#bare knuckle arc

[howlingday]

Yang: H... How could I be beaten?! Why kind of kung fu bullshit did you use?!

Jaune: (Grins) I MADE IT THE FUCK UP!

[clonememesfrikyeah]

!!!CONSIDER!!!

Give Alpha-17 a pair of brass knuckles

[mobbothetrue]

Spotify prompt! Knuckles and tails, an 19 :)

Oh hoho! You managed to land FightSong by EVE (<- YouTube link), a song that by all rights shoulda been #2 (<- I refuse to pay Spotify money).

Hmm…. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything with Super Sonic Speed, but I always did intend to write follow-ups…

.•.•.•.

The city is unbelievably loud. They’re in what Sonic had called a shopping district, and it’s apparently very popular. Knuckles would kind of like to go home, a lot, actually, but Tails is flirting from one shop to another and he doesn’t have it in him to shut the kid down. Sonic is somewhere on the periphery of their little group— he and Tails had bonded, thick as thieves, and Knuckles— well, he tolerated the guy.

Tails gasps like he’s seeing the sun rise for the first time, excited enough that he’s lifting off the ground. Knuckles ambles over, grabs him by the ankle, and pulls him back down. He’s looking at some sort of… thing. Knuckles can’t make heads or tails of it, but it’s definitely saying something to Tails.

Hmm. He is, at least, familiar with the idea of shops. Chao liked to set them up, sometimes, selling fruit or handmade crafts for rings, but Knuckles has no idea if their idea of currency and everyone else’s aligns. Would the shopkeep accept a fruit? Most chao did. It isn’t like rings are a problem, so…

Knuckles turns, seeking out Sonic in the crowd. There he is— stiff as anything, glancing frantically back and forth between Knuckles and some other hedgehog, a pink one. One of his friends, maybe? They look irritated, maybe not. Knuckles steps away from Tails, invites himself into their conversation.

“and you just RAN OFF—“ the hedgehog is shouting. Sonic cracks his mouth open, a faint wheeze escaping.

“Hey,” Knuckles says.

“—do you have ANY IDEA how WORRIED I was—“

This looks like a battle Sonic is better off fighting on his own. Still, Knuckles needs his question answered. “Hey,” he repeats, slightly louder.

“—I mean, I knew you were alright because my cards said so, but—“

“Hey Knuckles,” Sonic manages to crack out, “this is Amy.”

Amy tilts her head at him, and then gives him a sharp, discerning once-over. “Are you one of his other friends?” She asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Knuckles says, and then “do rings work as currency down here?”

She blinks at him, as if this is a weird thing to ask. “Yes?” She says.

“Okay,” Knuckles says, nodding, “try not to scare him too bad.”

Any lingering confusion evaporates, and she whirls around to find Sonic trying to sneak away. “AGAIN!” she shouts, full of conviction, and Knuckles makes his way back to where he left Tails. He isn’t pressed up against the glass anymore, so Knuckles steps into the store. Yeah, there he is. Hovering— literally— over the same display.

Knuckles takes a moment to properly observe, rooting around for the terms Tails would use, in an attempt to ensure he gets the right thing. There’s a looping track, and a few other gadgets on the sides. A switch, one of them looks like, and some barricade, and a few blinking lights. On the track itself is a… sideways cylinder, set on wheels, connected to a few boxes, puffing out smoke— or steam, maybe. Tails is absorbed enough in watching it chug along that he doesn’t even realize Knuckles is standing right next to him. Knuckles’ll just have to make sure he comes up for air, occasionally.

He casts about the rest of the store, vaguely lost. There are a lot of displays, and a lot of colourful boxes. Knuckles picks up one, flips it over, and realizes swiftly he is out of his depth. He brings the box over to Tails, handing it to him. Tails holds onto it for a full few seconds, watching with bated breath as the cylinder switches tracks, before he looks down. His fur all along his spine puffs up, and he turns to look at Knuckles so fast he has to wonder if Sonic hasn’t started to rub off on him in more ways than one. That’s the right box, for sure.

“Really?” Tails asks, voice breathy with excitement, and Knuckles ruffles his fur instinctually.

“‘Course.”

Maybe the shopping district isn’t that bad.

[un-pearable]

i desperately want to talk about the stt au again but i had a moment of “oh no i’m one of those people who has an underground au”. a) fuck that this is sonic fandom there is ALWAYS stupider shit out there and b) this is like. 1% underground (the existence of manic and sonia) and 33% game canon and 60% archie w movie/fleetway/whatever inspo whenever it was relevant. that is furthest from being the problem with the triple threat au. the REAL problem with the triple threat au is that it’s FUCKINH HUGE and all of rhe documentation is scattered across three discord servers two google docs and a one note folder. and shadow was stuck on the ark for fifty years bc i got three arcs in before realizing i forgot he existed and now i’m too attached to his story to introduce him sooner

[mynameisjag]

For @ace-in-disgrace and their prompt: Danny gets mistaken as the love child of the disasters known as Wolverine and Deadpool.

Okay, it was not Danny's fault, he swears!

He was just experimenting with his ice, playing around with some of the younger yetis in the Far Frozen for fun. So shaping his ice to cover his hands to copy the paws of the others and seeing how well he could cut through solid hard frozen ice was just a game. The rough housing was to be expected, everyone tossing each other to see how far they could be thrown was fun.

Being picked up and tossed at the right exact moment a portal opened up was not fun or expected and he blamed Clockwork. The entity had to be responsible somehow for him not being able to enjoy a day of hanging out with Frostbite and the others.

Landing right in the middle of a what looked like a swat happening in an abandoned warehouse, armored people instantly aiming their rifles at him as he stood up wasn’t even surprising given his luck.

Fair though, he was currently looking more on the feral side to match his playmates then his normal ghost form.

“Hey, what’s with hostility? Can’t someone just pop in somewhere without-“, and he was shot in the shoulder, cutting his sentence off, “rude.”

It was just a regular bullet, so it was easy for his form to just…push it out and heal the hole up.

One of the men reached up to touch a device attached on his ear, “Unknown possible mutant has breached the facilities, age around 12-15, regeneration showed, animal like features-“

“You know it’s really rude to talk about someone like that to their face, no manners at all.”

“Unfortunately satirical.”

There was a crash from above as red and yellow forms busted through the glass, the guns swinging their aim at the two men landed.

“Sassiness is always welcomed!”, the red man had his own guns out and was already firing as he talked.

Danny had decided to dodge over to a pile of crates as all the attention was on the new intruders, eyes wide as an arc blood barely missed him as the one in yellow unsheathed long blades from his knuckles.

He glanced at his own hands, he couldn’t make a working gun from ice but…concentrating…he slowly watched as ice built up into copies, looking very much like it was growing from his skin.

An armored body was flung his way and he instinctual reacted…there were now two halves of a one man and he was covered in the viscera.

He froze…did he…oh…oh no…he had to go, he had to go now.

“Ope, looks like someone's first kill! Look at you Jack Frost,” the red guy with guns was now standing above him on a bigger crate, waving down at the teen, “awe, tiny puppy claws!”

Danny took a swing at the crate, watching as it collapsed and the man fell, laughing the entire time he went down.

He quickly turned to run, only to run into a wide chest where he promptly bounced off and landed ass first on the floor, “What in the-I have literally ran into steel walls softer then you.”

Claw man snorted as he reached down and picked Danny up by the scruff, “You alright kid?”

Said kid just hissed at him.

Claws was chuckling, “Cute, now put back your claws, I think it’s time for a chat.”

“Is it finally our turn for the found family and misunderstandings trope,” the red man was back and had swaggered up to the other two, an arm being thrown over his partners shoulders, “Hi, there and welcome, I’m Deadpool and this is Wolverine and we’re your new dads.”

“No.”

“No?”

Danny smiled, all sharp teeth, “No,” and promptly went invisible and intangible, escaping out of the warehouse while he could, leaving the other two behind.

He had to find a portal home.

Wade went limp, using Logan as a brace, “But I wanted to pull a ‘Batman’…”

The response was a snort and Wolverine sniffing his own hand, growling as he took the child’s scent in, “Don’t know what your talking about but, I can track him down, we probably need to before more of these fucks show up and get their hands on him.”

Hope you enjoyed it!

[urlocaldesertdweller]

im living and BREATHING that stanford would totally, 100% appreciate and love you a trillion times MORE after the whole portal incident

the fact that you were patient alone and loyal makes he love you an unexplainable amount

during his Bill stan arc, it was always putting you second, treating you more of an assistant and a stranger in the house u shared because all of his focus and attention was drawn to the beyond

almost nearly as soon as hes dropped into the portal his own world is shattered, overtime he realizes the many faults of his own actions to his loved ones, especially you

he unfortunately didnt have a picture of you on hand but he would draw you, putting all of his time into recreating every detail of your face and he kept it safe treating it like it was a real picture of you

he do everything in his power to keep the drawing safe and well preserved, he look and kiss it when times got rough with himself

the drawing and the push to seeing you again was what motivated him, to see you not just through a picture or a drawing but back in his pwn world, you in his arms

you are his anchor, you are what motivated him to keep on pushing for an escape of the multiverse, the research was just a plus

some moments would be harder to bare, he cry worried that his dream of coming back to would only be a hopeless dream

and even if him coming back was a success…would you even still love him? he left you off with a bitter and erupt departure, god he has no idea how long he has been gone either depending if the multiverse warped time

what if you moved on?

of course he only wanted the best for you but…he still loves you and way more than he ever could now, his heart would throb and ache thinking about everything pushed against him

a mountain of doubts and fears forced him to think that his chance would be in the negative (thanks to his overthinking and paranoia)

by the time he finally came out of the portal and the one the first things to see was you, he felt so many emotions…

the fact that you still cared to stay after all this time made his heart skip, leap, and do a summersault

he tried his hardest to not run up and lift and hug you from the excitement and need to tell you everything he felt!

your moment would be slow and sweet, its clear from the way you look back you are still hopelessly in love with him, which matches what he feels for you as well

the time he would actually and finally tell you everything, from the picture, his doubts, his fears, you being his motivation.

of course when he would say all of this, it was a bunch of word throw up as he rushed to convince you

the amount of talks between you and him, ranging from sweet to emotional

you can clearly tell, aside from his age and personality you still love, you know what ever happened made him realize what he was doing to himself and your relationship

kisses and hugs are on the daily! he always worries that something is going to rip the two of you away again :(

at times he talk to himself in front of you, saying that this is much nicer than kissing a piece of paper with your face drawn one it… he wink while kissing your knuckles admiring you

he truly cant keep his eyes off you, every second is healing to him, while in the multiverse you were his anchor, back at home? you are his medicine<3

[yannawayne]

vii. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Mentions of overdosing, Pills, Non-sexual intimacy, Mentions of death AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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The blood drained from Damian’s face, leaving him ashen and hollow. The horrifying truth sank in—you thought he was going to kill you. And he had nearly done it.

“No... no, no, no...” The words tumbled from Damian in a panicked whisper.

He dropped to his knees beside you, reaching out with trembling hands, but hesitating, afraid to touch you and cause more harm.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, guilt choking his voice. His fingers hovered near your skin, close enough to feel your warmth but hesitant to make contact.

“My sweet girl, you’re safe with me.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

DANGER. 

Instinct screamed louder than thought, flooding your veins with raw, primal fear—a visceral, choking terror that clawed at your chest.

Panic clawed its way up your spine, gripping your heart in a vice, as if every nerve in your body had been doused in ice. The sound that followed, the sickening lurch in your stomach, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe— 

The blade pressed closer, its cold edge grazing your skin. White slits, the only features visible on Robin’s shadowed face, stared down at you from behind the blur of your vision. The edge of a rain-soaked cape trailed down, droplets mingling with the blood pooling on the floor. 

You couldn’t breathe. You were staring up at your own death, and you couldn’t breathe. 

“Don’t—” 

With a breath that felt like a desperate gasp for air, you crawled away from the blade, pleading for your life in ragged, broken whispers. 

Each inch you moved felt like wading through water, the crushing weight of fear dragging you down. Your helmet had long since uncloaked, and the remnants of your damaged suit clung to you, cracked and broken. Some pieces of the shattered armor lay scattered around. 

That white gaze slithered over the spider emblem on your chest piece, coiled around it, heavy with unspoken realization, before slowly unwinding to meet yours.

“Habibti?” 

For a moment, everything seemed to stop.

“It was you?” Damian’s voice was barely a whisper, laced with horror and disbelief. 

But then his expression shifted, confusion and hurt twisting into something darker. His brows furrowed, and his mouth set into a hard line.

"Why did you hide this from me?" Damian growled, voice rough as if dragged over gravel. His teeth ground together with a harsh, grating sound. As he advanced toward you, his hands shook, the katana gripped tightly in his trembling fingers. His knuckles were white with the strain.

“Why didn’t you trust me?!”  

Your head spun, confusion and fear intertwining—what was he talking about? You couldn’t—didn’t—understand. 

Damian’s boot came down on your chest, the impact forcing a violent flinch from you.

“Stop—” you croaked, your fingers digging desperately into the worn leather and scuffed rubber of his shoes.  “What—what���s this about? I—I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but don’t—don’t you dare lay a hand on me!”

Damian hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his anger remained tightly coiled, ready to snap.

With a choked, anguished apology, you swung with all your remaining strength. The punch connected with Damian's jaw, making him stumble back, momentarily stunned.

Seizing the moment, you scrambled to get away, but Damian was faster. He surged forward, his katana slicing through the air in a swift diagonal arc. The blade narrowly missed your shoulder as you ducked, its sharp edge whistling past.

“Ngh!” you grunted, hitting the ground hard on your chest. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up, seeing Damian's sword raised again. Panic surged through you, and you curled into yourself, bracing for the next strike.

DANGER!

Heaving, Damian held the sword up, his breath coming in ragged bursts. Anger consumed him, his entire being trembling with the force of it. But amid the storm of rage, flashes of clarity began to pierce through the haze. He saw the fear in your eyes, the way you shrank away from him.

The katana slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor with a cold, final sound.

CLANK.

The fury that had burned so fiercely began to crack, replaced by dawning horror. Damian stumbled back, eyes wide, chest heaving. What was he doing?

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice cracking as he knelt before you, reaching out with trembling hands. But you recoiled, pressing yourself against the floor, the fear too fresh, too consuming.

“Please, don’t,” you gasped, voice shaking. “I’m not—please, just don’t... I’m begging you—”

The blood drained from Damian’s face, leaving him ashen and hollow. The horrifying truth sank in—you thought he was going to kill you. And he had nearly done it.

“No... no, no, no...” The words tumbled from Damian in a panicked whisper.

He dropped to his knees beside you, reaching out with trembling hands, but hesitating, afraid to touch you and cause more harm.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, guilt choking his voice. His fingers hovered near your skin, close enough to feel your warmth but hesitant to make contact.

“My sweet girl, you’re safe with me,” Damian whispered, his voice trembling. He pressed the emergency button on his watch, and an urgent alert blared out, sending a distress signal to the nearest Bat-vigilante.

You wanted to respond, to reach out, to say something. But the panic had you in a vice grip, squeezing your throat and chest, rendering you mute.

“Habibti, you need to breathe,” Damian urged gently.

You shook your head, the motion making the pain flare up again. 

“I—” you choked, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, but it only seemed to make it worse. The fear clawed at your chest, leaving you gasping.

“It hurts,” you whimpered, every breath a battle.

“I know it does, but you have to breathe. Breathe with me.” 

Damian’s hands numbed as he started to assess your injuries, pushing down his rising panic to focus on the task at hand. 

He gently tilted your head, inspecting the gash on your brow. Blood smeared across your face, and the cut was deep—likely requiring stitches. He checked your pupils by shining a small flashlight from his utility belt into your eyes to assess for a concussion. Thankfully, none. 

When you shifted and winced in pain, Damian’s attention fell on your leg. He carefully palpated around your ankle, noting the swelling and deformity. 

“Broken,” he murmured.

The tense moment shattered with a metallic clang and the sharp sound of a grappling hook. Damian looked up to see Nightwing’s silhouette framed by the window. Dick’s face turned grim as he took in the scene, his eyes locking onto Damian’s with a look of horror.

“No time for explanations,” Damian said, lifting you from the ground. “We need to get her to the Cave—now.”

“No...” you murmured weakly, your voice barely more than a whisper. Both men turned to you, concern etched deeply into their brows as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Your head lolled back, and the darkness around you seemed to thicken, fueled by the poison coursing through your veins. “The Batcave... it’s too far...”

“Then we’ll bring the supplies here,” Damian grit out. He tightened his grip on you, trying to make you as comfortable as possible. “I’m not letting you go. Not now.”

The conversation between Nightwing and Damian became a muted blur. You felt yourself being carefully lowered onto the couch, strong arms guiding you down. A hand threaded into yours with a reassuring grip.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to muster the strength to reach for the comm link in your ear. Your hand trembled as you raised it, fingers just closing around the device when the door burst open. Morgan stumbled in, breathless and disheveled, clutching a bag tightly in her hand.

Your eyes locked onto hers, and she let out a sigh of relief. “Y/N.”

The moment she spoke your name, Damian paused.

The warmth in his eyes slowly hardened, replaced by a chilling coldness. 

In a heartbeat, he was across the room, moving with terrifying speed. He grabbed Morgan and slammed her against the wall with such force that the impact stole the breath from her lungs.

“Damian! Wait—” you winced, trying to lift yourself off the couch, but Dick was quicker, gently but firmly pushing you back down.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Damian snarled. The words dripped from his lips like venom as he rammed his forearm against Morgan’s ribs. “You shouldn’t be—”

“Holy shit,” Morgan sputtered, cutting him off with a heave. “Did—Did she just say Damian? You’re Robin?”

Damian’s arm pushed harder, his anger unabated.

“Answer me,” Damian snapped. The white slits in his mask glared at her like twin spots of ice. “You’ll explain what you’re doing here before I ensure you regret ever stepping foot in this place.”

“What the hell, dude?” Morgan shot back, pushing against his arm. “What’s your problem? I’m here trying to help!”

Damian’s grip tightened, suspicion deepening. “Help? How did you even find us?”

Morgan met his gaze without flinching. “I followed the signal from her comm link. I’m not here to mess with you, Batboy. And I sure as hell don’t have time for this bullshit! She’s seconds away from dying from poisoning!”

The word struck Damian like a physical blow. His shoulders stiffened, then faltered slightly, revealing a flicker of genuine panic. “Poison?”

Morgan rolled her eyes, exasperation lacing her voice. “Yes, genius. That’s what I said. Now, unless you want her to die on your watch, you need to get the hell out of my way and let me work.”

Damian staggered back, momentarily off-balance as Morgan forcefully shoved him aside. Without missing a beat, she moved to your side, setting her bag on the floor and beginning to unpack multiple bottles and syringes. 

“Hey,” she said, glancing at you with a frown. “How’s it going so far?”

“Trying not to die,” you croaked. 

“Well, try to hold on a bit longer. I haven't even started saving your ass yet.”

Damian and Dick hovered nearby, their eyes following every movement as Morgan set to work.

Her fingers moved quickly as she wiped down your arm with a sterile antiseptic, the scent of alcohol wafting up your nose.

“This is a batch I made following the journal I found,” Morgan explained. She drew a syringe filled with the antidote, the liquid swirling inside. As she gently pierced the needle into your arm, you felt a brief, sharp sting followed by a wave of coldness spreading from the injection site.

Gradually, the haze of disorientation and the crushing weight of nausea began to lift. The world around you came into sharper focus, and a soothing numbness slowly spread through your limbs.

“Stay with me,” Morgan said, tapping your cheek. “Need some painkillers?”

You nodded weakly, struggling to grasp the sudden clarity returning to you. The pain was still present but had dulled.

“Please,” you said, holding out a hand. “I think... I think the toxin’s affecting my healing.”

Morgan reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of fentanyl, dropping it into your hand. Clutching it tightly, you fumbled with the bottle of pills, your hands trembling. 

Twisting the cap off, you quickly poured a handful of tablets into your mouth. The sharp, bitter taste assaulted your tongue, making you grimace as it spread across the inside of your cheeks.

Both Dick and Damian reacted with strangled shouts.

“Stop!” Damian snapped. He lunged forward, his hands clamping onto your wrists in a desperate, vice-like grip. The pill bottle slipped from your grasp as Damian hurled it away, sending the remaining pills scattering across the floors. “What the hell are you doing?!”

You tried to speak, but the words were lost in a hacking cough that wracked your body. Dick’s face turned ghostly pale as he scrambled to pull some of the pills from your mouth, his hands shaking as he dropped them to the floor.

“How many did she take?” Dick demanded, his voice trembling as he grabbed the pill bottle and frantically scanned the label. His eyes widened as he read the text, shifting from confusion to horror. “Holy shit! I think I counted ten! That’s way over the safe dose!”

You and Morgan shared a glance, disbelief written all over your faces.

“That’s far from her limit!” Morgan spoke up. “She needs more, not less! The dosage for her is higher.”

Damian’s face flushed an alarming shade of red, his anger boiling over. A rapid stream of Arabic curses burst from him before he switched back to English with a snarl. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Just pumping her full of drugs and hoping for the best?!” 

Damian swatted the syringe Morgan tried to bring closer, snapping, “Your incompetence makes it a miracle she’s still alive!”

“Don’t lecture me, you oversized Boy Scout! She’s not a regular patient. You don’t get the dosage she needs. She’s not like you—” Morgan cut herself off, and shakes her head with a frustrated groan. “Look! Either you help or you get out of my way!”

Damian’s hands twitched at his sides, his fingers trailing dangerously close to the blade strapped to his utility belt. 

Cursing under your breath, you reached out, your hand grasping his wrist. 

“Dames, it’s fine,” you whispered, your fingers resting on his pulse point, feeling the rapid thrum beneath your touch. “Let Morgan do her job.”

“Beloved,” he glowered. “I will not allow this—”

“I’m a meta,” you cut him off.

A meta. You’d never said it out loud before—not like this, not even with Selina or Morgan. The word felt alien, a part of yourself you couldn’t quite embrace or accept, even within your own mind. It was as if naming it made it all too real, too undeniable.

The argument that had just moments ago filled the space with heated voices and frantic movement came to a halt. 

The apologetic look Morgan sent your way stung, intensifying the ache in your chest. She had known, of course—known what you were and had still stuck by your side.

That meant something, didn’t it? That maybe not everyone would see you as a threat. But Morgan wasn’t Batman. She wasn’t the one who held the city’s safety in his hands, who made decisions that could alter lives in the blink of an eye. 

"Fuck." Dick heaved a sigh and began to pace the room, a tense set in his shoulders. Damian’s face twisted into something unreadable as he stared at you. 

Meta. The word bounced around in his head.

Raised in a world of absolutes—right and wrong, justice and vengeance, friend and foe—Damian had little experience with gray areas. 

Metas had always been... complicated. Potential threats, variables that couldn’t be controlled. And now you, the person he cared for most, were one of them.

'What would Father say?' Damian thought as he edged closer, his movements hesitant, as he extended the pill bottle to you. His fingers trembled over the label as you took it, swallowing the remaining pills.

Batman’s code was clear—protect the city, maintain control, and apprehend threats. If Batman found out—no, when Batman found out—what would Damian do? If Batman decided you were dangerous…

Damian knelt beside you, his breath shaky. Without a word, he tipped his head against your side, his forehead brushing your ribcage.

With the human barrier out of the way, Morgan resumed her work, administering the dose. The sting of the syringe was a distant sensation, barely registering through the fog in your mind.

“So...” Morgan murmured, the words heavy like syrup and lathered with forced lightness as she finished administering the tenth and final dose. “You guys into birds or something?”

You managed a small, tired smile and nudged her shoulder.

Damian lifted his head, meeting Morgan's gaze with a blank, white stare.

“What?" Morgan frowned. “You two show up with bird costumes and expect me not to ask questions? I need to know if this is some sort of family tradition."

The tension in the room began to ease, the atmosphere shifting from the intense panic of moments ago to something almost resembling normalcy—as normal as two vigilantes and one spider person could get.

You took a deep breath and slowly sat up, despite the weariness pulling at your limbs. Damian immediately moved to stop you, but you waved him off with a tired sigh.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Fast healing.”

Your eyes scanned the wreckage of the room, taking in the damage. The shattered window was a jagged lattice of sharp edges, with fragments scattered across the floor like deadly confetti.

“Mom’s gonna kill me,” you muttered, the weight of it all finally hitting you.

“Let’s focus on getting you back on your feet first,” Morgan said, shrugging. “The window can wait. Plus, I’m pretty sure we can come up with a good excuse. Maybe blame it on a freak bird accident?”

You glanced at the two men in the room. 

“Oh, it’s definitely a bird accident,” you quipped, the double meaning not lost on them.

Morgan rolled her eyes playfully, though her gaze softened with genuine concern. She moved toward a nearby closet, retrieving a broom and dustpan. “I’ll, uh... start cleaning up.”

The room fell into a quiet, contemplative silence. Dick stood there for a long moment, his eyes lost in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with an emotion that was hard to pinpoint, his gaze flicking between you and Damian.

“So...” he began, the word hanging in the air. “What happened?”

Damian seemed to collapse inward, his shoulders curling as guilt bubbled up within him. He grumbled softly, moving to slip off his domino mask. As it came away, vibrant forests met your gaze with smudged black eye paint still clinging to his lids. 

Turning away, you sighed and ruffled your tangled hair, finding the motion oddly comforting. The persistent itching in your ankle and ribs was a constant reminder that your healing factor was still at work, not yet finished mending the damage from your earlier crashes.

"A lot," you replied, biting your lip as you addressed Damian. "Why did you...? I... I thought you were coming after me because of, uh, what I’ve been doing at Ivy's, but... I just don’t understand. Why? Why did you—"

Damian's head whips up, his jade eyes blazing. "What? I—You never told me you were a vigilante."

You blink at him, stupefied. "I did! I told you the night of the dinner!"

Damian’s eyes widen in disbelief. 

“No, you didn’t. You mentioned—” He stumbles over his words. “You only said you were—” His voice trails off as his expression turns grave. His lips press into a thin line, realization washing over him.

“Oh.” The single word is barely audible.

“You—” he stammers, his mouth opening and closing as if he’s trying to find the right words but failing. “I— I can’t believe this.”

Beet-red, he shakes his head vigorously, trying to dislodge the weight of his own mistake. 

“It’s my fault. I misunderstood. I didn’t realize...” As he trails off, his face flushes a deeper shade of red, blotchy patches spreading across his cheeks and forehead. He’s clearly mortified, his eyes cast downward as if he could sink into the floor to escape this. 

“What?” you sputter, completely bewildered.

Damian groans, burying his face into his knees. “I thought you were being hunted down...”

You jump in surprise and let out a soft scoff, placing a soothing hand on the back of his head and gently running your fingers through the scrape of his undercut. “Damian, seriously? You thought I was being hunted by my own... what, my secret identity?”

He nods against the kevlar of his suit, voice muffled and strained. “I thought... you were in danger. I didn’t realize— I didn’t make the connection.”

Dick, watching this whole exchange, finally lets out a huff and nods. “We all thought you were in danger. Guess we jumped the gun a bit. We were convinced you were being targeted by some rogue vigilante. Not exactly our finest hour.”

You turn to Dick with a weak, unintelligible croak. “And what, you didn’t think to double-check?”

“I am aware of how ridiculous we look right now.”

You wince as you lift your fingers to your temple, massaging it gently. Peering down at Damian through your lashes, you glare. “Ugh. You know... you threw me against the floor pretty hard...”

“I did not mean to hurt you,” Damian seethes, mouth dry and throat tight with regret. “But please, help me understand. What’s really going on?”

“You didn’t exactly make it easy to talk when you slammed me into the ground,” you mumble, tone edging toward petulant. “Hard to spill your guts when you’re worried about them actually spilling out, you know?”

You know you’re being a bit petty, but after everything, it feels justified. The pain throbbing in your temple only fuels your irritation, so you rub it harder, hoping you can massage away the ache.

Damian’s eyes flash with hurt, and you instantly taste bitterness in your mouth, regret gnawing at your conscience.

“Sorry,” you mumble, trying to soften the blow. “Okay, let’s go over everything, yeah?”

You start to strip off whatever was left of your armor, the pieces clattering to the floor with a dull thud. Rolling up the sleeves of your undershirt, you extend your arms, revealing the small dots on your wrists.

“I got bitten by a radioactive spider,” you begin. “Trained for a while. Months, actually. Been Spidey ever since. Lately, the media’s been calling me Nightcrawler. I’ve been stopping muggings, robberies, saving Morgan—twice, by the way. She saved me after I got shot. Then blackmailed me into letting her be my ‘guy in the chair. Then I infiltrated a shipment tied to Black Mask. Morgan built me this new suit. I got interviewed while lifting a helicopter with one hand, and... yeah, I ended up getting velocity edits on TikTok. Then, we hit up Poison Ivy’s old warehouse tonight, and Damian tried to hunt me down. And... here we are.”

Damian stares at you, his expression unreadable. Dick remains frozen, caught off guard. Morgan shifts awkwardly, reaching into her pocket and slowly pulling out her phone, waving it in the air.

“Do you guys want to see the edits?”

You shoot her a withering look.

“Shut up,” you groan, throwing a piece of your armor at her.

Morgan ducks, her phone clattering to the floor. Pouting, she picks it up with a scoff. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

She shoves the phone back into her pocket with a huff. “No more distractions.”

“So…” Dick crosses his arms. “You’ve been doing this alone? All this time?” 

“Not alone,” you clarify, glancing at Morgan. “Morgan’s been helping me. Keeping me sane. And... I’ve had Selina’s guidance.”

“And good thing too,” Morgan adds, her voice taking on a more serious note. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small, sleek device—a handheld scanner designed to detect injuries.

You straighten up, already familiar with the drill. Morgan’s device emits a soft, rhythmic beep as she runs it over your body, her eyes flicking to the screen.

PEPPER’s voice begins to speak, calm and clinical. “Regenerative healing is in progress. The antidote is fully effective, expected to take effect in about 30 minutes. Current injuries: broken ribs, fractured ankle, head gash, deep abrasions, and internal bruising. Estimated healing time: 7 hours. A bath is recommended for disinfection.”

Morgan, visibly relieved by the update, lets out a sigh of relief. She ruffles her hair, shutting off the device with a satisfying click. Her gaze sweeps over the room, trying to gauge the mood.

“Well,” Morgan says, trying to sound upbeat despite the circumstances, “you heard her.”

You shuffle across the room, your movements slow and deliberate. The bloodstains have been cleaned up, and the glass shards are gone, but the broken window still stands open, letting in a draft that makes you shiver. You can't help but think about how you'll explain this mess to Selina later—if she doesn’t kill you first.

"You guys should head out," you murmur, glancing back at them. "Mom will be back soon."

“You guys should head out,” you murmur, glancing back at them. “Mom will be back soon.”

Damian snaps to his feet, his voice firm. “I’m not leaving.”

Morgan huffs, crossing her arms. “Yeah. No way. I’m staying put.”

You blink slowly at the two of them, a mix of affection and resignation in your eyes. “Okay. Kinda expected that.”

Turning to Dick, who’s been standing off to the side, you raise an eyebrow, silently pleading for some backup.

“I’ll… go,” Dick finally says, holding up his hands in surrender. “It makes more sense if both of them are here, but not exactly me.”

You nod appreciatively, a flicker of relief crossing your face. 

Dick moves toward a non-broken window but pauses, casting one last glance over his shoulder.

“I won’t tell B.”

“I know,” you murmur, offering him a faint, forced smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“But… he’ll know eventually.”

“… I know.”

Dick’s nod carries the weight of the unspoken, a silent agreement between you. He steps onto the sill, the night air brushing past him, and the curtains flutter gently in his wake. The soft rustling of the fabric is the only sound as he disappears into the darkness.

You take a step towards the window to close it, but Damian strides over, cutting you off as he shuts it for you. 

You blink up at him.

“You’re still injured,” he says simply.

Oh boy. You can already feel the arguments bubbling up, ready to spill out—reasons to defend your choices, to insist that you’re fine, that you can handle it. But the fight drains out of you before it begins. You’re too tired, too worn down from everything that’s happened.

“Alright,” you murmur. Your eyes drift to the remnants of your suit, lying crumpled on the floor, torn and battered. “Hey, Morgz. Can you handle… that?”

Morgan follows your gaze to the suit, then nods. 

“Sure thing,” she replies, already moving toward it in fix-it mode, likely running through a mental checklist of what she needs to do to patch it up.

Turning back to Damian, you step closer, slipping your hands over his shoulders. His muscles are coiled tight beneath your touch, like springs wound too tightly. 

You give his shoulders a gentle squeeze, your fingers pressing into the solid muscle, trying to ease some of the tension, even if just a little.

“As for you… we really need to get changed,” you whisper. “We’re soaking the floors here.”

Damian nods silently, following you into the apartment’s bathroom. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing off the rest of the world.

With gentle hands, Damian reaches for your undershirt, his fingers brushing against your skin as he helps you peel the damp fabric away. The material clings stubbornly, but he works patiently, careful not to rush or cause you any discomfort. Finally, the shirt comes free, and he lets it fall to the floor.

He kneels down, his hands steady as he slips your pants down your legs, his touch light and deliberate, as if he’s handling something fragile. Once the clothes are off, he lets them drop with a soft thud, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours.

Without a word, he turns to the shower, twisting the knob until water rushes out in a steady stream. Warmth seeps into the air, the foggy mirror reflecting the both of you in a hazy outline. 

Damian wastes no time unclasping his cape, letting it fall to the floor in a dark, heavy pool. He then quickly strips out of his tunic, the fabric clinging stubbornly to his skin before he pulls it off with a yank. 

The tunic lands in a crumpled heap beside the cape, and your gaze is drawn to the red "R" emblazoned on his uniform. Your eyes lift to find Damian’s bare chest revealed—bronze skin etched with hard-earned muscle and a long, faded scar that traces a path across his ribcage. 

Tugging his hands up, you began to slip off his gloves, the dark stain of blood transferring to your own skin. The crimson smear seeped down your fingers, dripping onto the bathroom floor and forming dark, splotchy patterns on the tiles. 

When the blood was gone from his hands, you didn’t let go. Instead, you held onto his hands, feeling the slight tremor in them. 

You stayed like that, holding his hands until the shaking subsided, until the tremors ceased and the strength you knew he had began to return to his grip. 

Damian tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you under the shower with him, the warm water cascading over your bodies in a soothing wave. It’s a relief, the heat working its way into your sore muscles, washing away the grime, blood, and sweat from your skin. 

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Silently, you trace a nail along a scar on his collarbone. The only sound is the steady patter of water against tile.

"I'm going to start patrolling with you."

You feel a muscle twitch in your jaw as Damian says that.

"Damian, you're not patrolling with me."

"Yes, I am."

"Damian, no."

"Damian, yes," he insists. “I'm coming with you. I've seen Gotham, and I've been doing this much longer than you have."

“Rub it in. Okay,” you scoff. 

“Beloved, I’m trained for this.”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling this on my own.”

“That’s not the point. You can’t predict every danger.”

He’s not backing down. And you know, deep down, that this isn’t a battle you’re going to win.

With a strangled groan that rumbles up your throat, you lean into his chest, the warm, solid presence of him offering a small comfort. 

“Ugh. Fine, but I’m the one who gets to pick out the patrol routes.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 3:02 AM - Crime Alley, Gotham City.

A whip drags across the crumbling floor of the rooftop, its leather coiling and uncoiling with each step, like a serpent following its master. The sharp clicks of heels against the roof echo through the stillness of the night.

A bag, stuffed with Selina’s latest haul, is slung casually over her shoulder, the weight barely slowing her down. The contents shift with each step, the muted clink of stolen treasures singing to her. 

She hums a low, sultry tune, the sound barely more than a whisper against the backdrop of the city’s quiet. Her gaze sweeps across the rooftop and lands on her apartment building. Her eyes narrow at the sight of a broken window. 

The playful melody dies on her lips, her steps slowing to a halt. Seems a stray found its way in.

With a quick flick of her tongue against her teeth, she leaps down to the fire escape.

The faint creak of metal under her heels is the only sound as she crouches. The sight that greets her sends alarms ringing in her head—the door to her apartment is kicked open, the metal railing bent and dented, signs of a struggle or a forceful entry.

Selina creeps closer, moving silently as she readies herself. But suddenly, she freezes. The sound of voices drifts through the walls, muffled yet unmistakably clear.

"—f we like... cut off your hand, do you think it'll grow back?"

"I dunno. Wanna try cutting my hand off, Morgz?"

"What?! Habibti. No. Absolutely not."

"But think about the science! What if her arm grows back, like, full-on lizard style?"

"Yeah, but what if it grows back all freaky? Like, what if I end up with two thumbs or something?"

"Or better—what if you grow back a tentacle?"

"Oh my God. I could totally kick ass as a walking calamari."

"Are you two out of your damn minds? I forbid it. We're not amputating anything."

"Killjoy."

Selina walks in, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the scene. The three of you are curled up on the sofa, with a ridiculous TV show playing in the background that no one is actually watching.

Her gaze locks on Morgan, and she quickly realizes she needs to keep her presence discreet. With a swift glance around, she silently slips into her bedroom.

Moments later, she reemerges in civilian clothes. She steps back out of the apartment, pretends to head down the hallway, then doubles back and quietly slips inside once more.

Damian is the first to notice her, and he immediately tenses, like a kid caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Do I even want to know what's going on here?" Selina asks, one eyebrow arching as she looks at the three of you.

Damian straightens up, attempting to look composed.

Morgan smiles sheepishly, "Hello, Miss Selina."

You shift uncomfortably, letting out a sigh. 

“Hey, Mom.” You nod towards the broken window, and Selina’s gaze follows. “So… um, things got a little out of hand tonight.”

Selina's eyes flick between the broken window and the three of you. "You think?

She tries to shut the door behind her, but it barely clings to the frame, tilting awkwardly on its splintered hinges. The wood creaks in protest, a low groan that echoes through the room as she shoves it into place.

Damian flushes, his shoulders hunching as if trying to make himself smaller, knowing full well he’s the one responsible for the damage. You place a reassuring hand on his thigh, tapping gently, hoping to ease his embarrassment. 

The knowing look Selina sends him suggests she’s already pieced together what happened.

She moves toward you, her expression softening as she gently cradles your face in her hands. Her fingers trace lightly over your injuries, each caress a soothing balm that feels like gentle rain easing the parched earth.

“Hey, ma,” you murmur, leaning into her touch, savoring the soothing sensation. You close your eyes for a moment, letting her warmth envelop you, grounding you.

You lean into her touch, feeling the exhaustion of the night seep away as her warmth envelopes you. She meets your gaze with a tender, concerned look, her eyes brimming with both worry and motherly affection.

"What happened to your face?" Selina starts. Her eyes flick from the bruises on your arms to the bandaged cut on your forehead, then to the dark circles under your eyes. "And what the hell did you do to my apartment?"

You wince but try to shrug it off nonchalantly. “Oh, this? Yeah. Yeah, I was… uh, fixing the window.”

“Fixing the window?” she repeats. “Why? You do know we have repairs scheduled monthly?”

“Whaaat?” you gasp, playing up your confusion. “I mean, I’m sure it needed it. Maybe.”

“It wasn’t even broken before I left. Did you break it on purpose just to fix it?”

You blink, looking baffled. “Seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“Um! Mrs. Selina,” Morgan chimes in, her tone awkward. “Actually, you see, we’ve got this event at Stark Industries coming up. We were, uh, testing some new tech, and it didn’t go exactly as planned.”

You jump in, nodding vigorously. Morgan discreetly hands you a small gadget, which you hold up for Selina to see. “Right. I didn’t expect it to work as well as it did. We were hoping for a few tweaks, but it kind of... overperformed.”

Selina eyes the gadget and shakes her head. “Overperformed? Is that what you’re calling it now?”

Morgan hums. "Yep, pretty much. The tech’s still in beta, so it’s got some quirks.”

Selina just nods, clearly unimpressed. "Still. Did you have to experiment in my apartment? I still remember that time you overcharged a set of batteries for a project and nearly blew up the kitchen."

You cringe, rubbing the back of your neck. “That was in fourth grade.”

“Ten-year-olds don’t typically run experiments on household electronics and nearly blow up the kitchen. That’s when I knew something was wrong with you,” Selina says, her gaze drifting to Damian, confusion gradually clouding her features. “And why is he here?”

“I’m helping with the project and the funding,” Damian quips, the lie slipping off his tongue like silk as he glances at you for confirmation. “Isn’t that right, beloved?”

You nod, playing along. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Selina’s eyes narrow as she processes this. “Isn’t Stark Tech rich enough to cover all of this?”

Morgan shrugs casually. “Oh, sure, Stark’s handling the main tech stuff. But Damian’s covering the extra costs—like her decorations and outfits for the semi-formal event.”

Damian steps in, his tone polite but firm. "Precisely why we came to your apartment, Miss Kyle. I was hoping to ask for your permission to take her out tomorrow. We’ll be shopping for her gown. And if you’d like, you could join us."

You blink, caught off guard. "Uh..."

Selina considers Damian’s question for a moment, then shakes her head with a sigh. "No can do. I have a... job arranged tomorrow. And I need to get that—" she points to the broken window with a frown—"looked at."

Ruffling her hair in frustration, she turns back toward her bedroom. "You have my permission, though. Just please—don’t turn my apartment into a lab next time."

"Thanks," you rush out, your voice a bit too eager. "Love you, Mom!"

Selina pauses at the doorway, humming in acknowledgment. She casts one last, assessing glance at the mess, her eyes narrowing slightly, before slipping into her room and muttering about needing to call a repair service again. 

As the door swings shut behind her, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, feeling the tension slowly ease from your shoulders.

Morgan turns to you. "That was close."

“Too close,” you agree, then turn to Damian with a scowl. “What the hell? You realize we actually have to go shopping tomorrow, right?”

Damian hums, his gaze settling on you with that infuriatingly charming smolder—dark, intense, and undeniably attractive. “Yes, I do.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Are you doing this to try and make up?”

Damian’s expression shifts, a flicker of something dark crossing his face. It boiled his blood to think about this, but he had a habit of torturing himself over mistakes.

“It’s the least I could do,” he murmurs. “I almost…”

He trails off, lost in thought. His gaze turns distant, haunted. “I thought, if I could at least do something—anything—to make up for it, maybe it would help... even a little.”

You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm. 

“Nope. None of that,” you hush him softly. “We’re moving forward. We both are.”

Damian nods slowly, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. You rub his arm soothingly, then turn to Morgan with a raised brow. Morgan shrugs and holds up her hands in a mock surrender.

“The tech event is a real thing,” Morgan says, her tone matter-of-fact. “You didn’t think the internship was just a cover-up for all of this, did you?”

“Seriously? You guys actually have an event planned?” you ask, disbelief creeping into your voice.

“Yep. It’s the real deal and going to be a big deal. The whole fancy gown and decorations? Totally legit. We just had a few... detours so I couldn’t tell you.”

“What?” you groan, frustration mounting. “You didn’t tell me about this. I don’t even have a project ready to show!”

Morgan waves a dismissive hand, her grin widening. "Don’t worry, I’ll help with that. You still got a week and you’re a genius. The event’s about showcasing potential, not just completed projects. We can work something up, no sweat."

You roll your eyes. "Great, so we’re officially winging a multimillion-dollar internship offer that every single press outlet in Gotham is covering. No pressure, right?"

“Right.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 4:13 AM - Stark Tower, Gotham City.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft whoosh, revealing the dimly lit tech area of Stark Tower. You and Morgan step out, with Damian trailing behind, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist. 

Despite your protests about your healing ankle, he supported you the entire way here. The pain was mostly gone, but Damian’s insistence on playing nurse seems stronger than your actual injury.

The three of you step out of the elevator and begin walking down the corridor. The air is crisp and slightly cool, carrying the faint scent of metal and polished surfaces. 

“Dad wants you to give the opening speech, by the way,” Morgan says, threading her fingers through her hair as she leads you both around a turn in the hallway. 

“Seriously? I’m not really a speech person,” you reply, knocking your shoe into hers. “Why don’t you do it instead?”

Morgan flashes a knowing smirk as she turns to walk backwards, facing you. “I’d love to, but Dad’s adamant about it. He’s all about that ‘new face of Stark Tech’ thing.”

A shudder of disgust visibly ripples through Damian.

“A marketing ploy,” he sneers. “Stark’s fully aware the media will devour the drama between our rival companies and turn it into a spectacle. Of course, Wayne Tech never needed such gimmicks to maintain its edge.”

Morgan chuckles, shaking her head. “Nah, I think he just wants to adopt her.”

The three of you turn a corner and enter a grand space where the hallway opens up into a wide, two-story room. Despite the hour, the floor-to-ceiling windows flood the area with a soft, muted glow from the city lights outside. 

At the center of the room, Tony lounges casually on one of the plush sofas. Gadgets and tools are strewn about him, and he’s engrossed in tinkering with a small device. He looks up as you approach, adjusting his glasses.

“Hey, kids. Didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Fancy meeting you here,” you murmur, trying to keep the mood light despite your exhaustion.

“I live here.” Tony wipes his hands on a rag, tossing the gadget onto the coffee table in front of him. Crossing his arms, he leans back against the couch. “Who’s your little boy toy? You cheating on Morgan now?”

Damian’s face flushes with irritation, his jaw tightening. You can’t help but snort and rest your cheek against Damian’s shoulder, your grin widening at his discomfort.

“This is the famous Daryll,” you snark, giving Tony a sidelong glance.

Tony’s gaze bores into Damian, taking in the dark, brooding aura that seems to cling to him like a second skin. The kid looks like he’s stepped straight out of a Twilight movie, with those piercing green eyes smoldering beneath furrowed brows, carrying a weight far beyond his years.

It didn’t help that Damian was also the son of a billionaire. Tony remembers him from his younger years—back then, he was a pipsqueak, a sharp-tongued brat who acted like he owned the world.

Now, he’s taller, lean, and strong, with a coiled tension in his frame. That same intense, self-assured vibe still lingers, but it’s darker now, more honed like he’s seen too much and come out the other side more dangerous for it.

 “Nice to meet you, Twilight Reject,” Tony says, pushing himself up and extending his hand to Damian. "Put 'em up."

Damian’s eyes flick to Tony’s hand with a look of absolute revulsion, as if it were some particularly vile insect. He hesitates for a moment, then grudgingly extends his own hand. His grip is firm, almost painfully so, as if he’s trying to crush the perceived insult out of Tony’s hand.

“It’s Damian. Damian Wayne,” he says, drawing out and emphasizing his last name, the irritation barely masked.

"Yeah. I know who you are," Tony scoffs, turning to you with a raised brow. “What’s the deal? Did you lose a bet or something? You're dating someone with all the personality of a damp towel."

“It’s called having standards, something you might not be familiar with,” Damian snaps back, his tone biting.

You sigh, sliding Damian's arm off of you and wincing slightly as you put weight on your uninjured foot. Stepping between the two of them, you raise a hand in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright! Let’s not turn this into a pissing contest.”

“It’s been a rough night, and we all need some rest,” Morgan interjects, her tone weary as she empties her jacket pockets, gadgets clattering onto the table. She tosses her backpack across the room, where it lands with a heavy thud.

Gesturing toward the sleeping quarters, she adds, “Can we save the bickering for later? They’ve got somewhere important to be tomorrow.”

Tony squints. “And where exactly are you two going?”

“Tt…” Damian tilts his head towards the man. “We have a dress appointment scheduled for tomorrow. Naturally, I’m covering all the expenses.”

“A dress appointment, huh?” Tony steps closer, his hand resting on your shoulder. “Well, someone’s got to make sure Sneakers here doesn’t end up in a ditch, so I’m coming along, Daniel.”

“It’s Damian,” he corrects. “And no, that won’t be necessary. We can handle it on our own.”

“Zip it, Dylan. I’m the one organizing this shindig, so I’d like to ensure my top intern doesn’t end up looking like a rag doll.”

Damian’s lip curls slightly. “If you insist on being there, then I’ll have to bring my father along as well. As her top donor, he should oversee it too, don’t you think?”

You blink, caught off guard. That’s a stretch. Bruce Wayne’s never actually thrown cash at your extracurriculars—though he’s tried, insisting on it more than once. Even tried to sneak you and Selina money through some probably illegal wire transfer, but you never took it.

“Oh, please. Anyone can throw money around,” Tony retorts. “He’s not special.”

“Well. If you have a problem with that,” Damian murmurs coldly, “you’re welcome to voice it to him. Tomorrow.”

Tony coughs, barely stifling his laugh. “Oh, I’m sure I can handle some prissy playboy,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Can’t wait to see how that goes.”

Your brow creases in concern.

Oh, you really don’t want to see how that goes.

 ༻⊰───⋅

IM SO SORRY ITS LATE! HAD TO REWRITE A SCENE BC THE DRAFT GOT LOST :(

Next chap out soon </3 It's the weekends so it'll be quicker

Also I'm gonna rework some of the earlier chapters :P (Just tweaking writing a little no plot changes at all)

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 8

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum. Descriptions of sex (not graphic)

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 3.9k

Note : Loved the new Thunderbolts trailer. I am so excited to see Buck and Yelena interact in MCU canon! I will also be posting a thunderbolts! Bucky one shot soon so keep your eyes peeled! Also I know I uploaded yesterday but I have this locked and loaded and ready to go so this chapter’s early! 🫶

Series Masterlist

"Cursed By the Crown"

Friday.

You had already left the compound, exhausted from the day’s session. Bucky had stayed behind, as he often did, cleaning up the equipment and keeping to himself.

Yelena leaned on the doorway, watching him for a moment.

“Up for a spar?” Her tone was light, though her eyes had a stormy darkness to them.

Bucky exhaled, not even looking up. “It’s late.”

“Oh, come on.” She sauntered in, shrugging off her jacket and rolling her shoulders, settling into a loose stance. “Scared, Barnes?”

He shook his head, though his eyes never met hers. “Fine,” he said, almost to himself, moving into a ready position.

Bucky tightened his fists, his knuckles cracking under the pressure.

They began circling each other, slowly, like predators circling prey.

Yelena struck first, swift and precise. 

He blocked it, barely, the impact reverberating up his arm.

Yelena was relentless today. She pivoted, her leg sweeping out in a low arc, forcing him to jump back. She didn’t give him time to reset; she was on him again, fists flying in a controlled, practiced fury.

“You know, before she lost her memory,” Yelena’s voice emerged between punches, “she always thought you hated her.”

Bucky’s eyes widened.

She capitalized on it, her fist slamming into his ribs. He gasped, the pain sharp and immediate.

He forced himself to push back, retaliating with a swift punch aimed at her shoulder. 

She staggered back. 

“Now’s not the time,” he growled.

She threw another punch, this one grazing his jaw, just over the bruise you had given him when you punched him in your sleep. 

Yelena ignored his warning.

“You pushed her away. You were cold. Distant,” she said, words punctuated by each blow she landed, as if each strike was meant to drive home her accusation. 

Bucky could feel his temper rising, a familiar rage simmering beneath his touch skin.

Bucky caught her wrist with his metal arm mid-punch and twisting it, but careful not to break it. He shoved her back, but only for her to use the momentum to spring up again, her heel catching him across the jaw in a brutal arc. 

He could taste the metallic tang of blood from his lip, but he didn’t back down.

“Stop it,” he snapped. But she ignored him, her strikes coming harder. Faster.

“But you were always so protective of her,” she continued as she threw another punch, this one catching his shoulder. “Even when you pretended not to care, you watched over her. You noticed everything— the way she liked her coffee. Her favourite colour, the way she played with the ends of her hair when she was nervous.” She landed another blow, a quick jab to his gut that left him gasping. “Everyone noticed how much you cared. Everyone but her. But you pushed her away.”

Bucky swallowed, barely managing to hold back the waves of emotion threatening to break the surface. 

This time, he punched harder, knowing Yelena wasn’t going to hold back. 

He brought his knees up to her head. He didn’t put enough force to give her a concussion, but enough to draw blood from her forehead. 

Yelena blocked a hit from his human arm.

“Don’t tell her,” he said abruptly, his voice harsher than he intended.

“Why not?” She gripped his forearm.

He broke free, striking a punch that she couldn’t dodge, throwing her off balance. 

“I don’t want her to think of me like that,” Bucky replied.

Yelena’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“She’s not going to remember it on her own, Barnes.” Her knee shot up, catching him in the side. He staggered back, pain flaring through his ribs. “You’re the only one who can tell her how you were before and why.”

He blocked her next punch, gripping her arm tightly. He shoved her back.

Yelena stumbled, but she recovered quickly.

“What good is it going to do?” he bit out in frustration.

“If you don’t tell her, you’re going to carry that guilt forever,” she hissed. She aimed a punch at his jaw, but he ducked, countering with a brutal blow to her side. She gasped, wincing in pain. “N-not everybody—“ she spat a bit of blood on the mat— “It’s not everyday you get a second chance like this.”

“Second chances?” he echoed, throwing a punch that she narrowly avoided. “You want to talk to me about second chances, Belova?”

He watched as her usually flawless stance faltered.

“Sam told me,” he continued, his words venomous. “That you were too scared to see her. That you locked yourself up and whined and cried or whatever you did— when she was dying.”

Yelena’s face paled, her fists curling at her sides. Bucky saw the hurt behind her eyes, and maybe even a familiar guilt that followed him, too.

Yelena’s expression faltered. She opened her mouth to protest, but Bucky cut her off, putting another jab at the sides.

“At least I was there,” he said, his voice a mixture of frustration and pain as he dodged a side kick. “I sat by her bedside. I watched watched her fight just to breathe. I couldn’t— wouldn’t want her to be alone when she woke up. You think it was easy, watching her hooked up to all those machines just to stay alive?”

The words hit their mark; Yelena flinched as Bucky caught her in a headlock. Lucky for her, she knew how to outsmart a stronger opponent. She reached over in a desperate attempt to jab a finger close to his eyes as she could without blinding him.

When she broke free of his grip, she landed a vicious punch to his ribs, hard enough to make him double over.

“You think I didn’t want to be there?” she shouted, her voice cracked. She struck again, her fist connecting with his jaw, splitting the skin just below his cheekbone. Blood trickled down his face, mingling with the salty sting of sweat. “I couldn’t— I couldn’t lose another sister.”

“Excuses,” Bucky stumbled before catching himself. “I might have been cold. I might have kept my distance. But when she ran out of the compound, I tracked her. I offered her a place to stay. I was there when it mattered.”

“It’s doesn’t matter if I hurt her now,” Yelena’s voice rose now, almost a scream. “I am nothing. A friend, at most. I’m no longer a sister to her because she doesn’t fucking remember!” She took a breath, shoving Bucky down to the mat. “But you? You should hear the way she talks about you, Bucky. It’s like you hung the stars for her.”

He got up and turned away, chest heaving. 

He was done. 

Done with Yelena’s accusations. Her demands. Her criticism.

Mostly because he knew she was right.

Before he could storm out, she grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her again, her eyes ablaze with a mixture of hurt and desperation.

“If she finds out that I wasn’t there, it wouldn’t fucking matter,” she spat, her voice trembling in her Russian accent, dripping thicker now that she was shaking. “But if she finds out about you? It would break her. Because right now, you mean more to her than I ever did. Or ever could.”

Bucky’s breath caught, the words hitting harder than any punch she’d thrown. 

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Yelena’s grip tightened.

“No, you don’t get it,” she snapped, “She deserves to know who she’s falling in love with. All of you. Not just the parts you think are good enough for her.”

She’s falling in love with me? 

His fists loosened, his shoulders slumped. He looked at her swollen lip, her cut forehead, and realised what he’d done.

Yelena took a shaky breath, stepping back, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Just… think about it,” she pleaded.

She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, alone. 

Bucky watched her, his face smeared with blood.

His blank stare flooded his mind back with memories—the moments where he had pushed you away, where he had convinced himself he wasn’t good enough for you, that you deserved someone better.

But now, he had a clean slate. He could be the person he always wanted to be for you. 

Maybe Yelena was right. Maybe he should tell you. But for now, he kept it to himself, wondering if he was making a mistake.

—

The door creaked open in your apartment.

Bucky tried to slip in quietly, but the minute you heard his footsteps, you emerged from the kitchen. You saw him standing near the small lamp, bruised and bloodied.

Your heart leapt into your throat, rushing over immediately.

“Bucky!” you gasped. You saw his split lip, the bruising above his cheekbone, the cuy along his jawline. He stood there, looking like he wanted the walls to swallow him whole.

You reached for him, guiding him toward the couch.

“What happened?” you asked, hands fluttering over his injuries as if you could somehow will them to disappear. The fear in your voice made him drop his gaze, his jaw clenching before he answered.

“Yelena,” he said, dismissively quick. “We were just sparring.” He tried to brush it off, but you knew Bucky’s little tells now— the way his eyebrows knitted when he had a lot on his mind. 

You eyed the bruises and the dried blood on his knuckles. “Just sparring?” you frowned. “You shouldn’t be training this… violently.”

He huffed, a weak smile tugging at his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. He started to say something, maybe to brush it off again, but the concern on your face made him go quiet.

You grabbed the first-aid kit Bruce had left— since he had been showing you teaching you basics over the last few days— you know, how to tend to a bullet wound. How to dislodge an arrow safely. 

He watched you open the box. His breath hitched as you rifled through it, muttering under your breath about “reckless idiots” and “grown ass spies who should know better.” Every so often, you glanced up, checking him with worried eyes.

He realized then just how much you truly cared. Just how deeply your concern ran. 

She looks at you like you hung the stars for her, Yelena had said. 

For the first time in a long time, he let himself be cared for—really cared for, not as a soldier, not as a mission.

“Maybe… I’ll have to talk to her about going easy on you,” you murmured with a small, gentle smile.

Never, he thought to himself, Yelena will never go easy on me. Not if I don’t tell you.

You pulled out antiseptic wipes and gauze, pulling him down on the cushions, letting him place his duffel bag on the floor. 

You kneeled down in front of him, taking his face in your hands with a tenderness that made his heart skip a beat. He felt the gentle kindness in your touch, the careful way you pressed against each wound.

“Hold still,” you whispered. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes. It was so unexpected that it sent your heart racing a thousand miles an hour.

Your fingers brushed the cut on his jaw, sending a dull ache through his skin, though he didn’t flinch. He just watched you, eyes tracing every line of your face. He studied the determination in your eyes, the way your lips parted in focus as you pressed the fabric against his swollen lip.

He felt his pulse race, fighting back the urge to reach for you.

You were so close, so painfully close.

You were so kind, partly because you didn’t know— didn’t know how he treated you then.

But now, you were looking at him with that delicate stare, with a warmth that felt like forgiveness for sins you didn’t even remember… it was too much. 

And fuck, he was so deeply, desperately in love with you. Every careful touch of your hands, every time your eyes met his— it made his chest ache.

He knew he had to have you now. Before Yelena could take you away from him.

Before Yelena could ruin this.

The words escaped him, hoarse, almost a whisper. 

“Kiss me.”

Your hands froze, your eyes widened. 

The words echoed in your mind. Time felt like it had slowed to a stop, your thoughts scrambled.

You had wanted this—wanted him—for so long, but had always held back. You did not want to cross that line.

But now… now, he was asking you to, almost pleading.

He swallowed, suddenly fearing he’d overstepped. 

But before he could apologize or take the words back, you leaned in, crashing your lips on to his, mindful of the bruise he had.

He was hesitant at first, waiting for you to pull back, to change your mind. When you didn’t, when you wrapped your arms around his neck, his restraint shattered.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer.

Your lips deepened into his, turning desperate, urgent, and he drank every part of you in. His metal hand roamed up your back, pressing against you as though he were trying to memorize every curve, every inch of you. 

Your fingers slid into his hair, and he groaned low in his throat. He sounded rough, needy. His hands found your waist, pulling you on his lap. You straddled him, inching closer. He felt your heartbeat against his chest, wild and frantic, just like his.

You grew hungrier, his mouth moving against yours with a fierce, aching desperation that left him dizzy. He found himself lost in you, his hands gripping you tighter, scared that you would slip away.

“I don’t know if I loved you then,” You broke away just long enough to gasp, “but I love you now.”

Bucky’s breath hitched as he pressed his forehead against yours. 

Yours. He thought. I am yours now. No matter what Yelena says.

“I love you too,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a ragged whisper.

For a moment, nothing else existed but the two of you, the world slipping away as he kissed again.

It was rougher this time, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his human fingers. You arched into his touch, gasping, and he kissed the hollow of your throat, breathing in the scent of you, feeling the way you clung to him.

And then, through the haze, a thought crept in, sharp and unwelcome, cutting through the bliss.

She deserves to know who she’s falling in love with, Yelena had said.

His hands stilled, the words rattling in his mind. He couldn’t ignore the truth—he was selfishly keeping you in the dark, shielding you from his mistakes, his regrets. 

He knew, deep down, that Yelena was right. 

But as you looked at him, eyes half-lidded and love drunk, fingers tracing his jaw lovingly, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the moment. 

He cupped your face, brushing his thumb along your cheek, pulling you back into another kiss. It was soft this time, as if you were fragile. He thought could bury the guilt in the taste of you, and it did, if only for a while.

For now, he would keep this to himself, whatever the cost. He would let himself have this piece of you, even if it meant carrying the weight of the past alone.

Because, holding you like this, witnessing your love, he knew he’d sacrifice anything to keep you in his arms. 

Monday. 

The morning dawned in soft, golden light spilling through your curtains, and the warmth of it brought a gentle wakefulness that was better than any alarm. 

You were still tucked in Bucky’s arms. Even in sleep, he had held you close.

You stayed there for a few moments, enjoying the quiet before the day began, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady under your cheek.

You gently stirred, and Bucky’s arm tightened slightly.

His eyes slowly fluttered open to meet yours. Still hazy with sleep and a little unfocused, a small, sleepy smile pulled at his lips. 

For a while, he just looked at you. He had a tender quiet, tender awe in his expression that made your heart skip. His hand brushed lightly through your hair, his thumb tracing soft, absent-minded patterns against your shoulder as if he were memorizing the feel of you there beside him.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice still thick and warm from sleep.

You smiled. "Good morning."

"I hope last night was… okay." There was a slight pink to his cheeks, as if he hadn’t quite processed what happened.

Last night had begun slowly. 

It had started with soft, teasing kisses, and grew heated, electric. His hands began to explore, gliding down your back. The need was there—gentle yet unmistakable. 

Each touch had been a gentle question, asking if you wanted him to keep going, and each time, your answer had come in the way you tugged him closer, the way your hands wandered over his skin, over his metal arm as if it was flesh and bone.

As you moved to the bed, his lips found their way down your neck. He had pressed slow, tender kisses that left you trembling, soft gasps escaping your mouth. His hands had traveled down your sides. He had to let you feel how long he had wanted this for, yet never rushing.

The two of you had found a rhythm that felt like it was only yours and yours alone. You had laid there with him, moving together in a seamless, gentle flow. His gaze hadn’t left yours, even as his breaths grew heavier and his grip tightened. He had needed you to know how much he wanted you.

Your fingers had threaded through his hair, his name a soft whisper on your lips as you both grasped for each other’s high.

After cleaning and washing up, you had laid in your his and drifted off to sleep. The concrete had fallen on you in your dreams again, but this time you had been calm. This time, you had known it was going to pass. 

“It was more than okay,” you whispered, leaning closer, feeling his fingers tighten around you in response. 

Shyly, you gave a chaste kiss on his lips.

He returned it with a gentle smile.

Eventually, you both made your way to the kitchen, the usual morning routine feeling new and intimate now. 

He brewed coffee while you prepped breakfast, and though you both moved around in comfortable silence.

Every time you reached for something on the counter, his hand would brush against yours, and every time, he’d give you a playful grin.

After breakfast, he grabbed his jacket and raised an eyebrow. “Want to take a walk?”

The air outside was fresh with the early morning scent of dew on grass. The two of you walked side by side, his fingers brushing against yours with a sweet, hesitant touch, as if he were testing the waters. Finally, he slipped his hand into yours. 

You felt your cheeks warming, but you laced your fingers together without hesitation. 

Wednesday.

You woke up in Bucky’s arms again, and that night, the nightmares didn’t even come for you.

You did your morning routine, opting for a walk a little closer to lunch.

He pulled you into a tiny bookstore nestled into the corner of a quiet street, the cozy little shop bathed in soft, amber light and filled with the scent of dusty old pages. You wandered through the aisles, hands still entwined, occasionally stopping to point out interesting titles or laugh at the oddball covers on some of the paperbacks. 

He picked out a book that you loved, holding it out with an encouraging smile. “This one’s supposed to be great,” he said, the excitement in his voice contagious.

“Oh, really?” you replied, grinning as you took the book and added it to your stack. 

The walk back to your place was even better, both of you lost in soft laughter as he pointed out small things around the neighborhood you’d only noticed noticed now—a tiny coffee shop you’d walked by countless times, a mural tucked behind an old theater.

Back at your apartment, you settled on the couch, sipping water as you thumbed through the pages of your new book. Bucky leaned back beside you, stretching an arm around your shoulders, and you leaned into him without a second thought. 

His fingers traced gentle patterns on your shoulder as you read, and it took everything in you to keep your focus on the words in front of you, though you found yourself glancing over at him every few minutes, catching him watching you with that soft, steady gaze.

“Something on your mind?” you teased, nudging him slightly.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice soft, sincere. “Just… you.” His words were so earnest that you felt yourself melt, unable to keep from smiling as you leaned in closer, your head resting on his shoulder.

The evening drifted in, you’d both fallen into a comfortable routine of watching a movie after dinner, and tonight was no different. As the movie started, Bucky wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close against him.

Halfway through, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. You looked up as he brushed a strand of hair from your face before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally, your lips. It was a sweet, lingering kiss, slow and filled with an unspoken promise that made your heart ache in the best way.

You settled back against him, resting your head on his chest.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured.

“Me too,” you whispered.

Sunday.

Some nights, in the last couple of days, Bucky would find himself wide awake, sitting in silence on the edge of the bed, watching you sleep. The room was steeped in darkness, but there was just enough moonlight to illuminate the soft rise and fall of your chest.

The sight of you in gentle slumber, after all those weeks of struggling with the nightmares, should have reassured him, should have brought him comfort. But instead, it made his heart ache with a strange longing. 

Regret.

He sat there, hunched forward. Often, his hands clasped tightly together. His mind would wander, as it usually did in these quiet hours.

It drifted to the way he’d been with you before. Cold. Guarded. Pushing you away, convincing himself that he was doing the right thing by keeping his distance. 

He’d been so convinced you’d be better off without him, that he was doing you a favor by holding back, by shutting you out whenever you got too close.

But now… now you were giving him a second chance without even knowing it.

He wondered, night after night, if he was good enough for you now.

He couldn’t quite shake the fear that he was still falling short. That, one day, you’d remember everything, and this fragile happiness he’d found would shatter.

Part of him wanted to tell you, to open up, to confess everything about the person he’d been. The part of him that wanted you to know the truth, even if it hurt, even if it meant risking what he had with you now. But every time he got close to imagining what that conversation might look like, he’d stop himself. He would imagine your face filled with hurt, with betrayal.

Could he be the person you thought he was without telling you the truth about who he’d been?

-to be continued...

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[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : MATCH-DAY : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff and gore?

 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Graphic Violence: Includes detailed descriptions of physical combat, injuries, and bloodshed

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: Logan and you engage in a fierce, bloody battle in the forest, showcasing your powers and playful rivalry. Amidst the chaos and mutual taunting, the fight deepens into a tender display of your love and connection.

THE FOREST WAS ALIVE WITH THE CRISP SCENT OF PINE, the soft rustling of leaves, and the hum of nature's quiet symphony. Logan's motorcycle roared to a halt, and you hopped off the back, brushing the wind-tangled hair out of your face. Logan, ever the gruff and rugged presence, took off his helmet and shook out his wild hair, his trademark smirk already in place as he glanced over at you.

"You sure you wanna do this, bub?" Logan asked, his voice dripping with amusement. The way his eyes sparkled, he clearly didn't believe for a second that you could take him in a fight.

You rolled your eyes, playfully punching his shoulder. "Oh, come on, Logan. You can't tell me you haven't been waiting for an excuse to go all out. Besides," you added with a mischievous grin, "you need to be taken down a peg or two."

Logan snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "You? Take me down? Not in a million years, sweetheart."

Your grin widened, and you cracked your knuckles, a playful light in your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Logan chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "Alright then. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya."

The air was thick with the scent of challenge and excitement. Without warning, you teleported behind him, your small knife already slicing through the air toward his side. Logan barely had time to react, spinning around and catching your wrist with one hand, his claws unsheathing with a familiar "snikt."

"Nice try," he growled, but you just grinned and vanished again, reappearing a few feet away.

"Not bad, old man," you teased, twirling the knife between your fingers. "But you're gonna have to do better than that."

Logan lunged at you, claws flashing in the dappled sunlight. You met him head-on, your knives clashing against his adamantium claws in a shower of sparks. The force of the blow sent you both skidding back, but you were on him again in a flash, teleporting around him in a blur, landing small cuts and jabs wherever you could.

The air grew thick with the metallic scent of blood. Logan snarled as your knife bit into his shoulder, cutting deep before the wound closed just as quickly. He didn’t hesitate, driving his claws into your side, feeling the resistance as they punctured your flesh. You gasped, but the pain only fueled the adrenaline surging through your veins.

You teleported behind him, but Logan anticipated your move this time, slashing backward without looking. His claws raked across your stomach, opening a deep wound that sent blood spilling onto the forest floor. You gritted your teeth and drove your knee into his ribs, feeling the satisfying crack of bone before you plunged your knife into his back.

Logan grunted, but instead of pulling away, he leaned into the attack, grabbing your arm and yanking the knife out himself. Blood poured from the wound, but it didn’t slow him down. He drove his claws upward, slicing across your chest in a brutal arc. The pain was sharp, blinding, but you welcomed it, your own healing factor already working to close the gashes.

"You’re gonna have to do better than that," you growled, a wicked grin spreading across your face as you spat out blood.

"Oh, I intend to," Logan replied, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the fight.

You both moved at the same time, a blur of claws, knives, and teleportations. You got in close, too close for Logan to effectively use his claws. You managed to stab him in the side repeatedly, the small blades slicing through muscle and sinew. Logan snarled, grabbed you by the throat, and lifted you off the ground. You gasped for air, the pressure building as he squeezed, but you didn't stop, plunging your knife into his side again and again, each stab more vicious than the last.

Logan didn’t even flinch. He threw you to the ground, his claws aimed directly at your heart. You rolled at the last second, feeling the claws graze your ribs as they pierced the earth where your chest had just been.

With a snarl, you teleported behind him, driving both your knives into his back, right where his kidneys would be. Logan roared in pain, the sound echoing through the forest. He twisted, ripping one of the knives out and throwing it aside before driving his elbow into your face, breaking your nose in a spray of blood.

"That all you got?" he taunted, blood dripping from his lips as his wounds began to heal.

You wiped the blood from your face and grinned, your nose already snapping back into place. "Not even close."

The two of you clashed again, a brutal dance of death and regeneration. Logan's claws tore through your flesh, slashing across your arms, legs, and torso. You responded in kind, your knives finding their mark again and again, stabbing into his chest, his abdomen, anywhere you could reach. Blood soaked your clothes, your skin, the ground beneath your feet. The forest around you was splattered with crimson, the trees and leaves bearing witness to your savage battle.

At one point, you managed to get the upper hand, pinning Logan to the ground with your knife at his throat. He looked up at you, a mixture of pride and affection in his eyes despite the blood streaming down his face.

"Looks like I win," you panted, grinning down at him, your own body a patchwork of cuts and bruises.

Logan’s lips twitched into a smirk. "Don’t get cocky, bub."

In a flash, he flipped you over, his claws grazing your cheek as he held you down, your knife slipping from your grasp. "Damn," you muttered, catching your breath as you looked up at him, your eyes still bright with challenge. "You're stronger than you look."

Logan smirked, leaning down so that his forehead nearly touched yours. "You know me. Full of surprises."

For a moment, the only sounds were your mingled breathing and the quiet rustling of the forest around you. Logan's eyes softened, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from your face, the earlier brutality of the fight melting away into something warmer.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low, "I could get used to this. You keepin' me on my toes."

You laughed softly, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. "Good. Wouldn't want you getting bored."

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both tender and fierce, a reflection of the battle you had just waged. When he pulled back, that familiar smirk was back on his face. "Next time, though, I ain't holdin' back."

You grinned, your eyes flashing with mischief. "Neither will I."

The two of you lay there for a moment longer, the adrenaline of the fight still buzzing through your veins, but now tempered with the warmth of your shared connection. Even though you'd just tried to tear each other apart, there was no denying the love that bound you together.

Logan finally stood, offering you a hand up. "C'mon, let's get outta here before the wildlife gets curious."

You took his hand, wincing slightly as your body finished healing. "Fine. But next time, I’m bringing bigger knives."

He chuckled, pulling you close as you walked back to the motorcycle. "Whatever you say, bub. Whatever you say."

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[lesbianwyllravengard]

i still have yet to play bg3 so i still dont go here yet but Wyll seems literally like one of the most compelling characters of all time and im not even joking. I havent even played the GAME but his character arc haunts me /pos. people are literally just racist to say that he isn't compelling

LITERALLY. He's utterly fascinating. He is a folk hero, a legend, the fantasy equivalent of superman. He's a warlock who is secretly pacted to a devil. He hates devils. He's an incredible liar. He's incredibly sincere. He's silly. He unironically enjoys puns and clowns. He over-exaggerates his Blade personality because it amuses him. He sometimes doesn't know where The Blade ends and Wyll begins. His hero-ness is a performance; not to hide ill intent, but to hide a broken man, to hide weaknesses and fears. It's who he is. It's always been a distant thing, a mask. It's who he thinks he must be. He loves freely and openly and will let anyone know it. He's only ever wanted to know he's loved. He still thinks his father's inability to trust or believe in him was all his fault. He still thinks that every bit of suffering he's ever experienced was all his fault. He thinks admitting to suffering would be disrespectful to the lives he's saved. He thinks he has to suffer or else his sacrifices were worthless. He thinks it couldn't be a sacrifice if he didn't suffer for it. He would take any suffering if it meant lessening someone else's. He is the first person to stand up for someone's life and safety, the first person to defend someone's worth and autonomy. He is the last person to do so for himself. He is of the least importance to himself.

He needs to be needed, because if he's not needed then what good is his power and the soul he sacrificed for the pact to get it? And if he can't be needed then he throws himself into the fray without hesitation because his purpose has always been to sacrifice himself so others may live. His life has always been one of sacrifice. His life has been recompense since the second he was born and his mother passed as a result. He saves lives to make up for it. It will never be enough to him. It will always be everything to those he saves. He just wants to be seen for who he truly is. He thinks if no one can see him for who he is then maybe it isn't who he is, and maybe he's fooled them all, fooled himself into thinking he can be a better person, be the hero they need. He wants to be known by someone. He's terrified of someone looking deeper. He sees others for who they are. He's a monster hunter who does not hunt the typical definition of "monster", who knows that monsters are not the ones with fangs and horns in his group of friends but the men who look harmless yet cause endless death and suffering to others. Not even the threat of his life was enough to get him to harm an innocent.

He wants to be chosen. He cannot fathom that someone would choose him. He chooses others over himself every time. He has so much love for others. He thinks he must constantly earn love. He is shocked when someone simply loves him. He thinks he cannot love and lead at the same time. His only role model was a father who could never put his son before his city. He is capable of immense anger. He is capable of immense kindness. He purposefully chooses the latter; he works hard to not let his anger consume him. He's still angry over things that happened a near decade ago. He thinks feeling hurt is the same as being angry and so he can't be hurt. He's always hurting. He takes pride in his achievements and he does not underestimate himself. He's not religious. He devotes himself to his cause with the dedication of the most pious believer. He stands by his friends in any battle, against any struggle. He stands against them if they choose to threaten lives. He holds on to those he cares about with bloody knuckles and teeth bared because loss has always been the hardest pain for him to bear. He has lost everything. He gives every part of himself to others. He cannot lose anyone else. He thinks he can do anything because he refuses to believe any alternative. Because he could not survive any alternative. He thinks his intent is as important as his actions, and so he must always intend to do the right thing.

He does not tolerate his boundaries being pushed or his father being disrespected. He tolerates any judgment because he thinks he deserves it. He defends his status as the Blade of Frontiers. He thinks the fear caused by his devil form is a fault of his own that he must work to fix. He hates the patriars and their farce diplomacy, their lethal hypocrisy. He thinks his father is infallible. He does not hold himself to the same regard as he holds everyone else. He thinks its okay if it only hurts him. Anything is okay as long as it only hurts him. He has to keep fighting to prove he can be a hero. He is so, so tired. He cannot for one second admit to wanting for anything, because once he starts he might not be able to stop wanting. He cannot accept that he deserves to not suffer, too, because if he does he might not be strong enough to continue suffering so others might suffer less. He might not want to suffer. He thinks he cannot regret any decision he's made, he cannot regret his pact, because it would be a dishonour to the good he's done with it. He thinks that saying he regrets his pact would be saying he regrets every life he's saved with it and he would never regret saving lives so he cannot regret his pact. He's accepted that his freedom will always be the cost of saving lives. He desperately wants to be free. His life has never been his own, to him. He thinks every choice he's ever made was his own, alone.

He is very complex. He simplifies himself to be easily accepted by others. People fall for it easily. He just needs one person to look closer. He's afraid of what they'll find if they do. He doesn't keep his cards close to his chest, he meticulously chooses which cards to hold at all. Which parts of himself are worth losing if need be. How much of himself he has to keep close in order to keep being himself. He has seen the worst that the world has to offer. He chooses every day to be kind, to see the best in things, in others. He chooses to care. He holds onto his pain because it's proof that he cares. There are several pathways that don't connect quite right in his brain which you'll notice after a few conversations with him. He is wise beyond his years. He is my favourite guy ever

[bwabys-scenarios]

Fixer Upper

Part 33

Perv!Kurapika x Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

pt 32

pt 34

warnings: spoilers for the chimera ant arc, violence

A/N: I was going to stop posting Fixer Upper here, but I wanted to just experiment and see if it will do well. If not it’s going to stay on AO3, so COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LOVE THIS SERIES!

taglist: @tsukilover11 @ashdownunderscorebeloved @sweetstraberrybear @superweeniehutjrsblog @bugmomwrites @heartsforseo @lixiawinter @altaircc @itszenava @fiightforlovee @mimi-sanisanidiot @wow-im-gay @whorermoviestar @lightshowerrr @mama-m1na @nenggie @wicked-binch @jamayah

‼️please have your age in bio and make sure you can be mentioned/tagged before asking to be in the taglist‼️

(Name) collapsed from exhaustion as the timer hit zero. She had finally managed to maintain ren for three hours, her body at its limit.

“Alright, you can go rest now. Once you’ve slept for a few hours, come back and do it again.”

She nodded, barely able to pick herself up and shuffle to her room. It was dark out, the boys had already left to challenge knuckle, and she was glad Bisky understood her limits.

If (Name) was forced to go fight knuckle after maintaining ren for that long, she would pass out before reaching the park.

‘Ugh…’

Lifting a spoonful of soup to her lips, (Name) ate, wincing at the temperature. It wasn’t hot enough to burn her mouth, but warm enough to be uncomfortable.

Bisky might be a bit less hard on her, but the training was still excruciating, and sometimes she just wanted to give up. When (Name) thought about quitting, the image of Kite’s severed arm flying through the air appeared in her mind, strengthening her resolve.

‘We have to save him… if… he’s still alive, that is.’

Taking another bite, she peered outside the window, staring at the full moon. Part of her wondered just exactly how she wandered up here, training until she nearly passed out and only getting a few hours of sleep between sessions.

Maybe if her parents had been better, if she hadn’t taken the Hunter exam, or maybe if Kurapika had chosen her instead of his revenge, she wouldn’t have to suffer like this.

She paused, shaking her head. ‘That’s selfish… why would I think something like that? Kurapika’s revenge is important to him… I just… wasn’t enough to try and balance friendship and his responsibilities to his clan…’

Her heart hurt, especially when she thought about him abandoning her so easily, as if the time they spent together meant nothing to him. All this time she had been making excuses, trying to tell herself that it was just how life was, but while she was exhausted and frustrated, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of hatred in her heart for him leaving her.

(Name) loved him dearly, saw him as her dearest friend and someone she wanted to be with one day… it made her upset to imagine him seeing her as nothing but someone to pass time with. Maybe that was all she had been, someone that would comfort him and be a shoudler to cry on until he didn’t need it anymore.

Until his heart hardened enough to where comfort wasn’t necessary.

(Name) played with her hair, plopping down on her bed after quickly washing her face and doing her night time routine.

‘I better sleep, Bisky won’t let me rest anymore than a few hours…’

She didn’t want to go to sleep feeling hateful, so (Name) closed her eyes and imagined him holding her close, kissing her head when she thought she was asleep.

It made her feel warm and fuzzy, her cheeks growing hot. One day, she wanted to get that Kurapika back.

Her Pika, not the Kurapika he had become.

——————

(Name) woke up when the sun barely began to peek through the window, shielding her eyes from the light. She then raised both of her arms to shield herself when she was hit again with a pillow, the real reason she had woken up.

“Get up, (Name). Gon and I are going to sleep, but Bisky wants you to go train.”

She whined softly, opening her eyes to see Killua hovering over her, holding a pillow and ready to strike again.

“Killua..? What time is-“

He brought down the pillow again, making her yelp. “H-hey, stop that, I’m up, I’m up!”

As she sat up, Killua huffed. “Finally, I’ve been trying to get you to wake up for 10 minutes.”

(Name) stood, rubbing her eyes before peering out the window. “What time is it? The sun’s barely out…”

“I don’t know… like 6 am? I wasn’t paying attention. Bisky kept throwing things at us.”

She shuffled across the room, opening her closet. “Alright, tell her I’ll be out in a second. Gotta change…”

Killua shrugged and left, leaving her alone to get dressed.

After putting on a simple, airy summer dress, (Name) made her way downstairs. Bisky was perched on a stool, looking at a… suspicious magazine. The front cover had a half naked man on the front, making (Name) raise an eyebrow, but she stayed silent.

“I see you’re up. Start ren.”

“Ren? But I haven’t had breakfast-“

“I’m not repeating myself.”

She tried not to groan, getting into position before starting ren.

Not only did she want to save Kite… but she was getting pretty freaked out by Palm’s ominous warnings.

‘I have to try harder…’

———————

“Ugh…”

(Name) walked on wobbly legs down the street. Her body was exhausted and she felt like she would pass out at any moment.

Between training with Bisky then eating and sleeping, she had little time for herself. So when she was given an hour of free time, she nearly ran to the park.

Well… (Name) couldn’t really run right now persay, but she moved as fast as possible for her exhausted body.

She nearly collapsed on the bench, taking out her phone to scroll mindlessly through social media while snacking.

A smile stretched across her face when she saw a picture of Leorio in his new scrubs, her eyes lighting up when she noticed he was holding a picture of their group.

She liked it before scrolling, nearly jumping out of her skin when someone cleared their throat in front of her.

It was that guy with the pompadour again!

“Uh… hello. You’re Knuckle, right?”

He nodded, narrowing his eyes at her. “And you’re friends with the two boys I’m fighting against,”

She blinked in confusion, tilting her head. “I- how did you-“

“Yesterday I fought against them and came back the their hotel room. You were asleep on the couch.”

(Name)’s cheeks heated up, and she scratched the back of her head sheepishly. “Ah, yeah… I was tired from training.”

Knuckle looked her up and down, frowning. “From what they said, you’re the one that’s going with the winners, right?”

She set aside her snack, turning off her phone. “Apparently, yeah. I’m not quite sure why Chairman Netero chose me, but I’m going anyways so I’m here to support Gon and Killua as much as I can.”

The man nodded, crossing his arms. “And how has that been going so far?”

A frown appeared on her face. In her mind, she hadn’t really done much of use. Despite being several years older than Gon and Killua, she was nowhere near their strength and amount of determination. All (Name) wanted to do was help her friends… and keep Kurapika out of her mind.

“Honestly? Not great. I feel so weak and helpless, and I think I’ll be more of a burden to the team if I’m the one that goes to NGL again. I don’t know why the chairman said I’m going for sure instead of Gon and Killua. They both have so much more skill and experience than I do in battle.”

“But are they as experienced in life as you?”

This made her pause, her eyes flicking up to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He shifted his weight, letting out a grunt. “Those boys may be strong, but they’ve had strength their whole lives. Neither of them truly knows what it means to be utterly weak and defenseless… but you do. You can better understand the battlefield from a different point of view.”

This was something she hadn’t considered. Knuckle offered her a hand, a smile on his face. “If strength is something you want, I can help.”

(Name) hesitantly took his hand, and the two wandered off to begin training.

——————

Kurapika scrolled through his old messages with (Name), laughing to himself at some silly pictures. It had been a rough day with missions going wrong and lots of whining from Neon, so he allowed himself a few minutes of rest.

And he couldn’t help but take out his phone and scroll to her blocked number.

His soft brown eyes took in her sweet smile and read through her jokes and kind words. He got so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed Melody calling for him until she was looking over his shoulder.

“Oh, is that (Name)?”

Kurapika jumped, his phone slipping from his hand and landing on the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, but Melody got there before he did. On the screen was a picture of (Name) in a bathing suit eating ice cream.

“Oh…”

Melody cleared her throat and handed the phone back to him, clearly a bit flustered and uncomfortable. “Apologies, I should have knocked. You’re a teenager, I didn’t even think that you’d be uh… looking at things like this.”

Kurapika nearly died on the spot, his face going red. “N-no, it’s not what it looks like! I was… just looking at old pictures we sent to each other.”

Melody paused, hearing a sorrowful song being sung by his heart. She let out a sigh, turning back towards him.

Although she wanted him and (Name) to reconcile, she could tell that him lingering on her memory while keeping distant was only hurting him.

“Don’t you think it’s… best to leave it alone? I’m not sure it’s fair to either of you if you’re going to act like this.”

His eyes turned scarlet, and he shoved his phone into his pocket before standing. “I don’t think it’s any of your business, Melody.”

“I think it is when you’ve been getting sloppy during missions, Kurapika! You get drunk at night then wake up so hungover you can barely work. How is that fair to the other body guards? Either work this out or…”

She stopped, placing a hand to her temple. “Either go back to her or don’t. If you’re going to break off the friendship, then you can’t be wishy-washy like this. It’s not healthy.”

Kurapika settled back into his chair as she left, staring down at his phone screen. Tears pooled in the corner of his eyes before he swiped them away.

His finger hovered over the delete button… and he clicked it over and over, getting rid of most of their messages and memories.

——————-

“Concentrate, (Name). If you can’t hit me, you won’t get any stronger.”

Sweat pooled down her forehead, her shirt soaked. It had been nearly two hours since (Name) began training with Knuckle, and he had only landed a single hit on him the whole time. His ability was annoying, but it was good practice sparring with him.

“Come on, just one more punch and you’ll get a break. Try again.”

She bit her lip, trying to focus and keep calm as he stood before her. Knuckle hadn’t been going easy on (Name), she had specifically asked him to fight her seriously… but god was she exhausted and ready for a break.

All of her nen focused into her fists, surprising him. She wasn’t one to be so reckless… Perhaps this could be a good development.

She sped up the very air around her fists, causing it to get hot enough to have him wincing when she thrust her fist forward.

Indirectly, she had hit him with an attack.

“That was… smart.”

He sat down, passing her a bottle of water, which she downed almost immediately. After collapsing on the grass, she caught her breath before speaking.

“Do you… think I’m getting any stronger? There’s only one more day until I leave for NGL…”

Knuckle waited until she had calmed down before he spoke. “I think you are stronger than you were a week ago.”

She blinked, then smiled, a big genuine smile. Before he could even react, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“Thanks for this, Knuckle. I really appreciate it.”

The man was left a stuttering mess as (Name) stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I’ve got to get back home and start training with Bisky… that woman won’t tolerate any lateness.”

With a wave, (Name) ran off.

That night, she sat up in bed when she heard the alarm for the boys 3 hour ren training going off.

Opening the door, she peeked out to see Gon and Killua looking quite serious… though they were both grinning ear to ear.

“Are you boys going out again?”

Gon turned, giving her a smile. “Yep, today we’re going to fight him for real!”

(Name) rubbed her eyes as she walked in, still in her pajamas. “I see… I think you’ll do well, and I wish you the best.”

The two were pulled into her arms, a kiss placed on both of their heads. “Just… know that you’re both very strong and smart boys, sometimes… Even though you try your hardest, you can still fail. That’s life.”

Killua frowned, his head rested on her chest as Gon looked up at her. “We’re going to do it, (Name)! We’ll give it our all!”

She giggled, ruffling his hair. “I know you will. Now-“

The sound of paper tearing made them all jump. Palm was scribbling something terrifying onto paper, muttering something barely legible under her breath.

‘Yikes, I’m just glad I won’t be here tomorrow.’

————————

(Name) woke up in the morning, whining softly as she turned. It was Killua again… except this time, he looked devoid of hope.

She was instantly wide awake, throwing back her blanket so she could pull him into her arms. “Killua, sweetheart, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

He sighed, letting her coddle him for a moment. It felt nice, after how awful his night had been.

“We… didn’t win.”

(Name) had expected as much. Killua and Gon waste my weak by any standard, but at the moment Knuckle was leagues ahead of them. From pure battleground experience alone, he had the advantage.

“I couldn’t fight… I kept…”

Killua choked up, clutching her sleeve. “I kept hearing my older brother’s warning… he always told me to never fight someone if I wasn’t sure I could win… how can I be friends with Gon if I can’t fight by his side!?”

She held him as he cried tears of frustration. He was so angry with himself for being weak, for being afraid.

“Killua, baby…”

There wasn’t much she could say or do, so she quietly pushed back his hair and kissed his forehead. “Maybe you should think about it for a while, sweetheart. Do you think Gon thinks the same way you do?”

Killua was silent, and she wasn’t even sure he heard her. The two stayed like that for a few minutes before he wiped his tears. “… Knuckle and Shoot said you need to be packed up by 3 pm. You’re leaving with them then.”

There was a look of hesitance on his face, and he gripped her sleeve tighter. “Are… you sure you want to go? It’s going to be dangerous, (Name).”

“I know, and I’m sure.”

She stood up, walking over to her dresser. “I’m going to pack, you can stay in here if you want.”

And he did.

(Name) stretched after stepping out of the van, leaning her head against Knuckle. It was strange, he seemed so fidgety after their training the day before.

“Knuckle.”

“Hmm?”

Gon stood before him, Knuckle’s nen technique still clinging to his shoulder from their fight. “Promise me… you have to save Kite!”

“Got it. I promise I’ll bring him back. I swear on this token.”

(Name) gave them both a hopeful, nervous smile, waving as she left. The two watched her go, both trying their best to stay strong.

———————

(Name) walked into NGL, wearing the clothes she had during her previous trip. Almost immediately she was pulled into a hole, yelping and falling onto her butt.

“Eek!”

Knuckle and Shoot landed across from her on their feet, getting into a fighting stance immediately. Knov and Morel stood before them, both of their gazes on (Name).

“We were told you have healing abilities, yes?”

(Name) was escorted to the chimera ant colony, where she was brought into the queen’s room. The ground was crunchy underneath her shoes, and the air was thick with tension.

There were doctors already working on her, and (Name) could tell that the creature was far past any saving.

“Hello…”

She knelt beside the queen, looking over her wounds. The doctor to her left spoke.

“Several organs have been damaged beyond repair, and she’s lost a lot of blood.”

(Name) frowned, looking over her body. “I’m… not sure I can do anything. If she had a missing limb or large cut, I could accelerate her atoms to heal faster. My ability speeds up time, if her organs are damaged or gone, all my ability will do is kill her faster, not heal her.”

The heart monitor started to slow, and the ant queen reached out her hand. She was trying to speak.

“Please! Please, you have to do something!”

A chimera ant named Colt grabbed her shoulders. “Anything, please!”

(Name) bit her lip, reaching out her hand. She tried to remember how it felt when Kurapika snapped at her… how time seemed to slow down and stretch forever.

Knov and Morel stared on in awe and disbelief, watching as the ant queen’s heart monitor slowed.

“I’ve stalled her organs failing… please, let her speak.”

‘She… slowed down time? Even for just a localized area, that’s an incredible feat!’ Morel thought, peeking over (Name)’s shoulder.

(Name) didn’t hear a single thing the queen said, all of her energy was spent on stalling just a little longer, keeping time still.

“She’s gone…”

With those words, (Name) collapsed covered in sweat. Shoot was closest, catching her before she hit her head.

——————

(Name) woke up in a feverish haze, her body feeling heavy and way too hot. As her eyes struggled to open, she heard something faint and distant.

Someone was speaking to her, trying to get her attention.

“(Name)..?”

As the fuzziness in her eyes began to fade a bit, she was finally able to focus on the figure sitting next to her bed.

“Ch… chairman… Netero..?”

The man before her had a calm look on his face, leaning back in his chair before speaking. “You’re awake. It’s been four days since you temporarily stopped time.”

“Four days!?”

She jolted up, nearly vomiting after the sudden movement jostled her.

“Easy there. Lay back down, there’s no need to rush. We need you to recover as quickly as possible, and that can’t happen if you’re trying to rush things.”

(Name) blinked her bleary eyes, settling back down and putting her head over her forehead. “You need me..? Why? I did one thing and now I’ve been out of commission for days.”

“You stopped time, (Name). That can be very useful to us.”

She huffed, looking around the room before her eyes settled on a glass of water. “I only slowed down time temporarily for a localized area. It's not enough to help anyone, much less-“

He handed her the cup of water.

“You kept the ant queen alive long enough for her to tell the others the King’s name. That’s crucial information tha can be used as a bargaining chip. It seems you don’t understand the potential you have and the impact your powers can have on the future.”

Netero watched her drink, sighing. “Slowing down time is something impossible, I’m not even sure how you were able to do it. When creating something with nen or performing an ability, it has to have some basis in reality.”

“Well…”

(Name) set the glass beside her, wiping the leftover water from her mouth. “All I did was imagine a moment where time seemed to slow down for me, and-“

“And you transferred that ability into nen! My girl, you’re quite clever, aren’t you?”

For the first time, Netero seemed genuinely impressed. He stood, walking over to a table and picking something up.

“Here, it’s your bag. I’m sure Gon and Killua will want to know what’s happening.”

He turned and walked towards the door.

“An enhancer will be coming by in an hour or so to help with the healing process. You should be good as new within a day or so.”

He paused, turning to look at her. “And make sure you don’t tell anyone about your ability. There are many people that would kill to be able to stop time… even for just a moment.”

With that, he left, closing the door behind him.

—————-

(Name) winced as Gon jumped into her arms, nearly knocking the wind out of her.

“Hey, hey, I’m alright…”

She frowned, petting his hair. Gon was completely quiet, his face hidden in her shoulder as he clutched her tightly.

‘He’s already nervous about Kite, I’m sure knowing I was in the hospital scared him…’

Killua stood by her bedside, reaching out to hold onto her shirt. The way Killua showed how he worried for her was pretty cute.

“Chairman Netero said I’ll be fine. An enhancer came by and checked on me a minute ago.”

The two seemed to relax a bit, smiling as they not got comfortable in her hospital bed.

“Ahh, now it’s cramped.”

They watched tv for a bit, eating hospital food and laughing. “You both seem like you’re in a better mood!”

“Yeah, that’s because Knuckle said he found Kite!”

(Name)’s face lit up at Gon’s words, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Wait, seriously? That’s amazing!”

Killua looked out the window, his eyebrows furrowed.

‘Knuckle seemed troubled when he told us… something is up.’

But he stayed quiet, not wanting to ruin the good vibes. Gon had been training so hard to save Kite… and Killua really wanted to believe everything would be okay.

The three spent the next few days together, sharing their experiences. They were both shocked to learn about her new ability.

“YOU STOPPED TIME!?”

(Name) quickly covered his mouth, shushing him. “Shh, I'm not supposed to tell anyone! It’s dangerous information….”

“Then why the hell did you tell us!?”

She sighed, giving him a smile. “Because you two are my friends.”

Killua quieted at that, hugging to try and hide his embarrassment and happiness. “Yeah, yeah…”

Gon leaned her head on his shoulder, smiling. “You’re both my friends, and… I care a lot about you both!”

Killua threw a pillow at him, his cheeks pink. “Oh will you both stop it with the sappy stuff!?”

Gon and (Name) giggled at him, making Killua even more flustered.

(Name) wishes times like these could last forever… but that could never be. Something felt wrong, there was going to be more pain and heartbreak sooner than she wanted…

But there was nothing she could do for now, so she held onto them both, trying her best to be their rock as the days passed by.

—————

Walking down the dark stairway to meet Kite for the first time in months should have been exciting… but all the three felt as they were guided into uncertainty was a nervous, anxious feeling.

Not a single one of them thought everything was okay. Even Gon had a strange expression on his face, half way hopeful, half way dreading what was going to be behind the door.

She put her hand on his back, smiling softly before giving him his space.

If she could stop time right then, she would have done everything in her power to keep Gon from seeing Kite in his current state.

Covered in stitches, staggering and twitching like a zombie. He had been shrunken down by Shoot’s ability, but grew to his full size when let out of his cage.

(Name) tried to stay strong for the boys, but tears threatened to fall from her eyes as she gazed at the man she had admired.

She could tell just from a glance that he had no more life inside of him. He was just a walking corpse with no nen or voice. There was no more communicating with him, he couldn’t be fixed…

Yet Gon walked towards him, allowing himself to be punched as he said it was okay.

(Name) winced, covering her mouth as Gon attempted to speak with him. It was heartbreaking…

Killua couldn’t move, couldn’t say a single word. His eyes were transfixed, moving to follow every strike Kite landed on Gon.

He was finally able to speak, broken from his trance when (Name) reached out to hold his hand and squeeze it gently to comfort him.

The others spoke, but (Name) didn’t hear a thing. The only thing she was focused on was how she would try to heal Gon with her nen after this.

If he would even let her.

Killua helped her up the stairs as they left, letting her lean against him. She was still weak from her overexerting her nen output…

While they walked, Knuckle came up from behind, taking her other arm. “Here, let me help.”

Though Killua really disliked the fact Knuckle had gotten so friendly with (Name), he allowed him to help. He seemed to put (Name) at ease…

“Is… Gon going to be okay?”

The group was sitting in a cafe now, watching as (Name) joined them at the table. She smiled, but it was obvious she was forcing it. “Physically, he’s fine. I healed him up… but…”

Everyone knew what was going unsaid. Gon was in emotional turmoil, struggling to cope with the current situation.

“… there’s still a few weeks before his Nen will be restored.” Knuckle stated, sipping on his coffee. “I guess we’ll just have to watch over him until then.”

——————

On the surface, Gon seemed okay, but both Killua and (Name) knew him well enough to understand it was just a facade. He was storing up all of his anger and strength so he could face off against Pitou.

After a few weeks, the ant extermination group met up in a relatively crowded restaurant, (Name) sitting between Killua and Knuckle as they watched the TV over head.

“What is the agenda behind the sudden flurry of activity recently observed in East Gorteau? Supreme leader Diego has personally invited all citizens in the capital city Peijing to celebrate the nation’s birth in ten days.”

As the news anchors continued to speak, Morel scoffed. “Colt believes the celebration will be used as a screening.”

“We don’t know what they’ll do with those found to have nen, but 99% of the humans there will die. We must stop it before that happens. Our time limit is ten days.” Knov finished, addressing Gon and Killua.

“What’s the old man up to?”

“He sent an email saying that he’s already inside East Gorteau, but I haven’t heard from him since.” Knov replied to Killua.

“Do you think he’s already been taken out?”

“If he fails to contact us today, we’ve been told to assume as much.”

At that, Knov’s phone began to ring. (Name) but her lip, of course Chairman Netero would call right at that exact moment!

“Speak of the devil, it’s the chairman.”

“That old man’s got some sharp ears.”

“He already knows everything, including the fact that you boys and (Name) are here. And that Morel is badmouthing him.”

The text read as follows:

“Divide into pairs and draw the Royal guard away from the king. The night before the celebration, the operation will begin at midnight. (Name), do not use your nen again until then. From the sharp-eared old man.”

“That guy really scares me…”

(Name) laughed at Morel’s words, but in the back of her mind she wondered why she wouldn’t be able to use her nen until then… what did Netero have planned?

[howlingday]

AU idea jaune the street fighter.

Combining elements from street fighter 6 as jaune becomes a well known fighter on the streets. He's no hero or villain. He just doesn't want to be bored.

Jaune: "well now...let's see if you care do something about my boredom..."

You have... NO IDEA how much I've wanted to do something like this. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to finally bring this AU I've had in mind to life. I just wasn't sure how to start it off, so... I'll go for a three-fer on this one. Three short bits to start off this story I've had in my brain for what feels like YEARS. And once again, thank you, for giving me the chance to create... My Bare Knuckle Arc.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Again!" Jaune came charging across the yard, sprinting as hard as he could, before leaping and kicking the strike pad in his father's hands. As he landed, the pad came back in kind. "Don't slow down!"

Jaune, however, was caught off guard by the sudden rush and fell to on his back. Knowing better than to be stuck to the ground, he clapped his hands against the dirt and rolled to his feet. The pad came swinging at him too fast for him to dodge, so he held his fist up to guard his face.

But it wasn't good enough and his fist crashed into his face, bringing a stinging pain to his eye and nose. Another pad came for the other side of his head, so he brought his fist up proper this time. Learning his lesson, the impact was much less than stunning than the one before.

"Block!"

The pads retreated and a leg curled in front of him. Jaune swung his arm down to block, but it was easily batted away before his chest was struck by the heel of his father's foot. He stumbled back, grunting through the pain, bringing his hands up to block any more blows.

"Jaune!"

In a blink, the match was over, and not just because Mom called his name. No, his father's massive foot close enough to his face that he could smell it, and it was only by the grace of his mother that it didn't bash his face in today. When the foot came down, he looked to her on the porch.

"Yeah, Mom?"

"It's from Beacon!"

-------------------------------------------------------------

Jaune still couldn't believe it. He was here in Vale, waiting for the bullhead to Beacon Academy, one of the four huntsmen academies, all of which were deemed the most prestigious schools in the four kingdoms, and he was so... so...

"Aaaaaah~!" He yawned.

Because he was so bored! I mean, he was excited, too, but there wasn't anything to do in between waiting for the bullhead and actually getting on the bullhead. The gym was closed, so he couldn't work out, and the comic book shop was closed, so he couldn't read anything other than his mom's "Special Little Guy" book in case he got homesick. Not in public, anyways.

Suddenly, he heard a crash coming from inside a dark building. Judging by the pulsing lights, the thrumming music, and the open door, it looked like a night club. Nobody was standing at the door, and his curiosity got the better of him. He peered inside and he couldn't believe what he saw.

There was a fight going on! A real-life bar brawl, just like in his dad's stories! Setting his bag down, he got closer to the scene.

Okay, what was it he was supposed to do? He wanted to get in on the action, but he'd only really done one on one at home. The girl in the center of the dance floor was taking on two other girls at once! Should he wait his turn, or should he help her out?

Well, time to try out the old tried and true.

"Hey, uh, you need any hel-"

Jaune's vision blurred as he was sent into the guard rails. He felt his body slump with an arm hanging over the metal bar. Heck of a sucker punch on the blonde girl, and those two other girls weren't anywhere to be found either. Guess he was supposed to wait for his turn, right? Well now it was his turn.

"What, you still want some?" She asked, snarling with red eyes. She must have hit him really hard because he was still tearing up. Why else was her hair glowing? "I've got enough in me to put you down, too!"

Jaune didn't say anything this time. He learned a long time ago that running your mouth was an invite to running the other person's hands. He put his fists up and approached in a boxer's stance. She put her fists, letting one loose to flip the "C'mere!" at him. He wasn't falling for it. Not this time

She tossed a jab at him, testing the waters. She tapped his knuckles. He flared his nostrils. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She swung with a hook, Jaune moved in and drove an uppercut into her ribs. She backed up a bit, grunting, before she came back with a yell and another hook. Jaune kept his guard up and stepped in again, this time driving a cross into her face. She stumbled a bit, blinking at the face-shot. He was doing pretty good. Not bad for his first-

Was she getting brighter?

-------------------------------------------------------------

Jaune was in hell. He died at that bar fight last night, and he was now in hell. How else would you explain his aching body, his stomach turning, and the mocking chatter around him? The only comfort he had was his bag/pillow under his head. That, and his memory of last night's fight.

Though that last bit was only made all the more awkward by the fact that same girl was standing across from him. His saving grace was her standing with a bunch of people standing between them. Well, that and the smaller girl in her arms. He heard the fighter calling the smaller girl "Sis" which made him a little happy that she had family on the bullhead with her. Kinda made him homesick.

He didn't pull out the book, though. Too many witnesses.

"Hello, and welcome to Beacon." He looked up to see a woman speaking on the screen. "My name is Glynda Goodwitch." Suddenly, there was turbulence and whatever was said next didn't matter to Jaune. He needed a bathroom or a trashcan NOW! He bolted for the front of the bullhead, beating on the bathroom door.

No good, AND he was getting worse! He bolted for the back, the woman on the screen now gone and leaving only the beautiful view of the waters below. He didn't have time to admire the view because he was about to ruin everyone's day all over the floor of the bullhead.

How were both bullhead bathrooms occupied right now?! The statistics will show that Jaune didn't have to consider the odds. He was gonna hurl in three... two...

The bullhead door opened and Jaune bowled over everyone in his way as he rushed out. The nearest trashcan by the door, thank god, was his target. He spilled his guts into the can, making people groan and retch as they passed. So much for good first day.

Wiping his chin, he walked back into the bullhead, hell itself, and grabbed his bag. Thankfully, nobody took it while he left to... relieve himself. Which was good. Stepping out to Beacon, empty belly and sure of himself, he took in the sight of what must have been straight from a fairy tale! Tall, towering, er, towers... towered over- There were towers, okay?

Oh, and students were already walking around with weapons, too! Guess they started handing them out now. Okay, he just had to find out where the armory or the forge or whatever was making their weapons was and he could get started on building his weapons!

Oh wow, they really got some pretty neat weapons, huh? I mean, that kid has a collapsible staff, and she has a fire sword, too! Then he saw one girl whip out her scythe in the middle of the street! And nobody is batting an eye! Okay, time to ask somebody.

"Uh, excuse me?"

"Uh, yeah?" A bald guy replied, a bow strapped to his back.

"Where did you get your weapon?"

"I, uh, built it myself back at Sanctum." He replied. He then looked Jaune up and down and around, then pointing at Jaune's bag. "Is your weapon in your bag?"

"Huh?" He looked down. "Uh, no, that's just my bag. Wait, hang on, where do I get my weapon?"

"You should have had it since you got here." He then checks his watch. "Oh, shish-kabob! I gotta go, but, uh, I'd ask a professor whenever you can!"

He then ran off, leaving Jaune alone. In the street. With his bag. And nothing else. It was at this moment that Jaune knew... he done goofed.

"Fu-"

[daisies-daydreams]

My Wish (Papa!Gyomei Himejima Drabble)

Header Credit: Pexels & Ufotable Pairing: Gyomei Himejima x Wife!Reader Category: Fluff/Light Angst Tags: Depictions of Childbirth, Mentions of Blood, Babies, New Parenthood, Flashbacks to Infinity Castle Arc/Gyomei's Backstory, Crying, Tooth-Rotting Fluff Word Count: 1k Divider Credit: @saradika Summary: Gyomei does his best to remain strong as you give birth to his firstborn child. A/N: Hello hello lovely people! I've had this idea swimming around in my mind for a while, and I'm so happy I finally got around to it! (Gyomei would make such an amazing dad I just know it). I hope you enjoy! Pt. 2 - Late Night

Gyomei clenched his jaw as you gripped his massive hand with your sweaty palm. He tightly squeezed the string of red prayer beads that was wound in his other hand as you groaned and panted heavily.

"You're doing amazing, my love," he gently reassured you as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. You suddenly threw your head back and released a harsh cry, the midwife cooing as she held your other hand. She gasped when she peeked around the blanket obscuring the lower portion of your body.

"Just keep breathing deeply, (Y/N). I can see the baby's head crowning!" she said as a hopeful expression lit up her face. Gyomei's breath hitched at the news before you began to curse and sob. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he placed his lips against your paling knuckles.

"You’re such a strong woman, (Y/N). The strongest one I-“ his voice cut off when you nearly crushed his hand as you screamed. His frown deepened as the midwife patted your face with a wet cloth.

“I-I can’t do it!” you sobbed as your legs shook. Gyomei shook his head as he held your hand up to his cheek, your words resonating with him as he thought back to how he leaned against the wall during the battle at the Infinity Castle. How hope was but a dying flame in his heart as blood oozed from his wounds…and yet, the sound of your voice calling to him within his mind stoked the fire deep within him.

Heavy tears trailed down Gyomei’s cheeks as he could only imagine the pain you were in. He gave your hand another reassuring squeeze as he carefully leaned down and pecked your forehead.

“You can do it, (Y/N). You’re so close,” he encouraged you the same way you did when he was barely hanging on by a thread. He heard you swallow thickly before your breaths grew more quick and ragged.

“You’re almost there, Mrs. Himejima. Just a few more pushes,” the midwife coached you as she prepared to catch the baby. Gyomei held his breath as he awaited to hear the soft cries of his newborn, his heart wildly pounding against his rib cage as he bounced his leg.

You continued to grunt and grip his hand tightly as you strained on the futon. Gyomei’s head perked up when he heard you curse out one more time before the first wailing cries of your baby cascaded through the room.

He could practically feel the midwife grinning as the little one gurgled and cried, your exhausted pants filling his ears as your grip on his hand loosened.

“You did an amazing job, my love,” he cooed softly.

“Yes…now it’s time to start pushing for the other one,” the midwife said. A heavy silence lingered in the room before both you and your husband spoke.

“WHAT?!”

+++

After another hour of grunting, screaming and nearly breaking your husband’s hand, you welcomed another wailing infant into the world. Gyomei gently wiped the sweat from your exhausted features as the midwife checked and cleaned the newborns.

“You did such an incredible job, my dear,” your beloved smiled gently as he wiped your brow. You sighed and gently placed a hand over his wrist. Gyomei smiled as he set the wet rag aside and leaned down, his lips gently caressing the top of your head.

“I bet I look like a mess right now,” you chuckled tiredly. Gyomei hummed as he pulled back and shook his head.

“No, I bet you look even more beautiful than ever, my precious flower,” he sighed and cupped your cheek with his massive, warm palm. His heart fluttered as you leaned into his touch, your skin so soft and smooth against his hand. The midwife cleared her throat as she shuffled towards the other side of your bed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Himejima, meet your new baby girls,” she smiled. Gyomei’s heart lit up as he heard the shuffling of bedsheets and the soft grunts of the two small newborns. You thanked the midwife as she gently handed the cooing twins over to you. Tears welled in Gyomei’s eyes as he knelt at your bedside, his hand hesitantly hovering over you.

“What do they look like?” your husband asked as he tilted his head. He gasped as you gently took his hand and placed it over one of the girls’ heads.

“They both have your hair…and my eyes,” you replied softly. Gyomei sighed with relief as he gently brushed his thumb over the tuft of soft, dark hair on his daughter’s head. A warm, gentle smile crossed his face as he felt his little one lean into his hand.

“They seem quite big for newborns,” he chuckled softly. You giggled and shifted in bed.

“Well, considering who their papa is…” you began. Gyomei felt the tips of his ears burn as his stomach tied into a knot.

“R-Right. I’m...I'm so sorry for making you endure that,” he sighed. You cooed and shook your head.

“It’s alright, Gyo. We both couldn’t have known how big our babies would be,” you reassured him with a quiet chuckle. Gyomei returned your smile before hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. You sighed softly as he sniffed.

“I-I just never thought this day would come,” he swallowed thickly as he folded his hand over his daughter’s head, as if to shield her from the evils of the world. His breath stuttered as he carefully brought his hand over to his other newborn baby, the sound of her cooing as he gently cupped her plump cheek. “After the orphanage, I…I thought bringing children into this world was a curse,” Gyomei confessed with a heavy sigh.

His eyes widened as he felt his little one wrap her soft, tiny hand around one of his thick fingers. He sniffed, his heart melting as he smiled.

“But...I’ve never felt more blessed than I do now,” he murmured softly as his daughter held onto his large finger. His smile grew as you leaned up and pecked his cheek.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father, Gyomei,” you whispered lovingly. Your husband’s heart swelled with an overwhelming warmth as he soaked in the presence of his beloved wife and two new miracles. He smiled and placed a soft kiss on your forehead before giving one to his precious newborns as well.

“And you’re going to be the most amazing mother, my love,” he grinned.

————

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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[andersonfilms]

SWEET RELIEF (MINORS DNI / EIGHTEEN+)

notes. this request is a beautiful, god send. i've been wanting to write about this, but i've kinda been too scared to bc i wasn't sure if anyone would like it. nonnie, u made my week with this request nd i really hope it doesn't disappoint. i changed it a little bit, but not too much. yeahhhhh, i might be ovulating bc?????? anyways.

content desc. eighteen+, huge mommy!kink, sub!abby, dom!reader, masc coded!reader, tall!reader (coded) my lil shorties can still read it too, reader picks up abby, brief mention of reader working out, oral (abby!r), anal (just spit on), fingering, mentions of strap use, squirting, light degradation.

“you’ve been such a good girl. you deserve a reward, don’t you?” your stunner of a girlfriend was bare in front of you. she’s your personal adonis, every muscle sculpted to perfection. her abs clenching, anticipating what your next move would be. freckles scattered around her body, her pierced nipples were so sensitive from all the teasing, swollen and pink, just the way you liked them. abby’s moans were erratic, shallow breaths as you touched her everywhere except where she needs most.

“baby, please. need you to fuck me…so good. jus’ like you always do. you’re pretty little mouth, yeah? need you to taste me.” abby begged as her she found herself shivering. “i’ve been so good, so so good. i didn’t touch myself the entire two weeks you were gone. i’ll do anything, say anything. i just want you to fuck me.”

“you will, won’t you? my babygirl is so desperate to be fucked? isn’t that right?” you flick her clit with your digit. abby cries out your name, deprived of your touch for two weeks, she savors in every moment.

“god, you’re the only one who can make me come. couldn’t even if i tried without you.” as sweet and sensitive as she appears, intentional hands reach for your belt tugging at it, but you slap abby’s hands away.

“nothing is coming off until i make you cum at least….twice on my tongue. does that sound good, baby?” abby eagerly nods, not wanting to per long this any further.

you’re looking her dead in the eye, before your hands wrap around her thighs and pick her up, surprising your girl in the process.

“have you been working out?” you shrug like it’s nothing. abby leans in softly, her lips pressed against yours. she’s never been more attracted to you than she is right now. her strong legs are wrapped around your waist, clinging on as your throw her on the bed.

you climb onto to the bed with her, grabbing ahold of her hips and rotating her body so abby is sitting on her calves, legs bent, sculpted back facing you. she’s fucking divine, as she sits patiently waiting for your touch to guide her. you drinking in her beauty and for the first time, drowning has never sounded so lovely. pretty girl perfectly still for you. there’s nothing more than you need to fuck her so stupid. her cute eyebrows furrowed whenever you ask her question. abby does it when she tries to focus, but all that happens after is stuttering, maybe a fragment of a sentence, before she’s begging to let her come.

tonight isn’t going to be any different. she knows it as you sit behind her, your legs spread so her frame fits, but she doesn’t lean back. abby knows from experience you’ll punish her if she does.

“baby, i don’t think you’ve ever been this good.” you slowly undo the braid cascading down her back. her hair smiles of pine and lavender. you want to drown yourself in the scent.

abby keeps her hands at her sides, but you can tell she’s struggling. her strong hands are balled into fists, knuckles practically pearly white.

“now, bend over for me and show me your pretty hole, baby. show me what belongs to me.” you slap her ass as you lean on your hands, watching her follow your command.

the arc in her back is sinful as she supports her weight on her hands, her knees pressed against the mattress, her pretty pussy is deliciously wet. you’re itching for a taste, but not until you’ve got her a whimpering, pathetic mess.

you bent over her frame, your clothed body pressed against her exposed one. you whisper in abby’s ear, “does mommy have to show you how it’s done? apparently you’ve forgotten, babygirl.”

you create some space before placing a firm hand on her neck, planting her face first in the plush duvet. your hands trails down her spine, pressing enough so she gets the idea. abby arches her back like she’s a fucking pornstar and god you eat it up. she could turn her strength on you, the two of you know that, but she wants to shut her brain off and get fucked and you’ll happily oblige.

you kick her thighs apart further. abby whines but she doesn’t argue.

“babygirl, that’s what i’m talking about. just stay, just like this.” you slap her ass and she jolts forward, her moan caught by the duvet. your hand smooths over the skin, before slapping her again. “good girl. fuck yeah you are. hmm?”

you spit in her puckered hole, your saliva slides down and flows over her cunt. abby wants to just fuck you, wants to full her pussy on yours, she’s so sweet and you’re being a tease. it’s torture. pure fucking torture, but she just has to patient. you’re always so good to her. she knows she’ll get it eventually after you make her cum, but fuck she’s impatient and she wants it now.

for now, all she can do is beg.

“yes mommy, all yours.” abby manages to get out and you slap her cunt as a reward.

“want me to eat out this pretty cunt out? wanna feel my mouth make a mess of this pussy?” abby cries at your words, hands she loves touching the back of her thighs, inside of them, but never where she’s dripping for you.

“please, please, please. i need it so bad. you have no idea how much i missed you, mommy. couldn’t stop thinking about this.”

“thinking about what? tell me babygirl, don’t spare a single detail. you know how much i love hearing you pretty voice, abs.” you kiss her ass, as she struggles to continue. your teeth biting into her well earned glutes and you love to see the shiver wrack her body as she struggles to collect her thoughts.

“i thought about your fingers, how good they feel inside me. i-i thought about when you fucked me the last time, your cunt rubbing against mine and how good it felt. how i squirted all over you and fuck how you just keep going.” abby moaned, overcome with just the thought. “but i mainly thought about your tongue, your mouth sucking on my clit, fucking my pussy as you talk me through it.”

there it was, the soft sniffles clueing you to the tears streaming down her full cheeks. now, you could fucking ruin her.

your plump lips found home on her pussy, soft flicks of your tongue made purchase on her clit. abby was relieved at the sensation. you flattened your tongue against her vulva, her hips rotating so she was riding your skilled muscle. euphoria, it’s all abby felt. all she wanted to feel was this.

she could cum from this alone, but your middle and ring finger found her entrance easily, no resistance was met as you slide them inside her.

“mommy, you feel so good inside me. ah, yeah, right there. oh god, yes, yes, oh mommy. please don’t stop.”

“stop? is that what you said?”

“no! please…i-i need you to make me cum. please make me cum.”

“you think you deserve it?” you taunted abby, moaning against her pussy as your slurped up her sweet nectar, sending a shockwave through abby’s core.

your fingers are hitting the delicious spot deep in her pussy, and you’re hitting it over and over, not relenting for a moment. your tongue joins the whole with fingers for a moment, dipping in and it’s just enough to send abby reeling. not enough to make her cum, but she’s screaming your name, so loudly you wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors abby woke up your neighbors.

“tell me how good it feels, babygirl. yeah? maybe then i’ll let you come.” you command her.

“it feels amazing, mommy. i can’t get enough of it. fucking me so good, so perfect. love being your good little slut. let you do whatever, whenever, just please don’t stop. i’m getting so close.”

“yeah, are you going to cum all over my face? on my tongue?” you grab at her clit with your lips, pulling the bud into your mouth, before flicking it over with your tongue. you circle around the pearl, isolating as you suck on it. your fingers picking up the pace brutally.

abby sounds like an angel being drained by a succubus and maybe it’s what you were. your undergarments were ruined as you humping, well nothing, because this is what it did to you. when abby got off, so did you. she’s so close, you know she is.

you pull from her clit, your thumb doing the work for you so you can press against her frame and whisper in her ear, “cum for me babygirl. yeah? that’s right. squirt all over my fingers like i know you can. such a pretty girl, aren’t you? give it to me, baby. cum right now and i’ll ride your face tonight? c’mon angel, give it to me. right now.”

she does. all over your sinful fingers, she squirts and she gushes over over you as you fuck her through. “oh baby, you’re so good. such a perfect babygirl for me.” abby’s hips ride your fingers as her body wants to collapse, but your free hand holds her left hip and supports her weight.

“feels so good, mommy. fuuuckkkkk.” abby tries to not whimper as she feels the aftershocks of her orgasm hit her like a freight train. your fingers leave and she feels empty again, but you shove your fingers in her mouth and she sucks immediately. tasting herself as your hands press against her throat.

“such a pretty baby, aren’t you? jus’ need your holes stuffed and fucked?” you laugh cynically. “now, let me ride that gorgeous face of yours, alright baby? then, i’m going to fuck this pretty pussy with my cock. would you like that babygirl?”

“please mommy.”

[vroombeams]

kinktober day 1 || fisting || jendo

(on ao3)

“Oh, look at you.”

With a crumb or two of brain power, Lando might snark back that he really can’t look at himself right now, thanks. Not pressed face down to the mattress like he is, Jenson draped over him with half his hand up Lando’s arse.

As it is, the brain power is in short supply. So he ends up moaning instead. 

It's just that Jenson is so good at this, the tips of his fingers rubbing over Lando’s insides exactly where it feels best, so precise it’s almost offensive. 

“S’that feel good, love?”

He can hear the smile in Jenson’s voice. He’s so chilled about it; so sincere when he asks if something feels nice. Not prodding or trying to talk dirty overtly. Just genuinely likes to know when it feels good. 

Lando nods. He's got a pretty loose grasp on language at the best of times, and having Jenson four fingers deep in his arse has pushed what little hold he does have on it right on out. 

Jenson kisses the back of his neck and then stays there, nuzzling in, the vague tickle of his stubble at Lando’s nape.

It's a floaty feeling. Jenson rolling his wrist, rocking his fingers into Lando’s hole. Jenson kissing his neck, soothing, a distraction, but he feels it when Jenson starts to press deeper. He feels the stretch of Jenson’s knuckles and the way his body burns all over. 

“You want the rest?” Jenson murmurs, cheek resting in the curve of Lando’s shoulder. It's hard to process. Jenson’s stroking his insides, playing with his hole instead of fucking it. He knows in theory what Jenson means. It’s just a question of whether he can find it in himself to respond. 

He does know that he wants it. Badly.

He can make himself nod, eventually, and Jenson kisses his shoulder and mumbles something about how good he is and how good he’s being. It's a bit of a desolate feeling when Jenson sits up and leaves Lando’s hot back exposed to cool air, but he’s not gone long. Just enough to splurt another glob of lube directly into Lando’s hole. They must’ve gone through almost the entire bottle. Lando hears it squelch when Jenson moves his hand. 

“There you are,” Jenson says as he settles, not quite flush with Lando’s back this time. Probably he wants to watch. Lando kind of wants to watch, too. “Going to take it so easy. You’re so good at this.”

Lando lets his eyes flutter shut. He's comfortable like he’s been on the massage table for hours. Brain foggy like he’s half-asleep. Aware enough that he feels it when Jenson tucks the tip of his thumb into the space left under his fingers. 

It’s just the knuckles, really, that strain at all. Just this moment of sharpness at his rim that he breathes through without much difficulty at all. And then there’s one more bit of a stretch, just the base of Jenson’s thumb making way before everything is so easy it’s almost laughable. 

It’s just… Jenson’s hand, slipping inside of him. His whole hand making space for itself where really there should be none. 

He feels his insides shaping around it. The back of Jenson’s hand resting against his prostate as he settles. The slender arc of his wrist, holding him open. He can sort of imagine it, if he tries hard. The tense pink of his rim clinging to Jenson’s forearm. 

“There you are,” Jenson says again. He doesn’t sound any different, not shocked or awed. Just warm, just proud. He’s kissing Lando’s neck again and Lando is so, so distantly aware of Jenson’s cock where it’s pressed to his hip, but Jenson’s not even rocking against him, or trying to get off at all.

Lando makes a sound. It’s more pathetic than he’s expecting; a broken sort of whine that doesn’t feel like it should’ve come out of him when all he feels is comfortable and full and surrounded. 

“So lovely,” Jenson tells him. “Aren’t you perfect? Took it so well, love, took it so easy. I knew you could do it.”

And Lando preens, sleepily. Jenson’s working his hand inside of him in the gentlest of motions, barely fucking him but still toe-curlingly perfect.

[lovelytsunoda]

purple haze // charles leclerc

summary: writing a novel is a long an arduous process. luckily for y/n, she has a very supportive partner in crime, and when it all works out, he's the only person she would want by her side.

pairing: charles leclerc x author reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, talk of deadlines, book referenced is a good girls guide to murder by holly jackson. gets a lil steamy towards the middle but nothing comes of it. still not sure how i feel about this one, but i havent written for charles in forever and i got an idea i really liked but i don't know if it worked out when i put it on paper.

by the time y/n closed her laptop, she felt like her fingers were going to fall off. she leaned back in her desk chair, gutted to find that the monaco cityscape outside her living room window was now pitch black, as might had fallen on the city.

her first book had been a red-wine and oasis fuelled fever dream, the last three chapters being written to ‘don’t look back in anger’. and now, the final edits were done.

“I’m so proud of you, mon tresor.” charles gushed, bringing her another glass of wine.

“the last three years are finally paying off. a good girls guide to murder is done, and the world is ready to meet pippa and ravi.” she grinned, clinking her glass against her boyfriends.

she had poured three years of her life into that book, and Charles had been by her side for all of it. through numerous rejections, edits and late night idea-vomit, nobody was prouder than charles was so see it work out for her.

and now he knew she needed a break.

taking her hand in his, he gently dragged her out of the desk chair and towards the couch, placing their wineglasses on the coffee table as he urged y/n to sit on the ground between his legs.

his hands were warm as he began to massage her shoulders, attempting to release the tension caused by the last round of edits, which she had worked on almost from sunup to sundown.

“there’s still so much to do.” she whined, tilting her head back to look up at her lover. “now there’s arcs and extra promotions and finding advance reviewers and-“

charles cut her off with a kiss. “none of that right now. right now, you and me are going to finish this bottle of wine and watch something pointless on tv.”

smiling to herself, y/n got up from the floor and moved to the leather couch, slipping seamlessly into charles' lap and nestling against his chest. his body was warm, and his sweater soft. even if his cologne was a little bit too strong, he made her feel safe. treasured.

"that sounds perfect." she hummed, gently turning his face so she could kiss him. "thank you for supporting me."

"always, my love." charles smiled before kissing her again.

SIX MONTHS LATER

it was half past five in the morning when the phone rang. charles could sleep through just about anything, but it was the vibrations of the phone against her side table that woke y/n.

she looked over at her sleeping lover, pressing a gentle kiss to the smooth skin on his shoulder blades before slipping out of bed and creeping into the hallway to answer a call from her agent, cecelia.

"cece, its five in the morning. couldn't this have waited?"

ceclia cleared her throat. "i've just heard from the american office. the preliminary numbers for the new york times list are in."

"fuck. how did we do?" she closed her eyes, holding up her crossed fingers and praying to every god she wasn't sure she believed in.

and when cecelia spoke again, she almost dropped her phone.

"okay. thank you for letting me know, cece."

she slipped back into the bedroom, bare, dry feet sinking into the plush carpet at the end of the bed before she sat down at the end of the bed, gripping the phone so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

"mon amour." charles rasped, exhaustion in his voice as he rolled over onto his back. "what's wrong?"

"i just got a call from cecelia." she started, trying not to let her emotions show through. "she's just been on the phone with our american agent with the new york times numbers."

charles sat up, one of his warm hands going to rest on her thigh. "and?' he asked hesitantly, his piercing eyes meeting her uncertain ones in the dark.

"i made the top ten." she shouted, grin spreading all across her features.

making the new york times list had made everything worth it. all the sleepless nights when she had woken up with an idea she was scared to lose, all the rewrites, the weeks of writers block. the rejections, the aggravation, the insecurity.

this was it.

she had done it.

"i'm so proud of you." charles beamed, folding her into a hug. "i knew you could do it, my brilliant girl."

she dropped her phone on the bed, red-faced and giggly as she kissed him, allowing her hands to wander across his toned chest. "wanna show me just how much?"

THREE YEARS LATER

the theater was almost silent when the lights came up, the end credits of the final episode fading out on the screen. she held her breath, fingers gripping charles' hand so tightly that she thought she might break the fragile bones in her husband's fingers.

oh, yeah. they had gotten married about a year after her book had come out, while she was in the middle of writing as good as dead, the conclusion to the series.

since a good girls guide to murder had come out, her life had changed for the better. she felt more secure in herself and her talent, and the words had never come easier when she started writing the sequel, eager ton continue the story. she had since written two more books to complete the trilogy, as well as two standalone novels: five survive and the reappearance of rachel price. around the time that rachel price was announced, she had gotten another call from cecelia, asking if she and charles could come to london and meet with representatives from the bbc.

they wanted to turn her first book into a tv series.

she had been hands on from the beginning, throwing herself into her work and doing her best to make sure that the version of the story the readers saw on screen was the version that she had visualized when she'd first explained the storyboard to charles, the driver helping her connect everything on their living room wall with red yarn.

and now was the time. the time to see if it had all paid off. the theater was filled with minor celebrities, influencers, and the tiktokers who had made her book blow up in popularity.

it all came down this night.

"it's okay. whatever happens, you know you did your best." charles whispered in her ear, running one hand up and down her bare back. underneath the flimsy straps of her red dress.

she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath when the roar off applause began to drown her.

she rode the rush of emotions, allowing the tears of gratification and relief to ruin her mascara as she let her body go slack, resting against charles as she watched the room rise in a standing ovation for pippa and ravi.

"we did it. we made it, charles." she laughed, tilting her head up to kiss him.

"no, cherie. you did this. they're all here for you."

she watched as the event's host, a former spice girl that charles knew through his paddock connections, stepped out into the middle of the small stage set up at the front of the theater.

"and now, the moment i'm sure you've all been waiting for, a few words from y/n /y/l/n-leclerc!"

she wiped her eyes and fixed her hair, taking a deep breath before she walked across the stage, taking the microphone from geri halliwell, and turning to face the crowd.

in the front row, there was charles. her one true love. her biggest supporter.

and in that moment, she truly allowed herself to believe that she had made it.