#but still the mild betrayal?

[incurable-bookkl3pt0]

...no but this would ACTUALLY be both equal parts funny, and sort of insensitive. Funny, as in, Floyd getting a cosmetic surgery to better fit his aesthetic of (sad wet kitten) emo boy is equal parts funny and dramatic. But at the same time, I guess a bit insensitive in the sense where it's a bit of a slap to the face to any troll who DIDN'T get a say in that deformity i.e. trolls (Branch) that have gone grey for extensive periods of time. But honestly, it's kind of the equivalent of people surgically getting their ears pointed so IDK, maybe it's not?

It's just that Floyd gives off Sad Boi Vibes with them ears (and general attitude but I guess given the circumstances of the movie understandable) so it's not a far off guess that he might have gone grey. Maybe he did for like a year or something, but it wasn't long enough to have a deformity, and he eventually just modified his ears? Or maybe he's just a dramatic hoe?

Either way, funny. Might not be for Branch though, if he ever found out, is all I'm saying.

Okay I know people love to headcanon that Floyd went grey but the way I know it was just for character design is killing me I swear, like- look at him he looks like the kind of dude that would modify his ears in Claries.

I totally headcanon that getting your ears modified would totally be like a trend for trolls to have that emo vibe and you can’t change my mind about it

[narwhalandchill]

spicy take incoming but i kinda wish ppl werent so desperately attached to and protective of this moniker of Great Big Brother 100% Perfect So True And Real when it comes to childe bc honestly. he really isnt (perfect or even that good at times) and to me acknowledging the ways both he and his family (for enabling him) are in some ways kinda just. doing teucer incredibly dirty in the long term but only with the best of intentions in the short term is so much more interesting than just pretending hes a flawless brother?? like it only adds to the drama and irony of it all man like theyre rly so dysfunctional as a family unit its great. even if hoyos likely never exploring that shit in its true depth it still lives rent free in my head for sure lol

like. you rly dont have to turn ajax into some sort of unfeeling uncaring monster of a shit brother to acknowledge that he does, in fact, repeatedly make incredibly reckless and selfish choices during his SQ with teucer and in general by choosing to obstruct the truth of who he is from lil bro so completely?

like this stuff can be nuanced and coexist with his absolutely 100% genuine commitment to protecting teucers bubble of a worldview (and w the theme of childlike dreams and wishes being so prevalent in general who knows what could be cooking w that one in particular) and his loyalty and love for his family without just having to whitewash the dumb shit he does lmao

like just bc hes capable of and willing to face the potentially grave repercussions of absolute bangers (🙄🙄) like teaching an actual fucking child to consider ruin machines fun besties and 100% insta ready to fuck himself up by protecting teucer at the cost of aggravating his still-unhealed injuries from the liyue AQ when dottores abandoned lab turns out to be more lively than expected doesnt. make that choice not a very irresponsible one yall im begging 💀

like. hes the adult here . the entire situation unfolding as dangerously as it does in the factory is Absolutely all on HIM for not being able and/or willing to disappoint teucer by just . Doing the mature thing and sending him away to safety because HES gotten too attached to this idea of being his lil siblings' loyal knight and perfect brother that Always finds a way to surpass the expectations no matter the cost its a role HE wants to keep playing despite the risk

like its So obviously a pride thing for him too and thats so fucking interesting because Of how flawed and questionable the logic is!! like yes he truly cares about teucer and ensuring he has a great unforgettable time during this impromptu escapade in liyue like thats not up to debate but the point im trying to make is that the choices he makes are Still very much intertwined with his ego and overconfidence and not really based all that much on Whats Actually The Best Approach Here. he improvises a way to give teucer the best mr cyclops outing he has ever seen bc HE wants to be the one offering him that experience and ends up biting off a bit more than he can chew and he can only blame himself for that one and This Isnt Fucking Sustainable

like i dont think that makes him evil but i do think it showcases his arrogance and flaws in a very concrete way and is a part of why calling him a perfect brother or at least one without an asterix just. rubs me off wrong lmao

like idk feel free to keep calling him that if its important to u and all if u want idc (and i do to some extent get why this defensive narrative of insisting hes great no issues at all emerged bc i remember 1.1 some ppl acting like hes childcare satan for how he treats teucer lol) but. at least like . Be willing to chip in to fund the therapy teucers going to need for those lifelong trust issues in the future man 💀

Bc Thats The Other Thing. now tonia and anthon i dont consider a part of this bc at least they Know hes in the fatui and hiding the gory details of ur harbinger job from ur baby sibs is like. fair enough and reasonable. but. crafting an Entire different AU version of yourself and feeding it to your baby brother as what constitutes actual reality surely is a choice of all times like ajax ily but genuinely . What the fuck if you were real id throttle you

AND HIS FAMILY ENABLING IT THE ENTIRE TIME ITS CRAZY LIKE. As a person with multiple siblings both older n younger with some similar age gap cohorts involved. God id snitch so fucking fast i dont think ppl rly stop and think much abt how objectively horrifying this shit is from teucers long term pov 😭 in the best way obviously given its fiction like its so scrumptiously awful and dysfunctional .

(& just in general man im just so obsessed with the way ajax 14 basically broke the eggshell of his past life and emerged to rise towards his destiny drowned in the guts and gore of the place and people and community he once called home unconditionally. Bro he fucked that town UP and now his family relations will never ever be the same its so fucking Delicious. those 3 days missing and what followed are just Actually a literal fucking horror movie when you stop blindly stanning our ginger menace, forget ajax' side and take the pov of his family and morepesok in general Why Are People Not Talking About This)

like. its not that i dont understand Why this is sth childe ended up doing as i said Thats The Point. its human. teucer is the only one in the family who wasnt there during that fateful 3 days/months . Like yea anthon and tonia were prolly sheltered from most of the carnage back then too but they still Know where he was sent when he became literally uncontrollable and almost killed the neighbors (everybody & their mom loves demonizing his parents as if his demon spawn ass left them a fucking choice JFEJSJSJSKDKS) . like its at least Known.

but then theres teucer.

And like. teucers the Only one with whom ajax can even pretend to have that delusion (ha) of normalcy and a family that hasnt seen him gaze into the abyss and stare back bloodied and grinning ear to ear . like. hes the only shot childe can have at even playacting some crude imitation of normalcy before Everything and even That comes with an expiration date hes fully aware of. so theres just lies after lies after lies and the fact that even his family just. if not actively partaking in the charade then at least silently allows the entirety of it to happen to teucer whos the Only fucking one out of the loop is just..... dude its not fair on him At All

Misleading teucer THIS much is just. its fucking horrible man but i GET it. thats why its so delicious man i GET it but god its just . imagine being teucer in this situation.... thats his entire fucking World shattered once the truth comes out. Everyone close to him has been lying to him his entire time. They all knew and they let him be misled. Like sure he might be happier Now with ajax dutifully protecting that childhood dream of his but after that. Just. sit on this for a bit. after everything do we Really think teucers just going to understand why it came to be and see it as worth it???? Will he really????

yet at the same time as awfully cruel it all is its just So human!!!!! Its so human of both ajax and his family to use the innocence of the only child that was spared the aftermath of worlds best/worst 3 month abyss training camp to indulge in this flawed false reality where their third son didnt walk into the void and come back hungry for More until only the fatui could take him and even then it only spurred him on further on that path. Like its all an act and a lie and its just. Not fucking fair on teucer but hes still doing it and theyre letting him even tho they Know it wont last theyre all looking teucer in the eye every day and letting him believe like man....

like in both the entire ruin factory sequence And in general hiding the truth from teucer as extensively as childe does hes being incredibly selfish but at the same time its selfishness only rly in the way all people are when it comes to Wanting to be seen a certain way by the ones they love and care about. and thats what makes it so interesting. bc as much as the choices he makes are dubious (or like. this decision makes sense to him. a morally bisexual total omnivore ethics-wise narwhalpilled since 14 who sees exclusively in abyss shrimp colors and acts accordingly) both they and the motivations behind them are also just. So very human ones . as terrible as the implications and eventual inevitable downfall of those choices can (will) be.

like. is it not that much more fascinating to consider all the ways that childe is neither a particularly exemplary nor an egregiously bad brother just one that. Happens to be wired weird in the head and proud and flawed and with a track record of heavily suspect decision-making but that also very much genuinely loves his family man. Like i can love that about him without dismissing the fact that theres parts to how hes treating teucer that 100% can and imo rly should backfire horrifically bc. It really just is that fucked up

hes not a good brother hes Worse AMD better than that and also not alone in this like. his family is an active fucking part of this . But like still . Is he trying his best with his abyss shrimp colored vision ? Yes. Is his love genuine? Absolutely. What are the marks? 3/10 meet me in the office after class mister youre just actually horrible (affectionate) 😭

A perfect brother? Not My Ajax man 🗣🗣 and like theres SO MUCH to explore in that it makes me so sad you just. Never see any of it p much in fanworks bc we all just call him best bro and whatever and thats that like its so sad. this family is terrible horrible awful and no good and they deserve it but also didnt deserve it it was misfortune it was fate it was inevitable . justice for teucer man i need to get him in therapy asap

[cry-ptidd]

So what does Laura think of Seras when she finally becomes a true vampire and Integra after she loses her eye? How do the dynamics between them change after millennium is defeated?

Laura : I don’t trust any of you. I’m here for my own gain. I don’t get attached to people.

Also Laura : Sir that’s my emotional support gay niece

[rawliverandgoronspice]

*me a couple of months ago writing litany of betrayal* : hmmm, so, when it comes to Serielle being a conversation opener about what I think subtextually permeates gerudo characterization and the way hylians look at them as both frighteningly destructive yet transgressively desireable objects.... is this a reach... is this anything... is this worth including......

*me right now, scrolling past all of the Amiibo Jar Jokes, very, very softly* : ........oh...no.........

[aplaceforhumancorpses]

𓉸⁺‧₊˚ AFFECTION ROTS 𓂃🦇

„⤵ MILD ANGST „⤵ 1 / (?) PARTS „⤵ JASON TODD X READER Highschool sweethearts aren't meant to last, but Jason wants to change that, even after his ressurection.

After April 27th everything that once tasted sweet became bitter. Teenage romance is a ticking time bomb. It's a promise of flesh not made to last— meat rots over time, affection rots over time— and eventually, it all becomes rancid and sour.

Maybe that's what happened when Jason died. When your eyes met, a countdown began, ticking relentlessly toward its end. His time was always borrowed, and the clock, merciless as ever, simply ran out. The world the two of you shared stopped being his, and in the wake of it his memory became merely something to drive the day forward. Everything you couldn't be motivated to do was slapped with the statement "But Jason would've wanted you to" It was like a toxic parasocial relationship. His corpse dragged you in and out of pits of guilt and grief, while your body remained stagnant his ghost became restless inside of your head. Eventually, until you started to lose him in pieces.

Briefly, you would visit the box in your basement that contained some of his things. Hoodies and novels he read. You would smile at the annotations he made with sticky notes. Saving quotes that probably sounded deep and emotional to a teenage boy. A stuffed animal that smelled vaguely like him, or his cologne anyway. That box was where the memories of his existence stayed, buried under the blanket you had placed there. Admittedly sometimes you didn't want to think about him. It felt wrong to think of it that way. Grief is fatal to the mind. It's a disease. And maybe, on the worst days, it’s easier to let the infection run its course than to keep cutting into yourself trying to clean the wound.

You did a lot in the time between his last breath and now. life moved on, whether your sweet innocent Jason was beside you or not. After graduating high school, beginning your freshman year of college, and getting your first apartment it became easier. His cardboard grave sat there untouched, collecting dust, holding pieces of him you didn’t need anymore. Whatever you hadn’t already discarded, you packed away and left in the past.

yes, it still stung. Not like it used to—no longer sharp and unbearable. Instead, it lingered, dull and constant, a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. Jason became irrelevant, just another detail in your coming-of-age story. Dating other men still felt like cheating. Still felt like betrayal. He'd probably be jealous if he saw you at those college parties. He was the type of boy to fight for you until his knuckles bled. Maybe he didn't have enough time to get the words out, but the sentiment would have been there. Even in death, you were his.

Your room grew up with you. The calendar you'd gotten as a white elephant gift was months behind. Your bedsheets kept the theme you chose for your room years ago. You barely even slept in it properly. There were bookshelves full of classics and poetry that were untouched. It wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a mausoleum. More often than not you would leave empty fountain soda cups on your desk like ornaments of the slump you were in mentally. The only things you'd done in this place were sleep and stare at your phone screen.

You ordered food hours ago. You couldn't be bothered to go and collect it yourself, but your driver never arrived. You took that as a hint. You simply weren't meant to eat tonight. It hurt to know how little you were spending on your own needs and desires. But you could hardly complain when you were living off the kindness of strangers. Your bills were paid by societies focused on providing for low income students. This money didn't come from nowhere. So why did you spend it on fatty junk like fast food? Your appetite was gone by now. But as a heavy thump reverberated through the wooden door on your apartment you shot up in hope of fatty junk fast food. Your hopes fell quickly as soon as the sounds from behind the door faded into nonsense dance of shuffling and pacing. You turned off your lamp. Maybe it was some drunk who had the wrong address. he would obviously realize this wasn't the right crack house, even though the decor suggested otherwise, and he would leave. You were tired and ready to turn in.

You heard it again. It seemed louder this time. You got up, stepping up onto your toes to look through the peephole. You were only met with the chest of this unwelcome visitor. You unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open slowly. Whoever it was was clearly out of it and angry. They didn't wait around for you to greet them. They barreled past you, knocking you against the door frame. They crashed into the kitchen counter. Folded over like a crumpled rag doll, holding their ribs.

The figure was large. Tall. Male obviously. Uncanny.

Some kind of muscular walking frankenstein of a human form.

You reached for the house phone. Should you call 911?… was this some kind of botched break in? It didn't look like he had any weapons.. but he probably had enough surface area from the base of his palm to the tips of his fingers to cover the entirety of your neck.

Before you could move, a hand slammed itself onto the table and you flinched away. The stranger looked back into your eyes, the whites of them so bright they nearly glowed like headlights.. the pupils dilated and narrowed.

"Who are you?" you whispered, your throat sore and dry, "What do you want?" You couldn't make out his face in its shadow. But it looked like someone very familiar…. Someone you knew well but couldn't quite remember in your stupor. You shook your head slightly to clear the haze.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, dragging his massive body from the kitchen island to where you still stood, frozen in place, pinned against the doorframe. The wind whipped harshly behind you. He closed the door gently, no longer slamming it. No longer banging. His arm went around your shoulders as he pulled you close. His breath warmed your ear.

"You… grew up without me.. You got really pretty. Just like i thought you would.." He breathed out, his lips brushing your hairline. You were still. In shock, you didn't dare react at all. "…I missed you." His grip tightened.

You felt the skin on his fingertips pulling against your arms and shoulder. You were too terrified to make a noise. Almost too terrified.

"You're dead." You said, pushing against his familiar warmth, trying to escape whatever strange force held you there. It didn't budge. "This is a really fucked up dream.. Jason wasn't this tall- or strong-" You broke off, swallowing thickly. Tears blurred your vision. He squeezed you tighter. You couldn't tell if you were imagining it or not. You weren't sure you were awake. "Let go!" you cried out. He frowned.

"Please… let me have this. just for a minute." He pleaded. "It's been too fucking long.." you could hear him begin to sob. There must have been something in the air that made your stomach twist and churn unpleasantly, until you sighed shakily.. giving in and relaxing as best you could against him. You weren't sure what exactly was happening- this wasn't real, right? What were these feelings you were having? Fear? Regret? Anxiety?

As you allowed your head to rest atop of his chest, you stared at the floorboards beneath your feet. You tried to calm yourself down. Your hands were trembling uncontrollably.

It was clear. The affection he held for you had not withered. It was as fresh, as raw, as it had been back in March, before everything fell apart.

Jason couldn't rot. He wasn't meant to.

...

Haha I'm so evil. Comment + Reblog? Where should the story go from here?

[blackynsupremacy]

ARE WE STILL

FRIENDS?

pairing: smallville!clark kent x black!fem!reader

summary: as a junior at smallville high, you’re known as many things: captain of the girl’s basketball team, straight a-student, a bit of a tomboy, and the younger sister of pete ross by three minutes. as twins, you share many things, including your childhood best friend, clark kent. prom is nearing soon and you’re both dateless, so you and clark agree to arrive together as friends. after the view of a yellow dress, a slow dance, and a moment in the photo booth, you start to doubt if you’ll both leave the same way you came.

a/n: you can imagine jeremy as whoever you want.

contains: lots of words. fluff, brother’s best friend trope, reader is pete’s twin sister, reader knows, angst, mild swearing, arguing, friends to lovers, kissing/making out, hurt/comfort, love confession, clana is broken up, jealousy, betrayal.

a/n: finally another clark fic! anybody got ideas for tsay chapter 5? i want it to be action packed fr.

taglist: @afrogirl3005 @rosiestalez @paisholotus @sabrinasopposite @stereotypicalbarbie @ellethespaceunicorn @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @thabiddie23 @sheydnni @tryingtograspctrl @elitesanjisimp @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @camiesully @supaprettyg

“come on, kent! is that all you got?”

you were taunting him as he tried to guard you from making winning shot of your one v. one basketball game on kent farm. clark kent may have been six-foot-four with a strapping athletic build, but he wasn’t the captain of smallville high’s lady crows basketball team. due to your skill, leadership, and strategy, your girls have had an undefeated season so far. you continue to dribble and swiftly turn around to catch clark off guard before you jump to shoot the basketball which dove perfectly within the net. clark exasperatedly chuckles while you break down into an enthusiastic shimmy of a victory dance. your twin brother, pete ross, shook his head with a smirk after observing clark’s defeat. you both knew that for an exceptional farm boy that hailed from another planet couldn’t even school you on the court, had to mean something was off. in these playful competitions, you’ve had your fair share of wins with clark, but also definitely some losses. with a slow clap of his hands, pete approached clark to pat him on the back in playful sympathy,

“damn. it looks like you’ve lost your mojo, clark.” he quipped.

you and clark playfully roll your eyes. you sauntered to your brother and flick him in the forehead before you sassily chimed in,

“boy, shut up! you do realize that even clark can lose to me, right?”

“hey—ow! i’m just saying. clark, could’ve super sped around you and easily taken that shot.” he yelped in pain. clark chuckled before contributing to the conversation,

“first of all, pete, that would be cheating. second, my focus has been everywhere with prom coming up this weekend. you’re still going with me, aren’t you, pete?”

clark stretched his arms and you didn’t miss the slight flex of the bulging biceps he possessed. you always thought he was attractive, smart, and overall the perfect candidate for a boyfriend, but there was already so many complications entailed in that. first, there was the principle that he was your friend and your brother’s best friend. you basically grew up together, so you always thought lines like that should never be crossed no matter how much your heart desired for him at times. second, there was lana lang, clark’s first love. lana and clark’s relationship was complicated as well. one minute they’re together in perfect loving bliss, then the next, it’s back to being friends. this time, they were back to friend zone for a long while. lana was a friend of yours along with chloe. it was odd being tight with girls you knew had feelings for the same guy as you, but somehow, you try not to let that cause a rift between you. plus, you’re starting to develop a new crush on this guy named, jeremy ford. he was a senior and the captain of the boy’s basketball team. you’ve had opportunities where you would practice with him one on one after school and hang out at the talon occasionally to share strategies to help out your teams. he was handsome, athletic, funny, popular, and a scholar, so you’ve figured that he would be perfect as your date to the prom. when you get the chance this week, you were finally going to ask him. lastly, there was the fact that you knew clark’s secret along with your brother.

you’ve never forgotten that shift in your friendship with clark after finding that ship in his shed. it all made sense on how he was able to get to places so fast and subdue the people who were powered by those damned green rocks. pete already had to deal with clark having the attention of chloe and him being friends with their long-time family enemy, lex luthor. it was such a shock to you, but unlike those others who had powers and abused them, you knew that clark only wanted to use his abilities for good. to clark’s relief, you were quicker to forgive and swear to secrecy than your brother who eventually came around.

“thanks, y/n. i knew i could count on you to understand.” clark said when you visited him in loft the night after finding out. “at least you can consider yourself the first girl to know—besides my mom, of course!” he’d joke and for some reason that made you feel special.

now, your bond was stronger as you had to show that he was still the boy you called a good friend whose ass you’d occasionally kick in some hoops, but another part of you knew that things could be riskier than before with all of the bizarre occurrences of smallville.

“about that—” pete hesitantly stated, rubbing the back of his neck. “teresa campbell asked me last week, man. i know that ever since you and lana split, we’d make it a stag night, but we can all still go as a group. as far as i know, it could be me, you, teresa, and y/n.” he explained cringing a bit at the look of slight disappointment on clark’s face. you were a bit peeved that pete had sideswiped clark like that and that he assumed you were dateless. well, you were, but just because you were twins didn’t mean he fully knew you and your plans.

“it’s no worries, man. we can all still have a great time. right, y/n?” clark inquired, shifting his blue eyes on figure and he bounced the basketball in your direction.

“yeah, but, whose to say i didn’t already have a date, pete? we may be twins, but i don’t have to tell you everything.” you rebutted with a sharp glare towards your brother, catching the ball and placing it on your hip. pete threw his hands up in surrender,

“now, hold up, n/n. the last time i checked you never mentioned him, okay? look, i’m sorry for assuming. who’d you have in mind?”

your bashfully shift your eyes between the two awaiting males before you answer,

“uh,— jeremy ford.”

you were a bit shocked as there was a pause of silence. like there was something you didn’t know. you sighed ready for whatever was about to come,

“what is it now?”

clark held onto your shoulders and turned you to face him to deliver the news in the most gentle, but direct manner possible.

“y/n, lana is going to prom with jeremy.”

you stood there in silence, trying to register the words that were spoken to you. maybe this was sick prank the guys were playing on you to hurt your already bruised ego.

“what? psh, no way. lana would’ve told me.” you deny, dismissing what you thought was a ludacris claim.

pete shook his head and crossed his arms before serving the explanation of the knowledge. given the fact they lived together, lana had told chloe that jeremy had been hanging around late at the talon after you’d leave. eventually, he and lana got to know each other and before they knew it, lana agreed to jeremy’s proposal of prom. then chloe passed the news on to clark and pete. as an aspiring journalist, chloe was going to get it straight from a reliable source, so it all had to be true.

chloe and lana knew for a fact that you had a crush on him and they’d tease you to just go for it, but you’d always dismiss them with the excuse of focusing on your studies to achieve a full-ride athletic scholarship. plus, you’ve never really had that much dating experience to begin with, so it was all a bit of a mess. pete and clark could see the dark cloud of hurt loom over your face. there was a stabbing, tingling pain within your gut. you thought that you and jeremy would be the perfect match. you both shared the same goals and interests, how could you have missed the signs of lost chances? what else were you expecting? lana had already dated clark, but no human nor alien had control over their feelings. it would’ve hurt a little less if lana gave you a head’s up. possibly she was afraid of how you would’ve react or affected your friendship. you never wanted to be the type of girl to end friendships over a crush anyway.

“n/n, say something. are you oka—” clark began to question, but you sharply cut him off.

“i’m fine, clark. lana and jeremy can do what they want, it’s not like he was my boyfriend or anything. what about you? lana is your ex.” clark watched in silence as you tried to play it off so cool, but it didn’t take his x-ray vision to see that you were crushed on the inside. he believed you didn’t deserve this at all. you’ve always been a great friend to him and lana. sometimes, you’d give him advice or a listening ear whenever there was a conflict weighing on him. you were the type of person that gave their all. you gave your all in your sport, teammates, academics, family, and friends. who was giving something back to you?

without another word, you looked at your watch and turned to your brother,

“it’s about time we head home, pete. mom will be calling if we don’t make it in time for dinner.— see you at school, clark?” you bid him a goodbye with a tight lipped smile and a side hug before placing the basketball back in his arms. you cross your arms and make your way into the passenger seat of pete’s car. the boys give each other a silent knowing glance and a casual dap of farewell before pete follows suit to drive you both back home. during dinner, your parents, abigail and bill ross, noticed that you weren’t your usual talkative self due to your obvious lack of appetite and dry responses to their questions about your day. when your mother mentioned the prom, you promptly asked to be excused to your bedroom, so that you could “study”. you wrapped up your plate, placed it in the fridge, and took your leave. once in your room, you didn’t waste time in plopping yourself into your bed. you bury your face into your pillow to muffle your sobs of agony. romance looked so good in the movies you’ve watched, but why did it have to hurt so bad in reality?

you lay on your side, facing the large, purple stuffed bear that sat on your other pillow. you sat up and smiled at it fondly. you picked it up and gave it a tight squeeze. clark had won it for you at the smallville harvest festival during your freshman year. it was one of those carnival games where you had to get three basketball shots in a row. you were just a rookie on the team and you were struggling because you wanted that bear so badly. clark happened to be there to watch the whole thing and like a superboy, he swooped in and made those three shots. there was a jovial glint within his baby blue eyes as he observed you spinning with the bear in your arms like a little child. you were so happy that you thought you could kiss him that day. clark simply saw you in a jam and was kind enough to help. that was when you started developing feelings. even though he was your brother’s best friend, you’d grown to see him as a prince charming of sorts. he had his flaws, but he always found a way to make it up somehow. your thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. it was his voice.

“there’s that smile i like to see.” you quickly wiped away your tears and whipped your head in his direction. there was clark kent, casually leaning against your door frame

“clark! uh, hey. what are you doing here? look, if you need to see pete, i think he’s in the den playing that game—” you try to explain, but he interrupted as he took his body away from the door and approached closer to your bed.

“actually, i came by to see you, y/n. may i?” you nod, acknowledging his request to sit on your bed. you nod, scooting over to make room and he proceeds to sit at your side. you gaze at his side profile. his perfectly fine nose, sculpted jawline, and who could miss the subtle pout in his naturally pink lips. now, his eyes met yours. the melanated skin of your cheeks begin to heat up the longer he held eye contact. there was an air of silence in the room. you were both deciding who should be the first to speak amidst this high school prom drama. clark then glanced at the stuffed bear in your arms, he tried not to blush as he was surprised that you kept it all of these years. he noticed how you held onto it with such a tight grip as if someone were to take it away at any moment. how wholesome he found that to be. a lopsided smile played on his lips as he spoke,

“you still kept that bear after all these years?”

you sniffled with a bashful chuckle,

“yeah, it seems so embarrassing. i’m pushing eighteen, but it’s my favorite thing—well, besides my backstreet boys t-shirt.” you both fill the room with soft laughter, enjoying each other’s presence.

“no, no. not embarrassing. it’s humiliating, actually—hey, ahaha!” clark jokes in which that earns him a couple whacks in the head from your pillow. your stomach cramps as you dissolve into laughter again,

“god, you’re such an ass! you just love to ruin the moment.” you giggle, trying to catch your breath. you place the pillow to its original spot. clark flashes his pearly canines and leans back onto your bed.

“as long as i get to see you cry tears of joy instead of sadness, i’d gladly do it again.” he responds, gingerly reaching a hand towards your face to swipe a loose tear with his thumb. your cheeks heat up again as your stomach flips from his touch.

“i know today wasn’t exactly the greatest, but it’s good to hear you laugh, y/n.”

your own lopsided grin graces your features before you shift your gaze to the bear,

“i appreciate it, clark. you’re always swooping in to save the day, whether it’d be meteor freaks or teenage heartbreak.”

there was another beat of silence. before practically speeding to the ross house, clark couldn’t erase the image of your somber expression from his mind. this was everyone’s first prom and even though clark didn’t get the chance to go with lana, he didn’t want to experience it on a sour note. now that you were down in the dumps, he definitely didn’t want you to have that same feeling. he didn’t want you to look back on such a significant event with disdain, so he came over and took his chance.

“y/n, would you go to prom with me—as my date?”

upon hearing his question, you froze for a second before peering at the farm boy beside you. you were in a tough spot, sure, but you didn’t want to be his pity date, no matter how much you liked him.

“what?! clark—i know i seemed pretty tight about the jeremy thing, but i don’t want your pity. we can just go as a group of friends with pete and teresa. just like he planned.” you protested, but clark took ahold of your hands as the expression of sincerity etched on his face.

“y/n, please, just hear me out,” he urged, caressing his thumbs along your hands. “i promise you, it’s not pity. i genuinely want to spend time with you and i want us to enjoy our first prom.” you fell silent as your gaze softened while listening to his plea, “we could make it one of the best nights of our lives, even if it’s just for a little while—besides, who better to go to prom with than the best victory dancer i know?”

yet again, he flashed his contagious smile that you’ve silently adored for years as a twinkle danced within his eyes. you pondered on this impromptu proposal. clark had a point, this was going to be your first prom, an awaited moment in most teenaged girls lives that they would look back on in the future. you wanted to have a good time regardless of the jeremy situation. plus, if you accept, you’d have a date with your longtime crush! your brother’s best friend of all people. you were going as friends of course, but you couldn’t imagine this moment with anyone else. what could possibly go wrong? a smile you couldn’t contain plays on your full lips as your brown eyes matched his gaze before you finally said,

“you know what? i’d love to clark!”

“you would? really?”

“yes. we’ll come in together as friends, let loose, and bust a move or two.” you answer already envisioning the pleasant evening ahead. “why? do you want me to take back my answer?” you jokingly quiz with an arched brow.

“oh, n-no, no! i’m actually really glad you said yes.” he protested with relief washing over his features.

“then it’s a date, kent!” you take one of your hands to rest it on his shoulder before placing a brief kiss upon his cheek before you whisper, “you got super speed, so don’t i expect you to be late.”

clark’s cheeks flushed with the red shade of excitement from your touch. he surely didn’t expect that from you, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

“well, in that case, i’ll pick you up at seven, ross.”

clark bids you goodnight and you could hardly sleep with the knowledge of this upcoming weekend. the very next morning at the breakfast table, your parents are ecstatic to learn the news of your plans for prom, especially your mother. you both enthusiastically converse, conjuring up ideas of a dress, shoes, accessories, makeup, and hair. she helps to make the necessary appointments for the days leading up to it. while at school, you decided to stick around to clark, pete, or fly solo rather than you usually did with chloe and lana. you would be cordial when you see them in the hallway, but before they could talk about prom, you’d find a way to promptly excuse yourself. the last thing you wanted to hear was anything about lana and jeremy. you didn’t want to hear the conversation as if they didn’t know that you know.

“i gotta go. i have a meeting with my coach.”

“can’t. i don’t wanna be late for class!”

even when jeremy tried to catch you in the hallway. you’d gave him the same energy,

“i can’t go to the talon today, jere. i have an appointment after school.”

“i think i’ll just practice solo today.”

with each passing day after school, your mother had taken you shopping to find the dress that was perfectly made for you along with getting a well deserved mani-pedi and an eyebrow wax. she would just help with hair and makeup on the day of. your mother doted on you every step of the way. you couldn’t forget how you had to ask the dress shop employee for kleenex because she was going to burst into tears when saw you in the dress you’ve chosen. you were shocked because this was abigail ross, the no nonsense county judge of smallville that fights for justice with an iron fist. you weren’t really big on dresses in general, but for this occasion with clark, you wanted him to see that you were more than pete’s twin.

the early evening of prom makes its presence known. throughout the entire day, your stomach rumbles with an immense amount of anxiety and piquancy. you burst out into a song while taking your shower, a soft muffled hum fills the bathroom when you brush your teeth. as your mother helps you to get ready, she affirms your beauty with each dab and blend of the cosmetics applied to your face. her gifted hands gingerly work through the coiled tresses of your dark hair in the desired style that you’ve seen one of your favorite singers sport in a magazine. as if it were like a cinderella-esque transformation, your final look was completed once you’ve donned your dress, jewelry, and heels. it was finally time for one of the best nights of your life.

clark stands at the front door of the ross house. he’s not sure how many times he’s been fidgeting with his black bow tie or glancing down at the freshly arranged corsage within the plastic container, but he knows one thing for a fact.

he was nervous.

he’s been looking forward to this all week. it was a casual plan set up by two friends, but why did he feel like he was going to mess everything up? were things going to change between you and him like how it did with him and lana? or him and chloe? he was psyching himself out, but he needed to swallow whatever doubt he had and just enjoy this like a somewhat normal teenager would, especially with someone he enjoyed spending time with. with a steady hand, his knuckles raise to knock on the front door to which pete answers within seconds. they perform their casual greeting with a hello and a dap.

“hey, clark! you’re right on time. i see you styling with the corsage.” pete joked to which clark chuckled as he invited clark to step in the living room.

“i’d sure hate to disappoint your sister, so thanks! it’s still cool with you that she’s my date, right?” clark questioned, a trace of timidity within his voice. when he first told pete about being your date, he’d surely thought his friend would tell him off by crossing that boundary. to clark’s surprise, pete took the news well.

“yeah, man! she’s been looking forward to this all week. besides, you’re going as friends, so it’s not anything that i’m worried about. my mom’s up there with her now, so she should be down in a few.” pete replied, standing coolly with his hands tucked in his pockets.

they compliment each other on their respective ensembles before clark’s eyes peruses the room. his sensitive ears pick up on the sound of the bustling, grating voices of the other ross brothers who had came to visit to see the twins off for their first prom. mark, mike, and sam along with your father all hurry to the living room to greet clark with more daps and hugs as if clark were their own. it seemed that every ross had made an appearance, all except for you. abigail hurriedly came down the staircase. she frantically waved her hands to signal for the men to keep their voices down as you were about to make your grand entrance. she turns to clark with an elated expression,

“clark, i’m so glad you’ve made it. she’s all done and ready.” your mother pauses, turning her head up to the staircase to call out your name.

“honey, clark’s here! let’s see you, so you don’t be late!”

after a sixty second beat of silence, the sound of your heels reverberated through the air as you descended from the staircase. every head turned in your direction. clark’s soft blue gaze didn’t dare to pull away as you reached the bottom of the steps. you were front and center. you were the belle of the ball. he stared in awe with his mouth slightly agape as you wore a lemon, satin maxi dress that accentuated the warm toned glow of your brown skin. it had a heavy hearted cut in the front while it exposed the skin of your back like a halter top. the garment complimented your figure perfectly and matched with the golden hoop earrings your mother let you borrow. the soft makeup that was applied to your features made each of them stand out. the sleek mascara, shimmering eyeshadow and the luminous pink gloss painted on your pouty lips made you look like you’ve walked out of a magazine. even though you received the warm gazes and compliments of your parents and brothers, you were still awaiting for what clark had to say. he only stood there staring at you as if he were trying to silently analyze a piece in an art museum. he looked so dashing in the sleek, noir tux that he wore. his physique had grown to be bulkier over the years, so you certainly didn’t miss the toned outline of his body. you gave him your full attention as he softly called out your name. you spectated as he deliberately approached you. his adam’s apple bobbed within his throat and he gulped, so that he didn’t fumble over what he had to say because he meant the next words that escaped from his mouth,

“you’re so beautiful.” he proclaims, to which your family coos. he easily opens the plastic container that withheld the corsage and holds his palm out for you place your wrist in. there was a certain spark that you weren’t sure that both of you felt when his fingers brushed against your skin as he slid the floral accessory on your wrist. his soft grip on your wrist lingered as you know that he can hear your heart racing within your chest, but he’d never call you out because he didn’t want to embarrass you. with the widest smile you reply with a tone of gratitude,

“thank you, clark! you look handsome as always.” his expression matches yours and he thanks you for the compliment before your mother urges you both to pose for some pictures. after some photographs and a wise talk of safety, you all bid your family goodbye. pete had to leave to go pick up teresa in his car, so it was only fair that you’d ride with clark. with your hand wrapped around clark’s bicep, he leads you to the faithful, red pickup truck that you’ve ridden in on several occasions, but now you look at it as your awaiting chariot while clark opens the passenger side for you to sit and safely buckle in.

after a brisk ride of small talk, wise cracking, and car karaoke, he pulls into the student parking lot where students who were dressed to impress were flooding towards the entrance to get into the gym. you sat there hesitantly, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding. at the sound, clark turns his eyes to the glowing profile of your fretting countenance. he can already tell that you’re internally freaking out. you haven’t really talked to lana nor jeremy all week and now what were you going to do if you ran into them? you couldn’t make too many excuses to avoid them in this situation. with a gentle hand, clark reaches over to intertwine your fingers together.

“hey—look at me.” his tenor voice softly urges. you reluctantly look at the signature benevolent, blue gaze of your best friend. you hate how weak it makes you when clark holds such intense eye contact, he means business.

“you’re going to have a great time, y/n. whatever worry is going on in your head right now, forget about it just for tonight. would you do that for me?”

“that’s not fair, clark. you know i’d do anything for you.” you both dissolve into a fit of laughter. when it dies down, you squeeze onto his hand and unbuckle your seatbelt before turning to him again, “what are you waiting for, kent? you said i was gonna have a great time, so show me a great time.”

with a grin of anticipation on his lips, he briefly releases your hand to exit the drivers’ seat and open the passenger in which your hand is instantly reunited with his. you both stroll together through the entrance, down the hallway, and into the wide, dark gym that was illuminated by colorful lights, the pumped up bass of the music playing through the stereo, and the multitude of conversations between your classmates. your brown eyes darted around the area. you see there was some tables, a couple of them were filled with concessions. there was even a line forming for what seemed to be a photo booth, in which you keep a mental note for it because you want a stab at it before you go.

most of their talking is ceased when they saw you two walking arm in arm, their eyes observed you two in awe the further you both stepped in. at first, you were starting to feel awkward under the several pairs of eyes on you. were these looks also varying in curiosity? admiration? envy? they expected clark to clean up well, but as for you, they were stunned to see the tomboyish basketball captain pop out as if she was tyra banks. although he didn’t want to seem too arrogant, clark experienced a mix of satisfaction and jealousy from the attention you were getting, especially from some of the guys. especially from jeremy, who was at first enthusiastically conversing with lana until he saw what all the commotion was about: you. piqued, jeremy peered at you from across the room as you were caught off guard when clark instinctively, yet smoothly snaked an arm around your waist to bring you closer.

“it’s okay. they’re just experiencing true beauty for the first time, it’s a very common reaction.” he wittily said with a cheeky smile. with a heated face, you looked at your friend, still convincing yourself of his status in your life, that just blatantly called you beautiful again. was this real life? he even clung to you as if one of these dudes would sweep you away. you were sure, he would instantly approach lana at the mere sight of her.

within a minute or two, pete and his date, teresa, meet you guys at the side of the dance floor. you instantly hit it off with your brother’s date as you two enthusiastically compliment each other on your dresses and engage in small girl talk. clark felt lucky that he had the prettiest girl on his arm tonight. he wasn’t sure why, but that was all he could he see you as right now. not the athlete, nor his best friend’s sister. he just saw you, y/n ross, in her element. the more he carried on in casual conversation with you, the more drawn in he seemed to be by your presence. it warmed his heart to be called your friend or — so he thought. it was all coming together when the upbeat tempo of the music shifted to something that presented an opportunity for you and clark to know each other better like you haven’t before.

the iconic opening notes of the piano from des’ree’s “kissing you” began to fill the room as couples swiftly gather together to the dance floor. when you listen to the songstress’ soprano voice, the butterflies in your stomach are frolicking when you see clark’s open palm before you. you loved this song. it was from the soundtrack of romeo + juliet, film about a forbidden love, a line crossed. why were you having these thoughts? you were just friends, it would just be a dance. nothing less, nothing more.

“may i have this dance? out of the many abilities i have, two left feet isn’t one of them, so i got you.” he lightly smiles, awaiting for your answer. he attentively watches as you rub your glossed lips together, a habit of your nervousness. you turn to him. in this moment, there was no thought of lana, nor jeremy. there was no thought of heartbreak, and certainly no inhibitions. without hesitation, you grasp his hand before meeting his gaze.

“you may, just don’t step on my toes. this pedicure wasn’t cheap!” you whisper with soft laughter following from you both before he leads you to the dance floor. when you find your place, his eyes don’t leave yours when he takes your hands to rest on his broad shoulders while his rest on your waist. his thumbs barely graze against the exposed skin of your back as his feet lead you both to sway so easily to the orchestral sound of the ballad. the world outside fades, leaving only the warmth of his presence. you find solace as you feel the soft press of his hands on your waist, the comforting weight of his fingers resting just above the curve of your hips. your fingers wrap a little tighter around his neck to the point where your fingertips graze against the nape where part of his dark curls flawlessly cascade. you’re not tripping, there’s an undeniable electricity between you when your bodies absentmindedly draw closer while you continue to engage in this “platonic” dance.

“you sure you can keep up?” clark teases, a playful glint in his eyes, breaking the silence as you sway together. the light catches his pearly smile, his pristine canines illuminating from the way he looks at you—as if you were more than what you’ve always seemed to be in his life. you giggle, feeling the deliberate rhythm pull you even closer.

“boy, please. if i can break your ankles on the court, i can have you twirling like a ballerina on this dance floor, trust.” you saucily yet softly quip, your heartbeat growing as the vocal riffs of des’ree grow more passionate. with each step on the floor, clark guides you effortlessly, his movements confident yet unhurried, as if savoring every moment like it’s the last dance of the night. more like the last night of your lives.

“alright, n/n, just don’t get too dizzy on me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. you were sure he could feel the goosebumps forming on your skin. you’re so sprung in the sway of his words and the gentle pulse of the music, the outside world completely forgotten. he even takes the opportunity to release one of your hands from his shoulder to smoothly spin you around at the bridge. when you come back, your body is flush against his. you’re basically heart to heart at this point. you don’t even notice the speculating eyes that burned into you. you don’t even notice the look of realization that dawned upon clark, lana, and pete: you were obviously in love with clark kent and it wasn’t just now. it’s been brewing within your heart for years. the weight of reality seems to dissipate, leaving behind only the two of you and this connection beyond friendship that felt so real. his powder blue gaze locked on yours, an unspoken spark flickering between you.

“you know,” he begins, his voice lowers as if he just wanted you to hear what he had to say. like your own little secret, “i’d never thought that finding ourselves dancing like this would feel so—perfect. like out of a movie or something.”

you tilt your head slightly, the air between you shifted as you reply softly, “it really does, doesn’t it? plus, i love this song. it’s from one of my favorite movies.” his thumbs brush against your bare back, igniting a warmth that spreads through your absolute everything. he gulps, getting himself together for what he’s about to say next,

“between you and me—i’d either rewind to this part over and over, or i wouldn’t want the movie to end at all.”

the pale skin of clark’s face paint with a shade of crimson as you lose yourselves in each other’s eyes, the last notes of the song begin to fade. you find yourselves leaning in closer and closer. was this actually happening? in front of lana? in front of your brother? were you both going to—reality creeps back in, the echo of the final chord concludes this ethereal moment. yet, in that fleeting instant, it feels as if time has stood still—if only for a little while. as the final note lingers in the air. you pull back slightly, just enough to read the mixture of emotions in his eyes—surprise, contentment, and something deeper lurking beneath the surface. you clear your throat and join in the applause of the crowd of students when the music instantly reverts back to the vibe of something upbeat to rock with. you clark retire yourselves to sit at one of the empty tables as you were complaining about your feet hurting from the heels you’ve been wearing. being the gentleman that he was, he helps to release your ailing feet from the shoes before venturing off to use the restroom and get some refreshments from the concession table.

while you were occupied massaging your feet, you now feel the presence of two beings sit at each side of you. you just assume it’s your brother coming to rag on you.

“pete, if you’re here to rub in my face about how i shouldn’t have worn heels this high, i will literally bop you with one.” you sass, still looking down until hear familiar feminine chuckles.

“if that’s the case, then i wouldn’t dare to say a word!” you know that quick and precise wit to be none other than your friend, chloe sullivan. you froze and turn your head to see her sitting on your right with lana lang on your left. they both looked radiant in their evening gowns as if they were contestants in a beauty pageant, especially lana. your mood starts to shift once you remembered why you avoided them in the first place. you were praying to god that clark could use his kryptonian speed to rescue you from this awkward situation.

“hey, guys. long time, no see.” you neutrally greet as you place the heels back on.

“long time, no see indeed. it feels like you haven’t had the time to be around us lately—we miss you!” lana mentioned, placing a manicured hand on your knee. what gives her the right to touch you after what she’s done. you were gonna keep your cool because clark should be back any minute now.

“yeah, i’ve just been working to get this full-ride and trying to get ready for tonight. i never knew how much time that would take.” you quip, earning a chuckle from both of the girls.

“well, it looks like it all paid off— you look beautiful!” chloe says flashing her pearly smile, a twinkle within her green eyes as lana nods in agreement. although you were peeved with them, you couldn’t help, but to smile at her compliment.

“i appreciate it, guys. ya’ll look great, too.”

there was a few beats of silence, lana finally removes her hand from your knee and twiddles with her fingers. with the clearing of her throat, she addresses the elephant in the room,

“so—um, it looks like you came with clark tonight. how did your brother take that?” you shoot her a side glance and lean back within your seat, glancing at the corsage on your wrist.

“pete’s cool with it. clark and i just happened to be dateless and he asked me to go with him. we’re just here as friends, of course.” you shrug.

“oh really, now?” she further questioned.

after the slow dance, all three of you found it bit hard to believe when you brought that up. something in lana faltered when she heard that clark had asked you. there was that pressure weighing in her stomach and chest, when she swallowed it felt like there was a lump. her hands gripped onto the fabric of her dress as she was trying to keep her facial expression as normal as possible. you didn’t miss the trace of jealousy within her hazel gaze. if that’s how she wanted to do this, you were about to go in for the kill.

“mhm. sorta like how i’m cool with you going with jeremy ford.”

lana furrowed her brows in confusion at your statement.

“what’s that supposed to mean, y/n?”

“lana, let’s not play games. i’ve told you about my crush on him, you tell me that i should go for him, but then here you are, on his arm here tonight! what’s crazier is that i had to find out from clark and pete.” you comment cutting your gaze over at chloe, letting her know that she wasn’t out of the woods for her role in this disaster.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know that i had to tell you every single that happens in my life. especially in who i date. besides, he was the only one who asked me and i just went along with it because neither of you never made a move!” lana made a valid point, but the mystery was why didn’t she just give you a head’s up, so you still combatted her claim.

“lana. i don’t give a damn about who you date because obviously you didn’t when you and clark got together, knowing that chloe and i had feelings for him. it hurt us, yes, but you were decent enough to say it to our faces because our friendship mattered. i’m not even sure if that’s true now because this time, you just told chloe. i get that she’s roommate, but why? why couldn’t tell me—

“because i didn’t want you telling clark that i’ve moved on so quickly, okay? i’m not exactly over him and he didn’t ask me, so i felt that i didn’t have a choice.” the word vomit spews after she you cuts off. you all take a beat of silence before she continues,

“i’ve seen how close you two have been getting. i-i don’t know what it is, but suddenly he’s like an open book when he’s around you. even when we were together, on and off, he’d never be that way with me, so i guess i didn’t tell you because i was afraid you’d run off and tell him in a heartbeat. i-i guess i went out with jeremy and didn’t tell you because i was—”

it was now your turn to cut her off.

“jealous?”

conceding, lana silently nodded. it’s amazing how she was so quick to call clark a coward back in the past and pressure him for a truth she wasn’t sure she could even handle, but now look at her. being secretive all because of her obsession with clark exposing himself as who he truly is while they were together.

“wow, so i guess that dance really burned you up. didn’t it, lana? now you see what happens when you’re not completely honest with people who you claim to be their friend.” you sharply retort, venom in your tone.

“y/n, i’m—” she started to speak, but stopped as she did a double take to the male in question heading in your direction. speak of the devil—well, alien in your case. as if his timing weren’t perfect enough, clark had finally appeared with two cups of punch along with two decorated cupcakes. your favorite dessert.

“i hope i didn’t keep you waiting that long, y/n. there was a long line for the both bathroom and the snacks.” he chuckled as his eyes took notice of his friends, but he felt there was something that went down between you. there was a tension and the vibe wasn’t very pleasant.

“lana, chloe hey!” he cordially greets them both while handing you the refreshments. he grins as your facial expression softens in contentment at the sight of the delicacies, you thank him as you take it into your hands. he makes small talk with lana and chloe, asking them if they’re enjoying the event in which they respond with a “yes” and “mhm” as they nod. it was only a matter of time before what you were worrying about came to fruition. although you were glad at his presence, he could see that you were clearly uncomfortable with the girls sitting at your sides. clark kent guaranteed a good night for both of you, so he had to do what he had to do.

“i’d hate to intrude, but you guys mind if i sat with y/n? i believe i owe her some quality time back for being away for so long.” he requests, awaiting for the girls departure. as soon as lana and chloe heard the words, “quality time”, they instantly acknowledged that he wanted to sit with you, alone. after witnessing what happened, chloe saw it in their best interest if they did leave you and clark alone. no matter how much lana wanted to stay, she still had jeremy to entertain for the night.

“that’s no problem! we were actually just leaving.” with that, chloe stood and took lana’s arm, whisking them both to the other side of the gym before lana could say another word. clark took the seat that chloe had sat in, he peered over to see you happily, but silently indulging in the cupcake. although he didn’t want to ruin the vibe, he still had a hunch and questioned you about what happened previously in his absence.

“hey—are you okay? it looked like you wanted to get out of there.” it was sweet of him to check in on you so you just gave it to him straight.

“yeah, i’ll be fine, clark. lana and i had a fight. it was obviously about jeremy and—” you paused, gazing in his direction, “other things, but i don’t wanna talk about it now. i’m still gonna have a good night with you.” you glance over to the area where the photo-booth station is. “it looks like the line at the photo-booth is slowing down. let’s get a picture after i’m done.”

“yeah, sure! i’m up for that it’s gonna be fun.” he enthusiastically nods, agreeing to the next step.

“you gonna eat that?” you question gesturing to the cupcake that was still in his hand. you had this habit where he would have a morsel of food and you would always ask if he would finish it. no matter what, clark would always give it to you and this was no different. with a chuckle, he gave in. you didn’t notice that some icing had spread to the corner of your lip, but he did.

“hey, hold still. you got something right—” he paused, using his hand to guide your chin, so that you could be face to face. with a gentle swipe of his thumb, the icing disappears. “there.” he finishes, “don’t want anything to spoil our photo op, now would we?” you both erupt in giggles. after serving him a thank you, you both refresh with some punch and make your way to the short line of the photo booth. you two carry on in casual conversation as the first two couples go in, do their thing, and come out leaving with one strip of about five photos. it was now your turn to go in the rectangular booth. it was a bit of a squeeze. given clark’s tall stature. there was a bench, but it looked like it could only hold one person once clark sat down. you inwardly thought a “bless his heart” as his body almost took up the whole bench. still standing, you giggle when he’s about to push the “start” button and you both see a ten second countdown presented on the screen.

“clark! how are we supposed to take pictures when i can’t even sit down? now, i only have five seconds.”

he gazed at you and simply patted his leg, suggesting you’d sit there. you frantically shake your head, quickly declining his offer. you weren’t sure if you should cross that line in this tight space with the your brother’s best friend.

“i know it may look weird to you, but we literally don’t have time. i’m good with it, so c’mon!” he urges, laughing.

“clark, no!” you resist not containing your own chuckles. you’re hysterical as he grasps your wrist and pulls your body to his, so that you were sitting upon his leg. you both look at the direction of the screen count to one and then you hear the first click as it captured your giggling faces. another timer starts when you shift to a normal pose of you wrapping an arm around his shoulder and his around your waist. you both promptly smile for the second time. at the third click, he’s gazing at your profile smiling while you stick your tongue out while throwing up a peace sign. at the fourth, you look over at him to match the never ceasing eye contact which the camera captures. as the timer starts for the final photo, your head is spinning as your senses are all over the place. within these last ten seconds, you look down at his rose red lips while his arm pulls you in closer on his lap. you free hand goes on a journey to reach for his jawline where your fingers graze against the sharp edge of the bone before stopping to completely hold his face. clark leans forward, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. your awaiting lips barely ghosting over one another. both of your eyes shut as you pass the point of no return. at the final click, it captures the moment of you and clark kent, tenderly kissing each other for the first time. you’re both lost in the kiss between you lingers for a few more seconds before you open your eyes and the realization of what you’re doing dawns on you.

what the hell just happened?

as if you inherited kryptonian speed, you shoot up from your place on clark’s lap and hastily walk out of the gym towards the back exit. without wasting time, clark called out for you in protest snd was swift enough to collect your photo strip and jog in the direction of where you left. when you pushed open the door, you stood with your back against the brick wall as you let the hot tears cascade down your brown cheeks. you didn’t care if your mascara was running, what were you thinking? you loved the kiss, you loved clark. it was obvious that he was enjoying it as much as you did, but did it hold that same sentiment for him as it did for you? you cross your arms, scolding yourself for being such a hypocrite. you just told lana off for going out with a guy you liked while you, her trusted friend, kissed her ex-boyfriend. you weren’t having a good night and it all seemed so screwed up now.

you sob quietly and stop when you hear the door creak open to reveal clark. he softly calls your name and attempts to reach out to you, but you turn from him and wipe away at your face.

“clark, w-we shouldn’t have done that! we should not have done that.” you reiterate, and start to ramble after you turn to face him again, “clark, what about pete? what’s he gonna say if he finds out? it was already hard enough when you told us about your secret, but i don’t want you to lose him as a friend because of me. i don’t want to lose you because i love you and our friendship too much for that to happen.” silently, he looks down at and you pause, sobbing out your confession.

“you want to know why lana didn’t tell me about jeremy? she’s mad because of how close we’re getting. she’s mad because i know a part of you that she doesn’t, clark— and you know what? i love how close we’ve been getting. i love that you can be honest with me without holding back. i love that you can come to me about the issues with your family. i love that you use your abilities to help and protect others, including me. now i don’t blame her for getting jealous because—” you stop to take his hands within your own and stare straight into his eyes, finally mustering up the courage to say, “i love you, clark. i love you so much. alien or not, it’ll never change how i’ve felt about you. you may think it all you want, but you’re not a monster and you’re not a freak of nature. you’re you. that’s why i’ll always be there for you the best that i can, clark. whether you feel the same way or not.”

clark’s heart raced as he absorbed your words, the weight of your recent confession hanging thick in the air as you wait for an answer, any sign for how he felt. he felt a warmth spread through him, his mind trailing back through memories of late-night conversations, stolen glances, and moments filled with unspoken understanding between you two.

“i-i…don’t know what to say,” he finally uttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“then show me, clark.” you softly urged with a firmness not daring to break eye contact, “you either stay or leave. you make the call.”

deep inside him, something stirred—a realization that had been hiding deep in the shadows of his heart that’s been there all along. as he looked into your brown eyes, the intensity of your gaze opened something within. so gingerly, he stepped closer, his breath hitching as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. “y/n, i—i want to stay. i want to give you the chance that you deserve because you’ve always been there for me and you just get me. you’re the only girl i can truly be myself with and when you said that you don’t see me as a freak, it only confirmed what i’ve been feeling.”

he gulped, his gaze softening upon your figure as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat before concluding his statement,

“what if i showed you—that i believe what we did in the photo-booth wasn’t a mistake?”

“oh, clark.” you sigh out in resolve before placing your hands on his shoulders, promptly leaning in, and finally closing the distance of your lips for the second time. the first time was gentle, magical, and tender. this kiss however, had more desperation and your movements more fervent. he backed himself up against the wall, naturally guiding you closer, so your bodies were connected. he snakes his arms securely around your waist while your lips move in sync with each other. you lean your head back, sighing as he holds your jaw to sensually entrap your full bottom lip within his. if you wanted to know the feeling of being drunk, this, right here, had to be the epitome of it when you took the bold step of swirling your tongue around his. a hum vibrates deep from his chest and into your mouth when he plays along. this was it—no more doubt, no more guarding your hearts against the unknowns of what you could be together.

while you were lost in each other, lana lang had wanted to find you so, she could hopefully talk things out with you after the confrontation. she left jeremy behind and stepped out of the gym, trying seeking you amidst the crowd before going outside and around to the back of the school. ever so stealthily, her steps faltered as she caught sight of you, her friend, and clark, her ex, caught in the rapture of the most passionate of kisses. she didn’t dare to utter a word nor spoil the moment with an outburst. she didn’t want to ruin things than they already were between you. feeling a mixed pang of hurt, anger, jealousy and defeat, the last thread of hope snapped inside her. with the sting of her watering hazel eyes, she turned back to quietly retreat and find chloe, so they could immediately go home. now, she was leaving behind the remnants of what could have been between her and clark, while you and him are unaware of the heartbreak left lingering in the night.

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , TELL YOU WHAT? , S.JY !

PAIRING: fiance ! jake × drunk ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: getting drunk in hopes to escape your engagement and the sadness that came with it—you turned to a stranger or maybe... your fiance. GENRE: fluff, drabble. WORD COUNT: 541. [LIBRARY]

♫︎ REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED

You had thought sneaking out of your engagement party to get drunk in the garden was a brilliant idea. A freeing, rebellious decision. No one would notice, you had convinced yourself. But as usual, life had other plans—and so did Jake, your brand-new fiancé, who somehow found you curled up on the grass, your pristine dress now speckled with dirt.

“There you are,” he sighed, sitting down beside you with a mix of relief and mild exasperation. “You do realize there’s an entire party looking for you, right?”

You waved him off lazily, blinking up at the night sky. “The stars don’t judge,” you slurred, the alcohol working its magic, “unlike Aunt Minji and her ‘oh, so you’re the bride?’ looks.”

Jake chuckled softly, brushing a speck of grass off your shoulder. “Well, Aunt Minji doesn’t have to marry you. I do.”

You turned to him with a mock glare, your cheeks flushed—not just from the wine. “You don’t have to,” you said, hiccupping slightly. “But if you want to, you should know I have a secret.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning in playfully. “Do tell, my mysterious fiancée.”

You sat up dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process. “I weigh over 45 kilograms!” you announced, as if it were the most shocking revelation in the world. “And—and,” you added, your voice dropping into a whisper, “my chest is still flat!”

Jake froze, caught somewhere between disbelief and laughter. But it was the way your bottom lip wobbled, your eyes welling up with tears of tragic sincerity, that pushed him over the edge. He burst out laughing.

“You’re laughing?!” you cried, your voice a mix of betrayal and drunken indignation. Tears spilled over as you sniffled. “You don’t have it either! How dare you judge me?”

That was it. Jake had to press his hand over his mouth to stop the laughter threatening to spill out, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Okay, okay,” he said, scooting closer as you dramatically flopped backward onto the grass, staring up at the sky like a tragic heroine in a period drama. “You’re right. I don’t have it either. We’re even.”

You sniffled again, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your very expensive dress. “We’re both... flat,” you mumbled, your voice quivering. “What a sad couple we make.”

Jake sighed, leaning over you, his tone softening as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Hey, it’s not sad,” he said, his voice gentle but laced with amusement. “It’s… balanced. And you’re perfect, even if you’re drunk out of your mind right now.”

You squinted up at him, your lips curling into a pout. “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.”

Jake smirked, offering you his hand. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m saying it because you’re the funniest drunk I’ve ever met. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up before Aunt Minji sends a search party.”

Reluctantly, you let him pull you up, leaning against him as you stumbled. “Fine,” you muttered. “But only because you admitted you’re flat too.”

Jake laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you. “Deal. Now let’s get back before you decide to share any more of our secrets with the stars.”

© senascoop | tumblr

[ju1cyfru1t]

rottmnt x reader || S/O who bites (out of love and affection obvi)

Rise! Donnie, Raph, Mikey, Leo x Reader (separately)

fluff? :D, gn reader, romantic (established relationship), BITING mmmm, mild swearing

Donnie

- the first time you bite him, he jumps and lets out a loud yelp, “ah! ow! what in the name of-“ then just stares at you in disbelief. absolutely incredulous. and has to take a while to process. why? why- HOW could you do this to him? after all he’s done for you?

- don’t play with him he HAS and WILL bite you back and NOT in a loving way

- he is ALWAYS on his guard

- you go in for a hug? you lean in to kiss him? you turn your head ever so slightly in his direction? his whole body tenses up. you’re giving this boy trust issues. he will physically, STILL GENTLY, push you away with his mechanical spider arm thingies…heaven forbid you bite those too….

- “Do. NOT. Bite me. Y/N.” “…”

- ^— “DO NOT. This is your last warning.”

- “Yes, Y/N. You’re very ferocious and vicious. Now STOP biting me.”

- “Sigh. That is NOT affection, Y/N.”

- “AH! Don’t bite me while I’m working, please…Don’t bite me ever!”

- “If you want to ‘show affection,’ you could just…I don’t know, hug me? or hold my hand? the biting is unnecessary.”

- NOT a fan of the biting at ALL

Raph

- The first time you bite him, “AHH!” he is confused. he does not understand. are you trying to attack him??? do you wanna throw hands??? what did he do to deserve that??? he does not want to throw hands with you

- he really does not see how biting is supposed to be showing your affection but whatever you say 😭

- his skin is pretty thick and rough. I mean you’d really have to sink your teeth in to hurt him so he just lets you. it actually lowkey tickles to him.

- “Careful. Ya don’t wanna bite my spikes.”

- it’s definitely not his favorite thing in the world but he doesn’t mind terribly if it really makes you happy and as long as it’s just you trying to show him love

- chooses to just take it as a sign that you want attention and/or some kind of affection

- would never bite you back tho

- however, I don’t suggest catching him off guard with a nibble cause he might start swingin 🤺 and would feel absolutely horrible abt it

Mikey

- the first time you bite him he’s offended. you’re gonna bite HIM? 🤨 yeah, ok buddy. he just squeaks in surprise and rubs where you bit him, looking at you like ‘😟’ before biting you back. he is taking it personally until you tell him you’re just showing affection cuz you love him soooooo much

- he’s perfectly ok with it then as long as you don’t bite him too hard

- LOVES to give and receive affection anyways so he makes it really easy to bite him when he’s clinging onto you all the time

- always giggles and squirms when you bite him

- returns your bites with kisses all over your face

Leo

- the fucking most dramatic ever

- the first time you bite him he acts like you just shot him

- “OWW!! OWIE! Ugh! Y/N! How COULD you?! BETRAYAL” while gripping where you bit his shoulder and whining like a toddler even though it did not hurt at all and you didn’t leave any sort of mark whatsoever.

- ^ drops the act completely when you tell him it was out of love

- now every time you do it he thinks you’re trying to flirt with him 🤞😔 and I mean I guess he’s sort of-ish right

- honestly he doesn’t really care but definitely teases you about it /ns

- “yeah? do I taste good, Y/N?” /ns!!

- “ow! ok, ok! not too hard!” while giggling

- “mhm…now kiss it better.” makes you kiss where you bit him every time.

——————————————————————————

now I know I ain’t the only one who bites like that 🤨

[yannawayne]

viii. a little death

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: MILD SMUT (will put indicators if people want to skip), Established relationship, Wounds, Violence, Suggestive jokes, Doppelgangers AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

The black of his suit bleeds seamlessly into the surrounding darkness, making him appear more phantom than man.

He looks like a living nightmare.

Damian lifts his head just in time to see Batman towering over you, his cape billowing ominously in the night breeze. A cold chill runs down Damian's spine as dread settles heavy in his chest. Of all people, his father was the last person he wanted to find him here like this—vulnerable, exposed, and with you.

Reacting on pure instinct, Damian scrambles to his feet, positioning himself firmly between you and the Dark Knight.

"Father." Damian’s voice is low but steady, though the weight of what’s happening lingers in every syllable. His mind races, knowing that Batman doesn’t recognize you in your vigilante form and likely believes he's cheating on you.

To Batman, this looks like betrayal.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 12:13 AM - Stark Tower, Gotham City.

The rhythmic clacking of a keyboard filled the room, a steady, almost hypnotic sound that gently tugged you from sleep. You stirred, the tangled sheets wrapping around you like a cozy cocoon. Damian’s strong arms were draped around your shoulders and waist, his warmth a comforting presence as he held you close.

As he shifted slightly, his fingers traced absentminded patterns along your back, a tender caress that sent a soft shiver of relaxation down your spine. You groaned softly, turning towards him and resting your head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear was a soothing, rhythmic pulse, grounding you in the comfort of his embrace.

Across the room, Morgan was propped up at your desk, her messy hair pulled back with a headband, though a few stray tendrils had escaped and framed her face in an untidy halo. Her eyes were fixed intently on the laptop screen, where a Google document was open, filled with lines of text that seemed to flow endlessly. In her free hand, she cradled a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma wafting through the room and mingling with the faint scent of the morning air. 

After returning to the tower yesterday, you and Damian had practically slept through the entire morning—this one, however... 

You groaned, burying your cheek deeper into the pillow as you tried to block out the light from the laptop and her typing. 

“You bitch. Do you ever sleep?” you grumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you rubbed your eyes with the heel of your hand.

Morgan gave you a lopsided grin, the steam from her coffee curling around her face like a comforting fog. “Sleep? What’s that?”

You rolled onto your back, stretching your limbs. “That’s usually my line.”

She shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. “I know. Just kinda hyper tonight,” she said, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she continued typing.

"By the way,” she hummed thoughtfully, “what kinks do you think Nightcrawler would have?"

"..."

You could feel Damian’s confusion even before he spoke. "Excuse me?" he blinked at her, squinting as if he’d misheard. “Why on earth would you ask that? And why now, of all times?” “I’m writing fanfic,” she replied matter-of-factly, still typing away. “Ooh! You’re her boyfriend. What kind of freaky stuff do you think her hero-sona would be into?”

You stifled a laugh, propping yourself up on one elbow to enjoy the show. “Choking kink.”

Damian, who had been leaning against the headboard, choked on his own spit. His eyes widened in shock, and his face turned a deep crimson. “What?!”

“Don’t play dumb,” you snickered, reveling in the way his skin turned redder by the second. “I know you knew this one.”

Morgan’s gaze flickered between you two, her expression momentarily blank, though a hint of something inscrutable flashed in her eyes before she quickly shook it off. She returned to her typing, the clacking of keys filling the room once more.

“That’s so basic,” she huffed, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Give me a better one. I need something with a little more flair.”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Bondage, then. Webs, remember?”

Damian's face turned an even deeper shade of red at the mention of webs, his mind clearly racing to process the suggestion. 

Morgan’s fingers paused mid-keystroke as she considered your suggestion. A slow, mischievous grin spread across her face. “Web bondage? Now that’s more like it,” she said, quickly typing it in. “I can work with that.”

“I’m surrounded by lunatics,” he muttered.

Morgan grinned wickedly. “Lunatics, maybe, but this is going to be one hell of a fic. And don’t worry, Dames, I’ll make sure Robin gets some action too.”

He shot her a glare. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“There are ships of us already?” you blink, surprised. 

Morgan coughs into her hand, an odd twist in her face. “There are ships of everyone these days. People have imaginations that just don’t quit. "

“I had no idea,” you said, blinking in surprise. “What do they call it? SpideyBird? WebWing?”

Damian looked genuinely disgusted. “Why do they even need a name for it? Why are people spending time on this?”

You patted Damian’s shoulder reassuringly, trying to lighten the mood. “At least they’re rooting for us to be together, right?”

Morgan just shrugged off Damian’s reaction and continued to write. “The fanfics of you are pretty fresh. Only around a hundred works so far, but the edits…” She trailed off, her fingers fumbling for her phone with a mischievous grin.

Groaning, you shut your eyes as Morgan’s grin widened. 

“Do not show me—” you began, but before you could finish, the audio started blaring from her phone.

Well, come and get it now Come and get it now Baby, show me what you're doing Come and turn around 'Cause it's not just a figure of speech You got me down on my knees It's getting harder to breathe out

“MORGAN!”

She looked up, grinning widely as if she’d been waiting for this exact reaction.

“What?” she laughed, thoroughly enjoying the moment. “You can’t tell me this hot.”

Curiosity got the better of you, and despite your better judgment, you peeked at the screen. The video was a shaky close-up, showing you leaning against a car, your hair tousled and your armor cracked. You were breathing heavily, your head thrown back.

The camera zoomed in slowly, and the lyrics that accompanied it were dramatic and overly romantic, turning the entire scene into something far more intimate than it had ever been. You could almost understand why someone might find it “hot,” but that didn’t stop the wave of embarrassment from flooding through you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “That is horrible. I was literally on the brink of death. Was that from last night?” “Yeah,” Morgan nodded as she replayed the clip. “Your fans ate it up. Apparently, it’s going viral.”

Damian, who had been eerily silent throughout the entire exchange, finally broke his silence. “Where is that on?”

You immediately yanked your hands away from your face, your eyes wide with disbelief. “No. Don’t even think about it.”

“Tiktok,” Morgan answered casually, a hint of mischief in her tone. To your horror, Damian pulled out his phone

“Don’t you dare!” you warned, but it was too late. Damian was already typing your codename into the search bar. 

As the search results loaded, an edit began to play, and you felt your face flush with heat. The chosen song only seemed to amplify the humiliation. 

Touch me, yeah I want you to touch me there Make me feel like I am breathing Feel like I am human

Damian, smirked, liked the video, and saved it.

“STOP!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 8:06 AM - Gotham City.

"..."

"..."

"Why—"

"Don't—" you seethed, sinking deeper into the plush leather seat of Tony’s limousine. The soft leather creaked under your weight as you clenched the armrest, your knuckles turning white. "Don’t even say a word."

Damian pressed his lips together, suppressing a smirk. 

His gaze drifted over your outfit—no, the uniform you’d been practically forced into. The Stark Industries cap perched on your head was like a crown of corporate shame, its logo glaring down at you from the brim. Your shirt clung uncomfortably to your torso, the bold emblem stretched so tightly across your chest it might as well have been tattooed on. Even your sneakers were branded with that obnoxious red logo.

You felt like a sellout.

“You look stunning,” Damian said, barely holding back a laugh as he glanced over at you from his seat across the limo. 

“Stunning?!” You shot him a scowl, the edges of your mouth twitching downward. “I look ridiculous!”

“Why didn’t you just wear—”

“I couldn’t!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at Morgan. “This fucking ginger goblin threw my clothes out! Now I’m stuck as a goddamn billboard!”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo," she mocked, turning to you from her spot in the limo, sprawled comfortably on the cushions. Her fingers casually brushed against the plush fabric as she spoke, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Dad’s idea, not mine. He wanted you to have a ‘fresh look.’”

You turned to Tony, who was lounging at the far edge of the limo, his dress shoes propped up against one of the seats. He was absorbed in his phone, mindlessly scrolling through this week’s gossip. Occasionally, he chuckled to himself, completely oblivious to the steam practically pouring out of your ears.

Fighting the urge to choke-slam him right then and there, you spoke up “What the hell is this all for, anyways?”

Tony peered up from his phone and grinned, “Oh, come on. It’s a marketing move. There’s going to be paparazzi and everything. We thought it’d be fun to put you in our new line of promotional gear.”

“Fun? You think this is fun?!”

“It’s not like we’re asking you to wear spandex,” Morgan snickered, her eyes drifting to meet Damian’s. He shot her a glare in response. “It’s just a little branding.”

“I’d almost rather be wearing spandex,” you grumble, pressing your cheek to the cool glass of the window. Your breath fogs up the surface, creating a clouded view of the city beyond.

Morgan whistles. "That's a sight I'd love to see."

You roll your eyes. The cityscape outside rushes by, a blur of towering buildings and streaks of light blending into a hazy, indistinct swirl. Outside, the world seems distant, almost unreal, as if you're moving too fast to truly grasp any of it.

“By the way, you’re going to hate me, but…” Morgan spoke up again, reaching into her bag. “I also brought a jacket.” She held out a sleek, branded jacket that perfectly matched the rest of the outfit.

You slammed your head into the glass and vowed to burn every Stark-branded item you owned.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 8:14 AM - Wayne Tower, Gotham City.

Bruce wondered if it was too late to file for unemployment.

He sat at the head of the conference table, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the middle-aged man droning on in a monotone voice. The man's garish mustard-yellow tie jerked awkwardly with each exaggerated gesture, as if trying to bring some life to the dull presentation. His glasses, too large for his face, inched down his nose with every movement, threatening to fall off completely.

“—as you've all been aware, we've been facing issues regarding our stolen drone flight technology due to criminal activity in the—”

The slides projected onto the screen, filled with graphs and charts, were melding into an endless stream of data that felt like it was slowly turning his brain into mush. Bruce barely registered them. Instead, his mind was a million miles away, lost in a fog. He let his attention drift to the ceiling tiles, idly counting the tiny imperfections as the briefing continued. 

TICK. TOK. TICK. TOK.

He glanced at his watch, stifling a groan as he saw only a few painful minutes had passed since he last checked. The meeting, as usual, felt like a slog, but today was particularly grueling. 

His thoughts kept drifting back to the text he received last night. Damian had invited him to your dress shop appointment today, telling him he would be covering the bill. Without a second thought, Bruce agreed and sent his card over—and if Alfred hadn’t intervened, he might have ended up buying out the entire boutique in his enthusiasm.

Could you blame him?

Much like Selina, you were stubbornly independent—always managing on your own, even when you needed support. It was a trait that made him proud, but it also left him wishing he could be more involved in your life.

If Bruce were a better man, less emotionally constipated as he often chastised himself, he might have reached out more. He might have asked if you needed to talk, offered his support more openly, and bridged the gap that seemed to widen with each passing year.

But he wasn’t that man. He was the one who held back, kept his feelings guarded, and let the distance grow because he didn’t know how to close it.

Adding salt to the wound, Stark would be there too, intruding on what should have been his time with you. 

An absolute diva. That man had a way of dominating any room, leaving little space for anything—or anyone—else. It wasn’t just Tony’s overwhelming presence that irked Bruce, but how effortlessly Stark seemed to connect with you.

In just a few months, Tony had managed to get closer to you than Bruce had in years. Where Bruce held back, Tony leaned in, closing the gap he couldn’t seem to bridge.

To make matters worse, Stark had already gotten a head start. Although Bruce would have loved to pick you up himself, he was stuck in this meeting he couldn’t cancel again—he’d already rescheduled it thirteen times.

Which is why, the moment the clock hit 12, he was already on his feet, pushing his chair back and making a beeline for the door.

"Sir, we still need to discuss—" mustard tie stuttered, but his protest was cut short as Bruce, without turning or breaking his stride, raised a hand and dismissed him with a flick of the wrist.

“Contact my secretary if you need anything,” Bruce called over his shoulder, his tone leaving no room for debate. The matter was closed.

“I’ll handle whatever needs to be done tonight,” he said, shutting the door firmly behind him.

And he would. Bruce had already gathered a significant amount of data on Black Mask and the recent robberies plaguing Wayne Enterprises. Although the case had taken a backseat amid the chaos with the spider vigilante, it was time to refocus. The priority now was to tackle what truly needed his attention.

As he stormed through the hallways, the lens of a nearby CCTV camera tracked his movements.

The camera’s feed flickered momentarily. The image on the screen sputtered and glitched, revealing fleeting glimpses of different worlds—flashes of varying times and places. Colors bled into one another, shapes twisted and warped, and for a brief, disorienting moment, the image seemed to fracture, as if reality itself was breaking apart.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the glitching ceased. The feed stabilized, leaving only a faint trace of the anomaly that had briefly unsettled the surveillance system.

Bruce jabbed the button for the ground floor and slid into the elevator. 

The lens refocused, but he was already out of sight.

 ༻⊰───⋅

The vehicle glided to a stop in front of a gleaming marble building, and you all stepped out, heading toward the entrance. The interior was as opulent as the exterior promised. Marble floors gleamed underfoot, and glass walls reflected the polished attendants who moved gracefully in their sharp suits. Nearby, customers mingled and laughed, their designer outfits adding vibrant splashes of color to the sleek surroundings. 

Your attention was drawn to the sleek signage behind the lobby desk, where a name was displayed in elegant gold lettering.

“La Ouvere.”

French. Expensive. So luxurious it practically oozed excess. Because, of course, this was the place Tony chose.

Grumbling, you adjusted your cap to hide your face. 

You couldn’t believe he made you wear company merch to a place like this. 

CLAP.

You looked up just in time to see two rough hands slam together in a handshake, the sound sharp and echoing through the lobby like a gunshot. Tony and Bruce exchanged pleasantries, their faces stretched into wide, almost painfully forced grins.

"Bruce! Good to see you," Tony started, his voice oozing with practiced charm. "I’ve got to say, I am a huge fan of your recent striptease at the Iceberg Lounge."

"Ha." Bruce’s reply was tight-lipped. "Tony. Always a pleasure."

The handshake lingered a beat too long, both men gripping each other’s hands like they were trying to see who could squeeze the other’s bones into dust first, daring the other to flinch.

Bruce placed a hand on your shoulder with a fatherly air. “I’m glad you saw great potential in her. I’ve always known her to be quite the achiever from a young age.”

Tony wasn’t about to let that go uncontested. He quickly slid his other hand onto your shoulder,  “Well, if anyone’s been pushing the limits and achieving great things, it’s definitely been her.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And it’s all thanks to the support system. After all, it’s not just about talent but the environment that nurtures it.” He gave your shoulder a pat, adding, “Despite the struggles, her aunt raised her well—you just get to reap the benefits. Haha. Not everyone can rely on billion-dollar labs to get ahead.”

“Well, thanks to me,” Tony says, giving your shoulder a shake (again with the shoulders thing.) “I’d say she’s got plenty of both now.”

The testosterone in this room was so thick you could practically taste it.

“Alright,” you shake your head, gently removing their hands from your shoulders. “Lovely. Nice. Wow. Can we like, go inside now?”

Tony tossed you a quick glance and said, “Right. Lead the way.”

Bruce gave a curt nod. “Of course. After you.”

They both reached for the door handle at the same time, their fingers colliding in an awkward, fumbling dance. For a split second, they froze, locking eyes with a mutual glare.

Seconds dragged on, feeling like hours. Neither man budged. Their hands, now tangled together in a bizarre and clumsy struggle, seemed locked in an absurd standoff. Tony’s fingers began to subtly shift, attempting a stealthy maneuver to slip underneath Bruce’s grip. But Bruce wasn’t having any of it. With a deliberate twist of his wrist, he countered Tony’s advance, blocking the move with a firm slam.

Another minute stretched out, each second heavier than the last.

You couldn’t take it any longer.

“Are you two having a staring contest?”

"..."

"..."

Tony blinked first, cursing softly under his breath. Bruce’s smirk broadened, twice as smug than usual.

“Oh my god. Just move!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in frustration. “We’re here to shop, remember?”

The two men released the door handle simultaneously as if startled out of their petty contest. Tony stepped aside with a flourish, giving a dramatic sweep of his arm. “After you, mademoiselle.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

“These are the choices given to you by Mister Stark and Mister Wayne. Social event, oui?” the attendant says, her tone professionally neutral despite the clearly forced, fake French accent. She smooths down your black undershirt, ensuring it's perfectly straight before presenting the options.

She holds up the first suit: “Deep scarlet. Rich, saturated color—like fine wine. A luxurious wool blend. Two-piece. Tapered trousers, invisible stitching. Streamlined silhouette. French cuffs.”

Then she displays the second option: “Now, dark silk. Smooth, so smooth—like velvet in night. Classic sheen, very elegant. Three-piece. Also with tapered trousers, invisible stitching. Slim silhouette. Barrel cuffs.”

With a smile, she adds, “Both have their own magic, non? What shall you choose for the grand affair?”

“Uh,” you gape like the peasant you were, eyes darting between the two suits which seem nearly identical apart from their color. You barely caught onto the details the attendant pointed out.

As you wrestle with your decision, snippets of the conversation between the two men outside drift through the curtain.

“Sometimes, a classic black suit just gets the job done,” Bruce interjected. “It’s timeless and professional, never out of place.”

Tony retorted, “Oh, sure, blending into the background is so exciting. Why not go for red—loud, in-your-face, and impossible to ignore? It’s a damn statement.”

Bruce’s voice grew sharper. “I don’t know if you’re the right guy to make that call, considering the atrocity you dressed her in today,” he said, gesturing toward the Stark Industries merch discarded on the couch in the dressing room.

“Uh, says the guy who thinks monochrome is the pinnacle of fashion. Please, get real asshole. This is a hell of a lot better than your boring black blobs. Grow up.”

“You grow up,” Bruce shot back.

You roll your eyes and spot another suit hung up on a nearby wall—a deep emerald green. “What’s that one?”

The attendant perks up. “Ah, cette tenue! I apologize, it slipped my mind. This one was provided by the young gentleman with you. I should have mentioned it earlier.”

She holds the suit up to your chest, carefully examining the fit and adjusting the sleeve to ensure it drapes just right. 

“Three-piece suit with pattern. Jacket is single-breasted, notch lapels, welt pocket. The trousers are flat-front, slim fit, with sharp crease. The vest has five buttons, V-neckline, tailored fit. Very technical, very structured.”

You nod, satisfied. “This one. I like this.”

“Oh, magnifique! Excellent choice!” 

She quickly helps you into the suit. First, she slides on the vest, adjusting the straps at the back for a snug fit. Next, she drapes the jacket over your shoulders, smoothing out the fabric and aligning the lapels. Finally, she fastens the trousers, making sure the fit is right and the sharp crease is aligned.

You step out from behind the curtains, and every eye in the room locks onto you.

Morgan's face drops. “She chose the puke color.”

"Wow. Thanks. Really feeling the support here," you scoff, adjusting the sleeves. 

Turning to Damian, you raise an eyebrow, and it's only then that he truly registers what he's seeing. His expression softens gradually as he takes you in. The hard lines of his face are still there, but now they seem gentler, softened. 

You give him a small smile—nothing grand, just a subtle curve of your lips. But you know that even the smallest smile from you is enough to unravel him.

He watches, mesmerized, as you twirl slightly in front of the mirror. The suit hugs your figure perfectly, accentuating every curve.

“This was the boyfriend's pick," you say, flicking and straightening the lapels. Morgan's head snaps up. "I picked it because it matches his eyes, and honestly, I couldn't deal with your guys' arguing any longer.”

"Tt," Damian’s lips curl into a smirk, and he gestures for you to come closer. You step to his side, feeling the warmth of his hand as it rests gently over yours. With a subtle twist of your wrist, your fingers intertwine naturally, fitting together like they've always did.

Tony huffs, shaking his head. “Alright, well, whatever makes you happy. You look snug as a bug, kid.”

“Uh. Arachnid. Not a bug,” you correct him.

Bruce blinks in confusion, his brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of the interaction, clearly missing the joke.

He shakes his head and gestures to a waiting attendant, who approaches with a tray holding three boxes. The attendant opens the first box, revealing a necklace that catches the light and glints brightly. They lift it out, its shine almost blinding, and place it carefully on the counter.

“If you'd like,” Bruce smiles, “I’ve also picked out some accessories for you.”

The attendant then moves to the next box, lifting the lid to reveal a set of matching earrings, which they arrange neatly on the counter. They proceed to the third box, opening it to reveal a bracelet that sparkles just as intensely as the necklace. The attendant sets everything out with careful movements, arranging the pieces in a neat row.

You hold the necklace up to the light, blinded. “This is... a lot of sparkle.”

Turning to the attendant, you ask, “What’s the damage?”

“The necklace is priced at $250,000,” they say with a smile that’s more tightrope than genuine. “The earrings are $150,000, and the bracelet is $300,000.”

You blink, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, the numbers swirling in your head.

“What the actual fuck?” you blurt out, carefully setting the necklace back in its box with the reverence of someone handling a live grenade. “That’s… definitely not in my budget.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just money. If the price is too much, I can always—”

Bruce cuts him off with a grunt. “No need. I already have the check ready.”

"What?!" You turn to Bruce, shaking your head. “No! No one is buying me more than the suit! I appreciate the gesture, but this is way too overboard.”

"It's not that much, beloved," Damian hums, reaching for the earrings and holding them up to your face. "The necklace I bought you for your 18th cost twice of these combined."

Your eye twitches in disbelief. “You... you told me it was of ‘reasonable price.’”

“It was.”

“How much did you pay?!”

Damian remains silent, avoiding your eyes.

“Damian. Thomas. Wayne—”

Before you can finish, Damian calls over one of the attendants with a casual wave. “Excuse me? We’ll take all of this.”

The attendant, looking a bit taken aback but eager to please, nodded quickly and began arranging the items. You stared at Damian, your eyes practically burning and searing a hole through his stupid undercut.

“You can’t be serious!” 

Damian simply smirked, leaning closer. “Consider it a small gesture for someone who’s worth every penny.”

As you continued bickering, Morgan’s gaze lingered on the scene, her chest tightening with an unsettling, heavy feeling. She could feel something bitter and heavy rising in her chest, and she turned her eyes away, hoping that if she didn’t see it, she could ignore the way it made her feel, that gnawing ache she wished she could forget.

But then she heard your voice, soft and inviting.

"Morgan?"

It was like a lifeline, pulling her back to the present. She turned to you, forcing herself to meet your gaze.

"Can you tell them that I do not need this?" you asked with a groan, your smile radiating warmth. It was the kind of smile that could light up any room, even as your eyes drifted to the glimmering jewelry with exasperation. “They’re completely insane.”

Morgan forced a small smile of her own, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and shrugged slightly. 

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I think they’re onto something. You’re worth every penny. More than any of this could ever show.”

The words came out easy enough, but underneath, she could feel the bittersweet edge of them, something she kept buried deep where no one could see.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 10:24 PM - The Safehouse, Gotham City.

Shot through the heart and you're to blame Darling, you give love a bad name An angel's smile is what you sell You promised me heaven, then put me through hell

Music played from her speakers. The lab was dimly lit, illuminated only by the soft glow of various screens and the occasional flicker of a monitoring light. Morgan sat at her workstation, the faint blue light of the holographic display casting a ghostly glow on her face. She was surrounded by a sea of tools, schematics, and half-finished projects, but her attention was miles away from the work at hand.

The thought of how you looked at Damian earlier haunts her deep into the night. 

Morgan’s fingers tapped absently on the console, her gaze distant and unfocused. She tried to lose herself in her work, hoping the details of her projects would distract her from the ache in her chest. But every time she glanced up at the screen, it felt as if her mind was dragging her back to that moment.

It didn't take a genius to see that she had feelings for you.

Woah, you're a loaded gun, yeah Oh, there's nowhere to run No one can save me, the damage is done

On the screen, the potency of the toxin you were exposed to a day ago was being processed. Ivy's old journal lay open in front of Morgan, serving as a reference for comparison.

As she scanned the data, a troubling pattern began to emerge. The readings were unstable, fluctuating wildly and suggesting incomplete or inconsistent results. Hours melted away as Morgan poured over the data, her eyes darting between the fluctuating graphs and the notes in the journal.

An odd, unknown element kept appearing in the results. It was an anomaly.

"This is not supposed to be here...?" Morgan mumbled, scratching at her head.

The journal’s pages fluttered as she flipped through them, desperately searching for any mention of similar anomalies or clues that might explain the glitch. Ivy’s notes were dense with technical jargon and cryptic observations, but none of it seemed to align with the strange data she was seeing on her screen.

BEEP.

Morgan’s head perked up, her attention snapping back to the screen. The familiar, rhythmic pulse of data had been interrupted by a sudden alert.

Element Detected: 𝑜̥̊⃝𝑠̥̊⃝𝑏̥̊⃝𝑜̥̊⃝𝑟̥̊⃝𝑛̥̊⃝

She squinted at the glitching display. The screen flickered and distorted, displaying an unfamiliar string of characters. The text was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

The computer screen continued to flicker violently, lines of code merging into chaotic patterns. Cursing under her breath, Morgan fought to stabilize the screen. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, desperately trying to recalibrate the system.

After a tense few moments, she managed to clear the worst of the glitching. The flickering subsided, and the screen settled into a more manageable state.

Was that someone trying to hack in? The thought crossed her mind with a jolt.

She scrutinized the security logs, reviewed firewall activity, and cross-referenced access records, but found no concrete evidence of a breach. The logs were clear. Everything seemed normal—no unauthorized access, no signs of tampering.

But the unknown element was still there, stubbornly staring back at her from the screen.

Morgan ran her tongue over her teeth, a habit of hers when deep in thought. 

Alright. So. Every sci-fi movie warns against messing with unknown chemicals. And this is definitely one of those “don’t touch” moments. But what’s life without a little risk? Besides, it’s not like she hasn’t faced weird before. 

Problem was… the data on her screen right now was like trying to read a recipe from a cookbook that had been chewed up by a dog—completely useless. If she wanted answers, she’d have to get a closer look.

Morgan quickly set up a new data extraction protocol, isolating the unknown element. The process was slow and tense, but gradually, the substance began to take shape on the screen, its properties becoming clearer with each passing minute.

Once she had successfully isolated the element, she moved on to the next phase: synthesizing it into a serum. With a gloved hand, she carefully heated a glass flask on a burner and began adding the unknown element to the mix, watching as the contents started to react.

The silence was abruptly shattered by a sharp crack that split the air. Morgan’s eyes widened in shock as she saw thee glass flask on the burner shatter into jagged pieces. The once-clear liquid inside had turned into a dark, burned residue, and what was left was a blackened crust coating the inside of the flask.

"Great. Just great," Morgan muttered under her breath. She reached for the shattered glassware, cradling it gingerly in her hand. But as she did, something bizarre began to happen—the flask itself seemed to glitch.

The glass started to flicker and warp as if it were a malfunctioning image. It shimmered and pulsed with an otherworldly light, surface fading in and out of focus, struggling to maintain its form.

"What the fuck?" 

Her eyes stayed glued onto the flask. The constant flickering was starting to give her a headache, a dull throbbing that grew more intense with each passing second. She squinted, hoping to stabilize her vision, but the distortions only seemed to worsen.

Amid her growing confusion, she started to hear faint whispers—strange, disjointed voices that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The whispers were so low she could barely make out their words, but their presence added to the sense of disorientation that was creeping in.

An unexpected impulse tugged at her—a sudden, inexplicable urge to take the serum. Her hand trembled slightly as she considered the syringe lying on the nearby counter, a dark thought creeping into her mind. 

She stared at the flask, her gaze mad.

A part of her wanted to see what would happen if she followed through with the intrusive thought. 

Then, in a sudden, jarring shift, the erratic glitching reached a peak. The flask’s distortion became so intense that Morgan could barely make out its shape. She snapped back to reality, jolted by the sheer intensity of it all. Her senses were overwhelmed, the whispers louder now, almost shouting in her mind.

In shock, her hand lost its grip. The flask slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor, the blackened remnants scattering across the lab.

CRASH!

The sudden noise of breaking glass cut through the disorienting haze, and Morgan’s breath came in ragged gasps as she stared at the mess before her. 

The strange impulse had vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

The glitching that had plagued the flask started to spread outward, expanding like a ripple through the air. Her eyes widened in disbelief as the distortion grew larger, forming a swirling vortex in the center of the lab. 

The portal-like disturbance expanded further, and out of it, a shadowy figure began to emerge. First, it was just a hand, reaching through the glitching void. It grasped at the air, solidifying into a more defined shape. Morgan's heart raced as the figure pulled itself further into the lab.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, as the figure's hand closed around her arm. The touch was cold and otherworldly, sending a shiver down her spine. She struggled against the grip, her heart pounding as she tried to pull away.

With a sudden, violent shove, the figure tossed her back. Morgan crashed into her workstation, slamming painfully into a shelf, sending tools and equipment clattering to the floor. 

Her eyes darted back to the figure, now fully emerging from the glitching portal. 

The intruder was clad in dark green armor, nearly black in the dim light, with a purple shawl draped over their shoulders and a hood shadowing their face. They wore goggles and a mask that concealed their features, lending them a menacing, almost robotic aura. Despite their height and build matching Morgan’s, there was a palpable strength in their movements, an unspoken threat in the way they stood.

The portal behind them flickered and closed, sealing off the strange rift from which they had emerged.

Morgan scrambled to her feet, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself as she faced the intruder.

“Who the fuck are you?!” she demanded. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she stood her ground, ready to fight if she had to.

The masked figure remained silent, their gaze—hidden behind those reflective goggles—locked onto Morgan. They slowly tilted their head down, taking in the sight of the shattered remnants scattered across the lab floor. 

Morgan followed their gaze and noticed the scattered pieces of a hoverboard. She recognized it immediately from the fragmented components. The design was eerily similar to the one she had in development herself—a project that had been pushed to the back burner.

The intruder’s attention then shifted to the broken glass and the unknown element still displayed on her screen. A soft click of disapproval escaped from behind the mask as the figure nudged the broken hoverboard aside with a booted foot.

“Shame,” they murmured, their voice low and laced with something almost like regret. “I came a minute too early... You should have taken that serum first. You were supposed to. It would have made this easier for both of us.”

Morgan swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know what they meant, but she didn’t want to find out. The figure took another step closer, closing the distance between them.

“Who are you?” Morgan pressed. “And how did you even know about that?”

The figure paused, considering her for a moment before answering. “Who I am isn’t important. What matters is what you could have been—what you were supposed to become.”

Morgan’s mind raced as she tried to make sense of the cryptic words. This wasn’t just about the serum—there was something bigger at play. She took a step back, trying to put more distance between herself and the intruder, but the figure only followed, matching her movements like a shadow.

“Don’t worry,” they said softly, almost mockingly. “I should know better than anyone that you would want answers.”

Morgan’s heart skipped a beat as the figure’s gloved hand slowly reached up to their mask. The tension in the room was suffocating, each second stretching out endlessly. The mask and goggles came loose with a soft click, and as they were removed, Morgan’s breath caught in her throat.

It was her.

Her own face stared back at her, a perfect reflection, yet not. There were differences—subtle but unmistakable. The other Morgan’s eyes held a cold, calculating gleam, their hair was longer and pin-straight compared to her short curls, and their lips curved into a smirk that sent a shiver down Morgan’s spine.

“I'm Morgan Stark,” the doppelgänger said, voice eerily familiar yet laced with something darker, something twisted. “But in my universe, they call me the Green Goblin.”

Morgan felt numb. The words didn’t make sense, and yet they explained everything. 

“What... what do you want?” Morgan’s voice was barely above a whisper, the shock of seeing her own face—so twisted and malevolent—making it hard to think straight.

The Other Morgan—the Green Goblin—tilted her head, studying Morgan with a mix of amusement and pity. “Isn’t it obvious?” she said, taking a step closer. “I’m here to make things right. In my world, I perfected the serum. I became something more, something powerful. But in this universe, you... you were just about to throw it all away.”

Morgan shook her head, trying to process the flood of information. “This... this isn’t possible. How can you—”

“Exist?” the Other Morgan interrupted, a cruel smile curling on her lips. “Multiverse theory, sweetheart. Infinite versions of you, of me, of everyone. Even our beloved Spidey. In my universe, I figured it out. Became a goddamn genius... and a bit of a monster, too. Here though? You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“I don’t care what I—you’ve done in your world!” Morgan’s voice shook with defiance. “You don’t belong here. You won’t get whatever it is you’re after.”

The Other Morgan smirked. “Oh, but I already have. I didn’t come here to take anything. I came to see what I could have been if I hadn’t chosen the path I did. And honestly,” they scoffed, flicking a piece of Morgan’s hair, “I’m disappointed.”

Morgan’s fists clenched at her sides. “Get out,” she spat, her fear giving way to anger. “Get out of my lab, out of my life. Now!”

But they just laughed, a chilling sound that echoed in the small space. “You still don’t get it, do you? I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t come all this way just to walk away empty-handed. If you won’t take that serum, then...”

Before Morgan could react, her doppelgänger lunged toward the remnants of the shattered serum with blinding speed. Morgan scrambled to intercept, but her doppelgänger was faster. In a swift, brutal motion, they slammed Morgan down onto a nearby table, the impact knocking the wind out of her.

Morgan struggled against the hold, but her alternate self was stronger, pinning her down with ease. The twisted grin never left their face as they reached for a syringe. 

Morgan watched the charred solid remnants of the serum begin to twitch and quiver, as if responding to the presence of the syringe. To her horror, the blackened crust slowly liquefied, transforming back into a thick, dark fluid that oozed toward the tip of the needle.

"Shh," the Other Morgan cooed, voice dripping with mock tenderness as they drew the serum up into the syringe. The liquid swirled ominously inside, as if alive with a malevolent intent. “You’ll thank me for this in the future.”

Morgan thrashed, trying to break free, but her alternate self only tightened their grip, leaning in closer.

“Don’t worry,” the Other Morgan whispered, bringing the needle closer to Morgan’s skin. “This is a canon event, sweetheart. This is the part where you become more than just a bystander. This is where you become unstoppable.”

They leaned down, eyes glowing an eerie green. “This is where we kill Robin.”

“No!” Morgan's scream pierced the air as she slammed her knee into her doppelgängers gut, the sudden impact causing them to stumble back.

The Other Morgan staggered backward, clutching their midsection with a pained gasp. Morgan seized the moment, pushing herself off the ground and scrambling for any advantage. Her pulse raced as she darted towards a nearby workbench, grabbing a wrench and holding it defensively.

Scoffing, the Other Morgan recovered quickly, rising to their full height with their long hair cascading over their face, obscuring their features.

"First off, I’m not some fucking homewrecker," Morgan gasped, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts as she took a defensive step back, wrench clutched tightly. "And second, you’re insane! Spider’s happy with him! Do you honestly think she’ll fall for you after everything you’ve become?"

“You think you can stop me?” Other Morgan snarled. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“I know enough,” Morgan said through gritted teeth, trying to steady her trembling hands. “And I’m not going to let you hurt anyone.”

The Other Morgan’s lips curled into a smirk.

With a swift flick of their wrist, they threw a small device onto the floor. It hissed and released a dense cloud of smoke that quickly filled the room. Morgan’s vision blurred as she squinted, trying to make out the figure through the thickening haze.

Suddenly, a sharp, electric crackle pierced the smoke, followed by a powerful jolt that knocked Morgan off her feet. The room spun around her as she struggled to rise, her head throbbing from the shock.

Before she could fully recover, she felt a tightness around her wrist. She looked down to see a watch strapped onto her, its face glowing ominously. As she tried to make sense of it, a swirling portal began to materialize around her, its edges flickering with an eerie green light.

“Why don’t you take a trip to my universe for a bit?” the Other Morgan taunted, their voice dripping with malice. “I’ll handle things here while you’re gone.”

Morgan tried to protest, but the portal’s force was too strong. The edges of her world warped and twisted as she was yanked into the swirling void.

As she disappeared into the vortex, she heard a faint, mocking laugh. 

The portal closed with a swoosh, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

The Other Morgan turned their gaze to the workbench, their eyes locking onto a pair of scissors lying casually on the counter.

“Alright,” they said with a chilling smile, “first, a haircut.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

They say you’ll be bitten by spiders no less than 500 times in your lifetime, and you probably won’t even notice 95% of those bites.

Spiders might not affect most people that much.

Damian, however, would have a different opinion. He’d also like to punch those people in the face

Tonight, as Robin swings through the city, his gaze is locked onto you. You dart between skyscrapers with a grace that seems almost effortless. Your Starktech suit, still in for repairs, has you back in your old black kevlar—sturdy, reliable, and showing signs of wear.

Damian, out with you for what was supposed to be a routine patrol and sweep, is seeing your skills up close for the first time. He watches as you maneuver through the urban jungle with an ease that both impresses and frustrates him.

He finds himself pacing alongside your swings, trying to stay close—not just to keep an eye on you but because he’s half-expecting to be called into action at any moment. Watching you is like witnessing a high-wire act where the safety net has mysteriously vanished. Moments ago, you executed a daring twist and jump that had Damian’s heart lodged firmly in his throat. He was practically holding his breath, bracing himself for the sickening thud of a broken leg—or worse—only to see you land on your feet with a carefree laugh.

But then, without warning, you yelp and take a sharp turn, diving into the open air. The sudden change sends a jolt through Damian, and his heart skips a beat as he watches you fall fast.

“Nightcrawler!” he shouts, his voice barely audible over the rush of wind. His grappling hook fires with a crack, and he rockets toward you, every muscle straining as he fights the pull of gravity.

Just as you’re about to hit the ground, Damian’s gloved hands wrap around your front, pulling you into his arms with a fierce grip. He tucks you close, bracing for impact. You slam against the wall of a nearby building with a jarring thud, Damian’s boots taking the brunt of the landing. The impact shakes him to his core, but he holds you tightly, shielding you from the collision.

Heaving, he immediately tucks a strong arm against your back, holding you against him. “Are you—”

You burst into laughter, your arms wrapping around his neck as you press your cheek against his. “Did you see that? I pulled off a perfect dive!”

Damian’s breath comes in sharp bursts as he steadies you both, his eyes scanning for any signs of injury. “You imbecile! What were you thinking? You could have broken your neck.”

You pout playfully, brushing a stray lock of hair from Damian’s mask. “I was having fun! Come on, I wasn’t actually going to fall.”

Damian shoots you a glare that borders on murderous. "Fun?! Fun isn’t worth risking your life."

His fingers dig into your hips as he continues to hold you tightly against him, his muscles tensed like a bowstring. "And you did fall—nearly landed on your face. If I hadn't been there, you'd be eating through a straw right now."

You tilt your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Uh. But you were there.”

Damian narrows his eyes, his tone dripping with frustration. "Do you get some perverse pleasure out of scaring me to death?"

"Maybe," you drawl with a teasing grin.

Even with his anxiety cranked up to eleven, he can’t help but feel a surge of warmth for you. The irritation in his eyes softens, revealing a flicker of affection.

“You talk and do too much,” he grumbles, though his actions speak louder than his words. As he starts to guide both of you up to a nearby rooftop, his grip remains firm and protective. 

He’s climbing with you in his arms, every muscle straining under the effort. You can’t help but whistle at the impressive display of strength, watching as his muscles ripple beneath his suit with each movement. 

“Tsk,” he scoffs as he hauls both of you up onto the rooftop, setting you down gently.

Once you’re safely on solid ground, Damian steps back, creating a respectful distance between you. As he stands against the backdrop of the city lights, his figure is dramatically framed by the glowing skyline. His cape flutters behind him like a dark, billowing flag, enhancing his imposing silhouette. Robin stands tall, masked, and cloaked in shadows—dark and lean.

You grin coyly at him, your arms tucked behind your back as you take a few steps closer. 

“My hero,” you tease playfully, your fingers trailing gently up his cape.

The gesture almost immediately disarms Damian, his irritation momentarily forgotten.

He snatches your hand away from the fabric, his fingers wrapping around yours in a firm grip. “Is this a joke to you? I am in no mood for your games tonight,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair as he turns his gaze to the city skyline. He bends down, squatting on the rooftop, the city lights shimmering below and casting a soft, ambient glow over the scene.

You follow him, bending down to wrap your arms around his shoulders and drape yourself across his back. Leaning in, you press a soft kiss to his jaw through your mask, the gentle touch warm against the cool night air.

Damian’s shoulders relax slightly under your embrace, and he closes his eyes momentarily, savoring the closeness. For a moment, he considers chastising you, but the feel of your body pressed against his back makes the words die on his lips.

Instead, he lets out a sigh and shifts his position, guiding you so that you slide down his back into his lap, your legs draped on either side of his hips.

“You know,” he murmurs, “you’re not making it easy to stay upset with you.”

“That’s the point,” you whisper, your breath warm and teasing against his skin. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, moving to stand and pulling you up with him. 

You giggle, your fingers trailing down his chest, light and teasing. Your claws graze over the contours of his suit, scratching at the armor that covers his chest and abs. The sensation is electric, sending shivers through both of you.

“Careful,” Damian rumbles, his voice a low growl as he grabs your hands once they reach his waist, his grip firm but not unkind. You’re getting a rise out of him, in more ways than one.

You lean in closer, wickedness dripping from your lips. “When have I ever been careful?”

Damian’s eyes narrow, the heat in his gaze intense as he draws his face inches from yours. "You never are. You are a reckless, impulsive, and downright idiotic woman." 

“Yeah,” you press your chest against his, your voice low and teasing. “I get that a lot.”

"And you just love proving them right, don’t you?" he says, his voice low and laden with both warning and something else.

“Is that a threat, Robin?” you whisper, your voice dripping with challenge. Flicking your wrist up, you web his chest and pull him down. 

He crashes into you, his body pressing against yours. His hands fly to your thighs, gripping the supple flesh there.

A smirk spreads across his face. "Merely a promise."

Without another word, Damian tugs your mask off and closes the distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours in a fierce, heated kiss. His mouth moves with a possessive intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, his tongue teasing yours as he pulls you closer, leaving no space between your bodies.

You feel the low rumble of his moan vibrating through your chest, a sound that only fuels the fire between you. As your hands tangle in his hair, you suddenly notice something that makes you pause—he’s smirking against your lips.

He’s smirking. The fucker is smirking.

Grinning against his lips, you pull back just enough to murmur, “So my Spidey thing turns you on? Or is it the webs?”

"Keep talking like that and I'll have to shut you up," he grunts, his voice rough with desire before he silences you with another kiss, this one deeper, more consuming. His grip tightens as he claims your mouth again, leaving no doubt about the effect you have on him.

He presses you back, and in the heat of the moment, you take a step backward with more force than intended. Your injured ankle lands awkwardly, sending a jolt of pain shooting up your leg. Despite being healed, it still ached every now and then, and this was one of those painful reminders.

You pull away with a sharp hiss, unable to stifle the reaction. 

Damian's concern for you immediately eclipses his previous frustrations. His hands find your hips, steadying you to prevent you from putting too much weight on the injured foot.

“What happened? Did I—”

“It’s just,” you wince, carefully adjusting your stance, “just my ankle. It’ll be fine.”

"I thought you said you were healed," he fusses.

"Guess I thought wrong."

"I wouldn’t have let you out with me tonight if I’d known you were still having trouble. You should have told me it was still bothering you." he scolds.

You frown, your voice softening as you look up at him. "I just... I just wanted to spend time with you. Are you mad?"

Damian’s expression softens with an almost pained look as he carefully gathers you in his arms, lifting the weight off your injured ankle. 

"Mad? No, I'm not mad," he hesitates then, his grip on you tightening slightly. "But I'm worried. I worry about you, and your actions tonight didn’t exactly ease my concerns."

He looks down at your ankle, gently tracing his fingers over the injury. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault. If I hadn’t—Last night, if I’d just taken time to ask you—you wouldn’t be hurt in the first place,” he whispers, his voice barely audible as he brings his face close to yours. The apology is raw, and when he mutters it against your lips, his breath hitches in his throat, overwhelmed by the warmth in your eyes.

“You had your reasons; it’s okay,” you say with your usual forgiveness, the kindness in your voice a balm to his aching conscience. 

His fingers gently graze the back of your neck, the touch tender and almost reverent. 

“I should have been more careful,” he murmurs, thick with regret. “I’ve let my anger cloud my judgment.”

“Damian, it’s fine,” you said, running your fingers through his hair and gently swinging your legs. “I trust you. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. We all have our moments, and it was just a bad time for both of us. I love you, and I trust you.”

Damian made a soft sound. Up close, in his arms, there was no space between you, and he seemed softer, more touchable.

“I love you too.”

You cupped his face gently as his other arm slid below your head, pulling you even closer. His strong arms enveloped you, holding you in a way that felt perfectly right—moving closer, exchanging breaths, and locking eyes to see everything there was to know about him.

 ༻⊰───⋅ smut begins

Whispering his name, you kissed him again, and he eagerly returned the gesture. 

He guided you into a shadowed corner, his kisses growing more urgent and insistent as he pressed you against a wall. The world around you began to dissolve into a swirling haze. The only sensations that mattered were the feel of your breath mingling with his, the whisper of your voice against his, and the way your hands tugged at his hair. 

You. You. You.

His tongue brushed against your lower lip, asking for entrance, which you granted immediately, opening your mouth and deepening the kiss. His hands roamed over your body, mapping the curves and contours like a blind man seeing the world for the first time.

You raised your knee and pressed it against him, eliciting a groan from Damian, his eyes rolling back into his skull. “Fuck…”

You teased softly, “That good?”

“As always, habibti.”

Damian’s words were swallowed by another kiss as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him even closer, bodies pressing together in an intimate embrace.

His fingers roamed up your back, tracing the curve of your spine with the practiced touch of a man who knows you intimately.

Smirking wolfishly against your lips, Damian slowly dragged down the zipper on the back of your suit. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, amplifying every sensation as he worked his way down.

The heat between you two quickly spiraled into an unstoppable force that surged and twisted. 

His utility belt falls to the ground with a loud clang, the buckle hitting the asphalt. Fingers trembling with impatience, Damian tugs at his suit's zippers, each one loosening with a sharp hiss before he dives back in. 

Every touch, every movement, seemed to ignite a deeper craving within him. Each time you breathed his name, it was like a spark that fueled his losing control, pushing him further into the abyss of his desire.

He wanted more of you—every part of you, every inch of your skin, every breath you took.

He dips his head down, his mouth finding the pulse point on your neck. His tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, as he begins a trail of kisses down your collarbone that sears into your skin. 

"I need to feel you, sweet girl." Damian's words come out in a guttural moan, half-curse, half-plea. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as his mouth found your chest, and you arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him.

“Damian,” you gasped, your voice a low moan. “Please.”

A flurry of movements passes, and finally, he's pressing himself into you. Your body welcomes him like it was always meant to be, fitting together perfectly as if he was always meant to be a part of you.

His cape falls over you, enveloping you both in a cocoon of shadows and heat. 

The rhythmic movement of your bodies creates a slow, intense friction between you. The heat between you two was scorching, each touch and caress creating sparks of pleasure that shot through your body. Damian's teeth sank into the soft skin of your neck with a possessive fervor, leaving behind marks that would linger long after the night was over.

He could feel you pressed against him, your warmth melding with his. The taste of you lingered on his lips, the flavor of you lingering with every kiss. The sweet sounds of your pleasure, your moans and gasps, filled and echoed in his ears. The scent of your perfume, intoxicating and familiar, drifted in the air, consuming, overwhelming his senses and pulling him deeper into you.

It was all you. Everything was you.

It comes in waves, each one building and cresting until the final surge pulls you completely out of orbit. Your toes curl, your thighs lock, your heart seems to freeze, and a cry of his name escapes your lips, echoing in the space between you.

“Yes,” Damian pants out. “There you go, habibti. Just like that…” 

He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin as he follows you through the aftershocks. Gently, he guides you down from your peak, his hips rolling slowly against yours until the rhythm gradually subsides. He murmurs love confessions in Arabic, lips trailing loving kisses over every inch of exposed skin, soothing you as you twitch and tremble in his lap. 

As the aftershocks subside, Damian gently lifts you and tucks you against his chest. 

"You okay?" he asks, soft and filled with concern. He gently massages your lower back, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your skin.

He pulls his cape around you like a blanket, wrapping you in a layer of warmth. Even in the middle of the night on a secluded rooftop, he’s focused on making sure you're cared for and cozy.

Damian adjusts his suit and re-secures his utility belt. Taking a cloth from his belt, he begins to wipe you down, removing any lingering traces of the night’s events. Once you're clean, he carefully tugs your suit back on, smoothing out any wrinkles and zipping it up with steady hands. 

 ༻⊰───⋅ smut ends

“Thank you,” you rasp out, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Damian’s response is tender; he nuzzles his face into your neck, pressing a gentle kiss to your skin. His touch is warm and reassuring. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves your mask and hands it to you.

You tug it back on, but before you can pull it down completely, Damian leans in and kisses you. Smiling, you kiss him back, the mask only partially covering your face, leaving your lips and the lower part of your cheeks exposed.

!!!

You slowly push Damian back, a sense of alarm creeping into your consciousness.

!!!

A loud thud echoes in the distance.

DANGER.

Before you can process what’s happening, Damian is violently knocked away from you. He’s flung onto the ground with a forceful crash, the impact sending a shockwave through the rooftop. You watch, breathless, as he hits the surface hard, pain etched across his face.

Cursing, you try to move toward him, but a sudden, chilling presence makes you freeze. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the dark, sweeping fabric of a cape fluttering through the air. Your heart skips a beat as you turn, dread coiling in your stomach.

Batman.

For a moment, the world narrows to the figure looming before you, the embodiment of shadow and fear. The distant hum of Gotham fades, leaving only the thudding of your pulse, loud and insistent in your ears. The scattered light from the city below creates jagged contrasts on Batman's armor, casting him in sharp highlight. The black of his suit bleeds seamlessly into the surrounding darkness, making him appear more phantom than man.

He looks like a living nightmare.

Damian lifts his head just in time to see Batman towering over you, his cape billowing ominously in the night breeze. A cold chill runs down Damian's spine as dread settles heavy in his chest. Of all people, his father was the last person he wanted to find him here like this—vulnerable, exposed, and with you.

Reacting on pure instinct, Damian scrambles to his feet, positioning himself firmly between you and the Dark Knight.

"Father." Damian’s voice is low but steady, though the weight of what’s happening lingers in every syllable. His mind races, knowing that Batman doesn’t recognize you in your vigilante form and likely believes he's cheating on you.

To Batman, this looks like betrayal.

Bruce's hurt gaze flickers briefly to Damian before settling on you, his eyes unreadable beneath the shadowed cowl. His voice cuts through the silence like a blade, deep and gravelly. “Step aside, Robin.”

Damian doesn’t budge, his chin lifting in stubborn refusal. “No.”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Bruce warns, his tone colder, more commanding. “Move. Now.”

“You don’t understand,” he snaps back, voice laced with urgency. “It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” Bruce’s gaze hardens as it shifts back to you, scrutinizing every detail of your vigilante form. He’s searching for something—anything—that might give him a clue to your identity. “Who are you?”

You remain silent, your mind racing to assess the situation. Revealing your true identity isn't an option—not now, not like this. You adjust your stance, preparing yourself mentally for whatever comes next, but Damian's presence in front of you is a steadying comfort.

“She’s with me,” Damian states firmly. “That’s all you need to know.”

But Bruce isn’t swayed. He takes another step forward, his towering form casting a long, ominous shadow over both of you. The authority he exudes is almost suffocating, a force that demands obedience and submission. 

Bruce’s voice drops to a near growl, heavy with warning. “You’re making a mistake.”

Damian doesn’t waver, his stance firm, his resolve unshaken. “Maybe I am. But it’s my mistake to make. I’m not moving. Not until you understand—”

“Understand what?” Bruce’s voice, though controlled, cracks with an edge of hurt. “That you’re risking everything for—” His words catch in his throat, and his eyes, now seething, lock onto you with anger. The unspoken words hang in the air, heavy and accusing, as if he’s struggling to comprehend how Damian could make such a choice. 

“Father,” Damian tries again. “Just listen, please. I’m not—”

But Bruce cuts him off sharply. “I don’t want to hear it, Robin. Stand down. Now.”

Damian grits his teeth, his jaw clenching at the command. “I won’t. You want me to move, you're going to have to make me.”

Bruce growls and his posture shifts, his body tensing as he readies himself for combat, cape swirling with a sudden, sharp movement, the dark fabric creating a menacing silhouette against the night sky. Damian rolls his shoulders.

The silent acknowledgment of the fight to come is all that’s needed. 

The first move comes fast and brutal—a sweeping kick aimed at Damian’s legs. Damian barely manages to sidestep, but the force of the attack sends him stumbling slightly.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bruce presses his advantage. He lunges forward, delivering a powerful punch to Damian’s jaw. The blow connects with a sickening thud, causing Damian to gasp and stagger backward. He tries to recover, swinging a fist toward his father, but Bruce is already moving, effortlessly deflecting the strike and countering with a sharp elbow to Damian’s ribs.

Before Damian can recover, Bruce is on him again. He grabs Damian by the collar and delivers a powerful knee to his abdomen. The impact sends Damian sprawling, crashing hard onto the rooftop. The concrete shudders beneath him, and he struggles to get to his feet, gasping for breath.

“You’ve forced my hand. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to,” Bruce seethes as he advances. His fists come down in a series of blows, each strike aimed at disabling rather than harming. Damian blocks and dodges where he can, but Bruce's assault is relentless, each hit pushing him further back.

THWIP

A web snares Bruce’s arm, halting his advance. His head swivels toward you, confusion and fury flashing in his eyes beneath the cowl. He struggles against the webbing, but you seize the opportunity to yank him off Damian, pulling him forcefully to the side of the rooftop. The webbing binds him tightly against the edge, restricting his movements.

Without wasting a second, you rush to Damian’s side. His breathing is ragged, masked cracked. blood runs down his lip You kneel beside him, gently pulling him up against you. Your arms wrap around him, providing a protective, comforting embrace.

“Baby, are you okay?” you ask urgently, voice trembling with fear.

Damian rasps out a laugh, his grin weak but defiant. “At least I know he’ll do the right thing if I ever do you wrong.”

SHLICK.

You look up to see Bruce cutting through your webbing with a knife. The webbing disintegrates under the assault, and you curse under your breath. Without your web-shooters, your organic webs are noticeably weaker—a reminder that you'd need to ask Morgan for new ones as soon as possible.

Bruce continued his advance, his gaze fixed on you this time.

You raised a hand, trying to signal a truce, your voice shaky but earnest. “I... I don’t want to fight,” you said, the exhaustion evident in every word. 

“Then take off the mask,” Bruce commanded, his voice cutting through the air with a harsh edge, leaving no room for negotiation.

The demand hung between you, making your heart pound louder. You took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on you. Slowly, you lifted a trembling hand toward your mask, fingers grasping the edge.

But before you could fully uncover your face, Damian's hand shot out, grabbing your arm and yanking it away.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses, eyes flashing with desperation. He turns to Bruce, getting back onto his feet.

“Don’t come any closer,” Damian warns as he unsheathes his katana, its blade glinting menacingly in the dim light. “I have the utmost respect for you, Father, but if you take one more step, I will have to engage you properly this time.”

Despite the weight of your decision, there’s no other choice. Your sole aim is to end this confrontation swiftly and with as little harm as possible.

With a sharp breath, you square your shoulders and raise your head.

“Nobody’s going to do anything,” you say firmly as you start to tear off your mask. The fabric pulls away slowly, the cool night air brushing against your exposed skin.

As the mask comes free, you are left bare to the elements, your face now fully visible under the moonlight. You hold Bruce's gaze directly, hoping that this gesture will be enough to de-escalate the standoff.

"It's just me."

 ༻⊰───⋅

ruh oh

mmmmmmmm yes 3-4 chapters left

[pricetagged]

that death is a very stable job

Poor little Dormouse, with her cruel father and labourer's hands. You find an unexpected guard dog in one of the passing knights.

Enjoy 4.8k words of half inaccurate-medieval, half poorly-built-fantasy AU. Inspired by a few existing historical AUs (like @bi-writes 1600s au, 391780's 'the rus') and a scene from 'The Serpent Queen'. Also, I stan 'old grizzled dog with a heart Ghost' so here you go.

Warnings/content: implied domestic abuse/sex work (not Ghost), very mild suicidal ideation, violence, power imbalance (social hierarchy ew), kissing & intimacy (no smut. yet.). Reader is described as a young woman, generally body-neutral (one reference to being 'plump').

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

What makes betrayal so potent is that, by its very nature, it can only come from someone you trust. Of course, as a child you knew little of the abstracts and intricacies of trust. You knew the warmth of your mother's bosom. You knew the sharp, lingering smell of lye that clung to her chapped hands. You knew that you were not hungry or hurt for those blissful early years, at least.

You did not know that you had a father.

He spent those blissful, early years of yours fighting for a King and cause that meant far less to him than the pocketful of coins he earned and promptly spent on pleasures. But a soldier cannot earn coin in times of peace, not if he weren't a member of the standing army, so with treaties signed he shipped back to neglected wife and babe.

You did not know that fathers could be cruel.

Your mother protected you as best as she could, but slippery riverbanks and lixivium fumes were hardly safe for a little girl. So you learned to scurry about, eyes wide and feet soft as a dormouse. When your mother's whimpers and father's shouts split the silence of dusk you crouched and covered your mouth lest his attention switched to you. On the rare times your father called for you, you remembered your mother's hushed advice - be quiet, be meek, be sweet - and bobbed along to the waves of his fickle moods. When your stomach growled and gnawed you stifled it with a look at your mother's wan face, her fingers worked to the bone for mere pennies that were no longer spent on peat and produce. You lived in a cold house, an empty house. A strained house.

'Look at the size o'her, running wild, eating me out of house and home!' Lies. Your father hunched over your mother's shaking form, three meager brass farthings spilled across the crooked kitchen bench. 'You put her to work, or I will.'

The lye stung your skin. Sometimes you imagined yourself floating off, down in the frigid waters, your funeral clothes being salvinia and your shroud made of pennywort. Those thoughts rose like lily pads, big and blooming and plentiful, the autumn your mother passed.

'You've really got to work now, girl,' your Father sneered. 'Got to earn your keep now that your mother can't cry on your behalf.'

The glint in his eye pricked at your neck, made your spine stiffen and eyes shift away. Be quiet, be meek, be sweet. You wondered if your mother's advice would save you from his basest assertions, or encourage them. You would soon find out.

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

Ordinarily the Mid-Autumn festival was a slight reprieve, allowing a few days for your aching, numb fingers to warm and stretch as you enjoyed the city turned to colour. Ordinarily.

This year, you found yourself hauled down to the drinking district, your Father's blunt, filthy fingers digging into the soft meat of your upper arm. It was still daylight, thankfully, but you already felt exposed as he had you linger in the square near the public houses. You could already hear the hoots and laughter of raucous men enlivened by drink and company. The smell of stale ale and piss was not enough to cover the scent of fresh baking and roasted game drifting on the breeze. You shivered, your burned, you hungered.

Meek little dormouse, scurrying around the greasy ferret who held her tail under his claws.

Your Father's chance came as the sun was setting, candlelight just now visible through the slats and windows of taverns. Far from cozy, it reminded you of the lidded eyes of some lazy predator about to watch your ruination.

'I don't care if you are crusader to the gods themselves! Knight of the Realm or not, you can't come into my pub and throw furniture around like you're at the Solstice games!'

The snarling Madame looked comically small next to the absolute beast of a man currently ducking under the doorframe. Watching her chuck the splintered leg of a chair after him you thought her lucky that he didn't want more of a fuss. You had never seen a man so big, so broad, seeming bigger whilst dressed still in his mail and wearing the colours of the King. He merely grunted as he made his way to the tethering post, letting her threats and screeches fizzle into the cool, twilight air. Leather-gloved hands worked at the harness of the dappled stallion you had been admiring earlier, easily more than 18 hands tall and capable of carrying this brute. You had imagined earlier slicing that very harness and riding hard across the cobblestones away from your father. Away anywhere.

'Good sir, are you in need of lodgings?' The words dripped from your Father's lips like ichor. You could smell the sickly underlying rot.

The Knight's hands stilled, head still lowered. His voice rumbled out, deep and rough as gravel.

'You offerin', then? 'ow much will that cost me?'

'Well, it's busy in the Festival. The guest houses are full but my home is open to weary travelers-'

A barked laugh cut him off. The Knight raised his head, pinning your father in place like a moth in a hobbybook. You quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with a nearby fruit cart. His face was covered, a dark black slash across his lower face like an empty maw. But his eyes. You could have drowned in those eyes, dark as they were. They pulled you in more than the call of the river on your bad days. If you stared too long you'd never wade out.

'Ain't you charitable,' you couldn’t see his mouth but you were sure that he sneered.

'Well, a former soldier should be willing to support the Crown. Although, with a mouth to feed a few coins wouldn't go amiss..' his hand swept back and you tried not to cringe away.

'Former solider, eh?' Your Father clearly had the Knight's attention now. As did you. Though you continued to look away you felt his gaze like you felt touch. Like he was grasping you, keeping you still. Your head felt heavy as you raised it towards them, now a part of this bargain whether you wanted to be or not.

'I know what it's like to seek the comfort of a warm hearth and soft bed. I would not see you ride off into the cold night.'

The Knight huffed; you could almost mistake it for a laugh. Though quiet, the voices and laughter of the nearby inns seemed quieter, like all sound and light was absorbed by this armoured beast. Once, just after your mother died, you headed to the riverbank as always for work. It was barley daybreak, some of the older more experienced women already beginning their washing, but you walked on. And on. Until the river led you to its mouth, rushing and rocky and dangerous. You wanted to jump in. You felt the same now, gazing at this man.

'How much for the girl, then?' He looked right at you as he said it, catching your wide, staring eyes. You didn't blink, couldn't look away.

'She is my daughter! Sir, I-' that same rot, spewing out of his mouth.

'I didn't ask who she is, I asked 'ow much?'

Your Father took a step towards him, faltering under the weight of his gaze. He leaned, then, trying to seem ashamed. Trying to seem like a father should.

'Sir, she is my daughter. I can do nothing but take offence at what you are suggesting.'

The Knight pulled out a small velvet purse, heavy and distended with coins. They clinked as they smacked into the cobbles at your Father's feet. All pretenses dropped, then, as he scrambled to pick it up with greedily shaking fingers. Prize in hand, he found his courage as he sidled closer to him, thick neck open and exposed as he leaned in to whisper his betrayal. His filicide.

'She's a bit older, yes, but unused to the ways of men, mind. With a firm hand I'm sure she cou-' a gloved fist at his throat turned perfidy to gasps. You watched red bloom instantly under those fingers, and marveled at the strength. The violence.

'Your own daughter,' he sneered. 'What kind of man, soldier at that, would sell his daughter to a man like me?'

Your Father was bigger than you, yes, but looked like a poppet in the hands of this beast, so easily dragged towards him ready to be shaken in his maw.

'I'd love to think that she isn't yours, that she's some whore you peddle out to drunken leches in the alley. But you're slimier than an eel in birdshit, aren't ya?'

You didn't move, didn't speak as you saw his fingernails scrabbling uselessly against the unforgiving strength. You, for a small moment, felt the claw release your tail. Run, you thought. A look at this behemoth and his horse had you thinking again. Run where?

Be quiet, be meek, be sweet.

'Please!' The plea bubbled up your throat like acid.

He said nothing, did not loosen his grasp, as he tilted his head like a dog.

'It is as he says. He is my father,' you continued.

A scoff stilled your words.

'Some father, look at the state of ya.'

You looked down at your chapped, scarred hands. Your patched, slightly-too-short skirts. You felt the throb of the bruises on your upper arms, the beginnings of hollowness eating away at your usually plump cheeks.

'You mistake me, Sir,' You could barely hear your voice over the blood rushing in your ears. 'I am not asking for his life. I am asking you to take me with you. Please.'

Silence. His eyes flickered over you anew, contemplating. Your hummingbird heart fluttered in your chest.

'Close y'r eyes, girl. Until I say.' Your shocked hesitance made him growl. 'Now!'

The imprints of tavern candlelight burned behind your lids. You let the corners of your mouth flick up.

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

Your Knight's name was Simon. The Ghost, it was rumoured. You weren't seasoned on the field so you knew not of his reputation, but the reaction of those you encountered gave it away. Even without the blood staining his hands he was imposing. Tall, broad, intense. You still hadn't seen under the kerchief he kept around his face, but you spent many nights imagining. Was his nose crooked, or was it a trick of the light on fabric? Did he have stubble across his jaw that matched the fine, blond strands that decorated the top of his head? Did he smile? Scowl? Was he handsome?

He was gruff, certainly. You spent the first few days obeying your mantra - be quiet, be meek, be sweet -but it didn't provoke anything in him at all. Neither praise nor censure. It seemed, rather, that he was determined that your presence would be nothing more than a fact of circumstance. Not worth much fuss.

'She needs winter clothes. A nice dress. A travelling cloak. And some boots.'

That was how you found yourself perfectly still, getting prodded and pinned in the parlour of a tailor shop in the city's mid-tier. The seamstress' cheeks burned red as she turned her disapproving eyes between her task and the Knight who refused to leave the dressing area. He dwarfed the chaise, leather and chains indenting delicate brocade. After a grunted 'She's my Charge. If you want my coin, then 'm not leavin'' he sat silent. Just kept his eyes on your face. As always.

You couldn't find it in you to feel embarrassed. He'd done no more than see you in your petticoats, even at the guesthouses where you lodged for the night. An altogether better set up that you could've envisioned for yourself. You had thought your Father like a sly weasel, thought any future husband like a carrion crow ready to pick over whatever your Father left. But you thought Simon like a grizzled old guard dog. A dormouse held no interest when bigger prey was to be had. When you didn't pose a threat.

He clothed you. Fed you. Ordered hot bathwater for your room - a luxury you had never experienced - and otherwise left you alone. All he touched you with was his gaze, steady and unashamed. Strange how you now saw your silence -quiet, meek- as a barrier.

'Where are we going?' You worked up the courage to ask as you rode behind him up to the next tier of the city, seeing wooden roofs change to tile.

'The Palace.'

'The Palace? What, but what about me?'

'You asked me to take you wiv me, didn' ya?' you felt the rumble of his words all the way from his chest to your arms.

'Yes, but.. What, what will I do there? How will you explain this?'

You realised now your lack of foresight. You foolishly assumed that someone high-ranking wouldn't be starting brawls in lower-tier taverns. Or magistrating over scoundrels due to the sale of their daughters. You thought, perhaps, of an impoverished country knight who came to the city only for the festivities. You could bargain your way (or slip away) if he turned out to be just as bad as your progenitor, and make a living in one of the towns or hamlets that stretched along the woodlands of the Kingdom. Foolish girl.

'No one will ask questions. No one will bother ya,' You believed him, felt the threat in his words.

'But they'll think. They'll wonder.' I wonder, you thought to yourself.

'Can't stop that,' He snorted. 'Why don't you ask me what you really want to ask?' He pulled sharply on the reigns, causing you to clutch hard around his waist and whisper your words pressed into his back.

'What are you going to do with me?'

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

"Ho, Simon! Hard to drag ye from yer hermitage in Northmire,' you stared as a smiling Isleman slapped your Knight hard on the back, hooking his arm and dragging him down into the booth. 'And ye've brought a wee Bonnie thing with y-'

'That'll do, Johnny,' Simon growled. Still, he let himself be handled onto the bench. He looked at you, standing still, staring at the other side of the table. 'Well? You sitting down or wot?'

You scrambled down beside him, too timid to sit next to the laughing stranger. Too wary to put your back to the rest of the tavern. Past Simon's profile, you snuck a peek at the man - Johnny - and found him looking back at you. He looked friendly, sure, but you were reminded of the harriers that plucked young hens from the woods. His eyes were too sharp, too bright. His smile was a little wicked, too. Too intense to be without danger.

'Well, the King'll be happy. He'll finally have a real reason to say naw to all the harpy mothers pecking at him about their single daughters. Cannae say I expected it, but congratulations,' You blinked. 'Cannae believe you beat Garrick to it an' all, thought fer sure he'd be the dutiful one. Well, first that is.'

Simon ignored him as he flagged down the serving girl. He ordered for you, as always.

'Bit bold of ye, though, plastering her in your colours. Scared o' a challenge to her? Like anyone would chance their arm seeing her wi' you, Your Grace,' Johnny laughed again, blue eyes shining as he watched Simon's jaw tick under the scarf. 'Go oan then, introduce us.'

'Dormouse, meet Johnny.'

'Aw, come oan!' Johnny leaned over, then. 'He's forgotten his manners all the way oot in Northmire. I'm John MacTavish, of the Northern Isles. I've known this one fer a while, but never knew him tae settle.'

You squeaked out your own name in return, quickly taking a sip of the weak ale Simon pushed in front of you. Gave yourself more time to take stock. He too had the King's colours in a sash across his chest. Unlike Simon, he wasn't wearing full mail or a face covering. A heavy shirt of forest green, a red tartan kilt, and thick knitted socks were his attire of choice. Blue warpaint swirled from his temples down to his jaw, and he'd shaved his hair only on the sides. Not commonly seen in the Tiered City, but you knew the islanders to the North of the mountain wore similar garb. You let your eyes catch the glint of a dagger in his socks, as well as the hefty broadsword hooked by the table. The warpaint on his face was not just for decoration.  

You stayed quiet, munching on thick slices of bread dipped in broth as they talked, Low, rumbling voices and warmth from the hearth lulled you to a wakeful sleep, eyes still open but mind calm. MacTavish had called Simon 'Your Grace'. You were wearing his colours. You were going to the Palace. Something about that niggled at you, deep at the base of your skull.

You woke to Simon gently sliding you along the bench. Big hands and stained fingers so soft, like you were an overripe damson he wanted to preserve.

'Time for bed. C'mon, mouse.'

'Why do you call me that?' You murmured, still feeling his arm around you as he led you to your rooms. 'I never told you that was my Mother's nickname for me. Dormouse.'

You felt him huff out a laugh, pressed close against you.

'Didn't need ya to. It's obvious.' he answered after a pause. He leaned down, bracing you against the  room door. Only his scarf separated you from his flesh, close as you were. Wide eyes meeting dark. You shared the same breath.

'You're quiet like one. Seem sweet. But I saw you'd be willing to chew y'r own leg off to escape a trap,' he whispered that horrible truth so tenderly. His blunt, calloused fingers left firetrails on your cheek. 'My mouse. My survivor.'

His thick forearm braced your back as he opened the door, stopping your from tumbling into the emptiness behind. He needn't have bothered; you'd already fallen into him.

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

'How many more days' to the Palace?'

'Two, if we don't loiter. Johnny'll meet us at the gates to the Citadel.'

You looked up, seeing the Palace fortress taller and more intimidating than it had ever seemed down at the city's lowest levels. You were awed by the mason and marble buildings up here, the clean streets and cleaner people. Everything seemed to gleam this high-up. This close to the sun. Close to the Palace. Your skin had started to heal, after a week or so without labour and with good meals and rest, but you could see the discolouration that would never fade. It made you pick at your sleeves. Dormice didn't gleam. They hid.

You looked at the wide streets and their sun-bleached stones. Nowhere to hide here.

'And when we get there? What will happen?'

'We'll greet the Court. I have news for the King. They'll be a Ball f' the Festival. And you,' Simon stilled your steps, 'You will be good. You'll do as I tell ya. Not everyone is a friend. And I won't always be wiv ya.'

Perhaps you imagined it but you swore you could see something soft - warm - in those dark eyes of his as you nodded. You had years of experience avoiding the attentions of predators; you could do the same for Simon.

When you reached the Citadel Gates Johnny was waiting as foretold, chatting with a guardsman by the pulleys. He perked up as he spotted Simon's horse, all dappled grey with black skull harness. A proud danse macabre, carrying The Ghost.

'Here they are, the Duke and Duchess of Northmire! Let them pass, go oan. Here, raise his banner.'

It was a good thing that your blood turned to ice in your veins; it prevented you from letting go of Simon's waist. You watched as a square banneret in the same colours as your new travelling cloak - and dresses, and overskirts, and, and - rose to flutter slightly below the banner of the King. The wind lured the heavy fabric to thwack against the sky, echoing the drumbeats of your tambour heart. What were you marching towards?

Johnny had mounted his own stead, canting a light pace next to you and Simon.

'Ye should hae seen the ponces and pricks - sorry, My Lady - who came riding up here in their carriages this mornin'. I ken they think they were showing off but the guards and I were havin' a barry laugh watching the wheels get stuck in the cobbles and streets from the mid-tier all the way up-'

'Y'r point, Johnny?'

'Alright, cool yer blood. The point is, we've got tae change our travel plans. Be at the Palace tomorrow, nae a day later.' He sent Simon a significant look that you weren't so stunned as to miss. 'We've got a night hosted by Garrick's sister, then we'll be off in the morning.'

'Garrick's sister' was a comely, slender woman with sharp eyes and a kind smile. She, or rather the Garrick family, kept a townhouse in the top tier close to the Citadel as well as their estate at Thamesbury.  As a close peers and allies of her brother, her doors and hospitality were open to you all. You didn't want to seem like the uncultured urchin you were, but even the entry hall surpassed any luxury you'd seen thus far. You had to suppress an instinctual flinch as her manservant stepped behind you to reach for your cloak. Or perhaps the lessons from the streets were written all over your wide eyes. You saw Johnny chew on a smile as Simon glared down at the man, massive arms crossing across his great oak chest.

'That'll do,' he growled. 'There are saddlebags to be seen to.'

The poor man scarpered with a stuttered, 'Of course, Your Grace.'

You stared after your Knight as he stomped up the stairs, heavy footfalls disturbing the frames of the Garrick ancestors across the walls. He looked back, silhouetted with a hand outstretched.

'C'mon then.'

His rough, warm hand enclosed yours and you followed him to exegesis.

Ensconced in your chambers - shared chambers, marriage chambers - you found your tongue.

'Should I be calling you 'Your Grace'?' Be meek, be sweet.

He snorted, inelegant against the filigree and flowers that bore witness to your unsettled feelings.

Be meek, be sweet. Be meek, be sweet. Be meek-

'I do not speak in jest, Simon. Sorry, 'Your Grace',' Your mouth twisted, trembling with the force of holding back. 'I asked you to take me with you, yes, and I have tried not to inconvenience you beyond…beyond the circumstances of our meeting. But I must demand, now. Tell me what is going on.'

He merely tilted his head, old grizzled dog on a velvet chaise. You could see his lips - what did they look like, what did they feel like? - move under the black of his kerchief.

'We're in a guest room, talkin'. Listenin' to you ask stupid questions.'

'If the question seems stupid it is because you have made it so!' You felt your stubby nails bite into your calloused palms. The feeling made you shake, brought tears to your eyes. Shame and fear turned saliva to acid. You flung your hands towards him. 'Look! You see these. These are not the hands of a girl addressed as 'Duchess'. If this is a joke, I ask you to stop it now. I am grateful to you, I will remain so always, but playing in this manner is lower than whatever my Father had-'

"Do not. Compare me. To that man.' His growl cut you from cutaneous to cartilage, exposing your raw, soft innards. You hoped he'd be kind. Even if he chewed on your heart, popping gristle between sharp canines, perhaps you'd be a part of him, dripping down his throat with an intimacy you longed to initiate.

Viper-quick, your hands were in his. Your lap was in his too. Too warm, too bulky, too close.

'Quit y'r squirmin'. Look at me, no. Look!' Your jaw was turned more gently than you expected from hands made for violence. You couldn't meet his eyes, but that mattered not as he brought your hand and his up to your sight. 'Look. My hands aren't delicate neither.'

You took a deep breath, feeling him pant underneath you, and reached to cup his hand in yours. Butterfly-soft, you turned it, watching candlelight catch on silver scars and pockmarks. Deep gouges and veins raised valleys between knuckles and wrist. One finger seemed slightly too short, like the top joint had been lost in some gruesome accident. When you looked at the palm, it was calloused. You had already felt its roughness, deep imprints from years of work. Of war. He flexed, closing his fingers around yours.

'I'm not 'of the blood'. I'm good at spillin' it, but the stuff inside me isn't worth much. Was a Squire. Then a Knight. Caught some eyes on the battlefield and was sent to defend the borders. Became a Margrave for it an' all. Now I'm a Duke. The titles don't mean much t'me, except I've got more coin and can tell nobles to fuck off without spending a day in the stocks.'

You're not sure whether your sigh was a laugh.

'Then, what? Please, Simon. What are we doing here?'

With your face this close to him you were reminded of the night in the tavern where you first met Johnny. You felt that you were sharing the same breath then. Now, here on his lap, you felt more. The warmth of his body that leeched through your skirts. The hard press of tough leather plackart. The pounding of his heartbeat - or was it yours - as you clutched his hand with trembling strength. That same trembling strength had you meeting his eyes at last, your position allowing you to be equal in height. His pupils dilated under scarred eyebrows, deep brown melting into pitch black.

'I took you wiv' me. It was sealed in blood. You're mine.'

You cupped his jaw, feeling stubble peek through his scarf. The sensation grounded you, kept you from flying off as his words used all the world's gravity.

'Bit of a terrible dowry, blood.' You whispered, a whisker away from his lips.

'I'm not made for anything else.'

Wrong, you thought as you pressed your parted lips to his covered ones. You were made for me.

His hand trailed up your arm as yours trailed across his jaw, two bodies with one mind. With deft, strong fingers you removed the last barrier between you. Black fluttered to the floor, still flesh-warm, and your lips met again. His lips were a little thin, but hungry. He groaned, supplicant to your taste, as you sought to press him closer. You could feel stubble tickling your chin, and the firm outline of another scar close to his cupid's bow. Lightning struck across the back of your neck, making you shudder against him. All you could taste, all you could smell, all you could feel was Simon.

And he all was yours.

After his face mask fell, so too did all barriers. You feel asleep together, entwined on the same bed. You awoke to his face made soft in the morning light. Sunbeams danced in the crevices of his scars, pale and rugged like the mountain you'd looked up at as a child. You watched, sentry, as you mapped the features of his face. Golden hair, golden stubble. A crooked nose that had been broken and set several times. Tributaries of scars running down to a strong jaw. And dark, unwavering eyes that creased a little as you met his gaze.

'G'mornin'.'

'Good morning,' You murmured, still sleep-soft. You traced along his lips, laughing as he nipped softly. 'Why do you cover this up?'

'To preserve my modesty,' he smirked as his tongue flicked out to soothe your nipped fingertips.

'Simon!'

'I'll tell ya. One day. When we get back 'ome. I don't trust everyone in this city.'

'You can trust me,' you whispered as you pressed your tingling digits into his mouth, catching on blunt teeth.

You felt the heat of his gaze bring blood to your cheeks. His eyes didn't leave yours as he pressed his teeth down softly. You knew the dog wouldn't bite.

'I know, Simon. I trust you too,' You leaned your forehead against his. 'Just, wherever you go, take me with you.'

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

Got a part ii drafted (palace intrigue, meet John and Gaz, Ghost and his mouse finally enjoy marital rites *wink*, conflict, etc., eventual HEA) but I'm not sure if there's an audience for it. And this is the first writing I've published in y e a r s since my cringe forays into dark videogame smut as a 19 y/o, so I'm not really confident. This is unedited/not proofread. Here ya go~

[semischarmed]

Hunter, Part 2

In the past few days, you’ve turned your neighbor into your own hedonistic puppet. Hunter’s major life changes were a shock to friends and family alike, but they were ultimately supportive as they helped you, his “new boyfriend”, move into your new apartment together. It only turned you on even more to see them cheer and congratulate Hunter, when you maneuvered his body into leaning over to kiss you sensually while your hand cups his right ass cheek possessively. You drew that particular kiss out, partially because he just tasted that good, and partially to goad Hunter.

Next came everything else- bank accounts, social media, Hunter made you a piece of all of it. 

“You’re not gonna get awa-w….” Hunter’s body shudders before it lick’s its lips, laying a seductive stare on you. “Coming to bed, babe?” You knew that part always killed him. You make him watch as you don his recently used gym clothes, still reeking of his sweat and warm with his latest session. You take a quick whiff, enjoying the feeling of his sweat glide across your flesh and his scent permeate into you. 

The raw, sharp stench of his used compression clothing hung heavy in the room but it wasn’t like Hunter was any better. These past few days were some of the most tiring for him- you loved making his flesh work out, loved the scents and grime he caked himself with, and ultimately decided to keep his body from showering. Hunter probably reeked to everyone else, but he smelled perfect to the only person allowed to matter in his life.

You slide up to him in bed, forcing him to wrap tone arms and legs around you like a warm blanket of flesh. He holds his phone up to your face, letting it unlock as he loads up his Instagram. Hunter was still somewhat connected to his University’s frat, so you had many options.

You make him lick your cheek seductively. You shuddered. “I wanna know what it feels like… To take one of my bros, to watch the betrayal in their eyes while I jam them full of our seed.” Immediately, Hunter wrestles back control, only managing to whimper. Inside him, you can feel your joint seed- the worms you initially used to infect him writhe and wriggle in pleasure. 

You grab the phone, turning to the side as you continue to scroll through his Instagram. Meanwhile, you make Hunter touch himself, self-pleasuring until he reaches climax. You squirm in pleasure as he releases, feeling his body’s pleasure as an extension of yourself. His cum instantly solidifies. Instead of worms, your slithering offspring together expand in size, taking on a more snake-like appearance. You let one flow into your mouth, intending to let it settle in your body like a spring-loaded trap in case you needed a new puppet. You savor the flavor of the singular snake while forcing Hunter to swallow the rest of the serpents. Mmmmm. Tastes just like Hunter.

Hunter convulses as your offspring together reintegrate into his being. Without acknowledging his spasming form, you pull up one of the current members of his old frat. 

“Jake. Junior. Sports Medicine. ATO… Looks like he has a personal training course. What do you think?” You ask the shaking Hunter. You see the veins on his temples enlarge in struggle and his face flush red.

“F-F…. Fuck Yeah”.

- - - - -

“Hey man. You sure you wanna do this in the forest?” Jake asked. So far, that only emotion you've seen come across his face is mild disinterest.

“Yeah…” you reply coolly through Hunter. God it turned you on just hearing his voice relay your thoughts. Hunter gagged internally. He stewed in disgust at feeling his own body act so naturally despite your impure intentions.

You can tell from Jake’s willingness to accommodate, you must have been one of his first clients. It was pretty clear why. Though popular, he wasn’t particularly charismatic. He’s posted at least one or two others- members of his own frat, but you wonder how many other actual clients he had. It was likely not much, considering how easy it was to convince him to agree to start the session the middle of the forest. 

You readjusted in your seat, trying to hide your growing boner. Corrupting Hunter’s own secret spot into a trap laid out for Jake brought its own unique pleasure, but having to force his body to drive made it difficult to keep your own emotions at bay. You internally thank how little of your actual intention leaked. Hunter’s sincerity was one of his best traits, and you readily dispensed it at will, turning it into your own personal weapon.

Deeper and deeper, you drive Hunter to guide your party into the woods. Getting to the remote location felt even longer than before, perhaps due to your excitement. You look at your phone in glee as signal slowly dwindles. Eventually, your party stops at the water’s edge. You admire your handiwork as you look in satisfaction at the sheer stillness in Hunter’s Lake. 

“Uh, so you’re actually already pretty built but we can still work on bulking you up.” His lips follow a flat smile, but his eyes betray his lack of interest. “You said you wanted to get jacked? What about your friend over there?” You smile a little at his nonchalance. It was almost cute seeing him try to secure another client. Oh Jake, I can’t wait to use that tight bod to get ourselves some more ‘clients’.

“My boyfriend”, you correct him through Hunter. “Is just here to watch... I l-like it when he watches”. You anticipate Jake’s reaction to this bizarre response, but the only change in his somewhat bored expression is a slight raise in his eyebrows. Hunter’s face is forced to mimic your sinister glee. Too easy. 

“Sure bro, whatever floats your boat…” he relays back with a tone that feels like an eye roll. “Just saying, he could probably really benefit from this program.” Bored eyes survey your main body up and down. “I can make you strong, bro”. That brings a filthy smile to your face. 

“You’re about to”, you moan.

Jake looks slightly confused for second, but his attention immediately focuses on Hunter’s approaching form, hands placed across his flesh, raking every piece of himself in pleasure. 

“W-“ Jake is cut short as he is pushed several feet back into the lake water below. Amusement paints your face. Evidently, you underestimated the strength bound in Hunter’s body. 

In more emotion than you’ve ever seen him have, the frat bro seizes at the sharp drop in temperature, yelping before he feels his heart drop and face turn pale. Slithering. All over him. He looks around in shock at a mass of serpents, coiling and writhing beneath the once-still water. You could tell he had a sixth sense for their unnatural nature. Too little too late. 

Water splashes everywhere as Jake makes a beeline for shore. He chokes on the lake water a little and stumbles out but he does make it. Jake continues running inland despite being covered in snakes, hoping to flee into the forest. He slowly trudges to a halt, pinned upright as your snakes continue swirling around him.

True to Hunter’s name, you had booby-trapped the water during a previous visit, forcing his body to the brink as it deposited wave after wave of your joined semen. As soon as his seed left his warm flesh, it instantly solidified together, forming sizable serpents. Quite the upgrade from those worms.

Even now, you continue through Hunter, forcing him to pump his dick and blow out another load of your serpentine offspring. His eyes go glassy as they combine into larger forms. This time, they slither around Hunter’s flesh. His eyes fall on the helpless Jake, blinking once in sincere dread before you moan. As you do, his face twitches in discomfort until he is forced to moan as well, bringing a shaking hand back over his dick to pump out another load. And another still. Wave after tireless wave of snakes. Each wave adds to the one before, growing your snake larger and larger, until one several feet long is coiling itself around Hunter. 

You were up to your fifth wave of offspring now. Jake is staring in horror, trying to escape the writhing clutches of your previous trap. Hunter’s body is past its limits. He’s slack-jawed, mouth agape and chest coated in waves of drool. He exudes a thick, pungent sheen of sweat. Your eyes lazily fall back on the personal trainer. 

Jake too is drenched in sweat and struggle and slick with the hybrid cum of you and your previous hunt. He continues to look in fear at the barely conscious, tired beyond measure Hunter. Hunter is still reeling from what his body was just puppetted into doing. In this state, there’s no fight left in your “boyfriend’s” mind. He was only strung up into lucidity by the web of your cells in folds of his brain. 

You will your own body unconscious, feeding the full stream of your thoughts into your hot neighbor. Despite the refinement in control, you still feel the slightest lag, slight delay in each movement. But with this new level of control, you feel blood rushing into his sore dick. His height alone was already a shift from your previous body. Longer, stronger limbs at your beckoning. You feel them brimming with power. Every sensation, every breath through his lungs felt grounding. Without Hunter inside wrestling for control, every movement felt more precise, every sense more vibrant. Hunter’s body resonates with your mind, feeling more like an extension of yourself. You strip yourself, taking your time to enjoy the new sensations.

You blink through Hunter’s tired eyes, boring his hazel irises into Jake’s, and smirk. “Don’t worry. You’re so big… I bet you can take all of us.” You drop to your knees, laying the large serpent into the ground. 

You give Jake a show, starting to hump the air. With each thrust, your serpentine offspring begin to coil further and further around the whimpering Jake. “Please!” He screams. “What do you want? Money? I’ll give you anything, bro!” He shouts as he tries to shake off the snakes. “I-I don’t wanna die” he states in panic. 

You walk up and lean Hunter’s face up to his cheek, your puppet’s warmth like a blanket over his body. You breathe out hot damp air through Hunter lungs. Jake slightly winces at your proximity. “You’re not gonna fucking die, bro”. You lick the side of his face. Salty. “Would be such a waste of that delectable bod”. You can feel Hunter’s consciousness begin to reemerge. He tries to wriggle back control, his disgust apparent. He’s revolted at what’s become of him. Once kind. Once normal. Now depraved. Now yours. You wield him with little care. With a cockiness and a cruelty that paid no respect to the man he once was. “Look at this fucking hunk. This puppet. This meatsuit.” You let your Hunter-bound dick gently graze Jack’s abdomen while moaning out through his deep voice. “Does he look dead to you?”

“No, You’re gonna live. And I’m gonna live. With you… In you. Through. You.” With that, you position Hunter out of the way as your largest offspring slithers its way into the convulsing Jake.

Jake starts hyperventilating as it inches closer and closer into his bound form. You ball your Hunter’s hand into a fist. The snakes already surrounding his flesh tighten even further. He gasps as the first cum-drenched serpent pokes at his ass. He looks back as you start to feed it in, shaking as he tries to control his pleasure when it rushes past his prostate.  

With his mouth slightly open, you feed foot upon foot of yourself. He tries to retch, but that only gives more space for the snake to slip even further into him. 

Once half of the large serpent is comfortably inside, you will the rest of the snakes up his asshole. Jake shudders, unable to fully vocalize his screams. He falls to the ground in a dull thud, convulsing while his body is forced to accommodate the extra mass of your offspring. You hear creaks and groans in his flesh, chest and stomach distended and writhing with your offspring.

Jake is reduced to soft squelching noises when the last of the large serpent slips in, sealing his fate. His shaking hands grip his neck as he tries to fight off the intrusion. He’s far too late, however. He thrashes in the ground, kicking dirt as two snakes slip between his muscle fibers. You entrench yourself into the man, willing more serpents into the folds of his extremities before making them burst back into Hunter-enhanced cum. 

He whimpers, back arching in unnatural angles as you weave the largest serpent into the deepest parts of his body. He eventually quiets into stillness. Unable to move out of fear. It’s only for a moment, however. A splashing sound is heard from deep within his flesh as you explode the snake and coat most of his insides with your seed. You feel your cells begin to hijack his, merging and imposing you into his body. 

You feel your main body stir to life, panting. Hunter’s naked body immediately drops to the ground, unconscious. Controlling these snakes seems to take a lot out of you. You look back at Jake. You still lack fine control of his body. This body is strong too. You feel his muscle fibers fight you, defying your commands through sheer force of will. You lick your lips, causing the sleeping Hunter to do the same. Manipulating both bodies felt like its own workout, especially when they resist. You instead focus more attention on your latest capture.

You wrap one snake around one of his vocal cords and bite. A strand of drool escapes slightly parted lips as his mouth moves with sluggish rigidity. With other bits of control. you clumsily force him to strip. Veins pop around his neck and his face contorts in pain. As you wrap another snake around more of his vocal cords, he relents his voice to you. “I can already tell this body’s a fuckin alpha.” God it felt good to puppet Jake. He twitches in struggle and then pats his abs. They don’t move at all from his hand but they ripple intensely with the writhing of the flesh you lodged inside him. His lips quiver but he is eventually forced to smile- and then a cocky flex. It feels entirely foreign coming out of him. 

A few of your serpents slip into his balls, coiling and coating them with the mix of Hunter’s seed and your own. Hunter already had potency, but you could tell Jake was on another level. You wanted it. All of it. All of him. You inject yourself into every piece of his seed factory, and Jake seizes as he feels his future surrender to you. He feels a wrongness to his core, as you root into his very essence, his potential legacy. Jake sticks his tongue out in your delirious pleasure. He pulls up to your main body, grinding into you while smearing testosterone laden sweat all over your body. “That’s fuckin right. Get in me. All of it. This body- my baby batter’s yours. Inject us into my friends. My family…” He moans. 

Another snake wedges into the folds of his brain before biting. A mix of your cum and Hunter’s floods his mind. Jake grips his head in pain as he’s forced to surrender every thought, feeling, dream he’s ever had. You move your offspring in sync to perfectly imitate Jake. He starts to strip, letting you witness the full glory of his drenched body. ”I’ve always wanted kids. Your kids- Our kids are gonna be so fucking strong. Daddy Jake will make them strong”. He taunts himself as he feels his own body up. “I’m fucking delicious”. With your increased focus, he’s a bit easier to handle. A bead of sweat falls on your main body. Still fucking hard to pilot. “Cmon bro, this all you got?” You make him say to himself. Jake blinks away tears, betrayed by his own flesh and muscle. 

Suddenly, you see a tired Hunter wake, sickened to his core, but free. You instantly try to flex the pieces of yourself still embedded inside him but he resists. Your main body falls into sleep again to solidify your control over Jake’s body. The worn Hunter starts to scramble away before you rush him with Jake’s body, pinning him with your new strengthened biceps. Power. Hunter had good qualities, but Jake was a powerhouse. Raw, muscled power. He was brimming with it, body soaked in the stuff. And it was now yours. Jake’s face animates with your delight. “Oh Hunter…” you coo. “You’re a fighter, aren’t you? I don’t think you’re fighting your way out of this one,” You sake with Jake’s virile voice, opening your mouth so he can see a resolidified snake. It was larger this time, more menacing. You close Jake’s mouth again as his face is pulled into your smile. 

“Here, have a taste”, you make him say, as you pull Hunter into a savage kiss. You fashion your new mouth into a wide smile regurgitating the newly thickened snake. Hunter chokes on your serpent, eyes rolling to the back of his head. The new offspring you’ve forced out of Jake and Hunter’s genetic material is mighty. Dominant. Hunter’s throat expands to allow the intrusion. He’s still weary from the past few days and newfound freedom, and you feel just one of these snakes are enough for full control. Permanent control. The enhanced piece of you begins dissolving and weaving itself into Hunter’s flesh. "You're mine". You hold him in place as he jolts, body twisting and contorting to try in vain to fight it. As his trembling slowly subsides, you watch in glee as his sullen face slowly rise to meet Jake’s eyes, growing smirk on his face mirroring yours.

Your control slowly wanes when your main body rises out of its sleep. You bring Hunter into a deep, wet kiss, before placing your attention back on Jake. Hunter’s flesh moves to your command, just like before, but this time, any resistance is tamped down by your new Jake-enhanced cum. You are still slightly out of breath from controlling his body, but with nowhere near the difficulty you had before.

The triple vision causes you to stagger, but you quickly get used to puppetting two bodies at once. This time, it was Jake’s turn to form a resistance. His body jerks as he tries to brute force command of his own body back. You wrestle it back, forcing a shaking hand to grab his dick and start pumping. You bring Hunter’s hand over, supporting. Your two hands are coarse, and your control over them is somewhat rough. Regardless, you quicken to a breakneck speed, barely leaving time for Jake’s body to gasp.

Jake’s dick releases in a torrent of cum. It coats Hunter’s body, but with your control, he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he moans, scooping it into his hands and bringing it up to your Jake body’s mouth. You make your frat bro slurp the mixture own seed, Hunter, and yours. Jake’s fighting the urge to vomit, but to you it tastes divine. You make him swirl his tongue inside his mouth, corralling every last piece of it deeper inside. 

Making Jake reinfect himself made all three of your bodies hard. Jake squirms in and out of control. He’s forced to grope his own muscles while he feels himself saturate with you, his own Adonis bod reduced into an avatar of your pleasure. He’s ready. You bring your newly infested puppet close. His deep chest heaves for you. Voice dripping with your perversion, “I’ll make you strong bro” you make Jake say in a corruption of his own catchphrase. “This is peak performance”. You can practically feel him fight with every fiber of his being. His bulging musculature spams. You drool with anticipation, pinning his body and yours to a tree with Hunter’s gyrating flash. ”Be one with me” you sing in Hunter’s voice. “O..On..with…. me“, you start to be able to reply back as Jake. “O-o-one…” His head shakes side to side, fighting you intrusion. You pinpoint your mind, like a hypodermic needle to his psyche. “One with me,” He gasps in ecstasy. 

“You fuckin freak….” Jake’s face pulls in a deep smile as he moans. You already have him acting atypically, it borders on unnatural as his lips pull into a smile wider than he’s ever made in his life. He now faces your main body, face closer than you ever would have dared to have it before. “Sin in my body….” He winces in one last bit of resistance, a small tear pooling in his eye. “Let’s make my parent’s cry…” He leans down to you for a kiss, letting you taste every piece of him with your main body for the first time. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he’s forced to suck out the snake you swallowed a few days ago. He gurgles a little before sending a Jake-imbued serpent, drenched in his testosterone and musk, down your throat. You make him pull back, looking at you with his signature bored expression, now tainted with your lust. “Own me”. His hand grabs yours, pulling it over his ass cheek and forcing a squeeze. “From now on… I am yours” 

- - - - - 

It took a few hours to make your way back but you finally manage. This time, Jake drove back. Drawing on the sleeping Hunter's knowledge. His car and the route back are second nature.

Jake places a hand on your inner thigh and smiles. Before long, your back in town and you send the aspiring personal trainer on his way.

You lay back in bed, curling up to your Hunter body. He still reeks but you can’t wait to start concocting your own concentrated Jake-flavored scent. You sigh contentedly, satisfied with your newest acquisition.

Doesn’t hurt to have a little test drive. 

Your two bodies peacefully lull into slumber as you flood the full force of your consciousness into Jake’s body. His face flashes in a split-second resistance before settling back. You fit the shape of your psyche to match his brain, slowly sliding into a deepened control. He has been carrying on as normal, so when you open his eyes as your own for the first time and gasp you first Jake-breath, you immediately adapt to his nonchalance. You survey your new surroundings.

He’s at the school gym, with what looks like one of his ATO brothers. It’s quite empty, probably due to how late it was. You pull one of his half-smiles. You couldn’t believe your luck at the fine man before you. You extract information from Jake’s mind.

A model, at least part time. Smart. Charismatic. “He’s cute, too,” You taunt Jake. “Thanks for the bro, bro”.

One of the snakes you have in his body coils in excitement, but you will it to be still. Might as well finish his routine. You can’t help but push Jake’s body past its limit as you barrel your way through his sets. 

You had a glimpse of his raw power previously, but it paled in comparison to this. As you smash through set after set in his body, you feel deeply in tune with Jake. His heart pumps mightly. Your cells already course through his bloodstream, so the action squeezes you into him further and only solidifies your bond together. His lungs are like engines, you’ve never felt so much energy inside you. You want to keep the charade of his normal personality up, but you can’t help but giggle. So good. So fucking good.

Hunter was dependable, and it felt amazing fully wearing his mind, but Jake was another beast entirely. You feel drunk in his body, in his vitality, in feeling his muscles conform to your thoughts. Your two bodies in Hunter’s apartment start squirming, leaking a bit of precum. Your mind is twisted and slotted into every piece of Jake's. His inner self winces as your very being, very sense of self leeches out of every crevice in his, neurons force-fed your commands. Your Jake-flavored thoughts course through his body, the perfect housing to your newly added self. This was truly being Jake. Wearing him in all senses but physical. And being Jake is a fuckin party.

It wasn’t just sensation. Thoughts themselves felt euphoric. Through his eyes, the world seems just a bit brighter. His mouth is intimately aware of the flavor of his own saliva. And his nose... you take a deep whiff of the perspiration caking his armpits, drenched in his musk. Divine. A moan escapes your mouth, prompting a quick turn from Dylan. God, we even sound good when we moan together. Jake’s face immediately reverts to its normal, dull demeanor. You raise your eyebrows slightly, just like Jake does, as you catch his eyeline, arousing no suspicion. Dylan promptly returns to his exercises, unaware of the danger wearing his best friend. You put Jake in the forefront, only for a moment, relishing in his sense of freedom before immediately straddling his psyche. You ride it as he is forced to bring trembling fingers up to his nipples. You give them a good rub. Oh my god. Another moan, but Dylan ignores it this time. That gets the two of you even harder.

You continue to straddle Jake’s inner sense of self as you work through his last set. It felt good to have him around, to witness how much more powerful he was when you were puppetting his bod. “We’re so fucking strong together,” you grunt in a proud aggression. Jake’s emotions felt far more raw than Hunter’s so it was difficult reining them in. 

Large dumbbells fall to the ground in a loud thunk. Jake’s body- your body is spent. His flesh cries in pain and soreness, but even that felt amazing through his bod. You are intimately aware of his tired flesh. It’s tender, but not for long. You feel the fibers of his being, coated in your conjoined seed getting buried in the folds of his growing muscles. Like all bodies after a workout, his body courses with growth hormones. Mass. His flesh condenses, builds itself stronger, unwillingly with you inlaid deep within them. You whimper in ecstacy. This is yours. He is yours. All yours. Irreversibly yours.

You roar, proud of Jake, of the new branch of your being. You will his tired form upright. He drools as his body whines in soreness. You lap it up, his face filling with determination as you prepare for your next hunt.

Your body is soaked, oozing with Jake’s sweat and scent. You pay no mind as you slowly walk towards Dylan, who had just finished his last set. You can barely mask your excitement through Jake’s normal demeanor. God you look even better up close. Your muscled hand reaches out, offering to pull him up. You ‘accidentally’ pull him too hard and into your awaiting hug. You laugh it off but you can tell that emotion alone was already offputting to Dylan. Fuck it, let’s be one already.

You waste no time, wrapping Dylan with your larger frame. Your ATO bro flails, trying to escape your clutches. He's far too weak to resist, post-workout. Instead you pull his head, up to your nose for a quick whiff of your future scent. Your eyelids flutter a little. He smells fancy.

You tug on Jake’s memories, “Bro, it was so fun getting to know you this semester. Gets me so hard just thinking about that tight little ass of yours.” You start grinding Jake’s body into Dylan. Letting him feel Jake’s hard on.

Dylan is stammering, clearly worried at the hybrid personality of Jake and your perversion. This person in front of him is Jake. It’s undeniably Jake, but it feels so wrong. Your muscled hand grips his chin, turning it from one side to another. “We’re gonna be more than bros, Dylan.” That causes him to struggle more. “You got the cutest face in ATO. Can’t fucking wait to wear it. Ready to be one?”

Dylan starts tossing himself around, as he sees the large snake slowly rising from Jake’s smile. You use your newfound muscle man to keep him steady. Another perk of being entrenched in Jake’s body. You waste no time, forcing Dylan to gorge himself on you, Jake and Hunter’s hybrid seed. 

He makes gurgling noises as you coil and worm into your new bod, and the last sight he sees is Jake pleading “sorry”. Dylan’s shaking stops, arms hanging lifelessly. Jake is still whimpering his sorrys as you brute force your bond into Dylan. It’s normally an arduous process, but being betrayed by his best friend turns his corruption into quick work. His mind succumbs to you easily, still in shock.

Jake is still sobbing “sorry” as he holds you upright. Your eyes slowly blink open, looking to Jake in confusion at first. He opens his mouth, wanting to ask if you were still you but you abruptly use your new body to pull him into a kiss. You force Jake to reciprocate, giving him a forbidden taste of his best bro’s essence.

“No need to be sorry bro,” you moan. “Actually... thank you, Jake. Thank you for stuffing this tight bod with his flesh.” You start to mock Jake by wearing your new body’s sincerity as you continue. “I’ve always wanted to be turned into a meat puppet. This was my deepest desire”. You hum.

Wearing Dylan was equally arousing and you feel Jake squirm in disgust at feeling his best friend’s growing hard on. You start to dance in Dylan’s tight bod, shaking more of your cells deeper in the process. “I’ve always wanted to be slut. And for my best, most trusted bro to be the one to infect me!” You cackle. “You feel him, don’t you?” You moan. “You can tell there’s no going back…”  Jake starts to shake as you resume control, this time dispersing your mind across both bodies. 

You pull back Jake to the forefront of his own mind, again strapping him to your own thoughts so he can fully watch and experience himself defile his best friend’s body. Jake’s body returns a hedonistic sneer. “Hell yeah brother…” You slam Dylan to the gym floor and begin stripping both frat men. “We can take the rest of ATO-“ both bodies briefly moan at the thought of corrupting their own brothers. “But, gratitude, bro. Lemme taste you first. Gonna stuff you so full of my cum, you’ll always have a piece of Jake inside of you,” You chuckle. “Well, more what's already there”.

= = = = =

Phew, another long one. But when have they ever not been long?

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof

Summary: You're the only Avenger who sleeps in a cell. | Series Masterlist

Word count: 2.9k+ | Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, Sharing A Bed, Enemies to Lovers

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by anon:

could i maybe request wanda x r where the whole team kinda mistreats them and wanda is especially bad. & r saving wanda on a mission, with this: wanda: “How'd you know you were bulletproof?" r: "I didn't. I just knew that you weren't."

Author's note: Thank you to the anon who requested this :) Not sure if this is exactly how you wanted it, but I had fun writing the battle (my first time!) Hope you don't mind I took some liberties ;) Takes place before Civil War.

--

“You don’t have to be so mean to them,” Natasha tells her. 

Wanda's eyes narrow as she continues to fixate on you, her glare seemingly willing the daggers to find their mark. You can sense the energy of her powers tingling in the air, but she maintains control, stopping the daggers just short of their target.

“They need to know what they’re up against,” Wanda retorts, her accent slipping through in a rare moment. “If they’re going to be one of us, they have to prove themselves.”

Natasha moves to stand between you and Wanda, her body language calm but assertive. “They will, in time. But not like this.”

You can feel your heart pounding, but you refuse to let Wanda see any fear in your eyes. Your choice to leave your former life and join this team wasn't made lightly, and you won't be intimidated.

“I'm right here,” you say, stepping forward. “And I'm not going anywhere. If you want to test me, do it properly.”

Wanda smirks, and the daggers drop to the floor, clattering loudly in the silence. “Impressive,” she says, almost as an afterthought.

Steve Rogers, observing from the sidelines, steps in to defuse the situation. His authoritative presence commands respect, and his voice is steady and even. “That's enough for today. We're a team, and we need to start acting like one.”

He looks at you, his eyes filled with understanding but also a hint of caution. “However,” he continues, his tone shifting, “You'll still be sleeping in the cells.”

Your heart plummets, each word from Steve feeling like a blade to your chest. Being sent back to that room, devoid of windows, with only a tiny bed and a comforter too thin to ward off the chill, feels like a betrayal every time. You've spent nights there, shivering and reflecting on your decision to join this team, yet still, you find yourself confined.

“After several months of captivity, even cooking your dinner, you still don't trust me?” you ask, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice.

Steve's expression softens, but his resolve remains firm. “It's not about trust,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a weight of experience and pain. “We've been crossed so many times before, mostly by former HYDRA agents.”

Like you, he doesn’t need to say.

You understand the logic, but it doesn't make the reality any easier to swallow. The sense of being an outsider, the cold isolation of the cells—it wears on you.

Wanda, who had been silent up to this point, suddenly speaks up. “Maybe you should just leave then. If it's so unbearable, why stay?”

The room goes quiet. 

A thousand retorts spring to your mind, but you swallow them down, unwilling to escalate the situation further. The temptation to throw back that it's rich coming from her, considering she's also a former footsoldier of HYDRA, is strong, but you bite your tongue. 

You look at her, stunned by the bluntness of her suggestion, but also recognizing the challenge in her eyes. 

Her words strike deeper than she may realize. Leaving isn't an option you've entertained, mainly because there's nowhere for you to go. No one left in your life to turn to. This makeshift “family” despite their reservation and distance, is all you have.

-

The days that follow are marked by a subtle but relentless isolation. 

In the training room, Wanda's partnership becomes more aggressive than usual. Her powers lash out without warning, her critiques sharp and cutting. You hold your own, but the lack of camaraderie is palpable. Each comment she makes stings, and with every barb, you feel more and more alone.

At meal times, the rest of the Avengers seem to be in their own world, deep in conversation, sharing stories, laughing. You sit at the end of the table, your presence barely acknowledged, a shadow among them. Your attempts to join in are met with curt replies or indifference. You try to brush it off, believing that you should be used to rejection by now. But no matter how much you tell yourself that you're accustomed to it, that you've developed a thick skin, the pain is still there, raw and fresh.

Mission briefings are no better. Your opinions and insights are consistently overlooked. You contribute where you can, but your ideas are dismissed without consideration. You are a tool, a means to an end, not a part of the team. The realization gnaws at you, festering in the pit of your stomach.

Casual encounters with the team become equally disheartening. Tony passes you in the hallway without so much as a glance. Natasha avoids eye contact. Bruce mumbles something noncommittal when you try to engage him in conversation. Steve's assignments are devoid of the warmth or encouragement he shows to everyone else.

Your cell becomes a constant reminder of your status, metaphor for how the entire team treats you. 

You’re both just a weapon and a first-aid kit at their disposal.

Wanda is relentless, her words sharp and her gaze cold. You have no idea why she treats you worse than any of them, why her manner towards you has turned so hostile. You don't understand why you get under her skin without even trying, why she seems to target you with a venom that feels deeply personal.

You were expecting that Wanda would be the one to understand what it feels like to be an outsider, given that you both share a common history as former HYDRA agents. 

As the days turn into weeks, the isolation wears you down. The walls of your cell seem to close in, and a growing determination to prove yourself begins to take hold. 

You'll show them all that you're more than just a disposable weapon.

But underlying that determination is a gnawing doubt, a fear that no matter what you do, it will never be enough to earn their respect, their trust, or their friendship. It's a lonely road, and for the first time, you begin to wonder if Wanda's earlier suggestion might hold some truth.

Perhaps it would be easier to leave.

-

It’s not like you know the extent of your abilities, but they bring you along the most dangerous missions for one thing:

Your healing ability.

On top of your martial arts training, you provide a sense of security to your teammates, knowing that you'll be there to heal them if they get hurt.

Now, you find yourself on one such mission, infiltrating a den of underground supers. These aren't ordinary criminals; they're mercenaries hired to carry out the dirty work of high-ranking government officials. It's a treacherous job, one filled with unknown risks, and you've been paired with Wanda for the operation.

As you and Wanda are attempting to escape, things take a turn for the worse. You find yourselves cornered in an alley, your escape route cut off by a group of armed thugs and a few individuals displaying unnerving superpowers.

Wanda takes on those with special abilities, her eyes glowing red as she unleashes her powers in a flurry of attacks. You, on the other hand, focus on the armed assailants, wielding two-handed pistols with expert precision. Bullets fly, and bodies fall as you both fight for your lives.

But in the midst of the chaos, you notice something that sends a chill down your spine. Snipers, perched on a nearby rooftop, taking aim at Wanda. Even with your healing abilities, you know that a precise shot to the head would be fatal.

“Wanda, get down!” you shout, but she's too engrossed in her battle to hear you. Your mind races, knowing that you have only seconds to act. 

Without a second thought, you turn and run towards Wanda, your body moving on pure instinct. Bullets whiz by your ear, but you keep going, your focus solely on reaching her before it's too late.

You leap into the air, positioning yourself between Wanda and the snipers just as they pull the trigger. 

You hear the distant release of the bullet, muted but deadly.

The world seems to slow down as you brace for the impact, only to feel the bullets bounce off your skin.

You land, unscathed, your mind reeling from the realization that you're bulletproof. But there's no time to dwell on it.

Wanda looks at you, her eyes wide with shock but also gratitude. “How did you–”

“No time!” you cut her off, urging her to keep fighting. “We have to get out of here!”

Wanda's eyes flare with a vivid scarlet as she zeroes in on the snipers in the vicinity. With a flourish of her hands, she uses her powers to locate each of their positions. A pulse of energy emanates from her fingertips, reaching out to the snipers' weapons, and within moments, the firearms disintegrate into dust, leaving the men defenseless.

Seeing an opening, you reach for Wanda's arm, your grip firm but not rough. There's no time to waste, and you start pulling her towards the exit, half running, half dragging her to safety. Her breath is warm on your neck, her body close to yours, as you weave through the maze of alleyways, your heart pounding in your chest.

Once you're at a safe distance, Wanda turns to you. “How'd you know you were bulletproof?”

“I didn't,” you admit, still in disbelief, and much to Wanda’s horror that you almost got yourself killed for her sake. “I just knew you weren't. And if those bullets got to you, I wouldn't be able to heal someone who's already dead.”

Wanda stares at you, her eyes searching your face as if she's trying to see something… deeper. Her lips part, like she wants to say something more, something that's just on the tip of her tongue but won't come out.

That's when you realize that you're still holding her arm, your bodies so close that you can feel her heartbeat. A flush of embarrassment washes over you as you become aware of the intimate proximity. Wanda clears her throat, a delicate, almost shy sound, and you immediately let go of her arm.

The silence that follows your sudden step back is heavy and awkward. You can't help but glance at the spot where your hand had been moments ago, still feeling the ghostly sensation of her arm beneath your fingers.

You look at Wanda, and she's looking back at you, her eyes wide and filled with something you can't quite name. 

And then, without warning, Wanda starts to laugh.

It's a soft, bubbling sound at first, almost as if she's surprised by it herself. Her laughter grows, becoming louder and more contagious, and you can't help but stare at her, your mouth agape, wondering if she's lost her mind.

“What's so funny?” you finally manage to ask.

Wanda wipes a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “I was just thinking,” she says, her nose scrunching, something you haven’t seen on her and you find it quite… adorable. “You're like a shield now. As effective as Steve's vibranium one, maybe even more so.”

The absurdity of the statement causes you to finally join in her laugh, and your heart seems to flutter at the sound of Wanda's glee.

“I don't know about that,” you say, trying to sound modest but unable to keep the smile off your face. “Steve's shield has a bit more style.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Wanda teases, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “There's something quite stylish about being bulletproof. And practical too.”

Was that a compliment?

You shake your head, still smiling, your previous awkwardness forgotten. You're not only pleased at the first light banter you've shared with a teammate but also smiling at something else, something that stirs deep inside you and that you're not quite ready to confront.

Your crush on Wanda Maximoff.

-

The toll of the day's event is weighing down on you and Wanda, but like every mission, you're required to report the details of the mission–successful or not. Your muscles are sore, your mind is weary, but the mission was a success, and you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

Arriving back at the Avengers compound, you follow Wanda into the debriefing room where Steve is waiting. Wanda explains what happened, how you discovered your newfound ability, and saved her life. Her voice is filled with respect and something more, something warmer, as she recounts your bravery.

Steve's face lights up with pride. “You both did well today. I'm proud of how you handled yourselves out there.”

You exchange a glance with Wanda, waiting for something more, perhaps some acknowledgment of your change in status within the team, or even an upgrade to your sleeping quarters. But instead, Steve simply nods, his face turning serious. “Dismissed.”

Wanda's face falls, and you feel a sharp pang of disappointment. You start to retreat towards your cell, the cold, windowless room that's been your home for months, but Wanda's voice stops you in your tracks.

“Wait a minute, Steve,” she protests. “After all that's happened, after all Y/N has done for us, don't you think it's time for a change? A real room, perhaps?”

Steve looks between you and Wanda. You hold your breath, hoping for a reprieve from the isolation you've been feeling.

Finally, Steve sighs, his face softening. “Wanda, if it were up to me, Y/N would have their own room already. But it's not that simple,” he explains, his voice strained. “I still need to place an official request with Tony. He's the one who approves these things.”

You can hear the frustration in Steve's voice, and you realize that he's fighting for you, in his own way.

“Fine,” Wanda says, crossing her arms. “But this needs to be done quickly, Steve. It's not right.”

“I agree. I'll talk to Tony first thing tomorrow.”

As you turn to leave and retreat back to your cell, Wanda's hand on your arm stops you, and you look back at her, surprised by the action.

“Come with me,” she says. Without another word, she leads you towards her quarters. 

Your heart quickens at her words, and you follow her, trying to process what's happening. 

Is she really inviting you to stay in her room?

Once inside her quarters, the reality of the situation sinks in, and a nervous tension takes hold. Her room is filled with personal touches–little trinkets, photographs, her clothes all over the place–that provide glimpses into a life you've only seen from a distance. You feel like an intruder, momentarily paralyzed as you take in the intimacy of her space.

Wanda seems to pick up on your hesitation, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. A smirk plays on her lips as she teases, “Don't look so terrified. I won't bite.”

You chuckle at her remark. “Well, that's a relief.”

Wanda's eyes sparkle with amusement, and she moves further into the room, gesturing for you to follow. “Make yourself at home,” she says. She then goes to the closet and begins to pull out a spare pillow and blanket. “You'll be staying here with me until we sort out a room for you,” she says.

“Thanks, Wanda,” you say softly.

Without further comment, you move to make your bed on the floor, your movements deliberate and slow as you try to give her space and respect her privacy.

“What are you doing?” Wanda asks, her eyes widening as she realizes your intention.

“I'm just getting ready to sleep,” you explain, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I'm quite tired.”

“No, what are you doing on the floor?” she clarifies, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “You're sharing the bed with me.”

“I wouldn't want to impose,” you say, though the offer is tempting.

“You're not imposing,” Wanda assures you, her eyes sincere. “You've earned a proper bed, and I trust you.”

The word 'trust' hits you like a wave, and you feel tears pricking at the back of your eyes. 

Blinking them back, your voice cracks a little as you reply, “Thank you, Wanda. That means more to me than you know.”

“Good night, Y/N,” Wanda whispers, turning on her side to face you.

“Good night, Wanda,” you say, just as softly.

You both settle on the bed, and with a flick of her wrist, Wanda uses her powers to switch off the light.

The softness of Wanda's bed is worlds away from the harsh, unforgiving mattress in your cell. You find yourself sinking into the plush comfort, every muscle in your body releasing the tension from the dangerous mission earlier. The scent of Wanda on the pillows only adds to the incomparable comfort they provide. The difference is staggering, and it contributes to you falling asleep much more quickly than you have in a long time.

In the middle of the night, you're stirred awake by the feeling of Wanda rolling closer to you. Her arm finds its way over your stomach, and her soft snores fill the room. Being ever alert, the small action wakes you, but as soon as you realize it's just Wanda, a smile forms on your face.

You lie there for a moment, taking in the warmth and the gentle pressure of her hand. A soft blush creeps up your cheeks as you place your hand over hers to keep it there.

You've become more than just teammates.

You've become friends.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl

A Homelander X F! Reader fanfic

A/N: I am still working on my other projects but I just wanted to write something fun and light to get me back into writing. I hope y'all enjoy this short little piece, btw i aint got no kids so i have very little idea how milk banks work, this will be a 2 or 3 part story.

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1– Heifer

Such a small box, smaller than a shoe box, just big enough to fit its contents with enough space for his ghost to move. You stared at the small box as its buried in the family plot… you never thought of visiting this place to ever bury the last shred of happiness you had left, his body was born weak, so small you wonder if you’d given birth to a child or a chick, 2 months ago you had come home to find your now ex in bed with his ex, he had turned this betrayal on its head and blamed you for it, something about your lack of desire lately, about how your pregnancy had given him amounts of pressures he'd never agreed with, talking endlessly about his needs and how much you’d ignored him.

Whoever this man was, you didn’t recognize him.

Time blurred into nothing but disconnected colors and shapes, all you know was that the stress and anguish lead to this.

A box under soil.

Days passed and in your empty apartment, surrounded by all the stuff you bought you stood in front of the sink, throwing a bottle of fresh milk down the drain feeling tremendous guilt, the doctor said you would dry out soon enough but your breast had swollen so much your bras no longer fit– even the spare ones you bought just in case they’ve grown a size too big from what you expected, you booked an appointment with your doctor hoping they could give you whatever cocktail of drugs to dry you out and save you from the pressure and pain in your chest, it had been nothing but a passing message from a worried neighbor who had stop by to give you some mail that had been sent to them by accident when she mentioned her daughter-in-law had donated her excess milk after her little one refused to latch, she gave you the name of the charity and after much thinking you gave in, you lost your baby but there was some woman out there who could end up experiencing your same grief if their baby starved to death, yours simply born too small and weak to hold your finger for very long.

It felt good, you met the women running the charity and even some of the faces of the women you helped, as you delivered your frozen packs to the women’s clinic where the charity operated, it helped you heal, it gave your pain purpose, but as the months faded behind you a part of you worried about how much you keep producing, less than before but still too much, yet you keep going knowing it would end soon enough. 

Perhaps somebody in the clinic or the charity had dropped your information to these people but you'd received some mail regarding some research trials Vought International was running and how they needed some donors to drop fresh samples, in their pamphlet they offered to pay a decent amount--your divorce had been costly plus having to move to a new place and breaking your previous lease had left your bank account quite dry, this was cheap money, you had given your milk for free, you looked at the few pouches you had collected for next week's drop you saw a wonderful opportunity to make some quick cash.

You went to the Vought Clinic and saw a few other women filling up forms, reading old magazines or dilly-dallying on their phones until some nurse called their numbers, you filled the medical form, waited less than half an hour before your number was called, brought into a small bleach scented room, the nurse read your form and told you she would take a blood sample, a doctor came in, reciting whatever script he’d been given about what this project was, giving you big words you had no interest in, this was about providing better milk formulas closer to natural milk than anything currently in the market apparently, thanking you for your donation, he looked at your form smiling as he saw your inked words.

“You're still producing 4 months after…” The doctor handed you a disinfecting wipe and a freshly steamed breast pump in a silver tray– we just need two samples, please press the alarm to let us know you’d finished, then follow Nurse Potts to the front counter to sort out your payment.”

It had been an awkward experience, but there you were 300 dollars richer, you probably should’ve read those papers a bit closer before signing but money was money and you were told to come back if you could.

You did it a couple times for 2 months, much like a man donating sperm for pocket money or plasma to pay the rent.

That was the first mistake, you headed home and woke up the morning after wishing you had stayed out for an extra hour or two, perhaps caved in to your friends pressures and tried going back to dating (after all your ex was whoring himself all across the lower east side without moral qualms) or hookups so you would had gone to a different address, maybe you should had taken a taxi instead of taking the train and walking home.

Regardless you woke in some strange empty room, the only thing beside your person was a pair of pale pink hospital gowns, grippy socks, clean underwear and a pair of thick large towels, you screamed and banged on the door for an ungodly amount of time but nobody ever came, you stayed alone in that room for what could have been 12 hours or more… maybe less… who knew it was all too much, suddenly a sharp sound cut into the silence a note had been slid under the door, you rushed to the note.

It was instructions, they wanted you wearing their clean clothes, you could not leave the room unless you did so, and as much as you hated the idea, you wanted to get out so badly, you knew if you wanted to escape your only chance came in knowing your surroundings, you begrudgingly and tearfully changed, waiting until anything changed– the doors hissed opened, a woman in a sharp cream coloured suit stood there with clipboard and an armed guard, at the sight of the heavy looking gun– you froze.

Then you took the first step towards hell.

You knew the following things: You lived in some basement area– there were no windows, only elevators. You weren’t alone, there were other women here and they made sure to keep your interactions at minimum no doubt to keep all of you submissive and not getting any ideas, sometimes familiar faces will fade and you could only speculate nightmares. Lastly… your purpose, the reason you were trapped here in the first place was… to lactate.

A plucky little thing that stayed optimistic despite your shared horror called herself a ‘Heifer’ she wasn’t wrong… you lived in a small cell where everything had sat on top of each other feed to keep fat and producing milk much like a cow, whoever developed this diet knew of all the ingredients known to help production, and you knew there were putting something else in the food for your breast begun to feel uncomfortable, for a little while you thought you could fight it by starving yourself, then two men with guns came into the room and told you to eat or else.

The time you spend outside this microflat hong-kong style cell was in the milking room and the shower room, you were ordered to stay clean and quiet, at least in the milking room you had some television and could spend time with the other women, but they keep you isolated, you could do very little, sometimes music would play and a book would be dropped with your food but your happiness wasn’t priority, you had to fill a quota.

After a couple weeks of this you simply accepted defeat, too many guns… not enough spaces to run, and nothing to come home to… a man that wanted to sue you for more feeling as if the judge had been unfair, a pestering family who acted as if they had been the only ones who experience loss, an empty cot you still hadn’t gotten rid off and piles and piles of bills, in this quiet cool room you had spend endless hours thinking, you didn’t love your job, you had been distant from most of your friends and you could only imagine that they assumed you had run away or killed yourself after what happened nobody could blame you.

Existing for the sake of existing until you could figure out what to do next.

“Good Evening… I’m glad you’re eating so well” The lady you met the first day said as the door hissed open, she watched you like a hawk as you process this sudden interruption, clutching at your paper thin blanket, you looked at the floral fabric in her arms and the clipboard under her arm– I need you to sign this before you’re allowed upstairs”

“Am I being let out?” You said anxiously, no way it could be that easy you thought.

The lady let her smile waiver, looking at the unseen guard then at her wrist watch as she handed you the clipboard.

“Your performance might determine how soon you'll be release…”

“You assume I won’t go to the police…”

“That wouldn’t be wise Miss L/N but we assure you that you’ll be sufficiently compensated for the inconvenience.”

You wanted to yell, but a voice in the back of your head thought of this but nothing but pageantry, you were dead either way, but perhaps this could be your opportunity to escape, whatever they wanted to do now meant being outside of these buried walls, you signed the sheet without thinking, briefly considered stabbing the bitch in the eye but is likely they would turn you into swiss cheese before you even took a step too close, she took the paperwork from your hands and in change handed you a long sleeved dressed straight out of the mormon section in target, she closed the door and you dressed up.

The halls looked so odd when you didn’t wear your prison clothes, the other few doors housed sleeping and bored girls, your plucky friend hidden behind one of them, the new girl hidden behind one of them and the girl you seen before in the milking room once hid behind one of them.

They took you to an elevator– it was old box, if you had to guess by the button’s design maybe built in the late or mid 70s, you never left their side until the elevator closed before them, the box moved slowly, a dingy silver box with low honey coloured lights, so dim… and you were alone, as the light chime as it went up you felt your entire being sink into your stomach, your heart beating so fast you were sure you were gonna have a heart attack before the doors opened once again, swallowing dry spit, your eyes opened so wide it hurt.

Quiet… it was so quiet when the doors opened, you expected something else, something menacing… something frightening– not an old house, an old house in the middle of some evergreen forest, everything screams old, untouched, museum like, like it's meant to present this idea that somebody lives here but not really, despite it being an elevator hidden behind a bookcase, you take a few cautious steps, your naked feet bury in the plush carpet, there’s bird singing outside and the sun is so bright and warm it hurts your eyes, the cool tones gone and this feels like a bad dream, pinching yourself but you’re awake, tragically awake, a weird wiry smile creeps on your lips, an almost laugh escapes your lips before you can feel tears burning your eyes.

“Hello…?” You ask and you don’t know why.

As you venture into the living room, hands firm against the tacky dark pink wallpaper, you found old floral couches that matched the drapes and despite how old school it was it had a charm to it.

Then you saw him.

Perusing the VHS collection filled the entire bookcase on the wall, just rows and rows of VHS boxes, some plastic and some cardboard, the TV boxy and just as antiquated but who cared— he was there.

You ran before you even realized you done it, crashing into him with desperation, tears staining your cheeks and you could barely breath as you tried so hard to speak.

“Homelander please help me!! I’ve been kidnapped!! Please!!” You cried, pulling on his suit– please!!”

Those endlessly blue eyes more poison dart hide than veronica flower bush the more they stared at you calmly, his lips into a thin smile and his hand thad taken your wrist inflicting just enough force to keep you firmly in his grip… to show you how he wasn’t an ordinary man, he looked at you as your tears changed meaning as if you were the most unfortunate creature he’d ever seen, his lips parted just enough to show those sharp canines that had looked so charming in sidewalk posters, now you could sense their presence squeezing at your jugular.

“You are so much prettier in person, Y/N.” His voice is disturbingly soft and calm, intimately quiet as he takes a whiff of your neck, moving you to make it easier, his free hand creeped towards your hip– I was so glad when I saw your picture and you weren’t hideous.”

Trembling against him, a nonexistent cold draft blew against you, your whole body shivering and covered in goosebumps.

His eyes fixated in your breast, mouth agape as his tongue dared to lick his lip, watching you like a starved man at a las vegas buffet, his hand slithering upwards, you know where this is leading, you can’t stop crying but you can’t scream either, you're just there as his hand avoids your breasts and creeps towards your back and presses your bodies together.

“I’m so glad you signed that sheet, I was getting sad endlessly waiting for one of you to agree to the deal” He says quietly, you stare at him and you realize you should’ve actually read that stupid sheet– why so scared? I ain’t gonna bite.” He bites the air as a joke and you could tell that that single bite could have torn your finger off cleanly.

His eyes shift to your clinging fingers that stayed so stiff against his padded suit, you stopped squeezing at him now they rested limp against him.

“Let’s watch a movie…” 

It’s an awkward dance concluding in sitting down on a couch, its surprisingly soft and you’re sinking on the cushion while your mind dissolved in the sky, the coffee table had a humbled spread of snacks, pizza and milkshakes, not once did you notice, you stared at him clutching at your dress as he picked something out of the shelve, watching as his hand worked the VHS player, the clicks and whirling all you could focus on. He sat beside you as the speakers began to play the included trailers, he took the drink urging you to do the same with a menacing look, filling you with incomplete thoughts as you obeyed.

Malt vanilla marinated in your tongue, you had a terrible thought.

‘Milk’ 

You were there to provide milk… to whom? Why just milk? You thought they would sell your body or your organs, experiment on you but… they wanted your milk, but who was buying it? Who was drinking it? Where did it go? You stared at the pretty blond whose arm kept your shoulders still, you saw the news– you’d known he had a child and who knows with whom but his kid was old enough to not need it… was it for him? You thought… thinking of it as ridiculous until you remember how 20 minutes ago  he was staring at your tits as if he was malnourished, you looked at his lips pursing as he took a long sip of his milkshake and wonder if that was milk… from a cow… not a heifer like you.

Homelander smiled at you.

“I don’t like ‘The mothman prophecy’ , never been a Richard Gere fan” he said casually.

“He was really good in ‘Pretty Woman’ . This one is okay…” You looked at the screen your voice so stiff– what’s going on…? Mr. Homelander… I…"

“Shhh… watch the movie” He leaned against you resting his head on your shoulder– you tasted the best… every batch perfection– such delicate custardy taste… So this is what we are gonna do… I’ll keep you in this floor so you’re not so bored ."

You swear he’s purring as he rubs himself against you marking you as much as he was making himself comfortable.

“There’s cameras everywhere… The glass is bulletproof, doors won’t open without a fob and code, and there’s no phones or internet, but if you do manage to get out of here just be aware I’ll know.” He said such terrible things as if it was nothing– if you tried to off yourself there will be 3 armed guards and nurses here in less than a minute but if you behave I promise you– you’ll be allowed out, but only if you gain my trust.” He looks up at you as you focus on those thin lips of his– there’s no kitchen but your meals will be delivered… if you want anything just tell the camera over there.”

He pointed at the corner tucked in between two VHS tapes was a small camera.

“I like you Y/N you're cute… you’ll behave for me, right?”

You nodded, too afraid to disagree.

“Now… let’s finish the movie… I actually like this part”

You stared at the pizza box, you could at least tell that the pizza was from an american restaurant, which made you feel safe ‘Select Pizza and Grill” said in the box and you knew you were somewhere in Pennsylvania, far from your apartment in Clinton Hill.

You looked at your boobs feeling his piercing gaze on them, you started drawing lines connecting weird things together, back when you were donating your milk, girls joked about people buying for medicinal and fetish purposes, this spelled itself out for you.

Maybe you could get out of here… but you had to do something weird… but as you heard the birds outside and the warm light peeked into the room, you realized maybe you could leave… no you’ll leave, you’ll go back home and you would find a way to ruin this man and those bastards beneath you, you’ll get them out too, so you took one courageous breath and forced a smile on your dried lips.

“You really liked it?”

“Huh?”

“My milk…” You mumbled– you know I never tasted it myself but am glad to get a review.”

“It’s really tasty” he bites his lip.

Your hand plays with one of the buttons on the dress.

“It hurts a bit… I usually get asked to pump around this time… dunno if you know this but it's a bit painful when they get this swollen.”

The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know and as you leaned away from him pulling on buttons with slightly trembling fingers, you watched him follow your movements like a snake chasing prey.

“Would you help me out, mister superhero?” Is not flirty but is slightly playful and you’re surprised that you can lie that well, he’s so shameless as he shakes his head enthusiastically, mouth opening for you– please don’t bite.”

He gasps as you let him see all that he’d wanted from the get go, why he put you in that box, why you ended up in this place for.

His body was lighter than you thought as he sunk against you-- eyes closed, body limp against yours, he made the softest sounds it put you at ease somehow, for a moment you saw a very small being latched on your chest, you’d only experienced it once before, and it was seared into your mind as a painful yet tender memory, so you close your eyes dreaming of a fantasy far removed from this peculiar reality, half lid eyes found a man so blissed out your lips curved, this was unbelievable, the world most famous supe keeping you hostage just so you could indulged him.

But you knew now… that this was your way out.

[mrskokushibo]

BEG !!!

Kokushibo x fem!reader

Summary: Upper Moon One is your lover, and you wronged him.... He is angry and you deserve what is coming to you... Are you scared yet?

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, mentions of cheating (fem partner cheats on Koku with a certain rainbow-eyed blond demon), rough sex, rough anal, rough oral, dub-con, mild degradation, sex as punishment (for his partner cheating on him).

Masterlist

Footsteps echoed in the large hallway. It was him. In just a moment he would enter the chamber. You longed for him, craved him. The knot in your underbelly was now pressing unbearably, all you wanted was to feel his thick length inside you.

But today was different, there was also the terrible lump in your throat, fighting for your attention. What you did was wrong, so terribly wrong… But then again, Kokushibo promised to be back within a week. Weeks went by with no news other than the occasional report that came to Muzan, passed on to you.

And then there was the party, to welcome the young, new upper moon. He was tall with the most perfect physique. His hair was long and almost white and then those sparkling eyes….in all colours of the rainbow. His charisma and charm were overwhelming. In such stark contrast to the dirt, he whispered in your ear by the end of the evening. You could not resist, could anyone? If it was not so wrong it would have been worth it, he was beyond experienced too. The memory of the things he did to you made you blush even now, even though the fear of your approaching lover was gripping you in an ever-tightening vice.

Kokushibo entered the room, without a word put aside his katana, and walked up to you, his eyes glaring at you with a look you have never seen before. You should have fallen to the ground, begged for forgiveness, and apologise, but as silly and stunned as you were, you simply stood up and smiled awkwardly.

``Welcome back, Kokushibo-sama´´.

You felt so uneasy and stupid, but it was now too late to correct this behaviour. Because without uttering a word, he grabbed you by the back of your neck, claws digging into the delicate skin, and pushed you down to the ground, until you were where you should have been from the start: on your knees.

His lip twitched slightly, and he bared his fangs in a condescending grin.

`You betrayed me, whore. I thought you were better than to fuck around while I am away. You will pay for this and by the end of it you will be begging me to stop´´.

The look in his eyes was growing more and more terrifying. There was lust, but also something cold and cruel, you only saw this once before… when he was fighting his enemies. A shiver ran down your spine.

`´Is he really going to kill me? ´´ you thought.

Sure, he spared the young upper moon, but only because Muzan intervened. The youngster was obviously valuable to him. This angered Kokushibo even more than your betrayal. But why would he spare you? You were replaceable, only made his lover because of your looks and charm. He could have anyone he pleased… He could now smell your fear, it surged through his senses like a powerful stimulant, it was awakening his aggression and sending it to new heightened levels.

``Do you think I am going to kill you, hm? That would be too easy on you. I still want you around to please me. So no, I shall spare your life, but after tonight you will learn your place´´.

In complete silence, he untied his hakama and revealed his enormous member, already erect, with precum dripping down the shaft. Normally, you would start your usual routine of sucking and licking, but this time you did not even have time to react before his hand twisted your hair in a tight grip and yanked your head forward toward his cock.

``Open your mouth´´ he commanded in a voice so hoarse and deep that despite the overwhelming fear, you felt your juices run down your thigh.

Like a puppet you obeyed and with one brutal move, he shoved the entire length of his cock into your throat. He groaned and started pumping at a relentless tempo. His spare hand was now gripping your throat, while the other was holding a firm grip on the back of your head with your hair tied around his thick wrist. You could barely breathe now, being basically on the verge of fainting. You were seeing stars but for all the wrong reasons. Eventually, you felt his cock grow and within seconds he came deep inside your throat, his orgasm accompanied by a powerful thrust. He kept on pumping, letting all his seed come out properly until pulling out. You slumped on the ground like a ragdoll. Spit and semen dropped out of your ruined mouth.

Without a word, he grabbed you under one of your arms and dragged you to the futon. With ease, possessing such unearthly strength, he tossed you onto the mattress. You were now on your back with him towering over you. With one quick move, he ripped your clothes off exposing your naked body to the beast that he was quickly turning into.

He then removed his kimono. As always, you gasped at the sight of his magnificent, perfectly toned strong body. His black hair clinging to his sweaty chest in unruly locks.

His long, sinewy, and clawed fingers started to trace your folds, spreading them and rubbing slightly. You were wet and needy. A moan left your lips when he parted your folds fully and pressed one of his fingers against your clit. His movement was lewd and lazy. He positioned himself between your legs and in an unkind manner kicked them to the side to make more room for himself. Once again, without a warning, he thrust his cock inside you with one quick move. This time it was your cunt he started abusing. The initial pain quickly dissipated into indescribable pleasure as his full length and girth were hitting all the right spots. Your moans were growing louder, but just as you were nearing your release, he pulled out.

``Do you think I am here to please you, bitch? Do you?´´

He almost hissed into your ear, his weight crushing you under him and leaving you gasping for air. His lips traced down your neck, bared fangs grazing along, leaving marks.

He raised himself up to hover over you and his eyes grew darker. He grinned as he lifted himself off you completely, he was now kneeling between your legs. Very quickly, his huge arms, wrapped around your ass and waist flipped you on your belly. He moved closer to you spreading your legs with his rough hips and thighs. You were aching to come, to make love to him, to feel pleasure, but you did not even dare to think the thought anymore.

``Please, Master, I am so sorry, I really did not mean…´´.

You could not finish your sentence because a large hand firmly covered your mouth.

``Shut up! You will speak when I tell you to speak´´ he growled.

He was now rubbing his hard cock on your folds, only to coat himself with your juices. Once he thought the lubrication was sufficient (for him, but not for you), he stretched your ass with one hand and positioned the tip of his cock on your asshole.

You were truly terrified, `` he would not, would he? `` Sure, the two of you had the occasional anal sex, but he was always gentle, there was sufficient foreplay and extra lubricant. But this? This meant one thing: pain. And the pain you would receive; because as roughly as he handled your mouth and cunt, he now did the same to your ass.

The scream that left your lips was animalistic to say the least. The pain was agonising, but your reaction only seemed to arouse him even more. He leaned down over you and sank his sharp fangs into your back, drawing blood. He was thrusting at a fast and brutal tempo, the rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin reminded more of a satanic chant than lovemaking.

The force of his thrusts was sending you forward as you tried to hold on to the sheets as best as you could. At this point, tears were rolling down your cheeks and you felt like you were sinking into a dark haze of pain and hopelessness, but also, as sick as it was:....lust.... After what felt like an eternity, he finally released himself in you. Maybe this was finally the end of it, of the punishment.. Maybe now you would get to ease your pent up desire.... But no.

He was now sitting on the futon, his legs spread, his cock already semi erect and his scarred chest glistening with sweat, all the while you were curled up on your side, marked and destroyed. The sheets were stained with cum and blood. But he didn´t let you rest.

His powerful arms pulled you up to a kneeling position in front of him. He gripped your face and moved his close to yours. He was about to kiss you. That would be a relief. But then.. you looked into his eyes and realised that the cold and cruel fire was still there. So indeed, he kissed you, but this was not a kiss of affection. It was the kiss of possessive power. His long demon tongue was deep in your throat, suffocating you and making you gag. His fangs bit your lip. He pulled away and looked at you.

``Now you will beg me for mercy, for forgiveness. You deserve everything that I am choosing to do to you.´´

He tightened his grip on you.

``So now, slut: BEG! ´´

His deep voice was teasing your insides, stirring up fear and arousal all the same.

`` I am so sorry, Master. I have been stupid, ungrateful. I know that I do not deserve your mercy, but I beg you to stop the punishment, to stop my suffering. I will do anything. Please Master, I beg you for your mercy``.

The look in his eyes softened slightly, the cold rage subsiding, but the savage lust-filled darkness was still there, merciless and wild.

`` I accept your apology, but I´m afraid that there is only one way for you to make your apology mean something``

With one powerful movement, using only one of his arms, he shoved your head into his lap, once again growling his command

``open your mouth´´

and once again he shoved his now fully erect cock into your mouth.

``I am only getting started with you, this will be your lesson to not ever wrong me like this again´´.

And the night was only young…

Banners by @cafekitsune

Hey there, my beloved @doumadono @muzansfangs @sunsblaze @horror4themasses @shonen-brainrot @crystalwolfblog @sunandflame @peachdues @cursetopia2 @warringwarrioridiot and everyone of my dear friends and mutuals ♥️. I'm re-releasing my fics. It will be a slow process over the course of next year. Thank you for your support 🙏 ❤️ 💕

[ssahotchnerr]

aaron hotch where she gets hurt during a fight with a unsub and she gets really clingy, and everyone at the bau noticed. and when coming in one morning she overhears someone making fun of her to aaron because of it. she hears him laugh and walks away, and begins avoiding him.

turns out it was a fake laugh and he yelled at the guy who was brave enough to make fun of her infront of him. and he didn’t mind her clingy-ness and was glad he made her feel safe.

unwilling to part

cw; fem!reader, no established relationship/mutual pining, officer makes a mildly misogynistic comment and is just an asshole overall, small angst to comfort wc; 1.4k

your injury had been mild - as mild as it could be within your job title. some bumps and bruises, a black eye was most likely in your future. the surprise of the attack had been the worst of it; leaving you spooked, especially when your gun tumbled out of your hand and slid across the floor away from you.

but that's what backup was for, and the situation had been resolved almost as quickly as it started. aaron had heard the fight commence from his position down the hall, the loud clatter of your weapon, and to your rescue just as fast as you could blink, pulling the unsub off you and slamming his front into the nearest wall, forcefully restraining him.

due to the shock numbing your mind and body, the next few minutes were a haze. you vaguely processed aaron crouching beside you, his concerned expression or his hands cupping your face, nor did you hear his repeated question if you were alright.

all you could do was hold onto him, and he let you.

the team and a few officers had crowded around, providing quite the audience. but aaron hadn't seemed to mind; allowing you to cling onto his side until you came back to the real world, your fingers clutching onto his fbi vest. one of his own arms had been around you, escorting you to the medic, to the waiting suv, up to your hotel room. he even relayed the instruction to please call him if you needed him at all throughout the night - he'd be at yours within the second.

the following morning you had been the last one ready, soreness delaying you. your muscles ached as they pulled in every direction - simply getting your shirt on had been a tedious, and painful, task.

the jet was scheduled to leave early afternoon, allowing the morning to be spent at the pd, settling what was needed before returning home.

you could hear ongoing conversation from inside the conference room the bau had been inhabiting the past few days, but before you entered, something in your gut told you to remain put and listen.

you heard aaron first, finishing his thought. "- to be put into evidence, and the rest can be sent over to our technical analyst in quantico."

"gotcha." someone answered, another officer you presumed as the voice wasn't familiar. there was a quick shuffle of papers, a quiet thud of something being put into a box, before he voiced his next thought. "they'll let anyone into the fbi these days, won't they?"

aaron's composed voice followed, "sorry?"

"that agent who got hurt last night." at the mention of yourself, your face immediately burned - his tone not setting up for a positive. "thought you all were 'posed to be tough. with the way she was attached to your hip," he laughed, "fuckin' annoying if you ask me, that was nothing. should've stuck to an desk job if that scared her."

aaron had the heart to chuckle, and your heart dropped right to your stomach, your feet moving to their own accord as you hurried away, not craving to hear more.

tears pinched at your eyes and your body swarmed with heat, full of embarrassment and most prominently, betrayal.

what made it more painful, you could recall on one hand instances where you have heard aaron laugh (a mild exaggeration, but the point still stood) and laughing at you, was now one of them. what also didn't make sense then, the entirety of last night. even as you parted ways at the hotel room, aaron's expression, had been unwilling to part. maybe you read into it wrong, but you could've sworn that's what those brown eyes of his you loved so much indicated.

so for the rest of the day you refused to make eye contact with him, moving swiftly away if he approached, choosing to sit as far away as possible on the jet. even when you all had entered the bullpen, you beelined straight for your desk, eager for the busyness to be your next excuse to avoid contact. but, it was only a matter of time until aaron had trailed down to check on you.

"hey."

you ignored him, acting like the paperwork in front of you was suddenly the most fascinating thing you've ever seen.

aaron's brows furrowed, his question low. he had been quick to notice your clear avoidance earlier in the day, yet another reason why he wanted - needed - to make sure you were okay. "are you alright?"

"yeah, i'm supposed to be, aren't i?" you stated bluntly as you looked up at him, your tone a bit more harsh as you intended.

aaron had the audacity to look perplexed, the confusion in his tone almost convincing if you hadn't known better. "no? someone twice your size blitzed you, disarmed you-"

you slammed your file shut - causing heads to lift and look in your direction. you got up from your seat, not wanting to remain in his presence. "don't bother. i'm better suited for a desk job anyway, right?"

"wait, no." aaron moved in front of you, stopping you from moving forward. he understood immediately, or so he thought. "you heard that?"

"a black eye doesn't affect my hearing, does it?" you snapped, tears brimming your waterline.

aaron sighed deeply, his eyes playing up the shame you're certain he felt. "i'm sorry he-"

you nearly let out a laugh at that, interrupting, "sure. that guy was a ass, but don't you dare apologize for him. what about you?"

aaron's eyes widened in surprise. "me?"

"you laughed." your anger immediately dissolved, hurt filling it's place instead. it was written all over your face, making aaron's heart plummet. "i thought... look, i didn't mean to embarrass you in front of everyone if that's what i did. and i know, in and out of the field we're supposed to be objective and i let my emotions or whatever that was get the best of me. but if i can't do that, then you shouldn't have let me depend on you like... that. despite popular belief, i am tough. i can take rejection."

aaron opened his mouth to respond, but paused, as in his peripheral he noticed all the heads still turned in your shared direction. it was probably best to do this in private. "come with me."

just as last night, his hand found the small of your back, leading you up into his office, closing the door behind him. you went willingly, but remained by the doorway as he walked a bit further inside, your arms crossed.

when aaron turned to you, his eyes were sad, but compassionate.

"i did laugh," more tears burned behind your eyes at his confession, until he provided clarification. "at his idiocy. you sadly missed the good part, i believe it's safe to say he's now highly appreciative of you and the work you've done. check your email, i'm sure a thank you, if it's not already there, will be in your inbox shortly." a small laugh came from his chest. "you can even ask prentiss, she can vouch he left with his tail in between his legs."

your defense dropped, hands falling to your sides in realization. in aaron's character, of course that made more sense.

"oh god i'm sorry," your hands rose to your face, momentarily hiding in humiliation. "i heard... so i thought-"

"exactly, you heard what you heard." aaron's hands grabbed yours gently, pulling them away from your face and allowing you to see his understanding, kind one. "and given what you did hear, i wouldn't expect any less of a reaction. i also would've given me the cold shoulder." a small, closed smile formed on his lips.

"no, i'm so stupid-" aaron shook his head, stopping you halfway.

"you aren't. and despite what we do, you're still only human. you reacted appropriately." his voice softened, rather adorably at that. "i wasn't embarrassed either. i'm glad - honored actually - you can depend on me when you're frightened or need further support. trust me, you can cling onto me all you want." a faint blush tinted his cheekbones. "and i'll never push you away."

his hands squeezed yours, swinging slightly with solid emphasis. the gesture, caused you to just now realize he was still clutching onto them, unwilling to part.

[kissedloveletters]

LOVE IS A GENTLE THING . ۫ ꣑ৎ . things they love about you.

(˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) warnings. fluff、angst、hurt/comfort、gn!reader、overthinking、insecurities、suggestive if you squint on wukongs、mild ooc!wukong、ao lie is a bit short、established relationship、fell-hard boys ໒ ᩧ꒱characters. macaque, aolie, nezha, wukong. 1.2k wc

MACAQUE loves your loyalty.

now, Macaque genuinely loves every quality of you. There is no words nor anything to express how eternally grateful he is for you, how you gave him a try, giving the spark in his eyes back. Without a doubt his feelings run deep.

to be precise, if he has to be specific about one; LOYALTY is the first things on his mind.

Because of his rough history and past, Macaque has developed many barriers mentally. He faced a betrayal from a certain someone that still left a scar on him, It would be an understatement to say he does have trust issues and even to say he doesn’t see himself in a relationship, having something so… vulnerable, with someone.

That was before he met you, at least. he had years to build those walls up only for you to bypass them, and he allows it. he allows it.

He enjoyed it even, he felt so free and feather-light, the overthinking and doubtful thoughts all vanished. Because he trusts you. The unwavering loyalty you are giving him brings him a tingly feeling in his stomach, adoration.

The disloyalty and betrayals from the past left his heart in a racing conflict. Your determination of your character to assure him that you’ll never leave or choose anyone over him, and it never faltering brings him to believe he thinks he’s dreaming. That you’re dreamy.

at first, it took awhile to have him open to you, if he catches himself doing it, he honestly feels so heavy in his chest he would probably do anything to just get away from you before he thinks he’ll get more hurt than he already is. he has a feeling to just, cry. he’s just so tired.

It’s not often he would usually admit this, or ever, but there’s a glint in his eyes (if you look close enough) and blush clustered on his cheeks when you voice being faithful with him; even in small moments.

you being communicative is a plus too, he really needs communication, even if he’s shit at it himself. The relationship would really cease if you both are bad at communicating so.

by thus, you’re a really significant person in his life. he wouldn’t dare have anyone or anything take you away from him, and you reciprocated this too.

AO LIE loves your patience and energy

Ao lie is overly clumsy with things, so if your PATIENT with him, he’s relieved honestly.

not canon but i imagine him having somewhat of a harsh and bitter past so he gets pressured a lot. so, you being patient with him gets a weight lift off his chest basically.

also you being ENERGETIC kinda gives him a boost and like encouragement, you know? and then gets all motivated with you which you think is cute

also you both are literally that one meme “HE SAID NO PICKLES!” and he’s all like melting himself on the chair beside you looking down in humiliation

he gets flustered easily when around you, because he gets scared that he’s gonna embarrass himself in front of you ( Despite him already doing that in multiple occasions. ) and you really don’t care if he falls over in front of you or maybe you laugh at him idk

NEZHA loves your kindness

either you’re kind to him or others, even in small or major situations; he admires it, he admires you. something simple as that can make him have that fuzzy feeling. the way you gently tend his wounds while sweetly saying praises for his work and efforts or softly scolding him for being more careless of his safety, putting his duty above his safety.

it’s honestly the simple thing such as KINDNESS can bring nezha to be lovesick. actions or words he’s astonished how genuinely kind someone can be.

whether you can fight for yourself or not, he has a strong vow to protect you. he knows how cruel the world and how twisted people can really be, he has a fear that they’ll target you somehow.

he developed a protective nature, he’s not possessive per say, he just wants you protected. not extremely protective either, he knows limits and when to step in.

though if you can fight for yourself, surely, he lets his guard down only a little. he doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t think you can defend yourself or you’re weak.

is a little unsettled if you’re friends with wukong, it’s obvious he isn’t sure what to feel about the guy. wukong betrayed nezha before, and is cautious if he’ll do the same to you. if you’d reassure him; he’ll feel better and mentally slaps himself.

(wukong defiantly noticed and mocks nezha about this)

but he truly treasures you and your kind soul, seeing how strong-hearted you are made him impossibly more in-love with you. the little gestures you do on autopilot that others wouldn’t consider doing, or the kind words you speak thats soft-spoken and feel like they run deeper than anything.

WUKONG loves your matching energy and empathy

theres obviously a majority of people who get annoyed and agitated at wukong, he’s slightly off-put when you MATCH HIS ENERGY or surprised even, but that goes a second it comes.

before you two were even together, he may not act or look like it but he still has his guard high, despite for his attitude he keeps a lot of people at arm length. wukong seeing you match his energy and even having that same mischief in your eyes too get you both along well.

most weren’t even surprised at the outcome with your relationship, at-most it’s certainly expected to happen. maybe some even thought you were together before. even so, you two were like two peas in a pod, a match made in heaven.

you two were certainly a power couple, much to some people’s dismay and unimpressed-ness. you both were practically inseparable.

I expect you to be strong in some way, if you are, wukong lives for seeing you fight; it makes him feel a type of way, you can decipher what that would mean.

he feels blessed honestly, there’s a small chance of you not catching up with him in a relationship or getting tired or bored of him, which he’s secretly insecure of and wouldn’t admit it, soberly.

if your attentive, you catch on sooner or later about this and he hates it. wukong usually runs away from his problems than face them and if he crumbles too much in front of you, he feels like he’ll make a rash decision and he’ll make you leave like others have also.

there’s only so little people that can make out wukong and that side of him, you can may or may not EMPATHIZE with him. assuring him, that you will not leave him and no matter how tempting to leave or difficult he gets, that promise will always linger within you both.

wukong makes many mistakes, but he sure as hell wouldn’t make one that would loose you, maybe you’ve seen too much of him, but you have empathy. empathy for wukong is something he never really felt before, being understood despite his history and action, how easily you decipher because you emphasize with him. it warms him like no other fire that would keep him warm, how how he cherishes the feeling. how his heavy heart always having conflicts finally feel calm, calm even for a moment of being understood.