” you ask incredulously, grinding your cunt into his abs. “i hate begging.”

“then you don’t get what you want, simple as that.”

“but—”

“no buts, girl.”

“f-fine,” you cede, afraid of being left unsatisfied, “please, i need your cock inside me . . i need you to fuck me hard.”

“there she is,” sukuna coos, flipping you over and reversing your positions so he’s above you, “my nasty slut. you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

you nod weakly, which has him flipping you onto your stomach and huskily growling into your ear. “fucking say it, princess.”

“all yours,” you slur your words, limply letting him maneuver your body.

“on your knees,” he pauses to gather your wrists together behind your back, pulling you toward him. “that’s right.”

with his free hand, sukuna tugs his boxers down so quickly the fabric audibly tears, and he tosses them over his shoulder.

the room is a disaster. blankets and sheets hang off the foot of his bed while pillows litter the carpeted floor in every direction. not to mention the discarded pajamas and underwear scattered around as well, evidence of the storm between yourself and your roommate.

your cunt is throbbing by the time he guides the tip of his spit slicked cock between your folds. it’s bulbous and fucking huge as it presses into you, slow and deep. sukuna tosses his head back with a loud groan when his cock bottoms out, pulsing against your cervix.

“loosen up, girl,” he grunts, your sticky walls bearing down hard around his cock, “can’t fucking move.”

“w-wait,” you whimper, nearly falling forward. your jaw hangs open loosely as you try to fathom the stretch and fullness his cock imposes. “‘kuna, you’re too big, i can’t—”

“please, this sloppy pussy was made for me,” he huffs, drawing his hips back and leaving merely the tip of his cock inside of you. “jus’ take it. you can and you will.”

he says nothing else before shoving forward, plunging his cock as deep as it can go inside you. it thickly pushes past rings of muscle and stretches you open, filling your ears with wet squelches. he sets a ruthless rhythm into place, focusing on taking your ability to walk tomorrow. tears pathetically pour down your cheeks and fall from your jaw to the damp sheets below, and you no longer can control all the noise you’re making. babbled cries of yes! and inaudible moans fall from your bitten lips, all of it spurring sukuna on.

“hah, shit,” he rasps, unable to tear his eyes away from where you’re connected—his cock slides in and out of your creamy pussy rapidly, the smacks of skin against skin sounding like an applause. “b-been waiting for this, goddamn.”

“i thought you hated me,” you wail desperately, feeling each thrust of his cock in your lungs. whenever the tip roughly kisses your cervix, your cunt squeezes around him while you cry out something incomprehensible.

sukuna pushes his tongue into his cheek, digging his black nails into your wrists tightly. “you were the one who hated me the whole time.”

“i-i didn’t!” you protest weakly, struggling to recall what you were just about to say. “it was you who started it—with your friends!”

“what’d we do?” he groans, pushing his free hand through his hair to remove the strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“uh, you—right there!—you were . . ”

“did i already fuck you dumb, girl?” sukuna snarks, his palm coming down hard across your ass. “can’t even remember, hm? perhaps if you weren’t so busy slutting yourself out for me you’d have something to fuckin’ say.”

his words are bitter, but they manage to help you recall your memory. “you were talking shit about me, a-and you threw that party the night before a big test i had—shit, ‘m gonna cum!”

“ah ah,” he snaps, voice edged with something domineering and dangerous. you’re pulled back by your numb wrists, and sukuna leans forward to speak directly into your ear: “you don’t get to cum until i fuckin’ tell you to. now, girl—finish that story for me.”

a miserable sob tears past your lips, “sukuna, i-i can’t, ‘m gonna cum right now—”

your wrists are released, making you fall forward into the mattress. your head can’t stop spinning and you’re in no state to catch yourself, so instead you accept the new position mutely.

the palm of sukuna’s hand presses into the crown of your head and his nails dig into your scalp while his warm breath fans against the shell of your ear. “don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses arbitrarily. “i said to finish the story.”

“i-i heard them saying horrible things about me!” you babble gaspingly, “i think you went along with it . . i didn’t hear you telling them to stop.”

“so that’s why you hated me?”

“yes! god, but i didn’t really—i wanted to talk about it s-sometime, but not right now!”

he chuckles ruefully, letting your head go. “now, girl. if i’d known something so stupid was the reason you’ve supposedly hated me, i would’ve taken care of it much sooner.”

you cry into the sheets, feeling the telltale throb of his thick cock deep inside you. “please—please lemme cum!” the words slur together, making you sound truly cock drunk.

“alright, princess,” sukuna hisses, teeth sinking into his lower lip, “go ‘head and let it allll out. cum all over this fucking cock, lemme feel it.”

stars flicker across your vision, and you cum with a broken cry that tears from your throat almost painfully. your gummy walls grip him like a vice, sucking the cum out of his cock. with a drawn out groan, he finally cums, collapsing on top of you and panting into your shoulder.

as you come down together, high pitched beeps fill the house. the microwave and oven come back to life, and the lights in every room snap on as the power is restored at last.

“goddamn,” he huffs, pulling you into a sideways spooning position without letting his cock slip out of you.

“tired?” you ask hoarsely, tired eyes running over his sweaty, flushed face. “clearly, that took a lot out of you.”

“me?” sukuna barks in offense. “look at you, you’re the one covered in tears.”

you pull out of his arms, whimpering breathily as his cock slides out of your pulsing cunt. the base of it is covered in creamy rings while the rest of his length shines wetly. sukuna spreads your trembling thighs and groans loudly at the sight—frothy globs of cum spill from your weeping hole, which clenches around nothing hungrily.

truthfully, sukuna would never be able to rid himself of the memory of your cunt swallowing his cock eagerly. the slip and slide paired with the immense heat had nearly made him cum on the spot . .

sukuna’s chest heaves with each breath as he lolls his head to the side to observe you. “for the record, i’m no longer friends with those vile people. cut it off right after they came into my home and started talking shit about you.”

embarrassment crashes over you like a wave. “wait, you never told me about that!”

“you stopped talking to me and decided to be argumentative all the goddamn time.”

you roll your eyes, looking off the bed awkwardly. a few pillows are scattered on your side, and you reach over to pick them up, tossing them to the foot of the bed.

“anyway, how did my pillow wall get destroyed?”

“don’t get upset.”

“what did you do?” you question him accusingly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“after you fell asleep, i moved two of them.”

“i used six different pillows!”

he dismisses you with a wave of his hand, smirking at the frustrated shock that takes over your features. “i thought it’d help me figure out what your problem was in the morning. obviously, it did.”

you snatch a pillow and hit him right in the face with it, savoring the moment of justice like high quality chocolate. “there. that’s what you get.”

sukuna rips the pillow from your hands and hurls it across the room, turning over to you with a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“you were saying?”

[silvermoon424]

This is your daily reminder to archive your favorite fandom stuff!!!

I've been a voracious archivist/data hoarder ever since I first got access to a computer, and it's paid off more times than I can count. Just the other day I came across a PDF copy of an analysis post for one of my fandoms. The post was made on an old forum and is the most detailed and interesting analysis of a particular story element I've ever seen. Back in like 2012 I saved the post as a PDF, because even then I saved everything I liked.

Anyway, flash forward to 2025 and I decided to see if the URL included in the document was still live. I wasn't very surprised to see that the forum is long dead. However, even the Wayback Machine had no record of this thread. If I hadn't saved a copy of it way back when, I would have never, ever been able to read this analysis again!

The Internet Archive is sadly not infallible, especially when it comes to things like forum threads. You can do your part by manually saving things to the Wayback Machine, but I also recommend keeping your own archives. Aside from just saving pages as PDFs, I highly recommend a browser extension called SingleFile that lets you archive pages as HTML files.

[mv1simp]

prompt: max finding out one of the driver's "innocent" sister actually has a secret diary/account dedicated to all her naughty desires for him

Sweet Like Candy ♥️

Max Verstappen x Camgirl!Reader

sugar coated, lies unfolded, you still lick the wrapper. its addictive, you know this (but you still lick the wrapper)

At 27, three time world champion Max Verstappen has become bored with the blinding glamour and fake crowds who try to cling onto his fame. So when you catch his interest, sparking desire for the first time in months, he quickly becomes obsessed. He just never imagined his favourite camgirl would turn out to be his ex teammate’s shy, little sister who needed to pay off her college loans.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, camgirl!reader, Riccardio!reader, basically sugar daddy! max vibes lolz, somnophilia, blackmail, filming, cheating, 3.8k WC

Max Verstappen knew he was famous - everyone wanted a piece of the most desired driver in the richest sport on earth. When he'd been younger, high off the rush of being crowned a world champion, he’d been cockier about it, too. He enjoyed the smug arrogance that came with his skill, with his million figure paycheck, knowing that most men he met wanted to be him and most girls wanted to be with him. And it certainly didn’t hurt that he looked the way he did, all 6 foot of thick, built muscle and angled jawline with intense blue eyes. He’s had more than his fair share of rolling around in the sheets (and private jets and yachts and backseats of luxury Aston Martins - you get the picture) with countless models and actresses.

Now, at 27, he’d mellowed out, being quietly assured in his confidence and dominating aura. His talent and insane track record does all the talking for him without him needing to say a word when he steps into any room. And he’d stopped his playboy ways too, now the very picture of a loyal family man with his long term model girlfriend and her child who he doted on. It was true that he didn't hold any romantic feelings for her or love her particularly - but that was rare these days, anyways, with the superficial women who constantly surrounded him. But he knew he had her loyalty and in turn, she was provided for with access to Max's fame and finances.

Sure, he’s still offered temptations of money, drugs, alcohol, and sex on the daily, with tens of thousands of people desperate to offer him something to get a taste of the famous Max Verstappen. But unlike his younger self, his self control these days was much better. He rarely found something new that he hadn’t already tried and gotten bored of in his glamorous life as a F1 driver. He’d already started planning his retirement after his Redbull contract ended, somewhere on a remote island far away from all the greedy swarms eager to sink their claws into him.

So one day when one of his mates sent him a link, and your OnlyFans page pops up as he hovered over it, Max just rolled his eyes. His friend had texted that he had to check this chick out, she was so fucking sexy. Max had almost ignored it, already being used to countless offers from insta models DMing him on the daily. But maybe he’d been extra bored that day, because somehow he ends up clicking onto your page. And everyday, he thanks whatever fucked up God was watching from above that he did. Because what he saw next quickly became the world champion’s secret obsession.

You’re a cute young 20something, the very vision of a pure angel who lusted for dirtier fantasies she was too shy to ask for in real life. Your OnlyFans feed was filled with horny thoughts about wanting to get fucked by your older brother’s hot friend or which sexy songs you liked to listen to as you breathlessly use your pink bullet vibrator. It's a new page, started only a month ago, but you already have a few thousand followers, all drooling over the innocent yet tempting pictures you post. Nothing too raunchy - but more suggestive, in tight pastel crop tops with your nipples poking through or a shot of your curvy ass in a white lace panties. Probably a college kid, Max guessed, from the fact that the corner of a textbook could sometimes be seen in your photos and that you offered more naughtier photos to those viewers who payed a little extra. Clearly not any sort of adult film actress - and Max would know, because he’d definitely had some fun with one (or two) before.

But the real cherry on top was when he scrolled across a recent video stream you’d posted. Playing it out loud in his empty penthouse, his cock immediately hardened at the sight of your petite, curvy figure dressed up in lacy lingerie. You sat on your fluffy bed, surrounded by pink fluffy cushions and throw blankets, your face hidden from your teasing smile up. Your glossy, pouting lips giggle easily as you sway your hips in the cute lace babydoll you’re wearing, excitedly chattering about some pop singer you liked or the other. You're answering prying questions viewers are asking, reading them out loud from the chat. Did you have a boyfriend, what's your ideal type of man?

Max likes the soft, playful sound of your girly voice. His mind dirtily wonders what you'd sound like moaning underneath his much larger form. You hmmm for a second, pouting cutely, before shyly admitting that there was just one guy you’d had a crush on for ages, but he had no idea you existed. A friend of your brother's, in fact, you guys probably know him, you mused. He’s pretty famous! Comments flood the chat, trying to guess if he was a singer or actor or-

Nope, he’s an athlete! You giggle, biting your glossy lip and playing with your hard nipples. Max can’t resist palming his own cock through his sweats as he hungrily enjoys the sight of your pretty brown areolas through the see-through lace. He-mmmh-he’s Dutch, you begin, suppressing cute gasps as you toy with your oversensitive, perky tits. So tall, too, and super strong, I love seeing him shirtless! I’ll give you guys one more clue…he’s the fastest man alive when you put him in a racecar.

Ice blue eyes narrow as the comments finally hone in on just who you were talking about. So this is why his friend had sent him this, huh? He couldn’t deny he wasn’t pleased with the way you giggle cutely and confirm that your big fat crush was on Max Verstappen. I know it’s wrong, you whine, breathless as your small, manicured fingers slip down your body to play with the edge of your panties. It’s so naughty, he doesn’t know me and even has a pretty girlfriend, but every night I dream about him fucking me. He’s so hot, so dreamy, and that Dutch accent of his - you cut yourself off with a pleasurable moan, now teasing the audience as you finger yourself through your dripping panties, not letting anyone get a full view of your innocence. Let’s just say I’d let him use me anytime, anywhere, however he wants, you laugh sweetly, your voice a contrast to your dirty words.

Oh, fuck. Talk about a vixen. He hadn't seen a treasure as rare as you in a long time. And it looked like many, many viewers enjoyed your particular brand of angelic sinfulness as multiple donations flood in, begging you to finally take your panties off on the main stream. Max can't stop himself from sending a generous one himself, after jacking off to completion at the sweet sounds of you cumming through your panties. You'd eagerly humped one of your pink cushions, tits bouncing through the practically see through lingerie, moaning Max’s name as if he was right there under you when you reached your peak. Oops, sorry guys! You giggle again, your sweet voice now bashful. Got too caught up, next time I’ll make sure to say the name of the highest donor, mmkay?

It's a good OnlyFans account - no, a great one, but Max didn’t think of it much afterwards, getting caught up in his own busy life and making sure to erase his search history in case his overly paranoid girlfriend came snooping. The fact that you'd mentioned he was friends with your brother also meant very little, given his very large circle of friends and acquaintances given his fame. Everyone liked to say they were mates with Max Verstappen, F1 champion, even if the extent of friendship had been a single handshake.

To his surprise though, a few days later he received a private DM from you, sweetly thanking him for his generous donation! Curious, he opens your message, knowing you wouldn't know who he was from his generic username of CatDaddy33. He hadn't thought he had sent you much at all, maybe a couple grand? You deserved it, working so hard to dress up cutely and pay off whatever college loans you probably had.

But apparently you thought it was a very lavish contribution, because you’d sent him a very tempting photo as a thank you gift. He’d almost dropped his phone when he sees your lush bare tits, out on display as you stuck your pink tongue out cheekily, the rest of your face still hidden. Just for you. Hope you enjoy! you captioned, one small hand cupping your breasts and squeezing a pretty nipple that practically had Max salivating to sink his teeth into. Oh, he certainly enjoyed it, saving it to his private collection to jack off too later when his uptight girlfriend wasn’t in the mood - which was usually the case the majority of the month.

He ends up logging back onto your page that night to enjoy your latest steam, then another, and soon enough he had a full blown infatuation with you. Your tempting, curvy figure and your pretty lips that you bite as you keep talking about how turned on Maxie had made you in the qualifying today, looking so muscly and angry! has him downloading your naughty nudes to his phone. It’d been a long time since a girl had gotten him get so turned on, after all. You drove him wild with your girly, innocent mannerisms paired with your sexy body and filthy words as you play with yourself, always making sure to never fully reveal your face or naked cunny to the viewers with a slutty outfit covering you.

Of course, he generously tips each time he visits your page, resulting in you frequently sending him more thank you presents each time. Lately you've been asking him if he wants you to wear a certain outfit or call out his name in your next video, but he texts back that he just enjoyed watching you have fun, sweetheart. And that's true - because that's all this can be, just a private guilty pleasure for him to enjoy behind closed doors. The rest of the world wouldn't respond well to his dedicated, family man image if they knew that the Dutch champion secretly liked his girls sweet and begging for his attention on adult websites. Even though his actual relationship had become more of a PR facade, now, and had been that way for well over six months. The last chemistry fizzled out when she’d tried to wake Max up with her mouth on his morning wood, somehow trying to make up for weeks of no sex. He made up some excuse about being stressed for the race as he rapidly softened despite her repeat attempts, pushing her off him and going to shower.

But as soon as he’s under the warm steam, he’d only had to close his eyes and picture your perfect, full pouting lips on his cock instead for his impressive semi to come rushing back. As he lazily strokes himself, he wonders what your eyes looked like, still having never seen them with how you kept the top half of your face off the frame. Would you look up at him sultrily as your pink tongue darted out and licked his slit, or did you prefer having him meanly shove his cock all the way in as you gagged with wide, teary doe eyes? He guessed the second fantasy would be your pick, judging by how your breath seemed to hitch in excitement whenever a commanding order was DMed to you following a donation. The submissive type, for sure, who’d once said she’d eagerly let Max Verstappen have his way with her wherever, however he wanted her-

He came with a muffled groan, panting heavily as his release drips down to be cleaned away by the hot water. Maybe he’d finally give into your pleas to him to request something and ask you to suck a sweet lollipop for him on your next stream.

He puts his distracting thoughts about you to the back of his mind as he arrives on the paddock, camera flashes going crazy as they note the increased distance between the Redbull driver and his unhappy girlfriend as she trails behind him. Frankly, Max had stopped caring what his public image was at this point in the season, knowing it was only a matter of time before he got his PR manager involved to cook up some mutual breakup story to feed the media.

Qualifying goes well and the race even better for once, despite the shit box his car had been this season. Afterwards, he greets Daniel, who greets him excitedly and commends his race efforts. The two drivers are laughing, catching up easily in their conversation - when a small figure turns the corner to come up next to Daniel’s side. Oh! The Australian man grins, gently tugging the shy figure by his side forward. You remember my little sis, right Max?

The Dutchman stared at your blushing face as you nervously avoid eye contact with the much taller blonde. Cute, he thinks briefly, finding your brown doe eyes and Riccardio curls pretty. Sure, I remember her, we met at the Silverstone race last year, right? It had been a brief meeting, Daniel swinging by the Redbull garage to congratulate Max and you’d been trailing behind him. Max vaguely remembered you from your younger days, when you’d shyly stayed out of the older boys' way when he had visited Daniel in his Perth family home in Australia. But you’d grown up now, and had chosen to attend college overseas in London, and Max politely asks if you were still studying there. On a full ride scholarship too, Daniel confirms proudly, fondly ruffling your curls and making you protest. Still won’t accept a dime from her older brother, even with the ridiculous London rent.

Pouting rather adorably, you quickly fix your hair, glaring at your sibling as you mutter that you didn’t want his tax evasion money, thanks, you could look after yourself. Max laughs, pleasantly surprised you had some teeth behind your blushing, pretty face. You immediately look up to see his gorgeous blue eyes looking at you in interest before nervously flicking them away again, clutching onto Daniel’s hoodie as the two men resume their conversation. Later, as he watches you walk away, Max can’t help thinking about how your girly voice and pouting lips had looked so familiar. He knows many beautiful women, but there was something about your unique, natural face that made attraction swirl in his chest. He’s still thinking about it that night, annoyed about not knowing where else he’s seen you besides at your brother’s side.

And then your latest video had him sitting up straight in shock. Because he recognises the hoodie that’s draped across the back of your chair in the corner of the screen. He'd recognise it anywhere. You, of course, probably had not thought twice about the item of clothing that belonged to your brother - with it just looking like another piece of F1 merchandise to anyone watching. But Max knew that Redbull insignia on the back, signed DR3 along the logo generically but with an extra little present that Max had drawn on himself when his teammate had fallen asleep next to him on a private plane ride. The crude, cartoon dick drawing stares back at Max through the screen as he immediately recognises what he’d found funny as an 18 year old. There was only one person in the world who would own this sweatshirt personally customized by the world champion - and given the fact that you were the one who seemed to have borrowed it….the mystery of your identity finally unravels.

He sends you a private DM that very night, not wanting to play any games. He knew he had to have you, now that he knows you’re right under his nose. I know who’s little sister you are, baby.

You respond back immediately, which isn’t suprising considering how you’re in the same time zone currently. I have no idea what you’re talking about, you text, trying to deny his claim. Max smirks. He almost feels mean for winding you up but he knows you’ll be so grateful for it in the end. You’re telling me you aren’t Daniel Riccardio’s little sister? I saw you on the paddock today. No point in hiding anymore.

You seen his message for a few tense minutes, and he wonders if he approached this wrong because you could just block him. But then you frantically send back a how the hell do you know that? How did you find out?

Max chuckles as he corners you right where he wants. And an hour later you’re on a private video call with him, very differently dressed that your usual skimpy attire in a baggy t-shirt that covers all your skin as you demand to know just what he wanted. Of course, you still have no idea who he is, because even though he has his camera on, his face is well out of view. You can only squint at the image of a fit appearing guy, dressed casually in sweats but his strong muscles still showing through. You impatiently read out the next DM he sends you. I want to see your pussy, spread open for me completely-What the hell?! you shriek, outraged.

You try to get out of it, saying that was too embarrassing to do, but he makes you realise there it was futile to resist. He orders you to show your face in the video, saying there’s no point hiding it anymore since he knew exactly who you were. All over DM, of course - he couldn’t have your recognising his deep, Dutch voice that you always gushed about.

You pout cutely, lips downturned and an upset expression on your face as you slowly undress yourself for him. Then you follow his orders, gently playing with yourself as you teasingly suckle on your pink vibrator so that he could imagine what you’d look like with your lips around him, instead. Max lazily jerks himself off to the sight, enjoying how you started obediently following his instructions once you saw his hand reach into his sweats and slide his erection out. Your doe eyes went wide with guilty desire at the sight of his impressive, hard length, and you swallow back drool when you see his leaking, angry tip. Soon he had you spreading your puffy cunny lips wide for him to greedily look at, before you start sliding your little vibrator in between your achy core. He makes you call out his name like you always did, of course, and say out loud all of the dirty fantasies you’d been dreaming about lately involving your brother’s best friend. You cum intensely and Max follows shortly after, the both of you caught up in the sinful activity.

It’d been easy enough to find out the room number you’d been staying at as the Riccardio siblings were at the same hotel as him, and even easier to get the swipe card. He was Max Verstappen, after all. Leaving his bitchy girlfriend alone in his room, he makes his way to yours in the middle of the night. The hallway light briefly illuminates your peacefully sleeping figure when he opens the door, quietly locking it behind him.

You’re deep asleep, plush tits rising and falling, dressed in a cute see through lace nightgown and matching panties. After admiring the sight for a few minutes, he slides into bed behind you, finally getting to toy with those pretty nipples and squeeze the plush ass he’d been fantasising about for weeks on end. You quietly moan in your unconscious state, sleepily grinding back against the warm, hard body holding you and arching your back into the hungry mouth suckling on your stiff nipples. Soon he’s wedges his fat cock in between your thick thighs, panting heavily as he fucks then slowly so you don’t wake up. He barely lasts a couple minutes, his head dizzy with pleasure for the first time in months as blood rushes to his already hard cock. After he’s cum copiously all over your tanned skin, he slides off your panties to take for himself, making sure to rub his creamy release along your puffy slit with his large hands. He can’t resist sliding a finger inside to get feel of how luxuriously tight your pussy feels, groaning when he feels your walls clench down on him. His cock was going to experience heaven when it finally got to sink home inside you, he was sure.

You spend your day confused the next morning, remembering hazy wet dreams from the night before but not quite being able to recall exact what you’d dreamt. And you’d never been able to find your favourite lace panties, assuming they got lost in the laundry when room service cleaned up. Until your online bully, as you’d taken to calling him, sends you a naughty photo. It’s one that he could only have had access to if he’d taken it himself, you realize with a shocked gasp, as you stare at your peacefully sleeping figure. A gigantic cock, much bigger than any of your cute toys, slides into the waistband of your pink panties - which are completely see through from how soaked they’ve become. And that was one of the tamer pictures Max took that night. He wonders how you’d react to the one he has of his drooling tip brushing against your parted lips, his sticky release from earlier now leaking into your wet mouth.

You’re even cuter when you’re not putting up a fight his message says. You freak out, of course, but he doesn’t respond to your frantic questions and instead orders you to be dressed up for him tonight in that navy lace babydoll and matching blindfold set he’s having delivered, okay?

You swallow, unable to hide the rising curiosity and desire at the rich, mysterious stranger you had drawn in. You can’t really be mad at him when he sends a $10k reward to your account after teasing you with the filthy photos he’d been taking. A girl had to pay off her college loans, after all.

Besides, a hot, muscled sugar daddy appealed to you a lot more than streaming for thousands of strangers. You couldn’t wait to meet him tonight!

—————————————————————————

A/N: 😏😏😏 thank you so much for waiting patiently my dearest readers, work has been crazy but I finally have some time now to feed you!!! Get ready I’m about to be dropping some hot pieces for you including part 2 of earned it and haunted!!

[burytheruby]

I N A P P R O P I A T E

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

IN which Captain Price is your father, and your eyes are set on his lieutenant.

OR: you're down bad for Ghost, and your father isn't too keen on that.

MINORS Do NOT Interact.

Warnings: age gap, fem! reader, ooc, canon divergent tbh, little to no british slang bc i barely know american LOL. written from my phone please bear with me. also, do not get groomed, this is just fiction. WC: 1501

English is my second language, very self indulgent.

"m'gonna marry him, daddy!" Captain Price used to laugh about that, when your eight-year-old self would cling onto his arm while pointing at the twenty-one-year-old man who had just been recruited. it used to be an inside joke between the unit task, your father was oh so confident that you'd get over your childhood crush.

oh boy was he wrong.

every time without fail, when the squad would gather at your home during their leave, you'd take peeks to the living room, kitchen, or wherever they settled to talk. this ritual continued well into your pre-teenage years, right before you turned moody and too shy to even come out of your room. that's when Price thought it was over, what he didn't expect however was how you'd be so damn adamant on having Simon come over almost daily as soon as you turned eighteen. he was a seasoned captain, he wasn't oblivious to the way you'd eye his lieutenant, how you'd give him the coldest beer when it used to be reserved for him, the way you'd come every now and then and sit right across from The Ghost to "join in the conversation and catch up." nothing escaped his sharp eye, not even the way Ghost would sometimes stare your way for a little too long.

"he's emotionally unavailable, princess." he'd tell you, dropping you off for orientation day at your dream university. "he's a good lad, but he's got his own demons to fight." and he'd sigh as you slammed the car door on him. he could never deny your wishes, though, as he created a woman who was too determined—too set on her track who did not know the word defeat. but you were also just a kid—or at least that's the mental image of you in his head, a little girl with innocent thoughts who simply found his comrade to be cute.

"yer young and beautiful, m'sure those college boys are dying for ye." your father would tell you, almost begging for you to enjoy these years and experiment.

"but i don't want a boy." you would roll your eyes, having started your second year of university certainly made you into a character. you were confident—rightfully so, your beauty outshined anyone else. "i want Simon." you'd repeat like a broken record, and if it didn't make him want to strangle his lieutenant. how has time truly passed, he remembered when you'd call Simon by the name of Ghost, the name everyone used instead of his given name. but you weren't a part of the task force, there wasn't really a reason for you to call him Ghost for reason other than his signature balaclava and stitched-in mask.

you soon turned twenty, you were not a little girl anymore. his team had joined later in the evening to celebrate you, bringing you gifts and sneaked in alcohol for later when your friends would leave. it wasn't until Simon's arrival that you suddenly disappeared, but Price isn't a fool. he clutched the now empty can of beer, stopping immediately as he felt Gaz's reassuring touch on his shoulder. you were not a little girl anymore, you were a woman. he repeated in his head, no longer glancing over at the backyard door as he focused on the conversation between his comrades.

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

"thank you, Simon." you smiled as he helped you put the piece of jewelry around your neck. a beautiful necklace of the metal of your liking—the one you always used when you dressed up so pretty, so dolled up. he looked at your face, his mouth in a straight line yet his eyes full of unspoken softness for you. he hummed in response, his gaze falling back down to your neck, where the necklace laid so neatly right under your collarbone, before it touched your cleavage. Simon tore his gaze away, he refused to look at you that way—not to his captain's daughter.

your smile faded as you noticed his lack of eye contact, your hand grazing his calloused one with gentleness. his eyes landed on yours once more, one hand moving the stray hair out of your face as he admired you, how you had grown to be a gorgeous woman. "we can't, love, m'way too old for ye." is what he said to you—to himself, to stop the pounding of his heart and the ache of having you so close to him. you shook your head in rebuttal, the frown of your brows making you more enticing to the man who towered over you with ease. you were determined, and he liked that about you—among the many other things that piqued his interest.

"don't care, Simon, i said i'd marry you." too determined, maybe. he scoffed at your words yet couldn't help it as the ghost of a smile appeared on his usually stoic face. "and i don't care about what old man has to say about it, i'm an adult for christ's sake." you held onto his hand, the one that laid so gently on the curve of your neck, feeling your pulse on his rough fingers. your eyes roamed from his eyes to his cheekbones, the scars on his face that added to his charm, and his slightly chapped lips that seemed to beg to close the gap between you. Simon noticed your lingering eyes, and he cursed under his breath as his fingers squeezed your neck softly.

"eyes up 'ere, love." his voice took you out of trance, eyes quickly darting back up to his as you felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment at being caught. you smiled in response, your own eyes getting lost on his gaze. a deep shade of chestnut, one that conveyed a turmoil of emotions. surely, he couldn't just court his captain's daughter, it's just wrong. no matter what her sweet eyes silently pleaded for, he couldn't just give in—hell, temptation is too strong. rough digits let go of your neck, reaching down to your waist so tenderly that anyone who looked your way would know.

you couldn't help it, not when he always tried to make you happy, to give you everything you deserved, for treating you the way he just did. with a pull of his jacket, your lips clashed passionately, desperately, as if you were to disappear, like a prayer that had been heard, you clung to him with your arms around his shoulders as he held you impossibly close. you sighed between the kiss, pulling at his bottom lip playfully before you returned to the steamy friction of your lips. a want, one Simon hadn't realized how much he needed, how much he craved. you were a woman, one so, so perfect. "so gorgeous," he hummed lowly against you, letting go of reddened, puffy lips. his words sent a shiver down your spine, relishing on his words, the ones that were only for you, always you.

Simon has never been rough with you– he couldn't even imagine being so, not when you're holding onto him like a lifeline, like he's everything you've ever wanted. he doesn't complain when you bring him up to your face again, breaths mixing in the silence of the yard, so silent you have both forgotten of the people inside your home. "Simon," you gasp in a plead, a withheld plea as the backdoor opened. he pulled away from you in an instant, his hand still on your waist protectively.

"everything alright?" Price asked, and you could hear Simon curse under his breath. you just knew your father did it on purpose, he had that mischievous look on his face you had inherited, one you both used when you planned something. his eyes bore on the point of contact between you and his lieutenant, and Simon found himself forced to let go of you with a grumble. Price's eyes fell on the pendant hanging off your neck, letting out a sigh as he closed the door behind him and walked up to you.

"gorgeous pendant, hun." his eyes found their way to his lieutenant on your side, a look on his face that was no longer a warning– but rather a petition (demand, more like) to keep his treasure safe. do not break her heart. you could almost hear his thoughts, shifting under his gaze as you observed the interaction. Simon gave a curt nod, a wordless promise of affection and protection. "you should hurry, s'getting cold." Price said after a moment, giving you a smile before walking back inside.

Simon found your smile endearing, the way it reached your eyes and made your face bright. his hand returned to your side, giving a playful squeeze before making its way to the small of your back once more. "let's go inside, yeah?" he murmured against your ear, and you couldn't help but think of how neatly wrapped you had him around your finger, always getting what you want.

an unforgettable birthday.

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

made an entire account just to write this. i will be doing more, trust.

[rainb0ws-h4t]

Another imagine before I dissapear again

Tw: slight yandere, stalking

Imagine you are a background character in the main plot of Twisted Wonderland. You hold no use in the story's progress, neither do you interact much with the main cast. You aren't aware of this at all, and continue to live your life as a regular student in Night Raven College.

Until a fascinating phenomenon happens that summons a magicless human from another world. Everyone gravitates towards them as they spend more and more time in Twisted Wonderland.

But who wouldn't be enamoured by their presence?

The magicless prefect of Ramshackle who is a denominator at every overblot? The magicless prefect of Ramshackle who melts down the walls of every stone cold housewarden (no Kalim‼️) of Night Raven? The magicless prefect of Ramshackle who fascinates and impresses you with each heroic act they do?

They're lively, strong, and dazzling.

Their name was a common topic in the bustling halls. Heck— some students even became fanboys of the infamous prefect, gushing about them during breaks like a teenage schoolgirl.

You honestly thought you'd just be another nameless student in the crowd of people vying for their attention. After all, you had no involvement in whatever plot was happening currently.

And you were fine with that.

With the shit they've gone through, you'd rather not get involved with any of the things they do daily. Plus, the people they interacted with either scared you to death or just annoying and loud students that you'd rather rip your ears off than listen to them yap.

Until, you've did something that redirected the entire plot entirely.

You strolled through the halls of NRC at an ungodly hour. You couldn't sleep, and frankly— just didn't want to be in the presence of other dorm mates sleeping.

You'd didn't expect anyone to be awake at this time. After all, a test was being held early in the morning. You were confident you could wake up in time for that though.

As you walked calmly through the silent halls, yu noticed a figure standing next to a window. You hoped it wasn't a teacher or anything. Getting caught sneaking out wouldnt look good on your record.

You opted to just sneak behind them quietly. Not like you were being loud anyway.

While you did so, you just happened to notice how familiar the figure appeared. So eerily familiar to that infamous prefect you've grown to admire so fondly...

*Thud*

FUCK.

You weren't paying attention to whre you were walking and tripped on practically nothing. The figure turned around, alarmed and frightened. The original alarmed expression now transitioned into confusion at the display of your pathetic state.

"W-who are you?"

Every living thing dies once in a lifetime,

You died two times in your lifetime.

Awkwardly, you attempted to stand up without looking even more like a moron. "Just another student... Strolling around.."

"And what are you doing here.?" They asked.

"Well,.. I didn't really feel like sleeping right now." The prefect nodded in response, they didn't seem intent on responding with anything else.

"What are you doing here?" You asked suddenly.

The prefect looked up at you at that, making eye contact. "I... Everything..." They kept opening their mouth and closing it. They looked so vulnerable and timid that you doubted that this was the prefect that assisted in every overblot.

"It's just so..." Tears streaked down their eyes.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around them and engulfed them in a big hug. Hoping that the warmth that you can provide would be enough to clear the tears.

"I just w-wanna go home... I dont w-wanna be here anymore." They sobbed, pulling you closer.

That night, you comforted the sobbing prefect and woke up with five minutes left to get ready for the test.

You're not sure if that's what stared it, but the prefect has been gravitating towards you a lot. They sat in the same lunch table as you, they strayed away from her friends more often (with only grim as a companion), walked to classes with you, and even invited you to their ever growing friend group.

Past you would've relished in the attention being showered on you personally by the prefect, but...

Everywhere you went with Yuu (they told you to call them that) was followed by a lingering feeling of multiple pairs of eyes that bore into your skin. You hated it. And that feeling only began to increase whenever you were alone.

There was one time that you escorted Yuu home, and they hugged you as a thanks. A loud thunder rang through the entire campus the second it occured. You slipped out of their grasp and scurried away immediately.

You forgot to mention but..

Yuu radiated a dazzling and alluring aura that everyone was attracted to. Whatever they felt towards Yuu was not your business, but those people they interact with always made it clear they wanted Yuu. It disturbed you in a way. They seemed so dazzled and the way they wanted to be in their presence 24/7 was borderline creepy and obsessive.

One thing you learned about Yuu was that they noticed it too. They were exhausted from keeping up the facade that they had on. And basically— exhausted from the guys that lurked wherever they went. They confessed that they felt disturbed by how erratic their behaviour was around them, but they were too frightened to say anything that might cause them to react suddenly.

You couldn't bring yourself to confess how you felt the same about them.

Those creepy ass leech twins with their menacing grins.

That rule-obssesed maniac that stopped you in a hallway and demanded you stay away from Yuu. (Rule 636? 352? Who even cares anymore?)

Some advanced machinery that circled the garden you were trying to rest in.

You swore you were nothing more than a side character in the story of theirs. You swore that if did get involved with Yuu, it wouldn't even have a lasting impact.

Now as Yuu gushed about how the boys seemed to have lessened their weird behaviour and began to act normal. You couldn't help but feel the curse that was placed over Yuu, was now transferred over to you.

You know you couldn't be alone from this point onward.

__

Heartslabyul Savanaclaw Octaniville Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasmonia

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[lonniemachin]

HELP MARAM AND AHMED FINISH OUT THEIR CURRENT CAMPAIGN GOAL!

My friend Ahmed and his wife Maram have been waiting since April -- now almost half of one year -- to achieve their GoFundMe goal to evacuate Gaza with their three little children. Over the past 5 months, they've been displaced 2-3 times, have struggled with disease and malnutrition, and have had to jump through endless hoops to ensure their fundraiser stay operational.

At €30,444/€40,000, they are so, so close to securing the amount needed to escape the genocide ASAP with their family intact. Their goal is within reach; we could get them there by the end of the month if enough people who see this post give what they can. They only need €9,556!

This family has been vetted by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi (line 68), as well as featured in a video by YouTuber Ro Ramdin. I have been talking to Ahmed near daily for months and Maram when she is able to access her phone. They've sent me multiple pictures, videos, and recordings of their situation, and I helped set them up with their beneficiary, who updates us in a group chat regarding the movement of all funds. Needless to say, they are 100% legitimate.

Donate using the link below, or enter my jewelry raffle benefiting them and 2 other Palestinian families in need, which is closing in 8 DAYS!

Tagging for reach under the cut

@perfectlyperiwinkle @ask-muslim-anon @anneemay @economicinflationkink @3000s

@txttletale @thatdiabolicalfeminist @himbo-noxx @jame7t @punkeropercyjackson

@mangocheesecakes @neechees @aces-and-angels @aceybullets @dude-iloveu

@heydreamchild @fawninthewinter @newdog14 @nevert-the-guy @mynamesaplant

@astral-nautica @sesamie @cant-apult @friendshapedplant @isummonedadragon

@werewolf-transgenderism @sylvianritual @cenobutch @jezior0 @treesbian

@timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @dirhwangdaseul @mahoushojoe

@rhubarbspring @schoolhater @pcktknife @transmutationisms @sawasawako

@feluka @terroristiraqiss @irhabiya @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria

@deepspaceboytoy @post-brahminism @khanger @evillesbianvillain

@kyra45-helping-others @jezior0 @7bitter @tortiefrancis

@toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @tododeku-or-bust

@aristotels @komsomolka @xinakwans @heritageposts @nibeul

@ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @dykesbat

@watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator @lacecap @yugiohz

@socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @northgazaupdates2

@vakarians-babe @wayneradiotv @paper-mario-wiki @rthko @decolonize-solidarity

@brutaliakhoa @dykesbat @batmanego @pollackpatrol

@turian

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 9: The Harassment

His children are already waiting for him the moment he and Alfred walk in the door, no doubt aware of everything that’s happened concerning him and their brother.

As expected, his reunion with you had been posted on the internet and every major news outlet has been talking about it ever since, especially the Gotham Gazette and the Daily Planet. Fuel was added to the fire this morning when he met you at the airport after Lex dropped you off and tried to get to agree to talk to him, you yelled so hard that the entire airport stopped to watch you tear into him, only stoping when security stepped in.

He ignored all the stares as he watched your plane take off for Nevada, far away from your family and home. And he was greeted by a crowd of reporters when he returned to Gotham, all of them flashing their cameras and shouting questions over one another.

He did his best to hide his hurt when many of them asked why were you not present for any of the family functions or galas over the past twelve years.

He wanted to say he was protecting you from the limelight; that you had just lost your mother and the last thing you needed was to be bombarded by those parasites who feed on misery to turn a quick buck, but of all the lies he’s forced himself to say, that would be one lie he couldn’t force out of his mouth, opting instead to vomit everything he has in his guts.

Because he knows the truth: he neglected you. No amount of beating around the bush could eve change the fact that he’s never had a genuine conversation with you. From the moment you arrived at his home, you were ignored because he was too busy wallowing in his own suffering that he couldn’t see you were suffering, too.

Plus, there was no doubt in his mind that if he did say that, it would get back to you and you’d be more than glad to set the record straight.

“That video of you and Y/N’s already gone viral,” Tim says, not looking up from his phone. “It had over a million views in just ten minutes. Now, it’s nearing a billion.”

He suppresses a sigh. Of course a video of playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne getting his ass handed to him by his previously unknown firstborn biological son would go viral.

“I could scrub it, if you want,” Tim adds.

If anyone could absolutely scrub a video from the internet and condemn it to the void, Tim absolutely could. But, as much as he wants that video of you tearing into him gone forever, the memory of it would live on in his memory for the rest of his life; the hatred and pain in your eyes haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Also, at this rate, there’s no closing this Pandora’s Box. The world knows you’re his son and that he obviously wronged you. People aren’t going to forget that anytime soon.

Since last night, he’s monitored the Gould Games Pixtagraph page and before his reunion with him, you were sitting at following of a couple tens of thousands, but after last night, your following jumped up to several millions, your studio is tagged in countless reposts of that damn video, and so many people are asking you to explain your relationship with him.

So far, you’ve yet to say anything about your time living with them. On one hand, he’s glad you haven’t responded as it gives them time to do damage control and plan their next move concerning you, but on the other hand, he’s hurt because you don’t deem him worth your time to badmouth him on the internet.

“It’s fine, Tim,” he responds, ruffling his son’s hair as he walks towards the living room, Alfred and his children following behind.

The moment he walks in, his eyes immediately go to the family portrait sitting on the wall above the mantle, a family portrait that doesn’t include you. Before he got his head out of his ass, every time he looked at the painting, it filled him with pride and a sense that despite all his failings, he had done the best he could for his children and created a family that he’s proud of.

Now? That portrait is a constant reminder of how much he’s failed you. He can remember the day he had the portrait commissioned (a few months after Damian moved in with them and when Bruce was sure he wouldn’t attack the artist), he had fought all morning to have his kids dressed in their formal clothing and to behave before the artist arrived. Hell, he can remember the artist asking if this was everyone, he had said all members of the family were here.

While they were downstairs, having a family portrait made, you were alone and upstairs in a room not fit for any human to stay in.

How many times had you looked at this portrait and thought it was proof you weren’t a part of this family and no one even remembered you.

He wants to take it down right now and burn it, but that won’t get rid of his guilt. Nothing will change the fact that he had commissioned this portrait and you were left out, that he cared so little about you back then that you didn’t even cross his mind when he was corralling everyone to the living room the day it was made.

Fuck, he just wants to tear out his own heart just thinking about what you must’ve thought of them over the years.

Well, as soon as you come home, he’ll have that same artist paint a new portrait; one with all of them surrounding you and looking at you with nothing but love in their gazes.

“Based on the video, last night didn’t go well,” Jason asks with a hint of sarcasm, but Bruce hears the hurt and guilt in his voice.

He opens his mouth to respond, but closes it, unable to trust himself not to break down, the last thing his family needs.

He knows that his behavior was unacceptable and that he has no right to ask you to leave a place you clearly love to come back to the house that caused you so much pain and sadness over the years.

But now that he knows his mistakes, all he wants is for you to come home so he can shower you in the love he should’ve shown you. To make you a part of his family as is your birthright. To show you off to Gotham’s elite in massive galas at the manor and revel in the looks of envy when they realize they can look all they want, but they’ll never get the privilege of speaking or courting you. To display you for the entire world to behold and watch as your family heaps their undying love upon you.

But in order for any of that to happen, they need to find a way to get you speaking to them, something that may prove to be more difficult than crime fighting.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, breaking home out of his stupor. “If I may make a suggestion?” Bruce nods, eager to hear the butler’s wise words. “Maybe send one of the children to talk to Master Y/N? I had a feeling that the young man still held animosity towards you, but I never thought he would lash out the way he did last night.”

As much as he hates to admit it, Alfred’s right. You hate him, last night proved that, and you have every right to.

“But who isn’t gonna piss him off,” Steph chimes in, all eyes on her now. “I mean, we all did what Bruce did. What’s saying he won’t do to us what he did to Bruce?”

It seems with each passing day, he feels more and more like a pathetic excuse of a man. It’s one thing for you to be mad at him (god knows he deserves it and he’s definitely not the easiest person to get along with), but for you to hold that same hatred for your siblings as you do him? His family’s falling apart at the seams and he’s powerless to stop it.

His parents are probably so disappointed in him right now.

“I’ll go,” Damian announces. “I’m his blood-brother. No doubt he’ll be more receptive to me than the rest of you.”

“You’re the last person who should go,” Jason mutters. “Let me go. I’ll bring him back.”

He knows Jason will most likely bring you back home by your ankles and as much as he’s tempted to bring you home, forcing your return isn’t the proper way to start the healing process. He’s confident that they could handle any difficulties you gave them, but he wants to keep kidnapping last resort.

“Let me go,” Dick begs. “If there’s anyone who knows how to talk to people in this family, it’s me.”

Unfortunately, Dick’s the only one in this family who knows how to have genuine heart-to-heart talks with anyone, specifically members of their family. As much as he wants to fly over to Nevada and bear his heart out to you, he knows that he’s the last person you want to talk to and him repeatedly approaching you would only make things worse for them.

Also, you need him, but Gotham also needs Batman; bar the usual Arkham escape and petty criminal activity, things have been quiet since Joker’s death, but if he’s gone too long, the city’s criminal element will become more active.

And he needs to make Gotham safe for you when you return home.

“Alright, Dick,” he sighs. “Go. Bring your brother back. Take the jet.”

Dick cheers and his other children roar in outrage, but Bruce leaves them to settle their disagreement themselves.

“How was it, Master Bruce,” Alfred asks as the butler follows him to the Batcave. “To see Master Y/N again after so long?”

“I can’t believe how much he’s changed,” he responds as he walks down the stone staircase.

It’s true, when you stepped on stage to accept your award, he was shocked to see how much you’ve grown; if he tries hard enough, he can vaguely recall what you looked like when you first moved in: a scrawny little boy who looked like hell.

Of course you did back then, you just lost your mother and had been dragged away from your home and everything you’d ever known to live with a man you’d never met before in a city you probably never heard of, so it would make sense. All you wanted back then was your father to hug you and tell you everything would be ok and that you weren’t alone.

But he was too selfish to give you what you needed back then. He deemed his own grief greater than yours, the city’s needs greater than yours. And if it wasn’t bad enough he neglected you, he had to go and replace with you with your siblings.

And if he tries harder, he can recall what you looked like when you were fifteen, which was not long after Damian moved in with them. He can remember an incident involving you, Damian, and some sort of pen. Sure, it was stupid for you to fight Damian over some stupid little pen, but he should’ve listened to you back then. He knew Damian hated you on sight because he felt like you were a threat to the legacy Ra’s and Talia spent years putting in his mind; he should’ve stepped in back then because you had no idea how to defend yourself while Damian was trained by an assassin who’s lived for centuries, but he gave Damian the benefit of the doubt, leaving his younger son to grow out of his assassin upbringing.

The last thing he remembers about that incident was him demanding the pen for Damian and you telling him no. Back then, he was angry at you for defying him, but now, he admires that you did. Even though you were shorter than him and weaker than him, you stood your ground.

As much as you probably hate to hear it, you’re just like him.

And last night, he saw you as a successful, confident young man. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw just how much you’d grown (and how he wasn’t a part of your life).

And when you gave that speech?

He’s not ashamed to admit it brought a tear to his eye.

He knows he wronged you, but to know you view your time with him and your siblings hit him like a freight train. And to add insult to injury, the entire world now knows you hate him; hate him enough to lash out at him in public.

His head throbs a bit when he thinks at the amount of damage control he’s gonna have to do to avoid raising too much attention when you come home.

“He’s changed so much,” he sighs as he sits in front of the Batcomputer, his fingers typing away at the keys. “There’s so much I wasn’t there for.”

“Yes, Master Y/N has certainly grown into a fine young man,” Alfred responds. “He takes after his mother.”

That statement makes him pause. You share none of his features, nearly everything coming from your mother; the only thing tying you to him is DNA and his mother’s eyes. As if it wasn’t bad enough you don’t share his last name (he’ll have to look into that when you come home), but if he didn’t know better, he’d never know you were his son.

It also didn’t make him better that Alfred was the one to practically be your father. God knows Alfred raised not only him, but his children, but to know that the wise old butler stepped up to the position he failed to only makes the pit of guilt he’s in even deeper.

He can spend the rest of his life making it up to you and he’ll never even scratch the surface of his transgressions.

As expected, Tim spent the last day gathering every piece of information about you, from your report cards from Goodsprings Elementary to your tax records while you were working during your time in Gotham (and while he’s glad you got out there and found a job you loved, it pained him to know that you had to work while he had more than enough money to give you like he gives your siblings).

He pulls up your medical records (for dozens of doctor’s appointments he wasn’t there for) and sees the last one you had was just before your eighteenth birthday (a major event he didn’t even think of) and according to it, you were in perfect health.

He leans forward as he speed reads it before comparing it to all your other appointments.

“Something unusual, Master Bruce?”

“His medical records,” he answers as he pulls up your records from the day you were born. “I’m looking for any abnormality.”

“Like what?”

“The Meta Gene.”

“What,” Alfred exclaims. “Why would you assume he has the Meta Gene?”

“Last night, when he pushed me. There’s no way he should’ve been able to punch me the way he did. I’m taller and have more weight than he does.”

“That doesn’t necessarily prove anything, Master Bruce.”

He looks Alfred in the eye. “I could tell there was something unusual with his strength, Alfred. And I could tell he was holding back.”

The poor butler looks defeated and Bruce resumes his research.

He’s made his stance on Metas in Gotham known to all: none are allowed to enter and Gotham will be protected only by human strength, determination, and intelligence.

But if you do have the gene, it doesn’t change anything, you’re still his son and your proper place is here, with him, Alfred, and your siblings. He’ll just have to prepare the Cave to hold you.

“There’s no sign of the gene in any of his records, but regular equipment isn’t as thorough as the equipment we have in the cave. We’ll need a fresh sample.”

“That may be easier said than done, Master Bruce. Your son doesn’t even want to give you the time of day, I highly doubt he’ll give you a blood sample. Perhaps you could obtain one from his doctor?”

“Not an option. Look.” He pulls up your last medical record. “The last time he saw a doctor was his eighteenth birthday. There’s no sign of him at any doctor’s office in the last four years.”

“No doctor’s appointments in the last four years? I’m going to have a word with him when he returns.” He gives Bruce a look. “Looks like he did inherit something from you, after all.”

As much as he wishes to know there’s something concrete you got from him, he really hopes it’s not his lack of self care. Of course, there’s plenty of him he hopes you don’t inherit from him, but not taking care of yourself is at the top of the list.

Well, second on his list. His inability to properly care for his family would be on top.

“Hopefully Dick will make some progress.”

To say Dick is both excited and nervous is a gross understatement.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s ecstatic to see you, his baby bird, but he’s so worried about how you’ll react to him.

He knows he wasn’t the best big brother (actually, he wasn’t a brother to you at all), but he knows he screwed up and he wants to make it up to you!

In fact, if you want, the two of you can hang out in Vegas (although someone innocent like you shouldn’t be in a filthy place like that), eating at some of best restaurants there, taking in a few shows, and if you insist, he’ll go with you to a casino (that he’ll choose) and play a few games. After that, the two of you can book a room in the best hotel in Vegas (hopefully you’ll be ok with cuddling with your big brother) and in the morning, you’ll come back to Gotham with him.

He takes in your house as he walks up the driveway. He’s happy to know your grew up in a nice house and your mom provided for you (not many of his siblings had the same luxury) and he loves that he’s getting to see your house with his own eyes, but come on, baby bird, this house is too small for someone like you!

You’re a growing boy and you need something bigger! He knows you make videos games (he played your game and gave it a good review), so you need a place to work, and everyone knows the manor has more rooms than they know what to do with. And do you even have enough space to walk around in your room?

His heart aches when he thinks of that pathetic excuse of a room you were forced to sleep in back at the manor. To know his baby bird was sleeping in a room the size of a walk-in closet while he was practicing his gymnast moves in his room—

“That’s in the past,” he tells himself. “It’s not like that anymore.”

It’s true, Bruce had Alfred get the empty bedroom next to his ready for you, complete with a bed large enough for four people (he can’t wait to have sleepovers with you), a solid oak desk perfect for you to play and work on the new computer they got you, and filled with plushies, posters, and figures from all the video games they know you’re into.

And if there’s something missing from it, he’ll be more than happy to run out and buy it for you!

And if it wasn’t bad enough that the house was too small for you, you lived all alone on the edge of this small town. Come on, baby bird, you need your siblings to keep you company! You must be so lonely living in this house by yourself and no neighbors around.

The family’s already made plans to hang out with you: Bruce has already planned a whole gala for you, Dick plans on taking you to arcades and movie theatres, Jason’s read all your mom’s books and wants to talk about each of them with you, Tim’s called dibs on any and all video game activities with you, Babs wants to bring you to the library and hang out with her and maybe go out for coffee, Steph and Cass want to take you shopping and out to eat at all their favorite restaurants, and Damian has demanded that you go on walks with him every night after dinner and allow him to paint you.

He knows you’ve set up a good life here in your old hometown and he’s so proud of you for going out and making your mark on the world, but you need to come home. You’ll probably be sad on having to leave your childhood home, but your family misses you and the world’s too dangerous for someone like you to be on your own.

You have your family, so you don’t need to work when they can take care of you! And if you want to, you can come down here once or twice a year and check on the place (with one of them accompanying you, of course).

He knocks on your door with his usual playful knock he uses on his other siblings’ doors and waits. When he doesn’t hear any footsteps from the other side, he does it again.

“Y/N,” he calls out. “It’s me.”

He knows you’re home, your car’s in the driveway (Bruce owes you a better car, that one isn’t fit for you) and your phone’s GPS signal is clearly inside.

“Y/N,” he calls out even louder. “I know you’re in there!”

Finally, after forever, the door opens, revealing you; you open the door just enough to stick your head out. He’s blown away by how much you’ve grown; of course he saw the video (you really need to learn violence doesn’t solve anything, baby bird), but it doesn’t compare to seeing you in person. You’ve grown up from that teen boy into a fine looking young man, even if you look like you want to set him on fire right now.

“What the hell are you doing here,” you growl, taking the wind out of his sails just a little bit.

“Is it weird a big brother wants to see his little brother,” he says, flashing you his trademark wide grin.

“You’re not my brother and I don’t want you here.”

Ok, now that definitely took the wind out of his sails completely.

“Of course we’re brothers,” he responds, letting out an awkward chuckle. “I know I didn’t do a good job at it, but—”

“We’re not brothers, Dick,” you interject. “You were there for everyone else, but not me. You never viewed me as a priority.”

“That’s not true—“

“Yes it is, Dick! You didn’t say anything to me when we first met, you constantly went out of your way to hang out with Tim and the others and left me out of the fun every time, and when Damian attacked me with a fucking sword, you took his side and told me to let it go! And you have the nerve to call yourself my brother? Where do you get the fucking audacity?”

Alright, you have a few points. He should’ve included you when he hung out with the others. And yes, Damian had a rough upbringing, but that didn’t give him the right to take his sword and hurt you like that.

“I know, I know, I screwed up. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. But I know I did you wrong, we all did, but we want to make it up to you. To bring you back home and show you the love we should’ve showed you from the beginning.”

“But I am home, Dick. Gotham was never my home and I didn’t lose twelve years of my life in that damn mansion in a city of the damned just to go back to it, surrounded by people I hate.”

Hate. That one word pierces his heart like a spear. He knows they’re probably not you favorite people in the world, but to know you hate them…

It hurts.

“Baby bird, you don’t mean—“

“Mean it? I absolutely do. You people ignored me for years, treated me like I was just a nuisance, that I obviously didn’t belong in your perfect home and your perfect family. You clearly didn’t want me there and I felt the same.”

“But we—“

“I don’t care how you feel. You obviously remembered me, probably thanks to something Alfred did, and feel guilty over how you treated me and that guilt is making you think I owe you a second chance. That’s why you’re here, Dick. To being me back to Gotham because he knows he can’t emotionally manipulate me.”

Each word you speak cuts him to his core. To know how much low you see them makes him want to cry.

You’re just saying this because they hurt you.

That’s right, they hurt you and now you want to hurt them. He gets it, baby bird. If this is what it takes to get you back home, you can berate him all you want.

But, he needs to get you back home, first. So, as much as he hates to use it, he’ll have to use his ace card. You might be scared when he tells you, but he’ll be with you as long as it takes and answer any questions you have.

“Look, I know it doesn’t justify everything we did, but there’s a reason why we were always not around. It’s because—“

“You’re Nightwing. Is that what you were going to say?”

He feels his heart stop and his blood go cold at your words.

What?

“What?”

“That you’re Nightwing. That’s what you were about to say, right?”

A moment passes as he processes your words. Once again, the wind is taken out of his sails, but this time, it feels like you just sucker punched him in the gut to do so.

You know their secret? For how long?

“How—“

“Wow, you must really think I’m that fucking stupid to not notice that. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but none of you are as subtle as you think you are. I lived there for twelve years and you really think I didn’t notice you all in costume, see your gear left strewn across the house, and hear you talking about criminals when I was right behind you?”

“I never thought you were stupid,” he defends himself.

Really, he never thought you were stupid! He saw your school records, you were a great student (struggled in math a bit, but that’s on him, he really should’ve been there to help you). But he just thought you just missed it with you sleeping on the far side of the manor.

“I also saw you guys celebrating each night when you came home. You know, with large banquets, movies, and take out. Looks like you guys had a lot of fun.”

Another gut punch. To know you saw them having so much fun that you weren’t invited to hurt him and made him want to take you into his arms and take your pain and loneliness away.

“Also, it’s not rocket science; Bruce Wayne gets a new kid every time Batman gets a new sidekick, Batman is clearly using equipment that costs a pretty penny and not many people in Gotham could foot the bill, and Jason Todd rises from the dead not long after Red Hood showed up. Honestly, the fact that no one else in Gotham has figured it out is astounding.”

Once again, a moment passes as he processes your words, his mouth agape and eyes as wide as saucers. He looks around quickly and is relieved to know there’s no camera recording this interaction, so there’s one less thing to worry about.

“Well,” he finally stutters out. “You know what we were up to. So, you know we were always busy and didn’t have one of free time.”

It hurts that he’s saying that you were less important than going out at night and punching criminals, but he’s drowning and he’s reaching for anything to keep himself afloat.

“But all of you made time for each other. I saw you make plenty of time to be there for the others, but never me.”

He really wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. This conversation is one of the most painful things he’s ever done in his entire life. To know you stood in the background and saw him being there for everyone else…

“Well, maybe if you had done something else to get our attention,” he spits out, saying the first thing that comes to mind to keep this conversation going.

“And what should I have done,” you spit out, your eyes little more than slits and filled with hate.

“Maybe you should’ve become like us,” he mutters, his voice sounding pathetic even to him.

“What’d you just say,” you say, your tone a deadly silence.

He says nothing, realizing his mistake. You had a normal childhood with your mom, with no training whatsoever that would be useful in a vigilante situation. Plus, you’re innocent, you don’t belong on Gotham’s harsh streets; you belong at the manor with Alfred, eating cookies and drinking hot chocolate.

“I said ‘what’d you just say,’” you yell, making him jump a bit. “Say it again.”

Even though he’s taller than you (thank god), you look absolutely terrifying right now. You’re obviously pissed and repeating his stupid mistake is just going to make you angrier.

“I told you to say that again,” you yell as you open the door wide open and shove him back, making him step onto the grass as you step outside. “Now be a good little circus freak and do as I say!”

The insult is another sucker punch. It’s not the first time he’s been called that, he’s always countered it by showing off his acrobatic skills and silencing the sneers, but that obviously won’t work here.

“I said maybe you should’ve become a vigilante—“

He’s cut off by a slap to the face. When his vision clears, he sees your expression is a mix of anger and sadness, making him feel even worse about himself.

“How dare you,” you hiss, tears beginning to flow from your eyes. “So, I had to waste my life fighting Arkham’s inmates to be worthy of your love? I had to prove myself worthy of affection?”

“No,” he quickly retorts, ignoring the pain in his jaw from the slap. “I’m sorry, I—“

“Fuck you, Dick! Fuck you and fuck that dysfunctional mess you call a family! I hope you all get eaten by Killer Croc next time he breaks out!”

And with that, you storm back in your house and slam the door shut, leaving him to stare at the door, alone with his thoughts.

Shit. He came here to make you more receptive to them and all he did was make things worse. Now you’ll never come home.

And worse, he made you cry, something else he’ll never be able to forgive himself for.

“Well, I’ve done all I can,” he mutters to himself. “Guess I need to phone B and tell him what happened.”

He moves his leg to start walking back when pain surges from his ankle and when he looks down, he notices a vine covered in thick thorns wrapped around his ankle, a small line of blood on the vegetation. He must’ve got caught in it when you shoved him back and didn’t notice it.

He bends down and untangles his leg, taking care not to cut himself on the vine’s thorns.

Really, baby bird, this is why you need to come home. You don’t know how to take care of yourself, let alone a house.

When Dick told everyone what happened, Jason was genuinely surprised. When he first met you, he thought you were some little squirt that had no idea what the real world was like (of course, at that time, he was still pissed at Bruce and still riding high on Pit Madness, so he didn’t bother to spare you a passing glance).

When he learned that you lost your mom in a tragic accident and were forced to move to Gotham, where you were basically ignored and forgotten about for years…

Well, it’s not often he feels guilty about something, but this is definitely one of those times.

All those times when he yelled at Bruce for replacing him with Tim when he was doing the same thing…

Fuck, despite his best efforts, he became the old man, after all.

He was too busy being angry at the world and focusing on his own pain that he couldn’t see you were suffering.

And he knows your pain all too well, kid.

Losing your mother? Been there.

Being treated like shit? Oh yeah.

Have your life turned upside down because of Bruce? Oh, he’s president of the club.

If he had just pulled his head out of his own ass, he would’ve seen you were in pain like him. For fuck’s sake, Bruce didn’t even acknowledge your birthday or get you anything for Christmas while he was downstairs getting a limited edition copy of Pride and Prejudice and opening birthday cards with checks and gift cards.

The thought of you sitting upstairs in that fucking pitiful excuse of a room during your birthday (which is also the day of your mom’s death, ain’t that a bitch). Shit, he just wants to go back to Gotham, kick Bruce’s ass and then his own. Hell, he can remember flashing you his Pit Eyes after meeting you and you’re a damn civilian, for fuck’s sake!

Seriously, he knows he’s fucked in the head, but is he really that fucked up?

Maybe he should finally listen to Alfred and book a session with that therapist he recommended.

Well, he’ll do that when he brings you back home. After Dickhead not only failed to bring you back, but made things worse than before (they were all amazed when he told them you knew their secret, but of course Bruce stated drafting new rules about wearing their suits and handling their gear in the house to prevent someone outside the family from making the same discovery), Bruce finally green light the use of force and sent Jason.

He looks up at your house: a nice, simple thing in a small town where everyone probably knows your name.

While the others said it wasn’t for you, he actually thought what living there would be like. According to Alfred, you lived a great life there with your mother, complete with your own room and a nice tv perfect for eating cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons.

He imagines doing that with you, him reading Jane Austen while you watch whatever silly little cartoon you like.

Yeah, shocking, but he wants to make up his shitty behavior towards you. Hell, he went ahead and bought everything your mom wrote and started reading and making notes. Now, he’ll never forsake Austen, but your mom is definitely a close second on his list of favorite authors.

She had a thing for the Age of Sails, apparently, since the books always took place on boats. She was also a romantic because she always ended her books with the two main characters falling in love, be it a noble woman and a pirate captain or the son of a major trade company and the commander of his naval escort.

Maybe your mom had some unpublished manuscript lying around and you’ll let him read it. He has plans to discuss her books with you, hopefully you know enough about her to answer them, but all he wants is to spend time with you.

Of course, first you have to come home. Whether you come along willingly or he has to drag you depends on his conversation goes with you.

“Sorry, kid,” he mutters to himself as he walks up to your door and knocks.

You want nothing to do with them. He gets it, trust him, he really does. It wasn’t that long ago he wanted to be as far from Gotham and Bruce just like you. Unfortunately, when you’re a part of this family, you’re in it for life; when it has its hooks in you, you can’t get them out.

Hopefully your transition won’t be too painful. He’ll try to keep the others (mainly Dick) from hitting you too much with their guilt-driven affections.

“What the hell are you doing here,” a voice calls out from behind him.

He turns around to see you with a brown paper bag in your hand and if he squints hard enough, he can see some restaurant’s name on the bag.

That’s right, Goodsprings is a small town where everything’s within walking distance, so it would make sense why you got take out while your car’s in the driveway.

“Look, kid, before we go any further, I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care,” you respond. “Go away.”

“Look, I know where you’re coming from. Really, I do. When I came back, I was pissed at Bruce and wanted nothing to do with him.”

“And yet, here you are, a part of that disgusting family and doing his bidding.”

That perpetually angry part of him wanted to say something that would only make things worse, but he manages to put a lid on that. If there’s anyone who deserves to lash out at him it’s you.

He’ll take whatever insult you have if it helps make you feel better.

“We all know we fucked up and we want you back. Just come home, Y/N. If you know who I am, then you know I’m more than happy to do things the hard way.”

“So you’ll use force to get your way. Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You can pretend to be the well-read intellectual all you want, but you’ll always be Crime Alley trash who knows nothing but violence.”

Ok, that hurt. And that lid is starting to get harder to keep on.

He knows he’ll always be a man who uses his fists more than his words or head (those kinds of people never last long in the Alley), but he’s really tried to be more than that. He had to toughen up in order to survive back in the Alley, always hiding his love for literature and showing an attitude to the world, but when Bruce adopted him and he was able to become more than that little brat (despite all the cons living with a bastard who dressed like a bat entails).

“Too bad your mom wasn’t the type of junkie who sells her kid for her next hit. Would’ve saved the both of us a ton of trouble.”

Alright, so you know a lot of their dirty laundry. Shit. He already knew this probably wouldn’t end well, but this is going off the rails faster than he thought.

“Kid, I know you’re pissed at us and you have that right. Trust me, I’ve been pissed at Bruce for years, but you need really to come back—“

“And stop trying to relate to me, you asshat. You say you know how I feel about them, but you don’t. You came back determined to kill Batman and show him how you’re better than him, but you were also crying like a little bitch and begging Daddy to love you.”

You laugh at him mockingly while he’s starting to shake in anger, taking deep breaths to temper his rage.

“Daddy, Daddy, kiss me, kiss me,” you mock. Then your face goes back to pissed as you walk closer to him and look him straight in the eye. “You’re pathetic. Just like that whore, junkie of a mom. And your drunk of a dad.”

That’s when he loses it, despite his best efforts, and takes a swing at you. Oh well, he’s already in hot water with you, adding something else isn’t going to do much damage. At least it’ll be easy to drag you back to Gotham while you’re knocked out.

You drop the bag and catch his fist, stopping it no problem.

“How,” he starts to say before you twist his fist and he lets out a yell in pain.

“Jason Todd lashing out when faced with reality,” you say as you twist even more, bringing him to his knees. “How predictable.”

With your left hand (the bag still in your hand), you grab him by the chin and force him to look at you and when he does, he’s genuinely scared at the joy he can see reflected in them.

You’re taking pleasure in this; seeing him on his knees and at your mercy.

“Before I forget, I owe you for the black eye you gave me when we first met. Unlike your mother, mine taught me to always make good on my debts.”

Before he can do or say anything, you punch him squarely in the right eye, letting go of him so he’s knocked back by the force of the punch. He lands on the hard pavement and lays there with his right eye throbbing from the punch, already swelling up.

“Stay away from me, Jason. Next time, I won’t be so merciful.”

And with that, you step over him, unlock your door, and slam it shut, the sound of it being locked audible from his side.

“Shit,” he hisses, sitting up and touching his eye, wincing when it throbs in pain.

How the hell did you do that? You’re way smaller than him and you obviously don’t hit the gym, so how did you manage to catch his fist and counter him? And how did you manage to punch him hard enough to really hurt? Seriously, he’s taken a few shots from Bane and that punch was definitely on that level.

“B’s gonna love hearing this,” he mutters to himself as he gets up.

He walks back to the rental car he parked at your curb only to discover all four tires were punctured.

“Shit,” he yells, crouching to get a good look at the damage.

Something small and sharp punctured each tire and from what he could tell, it looks like something pierced the tire and snaked around it, making more holes.

He looks back at your house, but realizes there’s no way you could’ve done it. He didn’t see anything on you that could’ve done this. And no one else passed by while you were ripping him a new one.

So how the hell did this happen.

“Fuck,” he whines, realizing standing around isn’t going to do anything and pulls out his phone to call a tow truck.

Tim’s been curious about things he doesn’t understand all his life. It’s true, if he saw something that he couldn’t explain, he studied it, asked questions, and observed it until he finally understood it.

To say he’s curious about you is a gross understatement.

He’s ashamed to admit when he first met you, he thought he had you figured out. From what news he was able to see, you were the product of a one-night stand between Bruce Wayne and Maria Gould, a moderately successfully writer, and after she was killed by a drunk driver leaving a casino after a night of drinking and losing money, you were moved to Gotham to live with Bruce.

And when he met you, he saw nothing under that story. You grew up in a normal house with a loving mother (truth be told, he was a little jealous about that back then), not a traveling circus like Dick or in the heart of a slum like Jason, nor did you possess any notable talent like gymnastics or brute strength, and you certainly didn’t belong on the front lines, defending Gotham from crime.

You were average, nothing more, nothing less. End of story.

Well, he’s ashamed that he thought that way. You’re his younger brother, damn it, you shouldn’t have to possess anything to make him worthy of his attention. And he of all people knows what it’s like to be ignored by your family, so he should’ve talked to you and treated you like a brother, not do what his parents did to him and completely forget you exist.

But he’s here to make amends, apologize to you, and bring you back home.

Also, as much as he hates to admit it, but he’s completely obsessed with you now. He’s analyzed everything he could find on you and he’s incredibly curious how you went from getting mostly Bs and a few Cs to getting all As? Or how did you go about making your game when all you had was that sad Coding Games For Dummies to go on (he would’ve loved to teach you to code)?

And of course, there’s how you managed to push Bruce and block Jason’s punch and give him a black eye. Both of them are easily the strongest out of everyone in the family, so how someone like you managed to take them down is nothing short of astounding (and concerning).

In fact, if he fails like Dick and Jason, he wants to at least find a way of obtaining a blood sample. The last time you had blood drawn was on your eighteenth birthday, none of it showing you even have the Meta Gene, but until he performs the test and sees the results himself, he’s keeping all options open.

“Hello, Y/N,” he greets you as he sits in your booth at the Pearl’s Diner, a restaurant you routinely frequent.

You look up from your meal and your expression shifts in disgust.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you spit, slamming your utensils down on the table. “Are you people really stalking me? It’s been everyday with you people!”

It’s true, Dick visited you two days ago, Jason was yesterday, and today is his turn to bring you back to the fold. He’s really hoping he succeeds, because Steph and Cass are next, and Damian is last (he demanded to come and was pissed when Bruce sent him instead).

“Come on, Y/N, I just want to talk to you. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Yes,” you instantly respond. “Why are you even here in the first place, shouldn’t you be stalking Mr. Wayne from the shadows?”

He hides his wince from you, but your words definitely hurt him.

Yes, he stalked Bruce, but there was nothing nefarious about it! He was fascinated by Batman and Robin and just wanted to know more!

“Look, I know you’re angry at us and you have every right to. We should’ve done better and there’s no excuse we can give that will ever erase the damage done to you.”

“Glad to know you understand that,” you say that with a raised eyebrow. “Now go away.”

“You know I wouldn’t be here just to say that. I’m here to bring you back home.”

“Gotham isn’t my home,” you growl through grit teeth. “How many times do I have to say that? I’m never going back to that city of the damned and I’m sure as hell never stepping foot in that fucking manor.”

On one hand, he gets why you feel about Gotham, it’s a city that’s taken much from its people, it’s constantly dark and gloomy, and its atmosphere is constantly oppressive and intimidating. But on the other, he’s a born and raised Gothamite (no matter how much Jason says otherwise due to his upbringing) and he’s Red Robin, so he has a strong pride for his home. But, he’s willing to let it slide since he knows you had happy memories of Goodsprings and every memory you have of Gotham is negative (something he hopes to correct).

“I know why you feel that way, but no matter what you say or how you feel, Bruce’s DNA makes up half of yours. Like it or not, he’s your father and we’re your family. We realize we screwed up and we want you back.”

“You’re wrong, he’s not my father, he’s a sperm donor.” He winces at how you view Bruce. “Hell, my Momma probably took pity on him and gave him the best night he’ll ever have. If I could, I’d suck out all the Wayne DNA and give it back to him. I want nothing to do with him and I sure as hell don’t want anything to do with you.”

Alright, this isn’t going well (as he anticipated), so he needs to switch gears and get a blood sample. If Bruce is right and you have the Meta Gene, knowing your powers will go a long way. After they (he) studies every last molecule of your DNA and they find ways to counter your abilities, they’ll be able to bring you back home.

Sure, you’ll be angry (probably more than now), but in time, you’ll realize this was for the best; that you belonged with them and while you have the last name Gould, you’re a Wayne and your rightful place is the manor. Hell, he’s helping Bruce draft a story to tell the media why you moved back to the manor and plans for your gala, which will be the biggest event Gotham will ever see, complete with endless buffets, the finest music, and the city’s biggest movers and shakers.

But in order for any of that to happen, he needs a blood sample. He glances down at the ring on his finger, which houses a hidden needle that will pierce your skin without you even feeling it and your blood will be housed in a small vial housed within the ring. He has a blood analyzer in his car, so he won’t have to wait to get to the manor in order to run the tests, he can do it once he leaves and read the results on the jet ride home.

“Y/N,” he starts, reaching out to your hand, thankful you’re wearing a t-shirt. “Please, come home.”

Almost there.

“Alfred misses you.”

Just a little more…

Then, you grab his wrist, halting him and squeezing it, making him wince in pain.

“Why are you so eager to make me go back to Gotham,” you hiss, yanking his arm, causing him to jerk across the table. “Let me guess, now that I’m gone, everyone’s ignoring you? They’re treating you like your parents treated you?”

So Jason was right, you know all their secrets. Specifically, his issues with his parents and how he felt about their lack of affection towards him. Shit.

“Did it feel nice, Tim, ignoring me and pretending I didn’t exist? Jack and Janet made you feel like shit for years and now you had the opportunity to do the same to someone else.”

He tries to flip his wrist to try to slide the ring across any exposed skin so he can take a blood sample, but you have a vice-like grip on it and he can’t move it any; all he can do is look you in your hate-filled eyes.

“Do you ever think they knew something was wrong with you? That’s why they wanted nothing to do with you? Despite their best efforts, you came out so fucked up not even your own mother could love you. How pathetic.”

He tries to break free, but your hand doesn’t budge at all. Hell, he’s using his Red Robin strength and it’s not budging at all. Seriously, what are you?

“I’m telling you this right now, Tim, stay away from me. All of you. I didn’t lose twelve years in Gotham and spend the last four years creating my dream life just have you lot fuck it up.” You squeeze to the point it feels like you’ll snap his wrist off and he bites his tongue to resist yelling out in pain. “If you guys keep coming near me, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

And with that, you throw him back into his booth, his wrist throbbing from the pain, and get up, walk to the waitress behind the counter up front to pay for your meal (which is unfinished), and leave.

He looks down at his wrist to see it’s definitely bruised.

Well, things just got more interesting.

Damian shouldn’t be surprised the there’s failed. Especially Drake, that misfit proves his inferiority at every turn and makes his poor breeding apparent.

Honestly, Father really should’ve let him go instead of Greyson. You’re his blood brother (granted, you come from a different mother than him, but Father’s DNA is what matters) and out of everyone in their family, he’s the only one besides Father capable of reaching you. The original plan was for Brown and Cain to come and bring you home, but a major Arkham breakout changed that.

Well, technically, Father said Brown and Cain were to come to you after all the inmates were returned to Arkham, but he used the breakout as a cover and took the jet to fly to Nevada. Father will no doubt complain about his actions, but he’ll no doubt forget about his actions when he returns with you in tow.

Of course, he knows his transgressions against you. He remembers drawing his sword and drawing blood, he remembers the countless insults he spat at you and your mother, and he remembers sending his pets to hunt you for sport.

When he met you, he was honestly surprised when Pennyworth said you were Father’s firstborn, something not even Mother and Grandfather were aware of because they told him he was to be Bruce’s only blood son. After learning of your existence, he immediately became concerned about his role as heir to the Wayne legacy; after all, tradition states that everything of true value passes to the firstborn son and seeing you put his position as heir to the Bat at risk.

And then he lashed out, drawing blood and cursing you and your mother, who he now regrets calling a whore because he now knows she didn’t intentionally share his bed, it was just the result of two adults making an idiotic mistake.

His time in the League gave him unrivaled perception and he could tell at a glance that you possessed no training whatsoever, nor did you possess any skill useful to fulfilling Father’s mission of combating Gotham’s criminals. You were raised in an average house and lived an average, unremarkable life.

You were no threat to him and knew nothing of what the family was really doing at night.

He knew that, but he felt the need to assert his place in the family’s hierarchy and remind you that you were beneath all of them, even beneath Drake (of course he knows better, no one could be beneath Drake and you belong with him, underneath Father).

He spent the next few years going out of his way to make your life miserable, insulting you every chance he got, cruelly reminding you that your mother was dead, using his pets to chase you throughout the manor, and abusing Greyson’s favoritism for him to deflect any accountability when you tried to defend yourself.

Back then, he didn’t see the value in having a biological connection to anyone because he viewed it as a danger to his position as heir to the Bat. Besides, he had more than enough “siblings” due to Father’s need to adopt every orphan that crosses his path.

Now that he’s grown some surrounded by Father, Pennyworth, and the rest of his family (even Drake), he knows the value in having you by his side. To have someone he’s bound to by blood is to have a connection with another that can’t be beaten by any other and he knows that he was a fool to spurn that gift.

He intends to make up for his transgressions by being the best brother imaginable; Greyson has shown him how a brother is supposed to be and he knows he can improve upon those methods to be better than Greyson. While Father plans on being the one to greet you every morning, he intends on being by your side, involving you in everything he does (except at night when he’s Robin; even if you have the Meta Gene, you have no place surrounded by the filth of Gotham), including painting, where he has plans on painting a portrait of you and him and hang it in your room.

Of course, there’s still the matter of bringing you back home. While he knows that you most likely despise him the most, nothing will hinge the fact that you and him are brothers. There has to be some rational part of you that will be receptive to his words.

He approaches you from behind while you’re crouched at your mother’s grave, talking to it as if it was her. He looks over you to see her tombstone:

Maria Gould

May Her Sails Point Towards Heaven

The tombstone is between two clusters of red lilies that seem to have been planted there, most likely by you if he had to guess.

As he nears you, you slowly turn around and face him, your expression of mourning shifting to a look of disgust and hatred (an expression that unnerves him slightly).

“What fresh hell is this,” you spit out, standing to your full height (you must’ve inherited your height from your mother because he’s slightly taller than you). “It wasn’t enough that your father had to come and ruin my big night, now you have to come and desecrate my Momma’s grave?”

“Brother, I—“

Before he can say another word, you close the distance between the two of you and wrap your hand around his throat, silencing him.

“You have no right calling me that! After you made my life a living hell!”

He brings his hands up to your arm and tries to break your hold, but unsurprisingly, he can’t. When Drake told them about your grip on his wrist, he attributed it to his natural weakness, but there may be some truth to the theory of you being a meta.

“After what you did, I should snap your neck. Wouldn’t that be a bitch, to die by the hand of someone you deemed to be of ‘ill breeding?’”

He regrets ever calling your breeding into question (something only reserved for Drake); he wants to say he takes it back and he deeply regrets it, but right now, he’s struggling to breath.

Just then, you toss him aside, he coughs as he quickly fills his lungs with air.

“You’re lucky we’re at my Momma’s grave, or I’d kill you.”

You spit at his feet to show your disgust for him before storming off to your nearby car. He watches as you drive off before looking down at the ring on his finger, the same kind Drake hoped to get a blood sample from you; he takes it off and looks on the inside to see the vial filled with your life essence.

“Once again, Drake, I have demonstrated why I deserve the Wayne name and you don’t.”

He pockets the ring and makes his way to the rental car. He had hoped to convince you to return to the manor, but he was content to extracting a blood sample to answer some questions they have about you.

You might know their secrets, but they’ll soon level the playing field and when they do, they can bring you home.

And when they do, he’ll be the brother you deserve.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @fantasyhopperhea @ellaprime7 @ratchetprime211 @bunbunbread @solelifauna @diejager @v0idl1nq

[jethrowest]

let me see you stripped down to the bone…

- stripped by depeche mode

congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?

pairing : homelander/afab reader

word count : 5.6k

warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni

special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

Homelander is an asshole.

That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.

As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.

Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.

In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.

Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.

None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.

You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.

Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.

The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.

Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.

Why should you respect them?

Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.

You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.

Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.

You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.

His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.

Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.

Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.

You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.

While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”

You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”

He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”

You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”

“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”

Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.

“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”

He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.

“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”

At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.

You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.

“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”

Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”

Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.

Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.

He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.

“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.

You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”

Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.

“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.

As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.

The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.

When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.

“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.

From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.

Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.

Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...

Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!

At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.

This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.

You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.

Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.

You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.

He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.

Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.

It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.

It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.

Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.

You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.

Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.

Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.

Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):

Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?

You are unacceptably late.

Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.

Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.

You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.

The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.

You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.

Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.

It will have to do.

When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.

Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”

“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”

You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.

“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.

A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.

“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”

Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”

Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.

You also hear it lock.

What the hell does she think is going to happen?

You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.

Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.

He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.

“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.

“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.

“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.

Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.

You’re such a fool.

He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.

You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.

“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”

You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.

“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”

Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.

You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.

“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.

An impressively dangerous thing to have.

“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”

You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.

His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.

That’s when the glass behind you shatters.

You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.

Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.

When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.

Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.

You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.

Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.

Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.

Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.

That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?

He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.

Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.

It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.

Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.

In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.

You’re not wearing a stitch.

A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”

Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.

What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.

This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.

His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.

“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.

That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.

He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.

Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.

Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.

You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.

Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.

You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.

He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.

Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.

How could you have ever denied yourself?

You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.

It’s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.

After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.

You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.

“Take off your gloves.”

Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.

At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.

“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.

Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.

Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.

The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.

You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.

Your wants.

It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.

“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.

Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.

Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.

His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.

Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.

It’s still not enough.

Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.

You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.

You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.

You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.

Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.

You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.

What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.

Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.

Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.

He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.

A visible sheen coats his lips.

“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”

His breathing is labored. So is yours.

He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.

“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”

You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.

“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”

You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.

You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.

Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.

[thepitlanepress]

TOUCHES –

↳ lando norris + reader

🎧 : two hands - tate mcrae

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: lets all collectively thank my girl @arqbella for this idea. also im in love with that photo of him asdghs

i just want your two hands on me...

the single best and worst day of your life was when you met lando norris.

you were at a race, and as you were leaving the still bustling paddock to head home you tripped, face planted, broke your arm, tumbled into the middle of an interview, and somehow managed to get an iced coffee spilt on you.

luckily, you had rolled your way into the middle of lando's interview and he was extremely concerned, instantly calling for help and helping you be taken to the mclaren office as you waited for an ambulance. he had cleaned your wounds as best he could, gently insisting he do it himself

and the rest... well it was history.

two years later here you are sprawled out on his lap as he runs a hand through your hair, the other gently drawing circles on your thigh as you watch whatever movie you picked earlier.

through out the first stages of your relationship, you two had both been nervous, clearly paranoid from earlier relationships. assuring each other that you liked them, and verbally telling each other that you were committed.

over the years you've come to the agreement that you're both dumb fucks, you're desperately in love with each other, and that there is no need to tell one another you love each other seventeen times a day. you trust one another.

so what started as daily words of affirmation evolved into physical touch. touch that you knew meant i love you and he does too, so when he asked you, "do you think we say i love you enough?" you were rather surprised.

you twisted your head to look up at him instead of the tv, "what do you mean?"

"do we say i love you enough? i was with max and pietra the other day and noticed they say it all the time. it just got me thinking that we don't really say it too often."

you sit up this time and look him in the eye as he drops his hand from your hair, his thumb still drawing circles subconsciously on you leg.

"i think we say it all the time, not verbally, but physically. we say i love you in the little touches. like when you randomly come up to me and hug me from behind, or when we sit down, how your hand always rests on my thigh, or when we're going to sleep how you brush the hair from my face and have the other one wrapped around my waist." you pause and lean your head on his shoulder. "we say i love you all the time, its just a bonus that i love it when your two hands are on me."

"oh really?" a smirk works its way onto his face replacing the adoring smile.

"maybe," you wink, adjusting yourself so you're lying back down, lando's hands instantly making their way to your stomach, one on your waist caressing it gently and the other tracing the stars on your shirt.

"by the way incase you didn't know, i love you baby," lando's soft remark causes butterflies to erupt in your gut, or maybe that was the sensual touch of lando playing with your waist band...

"i love you too, lan."

"and just for the record, i love it when my hands are on you too."

can you do it like that? yeah.

2024 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works