#and my physics test corrections

[azuredawn81]

can we get a fic (idc which player) where the reader is a nerd? not like "oh i'm in college so studious" but she's like, a real genuine nerd. make her a mathlete. make her a biochem major. idk just make her a nerd.

i'm asking you because you mentioned studying physics.

when i get called a loser nerd in my own asks but I'm just a chill guy

anyway yeah sure i can do that. if someone wants to suggest a player, that'd be great.

[nightmaretour]

[aro-culture-is]

quick note - this blog is gonna be sparse again for at least this week. trying new medications and tbh initial side effects are not super pleasant + actual effects build up. as a result: currently as if unmedicated for mental health, with anxiety+ side effect, extra fatigue, dizziness, and fatigue. it's uh, sure something.

totally recognize that most of y'all know we're absent at times due to health things, just wanted to give a heads up that this one is at least anticipated.

[70slesbian]

i used to have people in my life that could just like give me a look or a sigh or a tonal change and i’d just know they meant i was being silly and it could be over anything like i’d use too much conditioner in the shower or want to eat the wrong thing for dinner or chose the wrong outfit and after the first immense relief i felt at cutting these ppl off it kinda makes for a gaping hole. you mean no one is going to make sure i know how stupid i am when i want to be petted gently over my mane like a particularly skittish horse? because some how it felt good when the thoughts were confirmed by someone else. i’d look at them and be like yeah. i’m stupid rn.. bc they’d tell me, and now it instead feels like i’m left in the dark

[autisticlee]

having some sort of chronic pain and tiredness issue and joint problems and whatnot but not knowing exactly what the problem is is really good at leading you feeling like you're faking it or making a big deal out of nothing or making it up. especially if there's a good day where it's not as bad and you can walk straight without limping for the first time in a year. but then you can wake up the next day and can barely walk and wonder why you can't just walk normal. it's hard to not guilt trip yourself into dealing with pain by trying to ignore it and force yourself to walk "normal" all the time

[solace-seekers]

☹️🥶🤪🕡🥶😭🤪🕡😔🫠☹️💔😭🫠🤩😡🌟😔😭🌟💔😜😔😬🥶🌠🥰🥶☹️🤮👏❤️🥰😔🤮😔🙄😭🤪🥶😭🕡🙄😝🙄🥶😔🫠😜🧍‍♀️😜😌🤦‍♀️☹️🥶👏😭🌠💔❤️🥶🥰💫😭😡😀

[eclipsecrowned]

up at 2:30 bc the cgm is playing a funny lil game w me.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

At the doctor! Torn between hating doctors and really loving the ones that I'm seeing today.

[numberone-wifeguy]

05/07/24

[charredgreenonions]

Gonna tell me not to be on my phone FINE I’ll just draw on ur damn test

[themslash]

looking thru a list of free books on the Books application. "stories to make you smile :)" you dont fucking know me. i smile about deuterium. at bedtime. i smile about isotopes

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[rose-chateau]

We NEED to reevaluate how we view people with "red flags" that don't actually indicate harm to anyone. Things like "doesn't like animals," "doesn't have pets," "my pets immediately distrust them, so that means they're Secretly Evil."

I have a psychotic disorder. I suffer from flat affect. I have zero control over how I am emoting, and very often my emotional readout is completely blank. A LOT of animals (dogs especially) have exhibited aggression and fear around me ever since this started. (There are only TWO dogs I've met in the last five years that didn't BITE ME.) Dogs are unsettled by me because of a symptom of my psychosis--a condition that is out of my control that IS NOT DANGEROUS and doesn't harm anyone.

I also have a severe autoimmune disease and severe allergies to basically all animals. Whenever I tell people I can't come over because they have pets, or I don't have/want pets of my own, the IMMEDIATE response I always get is "why don't you like animals?" So I'm always pretty pissed off when I have to say, "I'm severely allergic. Don't fucking assume I have an undesireable quality just because I'm not a pet owner."

Another ableist red flag we need to talk about is "has no other friends/all their friends break up with them." Hi. I'm physically disabled with a digestive disease and a degenerative disease in my spine. That means my dietary restrictions are stupid and I can't sit/stand/walk for more than 15 minutes without being in pain. Most of the friends I break up with, I do so BECAUSE THEY ARE INCREDIBLY ABLEIST TO ME with no visible potential of changing. From people relentlessly harrassing me about lifestyle changes to not accepting correction or feedback when I tell them "hey, you CAN'T do x because it triggers y condition." If they argue or blow me off, I'm not their fucking friend!

Tl;dr: Disabled, chronically ill, and people with "scary" mental illnesses are often lumped in with "bad people" for characteristics that hurt no one and aren't in their control. Stop using "my dog is uncomfortable around them" as a litmus test for everyone you hang out with.

[starmapz]

RATIO OVERTIME

𓉸 kento nanami x f!reader

𓉸 kinktober smut oneshot

❝ your new boyfriend recently revealed his technique to you and it's had you wondering- exactly what else could he do with that technique? after all, it was meant to create a weak point, right? ❞

𓉸 warnings ; 18+ only. contains explicit content. soft dom!nanami. oral (f! receiving). fingering. nipple play (f! receiving). masturbation (m! receiving). praise. choking. mild dacryphilia. begging. pet names (darling, sweetheart, love). overstim. kento is so so careful n sweet w reader.

𓉸 words ; 3.7k.

masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist

“Pardon, darling? I think I misheard you,” your boyfriend places his book in his lap with a furrowed brow. He’s been sitting quietly reading his book on the couch while you watch TV since he got home, but you’ve hardly paid attention to the screen; Your thoughts were completely occupied by one thing and one thing only.

“Well, your technique creates a weak spot, no?” You continue, knowing very well that Kento did in fact hear you.

“That’s correct,” his mahogany eyes examine your expression, contemplative of what it is that you’re implying.

“Sooo, could you use it on me in bed?” You ask again.

He rubs a hand over his face. “Sweetheart, is our sex life not enough for you?”

“No no no, I swear I’m very happy and not bored,” you promise, tilting your head as your gaze travels off to the side. “Just… curious if that’s something you could do.”

“No,” he decides with a stern shake of his head. “My technique is intended to cause harm. I won’t use it on you.”

“It’s meant to find a weak spot,” you try to reason with him. “My pussy is my weak-”

Your boyfriend’s brow furrows harshly as he puts his hand over your lips. “Vulgar,” he comments, eyes narrowed in a scolding manner. He sighs as he lowers his hand. “Darling, I can appreciate where you’re coming from, but I don’t want to risk causing you any harm.”

“You won’t!” You insist, scooting towards him on the couch. “We can test it first. I mean, you usually use your fists or a blade anyway, what if you use a finger?”

To your surprise, Nanami does actually seem to contemplate this for a moment, his gaze trailing down to stare blankly at the open pages of his novel. He supposes that theoretically you could have a point, but the thought of bringing you any amount of harm makes him uneasy.

“What are we testing it on?”

Your eyes shine as you bound out of the living room in an instant to the kitchen, bringing over a T-Bone steak. Understandably, Kento sighs. “You want me to use my technique on our dinner?” His tone suggests he’s barely putting up with your nonsense, but there’s a glimmer of amusement twinkling in his eyes regardless.

You nod, grinning as you set the slab of plastic-wrapped beef on the coffee table by Kento’s knees. You plop down beside him as he leans forward and-

Shockingly enough, just using the tips of two fingers does split the plastic, but that’s about it. The steak jumps somewhat but it doesn’t cause it any physical harm. This seems to shock Kento as well as he inspects the beef.

“Pleaaase, Ken?” You beg, sidling up to him. He casts you a glance before giving in with a sigh, an easy smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Your pussy throbs at the realization he’s giving into your request.

“Very well, darling. But you need to promise me you’ll use the safe word if it’s even slightly uncomfortable,” he insists, looking deeply into your eyes.

“I will.”

“Please put our dinner away,” he adds with an amused chuckle as he gets to his feet to go wash his hands, setting his book aside.

With a grin, you bounce to your feet, returning the steak to the fridge before excitedly making your way to the bedroom. Kento enters the room shortly after you, shutting the door behind him as you approach, tugging on his sweatshirt.

“Needy, my dear?” He asks, one hand pressed to the small of your back as he brings you closer, the other softly stroking your cheek in a gentle and loving manner.

“I honestly just didn’t think you would agree,” you admit, your eyes shining as you look up at him.

His mahogany eyes take in your features with a soft hum. “Whatever makes you happy, my love.” Your grin is his entire world, like the sun in the sky it brightens his life, and the way your body presses to his as you cling to his shoulders to kiss him lights a flame of lust within him. Your breasts press to his chest, and he catches the way you subtly grind your hips into him. He softly kisses you back once before that same hand that was so gently brushing your cheek mere moments ago applies pressure to the sides of your throat, lightly choking you.

You whine, your lips parting as Kento pulls back from the kiss. Your eyes have already glazed over with need as your boyfriend smiles, his expression darker as he purrs “I need you to be a good girl for me tonight then, can you do that, my dear?”

You nod, gripping his shoulders tightly as he kisses your forehead softly once more before he removes his hand from your throat as he picks you up with ease. You gasp in surprise as you’re tossed over his shoulder before he lays you down on the mattress. Laying on your shared bed, you eagerly watch as he pushes his sleeves up past his elbows before making his way over your body with one knee on either side of your waist.

Kento leans into your neck, pressing a soft kiss below your ear as he sucks softly at the sensitive skin. You whine as he teases you, fingers tangling in his hair as you attempt to get him to move a bit further south as your walls flutter at the thought of having Kento’s fingers buried deep within your cunt.

Kento tuts, clicking his tongue. He pulls back, grabbing your hand by the wrist and pinning it, along with your other hand, to the pillow above your head. “Eager, hm? I plan on taking my time indulging you, my dear. You told me you would be a good girl.”

Trapped beneath his weight, you can’t move. You shuffle your hips beneath him in search of friction, whining. “I’ll be good, Ken.” You bat your eyelashes at him, relishing in the way his pupils blow out purely from your obedience.

He hums in approval, keeping your wrists pinned in place as he kisses down your neck. You pliantly tilt your head to give him better access, your breathing hitching when he reaches your collar. He shoots you a glance before moving his hands to slip them beneath your shirt. In one movement, he slides the material up over your breasts, not covered by a bra in the comfort of your home.

The flat of his tongue presses to your left nipple before he sucks on the hardened bud. You feel the way he subtly smiles as you gasp, arching into him. He releases the bundle of nerves with a pop, turning his attention to your other nipple as he pulls your shirt over your head. “Arch for me, love.” He instructs, his teeth grazing your nipple. He slides his hands down your body, pressing a kiss between the valley of your breasts as you obediently arch your back so that he can slide your pants- along with your panties- down your hips and legs.

You shiver beneath his attentive eyes that drink in every inch of your skin. Kento is a man who gets off on your pleasure, his eyes darkening as you squirm and whine from only a brush of his fingers along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tugs your ankles until your legs hang over the edge of the bed. Getting down on his knees, he pulls your legs apart and admires the sight of you laid bare before him. His favorite sight.

“So gorgeous, darling,” he hums affectionately, pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs so slowly that you can’t help but squirm. He moves so languidly, fingers gripping at the plush of your skin as he keeps your legs parted.

“Ken, stop teasing,” you whine, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair but he pulls back before you can.

“Patience.” The tone he uses is scolding and sends heat straight between your legs, pooling in your stomach. He smirks knowingly as your cunt pulses around nothing, dripping in anticipation.

“Kennnn,” you whine desperately, bucking your hips in search of friction as he gently but firmly grips your wrists and places them at your sides with a stern look.

“Be a good girl for me, dear. Keep your hands above your waist,” he instructs. With blown pupils, you stare down at him and nod, gripping at the sheets as he hums in approval and throws both of your legs over his shoulders.

He leans in, licking a long, slow, stripe up the length of your slit. Your lips part in a soft moan before you pull your lower lip between your teeth as you watch the way your boyfriend’s deep oak eyes watch your reaction, savoring the way you melt into him. He follows up his movements with one more slow stripe before he sucks your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

You grip the sheets harder, toes curling as your heels dig into Nanami’s shoulder inadvertently. He rolls his shoulders in an attempt to ease the pressure you’re putting on his back, but he’s willing to put up with the feeling if you feel good.

He releases your clit with a pop and begins to lap at your folds, circling your clit with a thumb. Your back arches in pleasure at just how well he knows you as his tongue dips into your entrance and pulls a needy whimper from your lips. Everything about the way he moves sends pleasure coiling into your stomach and, completely caught up in the bliss of his tongue, you move to tangle your fingers into his hair again.

Kento’s quick to react, catching your wrist with his hand, but you don’t expect the way he grabs your ass and lightly flicks the skin, setting his technique off. You jolt and yelp in surprise, not expecting a simple flick of his fingers to feel like that, and certainly not expecting the way your walls clench around nothing.

Your boyfriend’s eyes narrow as he observes your widened eyes. “Did that hurt?” He asks, though given the way you’re dripping for him, he already knows the answer.

You shake your head. “No it felt… a bit like a spank,” you describe it. He sets your wrist on the blanket at your side, nodding.

“You still want me to do this?”

Again, you nod. “I do,” you grin, staring at him with lidded eyes. You look so gorgeous and he relaxes knowing he isn’t hurting you and that you do like it.

“Good, darling. You remember our safe word spectrum?”

“Mhmm.”

He places a gentle kiss on your inner thigh. “Tell me how you’re feeling right now?”

“Green,” you smile, using the heels of your feet to pull Kento closer to you.

He softly smiles back, pressing your thighs back down and lapping up the juices that drip from your folds, relishing in your moan. You ball your hands into fists, letting out a gasp when he slides a finger between your folds. Your walls squeeze him tightly, fluttering with each minute movement of his fingers.

Slowly, he pumps the digit in and out as he works you open for him, his tongue still relentless on your clit. He slips a second finger into your squelching pussy, still working his fingers in and out as your walls stretch for his long digits.

“Ken,” you breathe out, “please.” You feel him smile against your clit as he stands up, leaning over you while he continues languid ministrations of his fingers. It feels good, but it’s as though he’s keeping you on edge, continuing to tease and toy with you for his own pleasure. Your suspicions are confirmed when he continues watching your pretty and desperate expression while pulling his thick cock from his sweats.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is an octave lower than usual, commanding your attention. Glossy eyes meet his, dazed and drifting in a fog of pleasure that he’s causing.

“Want you to- hah- use your technique.” You breathe the words out eagerly. He curls his fingers once against your sweet spot, watching as your jaw hangs ajar with pleasure, but he immediately stops. “Ken, please,” you whine.

“Where do you want me to use my technique?” He asks, his voice strained as he fists his cock, slowly pumping up and down. Your glassy eyes watch the way he pumps his cock, barely hearing or making sense of what he said as you buck your hips, chasing pleasure. You almost go to grab his wrist in an attempt to get him to move, but stop yourself just in time, throwing your head back in frustration as you grip at the blankets again.

“Inside, inside me, please Ken, please- need you, need you so bad-” you babble, squirming as he slowly continues to tease you, the knot in your stomach remaining tightly coiled but never bursting and allowing you what you need.

“Good girl.” Nanami hums, sitting at the edge of the bed with his cock in one hand and fingers plunging deep in and out of you as he observes your expression. Your walls pulse and flutter as he curls his fingers, meanly bullying your sweet spot, only to relent and slow when your legs begin to quiver.

“Ken,” you whine as he keeps you right at the edge of your climax but never allows you to cum. He knows your body well and he knows how to get exactly what he wants from you, so when he picks up speed and sends cursed energy straight into your core, your eyes widen and you gasp as he sends you over the edge in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced.

Heat pulses in your walls, lightning running straight up your spine as your body tenses and quivers, wave after wave of your orgasm crashing over you as Kento much more gently works you through your climax.

When your muscles finally relax around his fingers, he slows his movements and pulls out. Your body slumps into the bed, lips parted as you pant heavily. Your mind is so foggy you barely register the way your boyfriend brings his fingers to your lips, watching with a hum as your tongue works around the digits obediently without a second thought. Hell without even a first thought.

He groans at the sight, continuing to pump his weeping length as he throws his head back. Once you’ve licked his fingers clean of your arousal, he gently brushes your cheek, making sure you’re still with him.

You smile at him with lidded eyes, your head tilting to watch the way he spreads pre-cum over the head of his swollen cock. He smiles back at you. “How did that feel, darling?”

You blink a few times. “Like-” you pause, searching for words. “I don’t know. Heavenly?” You chuckle lightly.

“Hm. I’ll take it,” he nods, his eyes soft despite the way he’s slowly pumping his length. He gives you a moment to catch your breath when you drop your head back before he breaks the silence. “Can you give me another, my love?”

He sees the fire light in your eyes again as you eagerly nod. He firmly presses your thighs into the mattress, pushing them open as he eyes your sopping folds again.

“Be a darling for me and keep your hands above your waist,” his voice lowers an octave again and you nod obediently, gripping the sheets once more. His pupils blow as he watches you jolt when he pushes two fingers deep into your gummy walls, curling them slowly as he begins to work you back to the precipice of an orgasm.

You arch your back for him, tilting your head to the side to watch Kento jerk his erection, his eyes glossy with desire and lips parted. He doesn’t see you watching him, focused solely on his fingers buried deep within you.

“Kentoooo-” you whine his name breathily, gripping the sheets harshly. You want nothing more than to cling to your boyfriend, whimpering as he works your g spot, sending sparks up your spine with each movement. He hums, moving his thumb to rub slow circles into your clit. Your walls harshly clamp down on him, your muscles tensing as he intensifies the feeling of pleasure. Your pussy drools around him, your slick coating his fingers down to his wrist as he works you towards an orgasm.

He could push you over the edge right now easily, your walls continually fluttering as the muscles of your abdomen visibly clench and contract with each movement of his digits inside you. But he wants this drawn out, he wants to watch you fall apart on his fingers, all for him.

“Ken, I’m gonna-”

“Hold it,” he commands, his voice gravelly as his eyes snap to your expression. You whimper, squirming as your walls clamp down on him again. He knows you love being at his mercy, his cock twitching in his hand at the sight of your obedience. He loves to see you laid out beneath him, only able to think of him just as much as you like being in this position. Hell, he knows he could cum just from the sight of you looking so gorgeous with his fingers to their hilt in your cunt.

“Ken-” you gasp when he begins bullying your sweet spot, his fingers curling perfectly for your pleasure. “Ken,” you whimper and whine, squirming beneath him as you feel the edge quickly approaching. “Please, please let me cum baby, please,” you beg breathlessly as Kento slows his fingers once more, keeping you from the climax that’s making your legs tremble as you teeter so dangerously over the edge.

“Good girl,” he purrs softly, his voice hardening as he shifts to watch your expression. “Cum on my fingers, darling.” With one last pump of his fingers, he releases his cursed energy into your sweet spot, sending shocks through your body as you cry out and cum hard over Nanami’s fingers again, your arousal coating him and the sheets. You shake hard, grasping desperately for your boyfriend and dragging your nails over his forearm as you attempt to push his hand away, trembling hard from the sensation of your overwhelming orgasm. Kento doesn’t relent, keeping his digits firmly buried within you as he works you through the orgasm.

“Too much, s’ too much,” you babble, squirming until he finally pulls his fingers out of your pussy. Your head falls back on the pillow as you catch your breath.

“Good, sweetheart?” Your boyfriend checks in with you. He pulls your hand from his forearm and sets it back on the bed, willing to forgive that you didn’t keep it above your waist when your mind was clearly a mess.

You nod. “Still good, Ken. Green.”

“Good, my love. I want you to give me one more, okay?”

“Oka- aah-! fuck-!” Before you have the chance to prepare yourself, he plunges his fingers back within your walls that still flutter with the aftershocks of your previous climax. You cry out in surprise, attempting to shuffle back on the bed as overstimulation clouds your senses and tears prick in your eyes. “K-Ken-!” You stammer, jolting when he bullies your g spot not only with long, practiced fingers, but also with repetitive releases of cursed energy that makes your mind go foggy with thoughts of only Kento.

“Shit,” he groans as he watches you mindlessly babble, squirm, whine, and whimper, all from him and before he knows it, he’s finishing in his hand. He throws his head back as he finishes on his thighs, slowing his movements and giving you a momentary break as he focuses on his own high, pumping himself through it.

Coming down from his orgasm, he stares back down at your drooling pussy that continues to pulse around his digits. He picks up the pace, sending multiple zaps of cursed energy straight to your core and sending you over the edge before you can even register you’re there. You scream out your boyfriend’s name, fisting the sheets as you cum again. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, seeing stars from the sheer intensity of the orgasm.

Your body doesn’t just tremble, it shakes from the way you’ve been sent over the edge so suddenly. Your chest heaves as you pant, staring at the ceiling through tears. Your mind is foggy as you barely register Kento wiping away your tears and kissing your forehead.

“You did so good for me, beautiful,” Kento whispers. His voice is so soft in contrast to how his fingers bullied you only minutes ago.

You barely manage to hum in response, blinking as you focus on him. His hair is disheveled, evidence of your slick still on his chin from earlier. You smile up at him with lidded eyes, reaching out to hold his forearm.

He smiles back at you, placing a chaste kiss on your nose before he gets to his feet. He comes back a few moments later with a warm, wet, towel, bringing it to your soaked thighs. You jolt at the feeling, blinking as you sit up on your forearms, watching how softly he wipes the arousal from you.

Satisfied with his work, he cleans himself up and pulls on his boxers, crawling onto the bed behind you. He pulls you into his lap, peppering your cheeks, neck, and shoulders in kisses. He doesn’t relent until you’re giggling, his arms wrapped around your middle.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“I’m good Ken, I promise! Don’t worry.” You shoot him a lazy grin, kissing his jaw.

“I always worry for you,” he hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “It seemed like you enjoyed yourself, though.”

“I did,” you hum, leaning back into Kento. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“I’m certain of it,” he agrees with a chuckle. “Why don’t we run you a nice bubble bath?”

“Ugh, that sounds heavenly,” you groan, your body still feeling as though you’re floating.

“Consider it done, my love. Anything for you.”

masterlist || kinktober 2024 masterlist

𓉸 a/n ; and that's a wrap on kinktober! thank you so much to everyone for all the love on these pieces, i had a ton of fun writing them ♡ college sukuna coming soon, i'll likely put up a teaser for that series once i'm back from my trip this weekend and have a bit more written. anywho- thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed! likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated as always ♡

𓉸 taglist ; @fushitoru @tojis-ball-sack @rathreads @sukunadckrider @nxcxllxsevens

@r0ckst4rjk

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 5: The Departure (Warning: this chapter will contain violence. Read at your own risk.)

It’s been around two months since you accepted the Megamycete into your body and for the first time since you were dragged to Gotham, you’re actually happy. With its vast archives, you’re bursting with knowledge spanning over the course of four-hundred years, ranging from the academic to the arts and it’s thanks to that knowledge that your grades have skyrocketed in the past few weeks; where once you struggled with something, now you know better than even the teachers, even correcting them when they make a mistake and outpacing the best students in your class. Sure, by this time, it’s a little too late to get to the top of your class, but you really don’t care about your ranking; all that matters is being able to complete your homework, class assignments, and tests in record time, giving you time to work on more important things, like your game.

Included in the Megamycete’s records are the knowledge and memories of many computer programmers, some of them working for Bruce in his tech division; you also have many artists and musicians swimming in your head, many of them talented in making art on computers, so with your newfound knowledge, you’ve made tremendous strides in making your game. A year ago, you thought you would have to find a way to crowdfund the game in order to pay artists, musicians, and programmers and it would take a few years to make it ready for players, but now, you’re sure you can have this game ready by yourself within the year.

Not only has your intellectual attributes increased, but so have your physical abilities; the Megamycete’s records also include many athletes, both professional and student, and you know how to play every sport that’s ever been played in Gotham, but you haven’t shown any improvement in gym class. You never had any interest in sports before and you sure as hell don’t know. Plus, if you suddenly start showing everyone in the school that you’ve all of a sudden become smarter and stronger out of nowhere, you might attract enough attention that not even the Waynes can ignore.

And that won’t end well for anyone.

Speaking of them, you know they heard about what happened at the My Alibi bar and are working overtime to find the culprit, the only thing they know for certain is that it was the work of someone new. It actually brought a smile to your face when you learned about it, that for all their detective skills, they have no idea that the person they’re hunting for is under their own roof. While Damian is the only one to have ever told you to your face, you know they all think you’re stupid; that because you chose to deal with your fucked up life in a semi-healthy way and not dress up in some stupid little costume and fistfight psychopaths, that must mean there’s something wrong with you in the head.

Fuck all of them. You don’t need them and tomorrow night, you’ll be driving back to Goodsprings.

When you turned eighteen, you inherited all of your Momma’s assets, namely her life insurance policy, bank accounts, and royalties from all her books, all of which was worth a little over two-million; at first, you were going to save that money for when you moved back to Goodsprings in case you had to fix up your old home and pay the bills, but after almost dying due to relying on bus stops and bumming rides off of Alfred was unfair to the man, you decided to take some of the money and invest it in a car. The Megamycete had absorbed many modern car experts, so you were able to pick out a brand new car that was worth the hit to your wallet.

Plus, you had a way of earning a pretty penny and stick it to Bruce at the same time: sell his proprietary technology to Lex Corp. Many of Bruce’s employees are buried in Gotham’s cemeteries, some of them working on the latest technological breakthrough at the time of their deaths and you knew Bruce’s biggest business rival would kill to see what Bruce’s scientists are cooking up in their lab.

You reached out to the man using your computer knowledge to send him an email that couldn’t be traced back to you, stating you had the specs for several of Wayne Enterprises’ latest large scale projects and asked him if he was interested in buying them for a couple million in cash. Knowing he’d never consider the deal without some proof, you included bits and pieces of what you were offering, just enough to show you were legit, but not enough to be useful without the rest of it.

Sure enough, he took the hit and now, here you are, meeting with the most powerful man in Metropolis in his office, which overlooks the entire city. Of course, you’re smart enough to not show him your face, so you took the form of some Joe Schmo that died years ago.

“I don’t believe it,” the man exclaims as he sifts through the papers you drew the designs on. “Medicine, experimental aircraft specs, software designs! Over a million spent in corporate espionage and nothing to show for it. Then you come along, offering more than enough to recoup those losses and then some.” He looks back at you, an ominous twinkle in his eye that makes you shiver. “Any chance I can rely on your services in the future?”

“Perhaps,” you say in your disguised voice. “If I get my hands on more WE secrets, I’ll keep you in mind. Now, about my money?”

“Of course,” he purrs. He snaps at his assistant, who places the briefcase she was holding on his desk and opens it, revealing more money than you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “Twenty million in unmarked bills. I trust that’s more than enough?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to hide your shock from earning enough money to last you the rest of your life in just a few seconds. “I believe it is.”

(We see no signs of sabotage or subterfuge,) the Megamycete says. (It would appear Luthor intends to keep his word. For once.)

“Mercy will see you out,” Lex says as you take the briefcase. He then holds out a business card. “And this is my personal number and email. If you have more secrets you’re looking to sell, call me day or night.”

“Thank you,” you say as you pocket the card.

And with that, you follow the assistant out of Lex’s office and down to the lobby.

(You must be happy to have amassed such a fortune,) the Megamycete states as you walk out the front door. (And exacting revenge on Bruce Wayne makes this moment all the better.)

“You’re damn right,” you respond with a chuckle.

(Perhaps you could use some of that money to enjoy yourself? Since our joining, you have been hard at work with your education or your project. Taking some time to have fun will do you a world of good.)

Its words resonate with you. Sure, you’ve been busy with catching up on school and the gaps in your game, but you’ve done some fun things the last few weeks, right?

(No, we are afraid you have not.)

“Damn,” you mutter. “Guess I should change that.” You glance down at the briefcase in your hand. “Well, we have twenty mil of Lex’s money in here. How about have a night out in Gotham?”

(We agree wholeheartedly,” it exclaims, its voice full of joy and anticipation. (We look forward to seeing what you have planned.)

You chuckle as you change your form to your hardened mold armor and wings and take flight into Metropolis’ night sky. Fortunately for you, it’s a quiet night in the massive city, so Superman isn’t flying around, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into the Man of Steel.

“I gotta say, this city looks a helluva lot better than Gotham,” you remark as you soar above the skyscrapers. “Gotham looks like a giant tomb while Metropolis looks like the future.”

(Yes, we have noticed that no matter the era, the architecture of Gotham refuses to change. The city seems to be doomed to remain locked in a by-gone age. We look forward to seeing the world beyond.)

“You’ll love Goodsprings. Sure, it’s the size of a stamp compared to a behemoth like Gotham, but you can actually sit on your porch at night and not have to worry about gunshots or escaped lunatics. People actually have conversations with one another instead of telling you to fuck off.”

In a less than thirty minutes, you arrive back at Gotham and land on the roof of Wayne Manor and quietly sneak in. Joker’s still on the loose, no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to unveil his latest sick and twisted plan, so everyone’s out and Alfred’s stuck in the Batcave, keeping an eye on camera feeds.

You take out a few bills from the briefcase before hiding it under your mattress and heading out to the back where you keep your car parked. While Bruce has multiple cars, every single one of them is a high-end luxury car that costs way more than yours, so you didn’t want to take the risk of Bruce or the others finding it and doing something to it, so you keep your car behind a large barn that’s used to hold all the groundskeeping equipment.

As you drive off the property, you tell your phone to dial Alfred, who answers it halfway through the first ring.

“Master Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Alfred, everything’s fine. I was just letting you know that I’m going out for a bit. Thought some time outside the house would do me some good.”

“While I agree that you need to get more, perhaps tonight isn’t the best time,” he says hesitantly. “I mean, the Joker is still out there, no doubt planning another heinous act.”

You’re touched by the man’s concern for you. Really, you are. But, with the Megamycete, you have nothing to fear.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’ll be fine.,” you reassure him. “I promise I won’t be gone too long. I’ll just be in Amusement Mile for an hour or two.”

“Still, I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Perhaps I can get one of your siblings—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m going out to have fun before I graduate, not be miserable. If I wanted to be tortured, I’d throw myself in Arkham’s Intensive Care Building.”

“I know why you feel that way, Master Y/N, but maybe you can give them another chance? You’ll be graduating tomorrow night and leaving after the ceremony. I just don’t want you leaving us under such bad circumstances.”

You know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to notice you, but they’re all busy with their own lives in addition to being vigilantes at night, either fighting crime in Gotham, Blüdhaven, or elsewhere around the world. And when they’re all home, they’re spending time together, having fun that was never meant to include you. You learned that after countless times coming downstairs and seeing them, eating delicious food, laughing, watching movies, and enjoying themselves without you. After a while, you stopped going downstairs when you heard noises coming from the living room.

You don’t belong here, either in the Wayne Family or in Gotham. You never did. You know it, they know it, and deep down, Alfred knows it, whether he wants to admit it or not. You’re a Gould, not a Wayne and there’s nothing that’s going to change that.

“Alfred, I think the ship for us being a ‘happy, loving family’ sailed long time ago. They’ve made it clear that there’s no room for me in their world and I sure as hell don’t want them in mine. All I want to do is go home.”

“I understand,” he says after a brief moment of silence. “I hope you have fun, Master Y/N. And please, if you get into trouble, call me straight away.”

“I will, Alfred. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that, you hang up.

You let out a sigh when the line goes dead. You hated saying things like that to the poor man, but it’s how you feel about the Waynes. Ever since you moved in, all you heard about Bruce is that he’s a caring man and a loving father, but that care and love only appears to be for those he deems worthy of it. For someone like you, a bastard born from a careless one-night stand, he has nothing but neglect and indifference.

And the same goes for the others. They’re all a dysfunctional hodgepodge that are saturated with so much trauma and paranoia that it’s a miracle that they haven’t killed each other yet. You’re sure if they were locked up in Arkham and studied, they could fill an entire library’s worth of psychological textbooks.

(You should not concern yourself with them. They have made it clear that they are not worthy of your love or forgiveness. After so many years of suffering, you are so close to breaking free from your prison. By this time tomorrow, you will be back where you belong.)

“Yeah, back home. Finally.”

After thirty grueling minutes of dealing with Gotham’s traffic, you finally reach your destination: Bat Burger. As much as you hate any mention of Batman, Gotham’s cashed in on the “Bat Craze” and inserts him into anything they can. At least the food’s good; almost good enough to make you ignore the cartoonish Batfamily designs on all the walls. Emphasis on the almost.

“Welcome to Bat Burger,” the teenage cashier, dressed in a uniform designed around Batman, says in a monotone voice as you approach the counter. A brief look in his eyes tells you he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “How can I bring justice to your hunger today?”

“Can I get a Batburger with ketchup, large fries, and a large Bat Cola?”

“Do you want to Jokerize those fries,” he asks as he types in your order.

“No thanks.” You hand him a hundred dollar bill. “I don’t need the change. Keep it as a tip.”

“Oh,” he exclaims, the dead look in his eye gone, replaced by shock. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you respond, happy to see such a transformation in the teen.

“Thank you,” he stutters as he hands you your cup for your drink. “Your food’ll be out in a minute. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You nod as you take the cup to the drink station.

(That was quite charitable of you,) the Megamycete remarks as you fill up your cup. (Such an action is rare in this city.)

“He looked like he needed it. I know what it’s like to be that miserable. Plus, it’s not like we’re hurting for money. If I ever run low, I still have plenty of Bruce’s secrets I can sell to Lex for a couple million.”

(Indeed. It would appear he had many of his employees working on secret projects that were not meant to be released. Perhaps such things were only meant for his nightly activities?)

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” you say as you sit down. “Kinda surprised no one’s figured it out. Batman’s toys look expensive and there’s not that many people in Gotham that could foot a bill that big other than Bruce Wayne.”

Not long after that, your order was called and you collected your fast food goodness. You practically moan as you take your first bite.

(This is quite appealing,) it says as you take another bite. (Savoring the food in real time is far batter than savoring it from the memories of the deceased.)

“I’ve wanted to come here for a while,” you say as you take a few fries. “Always saw the garbage cans full of Batburger bags when they came back from patrol. They never offered to take me and I never asked.”

(Their loss, we assure you. We can think of no better meal companion.)

“Shucks,” you chuckle. “You’re making me blush.”

After your meal, you decided to go to the arcade a few blocks away from the restaurant, eager to show the Megamycete all your favorite games. Also, with it behind you, you might be able to earn more tickets and win some of the bigger prizes. Your stride’s broken when you hear screaming, gunfire, and people running from the Gotham Arcade.

“What’s going on,” you ask a man as he tries to run past you.

“It’s Joker,” he exclaims, his eyes full of fear. “He’s shooting up the place!”

He runs away as you duck into an alley and call upon the mold to form the armor you’ve been using a lot lately. As you walk towards the arcade, you look through the roots and see the Bats scattered across the city, handling other crises; meaning they wouldn’t be here anytime soon.

“Guess it’s up to us to save the day.”

(The Clown has added many into our archives, all of whom spent their last moments of life terrified and in pain. We think it is time he knows fear.)

You walk into the arcade and are greeted by with over a dozen bodies, all of them riddled with bullet holes.

“My god,” you say, stepping over two teen boys who look like brothers. “There wasn’t a point to this. This is an arcade, not a bank. He just did this because he could.”

You follow the sound of gunfire until you see the Joker, dressed in his signature purple suit, shooting at a bunch of arcade cabinets.

“This is so much fun,” he exclaims as he rips a bunch of tickets from the machines. “Don’t you agree, Harley?”

“Sure do, Mistah J,” his partner, clad in her usual red and black spandex and jester hat, answers as she slams her giant mallet down on a poor Whack-A-Mole machine. She bends down and rips out a bunch of tickets from the smoking husk and holds it up to Joker like some offering to an ancient god. “Look, Puddin’, I won so many tickets!”

It’s then the two lunatics notice your presence.

“Well, well, well,” Joker says as he pockets his ill-gotten tickets. “Not the costumed freak I was expecting.” He holds his hands up to his head. “You’re missing the ears and everything.”

The two laugh and you roll your eyes under your mask.

“Looks like Ol’ Batsy has a new brat in his nest,” she jokes. “So, who’re you?”

“Oh, Harley, his name doesn’t matter.” He pulls out his gun and points it at you. “He’ll just be another corpse.”

He fires the gun and this time, the bullet actually penetrates your armor and pierces your lower torso. You wince at the feeling of a bullet in your gut.

(It would appear the clown uses a higher caliber than the common scum of Gotham,) the Megamycete explains as it heals your body, stitching the wound closed and hardening your armor to repel the stronger bullets. (Funny how he possesses such toys after being in Arkham for so long.)

“Oh, you’re a tough one, aren’t you,” he says, seeing that you’re not going down. “Normally, his little birdies go down from just a little love tap. Are you sure you belong to Batman?”

Now that pisses you off. Bruce may have had a hand in bringing you into the world, but you’re not his. You’re so pissed, in fact, that you raise your right arm and call upon a long tendril that pierces the center of the clown’s chest and pull him towards you.

“Mistah J,” Harley shouts in fear as you bring Joker to your face. She’s obviously paralyzed by fear because she stands there, doing nothing but watching the scene unfold before her.

His pasty white chin is covered in blood as it pours from his mouth and his eyes are wide as saucers.

“Now ain’t that a surprise,” he says with a chuckle, causing him to cough up blood.

“Get this through your sick and twisted head, clown,” you hiss. “I’m not Batman’s anything. There’s no words in any language that can express how much I hate him.”

You twist the tendril and take pleasure in watching him wince in pain.

(He fears you more than the Bat right now. Good. You are far superior than that worm and his collection of misfits. You always were.)

You feel yourself grin at that. You are better than them, aren’t you?

“And as much as I hate to admit it, Jason was right on how to deal with you. When you have a tumor, you don’t dress up in some stupid costume and beat it until it stops being a tumor.” You lift him far above, his head almost touching the ceiling. He flails around, but your tendril holds him in place. “You take a knife and cut it out.”

And with that, your tendril sprouts dozens of smaller ones that burst through his body, rendering it full of holes that it looks like a blood soaked piece of Swiss cheese. Said tendrils twist around until what was once the Joker is reduced to chunks of meat.

“Mister J,” Harley shouts, her voice full of agony, as his remains fall to the floor, landing with a wet splat. She looks at the pile of flesh, tears streaming from her eyes before turning to you, her gaze full of hate. “You bastard!”

She charges at you, her mallet raised and ready to strike, but you wrap her in your tendril, stopping her advance and making her drop her weapon. She struggles and as she does, she lets out loud sobs; ones were intimately familiar with. You let out similar ones when you lost your Momma and over the years you’ve spent in Wayne Manor.

“You killed my Puddin’,” she weeps. “When Bats hears about this, he’ll hunt you down like a damn animal! And when you’re thrown in Arkham, I’ll be waiting for ya!”

(She has a point. Batman and his flock are already looking for you and when they learn you have killed the clown, they will make finding you their top priority; they will marshal every resource at their disposal to finding your identity. Even if she cannot provide them with your identity, she presents a risk to our secrecy.)

You ponder on this as you watch Harley struggle against her bindings, her sobs now filling the arcade. You know the Megamycete is right; she’s a loose end you can’t afford, especially when you’re so close to going home. Plus, you know with Joker gone, Harley has no one to control her and with how racked with grief over the loss of her ���love,” she’s a huge risk to everyone on Gotham.

You decide the risks are too great and command a smaller tendril to emerge from the one holding Harley, have it wrap itself around her neck, and quickly snap it, the noise it makes ringing in your ears like a gunshot. You release her from your grip and she tumbles to the floor, lifeless.

(It had to be done,) it assures you. (She represented a threat not just to you, but to the rest of the city. There is no telling how many people would have been hurt the next time she broke free from the asylum’s confines. Plus, the influence of the clown would have stayed with her, even after his death. She would most likely never have returned to what she once was. The rest of her life would have been spent mourning over the clown, inflicting pain onto the innocent, and escaping from and being returned to the asylum. You showed her mercy.)

You hear the words and in some way, they make sense, but right now, you don’t feel like you showed mercy. You’ve heard of the Tragedy of Doctor Harleen Quinzel, everyone in Gotham has at one point or another; the story of a poor psychiatrist new to Arkham who had been prayed upon by a manipulative mass murderer, turning her into his demented partner in crime and cutting a bloody swath across Gotham every time they escaped, leaving behind many orphans, widows, and corpses in their wake. She had spent years listening to other people’s problems and for once, wanted someone to listen to her, to make her feel like she was important.

In many ways, you can relate. Maybe in another life, you two could’ve been friends, wallowing together in your shared misery.

Just then, you learn from the roots that the Bats have been informed of the Joker’s appearance and are now on their way here to capture hm, unaware that you’d already beaten them to the punch.

“Let’s go,” you say, moving quickly. “We’re done here.”

In no time flat, you’re back to your car and out of the area before the Bats showed up.

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like we may have to take a rain check on that night out.)

(We understand. And you should not feel guilty because of your actions. It is thanks to you that not only many will be able to sleep peacefully in their beds, but many beyond this mortal realm will finally know peace. While many threats to Gotham remain, its largest one has finally been put down.)

“Yeah, I guess.”

(It is also worth noting that we have only been joined for a short time, you have accomplished much more than Batman has the last two decades.)

That actually makes you feel a little better. Yeah, Bruce has been doing this for years and Gotham’s still a hellhole. In the span of a singe night, you make it visibly more safer. And to top it all off, he’ll be racking his brain trying to find out who the hell killed him and he’ll have no idea it was you, his forgotten firstborn son.

“That does make me feel a little better. Thanks.”

“Ok, when you find out who did this, can you please tell me so I can end them a thank you card before you lock em up,” Jason says as they watch what remains of the Joker being collected into a large evidence bag by GCPD while Harley’s body is placed on a gurney and covered by a sheet before being wheeled out.

“You know, I hate to say it,” Jim says as he dismisses a detective. “But I think this is going to make the city way safer. Hell, the mayor may want to offer whoever did this a key to the city.”

“It doesn’t matter if all crime in Gotham stops because of this,” Bruce responds. “It was done the wrong way and when I find out who did this, I’ll deliver them to Arkham myself. I’ll take Joker’s remains back to the Batcave, see if I can find any clues on the identity of his killer. I’ll give them back to you along with my findings.”

“Thanks,” the police commissioner responds as he takes the bag from a forensic investigator and hands it to him.

“Come on, B,” Jason whines as they leave the arcade. “Joker was a piece of shit and it was only gonna end with his death. Whoever this person is, do they really deserve to rot in Arkham over someone like him?”

“Whoever this person is, they took the law into their hands.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jason mutters, but Bruce doesn’t acknowledge the remark.

“And this person clearly has powers. If they go off the deep end, there’s no telling what will happen. We need to find them before something happens and someone gets hurt.”

Finding this person just became their top priority.

This is it, the night you’ve been waiting for: graduation. It’s funny, when you first woke up this morning, you could feel every second of the day tick as you waited for the graduation ceremony. The only thing that made the time go by fast was you thinking about the conversation you overheard in the kitchen this morning.

Bruce and Tim talking about spending the day at their computers, analyzing every camera feed in Amusement Mile to look for whoever killed Joker. You had to bite your tongue to keep you from laughing. Here you are, the person they’re chomping at the bit to catch, and they have no idea you’re in the other room. You should be happy that they finally want something to do with you, but you know it’s only because you sent Joker to hell, something Bruce should’ve done years ago.

And when you heard that Tim was skipping the graduation ceremony to aid in patrolling? You immediately did a cartwheel down the hall. Not only will you finally be free from Gotham, but you won’t have to share the spotlight with Tim and risk catching their attention, though they probably would’ve had no idea who you were. Alfred tried to get Tim to reconsider getting Bruce to attend, but when those two are obsessing over something, it’s impossible to tear them away from it. The butler tried to tell Bruce that he had another son graduating, but the man left before the sentence could be complete, stating he had work to do.

At this point, it doesn’t even phase you. You know they’ve practically forgotten your existence and you couldn’t care less. You have everything you need to go back home and start your new life, you don’t need them for anything.

“Master Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to call master Bruce and have him attend your graduation,” the butler fusses over your cap and gown for the umpteenth time. “As you father, he should be here to see one of the most important moments in your life.”

“It’s fine, Alfred, I don’t need him here. Frankly, with the way he’s acted over the years, I’m glad he’s not here. Same with Tim.”

The butler looks at you and you grimace at your remark. Ever since becoming the Megamycete’s host, you’ve noticed changes in your behavior. Where once you use to keep comments like that to yourself, you know say them in front of Alfred, unafraid for his reaction. Or how you use to always speak in a barely audible whisper for fear of being overheard by the Waynes, now you talk to Alfred at a volume that could easily attract unwanted attention. And you’re certain he’s noticed your change, too. God knows that man is aware of everything that goes on in his house.

(It is because you no longer have that fear. Before, you were a timid little thing, afraid of being seen by a predator lying in wait. Now? You are the hunter. They can’t hurt you anymore.)

Alfred opens his mouth to day something, but one of the teachers calls for all seniors to make their way to the field, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. He heads to the stands while you follow your fellow seniors to the field where you’re herded in alphabetical order. Once the teacher was satisfied with the order, she typed on her phone and the graduation music started playing from the speakers at the top of the stands.

As you follow in line, you look up to see Alfred in the front row, holding his phone up, no doubt intending to take several pictures and record just as many videos. You smile at the man, thankful to have him here on this important night. It’s then you think about your Momma and how she’d be cheering for you so hard, everyone could hear her. You feel something slide down your face and realize you’re crying. This is an important day in your life and you’re missing an important person in your life.

(She would be so proud of you. If your memories are anything indication of her character, she would give anything to be here right now. While the butler can never replace her, he is an acceptable stand-in.)

“Yeah,” you whisper as you take your seat near the front of the stage set up in the middle of the field. “He is. And I’m gonna miss him like hell.”

While you’re overjoyed to leave Gotham in your rear view and never step foot in it ever again, you’ll really miss Alfred. The man has been your rock since day one, celebrating your birthday which also happens to be the day of your Momma’s death. He held you while you cried and was your only company in the lonely halls of Wayne Manor.

Maybe you can hire him as your butler? Your smaller house would no doubt be much easier to clean than that behemoth of a mansion. Plus, Alfred is way more than people like the Waynes deserve.

After an eternity, the valedictorian finishes his speech and takes his place at up front, which is when the headmaster walks up to the podium and begins to call the students to come up and receive their diplomas. With each name called, you feel chest begin to tighten. This is the first time in years that so many eyes will be on you. What if you fall flat on your face while walking? Or try to shake the headmaster’s hand with your left instead of your right? Or—

(Relax,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out of your thoughts. (All will be fine. When your name is called, you will rise, walk with a level of pride none of your peers could ever hope to match, accept your diploma with such grace the headmaster will b in total awe, and walk back to your seat with the same pride as before. You are better than any of these children and you will make them know it.)

Hearing those words instantly makes you relax, your the knot that had been building up in your chest untangling, allowing you to breathe again.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a much needed deep breath. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

(We speak only the truth. We have seen the lives and memories of countless people over the past four centuries and not a single one holds a candle to you. You possess much potential and now that we are joined, we know you will unleash that potential and the entire world will be in awe of it.)

Wow. You actually have no idea how to respond to that.

(Pay attention, now. You will be called soon.)

It’s then you realize the headmaster is now on the Fs, almost to the Gs.

There’s three people ahead of you.

Then two.

Then one.

Then…

“Y/N Gould.”

This is it, your biggest moment in Gotham Academy. You stand up and walk with the grace the Megamycete said you would, accept your diploma from the headmaster with your left hand and shake with your right, and walk back to your seat. As you do, you see Alfred, a smile stretched across his face and cheering your name as he continues to hold his phone, probably recording a video just before your name was called.

(Excellent, Y/N,) the Megamycete praises as you sit back down. (We offer our most sincere congratulations on your triumph.)

You stare down at the piece of paper down in your hands and you while the evidence is right there in black and white, it still doesn’t feel real. You’re actually in awe of the fancy kind of paper Gotham Academy uses to print its diplomas, with its Coleen gilded edges, bold ink, beautiful calligraphy, and soft feel.

Hell, Alfred may fight you to keep it so he can frame it and mount it somewhere in Wayne Manor.

After that, the rest of the ceremony seems to speed up, the last of the names being called, the headmaster deeming all of you graduates of Gotham Academy, and the graduating class being told to gather behind the chairs for the moment every senior looks forward to: the Cap Throw. You follow your fellow graduates with bated breath, eager to throw your cap and complete your graduation experience.

“On three,” the valedictorian yells from the center of the crowd. “One! Two! Three!”

You eagerly toss your cap with everyone else, your cheers and laughs joining everyone else’s. You watch with joy as the caps soar above you all and begin to float back down to the field, your eyes tracking your cap, which you had decorated with paintings (the Megamycete allowing you to make them flawlessly) of the team you beat Cynthia from Pokémon Platinum with: Infernape, Luxray, Staraptor, Floatzel, Lucario, and Garchomp (you had no idea so many used the same team before you discovered the internet).

You collect you cap while so many try to find theirs and had towards the exit to meet Alfred.

“Congratulations, my boy,” he greets you, his wide smile still adorning his face, before bringing you into a tight hug.

“Than you, Alfred,” you respond, returning the hug.

When you separate, he flags down a passing man. “Pardon me, sir, would you be so kind as to take a picture of the two of us?”

“Sure,” the man says, taking his phone and aiming at you and taking the picture.

“Thank you, good sir,” the butler says as he takes his phone back.

He types on his phone and not even a second later, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket beneath your gown, indicating he sent you the picture.

“I’m so proud of you, Master Y/N. You’ve certainly earned this.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And not just for this, but for everything.”

You two leave the field and he follows you to the gym so you can return your gown and once you do, you two make your way to your car, which is when you realize this is the part of the evening where you two say your goodbyes and you leave for Goodsprings while he returns to Wayne Manor. And the sweet moment you’ve been waiting years for now turns bittersweet. You’ve looked forward to this moment ever since you started high school and while you’re ecstatic to finally leave this godforsaken city, you hate that you have to leave Alfred behind.

“Master Y/N,” he says, breaking the tense silence. “I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but do you have to leave right now? Maybe your return to Nevada can wait until morning? You really shouldn’t be driving so late.”

“We can put it off for as long as we want, still won’t change the outcome.”

“I know,” the poor man sighs. “But still, it’s over forty hours from here to Goodsprings.”

“I’ll be fine, Alfred. Really. I’ll be super careful. I’ll stop at a motel a few hours from here, take regular breaks, stop at restaurants to eat, and I’ll be there before you know it and in one piece.”

“I just wish I could convince you to stay. I’ll miss you, terribly. The manor won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Alfred.”

You two pull each other into another hug.

“Promise me that you’ll call me if you run into any trouble, be it on the road or in Nevada.”

“I will.”

“And that you’ll try to visit whenever you can. I’ll arrange for Master Bruce’s jet to come and get you, you just say the word.”

“I’ll try.”

You’re lying. You’re lying and both of you know it. But, neither of you bring it up.

“And promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I didn’t raise you for over ten years just for you to end up in the hospital just because you didn’t feed yourself.”

“I will,” you laugh. You know he’s joking, he taught you everything he knows about cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping. That, combined with the Megamycete’s records, you have everything you need to keep your house together.

“I just wish your father and siblings were here.” You just did manage to fight off the flinch at the mention of those assholes. “This is an important moment of your life and they should be here to celebrate it with you.”

“I know you do, Alfred,” you respond, thankful that you’re still hugging so he can’t see the face you’re making at the thought of them being here, insulting you and making you feel like graduating somehow made you feel like a failure.

Finally, you two pull apart and with one last goodbye and promise to be careful, you get into your car, the backseat covered by boxes that couldn’t be placed in the trunk. When you woke up this morning, you packed your computer, video games, books, and other things that you refused to leave behind at Wayne Manor, your Momma’s pen sitting in your pocket as you refused to part with it. Sure, there were some things were left behind and while Alfred told you repeatedly he could arrange for them to be delivered to your house, you told him that anything you left behind wasn’t important and could be thrown away.

You didn’t leave much behind, some stuff like a few books you hadn’t read in years, a bunch of notebook paper with stupid ideas for video games that you had years and threw away when you realized no one in their right mind would play them, and an old journal you kept when you first move to Gotham. You archived every major event leading up to Damian’s arrival in those pages, which is when you finally filled it up. You briefly thought about keeping it, but decided against it. You had your stay at Wayne Manor burned into your memory and weren’t eager to have been more reminders around you. Plus, you’re about to start your new life, so there’s no need to carry it around. Maybe you can start keeping a new journal?

You start up your car, put it into reverse, and when you backed up enough, put it into drive and wave at Alfred as you leave the parking lot and follow your GPS to Goodsprings. That’s when your phone finally connects to your radio and starts playing music, Hollow from FFVII Remake, playing at just the right volume.

“Wow,” you chuckle as the music begins. “Talk about great timing.”

(We agree. This song is about heading into the unknown with hope; perfect for the start of your new life. It is as if fate itself is smiling down upon you.)

“Seems like it. You with me, buddy?”

(Every step of the way. Until the very end.)

And with that, you pick up speed as you get onto the interstate.

Alfred watches you drive off and only when you’re out of sight does he finally shed a tear. To see Master Y/N leave is one of the most difficult moments of his life.

He understands, of course. Not only did you leave much behind after the tragic and unexpected loss of your mother, but Master Wayne and the children had given you zero reasons to stay. In fact, they’d given you a million reasons to leave.

But he can’t let you go. Not his favorite member of the family.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but out of everyone in the Wayne Family, he cared for you the most. You were raised by a wonderful, loving woman who knew how to properly raise a child and didn’t skulk about at night, battling with criminals night after night. You had a normal life and knew what life was like outside of being a vigilante, bringing a much needed balance to the manor.

You were a delight to raise, always saying please and thank you, offering to help around the manor, and carrying on pleasant conversations that were the highlight of his day. And if the family would take the time to get to know you, they’d come to the same conclusion he did many years ago.

However, as brilliant as everyone in the family is, they can also be equally foolish. Too wrapped up in their civilian and vigilante lives to see the gift they had been given, but spurred for years. And now, you’re gone.

But not for long. You belong here, with your family, and by God he’ll make sure you know it, your father knows it, and your siblings know it. One way or another, he’ll bring your father to his senses, and when that day comes, he’ll make him go to you and beg for your forgiveness, even if he has to get on his hands and knees. And after that, your father will bring you back home, where you’ll be lavished in the love they should’ve shown you from the beginning.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back home, where you belong. He doesn’t care what he has to do or how long it takes, he’ll make sure you come back to the place where you belong. And when you, you’ll be showered with so much love that you’ll never want to leave ever again.

A/N: I got lucky this week. I was going to have 4 tests this week (2 regular tests and 2 midterms), but a professor I have for two classes got sick and cancelled, pushing the tests for next Monday and Tuesday. With only one midterm left and a study guide basically matching the test, I had plenty of free time to make this chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it!

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @meechibee @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @marsmabe @ellaprime7

[fawnhunter]

cregan stark aka mr attitude adjustment.

sometimes cregan needs to check himself, and make sure ur good too

this is part of a series which at the moment also includes benjicot blackwood. if there's anyone you'd like to see done next please let me know! general NSFW content warning, talk of impregnation.

lalala cregan stark lalala tom taylor...can i just preface this by saying he causes the ultimate brain rot. i look at him and my brain just goes " big man in pelts and amour big man in pelts and-" anyway!

to me cregan stark is the physical embodiment of non sexual dominance. i mean we all know how well the men of the north treat their women, like they are queens even if they wear the crown or not. and being with the lord of winterfell himself only makes things better. He walks into a room and he demands control and attention, and when people see you his pretty little wife hanging off his arm it only makes him feel that much more powerful.

back to the n.s.d thing, lets just says he's a natural "father" figure. i can see him falling for someone who needs some... light correcting... are u following me. finding love with someone who may be a bit mouthy. who isn't afraid to look him in the face and disagree with him, to offer a different opinion from the other daft cunts int he room. someone who will watch him train, who will watch him knock new coming knights onto the ground without flinching away.

i just think he would find excitement in someone with a little fight in them. someone he can back into a corner with his body mass alone, looking down his nose at you no matter how much to try to stand tall in front of him. staring you down into submission until you don't have a peep left in you, giving him the talking space to tell you how exactly things are going to go from here on out. [nsfw]

its hard to imagine actual angry sex with cregan, a man made of honor like that would never try and apologize with his cock before he does so with his words. however, i can imagine jealous, possessive, and passionate sex with cregan after his honor towards you has been tested. maybe someone eludes to you having an hard time producing heirs, suggesting someone else. or maybe they have the audacity to marry you off or send you away for some sort of gain for winterfell. all of a sudden there's knocking on ur chamber doors, and ur being pushed into ur room instead of opening the door properly.

from there the evening existed entirely of hot and heavy breathing accompanied by his harsh grip moving along ur skin. he touches you with purpose, like he's trying to leave some sort of trace of him on ur skin. teeth biting into ur neck, the feeling similar to that of a wolfs fangs leaving bruises on ur skin after a harsh nip. if it was up to him he would've torn ur shift away from ur body and throw it into the fire, leaving you bare before his eyes for the rest of time. his war torn hands run up along whatever parts of you he can reach. his touches are desperate in the way he pushes you into the chaise, in way too much of a hurry to move both of you to the bed it seems. fingers prepping ur sweet cunt while muttering words of owners ship and adoration into ur neck. his hair tickles ur skin as you begin to claw at the part of him you can. its clumsy and desperate, the kind of intercourse where you know there's something he's trying to get off his chest but he just doesn't have the words to say it. its when he finally sheathes himself inside of you that he tells you all about the lords who dared to speak of you to his face. heavy girth pumping in and out of you while his voice gets louder and louder, crying out ur name over the sounds of lilted moans. making sure all the lords and ladies down the hall know that you won't be going anywhere. especially away from him.

this is my first work for cregan i love him so much that wolf of a man. my ask box is always open tbh i love to yap especially abt hotd