#dame reveal it please

[sexynetra]

[missallanea]

mini tag drop. uwu

[methoughtsphantom]

HELL YEAH CROWN PRINCE PHANTOM whose ectoplasmic signature readings are obviously higher than that of his dad’s, who’s still filtering the corrupted ectoplasm and that takes time, (which is why he only wears the crown and not the ring.) So imagine, imagine that the imaginary of the vengeful angel was only visible to Danny, just like the crown, like imperceptible to human eyes kinda thing. To Batman Red Hood is just another ecto-entity who caught him off guard, and so he has to be better prepared. He goes see the JLD to ask for more information about these entities. They tell him one is the ghost king. Cuz mages can get a read in signatures and one is off the charts level powerful, or maybe Batman just had a scanner I dunno, point is Batman wrongly deduces whose the ghost king in this situation. After all, only one was able to actually display a tangible supernatural form and readings that remained steady during the scan. ((Jason’s are unreliable, funky if he’s not trying and bitch-you-better-start-running if he is.))

So. Batman wants to summon the ghost king. He doesn’t see a reason to involve the JL, just him and Constantine, who’s like ?? I heard there was new management, but…so new that the king’s a literal child?? okay I gotta see this. im putting a bunch of binds and spells so the ghost won’t be able to cross the summoning circle. Like Constantine just has Batman’s initial assessment and a power chart. Bruce’s detailed report indicates the kid has no experience on battle combat and instead just heavily relies on his powers (list of known powers not conclusive), but is still a threat that knows his and his associates secret identity. Curiously, the Bat also put that the kid is heavily suspected of being emotionally compromised.

Anyways

They expect a child.

They get the Red Hood.

Red Hood, who is still a bat, and still trained with assassins. Motherfucker whose ectoplasm readings are again so funky he can pass through the summoning’s restrains and binds as if they are not there. He’s such a little shit about how he’s sprinting the whole thing. He’s ghost adjacent enough he can turn intangible. He’s an expert on combat who can fucking predict what the bat’s planning to pull because he fought alongside him. Dramatic bitch saw Batman and immediately went to throw hands. Especially when the the Bat tries to pull off a gun on him.

Jason: oh so you’re using guns now??? you’re really such a hypocrite!!

Batman: I’m not the one whose letting a child cover for their criminal activities!!

…

Batman, at some point: I would never hurt my own son!!

Jason:

Jason: 🤡

…

Batman: how do you know our identities???

Jason, who didn’t know B knew he knew and who also had a pretty hardcore pretty little liars phase ✨: two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. bitch.

Batman:

Batman: this is confirmation. a dead figure from my past told him i’m Batman

…..

Batman, who’s still trying to see an angle to the Red Hood: You are obviously unfit to take care of a child

Jason:

Danny, 15 and thoroughly done with everyone's crap, steals the Crown of Fire and the Skeleton Key and uses the later to find a suitable new High King for the Infinite Realms. The key (also known as Deaths kay) acted like a sort of Infi-map but lacked the limitations of needing a natural portal to spawn in that time/location and could get you past any wards/protections no mater how powerful.

The key spawns him just in front of the form of a sleeping Jason Todd, and Danny decided he wasn't going to question the magical keys judgment and just plops the crown on a bleary and startled Jasons head.

The crown burned for this guy, signaling that it found him worthy and that was more than enough for Danny.

With no context whatsoever, Danny looked Jason in the eye, burning neon green meeting with wide greenish blue, "You're our king now."

Then he vanished.

Jason later finds that the Lazarus entity left behind a handmade pamphlet. It was immensely unhelpful.

[theonottsbxtch]

HAUNTED - OP81

an: i went and visited the notre dame of reims not too long ago and was listening to power by isak danielson and had this idea pop into mind, obviously heavy religous themes so be warned! this is not for everyone!

wc: 5.3k

The cathedral loomed against the dark sky, its spires clawing upward as though trying to reach something infinite. Oscar stared at it from across the snow-dusted square, his breath a pale cloud in the cold night. He shouldn’t be here. He hadn’t stepped into a church since moving to the city, hadn’t prayed properly in months, and yet his feet carried him forward as if tethered by some unseen force.

Inside, the air was heavy with stillness, thick with incense and the faint echoes of the choir that had long since gone home. He walked past empty pews, his steps faltering as he approached the altar. Candles burned low in their holders, their flickering light casting long shadows on the vaulted ceiling above.

He sank to his knees, the cold stone biting through his trousers, and clasped his hands together. For a moment, he said nothing. He only closed his eyes, his pulse loud in his ears.

“God,” he finally whispered, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if you’re even… there. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard, but…” He trailed off, swallowing back the knot in his throat. “I can’t feel it anymore. Not like I used to.”

He thought back to his childhood, to Sunday mornings spent in stiff pews with his family. Back then, faith had felt easy, like breathing. Now it felt like dragging himself through quicksand. Ever since coming to university, he’d found it harder to reconcile the things he’d learned—the questions about the universe, about suffering, about people—with the quiet certainty he used to have.

He leaned forward, his forehead almost touching the altar, and whispered, “If you’re listening, show me something. Anything. Please.”

The silence pressed down on him, thick and unyielding. For a long time, there was nothing—just the distant creak of old wood and the faint rustle of wind outside. And then—

A voice.

“You don’t sound so sure about that.”

Oscar froze. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes snapped open. The words hadn’t come from his head; they had echoed, faint but clear, around the cavernous space.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice unsteady.

Nothing.

He turned his head, scanning the shadows that stretched along the cathedral’s walls. No one was there.

“You’re not really expecting an answer, are you?”

It was the same voice, low and feminine, almost teasing. It came from nowhere and everywhere all at once, threading through the silence like smoke.

Oscar’s pulse raced. He pushed himself to his feet, his knees trembling. “Who’s there?” he demanded, though his voice wavered.

“Funny,” the voice said, light with amusement. “Shouldn’t you already know? Isn’t that the whole point of all this?”

Oscar clenched his fists. “What—what do you mean?”

“You came here looking for God,” the voice continued, ignoring his question. “You kneeled at his altar. You asked him to answer you. And yet, you doubt the second you hear a voice. Typical.”

“I—I don’t…” He faltered, his throat dry. His heart pounded as he searched the shadows, but no figure emerged, no source revealed itself. He felt dizzy, his mind torn between disbelief and something he couldn’t name.

“Maybe,” the voice mused, growing softer now, “the problem isn’t that you can’t hear him. Maybe it’s that you don’t want to.”

Oscar stumbled back, his hands gripping the edge of a pew for support. “This isn’t real,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m imagining this. I have to be.”

The voice laughed, a sound both soft and sharp, like silk sliding over broken glass. “Oh, you poor thing. You’re not imagining me. But don’t worry—I’ll be here. After all, you came to me, didn’t you?”

The air grew still again. The weight that had settled over him lifted, leaving behind a suffocating silence. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring into the dark corners of the cathedral, his body trembling with unease.

And yet, as he finally turned to leave, the voice lingered in his mind, curling around his thoughts like smoke.

Oscar told himself he wouldn’t go back.

For three days, he avoided the cathedral, telling himself it had all been a fluke, a trick of his exhausted mind. Exams, late nights, too much coffee—surely that was all it had been. But the voice lingered, curling around his thoughts, a ghost that wouldn’t let go.

“Maybe the problem isn’t that you can’t hear him. Maybe it’s that you don’t want to.”

Her words played on repeat, eroding what little resolve he had. By the fourth night, he found himself standing in front of the cathedral again, his breath fogging in the cold air. The weight of the day had followed him here, the questions he didn’t have answers for pressing down on his shoulders.

He stepped inside.

The same heavy stillness greeted him, the faint scent of candle wax and incense wrapping around him like a shroud. His footsteps echoed, the sound almost too loud in the empty space. He made his way to the altar again, his heart thudding in time with each step.

When he knelt, he hesitated. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “Are you there?”

Silence.

He closed his eyes, his hands tightening into fists. “If you’re real, if you’re not just… something in my head, talk to me. Please.”

“Back so soon?”

His eyes snapped open, his heart seizing at the sound. The voice was richer this time, less distant, and carried a hint of mockery.

“You’ve been thinking about me,” she said. “Haven’t you?”

Oscar’s breath quickened. He stood abruptly, looking around, his eyes darting to every corner of the cathedral. “Where are you?”

“Right here,” she said, but there was no source—just her voice, echoing faintly. “Though you don’t really need to see me, do you? You came for my words, not my face.”

“Why do you keep… doing this?” His voice cracked, frustration creeping in. “Why won’t you just tell me who you are?”

“Why does it matter?” Her tone was light, almost playful. “You’re not here for me. You’re here because you’re lost. You’ve been lost for a while, haven’t you?”

He opened his mouth to protest but couldn’t find the words.

“Look at you,” she continued, her voice softening. “You don’t even know what you believe anymore. You ask for answers, but you don’t really want them. You pray, but only when it’s convenient. And when you don’t get what you want, you turn your back on the one you claim to worship. Isn’t that what’s been happening?”

“That’s not fair,” Oscar said through gritted teeth.

“No?” She laughed quietly, the sound low and smooth, filling the space like smoke. “You’re angry because I’m right. You don’t need God—you need someone to blame. You always have.”

Oscar staggered back, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. “That’s not true,” he muttered. “I—I’ve tried.”

“Tried?” Her voice hardened, the edge of a sneer creeping in. “Tried to what? To follow rules you don’t even believe in? To pretend that the rituals mean anything to you anymore?”

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “Stop it.”

“But it’s the truth,” she pressed, unrelenting. “You don’t feel God anymore. You don’t even know if he’s there. And deep down, doesn’t that make you wonder—doesn’t that make you furious? What kind of God would leave you like this, empty and doubting?”

Oscar stumbled back to a pew and sat down heavily, burying his face in his hands. He wanted to scream, to shout her down, but her words had opened something raw and vulnerable inside him.

“I just want to believe again,” he said finally, his voice breaking.

The silence stretched. He thought she might have gone, but then her voice returned, softer this time.

“Belief isn’t enough,” she said. “It’s never been enough. You’re chasing something that doesn’t exist anymore—not for you. The question isn’t whether you can believe. The question is, what will you do now that you can’t?”

Her words wrapped around him like a noose, pulling tighter with each syllable. He wanted to argue, to say something, but all he could do was sit there, staring at the altar, the flicker of candlelight reflected in his wide, unblinking eyes.

And then she was gone.

The air felt heavier in her absence, the weight of her words lingering long after the sound of her voice faded.

Oscar sat there for hours, the cold seeping into his skin, until finally, he stood and walked out into the night.

But he knew he would come back.

The next evening Oscar’s heart raced in his chest as he made his way back to the cathedral. The questions, the doubt, the unbearable weight of it all had settled into his bones. He hadn’t felt so lost, so unmoored in years. Every time he closed his eyes, her voice echoed in his mind—taunting, coaxing, pulling him deeper into something he didn’t fully understand.

“You’re not here for answers,” she had said. “You’re here because you’re lost.”

And she was right. He didn’t want to pray. He didn’t want faith. He wanted the answers she promised, the ones that could make everything clear again, the ones that would release him from this suffocating uncertainty.

The cathedral was empty again when he entered, the cold marble floor stretching endlessly beneath his feet. He walked down the aisle, each step heavier than the last. He couldn’t fight the urge to kneel again. It was like he was drawn here against his will, but not by God—by her.

“Please,” he whispered into the quiet. “Just… tell me what to do. I’m begging you.”

Silence.

He felt ridiculous. He’d prayed to an absent God and now he was pleading with a voice that wasn’t even real. Or was it? Was he losing his mind? Was he hearing things?

And then, just as before, a voice slithered into the silence, its warmth familiar now, like the touch of an old lover.

“You’re so desperate, Oscar.”

Her words slithered under his skin. He clenched his fists, his pulse quickening.

“You keep asking for a sign,” she continued, the voice low, coaxing. “But what if the sign is right in front of you? What if all you need to do is stop pretending that you care about what’s right and wrong, that you care about what they told you to believe?”

His stomach churned. “What do you want from me?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” The voice was near now, a breath against his ear. “You’re asking for freedom, Oscar. Freedom to choose. To feel something, anything, other than this hollow ache.”

He turned sharply, but there was no one. Nothing but empty pews and the altar bathed in candlelight.

“I don’t know anymore. I just… I don’t know what to believe,” he confessed, his voice faltering. His hands tightened into fists, knuckles white. “I can’t do this. I can’t live this way.”

“You can,” she purred. “You already are. You just haven’t accepted it yet. You’re not some saint. You’ve been waiting for sin, Oscar. You’ve been craving it.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head violently. “That’s not true. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to hold on. I don’t want to let go.”

“Why?” The voice was full of dark amusement. “Why not? What are you so afraid of? The truth? That you’re already lost?”

Her words gnawed at him, scraping at the edges of everything he believed, everything he had held on to. It was like the air itself had thickened, turning oppressive with the weight of his own thoughts, his own doubts.

“Please…” His voice cracked, barely audible. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what’s real. Please…”

And that’s when it happened.

A rustle of fabric. A step.

And then, from the shadows of the altar, she emerged.

Oscar’s breath caught in his throat. She was real. She was there.

Her feet were bare, the cold stone floor seeming to do nothing to her as she moved effortlessly, gliding toward him. Her dress was tattered, torn at the hem, the fabric clinging to her like it had once been something much more whole, now undone. Her hair was tangled, falling in waves around her face, but her eyes—they burned into him.

Her smile was a slow curve of satisfaction. She was the embodiment of temptation, of sin. Every movement was deliberate, seductively graceful, and Oscar couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

She stood before him, just out of reach. Her eyes flickered over him, a knowing glint in them, as though she could see right through the fragile walls he’d built around himself.

If there had to be an embodiment of sin Oscar thought, his mind awash with overwhelming clarity and an unsettling recognition, it was her.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “I thought you were…”

“A figment of your imagination?” She laughed softly, the sound like music in his ears. “Oh no, Oscar. I’m very real.” She took a step closer, her bare feet making no sound on the cold floor. “And so are you. You’re real in a way they told you not to be. But it’s okay, you’re safe here with me. Don’t you want that?”

Oscar’s breath hitched, the raw frustration spilling over as his heart raced. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

She reached out, just a fingertip’s distance from his face, and her touch was like fire. Her eyes locked on his, never wavering. “Stop fighting it. You know what you want. You don’t have to be afraid of it. You don’t have to keep pretending.”

His pulse thundered in his ears. Everything in him screamed to walk away, to turn his back, but his body betrayed him. He felt the pull of her presence like an anchor, holding him in place. He felt his walls crumbling, each word she spoke eating away at the last bit of resistance he had left.

“I’m not afraid of what I want,” he whispered hoarsely, staring at her trembling hand so close to his face. “I’m afraid of what you’re asking me to do.”

She smiled, that dark, knowing smile, and leaned in just enough for him to feel the heat of her breath.

“You already know,” she murmured. “You’ve been begging for me to show you the way. Now let go. You don’t need God to tell you what’s right or wrong. You already know what you want. You’ve always known.”

Oscar stared at her, a sick mixture of desire and fear building inside him. His breath came faster now, his hands shaking. “And if I do it… If I let go… What will happen?”

She gave him that smile again, the one that felt like a promise. “Everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Oscar’s hands hovered just short of touching her, the heat radiating from her skin a warning and an invitation all at once. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only watched him with that unshakable smile as if daring him to take the final step.

He pulled back at the last second, his breath trembling in his chest. “I—I can’t.”

Her laugh was soft, almost pitying. “Of course you can. You’ve already crossed the line, Oscar.” She tilted her head, her hair catching the dim light like a halo twisted in shadow. “You’re not here for salvation. You came back because you want this.”

He stumbled backward, his hands falling to his sides. His heart pounded as he turned his gaze to the altar, the flickering candles, the cold stone beneath his feet. This isn’t who I am, he thought, but the words rang hollow even in his own mind.

“You’re still clinging to the idea of being good,” she said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward him. “But why? Look at where that’s gotten you.” Her voice softened, a whisper that seemed to seep into the marrow of his bones. “You’ve spent so long trying to be something you’re not, denying what you feel, what you want. And for what? To please a God who won’t answer you? To follow rules you don’t even believe in anymore?”

“Stop,” Oscar said weakly, his voice cracking.

She stepped closer, closing the space between them with agonizing patience. “You prayed to God, and I answered. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that why you keep coming back—to hear my voice?”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have an answer for her because the truth of her words was unbearable. She was right. He had come back for her, and the realisation was like a dagger twisting in his chest.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Nothing you didn’t already want,” she replied, her voice velvet smooth. She reached out and traced a finger down his arm, the contact electric, sending shivers through him. “You’re not fighting me, Oscar. You’re fighting yourself. But you don’t have to anymore. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Oscar closed his eyes tightly, as though shutting her out could silence the turmoil inside him. But her voice was still there, pressing against his thoughts, filling every crevice of his doubt.

“I don’t want this,” he said, though the words felt empty, forced.

Her laughter was soft, haunting. “Don’t you?”

Oscar turned away from her, his hands gripping the back of a pew for support. The air felt thick, suffocating, and the weight of her presence pressed down on him. He thought of his childhood, the simplicity of belief, the comfort of prayers whispered in the dark. He thought of his family, the faith they carried like a torch in the darkness, the certainty they seemed to possess. And then he thought of her—the way her words cut through him, the way her presence made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years.

“I just want it to make sense,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I just want to understand why everything feels so empty. Why nothing I do is ever enough.”

She stepped beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body. “Because you’re searching for something that doesn’t exist. The world isn’t black and white, Oscar. There’s no grand plan, no divine reward waiting for you at the end of all this suffering. There’s only the here and now, the choices you make, the things you take for yourself.”

He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers for something—an answer, a reason, anything to hold on to. But what he saw there was something untamable, something wild and free, and it terrified him as much as it drew him in.

“You make it sound so easy,” he said bitterly. “Just give in. Just forget everything I’ve ever believed in.”

She smiled, her lips curling in that maddening, knowing way. “It is easy. The hard part is letting go of the guilt.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But once you do, you’ll wonder why you ever held on to it in the first place.”

Oscar’s breath hitched as her words settled over him like a heavy fog. He felt himself unraveling, his carefully constructed walls crumbling with every moment he spent in her presence.

“What happens if I give in?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Her eyes glimmered, and her smile widened. “Then you’ll finally be free.”

He didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath his feet. He wanted to pull back, to retreat to the safety of everything he’d known, but the pull of her words, her presence, was impossible to resist.

Without thinking, he reached for her, his fingers brushing her wrist. Her skin was warm, impossibly so, and the contact sent a jolt through him.

“See?” she said softly, her voice carrying both triumph and tenderness. “It’s not so hard, is it?”

He wanted to answer, but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was stare at her, his mind a swirling chaos of fear and desire.

In that moment, he knew he was no longer asking for forgiveness. He was asking for damnation.

Oscar’s hand lingered against her wrist, the warmth of her skin pulling him closer even as a small voice in the back of his mind screamed for him to stop. But that voice was faint now, drowned out by the thrum of his heartbeat, by the way she looked at him—calm, confident, and utterly unrepentant.

He felt his resolve crumbling as she stepped closer, her breath mingling with his. “This is what you want, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice low and smooth, wrapping around him like a shroud. “Not what they told you to want. Not what the rules demand. Just this. Just us.”

He shook his head, though his fingers tightened around her wrist instead of letting go. “This isn’t right,” he said, but the words lacked conviction.

“‘Right.’” She said the word like it was a joke, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “You’ve spent your whole life chasing what’s ‘right.’ And where has it gotten you? Alone. Miserable. Doubting everything.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Isn’t it time to stop chasing something that doesn’t exist?”

Her other hand brushed against his chest, and he froze, every nerve in his body igniting at her touch. She tilted her head, her lips only a breath away from his. “You’re free now, Oscar. Don’t you feel it?”

He wanted to argue, to push her away, but Oscar didn’t have to think twice. With a broken, desperate cry, he closed the gap between them, his hands reaching tightening—longing for whatever she would offer him.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, and overwhelming. It wasn’t tender—it was consuming, like she was claiming him, drawing him deeper into her world with every second. Her hands slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, and his arms found their way around her waist, pulling her closer despite the warning bells ringing faintly in his mind.

“This isn’t happening,” he thought. But it was.

The kiss deepened, and with it, the last vestiges of his guilt began to dissolve. He wanted her—needed her—and the need drowned out everything else. The cold stone walls of the cathedral, the flicker of candles, even the faint ache of doubt faded into the background.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “You’ve wanted this for so long. Don’t deny it now.”

“I…” His voice broke, and she silenced him with another kiss, her fingers tightening in his hair.

They stumbled together toward the altar, his back hitting the edge of the marble as she pressed against him. Her torn dress shifted with her movements, and he caught glimpses of skin that made his breath hitch, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“This is freedom,” she murmured against his lips, her hands tugging at the fabric of his shirt. “This is what they never wanted you to have. To feel. To take.”

Her words blurred into the haze of sensation as he gave in completely. There was no thought, no hesitation now—only the press of her body against his, the taste of her lips, the warmth of her skin beneath his hands.

Time seemed to warp, the sacred space around them turning into something altogether different—no longer a place of prayer and penance but of raw, unrestrained passion. The flicker of candlelight cast their shadows against the walls, their movements slow and deliberate, each touch and kiss erasing another piece of the life Oscar had clung to for so long.

When they finally took a minute to breathe, the silence returned, thick and heavy, but it was no longer oppressive. It was a silence filled with her presence, her lingering warmth, and the faint scent of sweat and incense that clung to the air.

She sat beside him on the cold stone floor, her dress slipping off one shoulder, her bare skin glowing faintly in the candlelight. Her eyes gleamed as she watched him, her smile triumphant. “Now you understand,” she said softly, brushing her fingers against his jaw.

Oscar didn’t respond at first. He was staring at his hands, trembling slightly, the enormity of what he’d done crashing down on him.

“I—what have I done?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“You’ve finally done something for yourself,” she said, her voice full of satisfaction. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And it felt good, didn’t it? It felt right.”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, filled with a storm of guilt and confusion. “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t…” He trailed off, his voice faltering as the weight of her gaze pinned him in place.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said with a soft laugh, running her fingers through his hair. “Stop trying to fit this into their rules, their expectations. You’re free now, Oscar. You don’t have to answer to anyone—not God, not anyone. You finally took what you wanted. And doesn’t that feel better than all the empty prayers and hollow rituals?”

He wanted to deny it, to tell her she was wrong, but the words caught in his throat. Because she wasn’t wrong. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel empty. He didn’t feel numb. He felt alive, every nerve in his body humming with the memory of her touch, her kiss, her presence.

But beneath that, deep in the pit of his stomach, something else lingered—a quiet, gnawing fear.

“Am I free?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

She smiled, her eyes glinting with something he couldn’t quite name. “Of course you are.”

But as she leaned in to kiss him again, the thought echoed in his mind, louder this time, impossible to ignore. Then why does it feel like I’ve just been chained?

Days passed, but Oscar couldn’t shake the heaviness that clung to him. It wasn’t guilt in the way he thought he might feel—it wasn’t clean, wasn’t purifying. It was sickening. His chest felt tight, his skin hot and clammy. He spent hours staring at the ceiling of his small dorm room, unable to sleep, haunted by the flicker of candlelight and her touch.

Every time he closed his eyes, she was there.

Her voice. Her smile. Her bare feet against the cold stone floor.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake the memory of her laughter echoing in his ears. He had stopped going to class. He barely ate. Nothing seemed to matter anymore—not the rules he had once clung to, not the promises he had made to himself, to God.

And yet, the weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating.

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. He needed to go back—not to her, but to the cathedral. Maybe the quiet would bring him peace. Maybe confession would bring him clarity. Maybe… something, anything, could make him feel clean again.

The cathedral was dim and cold when he entered, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. He glanced at the altar, his stomach twisting at the memory of what had happened there. He couldn’t even kneel. Instead, he turned toward the confessional, his legs shaking as he approached the wooden booth.

Sliding inside, he closed the door behind him, the faint creak of the hinges echoing in the silence. For a moment, he sat in the dark, his hands trembling as he pressed them together in prayer.

When the screen slid open, he startled, staring at the shadowed outline of the priest beyond the latticework.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Oscar whispered, his voice raw and shaky.

“How long has it been since your last confession?” the priest asked, his tone calm and steady.

Oscar hesitated, swallowing hard. “Months. Maybe longer.”

The priest nodded, waiting.

“I… I don’t even know where to begin,” Oscar admitted, his voice cracking. “I feel sick. I’ve done something terrible. Something unforgivable.”

“There is no sin that cannot be forgiven, my son,” the priest said gently. “God’s mercy is infinite.”

Oscar laughed bitterly, shaking his head even though the priest couldn’t see him. “I don’t think even God would forgive this.”

“Tell me,” the priest urged.

Oscar’s breathing grew uneven, and the words spilled out of him like water from a cracked dam. “I gave in to temptation. I let myself… I let myself fall. I’ve broken every promise I ever made to God, to myself. I sinned, Father. I sinned in the worst way.”

The priest was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, measured. “Do you repent? Do you seek absolution?”

“I don’t know,” Oscar whispered. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

The priest let out a soft sigh. “It is not unusual to feel lost, my son. To question your faith. But know this: sin does not define you. It is what you choose to do next that matters.”

Oscar opened his mouth to respond, but the priest slid the screen shut, his voice cutting off.

Moments later, Oscar heard the door on the priest’s side open and shut, the soft echo of his footsteps fading into the cathedral.

Oscar stayed in the booth, his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing.

And then he heard it.

Her voice.

Soft, lilting, and full of mockery. “Oscar. Did that make you feel better?”

His blood ran cold. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, no. You’re not real. You’re not here.”

Her laughter filled the booth, low and rich, curling around him like smoke. “Oh, I’m here, Oscar. I’ve always been here. You can’t run from me.”

He slammed his fists against the wooden walls, his voice breaking. “Stop it. Just stop. Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Leave you alone?” she repeated, feigning innocence. “You’re the one who came back here, remember? You’re the one who begged for my voice. For my touch. Don’t act like this isn’t what you wanted.”

He covered his ears, shaking his head. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be a sinner.”

Her voice softened, almost tender. “But you are, Oscar. You always were. You just needed someone to show you.”

His hands dropped, and he leaned forward, his voice raw with desperation. “You made me do this. You made me… You made me ruin everything. I’m a sinner because of you.”

She laughed again, light and airy, like he’d told her a joke. “I made you do this? Oh, Oscar, no.” Her voice turned sharp, cutting. “I never made you do anything. You’re the one who kissed me. You’re the one who touched me. You’re the one who begged for it.”

He clenched his fists, tears streaming down his face. “You lied to me. You said I’d feel free.”

“And don’t you?” she countered, her voice curling with amusement. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”

“No,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, I’m not free. I’m broken.”

“Broken,” she echoed, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “No, Oscar. You’re not broken. You’re finally whole. You just don’t know how to live with it yet.”

Her laughter faded into silence, leaving him alone in the darkness of the booth, shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He didn’t leave the confessional for a long time. When he finally stepped out, the cathedral was empty, the air cold and heavy. But he could still feel her there, lingering in the shadows, waiting for him.

And he knew—no matter how far he ran, no matter how many times he prayed—he would never escape her.

[azzifuddfanpage]

only like myself when I’m with you.

guys I made the executive decision to try and write a pazzi fic in one sitting and I literally almost just died I don’t know how you all do it but here we go

5.2k words 😭 like i literally feel dead.

Let me know how i did tho this is my first one and please give me feedback. Also I edited as I go and got a lil tired by the end

theme: friends to lovers

tw: smut at the end. Most of the story isn’t so if u don’t like it stop when u get to to the French fries being eaten it gets freaky 😛

2021

Paige walked into Ted’s, hair damp from her shower after a tough loss to notre dame.��

She was frustrated with herself for how she played. She knew she should have put more shots up, regardless of her teammates consistent reassurance that she did everything she could, it wasn’t enough for her. 

With Azzi hurt, she felt like there was a part of her that was missing on the court, and she didn’t feel herself. With no Azzi, there were no light taps on her back that sent shivers down her spine when she made her free throws, none of the gentle soft spoken whisper she would hear during the huddles. Her mistakes felt bigger. With Azzi hurt she felt a responsibility to take on her role in the court. If Azzi couldn’t play she felt like she needed to fill that gap, that role, and today she let her down. 

As she walked through the doors she heard KK’s booming voice even before she saw them. 

Paige unzipped her drawstring hoodie letting it fall off her shoulder revealing her black crop top under neath. She smoothly made her way over to the table, stopping to order a dirty Shirley from the bar and 2 shots of tequila. 

“Paige!!” A voice yelled out coming from the table. Turning around from the bar with her tray of drinks she walked back towards her teammates. 

“Where’s Azzi?” Paige asked, scanning the group noticing a hole where her curly haired best friend was.  

“I think she was with the trainer after the game, she will probably be bye later.” Ice said, schooching over so Paige can squeeze in between her and Kk. Paige let out a sigh taking both the shots instead of leaving it for Azzi like she intended.

As much as she hated herself for it, but she needed to hear Azzi’s voice, to hear her tell her she didn’t play bad, that she was okay. Most of all she needed to tell Azzi how much she loved her, and how much she missed seeing her dimpled grin when she sunk a three, or seeing her cheer when paige scored off her. She felt like a burden, Azzi was out hurt with a knee sprain after just 3 games her freshman season, and would give anything to just touch the court again, while Paige needed her to tell her how she played.

Since they were on the USA team 4 years prior, they had an unmistakable bond. Defining the lines between friendship and something more was always a challenge for them. 

Their title remained “Best-friends” to everyone else, teammates, coaches, family, fans, but both girls could tell the feelings ran deeper than they both realized. Touches lingering, snuggling up against each other. Paige even spending an entire month with her family where they kissed for the first time. Since then they continue to kiss each other, to touch each other- which they had convinced themselves was completely normal for best friends to do. 

“She’s like my sister” Paige would tell slam magazine, along with herself, trying to assess what these unknown feelings were. 

Friends that occasionally crossed the line was normal for their relationship, they were just a little closer than others that’s all. As much as she convinced herself of this, the sleepovers she would have with Azzi where they would share a kiss and cuddle up against each other, the tension in the air was thick. 

Paige wanted nothing more than to stick her tongue down Azzi’s throat and kiss her until they couldn’t breathe. She wanted to go all the way. She wanted to make Azzi feel good in anyway she could, and craved Azzi’s touch more than anything, but fear stoped her. 

As much as she knew Azzi loved her, and vice versa, there was no way of knowing how far she could take it. She has herself convinced she was straight. Her feelings for Azzi were simply platonic, which made no sense seeing as she wanted to literally f***. 

But it was fine. She ignored the feelings. Her and Azzi were best friends, who yes kissed sometimes, but it was nothing more than that, she was almost positive that there were other friends that did that too. 

——————

Azzi on the other hand felt just as conflicted. The kisses she shared with Paige in the safety of her room were the most seen she had ever felt. When she was with Paige she felt as though she was unstoppable. Nothing was wrong when she was with Paige, no injury mattered, no person, no coach, no team, no game. Her nights with Paige moved in slow motion, snuggled up against her skin she could hear her heart beating against her. 

Azzi sometimes would push the limits, backing up into paige as they lay in bed together, hearing the shift in her breathing and the way her hands stiffened scared to touch her as if she was made of glass.

Azzi wanted nothing more than to lay with paige forever, to make her feel like the most special girl in the world. 

Azzi knew the pressures of basketball better than anyone, she knew how much Paige put on her self, the weight of the entire team, especially now that she was injured. She hated that Paige would blame herself for losses, she wanted nothing more than to wrap her up and kiss every worry and doubt away from her, but they were just friends- best friends- who occasionally crossed the line.

——

Paige pulled out her phone and pulled up Azzi’s contact checking her location. With the trainer as Ice said. 

Paige wasn’t surprised. Azzi never gave up, if Azzi could spend every minute of the day in that rehab facility with the trainer she would if it meant she would be closer to playing again. It was one of the things Paige loved and hated about her. She knew she would need a break, but also knew Azzi was too stubborn to accept that until she was cleared by the doctor. 

Paige put her phone back down trying to distract herself from the Azzi sized hole in her heart. She felt the tequila pumping through her blood, the music pounded in her head. Taking a sip of her Dirty Shirley she stood up with Kk and chose to sing (and absolutely butcher) some Sexyy Red. 

An hour, 15 songs, 8 maraschino cherries, 3 shots, and 2 dirty Shirley’s later, Paige shakily made her way back to her seat feeling the effects of the alcohol in effect. She picked up her phone unable to hold back any longer

 Me: AZZZZIIIII WYA👀👀👀

💗: I’m still with the trainer.

        She had me use the cold tub for my knee,        she said it would help with loosening the ligament. 

         Why?

Me: OMF HATE THE COLD TUB 

       miss u thats y

💗: I know it’s awful, but it’s good for u 💗

        I miss u too paige, I’m almost done I have 20 minutes left, 

       where are u?

me: teds 😛

💗: why r u at teds? It’s literally 4 o’clock…

me: u saw the game, and we have tomorrow off. 

Plus the whole team is here I’m not by myself. 

Might as well be since ur not here tho

💗: paige u played well, it was a tough game don’t be so hard on urself. 

Me: idec anymore, I can’t change what happened… but u can by coming and making me feel better 😼

💗: ur already drunk and it’s 4 o’clock paige omfg

Me: I’m not even drunk I just wanna be with u 

💗: do I need to text ice and ask what u have had?

—- 

Paige looks up from her phone and glances at ice and kk singing to drake

—-

Me: I don’t think u will get the response u are looking for 😁 

💗: ugh paige, fine I’m coming to get u 

Don’t drink anything else ur gonna be so sick tomorrow 

Me: YES AZZI COME PLEASE 😫😫😫

actually make me come instead 

💗: I’m not responding to that💗

——

Putting down her phone Azzi got out of the tub. 

As much as she didn’t want to admit, reading paige’s texts she wanted nothing more than to do just that and touch her until she screamed. But right now paige wasn’t thinking straight- literally. 

Her only goal was to get to paige before she literally tried to come find Azzi on her own, which she had tried before.

—-

Paige on the other hand was very satisfied with herself for convincing Azzi to come, unfortunately not in the way she really wanted, but she would settle for this way. 

Azzi’s message ringing in her ear vanished the second she saw the waiter bring out another dirty Shirley

“One more drink won’t do anything now, I’m already drunk.” She thought to herself allowing herself to indulge on the fruity beverage. 

5 minutes later she was sucking up nothing but air through the straw. She sighed defeatedly, making her way over to Aubrey to see what she was drinking.

“I miss Azzi” paige slurred reaching for Aubrey’s sex on the beach. 

“I can tell” Aubrey chuckled pulling her arm away, but paige was destined to have some more. 

“She’s so pretty, don’t u think. It doesnt make any sense. I feel like she was literally a gift from god himself. No one deserves her.” Paige continued finally grasping onto the drink as a big tear rolled down her face.

Aubrey looked at her disheveled state and sighed. 

“Aw paige, don’t cry, Azzi is pretty, and I think she will find someone really nice that will make her really happy some day! I think there is that kid in her accounting class that has a thing for her why don’t u try and set them up?” 

“FUCK NO, Azzi is mine…” paige pauses sniffing in, “I want her, I love her, but what if I’m not enough for her. I want her to be happy she deserves to be with like a god or something idk… “ she trails off rubbing her eyes as tears dripped onto her lap. 

Aubrey rubs her back awkwardly, not really knowing exactly what to say, 

“Paige, azzi loves you more than anything in this world honestly. You see the way she looks at you? Like trust me ur not alone on that. Azzi would be lucky to have you!” 

And just like that paige perks up, maybe it was the drinks, or the extra vote of confidence, or even just the mention of Azzi looking at her, she felt better. 

Paige leans into Aubrey’s embrace and mumbles quietly. 

“Paige what? Speak up I can’t hear u” 

“I BEEN LOOSING FRIENDS AND FINDING PEACE BUT HONESTLY THAT SOUND LIKE A FAIR TRADE TO ME” she shouts singing along to the song in the background. 

Aubrey just shakes her head laughing and mutters something about feeling bad for Azzi and watches as paige bounds back over to Kk and Ice. 

Paige is downing two more shots when suddenly she hears her favorite laugh in the world.

She spins around so fast she knocks over KK’s drink 

“Ugh, Girl boo” Kk shouts disgustedly shaking her head as paige races towards Azzi, stumbling, and getting knocked over by someone she ran into. 

Getting herself back up, without even stopping, she continues to charge towards azzi, throwing herself at her. 

“YOU CAME” she shouts 

Azzi can smell the alcohol mixing with the lavender shampoo she used. 

“Paige oh my fucking god ur actually hammered!” She says hugging paige back and holding her up for support. 

“I feel totally fine Azzi” she slurs, but her body language says other wise as she feels her hands exploring Azzi’s body as she leans into her 

“ I want you so bad” she whispers into her ear 

Azzi shivers at her warm breath hot against her ear. She feels her cheeks redden…

“Paige you’re so drunk, come on you are cut off, let’s get you back home.” Azzi giggles while dragging her towards the door. 

Paige didn’t argue, she just let Azzi pull her to the door. She didn’t care where she was as long as she was with Azzi. 

Once they got to the car, Azzi glanced at her, Paige had a huge cheesy grin plastered on her face, but Azzi saw through it. The second the last bit of alcohol was out of her system, Azzi would be there to pick up the pieces and hold her while she continued to go over every second of the game an micro analyze every mistake she made. 

Regardles, Azzi felt a small tug at the side of her mouth seeing paige this pure, even if it was because of the alcohol, knowing that her presence contributed to any of it was enough to fill her heart. 

Azzi opened the door for her and stuffed her long limbs in before shutting the door. 

As they drove Azzi could feel paige’s eyes on her. She would turn to look at her back and paige would immediately blush and giggle to herself. 

Azzi laughed at her antics. Paige was acting as if she was in middle schoool, and Azzi couldn’t hide that she secretly liked all the innocent attention paige was showing her.

As they pulled up to paige’s dorms, Azzi lugged paige out of the car and brought her towards the door bringing her all the way up to her room all while paige babbled incessantly about random things. 

Once they made there way to her room, Azzi sat her on the bed, but paige pulled her down on top of her.

Azzi tried to regain her balance but even drunk paige’s grip was firm on her arm. To be honest Azzi could have pushed her off if she really wanted to but a part of her enjoyed being on top of her…

They stayed there a second in silence.

Azzi’s beautiful face was enough to immediately sober Paige up. 

“Have I ever told you how beautiful u are.” She slurred, releasing her grip off of Azzi’s arm and tracing her finger over her features slowly. 

“You don’t have to Paige.” Azzi giggled at paige’s finger softly tracing over her face, outlining every freckle and crease in her skin. 

“I want to tell you though” Paige pouts. “ I want to tell you every day. I wanna touch you like this every day.” She said proudly as she moved her arms pressing Azzi into a hug on top of her. 

Azzi smiled warmly, but knew that paige was only saying this because she was drunk, whether she meant it or not, she was drunk. 

Azzi sighed against her chest, ultimately wanting to lay there forever. 

“You need to sleep this off, I’m gonna get you some water and advil ur gonna have the worst hangover of all time tomorrow.” Azzi remarked pushing herself off of Paige before she could grab her again. 

Paige reached out her hands squeezing her fists together and releasing repeatedly like a child. 

“ I want you to snuggle with me.” She pouts. 

Azzi laughs at her childlike behavior. 

“Paige baby you need to change first then I will come snuggle with you.” 

Paige looked lazily up at her widening her big blue eyes pulling at Azzi’s shirt to sit herself up. 

“I need help. Do it for me” she whispers leaning into Azzi still gripping her shirt.

Azzi gulps and feels her breath shift. Paige and her had changed infront of each other before but Azzi always made it a point to look away to give her privacy, but lately she has been realizing it was more for herself then for paige. If she looked at her once she may never stop. 

The way paige was willingly giving herself to her so easily putting her arms over her head hinting for Azzi to take off her shirt, she remained eye contact with Azzi the entire time. 

She watched as Azzi looked at her body. She watched the pink cover her cheeks as she pulled off her shirt. She noticed the way she avoided looking at her skin directly. 

Azzi, out of respect, attempted to slide her shirt onto her without really looking.

“Uhm Azzi, you can look at me you know.” 

Paige said teasingly smirking noticing Azzi’s face grow redder matching the team USA t-shirt she slid onto her.

Azzi attempted to laugh it off, quickly pulling off her shorts and pulling on a pair of green pj pants, but the tension hovered. 

Paige pulled at her curls while Azzi fiddled with the draw of her pants trying to fix the tie that mysteriously got all tangled. 

“If you wanted to take off my clothes you could have just asked…” paige trailed off smiling leaning in to smell Azzi’s hair.

Paige loved the way Azzi smelled, she always had, and always will. She could smell her coconut curl cream all the way to her vanilla shampoo. 

Azzi’s smile deepened as paige ran her fingers through her hair. 

“I promise I will be right back Paigey, I am gonna grab you some stuff and get you your tooth brush.” Azzi says walking towards the door before Paige has the chance to pull her back again. 

“Pinky promise?” Paige whines.

“Yes I pinky promise Paige, I will be right back I swear.” Azzi replied finally leaving the blonde.

Azzi feels content, although Paige was drunk, she knew there was some level of truth to what she confessed to her. 

The only doubt that crossed her mind was that Paige would not remember what she said tomorrow. 

She tried to shrug off the doubt, paige’s future hangover was her main priority at the moment. 

She had seen Paige drunk before but never like this, she had always been there to moderate her, but this time she hadn’t. 

“Literally what would she do without me.” Azzi sighed with a smile. 

After grabbing a water bottle, Gatorade, some Advil, and searching the entire apartment for snacks (ending up with half a bag of tru fru- thanks Kk), she walked back into the room slowly. 

Peaking through the door Azzi saw Paige passed out on the bed her mouth slightly open. 

Azzi had to stifle her own laugh as a string of drool trickled out of her open mouth. 

Azzi grabbed her phone snapping a picture laughing to herself, before laying the supplies beside her and climbing into bed gently in hopes to not wake her. 

Azzi wrapped her arms around paige and paige subconsciously snuggled up closer to her letting out a happy sigh. 

Azzi couldn’t lie, there was no place she would rather be, she wished the circumstances were a bit different, but she had never been happier to be with Paige in bed. They had spent numerous nights together having little sleepovers, but to feel needed is to be loved, and that’s exactly how Azzi felt. 

Paige has never felt more cared for by another person, than she did with Azzi. 

Even though it was still early in the evening, like between 6 and 7 o’clock Azzi didn’t care. Paige needed her, so with Paige she would be. 

Honestly if Azzi had a choice she would go to bed early every night if she could if it meant getting to be this close to Paige. 

Paige on the other hand didn’t get much rest, waking up at 11 to run to the bathroom and throw up. 

Azzi feeling the emptiness next to her immediately got up grabbed a blanket off of Paige’s bean bag chair and the water off her nightstand, following her into the bathroom and placed the blanket on her lap holding her hair back.

“I’m never drinking again.” Paige croaked leaning her forehead against Azzi’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay Paigey, I’m here.” Azzi said soothingly rubbing her hand against her back. 

Paige turned to look at her, eyes glazed, some of the alcohol still running through her veins. 

“I love you so much Azzi.” She whispered. 

“I love you too Pai-“ Paige cut her off before she could finish putting her finger to her lip. 

“No I don’t just love you like before. I love you like I wanna be with you forever and ever. I love you because you would hang the moon for me.” Paige says softly. 

Azzi is surprised by this, she doesn’t exactly know what to say. Paige still is surely drunk, but she doesn’t know just how drunk seeing as she has thrown up a lot of what she drank. 

Before she had to chance to say anything, Paige ends up throwing up again, breaking the loud silence. 

After another 20 minutes of sitting there, Paige’s body leaned up against Azzi, Paige falls back to sleep. 

Azzi, feeling the limpness of her body, carries her to her bedroom and plops her back into the bed, tucking the sheets tightly around her before climbing in with her. 

The next time they wake up fortunately it is morning. Paige is still asleep, so Azzi decides to go look for some sort of hangover food to give Paige when she wakes up. 

After looking in almost every cabinet there was literally nothing. Azzi resorted to running and jumping into her car to grab her some fries from McDonald’s. 

Almost 10 minutes later, Paige started reaching behind her noticing the empty space behind her on the bed. Paige darts up immediately regretting it feeling the blood rush to her throbbing head. 

She struggles to find her phone in the covers. When all of a sudden she hears the door unlock, and her nose picks up on the salty smell of the fries, her mouth immediately watering, and in walks Azzi. 

Her heart fills, tugging Azzi towards her a few fries flying into the air. 

“I thought I scared you away with what I said yesterday, or this morning, I don’t even know…” Paige trails off muffled into her chest. 

“You remembered?” Azzi says extending her arms so she can look at her. 

“Uhm ya I wasn’t even that drunk.” Paige says putting her hands up. 

Azzi raises her eyebrow. 

“You were pretty drunk.” 

“Okay well whatever that’s beside the point, I meant every word I said. I love you. I always have loved you. I can’t imagine my life without you. You take care of me, you love me, why can’t we just be together. I don’t wanna just kiss you. I wanna do so much more. I wanna love every inch of you, I wanna do everything with you, have a family maybe, get a house, I don’t know, and I don’t care as long as you are in it.” Paige says gasping for air as she trials on until Azzi cuts her off. 

“I love you too Paige. I just didn’t know how to tell you she says, tears forming in her eyes at Paige’s words. 

“You didn’t have to say anything I could tell. You make me feel like nothing else matters.” Paige sniffled back tears of her own placing her hands on Azzi’s face. 

“I wanna spend the rest of my life with you too. I love you so much Paige, and I always will.” 

Azzi says grabbing the bag of fries and holding it up. 

“You were so hung over late last night already I thought you might need some hangover food… I also thought I could make it back before you got up but I guess I was wrong, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Azzi says opening the bag and grabbing a fry and shoving it into Paiges mouth stopping her from talking. 

“Ketchup?” Paige asks mouth full. 

“Wow, no faith in me huh?” Azzi says pulling out two packets of ketchup and squirting it into another fry watching Paige open her mouth again expecting Azzi to feed her again. 

She complies sticking the fry into her mouth with a laugh. A little bit of ketchup fell onto Azzi’s finger. Before she notices, paige sticks out her tongue and sucks on her finger. Her cheeks hollowing as she bobs up and down on her finger teasingly. 

Azzi’s breath shifts with the tension in the room growing thick. 

“You wanna take off my clothes again?” Paige smirks looking at Azzi’s finger covered in her saliva. Without saying anything they connect their lips. Azzi pushes Paige back against the sheets leaning over her pinning her arms above her head. Paige just smirks watching as Azzi takes off her sweatshirt revealing her beautiful breasts underneath. Paige strains under Azzi’s restraint wanting nothing more than to wrap her lips around her chocolate nipples, but Azzi only tightens her grip.

“You let me get you right first, then maybe I’ll let you touch.” Azzi says pressing her lips against her neck tracking kisses all along her jaw and trailing down her stomach. When she gets to her waist she sucks and leaves three hickeys along her waist band. 

“All mine.” She says softly almost a whisper, making Paige whimper against her touch. Her hips subconsciously thrusting towards her desperately needing to be touched. 

Azzi wraps her fingers lips around her sweatpants and pulls them down along with her panties. 

“You have definitely been this wet since last night when I took your clothes off the first time huh.” Azzi said confidently stroking her inner thigh observing the way her legs twitched for her. 

Paige let out a shaken breath, raising her pussy towards Azzi’s mouth craving her fingers, her mouth, literally anything. 

Azzi instead reaches over to the bag of French fries and eats one.

“No way you are eating a fry when my pussy is literally in your face.” Paige whines frustrated, attempting to close her legs to squeeze or get some form of closure from the throbbing at her  clit. 

Azzi lowers herself at that, leveling herself with her aching pussy. 

“Tell me how bad you want me.” Azzi says dominantly leaning over Paige again and running her fingers closer and closer to where she wants her most. 

“So bad, please anything. Azzi please, need you.” Paige whines attempting to release her hands but is abruptly stoped by the overpowering sensation of Azzi’s tongue against her clit. 

Azzi starts by pressing soft kitten licks at her clit, releasing paige’s hands from her grip so she can use her other hand to separate her folds. 

“Such a good girl for me huh.” Azzi whispers into her pussy as Paige lets out a loud moan. 

Azzi licks her tongue all the way from her entrance back up to her clit, continuing to tease her switching back and forth between soft kitten licks and small circles. Paige is now a series of moans and whines. Azzi experiments, seeing what gets her to moan the loudest. She ends up sucking on her clit lapping at it, then sucking again. 

“Yes oh my fucking god yes Azzi, right there. Don’t stop.” Paige whimpers attaching her hand into Azzi’s hair and pushing her down to add pressure. 

Azzi hums into her pussy continuing to lick and  dip it into her hole.

“So close omfg.” Paige says in between moans. 

Hearing this Azzi stops. Paige looks at her distressed when all of sudden she thrusts two fingers into her stretching her out and pounding into her. 

“Oh god Azzi.” Paige moans throwing her head back and Azzi reattaches her mouth to her clit pounding her fingers in and out of her. 

“I’m gonna cum oh my god. Don’t you dare stop.” 

Azzi feels paige’s gummy walls tighten around her fingers. Smirking she continues to pound into her motivated by her loud moans. 

A band snaps in her stomach and Paige crumbles beneath her into a series of moans pulling at Azzi’s curls as Azzi continues to ride out her high. 

“Azzi oh my god why the fuck is that the first time we have done that.” 

Azzi laughs. 

“ya I don’t know” she says laying down next to her on the bed. 

She is ready to cuddle, a little aftercare hopefully, when all of a sudden, paige is on top of her kissing her shoving her tongue into her mouth massaging her tongue with her own. 

“I can’t be the only one with no pants on” paige says with a smirk. Briskly ripping them off and shoving her hand against her panties. Azzi moans loudly in shock, the feeling of paige’s fingers against her core was one she could get used to. 

“Wow this wet just from my pussy?” 

Azzi nods shakily letting out another breathy moan as Paige toys with her clit through her panties.

“Use your words baby.” Paige says pulling her panties to the side and running her fingers through her slick. 

“Yes all from you.” Azzi moans begging to be touched. 

Paige waists no time thrusting her pointer finger inside her in and out while using her thumb to rub at her clit. 

Azzi clings to her as she feels her legs start to shake. 

“ More please more” Azzi begs craving more of paige to be inside of her.

Paige adds another finger continuing to pound in and out of her hitting her G spot Azzi arches into her grinding against her fingers to get more friction. 

“You need more sweet girl?” Paige questions pulling her fingers out to put them in Azzi’s mouth. Azzi bobs her head against her fingers, nodding. 

Once they are covered in spit, paige pulls them out of her mouth and plunges three back into Azzi grabbing her cheeks and pulling her into a long wet kiss swallowing her moans. 

She begins to feel Azzi’s walls tighten.

Azzi can feel that band in her stomach ripping.  The orgasim crashing down on her hard with every thrust of paige’s fingers. 

“Holy shit im so close” azzi groans 

Paige presses down on her stomach with her other hand. Instantly Azzi lets out a series of moans as her band snaps and she gushes her juices out. Paige lowers herself to clean Azzi up licking up every bit and savoring her juices before coming back up and kissing Azzi letting her taste herself. 

“You’re amazing�� she whispers into her ear snuggling up against her. 

“Ya ya, I love you too.” Azzi responds her focus beginning fade. 

They lay there together just enjoying each others company. 

After like 30 minutes Azzi can’t take in any longer. 

“Paige?” 

“Yes baby?”

“I’m hungry”

“There are some fries.”

“I don’t want that. We worked up an appetite. I need real food.”

“Fine we can go get some.” Paige sighed rolling out of bed throwing on a pair of sweats before handing Azzi some of her own. 

They walked out of the dorm together running to Aubrey. 

“Guess you’re not that sad about how you played anymore huh.” Aubrey said chuckling at the two staring lovingly at each other. 

“Nah nothing really matters anymore.” Paige said wrapping her arm around Azzi securely. 

All her problems seemed to fade aways with Azzi near. And it seemed like there was gonna be a lot less problems now that she had finally bagged her. 

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 12: Mutual masturbation

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) mutual masturbation, mild dom/sub dynamics (softdom!Damien is BACK baby!!) dirty talk, little bit of cum play, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: I actually wrote another mutual masturbation fic with Damien a few months ago, so if that's your thing, you can find it here :D

He wasn’t ignoring you—not purposefully.

Damien had tucked away in a corner of the house, glued to the screen of the desktop computer.

You approached quietly, watching the muscle in his wrist just barely flex when he clicked the mouse.

For as long as you’d been together—and prior to that, as long as you’d been friends—you knew Damien was the type to get hung up on small details. He’d focus until he was burnt out; he’d try to deal with everything in one go and become deeply frustrated when that backfired on him.

He was detail oriented, almost painstakingly so.

At least right now he was hyper-focused on something harmless, something that brought him real joy.

Still, it was going on midnight, and you wanted him in bed with you—for the more selfish purposes, yes, but also because he’d be mad at himself if he stayed up too late, which would morph into a deep-seated grumpiness that would, in turn, make him feel guilty.

“Do you plan on coming to bed on your own tonight?” You draped an arm loosely over his shoulder, leaning over him, “Or am I going to have to drag you there myself?”

Damien leaned his head back against you, eyes glued to the computer screen. It was Elder Scrolls, you knew that much, but which version, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m playing,” he was smiling, that toothy, lopsided grin that he wore, an expression of unbridled joy and genuine amusement.

Your favorite version of him.

“It’s late, Dames…” You bent down and pressed your face into his neck, brushing your lips to his skin.

He let out a contented sigh. “Late to you. To a vampire—very early.”

You removed yourself from his neck, taking the two steps forward that let you position yourself in front of him, leaning the back of your thighs on his desk.

“Game will still be there in the morning…” You reached out to brush your knuckles over his cheek.

He turned his head slightly, ghosting a kiss over your hand. “But I’m…I dunno…” He huffed, still smiling, but his brow creased slightly. “It’s been such a busy week and I want to unwind. And even though it’s late and I’m exhausted, I’m not…tired.” He explained, pulling your hand from his face and lacing his fingers with yours.

You lifted yourself onto the desk, careful not to push anything off the surface.

“Well…I can think of plenty of ways to tire you out…” You purred, and though you meant it as a tease, you were only half joking.

Damien leaned back against the chair he was in, letting your hand go in favor of reaching out to hold your leg.

“Go on.” He smirked, rolling his shoulders.

“I mean, I could—” You tried to rattle off a list of the first depraved things that came to mind, but he cut you off, squeezing your thigh.

“Don’t tell me,” his smirk contorting into a wolfish grin, “Show me.”

You bit lazily at your bottom lip.

“Right here?” There was a ghost of a smile on your face, the merriment you felt momentarily winning out over the lust that had begun to swell within you.

“It’s what you’re thinking about right now, isn’t it?” Damien removed his grip from your leg, bringing his hands behind his head. He spread his thighs and quirked a brow. “Go ahead, princess.”

You stared down at him from your perch on the desk, sucking the inside of your cheeks for a moment as you considered his challenge.

You gave in immediately.

“Fine,” You put your hands on your thighs, leaning forward for emphasis. “I will.”

Leisurely, your fingers danced under the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging at the fabric. You lifted it over your head slowly, revealing your bare chest to him, your nipples pebbling from exposure to the air of the room.

You tossed your shirt in Damien’s lap, and he grabbed it with both hands, white knuckling the fabric, his gaze piercing. He let out a sigh, a soft growl, urging you to continue.

You put your hands on your neck, trailing your palms down over the swell of your breasts and over your stomach, fingertips grazing the waistband of your shorts. You brought them back up to your chest, kneading the supple flesh, pinching your nipples. The feeling sent shivers down your spine, and you subconsciously arched into your own touch.

“I would’ve gotten you to make a lot more noise by now.” Damien’s voice was smug, but his jaw was tight.

Defying his words as best you could, you caught his eyes, letting out a breathy moan while you rolled your nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

Damien took a deep breath, as if to collect himself. His head tilted back slightly, but he found your gaze again and matched it.

“Feels better when I do it, doesn’t it?” He asked, and you squeaked.

“You said I should show you what I want,” you mumbled, dropping your head to watch your hands massage your breasts. “That’s what I’m doing, Damien.”

“And this is what you want, princess?” He smiled, “You want me to tire myself out by playing with your tits?” He let go of your shirt, tossing it to the floor, and shifting in his seat.

The way he said it, gravelly and pleased, made you swallow down a whimper.

But the way he’d moved the obstruction of your shirt from his lap and spread his legs wider to reveal the obvious tent in his sweatpants made your lips part to allow the sound out.

“I have other ideas, if this doesn’t do it for you…” You mewled, still palming your chest.

He didn’t grace you with a verbal response, offering a simple nod, darkened eyes goading you.

You let your hands fall down your body, shimmying out of your shorts and exposing yourself to him. You spread your legs, shifting your weight on the desk in a teasing display.

“Fuck,” Damien’s voice was strained; still domineering but having more trouble holding it together now. “Were you—were you this wet when you came in here, or is that just…?” He shifted his jaw, grinding his teeth and letting his sentence trail off.

You were spurred on by his lapse in dominance, enjoying the fact that you could get him so distracted and wound up by simply flashing your bare cunt to him.

You dragged your hand over your stomach, stopping when your fingers brushed over your clit. You let out a needy sound. Wound up so tightly after groping yourself and listening to him speak over your movements, you were convinced you could cum just like this.

Your fingers spread you apart, fully exposing your glistening hole, and Damien groaned as you circled yourself with your fingers.

“Come on,” his lips parted as he stared, the rise and fall of his chest becoming more pronounced. “Show me.”

Maintaining eye contact with him, you dipped an albeit shaky finger into your sex, down to the knuckle. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes closing briefly as you finally gave your body what it had been craving.

You rocked your hips, slowly thrusting the digit in and out of yourself.

“There you go…” Damien smiled up at you wickedly, “Look at you, princess, so self-sufficient. Is this you trying to tell me that you only want one of my fingers?”

You shook your head, moaning, and pushed another finger inside yourself.

With a groan, Damien gave in to his own urges completely, and you watched him hook a thumb under the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down enough to release his cock. It bounced against him, tip wet with precum, and you whimpered.

He licked his palm, bringing his hand down to smear the precum and his spit down his length and subconsciously matching the rhythm of your fingers as you pumped them in and out.

“This is what you were thinking about, isn’t it?” The question was entirely rhetorical—he knew what you were thinking, knew you were as desperate to get fucked as he was to fuck you.

You offered a weak nod, the pressure of your release building slowly but surely somewhere deep behind your stomach.

You brought one of your legs up, pressing your foot against the surface of the desk to switch the angle to one that would get you there faster.

Damien groaned, sliding his hand over his cock, using the image of you spread out and fucking yourself on his desk to chase his own release.

“Good, princess,” he spoke through clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching, “Say it. Say that you’re thinking about getting fucked.”

Your breath was stuttered, fingers curling into the tender spot inside you.

“I—yeah, I’m thinking about—about getting fucked…” You managed to squeak out, heavily lidded eyes tracking the movement of his hand over his cock.

“Yeah—yeah, by who?” He coaxed you, twisting his wrist. He watched you drip over your fingers, coating yourself in your own juices, and it was an exercise in self-control for him to not lean forward and press his face into your cunt; lap you up and lick you clean.

“You, Damien,” your eyes closed, your jaw dropped, and you felt the familiar buzz take over your body. “You.”

“Fuck, that’s right,” he keened at your words, brow furrowed as he watched you near your high. “You can do it, baby, you’re so close—fuck your hand, let me see you make yourself cum.”

You were in exactly the right spot, and upon hearing his words, you felt a swell of pleasure; something pushing down on your body in all the right ways, contorting you and satisfying you as your walls clenched and your back arched.

You moaned, letting out unsteady breaths to match your trembling thighs. You continued to press your fingers into yourself, mimicking as best you could the way he always prolonged your pleasure until it became overwhelming, brushing your delicate spots and making you cry out.

“Oh, fuck—” Damien moaned at the sight, the shiver that overtook your body and made you cry out for him. He fucked his fist faster at the thought of how you’d look beneath him, crying that way and begging for more of him. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby, you’re so—you’re so perfect. Fuck, I’m gonna cum…” He jerked himself quickly, spilling over his hand with a low moan.

He panted, all but going limp in his seat as his head fell back, a parallel to the way you had slumped against the wall behind you, taking heaving breaths after you’d finally removed your fingers from your cunt.

He picked his head up, admiring you with a soft smile.

“What?” You scoffed, smiling back at him.

“I’m still not tired.” He smirked at you.

Moving off the desk in a manner most ungraceful, you took his playfulness as permission to drape yourself over his lap, sagging against him and grabbing his wrist.

“That’s a shame…” You brought his hand to your mouth, sucking on his fingers and savoring the bitter spend that had dripped over him. “Gonna just sit here and play games you’ve already played all night?” You quirked a brow, swirling your tongue over his middle finger before dropping his hand.

“Oh,” he smiled, wrapping his arms around you, “I’m gonna play, just…probably not out here and definitely not on this computer.”

He stood, lifting you, and you laughed.

“Monitor is still on.” You nuzzled against him, and he tilted his face down at you.

“Baby, I love your mindfulness, but I could not care less about what’s happening on that screen right now.”

[daemour]

Dame Blanche Au Péche [C.S]

✿ Pairing: farmhand (again)! San x f! lady! YN

✿ Word count: 1450

✿ Genre: historical au, fluff, smut, light angst

✿ Warnings: none, smut warnings under cut

✿ Summary: Although many lords approach you with the intent of marriage, you only have eyes for one person...your lead farmhand.

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Written for Tipsy Drabbles <3 had this done in july but kept putting off the posting lol. and yes...this was supposed to be posted on daeddy but i put the wrong un on the banner and i dont have the file anymore :(((

-

✿ Smut Warnings: Oral (m), deepthroating, come swallowing, fingering (f), some dirty talk, wall sex, unprotected sex (!! don't do !!), creampie

“I can provide you with so much if you accept my proposal.” The young lord standing before attempts to grasp your hands but you gracefully dodge his touch.

“I have all I need,” you smile, letting your fan rest on your left cheek as you tilt your head ever so slightly. “Thank you for your visit.”

The man frowns and turns to leave, disappointed by his failure. As soon as he disappears from your sight, you look behind you to see your lead farmhand standing just behind the corner. He catches your gaze easily and you wink, slowly opening your fan wide. His face brightens and he turns to leave the other way. You can’t help but to smile at his eagerness, quickly gathering your skirts to follow him shortly after.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. As the only owner of the local peach orchard, and a woman at that, many young men have tried to ask for your hand, hoping to be able to take over the farm.

But like you told the young lord just now, you have everything you need. Your servants help around the house, and your farmhands keep your orchards tidy. And the leader, San, helps you more than you’d care to admit out loud.

As you step into the barn, a hand grabs your waist and spins you around. You giggle as you face a pouting San. “Hello, Mr ‘Everything I Need’,” you lean in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose and he scrunches it up adorably.

“I wish they’d stop proposing,” San mumbles sullenly. “You say ‘no’ everytime. When will they learn?”

You hum, carding your hand through his hair. “Sorry, Sanah. My money is just too tempting for them, but all I’ll do is turn them away. I promise.”

San sighs loudly, his arms tightening around your waist. “I know. I just want to keep you all to myself...”

Instead of replying, you bury your face in San’s hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re the only one for me, Sanah,” you soothe him “You’re perfect, San. I couldn’t ever let you go.”

As you speak, you can feel San’s grip on your waist tighten even more as he peppers kisses on the skin of your neck where his head rests.

“Sanah, let me show you how much I care for you, okay? Please?” you hum into his hair.

Before gracing you with a response, his hands find the lacing of your dress and he quickly undoes them to pull the front of your dress down to reveal your breasts. “You wanna show me?” he all but growls. “Then get on your knees.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you pick up your skirts and sink down, uncaring about the dirt getting on your white gown. With eager unhands you undo San’s belt and pull his half-hard cock out of hisp ants. Before he can say or do anything, you take the tip in your mouth and press your tongue against the tip, tasting the salty precum already beading.

San’s hands fly down to grasp your hair, his fingernails scratching your scalp and tugging at your locks. “Shit!” is the only word he manages to say.

You let his length rest in your mouth as your hands wrap around the base of his dick, grip tightening just enough to coax breathy moans out of your lover. Without much further warning, you let your head sink lower onto his cock, taking in the scent of his body as your throat tightens around San.

His whines and whimpers only serve to make you more eager, and you quickly take his cock down your throat completely, gagging around him and feeling yourself grow more wet at the feeling of his cock twitching in your throat.

It doesn’t take San long to finally reach orgasm, shooting ropes of hot come down your throat as his hips buck into your mouth subconsciously. Your nails dig into his thighs as you grip his legs to keep him buried deep in your throat.

When you finally pop off his dick, drops of come still slide down your chin and throat, pooling in your collarbones and staining your dress. “Well, I sure hope you’re planning on taking my dress to the cleaners for me, San. It’s a pain to get the stains out myself–” your playful jibes are cut off by San wrapping his arms under your thighs and lifting you up. “San!” you squeal, hands flying to grab his shirt, arms thrown around his shoulders.

“It’s my turn, my lady,” he hums, carrying you to the wall of the barn, pinning you between the sealed wood and his chest as he reaches down and presses his fingers against your sopping cunt. “Look at you, so ready for me. So ready to please.” Quickly, he taps your arms to get you to raise them as he pulls the dress over your head, leaving you in your slip.

It’s your turn to whine, pressing your face into his neck as your legs wrap around his waist. His fingers skillfully play with your clit, drawing more broken moans out of your mouth. It doesn’t take you long to grow impatient, sinking your teeth into the junction of his shoulder and neck. “Fuck me already,” you beg. “Please, I want to be filled up by you. Keep your come in my cunt and–”

Before you can continue your prodding, you throw your head back and moan as San pushes the head of his already-hard cock into your pussy. It stretches you out so deliciously, and you can’t help but wiggle your hips a little to try and get it further into you.

“Stop moving,” San groans, his hand squeezing your waist. “Unless you want me to come already you need to sit still.”

He punctuates his words with a harsh thrust and you groan, dropping your head back into the crook of his neck. It’s moments like these you strongly appreciate the strength of his arms as he holds you up like you weigh almost nothing. His hands push you down slightly so that his cock spears you even deeper, pressing against the perfect spot at the perfect angle, and you keep your face buried in his neck as you mouth at the sun kissed skin.

One of San’s firm arms wrap around your waist as his other moves back down to press a thumb against your clit. “Ah– San–” you hiss, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. “Please–”

“God, you always sound so pretty when you beg,” San sighs, his cock twitching with every soft pant and whine you emit. The wet sounds of your fucking fill the barn, and you’re vaguely relieved the rest of your employees are done for the day. “You’re squeezing around me so fucking well. Look at me, baby.”

It takes you a moment, but you finally raise your head only to be met by San pressing his lips onto yours, kissing you deeply as he thrusts one last time and comes, holding you down on his cock. You can feel your stomach tightening and your legs shaking as you come with a broken whine, hands scratching down San’s back as your eyes roll back in your head.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, but San is already wiping you clean with your discarded dress and you laugh breathily and smack his shoulder. “San! That’s my dress!”

He shrugs. “It’s already dirty, my lady. Don’t worry, Joohyun is the best at getting stains out.”

You groan, amusedly. “Just because she can doesn’t mean we should subject her to deal with our…times together. Give it to me, I’ll deal with it later.”

San laughs but hands you the dress, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple as he does so. “I love you, YN. You know I’ll stay with you for as long as I live, right?”

You hum, leaning against his broad shoulders as you fold your dress neatly. “I do. And…and soon, I promise, I’ll declare my love for you from the rooftops. I just need more time. Build enough money that the town cannot lose me. Cannot afford to ostracise me.”

A frown pulls at San’s lips as he strokes your back. “I don’t care about their words, their judgement. You’re the one I need.”

His words warm your heart from inside out. “Then we’ll get married next year, in this orchard. I promise you.”

San’s eyes soften as he leans down to capture your lips once more, the kiss full of promises and dreams. “I’ll hold you to that, my lady.”

[mothandpidgeon]

P Boy Podcasts

I was swapping podcast recs with @schnarfer and asked her what kind of podcasts would each of the Pedro boys host? (I’m a bit of a podcast junkie. I'm literally listening to one right now.) Well, we were brainstorming and I went and created episode art for each of their shows. Which ones are you subscribing to?

Nic on Nic Get a peek into the brain of legendary talent Nicolas Cage. Cage collaborator (and fanboy) Javi Guttierez is watching everything from Con Air to National Treasure 2. Take a deep dive into the films of Nic Cage and hear exclusive interviews with the man himself.

The Unfortunates There are spies living among us, everyday people living double lives. What makes them do it? And how do they keep their secrets? Each week, Dave York shares a true story from the clandestine world of espionage. 

Foundlings Din Djarin’s parenting journey has never gone to plan because he never planned on becoming a dad! Come along as he navigates the challenges of single parenting a 50 year old son. Each week Din leads insightful discussions with a range of guests— pediatricians, parenting experts, and  other parents that are just trying to figure it all out.

Declassified Drugs, danger, and dames. The fall of Escobar made way for the Cali Cartel. Hear the story from  Agent Javier Pena as he recalls the hunt for the Cali Cartel and reveals details that have never been heard before. 

Tales from the Green Ezra shares spooky fales of distant worlds on this anthology fiction podcast. All set on the Green Moon, these bizarre and enthralling stories introduce you to a lush world filled with intrigue and danger. 

Heist The Mona Lisa only became a cultural icon after it was stolen in 1911. Learn about the greatest capers in the art world with host Marcus Pike. Hear first hand accounts going undercover during his time in the FBI. 

No Cap 4 best friends chat about anything and everything. Hear Santi, Will, Frankie, and Ben give their takes on dating, travel, and current events. You’ll love listening to them react to r/aita. 

UNKNOWN ZONE Alien encounter? Evidence of the lost city of Atlantis? Ghost fucking? Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction. Join celebrity host Dieter Bravo for real life brushes with the unknown!

Joel’s Construction Corner Have a burning home improvement question? Or maybe you just like a southern drawl? Host Joel Miller has 30 years of experience in contracting and he’s here to share his advice with you. As soon as he figures out how to use this damn computer. Ellie does the ad reads with a pun for every one. 

Hungry History What does the invention of margarine have to do with Napoleon? Did Marco Polo really introduce pasta to Italy? Which Founding Father had a craving for ice cream? Follow your stomach to discover the origins of your favorite foods as we travel back in time with host Pero Tovar. 

--

I might've gone overboard. But I wish these all existed???

If you reblog this please rec me your favorite podcasts in the tags.

[lola-kitagawa]

You’re a nun surrounded by cute Priests… That all want you?!–

“𝕀 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕞𝕪 𝕖𝕪𝕖𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕕, 𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒 𝕓𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕕, 𝕗𝕚𝕘𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕠𝕦𝕥~”

PART 2 AND BEYON ON AO3- @ lola_kitagawa

Characters: Midoriya, Bakugo, Kirishima, Shinso, Todoroki, Fem!Reader.

Synopsis: Having just transferred to a church as a newly renound sister. You found yourself meeting 4 Priests that seemed to be men of Christ… Unless it came to you.

warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of religion (duh).

A/N: NO BLASPHEMY AND NO SEXUALIZATION OF NUNS!! Don’t sexualise nuns yall.🫡

Notes: Fake religious procedures and logic. Reader is not wearing anything sexual, reader is kind and sweet but is a bit oblivious (but defensive).

Today was the day.

With your arms full of belongings and your heart weighed down with nerves, you stepped onto the marble steps of the church, letting out a shaky breath.

The sight before you was breathtaking: tall, intricate arches painted golden and white, radiating an almost divine glow under the afternoon sun.

This was your new beginning.

You adjusted your veil, steadying yourself as you approached the grand doors.

The sharp knock of your fist echoed against the wood, the sound swallowed by the church’s stillness. You waited, silence greeting you.

Hesitating, you knocked again, harder this time. Just as doubt began to creep in, the door creaked open, revealing a man with dark purple hair and tired eyes.

“Who is it…?” he asked, voice low and rough, like someone unused to small talk.

His gaze lingered too long before flicking away, as if embarrassed.

He immediately notices your long black dress and veil, nun attire.

"Ah, you must be the new Dame they mentioned. We’ve been expecting you.” He opens the door fully, making way for you to enter.

You politely nod as you enter, you hear him slowly close the door behind him.

"Thank you, Father..?" you ask him, waiting for a name.

His eyes look you up and down once more, but something told u he might not be examining u like the first time. Atleast not in the way you thought.

"Shinso, Father Shinso but you can just call me Shinso. I don't do well with titles," he introduced himself in the same monotone voice.

You smiled at his reply and followed accordingly.

As Shinso led you further in the church to greet the rest of the people, your eyes couldn't leave the beautiful sight of the church's insides.

Magnificent paintings on the walls and ceilings. The altar and pews designed with intricate wooden patterns.

You swear you could almost shed a tear.

The place's beauty was beyond words. it was so lovely, arches painted golden and white, a pure house of the lord. It was filled with—"Sister, this way please," Shinso said, catching your attention.

You snapped out of your thoughts and hurried behind him.

Shinso walked ahead of you, his steps measured but unhurried, the echo of his shoes against the marble floor filling the silence between you.

You struggled to keep up, your gaze drawn to the grandeur of the church’s interior—the intricate woodwork of the pews, the painted angels that seemed to watch you from the ceilings.

“Shinso, this place is…” you started, but his voice interrupted.

“This way,” he said flatly, motioning you to follow him into a sunlit courtyard.

The scent of blooming flowers hit you first, followed by the sight of a man sitting on a stone bench, hands clasped in prayer. His dark green hair caught the light, and his refined vestments seemed to command authority.

“Father Midoriya,” Shinso said, tapping the man on the shoulder, “she’s here.”

The green haired priest turns his head, revealing his bright green eyes and cute round freckled

face—honestly? He looks more like a altar boy more than a priest.

You noticed he was wearing a much more refined vestment than Shinso, he definitely has more experience than the other Priest you'll see.

"Ah, you must be Y/n." He stands up to greet you, holding out his hand to shake, "Pleasure to meet you, sister."

He had a warm smile on his face, unlike Shinso's solemn expression. He was more welcoming, how sweet.

You take his hand, shaking it gently. "The pleasure is all mine, Father Midoriya."

You swear you felt his grip tighten for a split second, it was unnerving but, oddly comforting.

He lets go of your hand, "Shinso, has she met Father Bakugo yet?" he asked him.

Shinso shakes his head, "No, i thought you would have a better impression on her. Bakugo on the other hand…”

You raise your brow at the sudden change in aura.

Both men look to the side, nodding their head in agreement. Like a mutual understanding.

Needless to say it was obvious this Father Bakugo was... something.

"I understand, Shinso. Come, sister." Father Midoriya moves past you, "This is a big church, you'll need to settle down first before meeting everyone."

You fidget your hands at the thought.

Father Midoriya points you to the dame's quarters. Showing you where your room should be.

After showing you to the Dame’s quarters, Father Midoriya gave a quick bow and left you with a polite, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

You stood there for a moment, clutching the strap of your bag. The hallway was long and eerily quiet, the faint hum of a hymn drifting in from somewhere far away. With a sigh, you turned, attempting to find your room.

The corridors seemed endless, each corner looking exactly like the last. You glanced at your map again, only to realize it was no help at all. Frustration bubbled as you wandered, your footsteps echoing faintly.

Just as you were about to call out for help, a sharp voice pierced the stillness.

"Who in God's name did that Deku invite now?"

The voice was deep, rough, and very intimadating. You gulped, turning to the voice behind you.

And there standing tall, was a spikey blonde haired man. Wearing the same attire as Shinso.

And sharp red eyes that made your breath hitch.

He's terrifying.

The priest stared at you for a couple more seconds before letting out a hard tsk.

"Tch. Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?” he asked, his gaze almost threatening you to answer quick.

You're frozen in your tracks, backing away as you squeeled: "Y/n! My name is Y/n! | was appointed by Father Midoriya to transfer here!!'

You hold ur hands up in defense, afraid to look in disrespect.

As you slowly look back up at him, he had a less frightening look.

More inquisitive than anything. Like he was curious about you.

Before you could think of a response to the intimidating priest towering over you, another voice interrupted.

“Bakugo, don’t scare her. Remember Midoriya’s words.”

The speaker emerged from the shadows—a man with striking two-toned hair and a burn scar that made his face look both kind and solemn. His calm tone contrasted sharply with Bakugo’s aggression, and his piercing gaze landed on you for a moment before shifting back to the blonde.

“Tch,” Bakugo spat, glaring at the newcomer. “I wasn’t scaring her.”

“Of course not,” the man replied evenly, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. "He said that Sister Y/n is special and should be treated as such."

Father Bakugo turned to the man with disdain and contempt.

"I KNOW half n half!! Stop barging in on everyone's conversations!"

"I'm not, you're just so loud that everyone can hear you?"

"SHUT UP! I'M NOT SO LOUD!!!"

You cover your right ear to reduce ear shatter, Father Bakugo, upon noticing this tsks and sulk in

the corner. You look back up to the other priest with two toned hair.

Upon noticing your eyes on him, he plainly smiles in return.

"Sorry for Father Bakugo, he can be quite fiesty with new people in general," he approaches you with a calm presence. “I'm Todoroki, a close friend of Midoriya, im assuming you've met him already, no?"

His words bring a soft laugh to your lips, how politely funny.

"Yes, i have. He has quite a welcoming personality, made me feel right at ease."

As Todoroki was about to speak, Father Bakugo had a few words to say.

"Oi! Don't ignore me."

"You weren't saying anything Bakugo-"

"Not the point!! The damn Deku told me i was in charge of taking her to her quarters and YOU'RE holding her up."

He suddenly takes you by the arm rather roughly, tugging you away from Todoroki.

You almost tripped and fall as he dragged you to your designated room. It was a quick walk, and you have definitely passed by it as you were looking for your room. He lets go of your now aching arm as you reach your room.

"Here, this is your room. If you need anything, don't bother.”

Without even opening the door, he leaves you with nothing else.

After Bakugo’s brusque departure, you lingered for a moment in front of your door, your arm still stinging from his rough grip. With a sigh, you pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was simple but welcoming: a small bed neatly made, a vanity with an oval mirror, and an altar tucked into the corner with a single candle waiting to be lit. You placed your bag down and sank onto the bed, letting your body relax for the first time since arriving.

Honestly, if it were up to you, you’d choose to stay in your old church.

It felt more like home, more familiar, and more… welcome.

Just as you began to settle, a knock at the door startled you.

You stood, adjusting your robes as you hesitated. Who could it be now? Slowly, you opened the door to reveal a man with spiky red hair and a grin that was both sharp and disarming.

“Hello, you must be Y/n!”

You almost jumped at the sight.

Upon seeing you slightly frightened by him, he holds up his hands for you to see.

“H-Hey! Don’t worry! I’m not here to hurt you or anything…” He chuckles awkwardly.

You tilt your head at him, lowering your guard a bit.

He sighs and scratches the back of his head, “I’m Father Kirishima, sister. You ca—may, call me Eijirou. I’m a friend of Father Bakugo.”

Oh, the angry pomeranian looking Priest has friends? Interesting.

“I came here to uh, apologize for his tone and actions earlier. I promise he’s not always like this,” He gives a pitiful smile, asking forgiveness in a way.

Who knew Father Bakugo would befriend such a gentleman?

“It’s alright, i reassure you i’m fine. I understand he’s not really the most welcoming.”

With a soft smile, he politely bows at you. “Thank you sister, please, rest for the night. We’ll see you in the morning.”

With one last bow, you slowly close your door.

As the door clicked shut behind Father Kirishima, you let out a small sigh and turned to the modest altar in the corner of the room.

The flickering candlelight gave the space a warm glow, but it did little to settle the unease curling in your stomach. Something about this place—and the men within it—felt different, unfamiliar. You whispered a quick prayer for peace, hoping the strange tension you felt was just the strain of a long journey.

Unbeknownst to you, beyond the walls of your room, other prayers were being whispered—though none were pure.

…

Shinso leaned against a stone pillar in the dimly lit hall, his eyes half-lidded but far from tired. He replayed the way your lips had curved into that polite smile, how your eyes had sparkled with curiosity despite your nervousness. It made his chest ache in a way he didn’t want to name.

“She’s trouble,” he murmured to himself, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise.

…

Midoriya sat alone in the courtyard, fingers twitching as he stared at the rosary in his hands. He could still feel the softness of your palm when you shook his hand, the warmth that lingered longer than it should have.

“You’re so… soft,” he whispered under his breath, his face flushing a deep red. He shut his eyes tightly, whispering prayers for forgiveness, but his mind wandered to the way your voice sounded when you said his name. The faintest tremor in your tone had him gripping the rosary tighter.

…

Todoroki’s hand hovered just above the door to his quarters, but he didn’t open it. He had seen the way Bakugo had dragged you through the hall, his rough grip on your arm. His lips pressed into a thin line.

“She doesn’t belong here,” he muttered. But even as he said it, his mind betrayed him. He thought of the way your veil framed your face, your soft voice, the nervous way you’d glanced at him. The thought of those wide eyes looking up at him—searching for something—was a temptation he couldn’t ignore.

…

In another part of the church, Bakugo sat alone in one of the pews, scowling at nothing in particular. His fingers drummed against the wood, the memory of your startled expression when he’d grabbed your arm playing on repeat in his mind.

“Damn it,” he hissed, running a hand through his spiky hair. He hated the way your scent lingered on his sleeve, hated how his body reacted every time he thought about you.

Hated that he already wanted to see you again.

…

Kirishima stood just outside your room, his hand lingering on the wood for a moment before pulling back. He could still hear your voice, soft and full of cautious curiosity, echoing in his ears.

“She’s so… sweet,” he thought, biting his lip. The way you had looked at him, even briefly, made him feel like a starving man seeing a feast. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer—not for strength, but for forgiveness.

Because the way he wanted you had nothing to do with God.

The priests’ thoughts were as far from holy as they could be, but none dared say a word.

For now.

You know, for my first post on tumblr? It's kind of a death wish to make it a long ass story TT^TT

But! Let me know what you all thinkkk I'd love some comments and feedbacks and even small praise is welcome!! :33

!!CHAPTERS TAKE WEEKS TO WRITE!!

All rights reserved to @lola-kitagawa, do not share as your own work.

[naniwatig3r]

AT YOUR SIDE (18+)

Knight!Hoshi x Knight!Femreader

Summary: You work hard everyday as a dame, a female knight. Proving your place. Finally you snap when your fellow knights, including your brigade’s leader, Kwon Soonyoung don’t match your discipline.

Warnings: some ranting about misogyny, f oral recieving, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, inaccurate medieval history (did not research)

a/n: Based on those beautiful photos of Hoshi in armor from the spell mv <333 Also fic is unedited and out of my ass 😞 first fic here, please provide feedback

Word count: 4.9k

—————————

The sun glares, making the heavy chain armor and plates hot to touch. Sweat collecting at your brow as as you swing your sword, whishing through the heated air into the straw dummy in front of you. The sword sinks in, the beautiful heavy feeling that you’re so accustomed to for the last few years.

But relishing in the zone of your training doesn’t last long. As you hear boistering laughter, straightening back up with your heavy sword. How the other knights act like fools; laughing and making crude jokes of women, beer, or whatever antics they get up to. But not you. Since you were a squire, you’ve worked so hard to be here. Being a woman, it was not easy. Harder than everyone else, you think, if someone would just lend an ear and listen.

But you made your way. Hardening yourself from the sexist and crude jokes, the hard training, and the hazing of the knight you were a squire for. Until you were finally knighted.

You thought that was it, finally, being with the dedicated knights that worked as hard as you, that could recognize your dutiful determination. The way your muscles ached until you could scream during training. The way you’ve laid down the life of many for the sake of your kingdom. How you’ve dedicated your life to finally stand as a Royal knight.

Oh but you were wrong. So wrong. Even with the acknowledgment of the king, the passive looks, the way no one took you seriously, it was one thing. But when the knights you oh so respected finally revealed their true colors from behind the public perception, it boiled your blood. The drinking, the abuse of power, the lack of training.

And the worse of all, the leader of the royal knights, Kwon Soonyoung. Hoshi, the Kingdom’s Tiger, The Wild Suzerian, the Kingdom’s secret weapon.

He laughs back, his damp hair glistening in the sun from — what you’d consider — minimal training. As he leans back onto a wooden post, surrounded by the other knights as they speak of things you care nothing about.

It wasn’t fair. You thought, as you grip the hilt of your sword tightly. You were boiling in the heavy metal, weighed down by the pounds of chain mail. Something that you were used to, but was somehow more suffocating today from the excessive heat. Soonyoung was just wearing a loose linen shirt, the strings loosely tied.

You strike down on the dummy once more.

Grunting, you feel your hands clam under the gloves. The sweat traveling to all the way to the tips of your fingers. Soonyoung wasn’t suffering like this, you thought. Hands free as he shoves the other knights as he laughs loudly, leaning so casually against the wooden post. His trousers tight like he wasn’t meaning to train at all, just to come to personally spite.

Another slash across the dummy.

How the corner of his lips curve into an irritating smile, does he care at all? Like the kingdom doesn’t rely in him, how people of the kingdom see him as a savior, how the King praises him? The way his eyes squint and sparkle under the sun, like he’s allowed to be this relaxed. Not fair, not fair, not fair.

You let out a loud cry as you swing your sword hard as you can, surprisingly, cutting through the worn out dummy. The straw torso dropping to the rough dirt, as the swing of the sword makes you stumble. Throwing the hilt of it onto the ground, free from it’s weight.

You grab your helmet, throwing it to the ground in anger, freeing your face finally as you can breathe. The small slits and openings of the helmet restricting your breathing too much before. You take a deep breath, as you whip your head towards Soonyoung, the other royal knights, who now stare at you. From your loud outburst, and surprise at the cut dummy in half.

“Are you all insane?” You say loudly, panting as you stare at them angrily. Sweat beading down your forehead, strands of your long hair slick against your skin.

“Royal knights — how laughable,” You scoff, as you flicker your eyes between them all. Barely clad in their respective armor, Their swords hung up on the weapon rack. “Laughing like a bunch of little boys, while the Kingdom is preparing for war.” You hiss, as you point at the weapon rack, “Swords hung, dusty, with cobwebs, the way you all indulge in vices as our people beg for help in rural villages, how our people in the inner city speak on crimes and injustices.” You continue bitterly, unhooking your gloves, throwing them onto the dirt with a huff. (It was fine, your squire will pick it up.)

“The audacity of the lot of you,” You hiss, spitting at the floor before stomping away, back to the knight quarters, to peel the sweaty hot metal off you. Heating from the blistering sun, and the boiling of your blood. Through your anger you’re oblivious to the attention following you as you head for the barracks. The eyes of the Kingdom’s tiger focused steady on the back of your head, as you walk off.

—

You huff frustratingly, as you throw the chain mail onto the wooden bench, finally feeling relief as your bare skin is freed. Hands on your hips, as you kick the nearest chest with anger, grimacing as you withstand the pain of your foot as you continue to beat the poor chest.

“Angry little thing aren’t you?” You hear, the voice soft and amused. Making you still, as you put your foot down. “First the dummy, now that chest. Keep that up and the treasury will cry over the new supplies we’ll need replacing.”

You turn, seeing Soonyoung. Your breath hitching as he leans on the wall, arms crossed, relaxed and inquisitive. His head tilted, his eyes boring into you. An easy smile on his face, like your outburst meant nothing at all. Which didn’t aid in all in your simmering temper.

“Sir Kwon,” You address, keeping formalities despite what happened only a minute ago. “I apologize,” You grit, glancing your eyes away. “The heat has gotten to me, I could not turn a blind eye to the lack of training.” You say, gripping your bare fist tight, running over the calloused skin of your knuckles.

All you can hear is a snicker, in the quiet barracks, as he uncrosses his arms and stalks over. Making you sieze up slightly, not used to his presence like this. Sure, you were on the same brigade, following under his leadership, but he never paid attention to you. There was nothing to scold, the way you train so consistently, how you run laps around the other royal knights despite your recent accolade. So his eyes, so carefully trained on you, made your skin crawl.

“No need to,” He starts lightly, “It was fun. Seeing you finally under that dutiful attitude of yours.” He grins, “Tell me, was it really the sun that made you break?” He asks, tilting his head, like a taunt.

This made you tense, readjusting the tightness of your fists. This was nothing, you thought. Many have belittled you, made fun of you, hazed you. So why was it that just a simple knowing smile made you want to scream? To choke out the famous Kingdom’s Tiger?

“It was the sun, sir,” You say quietly and shortly. Looking into his eyes, your gaze determined and strong, how it always was.

He hums, nodding his head, “Right, I see. Must be because of all that armor.” He muses, smiling, as he glances at the mess of the layers of your knight armor scattered on the bench and floor in a frenzy. “It’s not required you know,” He says, “To be in full attire during training all the time. Especially in this heat.” He continues.

You shake my head, “It’s duty and how I was taught. I must always be ready and comfortable in the attire. In training, at war, at duty.” You recite, your words firm. It also had to do with your status as a woman. You never showed up in anything less than your required armor. It made you feel like you belonged, that the curves of your body were shielded. That your combat and dedication combined with hiding under all of those layers, you were seen on the same level as all the other royal knights.

He sighs, “Sad,” He begins, “A lady ought to know that she was born with weapons of her own.” He says, trailing his eyes. “You know theres more ways to fight than holding a sword, don’t you, dame y/n?” He says, his tone light, condescending in your ears.

You scowl, as you look down and realize the extent of your exposure. Your chest wrapped in bandages for security, breasts straining against them. Your loose linen trousers thin enough that the curves of your hips press against the fabric. You bite your tongue, “Of course, as a man you see that.” You start lowly, “But as you said, I am a dame, a knight. The only thing that matters is my duty to the king and the sword in my hand, just like you.”

Soonyoung grins, amused at your response. His eyes still trained on you, like predator to prey. For a moment you see how he earned the title of the Kingdom’s tiger, the way his eyes dance around you like you’re his next target. “Admirable,” He says, “Frustrating, but admirable.” He admits, crossing his arms as he steps even closer. The smell of him was strangely intoxicating, of pine and a layer of musk that was actually nice. Nothing like the gagging smell of sweat and men you were accustomed to.

“You’re tightly wound, dame y/n.” He states. His expression hardening slightly, “You’re dedicated, skilled. But your lack of flexibility is worrying. Misery should not be your only state.” He says, his eyes glowering into you. Making you tense with anger.

You? Unflexible? Living in misery? “What would you know, sir?” You grit, “You don’t know how hard it was to be knighted in my position.” you say, eyes narrowing, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t choose, that is just how it is. While you all monkey around, I must uphold. No one will ever see the extent of my hardwork and dedication, but God will. And so will the king.” you spit, glowering as your knuckles turn white from your hard fists.

Soonyoung raises his brows, but doesn’t back down. Its infuriating, the way he doesn’t flinch. How he looks down at you from his height, already feeling like mock without doing anything. The worst of it, how your chest tightens at how his eyes look, curious and listening.

“No one will see?” He repeats, “Thats wrong, dame y/n.” He says flatly, “Who do you think recommended you for the knighting ceremony?” He starts, making your eyes widen at what he’s confessing.

He shakes his head, sighing, “I’m not claiming it was all me.” He starts, “I frequented the squire quarters many times. Looking for talent, as the king prepared for war. I watched you. Your skill definitely aided in the fast track of your knighthood.” He says, his eyes focused on you solely, like the room was fading out. “Training until you passed out, up at 5 everyday, taking orders from your assigned knight with no hesitation.” He lists, stepping closer, making you stumble back, but the more you step back, he continues to close distance.

“The way you swing your sword,” He says lowly, licking his lips, like he’s replaying the many times he’s seen you practice and fight. “How much power in that delicate body of yours, the technique of it. Hell, the way you sliced the training dummy in half like a loaf of bread.” He says, his voice hurriedly, excited the more he lists things he admires about you.

Your back is against the wall now, the cobbled stone rough against your bare skin. Your eyes wide, mouth agape speechless at Soonyoung’s specific praises. He leans forward, placing a hand next to the wall as he traps you in. “No one will see you say?” He says, flickering his eyes as he gazes at you intensely. “Y/n, forget the King, God, or whatever validation you seek for. I’m right here.”

Your eyes widen, breath hitched as you hear his words. The infamous wild sezarian is a fan of yours? Supported you until you finally got what you deserved, and this whole time you stared at him in envy and bitterness. But you couldn’t forgive the blasphemy of his words, “Watch your mouth sir,” You manage to say, “Thats heresy! you could —“

“What? Get in trouble?” He muses, breath fanning over your face. “Tell me, would you report me?” He asks, his free hand moving up to push a strand of hair away from your face, rendering you still. “You might, you’re so dutiful, aren’t you my dame?” He says lightly, like you’re his.

He bounces his gaze around your face, taking it in. This time, no helmet, just your hair framing your face, close as he’s ever seen it. And he can’t help but feel a swell of excitement. “Let me reward you,” He suggests, his voice breathy, “When was the last time you’ve truly been paid attention to?”

You gulp, swallowing hard under his burning gaze. Your skin heating once more, despite how the cold cobblestone wall is pressed against your back, only clad in thin linen and bandages. You feel your heart beat hard against your chest, so loud, Soonyoung must be able to hear it. It was a unrecognizable feeling, the way your knees weaken, a fluttering feeling starting to take root in your lower abdomen.

“Being a knight and doing my duty is rewarding enough.” You manage to choke out, a little proud that your words were steady coming out of your mouth.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, “I’m sure thats true,” He says sarcastically, “But a human being, even as admirable as you deserves a break, don’t you think?” He points out, as he leans closer to that your noses could brush, making you take a sharp inhale. A chill down your spine that travels straight to your core.

“Dame y/n, is it that horrible to remember that you are a woman under that armor?” He whispers into your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “It is no curse on you. It what makes you so deliciously different and refreshing from the spoiled brats that think Knighthood is their right.” He says, firmly, “You should not mold yourself into such a miserable life where you forget who you are inherently. You deserve to have the same audacity of ones who can’t hold a candle to your hardwork.”

His hand travels from beside your ear, down to trail your jawline, to your neck, in a slow agonizing pace. Making you flutter your eyes in response, never having felt such a gentle touch in all years you’ve lived. “If they can indulge in vices, then you very well can too,” he whispers, moving his other hand that was trapping you in to caress your cheek. Leaning down to give you an open mouthed kiss on the side of your neck, making you gasp in response. “Let me give you what you deserve, y/n,” He says lowly, his breath ghosting your skin as he peppers gentle kisses.

“Sir!” You gasp, as grabs you by the waist tightly, right under your bandages. at the rough pads of his fingers feeling like they always belonged there. Your cheeks burn, flustered from his advances, your hands shooting up to grip his arms. Oh, how toned they are under the thin linen, hard against your hands as your resolve weakens.

“Sir, this is inappropriate, I’m a knight under —“

“Under me,” He murmurs, “Quite figuratively and literally, yes?” He says like it’s normal. Taking a deep breath as he kisses down to the swell of your breasts, the taste of your skin intoxicating. The smell and taste of your sweat from training mingled by the rose tonic you use when you bathe. He lets out a soft breath, running his hands down your binded chest until he lowers himself down to his knees. A sight you’ve never even dreamed of seeing in your lifetime.

He looks up at you, a look of arousal and focus, his fingers teasing the waistband of your linen trousers. Licking his lips in anticipation, his pupils dilated. Something you’ve only really seen right before the surge of battle. “Inappropriate, sure, but you haven’t pushed me away, have you, my dame?” He points out, knowing full well if you wanted to, he’d be flat on the ground for trying to advance on you.

He was right. You don’t know whats happening, but the need building in your abdomen, the way you push your thighs tightly together as you take a sharp breath, you wanted it. You wanted it bad.

The second the look in your eyes softens, a wild grin finds Soonyoung’s face, his eyes in the dimness of the room twinkling with a newfound vigor. Like a tiger really was in front of you. He claws at your lower abs, before pulling down the linen pants, revealing your cunt. Glistening, shamelessly showing how affected you were this whole time despite your attempts at being professional. You take a sharp breath, cheeks burning, sensitivity heightened under his gaze.

He leans in, taking a deep breath through his nose, as he licks a strip up your pussy in an agonizingly slow pace. The warmth of his tongue against your slickness making you involuntarily moan out, your hands immediately finding anchor on the cobblestone behind you.

“Beautiful,” He breathes, grabbing the hold of the back of your thigh, slinging one of your legs over his shoulder. The further access, making him kiss your clit with a gentleness that makes your stomach flutter, and a whimper escape your mouth. His eyes flickering to your face, as he smiles. “This cunt of yours,” He says shamelessly, making your cheeks flush further. “It’s been neglected too long.”

Immediately his mouth is back on you once more, tongue swirling a circle around your clit, sucking slightly as you buck your hips into his face. His hand holding your thigh on his shoulder in place, as you throw your head back against the stone wall. Lapping up your juices with a satisfied groan, your taste everything Soonyoung imagined and more. The soft whimpers from your mouth going straight to his cock, as it strains against his pants. Its heavenly, for both you and Soonyoung, as your eyes roll back unevenly from his ministrations.

He licks another stripe up your folds, this time settling his tongue into your opening, prodding it open as he hardens his tongue to intrude into you. The action making you cry out, pulling him closer with your leg around his shoulder. The way your pussy clenches excites him, feeling how you tense as he continues to tongue fuck you. Moaning as he does it, savoring your taste, the heat and scent of your cunt wholeheartedly. He moans, kissing your entrance as he mutters, “You taste so good,” He whines, “Divine, better than any bottle of wine.” He praises, flickering his eyes up to see your face contorted in pleasure.

Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes shut as you lose yourself in the feeling of Soonyoung’s mouth. The sight only making him more determined to pleasure you, as he keeps his steady eyes on you, he latches his mouth back around your clit, alternating from sucking and flicking with his tongue. You buck your hips, grinding against his mouth instinctively, gasping as you grab at the stone behind you.

He uses his free hand to finally stick one finger into you, the stretch warm, and easy, but tight as your walls clench around his finger. Soonyoung moans, his own eyes rolling back from just the tightness of your walls. Already getting off of the idea of you around his cock, as he ruts into you. His impatience showing as he doubles his efforts, sucking your swollen clit with fervor as he pumps another finger into you, curling his slender fingers until he feels your spongy flesh. Knowing he’s found the right spot as you basically double over, find your hands in his hair, gripping tightly.

Its mindnumbing, the combination of Soonyoung’s smart mouth and nimble fingers, as you feel the tight knot in your stomach build. You cry out, whimpers and whines escaping your throat as you tense, the feeling of pleasure starting to get overwhelming. “Sir, sir, I’m going to —“ You try and warn, before your voice cuts out as you gasp loudly. Hands tightly pulling on Soonyoungs’s hair as he grunts from your hands. Your body shuddering as you whine, riding out your high on Soonyoung’s face, his hand a tight grip on your ass. Seemingly determined to drown in your juices.

You pry his face off your cunt, as he seemed a bit lost in you. The over sensitivity making you push him away, as he pants, looking up at you with awe. He licks his lips, your slick allover his nose, mouth and chin. The filthy sight making you let out a sharp exhale of arousal, already feeling yourself start up again once more.

He stands up, pushing you back up against the wall, “Now taste,” He murmurs, closing in and molding his lips with yours. Warm and soft, as he pushes his tongue against yours. You moan, tasting your own juices on his tongue, as he kisses you with a slow pace. Pulling back, a trail of saliva and your arousal between your mouths. Licking his lips, as you stare back heavy lidded. “Tasted yourself, haven’t you?” He says breathlessly, “Can you see how ruined I am now that I have you?” He moans, as he grabs the bandages around your chest, using his strength to roughly rip them off with ease. His hands immediately coming up to massage your freed breasts, rubbing his thumbs on your nipples as you whimper in pleasure, pinching and massaging them.

“Wicked thing aren’t you?” he continues, murmuring it into your skin, his mouth against your ear as he squeezes your breasts. “Blessing me with the prettiest, divine pussy I’ve ever seen, better than any woman, whore, or lady I’ve aquainted,” He growls, “My dame, how have you walked around this kingdom without me buried into you at all times?” He says, like you’ve committed the greatest crime. His words going straight to your core, dripping, as you clench around nothing, needing more.

“I apologize sir,” you breathe, need evident in your voice. Biting down on your lip, fluttering your eyes as he kneads your breasts, making you squirm under his hands. You look like a sight, the way Soonyoung reacts as his angry expression turns focused. Cheeks flushed, your pretty lashes against your cheeks as tears of pleasure dance at the corners of your eyes. Ridiculous, he thinks, that you’ve been here all the time. And it’s taken him this long to take you.

He huffs, “No need. We remedy it now,” He says firmly, his leader like voice coming out. He lets go of your breasts reluctantly, unbuttoning his trousers, his dick springing against his chest. Angry like he is, pink and pretty, slick with pre cum. The sight of him already making your legs weak, just imagining him inside you.

He steps back, sitting on the wooden bench, pushing my haphazardly thrown armor out the way for space. A hand to his dick, pumping it slowly a few times as his eyebrows furrow, a moan coming out of his lips. You take a deep breath, stepping up to him.

“Sir, let me,” You say, straddling on top of him, the closeness between his cock and your pussy making you throb with need. You let out a sigh as you wrap your rough hands around Soonyoung’s dick, stroking him slowly, exploratory. Making him gasp and take a sharp inhale.

“Fuck,” He groans, his noises music to your ears. Squeezing slightly, as you press your thumb over the slit of his dick, slick with his precum. The action making him moan out, “Enough, no more teasing,” He breathes, putting his hands over yours. “Let me give you what you deserve, Dame y/n.” He says, making eye contact with you, his eyes soft but still determined with arousal and anticipation.

He holds you up, until you’re hovering over him, kissing you momentarily just from missing the way your lips tasted a moment ago. He adjusts, as you both moan out as the tip of his cock swipes against your folds.

You start sinking down, gasping, your breath caught in your throat. Inch by inch, Soonyoung’s cock stretching you out deliciously, the pain and pleasure knocking the wind out of you as he watches intently at the filthy sight of his cock disappearing into you, until he bottoms out. You breathe, adjusting, holding Soonyoung’s shoulders tightly. Fuck, was it beautiful. If you could, you would write epics of how he felt in you, have the bards at those stupid pubs sing about how magical he felt, how perfect he was.

And it starts, as he starts rolling his hips, grabbing your ass with his hands tightly, roughly groping them as he starts a slow but deep pace. “Heavenly,” He breathes, his eyes furrowed in pleasure. “I’d win millions of battles just to have this pussy again.” He moans, as you squeeze around him so well. “Name it, kingdom, country, anything,” He rambles, drunk on the feeling of your pussy, how you drip and suck him in. The way your tits bounce in his face, how your hair falls so effortlessly around you. Especially the fact that no one would know how beautiful you were like this, taking him in so well like it was your knightly duty.

The praises only fuel you, as you wrap your arms tighter around Soonyoung’s neck, rolling your hips to meet his. Bottom lip under your teeth as you bounce on top of him, the knot in your chest building up again, as you chase that high eagerly.

Sweat, the painful pleasure of both of you clawing each other, the lack of caution as you both go at it roughly. One of your breasts trapped in his mouth as he sucks harshly, his hips snapping up with force that shakes the measly wooden bench under you both. You match him, the way your core burns at how hard and fast you roll your hips, fingers clawing deep into his back muscles. A chorus of moans and heavy breathing between you both, as it’s now just a matter of reaching the top of ecstacy.

“Come,” He grits, letting your tit go with a pop of his mouth, as he kisses up your neck, licking the sweet sweat of your skin. “You deserve it, my dame. Reward me with your release.” He commands, holding your waist down with both arms, fastening his pace as he holds you up like a ragdoll.

And with that you do, gasping as you choke out a loud cry, eyes shut as you shake and shudder, eyesight spotty as every part of your lower half spasms with utmost pleasure. Squeezing Soonyoung’s shoulders hard, making him wince at your strength as you ride your orgasm to completion, panting heavily.

Soonyoung pulls you off despite his body screaming him not to, as he clumsily grabs his dick, stroking it hard until spurts of his release come out, as he moans, tapping his dick against your stomach as he recovers, coating your chest with his warm cum.

Its quiet for a moment, as you pant, catchin your breath, sitting on top of him as he holds you close, breathing in your sweat as he rests his chin in the nook of your neck. His touches light, once more, as he rubs circles into your back. “God,” He sighs, continuing a string of curses, before lifting his head to look into your eyes. Despite the exertion, his eyes are wide, a film of sweat over his handsome face. A look of a man who discovered excalibur on his face as he looks at you.

For once, you look relaxed. Your shoulders down, eyebrows no longer furrowed, the normal guarded look on your face gone. For once you look like a woman, one thats utterly you, strong and beautiful. Looking how you should, satisfied and cared for. Only making Soonyoung’s resolve tighten, thoughts filling his brain of taking care of you, making sure you feel the appreciation you deserve.

“My dame,” He starts quietly, “I never want you to have an outburst like that again,” He starts, referring to your angry insults thrown at the other royal knights, “If you need an outlet, let me be one for you.” He promises, gripping your hands tightly in his. “Let me fight your battles strongly beside you,” He says, kissing you briefly, “Never be alone. I am here.”

You nod, feeling an undescribable feeling in your chest rise. Odd, how your hands are with one of the most respected knights in the kingdom, the same man you despised and felt envy for. Odd that you let this same man ravish you and make you remember that there was more to life than just your royal duties. And very odd, that now you have the Kingdom’s Tiger by your side.

[starry-bi-sky]

tick tock

Highkey dedicating this to @watercolour-carnations bc they sent me an ask about my 'danny is thomas wayne' au and singlehandedly revitalized my brainrot for it. Apparently the quickest way to a starry's heart is through their ask box

Now posted on ao3 under the name 'dniwer eht kcolc'!

In hindsight, hosting a science exhibit was probably not the best idea that Bruce has ever. This wasn't even one of Bruce's galas and, yet he was still attending because it gave him the opportunity to scope out any potential rogues (or henchmen).

Damian was by his side, and Tim was on the other side of the room, inspecting some of the other inventions under the prospect of gaining new hires for R&D at WE. Something that was not entirely false. Bruce could always use new, bright minds working to make Gotham a better place.

He was, particularly, eyeing up one moderately-sized invention that a woman with cutting blue eyes and stark white hair had covered with a white sheet. An interesting choice when everyone else had already revealed their own inventions. Drifting closer with Damian, he smiles charmingly at the scientist when they lock eyes.

"And what is this interesting contraption?" He asks, looking over the sheet as if it was the invention itself and not what was underneath.

The woman curled purple-painted fingers around the sheet, yanking it down to reveal a machine that looks like a mix of a jukebox and a grandfather clock. A long wire was attached to it, and a strange, blinking, circlet-like device connected on the other end.

Bruce's brows rose considerably, and he could sense Damian's eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"This is my Holographic Memory Machine -- the name is still a work in progress -- it's a memory machine meant to allow anyone to relive their memories right in front of them, even the ones they don't remember." The woman says with a smile, her name card reads 'Dr. Casey W. Kairos'. He's never heard of her before. An out-of-townie, perhaps?

"Interesting." Bruce's hands fold behind his back and he looks down at his disinterested son, and then back up to Dr. Kairos. It sounded harmless, but even a pencil could be harmless until enough force was put into it. "How does that work?"

Dr. Kairos walks over and holds up the strange circlet device, "The user wears this headband. It scans their brainwaves and then plays a memory of their choice right in front of them like a hologram, including any voices that came with it." She explains, showing it off to Bruce and Damian. "Would either of you like to try it? The HMM has been tested and it is completely safe."

Damian scoffs and turns to him, "This is a waste of time, father," He says, "let's move on."

"Oh, don't be like that, Dames." Bruce smiles genially, placing a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezing it. It reminds him of when his father used to do the exact same thing, and he turns to Dr. Kairos. "I can try it, Doctor."

Kairos smiles widely, looking incredibly pleased. "Come stand here then, Mr. Wayne. I can get the HMM up and working." She gestures to a spot on the floor within the circlet's range, and Bruce goes and does as told.

"Standing around and looking pretty is my specialty, Doctor Kairos." He jokes as she gets the device situated on his head. It sits on his forehead snugly, and tucks behind his ears. Kairos snorts and turns to get the machine activated.

"Father." Damian says, indignant and scowling. His arms crossed over his chest petulantly. Bruce chuckles at him.

"The Doctor said it was perfectly safe, Damian." He admonishes lightly, wagging a finger at him. "I trust the good lady to know what she's doing." Not really, but he'd rather test it out on himself if it was unsafe.

Thirty seconds passed with Dr. Kairos working on flicking on the HMM, and when it came alive it came with a low hum and a distinct, ticking like noise. "Ah, there we go." She hums, stepping away. "It's up and working, Mister Wayne. Just think of a memory and let the HMM do the rest."

"Thank you, Doctor." Bruce nods at her, and then tries to think of what to let the machine show. Nothing that would give away his identity as Batman, of course not. Nothing incriminating.

He looks to Damian, who still looked very unhappy with him. Perhaps a memory of one of his boys in the manor? Or a Brucie Wayne moment that everyone's seen. His brows furrow in thought. One of his speeches?

...No. No, he has an idea.

Immediately, the HMM begins to hum louder, the ticking drowned out by the sound of its fans kicking in. It starts drawing the attention of the other ongoers, and Damian steps to Bruce's side as a crowd begins to form.

"What is that thing?"

"What's it doing?"

"Is it safe?"

Hushed whispers scatter around them as more and more people abandon the other stalls in favor of seeing whatever spectacle was happening. Tim appears as well, pushing his way through the crowd and situating himself by Damian and Bruce.

"What's going on?" He whispers with a frown, looking between Bruce and Damian.

Damian hmphs, "Father is trying out this woman's 'Memory Machine'."

Just when Bruce is starting to think the machine doesn't work, he hears a sound that silences the spectators. A piano note. A singular note, followed by another, and another. Right before Bruce's eyes, the air shimmers, and a projection of his father sitting at the grand piano appears before him.

His breath hitches in his throat. He remembers this. He remembers this piece. It was father's favorite.

Damian and Tim are stiff at his side, and Bruce hears the crowd gasp.

There, sitting on the floor at the bench, is Bruce himself at six years old. He's resting his arms on it, and leaning his head on his arms with a look of pure adoration -- did he really look like that? -- aimed at his father.

There's no talking between them, a content silence as Thomas Wayne fills the air with his piano playing. That is-- until he stops midway through the piece, fingers stopping the keys with a abrupt jerk.

Thomas laughs, quiet and full of love, and little Bruce picks his head up with an affronted frown. "Why'd you stop? I like listening to you play."

"I know you do." Thomas says, his voice is as soothing as Bruce remembers it to be. The memory twists to look at little Bruce with a blinding smile, as if he was looking at his whole world. It's the first time in decades that Bruce has seen his father smiling like-- like that. His eyes involuntarily sting.

"But how can you hear so well when you're all the way down there?" Thomas shifts, and pats an open space on the bench. "Come sit up here, Boo. I can teach you to play."

(Thomas Wayne was always fond of pet names, he had plenty of them for Bruce, and he used them at every opportunity.)

Little Bruce perks up, "Really?" He grins, and then clambers into the bench. His father's arms wrap around him.

The voices fade as the memory slowly begins to collapse, and Bruce feels a spike of panic in his heart before the memory is replaced by another one.

He's younger, probably four years old, being sprayed down by a hose by his father. Little Bruce is squealing with laughter, trying to swat the water away like a fly, and his clothes are drenched.

Thomas is laughing as well, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks like he just came home from a business meeting. Bruce always thought he was old when he was little. But at four years old, Thomas Wayne is only a little over twenty. Barely an adult. He is twenty-four when he dies. He was so young.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Little Bruce squeals, trying to run out of the line of fire, but Thomas Wayne has a sharp eye, and the hose in his hands follow Bruce no matter where he goes.

Until finally Thomas drops the hose and runs towards Bruce, who is trying to recover from being sprayed down with ice cold water. Thomas reaches him before he has time to move, and scoops him up in his arms.

He is laughing loudly and boisterously, spinning them both around as Bruce clings to him for dear life, laughing with him. The memory fades away, and Bruce feels like there are hands around his throat trying to choke him.

A new one shows up, one he doesn't remember at all. His father is younger than before, a teenager, and he's holding a tiny bundle in his arms. He looks like he's on the verge of tears, hunched over it like a shield.

Someone, a girl with gothic attire, peers over his shoulder. "Gosh, Tom, a baby? That's a lot of responsibility." She says, dark-lipstick lips painted downwards in a frown. "And right after you've disowned your parents too?"

Another boy looks around Thomas with a similar frown and an uncertain look, "Yeah man, I'm with Sam on this one -- for once. You don't even have anywhere to live."

Thomas doesn't look like he's even paying attention, utterly smitten with the baby -- its himself, Bruce realizes -- he's cradling. "Look at him though, guys," he breathes, "he's so tiny. Have you seen his little watercolor eyes?"

(Watercolor eyes. Bruce had long since forgotten about that nickname his father gave him. hearing him say it is like a punch to his stomach.)

"You named him Bruce?"

Bruce huffs to himself, an involuntary smile twitching at his mouth as the memory dips again and cycles through another memory he recognizes.

The memories it shows are sporadic, with no chronological order to them other than each and every one is a happy one.

Bruce playing piano with his father.

Bruce stargazing with his father.

Bruce being carried on his father's shoulders.

Bruce getting ready for a gala with his father.

Bruce in the kitchen helping his dad make breakfast (there's pancake flour smeared on his cheek).

Bruce making a snowman with his father.

An apology between Bruce and his father in the form of a piano duet.

There are even a few memories he doesn't remember. Some of them are when he's old enough to, but many are when he's a baby. Some are before his father was adopted by the Waynes, when the only thing on their backs was a raggedy backpack and an oversized sweatshirt, and Bruce's baby blanket. And some are after, where he's sitting in an antique rocking chair bottle feeding Bruce with a look of sheer adoration on his face.

That look never seems to go away, ever, in any of the memories.

Finally, the HMM settles on a final memory, one that makes Bruce's blood run cold and snaps him out of his nostalgic revelry. His father is getting ready in his room, and Bruce comes barreling in with his own suit-and-tie.

"Dad! Dad! Dad!" He chants, running to Thomas, who whirls around and picks him up seamlessly. They spin twice before Thomas settles in front of the mirror, Bruce on his hip as he adjusts his tie with one hand.

"Yes, boo?" Thomas grins, wide-splitting with his shock-blue eyes looking at Bruce in the reflection. He and Bruce have the same eyes. It's shocking how much they look like each other, now that Bruce was older.

Little Bruce makes a dramatic face, a look that only lasts a few seconds before he remembers his excitement. He wiggles in Thomas' arms, "You gotta hurry up! Or we'll be late to the movie!"

Bruce's fingers dig into his palm, and he can vaguely feel his sons' looking at him. There's a feeling of impending doom square in the center of his lungs, and he forces himself to look on.

Thomas laughs, and nuzzles Bruce's cheek. "The movie isn't going anywhere, chum, I promise." He says, before setting him down. Little Bruce pouts, his lower lip sticking out. "I know how much you've been looking forward to this."

"Can you help me with my tie then?" Bruce asks, and looks at his own, sloppily done tie around his neck. "I can never get it right."

And, of course, Thomas Wayne kneels down to redo it. He always did everything Bruce asked or wanted. He measures it, loops it, and then knots the tie perfectly.

"There." He says, and smoothes out Bruce's little jacket, smiling in adoration. "Now go play, I'll call you when it's time to go."

And Bruce does just that, running out of the room with a yell of, "You better promise!"

"I promise!" Thomas yells back, laughing at his son as he turns back to the mirror.

The memory shimmers, and changes to as they're leaving. And then and there does Bruce call it quits. His eyes are glistening, his tears nearly blinding him with the swelling, overwhelming grief in his heart. He looks away, and tries to find Doctor Kairos.

(He doesn't see her switch something on the side of the machine. There is no noticeable difference in the machine, but on the inside a time rune starts to glow.)

"I think I'm done here, Doctor." He says once he can find his voice without it shaking. He can't hide the full crack and tremble laying beneath it, but at least he doesn't cry. He's almost forgotten that he had a silent audience.

Doctor Kairos nods and steps forward, reaching for the headband. "The memories should cut off once I take this off, Mister Wayne." She says, and fiddles with it for a moment. Behind her, the memory of himself and his father are walking outside. "I hope that wasn't too much for you?"

(The ticking of the machine grows louder, and the memory glitches.)

"No, no." Bruce assures with a smile that wasn't all Brucie Wayne yet. He looks down when he feels Damian's hand curl around his, and his son leans into his side. His smile softens, and he presses Damian closer. His other arm finds itself over Tim's shoulders as well, pressing him to his side.

"It was fine. Actually, it was an honor to be the first to try out your memory machine. I'm sure it will help many people." He tells her. She smiles slyly, and slides the headband off his head.

"That's what I'm hoping for, Mister Wayne." Doctor Kairos places the headband onto the table. The memory hasn't disappeared, Bruce notes with a furrow of his brows. And the audio has muffled slightly.

"I thought you said that the memory would cut off when the headband was off?" He asks. Kairos looks at him, and then behind her at the memory. She frowns.

"It should have--"

Little Bruce suddenly frowns, and looks away from Thomas. "Do you hear that?"

Bruce frowns. "I don't remember this." That wasn't in his memory. They just went straight to Monarch Theater without any issue.

Thomas looks down at his son, "What noise?" He asks, squeezing Bruce's hand. His head cranes, as if trying to hear whatever noise Bruce was hearing.

"That ticking sound." Bruce's frown deepens, "It sounds like your clock, dad."

Thomas' immediately frowns, looking so strikingly like Bruce that he marvels for a moment. He looks around as well. "...You're right. I hear it too." He steps a little closer to Bruce, his hand tightening around his.

A sense of unease fills Bruce's lungs. "What's going on?" He asks, taking a step away from the memory. This was different. This isn't his memory.

"I'm not sure." Doctor Kairos says, and her unsurety sounds so practiced and calm that Bruce's suspicion levels to her immediately. His boys look at her too with the same unease. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

She strides around the memory to the side of the machine just as a gold symbol appears on the ground. It looks like a giant roman clock, and a loud, clunky ticking fills the room.

The memories see it too, and Bruce's heart drops to his feet as he and the rest of the crowd back away from it. "Dad, what is that?!" Little Bruce exclaims, a look of fear morphing across his face as he suddenly clings to his dad's leg.

Thomas looks pale, looking at his feet and gripping little Bruce to him protectively. "I don't-- I don't know, Bruce."

(A memory that Bruce doesn’t have is his father arguing with a man named Clockwork. He does not see the man named Clockwork all but beg Thomas not to go out tonight.)

("Does something happen to Bruce?" His father asks the ghost.)

("No," the man says, "but--")

("But nothing, Clockwork." Thomas, once Danny, says firmly. "My son has been looking forward to this all week. I'm not going to crush his hopes by changing my mind last minute.")

("Thomas, please.")

("Look, if something happens tonight, I will handle it, okay?" Thomas assures him, a hand atop Clockwork's shoulder with a small smile. "I promise.")

(And then he leaves, Clockwork defeated in his wake.)

(Clockwork has seen this boy grow up from the shadows, and now he can do nothing to stop his fate like he once did before.)

The strange, clock-like circle, something intrinsically magic, begins to glow. The minute and hour hands tick faster and faster. Little Bruce holds onto his father like a lifeline, and Thomas Wayne crouches down to hold his son tighter, protectively.

Bruce Wayne turns away just as the light grows blinding, tucking Tim and Damian into his chest like a human shield. There is yelling and screams as the crowd tries to stampede away from it.

Bruce has no idea what this light will do, but he'd rather die than let his sons get hurt.

The light burns his eyelids even when he isn't facing it. And when it dies without even a burn across his back, Bruce slowly unfurls. His hands stay on his sons' shoulders, keeping them close to him, and he peers over his shoulder.

There on his knees, is Thomas Wayne, curled protectively around eight year old Bruce Wayne, much like Bruce had been. Bruce holds his breath, and his sons slowly unfurl themselves as well and peer around him.

Thomas Wayne is frozen in place for one second, two seconds, three. And then he begins to move. First, the tension drains out of his shoulders, and his head jerks, as if surprised that nothing has happened.

He looks up, his eyes open, and he and Bruce make eye contact. Bruce cannot breathe, and he cannot believe the sight before him. It's just the memory machine breaking. (Doctor C.W Kairos is nowhere to be found.)

And then recognition flickers in his father's face as his panting slows and quiets. His head tilts to the side like a fawn's, a familiar wrinkle appearing before his brows.

"Bruce?"

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

Why doesn't Marx want Kirby to forgive him, is it just the guilt thing?

Long story short, this is a combination of "the fear of getting hurt/rejected" & "shame and guilt," which results in self-sabotaging, but the main reason is...

HAMELIN REALLY MESSED UP MARX!

So, like Kirby with Cappytown... Marx was Hamelin's hero, but they betrayed him and thus turned to the dark side.

This all ties into his initial hatred for Kirby... he's very much angry at his former self for being so foolishly naive, and Kirby's good nature is too reminiscent of his former self.

That also makes it the main reason he could never truly hate Kirby... a younger self that he can't help but connect with. Leading to his "fake friend act" to accidentally grow to care for him and actually want him as a friend.

However, Marx knows he deceives Kirby the same way the people of Hamelin did to him... "pretending they cared for him." Using the very same methods, the townsfolk did to him... ("became what he hated")

This is why Marx doesn't have the heart to forgive himself... even though Kirby was always ready to forgive him and welcome him back with open arms. Because he knows he can never forgive the people of Hamelin... Why should Kirby? And, of course, he does!

The restoration of a friendship between Marx & Kirby happens~, But unlike the people of Hamelin, Kirby has this unconditional love for Marx and wants more than anything to have him back in his life.

I'd say these events happened after Planet Robboot... Marx finally makes his return and "saves Kirby?!" (I'm not gonna reveal from what because of spoilers)

With my interpretation of Marx, I wanted to take him into a sympathetic route (to make him stand out from the others). He still has the sass and mischievous charm, but I wanted to give him a proper reason why he is the way he is. It's a more heartfelt version of Marx that Kirby would want to be friends with and him in turn.

Marx represents "self-worth"; if people don't appreciate or treat you the way you deserve, then they don't deserve you. (Minus the piping all the Dark Matter back into the town as revenge...) KNOW YOUR WORTH AS A PERSON PEOPLE!

And he stands as one of the main reasons why Kirby ultimately chooses to become a star warrior. Moved out of the Popstar to travel and pursue his aspirations & dreams.

Please keep reading for spoilers & quick bonus comic~

So Arthur pretty much reveals Marx's backstory to the rest of the Kirby gang... and needless to say, they're speechless!

He still doesn't want to be forgiven, so he stays with Magolor (which I cover here with Magolor's lore), but yeah, of course, Marx opened up to Mags about Hamelin. And that's why Mags is there, while Kirby & Marx are back in his place telling his story to Kirby. (Kirby saw it because of "empathic touch" but didn't know the exact details of it..)

And Dragato, yeah, he was already on his redemption arc (Falspar's already went through his with Fluff, so he's there for moral support, plus it's the reason why Arthur partnered up together).... he already knew he messed up. But now, hearing the full story that he was, not only did he fall for the people of Hamelin's lies, but... MARX WAS THEIR HERO. (I know kinda of shoehorned the crew for the sake of missing the gang, I just missed them I had to...)

There's actually a small bit of tragedy... while the adults sold Marx out, the children who really loved him would've vouched for him... it'll tie back into his character later.

And I know it seems like I'm painting Dragato in such a bad light, but it's part of his character development. And for those of you who don't know... HIS MENTOR WAS DAME MORGAN (LE FAYE)! So yeah, high standards, little affection, never impressed~

Which is why I still need to establish her a bit more! More Morgan coming up soon

I'm trying to get to the old asks I wasn't able to answer before (since I was still developing the lore...) And I just need a little break from the tournament plus, I've been working on some Kirfluff stuff for Oct.: Kirfluff week!

Also, little funny side notes and gags' "Hero to Zero... Hercules" reference and Mag's little side comment. Based on the meme, "you ruined a perfectly good child..."

So, hope you guys enjoyed it!

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Dame Aylin: You ought to have revealed this plot before. What if a hair on darling Isobel's head had been harmed?

I adore every word that comes out of this woman's mouth and her dialogue is ever a goldmine, but this is a particular favourite.

Which, of course, makes the other occasion she uses this phrasing even more heartbreaking.

Dame Aylin: You stood to gain from my undoing. I know your reasons, fetid though they are. But Isobel... ...Isobel deserves to live. Please - do not harm a hair on her blessèd head.

Aylin acts so calm and understanding about being sold into imprisonment and being used as an immortality battery for some bastard again. But she also seems terrified here. She doesn't even threaten you with righteous vengeance a tiny bit, and instead is entirely focused on keeping Isobel safe. She straight up begs you to leave Isobel out of it, in fact her first request is that you don't tell Isobel what happened at all - because of course Isobel will try to go save her. It guts me, especially as it treads into the kind of self-sacrificing that I can't see Isobel being anything but livid over.

(If Isobel isn't alive for the betrayal she will just tell you she pities your lack of honour and give you a classic Aylin promise of how she'll kill you upon your next inevitable meeting.)

[redflagshipwriter]

Batmom Cass preview post for Colin!!

This is 600 words as a thank-you for starting my fund to replace my laptop! I am so so appreciative. There's actually... no Cass in this particular section, but I thought it was probably best to share the next scene. Chapter 8: post reveal (about ten minutes after heaving his guts on very expensive carpet)

Danny would prefer to strike that unfortunate incident from the record and his memory. As soon as he figured out how to cause selective brain damage, it was all over for the mortifying ordeal of being perceived in weakness. He swung his legs miserably over the bathroom counter’s edge and pretended very hard that he was alone in Amity Park where no one noticed or cared if he threw up. 

He was still in the room where Cass had hustled him to clean off his face and see if there would be an encore. He’d had to make a tactical retreat away from the toilet to higher ground when big fussy bats flapped in after him. Presumably they’d learnt that he threw up when Cass went to get whatever supplies one needed to clean partially digested yogurt off antique carpet. Ancestral carpet. Probably made of some nutty rich person material like, uh, hair from the manes of prize-winning horses.

Somehow, Danny cringed even harder. He needed brain damage immediately, please.

“And you’re certain that you don’t need to visit a medical facility?” 

Batman brooded in the literal way that a chicken brooded. Danny tightened his grip on the counter just that little bit more so that no one could drag him into a nest and sit on him. “Wouldn’t do any good,” he said shortly. It came out a little too mean. He tried to correct his voice to be nicer. “Thanks. Tho.” Danny cleared his throat.

“Tt.” Damian expelled air against his front teeth and glowered at his father. “He looks terrible. You cannot believe this.”

Wait, what? Danny blinked down at Uncle Damian, betrayed. “I look terrible?” he echoed. What the hell? Criticism, from Dames?

Bruce got a pinched look. “Danny, honey, you have been looking a little…” He trailed off. “Unwell.”

‘That would be the lack of ectoplasm,’ Danny thought snidely. He kept his mouth firmly shut and turned away. Unfortunately, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced at it. He did look pretty wan and thin. It was hard to put a finger on what was off about his appearance, but it was sort of… deathly.

He was putting on weight again thanks to Alfred and Damian’s monitoring of his diet, but it was just a fact that he wasn’t really suited to this environment. Too human to survive in the big Green yonder, too undead to get by on bread and roast beef alone.

‘...How does Jason do it? An aura like that is not sustained by creme anglaise and goulash. He has to have access to ecto somewhere.’ 

Danny really should have wondered that before. Jason had to be like, the most liminal human being around who wasn’t a halfa. He definitely needed ecto. Where was he getting it? Danny hadn’t really consciously thought about it, but… He felt himself tinge a little green again.

‘Was I feeding off of his ambient ectoplasm when he was here yesterday?’

His mouth filled his saliva that still tasted both sour and like toothpaste. Danny swallowed it with effort. He did not think of how good ecto tasted after you’d been denied and drained. He did not think about the sense memory of how living ecto would indent and then give with a juicy pop around his teeth, splash the inside of his mouth-

Danny buried his face in his hands and tried not to look like he was going to throw up again. Because he was not going to do that. He was not going to eat Jason and he was not going to throw up.

[suppose-i-was-worm]

I Put A Spell On You

Fake Dating (Part 1)

**I know, it's not the one that I started writing and was really funny, I'm having a lot of trouble with that one. Enjoy this one instead!**

“I need your help.”

Damian frowned, stashing away the knife he’d hidden beneath his pillow. Danny was crouched on the sill of the window he’d come in through, looking at him with wide blue eyes.

“Tt. What do you need? It is well past midnight.”

“I need you to fake date me.”

“What?”

Danny flinched, and Damian realized how sharp his question had been.

“My apologies. Please explain to me what is going on so that I can best assist you.”

Coming fully into the room, Danny started to explain.

“So, you know my parents and holidays, right? They- they’ve started hounding me about bringing home a significant other since Jazz got married.”

Damian nodded- he was familiar with Danny’s parents’ personality, even having never met them.

“Anyways, for Thanksgiving, they’re threatening to invite Paulina over and make me sit next to her. Paulina, Dames! I wouldn’t survive. So I told them I had a boyfriend who lived here in Gotham, and now they’re insisting on coming here to visit. If they find out I lied, I’ll be dead! My grades are too good for an early death.”

“So you came to me.”

“You’re the only person I know well enough to pull this off, Damian.”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit picked up from his father.

“And you did not think to tell them about-“

Cutting him off, Danny grabbed Damian’s face and looked directly into his eyes, a serious look on his face.

“Damian, I assure you it would be a fate worse than death if they found out how we met.”

Damian pulled himself away from Danny, glad for the dim light of his bedroom hiding the blush heating up his cheeks. The other man had never been that close to his face, and Damian would probably say that Danny’s eyes were more dangerous for him than the entire League of Assassins.

“Please, Dames? It’s Paulina we’re talking about.”

Closing his eyes, Damian thought things through. Fake dating Danny would be- a blessing and a curse at the same time. A blessing, as it would require him to be close to the other man for extended periods. A curse, because he knew it would end as soon as Danny’s parents left Gotham. For Damian, who had been struck by Danny’s beauty from the first moment he’d seen the other, the brief benefits might just outweigh the pain of them ending. At least he’d have the memory of being close to Danny.

When he opened his eyes, Danny was holding his hands in a mock praying position, looking up at Damian through his lashes.

“Tt. Fine.”

Danny lit up, literally, and then darted forward, planting a kiss on Damian’s cheek.

“You’re the best! They’re coming in to town tomorrow- drop by mine when you can!”

The other man slid back out of the window and flew off before Damian recovered from the kiss enough to protest the short notice.

~~~

The next day found Damian waiting outside Danny’s apartment, flowers in hand. He had done some investigation as to what he ought to bring with him to meet a significant other’s parents, so he was also armed with a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates.

The door opened soon enough after his knock, revealing an older woman he had never seen before. He could see where Danny got his frame, though, as well as his delicate features.

“You must be Damian! Come in! Danny’s elbow deep in the microwave with Jack. I’m Maddie- we’ve heard so much about you!”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He stepped inside the apartment, handing Maddie the wine and chocolates after she closed the door.

“Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you? Danny!”

Danny poked his head out of the kitchen, and Damian almost swooned at the look Danny gave him.

“Hey Dames! Glad you could make it!”

He emerged, wiping what looked like grease off his hands, and took the flowers that Damian handed him.

“For you, Beloved.”

More importantly, he also took the short kiss Damian gave him over the bouquet.

When Damian pulled away, he was delighted to see that Danny was flushed.

“Uh- thank you! They’re beautiful.”

“Oh, you two are so cute! How long have you been dating?”

“Three years.”

“Not long.”

Danny and Damian spoke at the same time, and then Damian smiled smoothly, determined to fix his mistake.

“Perhaps I feel like our time together until now has been too short. Every time I see you, you are as beautiful as the day we met.”

He was rewarded with Danny flushing an even brighter red.

Maddie turned to her son, hands on her hips.

“You’ve been dating this polite young man for so long and hadn’t told us?”

Danny shuffled his feet, looking bashful.

“I didn’t want to scare him away. I really like him, mom.”

A large man came out of the kitchen, laughing a booming laugh.

“We can tell, Danno. It’s not like you haven’t been talking about him for the last few years.”

Damian looked over at Danny, doing his best not to let his expression show. Danny had been talking about him to his parents? For years?

Danny laughed nervously and then herded everyone into the dining room.

If he were being honest, Damian had pulled out all of his acting skills to charm the Drs. Fenton throughout the evening. He did not need acting skills for his interactions with Danny. He kept close to the other, wrapping an arm around his shoulder when he could and dropping light kisses into the shorter man’s hair when the opportunity presented itself.

It was heaven.

Danny walked him out to his car after dinner, and didn’t let go of Damian’s hand the entire way.

“Thank you for tonight, Dames.”

Damian smiled down at the love of his life.

“Of course, Beloved. Anything for my husband.”

With a scoff, Danny let go of Damian’s hand and stepped back.

“Sure, Damian. Drive safe.”

~~~

Danny Fenton knew when he was screwed. His parents had been in Gotham for a week, and Damian was still dropping by to see him on a semi regular basis. He’d even been touchy, and Danny knew that of all people, Damian Wayne wasn’t ever physically affectionate.

It partly gave him hope, and partly made him think this gambit was hopeless. He was aware of Damian’s extra-curriculars, after all, and knew the entire family were good actors.

And yet-

Damian’s parting kiss to him had been long and clinging the evening before his parents left, and he seemed reluctant to leave Danny standing in his own doorway. His hand lingered on Danny’s wrist, and his eyes were the last to tear away.

So, yeah. Danny was fifty percent sure that Damian might possibly reciprocate his feelings, but he didn’t have the courage to ask outright.

He hadn’t had the courage to ask much of Damian since they met, even though he’d been half in love with the other man the moment they laid eyes on each other.

It had been a routine summoning- He’d tasted the blood in his mouth, and while it did not necessarily taste like the blood of an innocent (he always went to bat for the victim in those cases), it piqued his curiosity enough to check things out.

He rose from the summoning circle, crown of fire wreathing his head as he showed off his less human appearance.

The cultists fell away from him, scrambling to bow and prostrate themselves in front of him.

“Oh great Ghost King! Please accept this sacrifice in order to take your rightful place as the lord of all worlds!”

Danny looked down to see a handsome young man in a well fitted suit glaring up at him, blood drying from a wound on his head.

When their eyes met, something changed. The summoning circle flared from Danny’s own ice blue to a sharp neon green, and something lit up under the chair the ‘sacrifice’ was tied to.

With noises of surprise, the cultists started to rise to investigate, but Danny snapped his fingers and caught them all in ice.

Landing, Danny inspected both the runes in the summoning circle and the one beneath the sacrifice, and then floated out of the circle to find the book the cultists had been using to summon him.

When he found it, he had the urge to finish these idiots off himself. They had somehow botched the ritual so much that they had turned it into something of a wedding, and now he was ghost married to a human civilian.

Turning back to said human civilian, he found the other on his feet on the opposite side of the room, holding an improvised weapon.

“Oh cool, you got free. Good news, you’re not going to die.”

The civilian stiffened even more, arching an eyebrow.

“Tt. What is the bad news?”

Danny shrugged.

“Oh, not much. We’re just kinda… Married now? I’ll find a way to dissolve it, or something, and you’re not obligated to have anything to do with me, but… Yeah. Supernaturally married. Is a thing. That we are.”

Civilian’s shoulders slumped, and he stalked out of the warehouse (why was it always warehouses?). Danny followed behind.

“Oh, hey, we’re in Gotham!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Close to my apartment.”

The man turned to him incredulously.

“The ghost king has an apartment in Gotham?”

Danny let his transformation wash over him.

“Well, Danny Fenton does, and I’m him most of the time.”

“Damian Wayne. A pleasure.”

Damian held out his hand, and Danny shook it carefully.

“Totally! I’m gonna- go. I guess. And look into the ghost married thing.”

“No rush. It might be advantageous to be married to an interdimensional king.”

With a laugh, Danny lifted into the air.

“Sure. I’m cool with being friends, if you want. Maybe we can work together.”

“I can do friends.”

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

🧚‍♀️ Anon

The Hunchback of Notra Dame

Just picture Father Pucci or Kars obsessing over Gypsy Darling as he sings Hellfire?

He’s starts to lust after the woman that dares to defy him

Or it’s Diavolo (I would lose my mind if he sang Hellfire)

Risotto is not a hunchback, rather he’s believed to be a demon because of his bizarre appearance (White hair and red eyes with black sclera) and has been locked up all his life in the Cathedral away from society

His only companions are the gargoyles that have the power to talk (His gang)

Hello again 🧚‍♀️ anon! I missed you. Went a little overboard and added Weather. First time writing for Pucci so might be OOC.

Part 6 spoilers bellow

I love the idea of Enrico in this situation. Maybe have Domineco (Weather) in the hunchbacks place.

During an incident their sister is convinced of witchcraft and is killed. Enrico is of course hurt but pushs his bias aside to focus on his work as a preist. Domenico however attempted to get revenge. Lead to believe his brother was killed to Enrico continues his work but a year later a man shows up at the door of the church at night. There he finds his brother who has no memory of his prior identity, now going under the name of Wes

Knowing that his brother would be killed if the perpetrators knew he was still alive Enrico allows him to stay in the church and to never leave, never revealing the truth of their relationship as to not let his brother be consumed by bloodlust again.

One day Wes leaves the church after seeing the celebrations below. He's discovered by those who'd killed his sister and attacked, luckily being saved by a performer who is able to distract the men while their family is able to hide him in one of the side alleys.

After a while the performer checks on Wes. She offers him food and a night at her camp to avoid the men but Enrico finds them and immediately takes him back. For darling was a friend of their sister (and due to her association with darlings community may have led to the accusations of witchcraft, she is unaware the two men she's met are her late friends brothers).

Wes is taken aback such kindness from darling. Disproving all the horrible statements the Enrico made about the people beyond the church. He grows more defiant to his twin and tries to sneak out again and again to meet her again before one night there is a bang at the door. Enrico opens it to see darling begging for entry before guards attempt to take her away.

"Please father, let me inside" she begs as she attempts to free herself from the guards grasp.

"Men let go of her, for anyone is free to redeem themselves in the church" he tells the guards. For no one is to be prosecuted on the grounds of the church.

They let her go and she rushes inside before he closes the door. Despite his resentment towards her for his sister's death he offers her refuge.

"Thank you father, I've been framed for witchcraft and they had intended to burn me at the stake" she explains.

She offers to help around the church where ever she can but is forbidden from the upstairs area where Wes is. Yet they still end up meeting and hide it from Enrico.

Meanwhile Enrico begins to develop feelings for darling. He's torn, he's meant to be a man of God yet his thoughts become clouded by the woman before him.

He's in denial about his feeling until he stumbles upon her and Wes together. His heart aches and his body burns with jealousy at the way she treats his brother.

Love festers into such a poison inside of him. He thinks of such horrible, sinful things. He wants his once beloved brother dead and darling to be subservient to him.

One day he confronts darling with the ultimatum, she marry him or he'll evict her from the church. Darling is quick to argue.

"You have poisoned me... and the man I once knew as my brother. You are the reason my dear sister was killed" he'd seethe.

"Yet I think about you more then I do God himself, you have clouded my mind. Tainted me. If my purpose is not to serve God then it is to have you" he continued.

Darling. Appalled by his scorched words runs back into one of the rooms and locks the door behind her.

"If I do not have an answer by the time the sun rises then I shall have the guards come" he warns. Darling weeps until she hears a knock at the door. At first she tell them to leave but hearing that it is Wes she opens the door.

She explains that Enrico has given her the ultermatim of marry him or get convicted for witchcraft. Wes tells her the way he would leave. During this Wes professes his love to darling and she asks if he will leave with her. He tells he he will deal with Enrico before he leaves and she tells him where she will hide with the rest of her community.

The next morning Enrico goes to where darling slept and searches the church, no signs of her so he informs the guards to find her. He's about to join them in the search before he stops and decides to visit his brother.

Wes plays dumb, who? I didn't know another person was here? Of course Enrico knows and points out that he'd seen them talking. He asks Wes to tell him where she is, when he doesn't receive an answer he grabs a knife and attempts to stab him.

"I have done everything in my power to protect you Dominico, I ggave you another chance after you treaded upon the bloody path of revenge and this is what I get in return!" He shouts as they wrestled for the blade. Eventually Wes is able to escape and flee the church to find darling after Enrico mentions about the guards searching for her.

Little does he know that he's leading the guards right to the hiding spot. Their reunion is quickly foiled by Enrico and the guards who quickly pry them away. Darling is taken to be burnt at the stake and Wes is forced to watch.

Darling has her final chance to "repent" and she refuses. If he cannot have her then no one will. The fire is lit and just as all hope is lost, Wes is able to break free and run to darling to unbind her while fighting off the guards. Then they run into the church. The guards begin an advance but Enrico is quick to stop them, grabbing one of their swords, he must end this himself. Go through with the sick twisted fantasy of killing his own brother for the hand of darling.

"(Y/n), If my foolish brother weren't around to be the one with your heart would I?" he asks as he pursues them.

"I will kill Wes, I shall do whatever it takes" he yells.

Soon enough they're all at the top. Enrico is frantic, he's lost all composure and ultimately Wes is able to outsmart him. Enrico rushes towards him but goes over the balcony with only his brothers grip in his hand saving him.

"Father Pucci, please stop this!" Wes begs but Enrico refuses.

"I'd rather be damned to hell then conceded to you, my... no a snake like you" he hisses before he let's go. Plunging onto the fire bellow.