#her pride i guess the way she carries herself

[iichfilwypj]

☾ closest to the moon | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of selene! reader ღ warnings: none ღ wc: 482

Over the dark ocean at night and the starless sky, the great, dazzling source of light everyone adored was missing. The moon was nowhere to be seen.

Have you ever met one of those people who are obsessed with the moon? And I’m not talking about the typical ‘Oh, how beautiful it looks today’; no, I mean those who pray to it, who confide their secrets to it, and who promise eternal love to nothing but the moon.

She could definitely be considered one; after all, her mother was the goddess of the Moon herself. How could she not worship her? 

The night was warm as she was sitting between Percy’s leg, with her chest resting against his back and her hands tightly intertwined with his. She was talking about some stuff that Percy could no longer comprehend, her voice too soft to focus. 

“I want to read A Thousand Heartbeats” One of his hands moved gently to her forehead, sweeping her hair back and nudging her head softly so he could place tender kisses on the crown of her head. He left his lips there, gently resting against her skin, and her body relaxed so much into him that he thought they could be merging into one. “Or Pride and-”

“The ocean looks prettier with the moon reflected on it.” Her voice faded, and for a moment, he regretted interrupting her. But soon, she shifted in his lap, placing her hands on his thighs and staring at him with such intensity that Percy had no choice but to look away, focusing instead on the ocean stretching out before them. 

“You think so?” With one hand on his jaw, she guided his gaze back to hers. Percy searched for words, but none came. He nodded softly, moving his hands to rest on her lower back. Everything felt so intimate, so close. “I guess they do”

And when she rested her head against his chest, Percy understood it; he had become one of those people. His eyes were only for the moon; except his was nestled closely with him, her chest against his and her hands caressing his face, the touch so delicate he felt like dying.

He found himself holding her very firm, as if to keep her from escaping back to the sky where she belonged. His moon kept speaking about something he could no longer comprehend, her voice the softest and most beautiful of all the moons that ever existed.

One day, he said that if the moon ever fell from the sky, he’d be there, arms wide open, ready to catch it and willing to bear its weight. He had once promised his girlfriend that, to make her happy, he’d pull the moon down with his own hands –or, if she preferred, he’d carry her up to it himself.

It turned out that the moon had found her way to him all on her own.

hi hi hi! i don't know what thi is, i got a bit more deep or profound (i just learn that word i love it) also i am OBSESSED with the moon it's not even rational by now.

[linkspooky]

wip wednesday

Updated WIP for my Azulaang fic.

The worst part was that Aang had found her beautiful. Aang was suddenly forced to bear witness to a naked truth. Azula was a girl. Not only was she a girl, she was a beautiful girl.  Until now, he’d believed Azula hard and made of steel like a machine of war with a fire burning inside her. Now he saw her soft flesh.What he'd thought was a blazing inferno that burned everything that touched her was a gentle warmth that permeated her skin. The girl that had always been hiding underneath the fire nation black and red armor. A beautiful girl. 

It was tradition in this household to cleanse one’s body before being let into the spiritual archives. Aang respected tradition, even if spiritualism in the fire nation was different from the air nomads. 

(He also needed a bath, running away from conflict worked up quite a sweat). Step by step, he followed the little footpath of smooth, colorful pebbles under the luxuriant canopy of flowering wisteria blossoms until he found the entrance to the bath. Inside the changing room a low shelf carved from the bluestone had been placed to hold the bather’s clothes. In his eagerness to get into the water on a cold winter day (by fire nation standards) he failed to notice two other tubs packed with clothing sitting on the shelf. Aang took off his clothing, it was easy to get undressed with the simple way airbenders dressed. Imagine how many layers Zuko had to take off to bathe, especially with those huge shoulde roads.  He left his clothes in a wooden washtub, and after lifting the thin hemp curtain with one hand strode inside. 

Stream drifted through the air, it gently unfurled out from the pool, drifting slowly, filling every corner and crevice blurring his vision.  With that and the dim moonlight it was difficult to see more than a few shuka in front of you. It gave the baths a spiritual aura, like he’d stepped in the river that separated this world from the far shore.Flowers bloomed along the borders of the pool, their shed petals floated on the surface, and there was a small waterfall at the end of the pond for rinsing. 

It was pleasantly warm. Aang couldn't help the soft sigh of content that escaped him. He felt like a kid again bathing in the air temple hot springs with the other children. He let loose for a moment, extending his slender limbs and swimming all the way to the waterfall with a splash. 

Just as he rose from the water and wiped his face, he noticed someone was already showering in the surging waterfall with their back turned.

Lio. Aang should have known better to watch Lio from someplace unseen like a total stalker creep weirdo, but he stopped to watch their back as if possessed by some kind of spell. 

Their back was held tall and straight, the contours sharp and defined. But with the stars illuminating the steam Aang could make out countless scars, burn scars, and what looked to be whip marks on the center of their back. A body full of wounds. A body full of scars. So many it was impossible to find a piece of untouched flesh. 

There was no need to mention how much those wounds should hurt. 

Water fell down from above almost as if to cool off those burns, cascading over their body, rivulets gathering into a stream down the wide expanse of their back, down the valleys and peaks of their intricately carved muscles and finally into the divet between their buttocks. The water seemed infatuated with their body, clinging to them in a light stream that was loath to part. 

Lio’s head turned halfway to meet Aang’s gaze, just as Aang jerked his head up to preserve some of Lio’s dignity, “Hey, Aangie have you come to do some naked male bonding?”

“My best features are my back and my butt? What do you think, Aangie?”

Lio said , strode out from under the waterfall and pressed his hands on the rock wall blocking everything behind his massive back from view. 

That back took up Aang’s entire view. Their hair had grown out and fell in black, wild tangles just past their shoulder. Those shoulder blades slid down the small of their back. Aang’s esys followed the downward curve of their spine, their full and firm buttocks, and eyes ficxed on those fair plump curves for a moment because his head jerked up again. . “I think you are uh, very attractive, and you are connvingly using your attractiveness to try to distract me from asking about how you got that scar on your back.”

“Oh, I was a naughty boy and I was whipped before I was banished. It’s nothing… compared to the trouble I caused Li and my family back then it was absolutely nothing.” .” 

“Your pain isn’t nothing.” “Haha, what pretty words. Did the airbenders teach you to talk that way, or are you just that cheesy naturally?” Lio noticed Aang’s wince at the mention of the airbenders, “I’m sorry, Aangie, baby. I’m a bad, rude man. I just don’t like you looking at me like I’m some poor dying animal you found on the side of the road.” 

Lio’ s shoulder’s rose and fell, as they heaved a sigh. They weren’t some broken thing, it was easy to see the lean strength in those lines. Those shoulder blades were strong and massive, moving beneath the scarred skin. 

At that moment all Aang could think of was how adult Lio looked, even though they were only two years older. It wasn’t just the enormous height, it was the comfort they displayed wearing their own body, it was enough to make Aang feel like a fucking child in comparison. 

Graceful Lio suddenly gracelessly lost their balance and fell a step back from the wall. Lio quickly turned around, still hiding something behind their back, “I’m sorry Aangie, can we continue this conversation later? I thought we could bond in our nakedness, but human relationships aren’t so simple.”

Aang caught sight of it then, a smaller, curvier figure trying to slip away into the steam just then. Oh. Li mentioned Lio wanted to get married. Aang walked in on both of them in the bath. Mix gender bathing was normal in the fire nation, he told himself. Completely normal.

He caught sight of a feminine figure through the steam turning to leave. He didn’t initially recognize her - because under normal circumstances, that girl would never do something as ungraceful as stumbling and falling face first into the pool, sending a spray of water into the air. 

“Lazuli, watch your step.” One hand around Azula’s arm, Lio supported her from behind. The difference in their heights was such that their breath puffed against Azula’s ear as they lowered their head to speak, “If you’re not careful you might just fall for me.” 

“Cough, cough.” Azula inadvertently swallowed a mouthful of water in her panic. Swallowing bathwater she became indignant and disgusted discarding all appearance of calm composure, scrambling and flailing as she tried to find her footing.

Aang saw Azula, it was the closest he’d ever seen her, she looked quite different than when she had appeared on the opposite side of a battlefield. Aang saw Azula, but his brain refused to process the image. He wanted to ask what she was doing here, but it got stuck in his throat. He suddenly felt pathetic and spineless. Silence only continued to fan the flames of the situation. 

Aula naked and exposed. When people shed their clothes and exposed themselves they usually exposed their inner ugliness, but Azula was different.

He couldn’t look away. Even though his brain registered she was naked. When people shed their clothes and exposed themselves they usually exposed their inner ugliness, but Azula was different. The horrfiyng part, of this situation wasn’t that he’d humiliated Azula completely by accident. No, the true horror had been something that should not have even been possible. Something that would make a clown like Lio laugh.  The unsettling horror of it all was that Aang had found her beautiful.

Aang was suddenly forced to bear witness to a naked truth. Azula was a girl. Not only was she a girl, she was a beautiful girl. 

Until now, he’d believed Azula hard and made of steel like a machine of war with a fire burning inside her. Now he saw her soft flesh. The girl that had always been hiding underneath the fire nation army. 

A beautiful girl. It wasn’t something as perverted as being attracted to her naked body, it was just seeing the naked truth finally in front of his eyes, that Azula was a girl not yet fully mature barely older than him. Though it was sacreligious to compare her to Katara, it was like the first time he woke up to Katara’s face. It was different from Katara though, because she was lacking many of the qualities one would typically ascribe to ‘beauty’. 

When she was fourteen years old she was certainly eye catching in a dangerous way. Now she’d lost a lot of her ‘beauty’ from when she was fourteen. He wouldn’t call her skin pale in a way that evoked purity, or compare it to porcelain, she looked almost physically ill. She wasn’t thin, or lithe, but emaciated. There were dark rings that eclipsed her sun-colored eyes. She was like a plucked flower withering away within a bell jar, and yet, there was something about her. Something so… 

“Why are you staring, avatar? Have you not gone any farther than hand holding with your little water tribe girlfriend?” Something so…“...Beautiful.” 

He should not have said it. He should not have acknowledged that feeling. These were feelings he wasn’t supposed to have because Azula was… well, Azula. 

“What is it…? Speak clearly, don’t mumble, and look into the eyes of the person you’re talking to.” “Err… beautiful…” “Is your mouth broken? Oh no, I believe I broke the avatar. Again.” He confessed again. “I’m staring because you’re beautiful.” “You’re right, I am beautiful. I guess your eyes aren’t broken.” She was… She was definitely still Azula. Whatever had happened in the three months since he last saw her hadn’t changed her fundamental “Azula-Ness.” Then his sight of Azula was cut off as Lio pulled Azula close to them, stepping in front of her to obscure most of Aang’s view. 

Aang had several questions, but the first one that jumped to mind when he saw the two of them acting so close was, “Why are you bathing with Lio?”

“Mixed bathing is normal, and besides I’d never stare at a girl to make her uncomfortable. I’m a beautiful girl myself, and you don’t know how many creeps have stared at me, ” Lio said. 

That’s right, mixed bathing was normal in fire nation culture Aang reminded himself for the thousandth time. 

Bathing under the stars. Girls and boys together. No tension there whatsoever. Nope, not at all. 

Azula looked at Aang, “There’s nothing untoward about bathing with my betrothed.” “...Your betrothed.” “Yes.” “You’re getting married?” “Yes.” “To who?” “To Lio.” “You’re getting married to Lio.” “Can you not hear me? I thought those big ears of yours would at least be good for listening.” 

“Are my ears too big? Why didn’t anyone tell me? Were they just trying to be nice?” He was suddenly, very self conscious about the size of his ears but that was besides the point. “Why are you getting married to Lio?” “I fail to see how it’s any business of yours.” That’s right it wasn’t any business of his. 

So, why did he care? 

[punkitt-is-here]

Had to write a three-page screenplay script for a "Discovery" for class. Didn't have any further instructions. It's super off-the-cuff, but I wanted to share it. Happy pride <3

INT. COLLEGE DORM - NIGHT.

A college student sits at his desk, sketching. It's a one room apartment, and his roommate is sound asleep. He's sketching in the light of a single lamp, being quiet. The student, GABE (male, 19) is drawing a cartoon version of himself. He's studying outfits from a fashion catalogue, drawing himself in different ones. He bites the tip of his pencil, not feeling the piece he's working on. He rolls his chair back, reeling away from the desk. Gabe puts his hands in his hair, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. He lets out a long exhale. It's late.

After a moment, he rolls back to the desk. Tapping the pencil to his head, he flips through the pages. It's an unremarkable task, stopping on a random page. Oh, the women's fashion section. It has simple, practical outfits for girls, including a jean skirt. Gabe peers at it. Fuck it, it's late. He erases the pants of one of his drawings and pencils in a skirt instead.

He pauses.

He stares at it.

Something here is weird.

He goes to erase it, but once he does, he just draws it in again. This time with more care. More detail. He stares at it again.

Tears well up in his eyes.

GABE

(whispering)

…what the fuck?

Gabe, confused, touches his hand to his eye. He looks at the tear on his finger. Huh? He stares at the drawing again. He looks back at his roommate, sound asleep. He's having some sort of moment, but he has to be quiet. He frantically looks back at his sketchbook.

GABE

(whispering)

Uh…

A beat.

Gabe starts drawing himself again. In the women's fashion this time. It's like a whole different world. He's drawing like crazy. It's all flowing out of him. He draws another.

And another. Slowly, details start to adjust in his art.

Longer hair. Longer eyelashes. Daintier poses. More smiles.

He's got tears running down his face, but he's not wearing any emotion. He's not sure what to think.

CUT TO

An indeterminate amount of time later. Gabe stares at his notebook. It's full. It's lots of drawings of him.

As…well, he guesses as a girl. But he's not one. He flips through the book again, then turns towards the dark window his desk resides next to. He looks at himself. Patchy facial hair and a shaggy haircut.

CUT TO

INT. DORM HALLWAY - NIGHT

Gabe rushes down the hallway, looking frantic. He's carrying a bag.

INT. DORM BATHROOM - NIGHT

It's quiet inside the bathroom. No one else occupies the space. It's just him and his reflection. His reflection? Maybe their reflection. Her reflection? No, that's not right. Is it right? Gabe stares at himself intently. The whirring of a trimmer cuts through the silence. He brings it up to his facial hair, shearing away a week's worth of fuzz.

He looks at himself like it's not him in the mirror. He holds a hand up to his face, feeling it.

It's not enough. Not yet. He has to know.

He gets out his phone and starts typing.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFHG

He frantically types, misspelling. He backspaces like his life depends on it.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFF ALL

THE WAY

He quickly scans an article and then gets to work, pulling some miscellaneous bathroom supplies out of his bag. Shaving cream. A razor. Gifts for cleaning up at college. He wets his face. Applies the shaving cream. Does careful strokes down his cheeks and neck. Slowly, someone reveals themselves.

They lean down, splashing themselves with water. They look up, and it's a different person. She's completely shaved her facial hair off. Gabe hasn't seen herself like this since she was in freshman year of high school, before facial hair was even an option. She reaches up and touches her face, smooth to the touch. She stares, enamored. A moment. She grabs a towel and dries her face off, and then looks again. She's so…different. But that's her! That's Gabe! Is it Gabe? She doesn't know anymore. A close up to her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. Her neck. It's all so new. She starts laughing. She laughs, and tears well up in her eyes a little. She laughs some more. In moments, she's full on crying tears of joy. She doesn't know why. But she is! That's her!

CUT TO

INT. SECONDHAND - DAY

Gabe is at a clothing rack, searching for something. She looks around, a little embarrassed. She browses for a moment before finding what she wants. She passes by some more racks carefully, trying not to be too obvious. She slips into the changing room, then locks the door.

GABE

…okay.

Gabe unbuckles her belt. In a moment, she's wearing black leggings. She hikes them up, then unclips a gaudy skirt from the clothes-hanger. She stares at it, a little scared of it and what it represents. She bites her lip. She stretches it out and then steps in. She looks up at the mirror.

Oh shit, that's her! That's her!

Gabe is wearing a long, patterned skirt and a tee-shirt. The colors don't match at all, and the patterns don't either.

She looks a bit like a yard sale of a person. But it's her!

She spins around, watching the fabric flow out from her hips in a whirlwind of stripes and insignia. She laughs again.

This is her! This is her!

This is her!

[chestharrington]

Girls On Film || Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Steve's absentee parents gift him a camcorder for graduation. What better way to find out how it works than making a sex tape?

Couple: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Content Warnings: explicit smut (f!receiving oral, handjob, p in v sex ft. girl on top), sex on camera, filming a sex tape, lovey-dovey adorable dorks in love

Word Count: 3.7k

Your heart soared with pride as Steve walked off the football field towards you, wearing a goofy-looking gown and graduation cap. As soon as he reached you, he lifted you up and gave you a tiny spin, smiling ear to ear. 

“You’re looking at a college grad,” he said with a smug smile after he put you down. You beamed at him as he lifted his hand and showed off the shiny gold class ring. “I’m never taking this thing off.”

You grinned, tugging at the graduation gown. “What about this thing? You willing to take this off for me?” You smiled wryly and pressed a kiss on his cheek. 

A throat cleared behind you both and you turned, looking at the party and Robin standing with various levels of disgust evident on their faces. 

Robin wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Keep it in your pants, please. Or, I guess keep it in your large, nylon zippy robe.” She squeezed between you and kissed Steve on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Steve.”

Dustin stepped forward next and gave Steve a big hug— he’d hit a growth spurt since you last saw him and was nearly as tall as Steve. Lucas, Will, and Mike all offered their congratulations combined with complaints about how boring the ceremony was after they got through the H last names. 

Max crossed her arms as El wheeled her over, trying her best to be nonchalant. “I can’t see you, but I know you look dumb in that stupid hat.” Steve gave a fake laugh, took the hat from his head, and placed it on hers. “Ew, it’s all sweaty, you jerk.” She smiled despite herself and held the hat against her chest.

Steve wrinkled his nose in a way that told you he was trying his best not to cry. You knew it meant a lot to him that they’d shown up. 

“Why don’t we all go for lunch?” You suggested. “My treat.” Not wanting the reunion to end, and not wanting to turn down a free lunch, everyone piled into their cars and headed to Steve’s favorite place.

When you and Steve got into his car, you were greeted by the shrill sound of his car phone ringing. With a furrowed brow, he reached over and retrieved the bulky device from its bag and answered. Even from across the car, you could hear the tinny noise of his mother speaking on the phone. 

“Yeah, the ceremony is over,” he said, jaw ticking. “I sent you both the invitation two months ago.” He looked over with an exasperated look, so you grabbed his hand to give a comforting squeeze. “Well, we’re all going to lunch if you can make it.”

You frowned, but didn’t say anything. Despite their apparent lack of care, you knew that he valued their approval and time.

“Oh. Right, I understand.” He sighed deeply. “Well, I appreciate it. Okay. Okay, bye.”

He hung up and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “They, uh, they got double booked. They’re in Buffalo for a conference right now.”

Your gaze softened at the sight of his disappointed expression. “I know they’re proud of you, Steve.” He nodded, but didn’t look entirely convinced. You pulled the hand intertwined with yours up and placed a soft kiss on his knuckles.

————

When you arrived at your shared condo, you were greeted by a gift-wrapped box on the porch. You had to help him carry it in through the door, huffing as you both dropped it onto your coffee table. 

Steve shrugged off the graduation gown he was wearing and kneeled to unwrap the present. A large card taped to the top revealed the senders, as if that were in question. 

“To our firstborn son— congratulations! Love, Mr and Mrs Harrington.” The emotionless text almost made you grimace. You’d never read something more blatantly written by a personal assistant in your life. 

“Jesus,” he muttered as he tore away the wrapping to reveal the gift. “This thing must’ve cost a fortune.” You glanced over as he held up a plastic case and found nothing that might have revealed its contents. 

“What is it?” You asked, kneeling down beside him and leaning in close. He popped open the case and held up a hulking piece of machinery. 

“It’s a camcorder,” he said with a grin. “It’s the best one on the market.”

You raised your eyebrows and tried not to ask what he even needed one of those for. Video cameras were for new parents and aspiring filmmakers, not college grads.

Your own gift felt tiny in comparison, even though you’d been saving for a few months to afford it. Between rent for you and Steve’s condo, groceries, and gas for your cars, it wasn’t easy to have expendable cash to buy nice gifts with. 

You stayed quiet as Steve marveled at the fancy gift, holding it up to his face like he was testing how it looked through the viewfinder. 

“Gorgeous,” he said, peeking out at you. “I think I found my muse.” You scoffed and covered the camera with your hand even though it wasn’t charged. 

“Plug it in and we’ll see how it works later,” you said. “For now… I have a gift for you.”

He sat up, wearing a grin. “Is it lingerie? Is it dinner at The Olive Garden? Is it a bubble bath?” He leaned in and nipped at your jaw teasingly. “C’mon, tell me—“

You giggled as he pinned you down on the rug, peppering kisses on your cheeks. “Steveeee,” you groaned. He finally stopped, hovering over you. “You’re such a spoiled brat.” That made him grin even more. He pecked your lips chastely, then sat back on his knees. 

You scrambled to stand up and grinned. “Stay there, alright?” He nodded and you disappeared into your shared bedroom. 

Hidden away in your bedside table was a glass trinket box you’d thrifted a few months ago. It was shaped like a heart, with little gold foil embellishments. You couldn’t leave without it. You knew the real gift was inside, but you still hoped that Steve would like the box. 

Steve was fiddling with the camera when you stepped back into the living room, trying his best to plug it in to charge. When he saw you, though, he smiled and sat down on the couch, waiting for you to join him. 

“It isn’t much,” you insisted as you handed it over. “I hope you like it though.”

He smiled and nudged your cheek with his nose. “Are you joking? This is adorable. I love it. I’m gonna keep all my important stuff in here.”

You smiled and shook your head. “Babe, open it.” He looked sheepish as he lifted the lid, then his expression softened. You watched with a fluttering in your chest as he lifted the chain from the box.

It took months to save up for real gold, and then for the pendants after. Two initials— his and yours. “If you don’t like it, I can take it back and get something you actually w—“ 

 He cut you off with a quick kiss that made your head spin. “It’s perfect. Best gift I’ve ever gotten, hands down. And one year I got Yankees tickets behind the plate for my birthday.” He was quick to put it on, smiling over at you. “How do I look?”

You pecked his cheek. “A million bucks, babe.” He leaned in and gave you a real kiss— deep and intense. You smiled against his lips and melted into his touch. You’d never loved someone the way you loved him. 

“Wanna know what’s crazy?” He said after he pulled away. You nodded and he gestured towards the bedroom. “I bought you something too. Stay here.”

You sat patiently as he got up and hurried into the bedroom. You heard scuffling and the sounds of moving drawers until he returned, holding a wooden box. 

“Your gift is inside this, by the way,” he teased as he sat back beside you. You watched him with anticipation until he flipped it open and your heart stopped. 

“So, uh, I got you jewelry too,” he said softly, or maybe your ears were just ringing. 

Inside the box, nestled in the middle of a tiny silk pillow, was a diamond ring. 

Like, a diamond ring. The kind you get married with. 

“That’s—“

He nodded. “Yeah, it is,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “Will you marry me?”

In lieu of a verbal response, you put the ring on and kissed him like he was your one and only source of oxygen. It felt like it anyway— that if you parted from him even a little you’d cease to exist. 

“Yes?” He asked, smiling nervously. “That’s a yes?”

You kissed him again. “It’s a yes, Steve. I wanna marry you.”

———

Steve forgot about the video camera in the excitement of the engagement. Because he had to call Robin’s hotel and let her know, and then she spilled the news to the party, and suddenly it felt like everyone from Hawkins was in the tiny condo. 

After hours and hours of catching up and celebrating the day, you and Steve were left alone in a quiet house. 

“So… the future Mrs. Steve Harrington…” you turned and rolled your eyes at the sight of Steve holding the video camera that had been charging all night. “Anything you want to say to the camera on the night of our engagement?”

“How do you know I’m not keeping my last name?” You asked as he got closer, putting the lens right in your face. You giggled and ducked out of the way as the lens came close to knocking against your nose. “You’re such a child.”

He grinned. “Alright, give me something to remember this night by. For posterity, baby.”

You smiled wickedly at him before lifting the hem of your shirt, flashing your tits at him and the camera. By the time you lowered your shirt back down, his mouth was ajar. “We are never showing anyone this video now.”

You grinned. “Nuh-uh, baby, this is all for you.” You raised your brows in a challenge and stepped into the bedroom, leaving him to hurry behind you with the clunky machine. 

He stood in the doorway, camera focused on you as you slipped off your blouse and skirt. The whirring of machinery inside the camera indicated he was zooming in on your tits. You stifled a laugh at the noise as he zoomed out again, taking in all of you.

“Strip for me,” he directed behind the camera. You gave a wry grin as your thumbs slipped behind the waistband of your panties and dragged them down your legs slowly. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. Gonna put on a show for me?”

You settled on the bed on all fours, back arched as you crawled towards the headboard. Steve groaned at the sight, breath shuddering as you flipped around and spread your legs for him. Without needing instructions, you slipped one hand between your legs and let the other move to your chest, kneading your breast between your fingers. 

He moved from the doorway— the magnetic pull of you too much to resist for long. He settled at the end of the bed, the camera so close it made butterflies swell in your tummy. He moved the camera to your hands, one between your legs, teasing your clit and dipping into the pool of arousal at your center, and the other toying with your nipples, the shiny diamond on the engagement ring glinting with each small movement. 

“Christ, baby hold the camera—“ he said suddenly, passing it over to you. You laughed as he practically threw it into your hands and you had to scramble to turn it right side up. 

You laughed as he tore off his clothes, probably popping some buttons here and there. “Steve, what are you— oh!” 

Without hesitation, Steve buried his head between your thighs, moaning at the taste of your juices as he lapped at your pussy. It was a struggle to film him and enjoy the moment, especially since you had to watch him through the viewfinder. But something about capturing something so intimate on film made a thrill run through you. 

“Fuck, Steve—“ you moaned, being more vocal than you normally would for the camera. Fuck the neighbors, honestly. It was your engagement night! “Your mouth feels so good, honey.” 

His brown eyes peered up at you, at the camera, framed by pretty long lashes. His lips formed a seal around your clit and he sucked lightly, making your legs tremble. Your free hand moved to his hair, tangling in the soft locks as his mouth elicited gasps and moans. 

A slick sheen had formed on the tip of his nose, his mouth, and chin from his ministrations. The sight made heat bloom in the pit of your stomach. His eyes fluttered closed as he lost himself in you— relishing in your sounds, your smell, your taste. 

A light pat on your thigh was his wordless signal for you to move and accommodate him more. You acquiesced, spreading your legs as much as you were comfortably able to, and he let his fingertips tease at your center. 

“Relax for me, baby,” he said, his words vibrating against your clit. He gave the bundle of nerves a light kiss before he looked up at you. “I’ve got you. Just…” He pushed his middle finger into you and you moaned low in your throat, instinctively pushing back against the intrusion. “That’s it. Just like that.”

He was always so gentle with you during foreplay— taking his time to really explore every single spot that he knew made you tick. You shuddered as the pad of his finger pressed against a particularly sensitive spot within you. He knew you like the back of his hand— probably better. He slid a second finger beside the first, coaxing moans and gasps from you as he gave all his attention to your clit and g-spot.

Your thighs trembled as you fought the instinct to close them around his head, the stimulation bordering on too much. The softness of his mouth on you, the press of his fingers against the most sensitive spot inside— making you cum was simply too easy for him. You barely had time to gasp out a breathy “I’m cumming—“ before your orgasm hit you. Your walls gripped his fingers like a vise as he worked you through it, muttering praise against your cunt before he withdrew his fingers completely. 

You stared at the ceiling, trying to find your breath. “C’mere. It's your turn,” you said with a grin. 

Steve simply shook his head. “Not done.” He moved his mouth back to your cunt, this time without the hungry ferocity. You sighed at the sensation, your legs twitching when the tip of his tongue brushed against your clit. His movements lost purpose with each pass of his tongue until he was practically making out with your pussy.

Your head fell back against the pillows, soft gasps slipping past your lips. Steve moaned against you as you tugged his hair, a furrow forming between his brows. So utterly lost in you that he hadn’t even noticed that he was rutting against the bed for friction. 

“C’mere,” you said softly. He pressed a final, wet kiss to your pussy before resting his head on the plush of your thigh. Your stomach flipped as he licked his lips, chasing those last remnants of your taste. He pressed a soft kiss to your belly before crawling up to meet you.

The kiss you shared was hungry and slow. The camera was shoved to the side so you could put your mouth on his— tongues meeting, the tang of your arousal and his spit flooding your senses. 

A low moan escaped his lips as your hand snaked between your two bodies, where you took his length into your hand and stroked slowly. His mouth fell open, a small furrow between his brows. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. You smiled up at him innocently and let your thumb glide across his tip. A full-body shiver overtook him, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. Steve was easy to love all the time, but especially when he was needy. “Switch spots with me.” When you furrowed your brows he nodded towards the camera. “Please?”

When he sat back on his heels, you moved from beneath him and let him settle with his back against the pillows. You were slightly annoyed that he had control of the camera, because goddamn. His thighs were bowed out slightly, cock resting against his stomach. The sight made your heart hammer as you straddled his thighs.

Steve took the camera back into his hands, a wide smile on his face. “Alright, just do what you were doing,” he instructed. “Left hand though.”

You glanced down at your hand and smiled softly. The engagement ring— your engagement ring— glinted up at you. You spit onto your hand and Steve groaned at the sight. 

“Haven’t even touched you yet,” you teased.

“Don’t let me stop you.” His voice wavered, revealing just how needy he really was.

He cried out the moment your hand wrapped around his length, head tossed back against the headboard. His cock pulsed in your hand as it glided up and down, aching for more. You leaned down, spitting onto his tip, giving you more slickness to work with. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, his chest heaving. You moved your right hand to his balls, kneading them as you focused your attention on the head. “Jesus, look at that fuckin’ rock, huh?”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled wryly. “That’s what you’re thinking about? Not— y’know— the handjob to end all handjobs?” To prove your point, you twisted your hand and let your thumb glide over his slit. He practically whimpered, bucking into your grip. 

You redoubled your efforts, relishing in each desperate, whiny noise you were able to elicit. He was getting close— you could feel it in the way he throbbed in your hand, and hear it in the desperate pants and moans passing his lips. Before he could finish, you slowed your pace and let him come back from the edge. 

He sat there, arm slung over his eyes, just catching his breath. “Earth to Steve?” You teased, placing a kiss on his tummy. He made a low noise in the back of his throat and took another deep breath. 

“Okay, I’m good,” he said, a breathy laugh escaping his lips as he finally lowered his arm and looked at you. “Just needed a minute so I didn’t—“ You giggled as he mimed an explosion, completely unabashed about the effect you had on him. 

He grabbed the camera and placed it on the bedside table, doing his best to angle it just right. “Alright… wanna take a ride on the Harrington Express?” He patted his thighs with a smug expression and you groaned in annoyance. 

“Steve.”

“Fine. I’ll be so cool. I’ll be totally normal. But just know… you’re marrying a loser.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly as you straddled his thighs. “I wouldn’t have it any other way… most of the time.”

He stared up at you like you hung the moon, all doe eyes and heart-shaped pupils. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, tender and slow, and you hummed contentedly at the feeling. 

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips. He moved one of your hands from his shoulder and down to his chest, where his heart thumped steadily. For you.

Your own heart lurched in your chest as a swell of emotions overtook you. “I love you too, Steve.”

You reached between the two of you, taking his cock into your hand so you could position him at your entrance. You breathed slowly through your nose as you sank down— the prep and attention he had given you made the stretch comfortable and bearable, so all you felt was the pleasurable full feeling that he gave you.

Once you were fully seated, you gave an experimental roll of your hips. A moan escaped you at the feeling— as each tiny movement made delicious electricity run along your nerves. 

He sat up fully, his chest pressing against yours, holding you firmly against him. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned, cutting himself off to plant wet kisses along your jaw and throat. “Feels so good. Love the way your pussy feels around me.”

He cried out as you began to ride him in earnest, not caring how thin the walls of the condo were. His hands gripped onto your hips and dimpled the plush skin there as he began to meet your thrusts with his own. With each movement, you could feel him getting deeper until you could practically feel him in your guts. 

“Steve,” you gasped out, meeting his gaze as he fucked up into you. The sound of his name seemed to spur him on.

“Say it again,” he demanded. “Touch yourself while you do,”

You whimpered at the tone of his voice, snaking a hand between your bodies to toy with your clit. Your limbs felt like jelly as he continued to fuck the life and brains out of you. “St-Steve, fuck, baby,” you cried between the hiccup-y sobs of pleasure that were punched from your lungs.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight. Not gonna last like this.”

“Don’t,” you managed. “Cum for me. With me.” You leaned in and kissed him in a way that felt like more saliva than lips. 

When you pulled back, he nodded, forehead pressed against yours as you both worked each other over the edge. Your vision was spotted with pinpricks of light while he worked you through it, his moans distant in your ears. 

You were both panting, nearly tacked together with sweat as you came down. You chuckled lightly as you tilted your head to look at him. “That was one hell of a celebration.” He intertwined your fingers and placed a kiss on your ring finger. 

“And we have the rest of our lives to do it again, and again, and again, and ag—“ 

You shut him up with a kiss. You figure that for the rest of your lives, that’s always going to work. 

It does.

[solelifauna]

So this NOT to imply the writing is bad

But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser

Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?

Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used

Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael

(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)

Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.

Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.

Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.

Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.

He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.

Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.

Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.

He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.

Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.

"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.

It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.

For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”

The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.

Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.

With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.

You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.

Finally, one of your spells strikes true.

The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.

You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.

But the celebration is short-lived.

Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.

“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”

With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.

You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.

The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.

You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.

Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.

Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.

“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.

You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.

You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”

You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”

You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.

The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.

“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”

“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.

“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”

Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.

“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.

You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.

“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?

Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.

Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”

You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.

Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.

The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.

You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.

“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.

You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.

“We’re not done here.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.

Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.

“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.

He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”

His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”

His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?

“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”

Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”

“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.

“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”

He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.

You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”

Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”

Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.

“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”

Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.

For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.

-

As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.

Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.

What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?

Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.

How did you get so far away?

He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.

Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.

But the moment is fleeting.

He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.

Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.

"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”

Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.

"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"

"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”

That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.

"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."

"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"

A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.

"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”

Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”

“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.

Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.

Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”

With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.

Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.

He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.

Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.

[talesofesther]

scorch marks | ch 3

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: Wednesday has been careful to keep what you two have behind closed doors and far away from labels; but when someone starts to take it — take you — away from her, she realizes how much she cares.

A/N: I'm not sure if I'm completely happy with how this turned out, but that's my life nowadays. And I wanted to post this for you guys before I leave for my little trip for new years, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, I think I ended up writing this one exclusively from Wednesday's pov lol. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 2 here

Human emotions were a strange, bothersome thing. Love could make you kill just as much as anger; ambition could make you get down on one knee to pledge your devotion to someone just as much as love.

They can get in the way of a clear mind, making you say or do something that would come back to torture you later.

That was probably their most devious power. And they lead to feelings; that are messy and unstable.

Wednesday prided herself on having control over them, not the other way around. Or at least she did. Because recently she has been victim to so many, that she didn't have the stomach to keep count.

She remembers the coldness of the rain against her skin as she walked away from Weathervane — away from you — it was pleasant and comforting; a safe blanket as the droplets trickled down her forehead all the way to her chin and hid the few stray tears that escaped her.

Her steps had been fast in desperation to get away. Her throat closed so tightly that she thought having someone choking her would be more bearable. Her heart beating so painfully, that maybe a bullet would've been more merciful.

She walked, and walked, and walked; her feet carrying her to school without realizing it. She was soaked when she stepped into her dorm, making puddles of water with each step she took. She remembers Enid talking, but the words were blurred.

Wednesday had made a beeline to the shower, turning it on with a temperature colder than the rain she had just escaped from.

Some say the second time around is more bearable. This certainly wasn't the case for her.

It was the day Wednesday put an end to whatever was happening between you and her. The day where she hated the most that she was forced to feel her own emotions.

The week that followed wasn't an improvement either.

Your words kept replaying in Wednesday's mind like a broken record; this is not a date, and please can we talk?

What would you have said, had she cared to listen?

Wednesday sat in front of her typewriter every day, staring at the blank paper and being unable to fill it. She'd hit a stump, because maybe she'd never know what you would have said.

You passed by each other in Nevermore's hallways as if you were just two strangers in the street, never to cross paths again. When you stood on one side of the bee keeper's shed, Wednesday stayed in the far opposite one, and if she so much as tried coming closer, you'd drop whatever it was you were doing and walk away. Even if Enid asked, you didn't come to her dorm anymore, prompting the werewolf to ask questions even though she could guess the answer.

Wednesday didn't know it was possible to miss someone this much. She caught herself tracing the lines of her own palm in a motion that was yours to make, brushing the corner of her lips in the place that was yours to kiss. And as much as she hated this feeling with all her might, hated you for forcing it into her, she couldn't chase it away.

It was so sadistically ironic that Wednesday kept you at arm's length in order to avoid attachment and loss, and that's exactly what she got. Maybe this is what Goody was trying to warn her about, that no matter the road she takes, the end will always be the same.

—

Today was a friday, ten days and four hours since the last time Wednesday spoke with you, since she replicated a damn drama cliche with her pitiful walk in the rain. Not that she was keeping count.

She sat at one of the tables on the quad, Enid at her side talking about something she wasn't listening to. The day was gray, morbidly so as the clouds loomed above, dark and cold in a way that Wednesday would've loved if it wasn't for you.

You who sat at the other end of the quad, putting as many tables and obnoxiously loud students between you and Wednesday as you could. You who looked so undeniably beautiful under the shadows. You who was smiling, happy as you laughed with your friends and spared no glances into the crowd to look for anyone.

Were you happier without her?

Wednesday sucked in a sharp breath at the mere thought of it, her lower lip quivering slightly as she exhaled, before she averted her eyes from you with a blink.

She turned to Enid only to find the girl's bright eyes already on her, a knowing smirk on her pink lips; "I won't even ask if you were listening."

"I got bored after the word shopping," Wednesday stated, raising an eyebrow that got Enid rolling her eyes.

"And because you were stalking our resident pretty girl," Enid teased, bumping Wednesday's shoulder with hers.

It was a truth that Wednesday countered with a lie; "I only stalk people who are hiding something or who have something I want, she doesn't fit on any of those."

Enid slumped on her seat, resting her head on her hands as she looked at Wednesday, "you can't keep doing this, Wednesday."

"Doing what?"

"Pretending like you don't care," Enid says then, with the frustration of someone who's just seen their favorite couple from a tv show hit another almost.

"Why would you assume the opposite?" Wednesday asks irritatedly.

Enid gives her best friend a look that could only be read as seriously? before she sits up straighter; "you two went from hanging out in the dorm for hours and sneaking out when you think no one's watching, to staying on different sides of the school and avoiding each other like the plague. Even you have to feel that change."

But I don't want to; Wednesday thinks to herself. Her only response is to look away.

With a sigh, Enid softens; "why won't you just tell her the truth?" She asks gently. The werewolf doesn't know the full story, and when her roommate ignores her questions and neither you nor Yoko will talk, gossip can only do so much; but even a blind person can see that whatever happened, hurt both of you.

Wednesday frowns; "what truth?"

"That you have feelings for her, silly. Like, genuinely more than friends feelings." There's an excited smile on Enid's lips as she says it, eyes glinting with the prospect of a love story.

"That's a horrible idea," Wednesday's face does something complicated, as if she's sorting on how to feel about this — or tasted something sour. "Besides, you know what happened the last time I did something remotely close to that."

And just like that, the muddy waters start to clear, the fog starts to dissipate and Enid understands what is happening — if just a little better.

The blonde reaches out a hand to Wednesday's forearm, squeezing softly; "Wednesday, this is Y/N we're talking about, she's not gonna turn into a murderous monster and break your heart."

Wednesday visibly gulps, her jaw painfully clenched as she felt uncharacteristically small under Enid's gaze.

"Plus I thought you'd be into the whole potential heartbreak thing." Enid teases, fighting back a grin, to which Wednesday can only mumble back;

"Not nearly as fun as I thought it'd be."

Switching her gaze between you and the raven-haired girl by her side, Enid hums; "want my advice?"

"No."

"I'd take my chances if I were you, because I know she genuinely cares about you. A lot."

There was something about the way Wednesday dropped her shoulders slightly, about the way she stole another glance at you as if you had just bought a one-way ticket to another country. It was that bittersweet feeling of a good thing that came to its end way too early.

Enid felt like crying.

"I'm afraid I'm too late, Enid."

—

It wasn't until dinner time — and after much, much insistence from Enid — that Wednesday decided to try and mend her mistake.

The cafeteria was already filled with students when she arrived, in true Nevermore fashion, the place was big and ancient; a meticulously decorated stone-walled room with tables and a kitchen area. Werewolves, Enid's brothers probably, were making a scene near the kitchen; there were gorgons and sirens playing a card game on one of the tables; and you sat with the vampires, with Yoko by your side no less.

Wednesday felt curious eyes on her, undoubtedly her peers wondering why she'd been staring unmoving for so long. A deep breath passed through her lips as she begrudgingly swallowed her pride and took the first step, her boots thudding against the stone floor.

With each of her steps, she repeated the words in her head; can we talk? Do you still wish to talk? Or would it be better, I need to talk with you?

Wednesday decides that fighting a murderous monster would be infinitely easier.

Your eyes locked in on her figure before she even reached you, and Wednesday smiled, a tiny tilt of lips that only you would notice; but you looked away from her before it happened.

Did people care about each other only because they enjoyed the pain that comes with it?

Something akin to panic fluttered inside Wednesday's stomach when you got up from your seat, reaching for your backpack and muttering a few goodbyes to your friends as you walked between the tables. The Addams girl quickened her steps, almost bumping into Bianca and not bothering to turn around when the siren called her out on it.

Wednesday just about managed to stop in front of you before you left for the doors.

Is this what you felt on that day?

Your eyes closed with a sigh, your hands were buried deep in your pockets and there was a rigidness to your shoulders. You were nervous, and even if it wasn't the right time, Wednesday was proud of herself for knowing it.

But having you this close again after so long — not really, ten days aren't that long, yet Wednesday hates that it felt like ages — has its downsides.

Wednesday couldn't speak. The only thing she needed to do, and her words are stuck. Feelings are a pain in the ass to deal with.

Yoko stood by your side, arms crossed over her chest; "do you have anything to say or what?"

She's protective, Wednesday doesn't blame her for it anymore.

Yes, she should say. There's a glint of hope in your eyes when you look at her; Wednesday finds herself wanting to reach out, but she's not sure she's allowed to anymore. She wonders if you missed her as much as she misses you.

"No," is what she says, and it's quite painful.

—

It's well into the night when Wednesday makes her way back to her dorm, the stairs creaking under her boots, a half-moon shining high on the sky being the only source of light.

her insides are twisting with a mix of rage, frustration, self-pity, and something else that's just heavy.

She pushed open the door to her dorm only to find it empty. Enid's bed is unmade and Wednesday's typewriter still has a blank page on it.

Enid had texted Wednesday earlier, something about going out with Ajax and not coming back too soon. The solitude was well appreciated, it gave the Addams girl some much-needed peace to work on her novel. The only problem is that her mind was nowhere near peaceful.

The first thing that caught Wednesday's attention after she walked in was the potted cactus by her window, it looked a little sad, its soil all dry and the color not as green as it should be. Wednesday didn't think twice as she walked to her bathroom, filling a cup with water and gently emptying it into the plant's pot. At least of that part of you, she'd take good care of.

She took off her hoodie next, throwing it on top of her bed. It was pathetic that the simple action got her thinking of you too, of when you'd lounge on there talking nonsense with Thing while she wrote.

How could one person hold so much power over another was beyond Wednesday, especially because she didn't allow it; it just happened. It happened that she kissed you out of impulse, just because she couldn't die without knowing what your lips felt like; or that she kept calling on you more and more after that, feeling a hole in her chest whenever you were away for too long.

It just happened that she fell for you, and maybe it was inevitable, maybe you'd be her doom. But it was her choice to push you away, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't the one thing she regretted the most.

There was a knock on Wednesday's door that snapped her mind back to reality. She turned around, frowning as she stared at the dark wooden thing, wondering who would seek her out this late in the night.

Honestly? Wednesday should've seen it coming as soon as Enid suggested she should talk with you. She should've known.

She swung open the door only to reveal you on the other side, in plaid pajama pants and a white shirt, hugging yourself because of the coldness of the empty hallways.

Your posture went rigid as soon as your eyes found Wednesday's, it got her wondering if you forgot this was her dorm, if you knocked on the wrong door by accident.

"Hello," Wednesday said as she looked at you, features impassive, her hand tightening around the door handle until her knuckles turned white.

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip before you spoke; "Enid texted me, said you needed help with something. That it was an emergency," you gulped, diving into over-explanation, "and that she wasn't here, so she asked if I could…" You trailed off, your fingers nervously tapping your arm.

Oh. Maybe her roommate wasn't too far off when she said you cared. It was rare the times where anyone would be able to easily read Wednesday's emotions. This was one of them and it wasn't a surprise that you were the cause.

There was a glint to Wednesday's eyes that belonged to you, her features softened in a blink — no more creases to her eyebrows and lips parting in vain when her words got tangled on her tongue — it was the calmness after a raging storm.

Wednesday used to mock the people who spoke about soulmates, about the invisible red string that few ones were lucky enough to find the other end of. But could there ever be any other explanation for the way you set her at ease?

She nodded once, stepping aside so you could walk in.

You were hesitant in the way you did so, as if you didn't belong, and Wednesday hated it — because you did belong, right here by her side. You stood in the middle of her dorm, right between the division of colors to blankness on the round window.

The air felt electric around you. Wednesday chanced a step closer, her gaze casting over every twitch of your expressions; "I do," she started, and a beat passed as she refused to take the last chance to back down and let you go, "I do have something to say."

You scoffed, "that doesn't sound like an emergency," but there was no bite to your tone, almost as if you wanted her to object.

"It is," Wednesday told you, allowing the affection she held for you to drip from every syllable. One more chance, that's all she needed, and maybe she’d tell you just what it is that you do to her.

"Okay."

You had a kindness to you that she was underserving of, Wednesday thought. But maybe she could work her way to it. She raised her chin, striving to keep her heartbeat in check; "I wasn't completely fair last time we spoke, I'll measure my words better if you're willing to talk to me again."

Wednesday said the words as if they were the particularities of a contract, and not an apology to someone who held her cold heart in their hands. She realized it was the wrong thing to say as soon as your features fell.

You took on the glow of the moon effortlessly as it came through the window, it framed the lines of your jaw and cheekbone, all delicate and pretty. You ducked your head, allowing your hair to partially cover your eyes as you nodded a few times. "Great," you mumbled, before taking a few quick steps with intent to go around Wednesday and back to the lonely hallways.

She didn't let you, her cold hand closed around your own as you made to walk past her, keeping you in place in a gesture that surprised both of you.

Having your skin against hers again made Wednesday feel like coming home after a long journey. It's strange that that's what you became to her.

The hold she had on you wasn't strong, you could easily pull your hand away and leave. But you didn't.

"It was unfair of me," Wednesday started, each word tighter than the next as she forced them out. More than anything, Wednesday despised talking about her feelings, but words are all she has now, "the mistake was mine and I will accept the consequences for it. But you should have all cards on the table when making your judgment."

If there was a heaven, you already had your place on it — you turned back around to face Wednesday properly, and without letting go of her hand, you adjusted your hold so that your fingers could intertwine; your thumb tracing random patterns on her skin in a motion that you knew calmed her down. Because you knew how hard this was for her — Wednesday was sure you were an angel in your past life.

The dorm room had never felt this detached from the outside world, as it does now, holding this one moment for you and Wednesday alone.

For a split second, where she allowed herself the luxury of only existing in your presence, Wednesday wondered if this is what real love felt like. She took in a deep breath, feeling your perfume as she did so before focusing her gaze on your joined hands; they fit well together.

"I used to ask myself why I was the one who kissed you first that day." Wednesday hesitated, nagging on the inside of her cheek with her teeth, "and I realized that it's because you make me feel something I never- hardly ever feel when around other people."

Her eyes glanced up at you in a lazy motion, only to find that your eyes never left her once. There was a soft smile on your lips, overflowing adoration. Wednesday was sometimes envious of the way you wore your heart on your sleeve so effortlessly.

"It's an annoying feeling really," the raven-haired girl admitted, raising an eyebrow at you, "I wanted to rip it away from me the first time it happened." Her lips hovered open as she heard her own heartbeat, thunderous as ever, "but the one that came in your absence was much worse."

The passage of time felt equally too slow and too fast. You weren't doing anything. Did she do something wrong?

Wednesday tensed when, carefully, you raised a hand to her face. You were tender in the way that you pushed the black strands of hair behind Wednesday's ear, your fingertips lingering and tracing her cheek before you dropped your hand. As if you'd missed touching her too.

And oh you did, if Wednesday knew just how much, she'd probably be all over you already. "I feel it too," you whispered, a secret confession only for her to hear.

"I know we never talked about what we were, and I'm not asking you to," you spoke calmly, "but you really hurt me, Wednesday, at the very least I thought we were friends."

What if I'd like us to be more? What would you say, is that something you'd ever want too?

Before Wednesday could ask any of the questions she was dying to know the answer to, you asked yours first;

"Did you mean that? What you said?"

And the Addams girl figured that this was a more pressing matter anyway.

Wednesday shook her head with urgency, her hand squeezing yours to keep you in place, "it could never be true." She took a step closer, her boots bumping your sneakers, "hurting you, it's the last thing I'd ever want to do, and I apologize that it happened."

The raw honesty of Wednesday's tone was all you needed to hear to let go of her hand in order to cup her cheeks, pulling her into a kiss that spoke more than any of you ever could.

Wednesday grasped onto your waist almost desperately, her hands bunching up your shirt as she glued your body to hers in a nearly bruising grip, dying to feel the most of you that she could manage. She pressed herself into you, her nose brushing your cheek as her soft lips molded with yours; telling you she'd never miss anyone as much as she misses you, that she'd never feel so strongly for someone as she does for you; that she'd have you until death's cold embrace took her.

Your hands traveled from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers mingling with the wisps of hair there. You pressed your lips to each corner of her mouth, bumping your noses as you did so, leaving testimonies of your affection each time your upper lip grazed hers; letting her know that she'd ruined anyone else to you, that you'd never feel for someone else, what you feel for her.

Wednesday pulled back just enough to be able to breathe, her forehead brushing yours as you felt more than heard the shape of her words; "let me make it up to you… Please."

You chuckled, tracing the outline of her lower lip with your thumb. It was reddish and just a little swollen, warm to the touch and it was your fault.

It got you smiling, because you could also feel her own smile under your digit; "gladly."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova

@justyourwritter69 @natashaxwife @fieldofsecretss @faunusrubyrose @darkblueeyedperson @jujuu23 @part-timetraveller @athenablack1959 @loki-is-loved @daddy-jareau @lordsisi08 @get-the-fuck-outta-here @simonsbluee @lovemesomemaura @whatawonderfulunsername @r4td0lll @red-havana @rob1nbuckl3ys @incrediblygay37 @panicattheeverywherekid @sometandomstuff333 @panicattheeverywherekid @sometandomstuff333 @wayvjinsol @saintnookling @awolfcsworld @georgi-salva @unforgettwble-sumii @youralphawolf72 @machinesanaloginterface @raiden88 @tani725

[ragingbookdragon]

It’s only the fifth time that he comes in that she realizes the man is obviously going to be a regular. He orders the same thing, a single black tea with a buttered croissant, then proceeds to sit in the booth in the corner, the one that faces away from everything but also gives the best view of the entire café. It takes him exactly thirty minutes to finish the entire breakfast before he leaves, always dropping two pounds into the tip jar and gives her a tight smile before he exits.

“You’re a creature of habit,” she notes, and he looks up from his phone, blinking at her in shock.

“Pardon?”

She smiles. “You order the same thing and sit in the exact same place every morning. A creature of habit.”

“I guess I am,” he replies, looking down at his cup and plate. “Can’t go wrong with simple things.”

“You’d be surprised.” Her eyes trail up his arms, pausing on the fancy but tactical watch, then to his face. “You know we offer military discounts for active duty and retired, yes?”

At this, he pauses and meets her gaze, brows furrowing in what one could only describe as surprised satisfaction. “How’d you know I was military?”

She gestures to the seat across from him and he nods, watching as she takes a seat. “My dad was retired USN. You carry yourself like he did. Punctual, clean cut.”

“Good senses.”

“Eh, I try.”

He smiles as he takes a sip of his tea. “How’d you end up this side of Birmingham?”

A bit of sadness crosses her face as she lets out a soft sigh. “Dad died from cancer a few years ago. I just needed a change of pace.” She shrugs. “Flying halfway across the world and starting new will do that I guess.”

“Sorry for your loss,” he murmurs. “Where was he laid to rest?”

“Arlington.” Her smile is one of pride. “I don’t think I’d ever seen so many retired and active-duty members come to his funeral. It was…really something.” She shakes her head. “But back to my original question. You get a discount for being a military service member.”

“Don’t need it,” he says, shaking his head.

“Just because you don’t need it doesn’t mean you’re not getting it,” she fires back. “You fight for freedom, you get it.”

“Quite an American way of putting things,” he jokes, and her smile is wide and bright.

“The American way of life extends far.” She rises from her seat. “I have to get back to work though.” She turns but pauses and spins back around. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

He smiles, heart fluttering a bit in his chest at the fact that she wants to see him. “Of course.”

“Good,” she says holding out her hand to shake. “You never told me your name though.”

“Jon,” he answers, taking her hand. “Jonathan Price.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jon,” she answers, flushing when he presses his lips to the back of hers.

“The pleasure’s all mine, love,” he smirks, chuckling when she laughs and pulls away, practically tripping over herself as she hurries off.

[nayziiz]

Speed | CS55

Summary: In a chance encounter at a gas station, a mysterious woman on a Yamaha YZF R6 catches the attention of Carlos, a charming Ferrari driver. Little did they know the journey they would both go on.

Warning: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Lola)

Masterlist

Chapter 3

As Carlos expertly parked the Ferrari right in front of the restaurant, Lola couldn't help but notice the large reserved sign that stood prominently in their designated spot. It was a subtle yet unmistakable indication of the evening's extravagance, a gesture that left her momentarily awestruck.

As Carlos stepped out of the car and came around to her side, offering his hand with a warm smile, Lola felt a rush of gratitude wash over her. Taking his hand, she allowed herself to be guided to the front door, the soft glow of the restaurant's exterior casting an enchanting aura over the scene.

With each step they took, Lola couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation building within her. This was no ordinary dinner—it was a night of luxury and indulgence, a world apart from her usual haunts. And as they reached the entrance, she finally understood what Carlos had meant when he said it was a fancy restaurant.

Stepping inside, Lola found herself enveloped in an atmosphere of opulence and grandeur, the elegant décor and soft lighting creating a sense of intimacy and sophistication that took her breath away. She had never been here before, nor had she ever been anywhere remotely as fancy. In that moment, she realised just how out of her element she was.

But as she glanced up at Carlos, his hand still clasped firmly in hers, she felt a sense of reassurance wash over her. Despite the lavish surroundings, he made her feel grounded and at ease, his presence a comforting anchor in the sea of luxury that surrounded them. Lola was a simple girl in many respects. His Ferrari may have caught her eye, but lavish things were never her end-all or be-all.

As Carlos pulled out her chair with practised elegance, Lola couldn't help but feel a flutter of appreciation at his gentlemanly gesture. Taking her seat, she offered him a grateful smile as he pushed her chair in, his warm gaze lingering on her as she settled into her seat.

As she removed her jacket, revealing the sleeveless top she wore underneath, Lola caught a flicker of surprise in Carlos's eyes. She couldn't help but notice the way his gaze lingered on her pale skin, a hint of curiosity dancing in the depths of his eyes.

For a moment, Lola felt self-conscious under his scrutiny. She was used to the curious glances and whispered assumptions that often accompanied her appearance. But as she met Carlos's gaze head-on, she felt a sense of defiance rise within her. She was who she was, and she refused to apologise for it. To her surprise, Carlos's next words caught her off guard.

“I was almost expecting tattoos.” He admitted, his tone tinged with curiosity and genuine interest.

Lola's lips curved into a wry smile at his observation. It wasn't the first time she had been mistaken for someone with inked arms, but she couldn't fault Carlos for his assumption. After all, appearances could be deceiving.

But as she glanced down at her unblemished skin, she felt a sense of pride swell within her. Her arms were a canvas waiting to be painted with the colours of her choosing—a blank slate upon which she could write her own story.

“I guess I'm full of surprises.” She replied with a playful glint in her eyes, her words carrying a hint of mischief as she met Carlos's gaze. “You sure know how to treat a girl.”

Carlos's smile faltered for a moment at Lola's comment, a pang of guilt tugging at his conscience. If only she knew the truth—that his busy schedule often left him with little time for anything beyond work, let alone finding someone to share a meal with.

As he watched her peruse the menu, a wave of admiration washed over him. Despite her initial hesitancy, Lola had agreed to go on this date with him, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for her willingness to give him a chance.

But beneath her flirtatious exterior, Carlos sensed Lola's underlying hesitation, her guarded demeanour a stark reminder of the walls she had built around her heart. And as he met her gaze, he knew that he had to tread carefully if he wanted to earn her trust.

“I'm glad you think so.” Carlos replied with a soft smile, his voice laced with sincerity.

After a few quiet moments, Carlos attempted to divert the conversation to a different topic.

“I wasn’t sure if you had any dietary preferences, so I thought this place might work well.” Carlos explained. Lola's smile widened at Carlos's explanation, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“That's... very considerate.” She replied, her voice soft with appreciation as she watched him study the menu.

As she observed him, Lola couldn't help but sense the undercurrent of nervousness that seemed to linger beneath his confident facade. It was a stark contrast to the boyish charm he had exuded the day before, and she found herself feeling strangely drawn to this new side of him—the vulnerable, uncertain Carlos who stood before her now.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Carlos closed the menu and set it aside, his movements deliberate as he met Lola's gaze.

Lola pondered the menu for a moment, her gaze flickering over the tantalising array of options before her. With so many delicious choices, she found herself feeling indecisive, unsure of what to order.

“What're you having?” She wondered, turning to Carlos for guidance.

Carlos considered the menu thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the descriptions of each dish with keen interest.

“I was thinking the Fillet Moutarde.” He replied, his voice laced with anticipation as he met Lola's gaze.

“I think I’ll have…the pork belly.” She eventually told him and placed the menu on his. Carlos nodded in understanding as Lola made her decision, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“The pork belly sounds delicious too.” He remarked, his tone warm and encouraging as he reached for her menu.

As he glanced over the menu once more, Carlos couldn't help but notice Lola's hesitation. He sensed her uncertainty, her desire to make a good impression despite feeling out of her element. And although he admired her willingness to try new things, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the realisation of just how stark the differences between them truly were.

“Good evening, sir. Good evening, madam. Can I offer you our wine list?” The waiter asked as he glanced between the pair.

“Good evening.” Carlos greeted the waiter with a polite nod, his gaze briefly meeting Lola's before returning to the waiter. “Thank you, but we won't be needing the wine list tonight. Perhaps just two glasses of Coke, please?”

Lola's heart skipped a beat as Carlos declined the wine list, a surge of gratitude washing over her. She appreciated his consideration. The waiter nodded understandingly and retreated with a polite smile, leaving Carlos and Lola alone once more.

Lola's chuckle bubbled up uncontrollably as Carlos made his suggestion, her amusement dancing in the air between them like a playful melody. The waiter nodded in acknowledgment before hurrying off to fulfil their request for sodas.

“Coke?” Lola asked, her chuckle finally escaping her lips in a soft, melodic sound. Carlos flashed her a sheepish grin.

“Well, I don't drink and drive.” He assured her with a playful twinkle in his eyes. Lola's laughter subsided, replaced by a thoughtful expression as she considered his question. 

“Mmh, I see. I don't really drink, at all, actually.” She confessed, her tone laced with honesty. Carlos arched an eyebrow in curiosity, his interest piqued by her revelation.

“Is that more of a health reason?” He wondered, his voice gentle and probing. Lola hesitated for a moment, considering her response carefully.

“Partly.” She admitted with a shrug. “I crashed my bike on my way home from a party back when I was at university. Ended up breaking my ankle, so I just never had a drink after that again. It usually takes just one small mistake and the next thing you know, everything is upside down.”

Carlos listened intently as Lola shared her story, his eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and admiration for her resilience. His gaze softened as he absorbed her words, a newfound understanding dawning within him. Lola's experience had left a lasting impression on her, shaping her choices and guiding her decisions in ways he could only begin to comprehend.

“And yet you still get on the bike.” Carlos countered, his tone filled with admiration for her courage. Lola nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. 

“There's something uniquely satisfying about controlling a powerful machine, especially when every ride is different and unpredictable.” She added, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As Carlos listened to her, he couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with Lola. He too had experienced the thrill of controlling a powerful machine, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he pushed himself to the limit on the racetrack.

But despite his success in the world of Formula 1, there was still a part of him that yearned for something more—for the exhilaration of the unknown, the thrill of the chase. And as he looked into Lola's eyes, he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing stir within him. For in her, he saw a kindred spirit—a fellow seeker of adventure, a lover of the open road.

As the waiter interrupted their conversation to take their orders and serve them their Cokes, Carlos couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment at the interruption. He was eager to learn more about Lola—to unravel the layers of complexity that lay beneath her outward appearance.

“So, what is it that you do when you're not out riding?” Carlos wondered, his curiosity piqued as he met Lola's gaze. Lola smiled warmly at his question, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

“I work in software development, so I help create apps and programs.” She answered, her voice tinged with pride. Carlos's eyebrows shot up in surprise, impressed by Lola's profession.

“Wow, not just pretty, but smart too.” He mumbled, completely enthralled by the woman sitting across from him.

Lola chuckled at his remark, a blush creeping into her cheeks at the unexpected compliment. She had always prided herself on her intelligence and hard work, but to hear it acknowledged by someone like Carlos was truly flattering.

Carlos had been out of the dating scene for what felt like an eternity. Sure, there had been a few attempts here and there—dates set up by his fellow drivers, Lando and Charles—but none of the girls had ever captured his interest quite like Lola did. From the moment he first laid eyes on her, he knew there was something special about her—something that set her apart from the rest.

As he sat across from her now, Carlos couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness wash over him—a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was a different kind of adrenaline, one that left him feeling more on edge than he ever did preparing for a race. But despite the nerves, there was also a sense of excitement—a thrill that coursed through his veins with every word she spoke.

He found himself mesmerised by the movement of her lips as she talked, the pale pink colour matching her complexion perfectly. It was a small detail, but one that left a lasting impression on him—a reminder of just how captivated he was by her presence.

As he listened to her speak, Carlos couldn't help but marvel at the way she lit up the room with her laughter and enthusiasm. There was a warmth and sincerity to her words that drew him in, leaving him hanging on her every word.

As Lola spoke, she couldn't help but notice the intensity of Carlos's gaze, his eyes seemingly fixated on her lips as they moved with each word she uttered. It was a subtle yet unmistakable gesture—one that left her feeling both flustered and intrigued.

For Lola, this wasn't just any ordinary date. It had been a while since she had ventured into the world of dating, and she found herself feeling equally unsure about how to navigate the conversation and experience. But despite her nerves, there was also a sense of excitement bubbling within her—a feeling she couldn't quite shake.

As she spoke, Lola couldn't help but feel a surge of self-consciousness wash over her, wondering if Carlos could sense her uncertainty. But as she met his gaze, she found herself drawn to the warmth and sincerity reflected in his eyes—a silent reassurance that she wasn't alone in this.

With each passing moment, Lola felt herself growing more comfortable in Carlos's presence, her laughter and enthusiasm flowing more freely as they shared stories and exchanged banter.

“Tell me what you do for work.” Lola insisted as she took a bite of her pork belly.

Lola's curiosity was piqued as she took a bite of her pork belly, her gaze fixed on Carlos as she awaited his response. She had sensed a hint of mystery surrounding his occupation, and she was eager to unravel the enigma that lay beneath.

“Well... It's, uhm, a bit difficult to describe without sounding crazy.” Carlos began, his voice tinged with a sense of hesitation. Lola's interest only grew as she leaned in slightly, her attention fully captured by his words.

“I drive for a living. Essentially, it's just one car, really, but it gets upgraded all the time and I kind of have to see what works and what doesn't.” He continued, his words coming out in a rush as he struggled to articulate the complexities of his profession. Lola furrowed her brow in confusion, trying to make sense of his vague description.

“Like a mechanic, then?” She countered, her curiosity getting the better of her. Carlos nodded slowly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I suppose in a way, yeah.” He admitted. “I work with the mechanics to make the car perform better.”

“That's so interesting.” Lola nodded, her eyes alight with curiosity as she absorbed Carlos's explanation. “And, you said you drive a Ferrari because you work for Ferrari?”

Carlos nodded in affirmation, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah. But, I've worked for McLaren and Renault previously as well.” He added, his tone tinged with a hint of pride. Lola's interest only grew as she listened to Carlos's words, her mind buzzing with questions. 

“How did you get into the whole car industry?” She continued, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“My father was a professional rally driver... I guess he still is.” Carlos chuckled, a fond smile gracing his lips as he reminisced about his childhood. “And I was just always around that space, so it just felt like a natural career path.”

Lola nodded in understanding, her gaze softening as she listened to Carlos's words. She could sense the deep connection he had to the world of racing, the influence of his father shaping his passion and driving him to pursue his dreams.

As they continued to savour their meals, Lola found herself lost in thought, reflecting on Carlos's words. Although she had been hesitant at first, her meal was delicious, each bite a symphony of flavours that danced across her palate.

Glancing over at Carlos's plate, she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at the sight of his meal. It looked ten times more appealing than hers, each dish expertly crafted and artfully presented.

“Would you reconsider taking me for that ride?” Carlos wondered, breaking the silence after a few moments, his voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

“On the bike?” Lola asked, her eyes widening in surprise as she almost choked slightly on her food at his unexpected request.

“Yeah, on your Yamaha XYZ.” Carlos chuckled again, a playful glint in his eyes as he purposely named it incorrectly. Lola couldn't help but playfully roll her eyes at him before breaking into a smile.

“Have you ever been a passenger on a bike before?” She asked, her curiosity piqued as she met his gaze. Carlos shook his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

“When I was a kid.” He informed her, his tone laced with amusement. Lola laughed at his response, the sound melodic and infectious.

“Alright, we'll just go through some basics before we ride anywhere.” She replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

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

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @notyouraveragemochii @heyheyheyggg

[bumblebeehug]

Snippet from the wip I'm planning on posting next

“I don’t get that leftover stuff. How can there be food left from one night of cooking?” Natsu put his arms behind his head. They had started heading home and were just leaving the building, Lucy taking the lead. “Normally people don’t eat four portions in one go, that’s how.” She looked back at him, slowing her pace so she could walk beside him. “Though I guess I should thank you. I don’t exactly love reheated stuff.” “Hah,” Natsu laughed curtly, “I know ya’ don’t! That’s why I ate it for ya’!” “Oh, as if! Don’t act like you did me a favour!” She playfully hit his arm. The sky was just shifting from blue to orange, making the sun give off a golden shine. Natsu looked good in gold. He looked good in all colours, but Lucy found him especially beautiful, lit up by the sun as if he was one of its rays. His skin had a healthy glow, his brown complexion mingling perfectly with the sunshine. Adding his gorgeous, sculpted profile to the mixture was almost too much for Lucy. Her knees wobbled a little, and she made herself look away before she truly melted. *** After stopping by the store, the two of them were on their way to Lucy’s apartment. She almost made a mental note of how much money she put out for the food, but reminded herself that Natsu had been the one to pay this time. It was only fair, according to him, but Lucy felt bad either way. Even if he owed her this much, she still wanted to pay for the things in her own fridge. This once, though, she swallowed her pride and let him pay. It was nice to be cared for as well – he was even currently carrying the bags for her. Natsu loved how independent Lucy was, he really did. However, sometimes he wanted her to be a bit more selfish. Ask for more. She was always the first to offer her seat on a full train, the first to give up her comfort for someone else’s. Even today, Natsu had to argue for five minutes before being allowed to carry both of the bags. He ended up spurting out claims to “need it for passive training” even though he knew it sounded stupid – Lucy couldn’t give up without a fight. Though he reminded himself that that too was a trait he was fond of. Her spirit was unwavering, and that could be quite helpful on missions.

[speedforce-zoomies]

“Can I ask you a question?”

Janet turned to face her semi-regular visitor, an alternative version of her son, and boy, wasn’t that a sentence?

“Different from the ones I’ve been asking, I mean?”

“Oh course, birdie.”

It had been rather awkward for the both of them the first time Janet had instinctively used a pet name that she used for her own Tim, one that his Mother had also used for him.

He had blinked away tears so quickly that if she hadn’t known all versions of her son so dearly she would have thought she had imagined it.

From that point on she made sure to only call him Tim or Birdie, a pet based off his hero identity, (and it still took the breath out of her lungs to think about any version of her baby fighting criminals with nothing but a belt full of tools and a metal staff. Her fear for him was not at all canceled out by her pride). The name deemed safe since her own Tim was a civilian.

Though, even “Tim” got confusing sometimes when trying to differentiate between her son and the son of dead version of herself.

She had asked if it would perhaps be better to call him Jackson and he had frowned at the suggestion, suggesting Alvin or Carl as alternatives instead with a sudden, sly smirk and a snicker when he saw her expression.

He smiled at her now, a soft, gentle thing, that spoke of comfort but his eyes were sad.

“Do you think…” he paused, “Do you think, if things were reversed between our worlds and you had passed, sorry, this is, uh, um a pretty heavy question...”

Tim trailed off, eyes glued to the bare white wall across from him and Janet walked over and sat beside him, not touching, just silently offering support.

“It’s okay, it’s obviously burdening you, let me carry some of the weight. What’s on your mind, Birdie?”

“If it were you that had die-passed, and your Tim had access to trans-dimensional travel, would it… would it make you sad or hurt your feelings if your Tim was to visit my mom?”

Janet paused, thinking it over.

Tim didn’t look at her, allowing her to consider her words carefully.

“A little bit, I think. Not hurt, but sad, because of course my preference would be to be a part of his life. However, even if it would make me a little sad, it would mean the world to me that another Janet was able to open up her arms to my son, that he had found a way to ease his pain, even if just a little bit.”

He smiled at her and it was watery.

“You know, when I come to visit, I take the information you give me and I go though my Mama’s stuff, almost like I’m gathering clues here and putting the pieces together there.”

He paused, trying and failing to not fidget.

“I had no idea, about the Emily Dickinson poem, until you told me and then I went home and she had used that poem in a couple of her poems and social media posts.”

He leaned in to her space.

“It’s nice, getting to learn about her, even now that she’s gone… I appreciate you, you giving me the chance to do so.”

Janet gently bumped shoulders with him, “Of course, Birdie.”

“It also kind of feels weird,” he confessed, “to investigate my own mom like this.”

Janet hummed, and took a chance, “Well, you are two anthropologists’ son, investigating the dead is kind of in your blood.”

Tim choked out a laugh, “Yeah,” he huffed out, voice low and rough but still amused, “guess you’re right.”

He leaned back against the sofa, “She’d love that, I think, being an anthropological revelation.”

“I’d be flattered, certainly.”

Tim snickered at that.

“Do you think your Tim is gonna be an anthologist. Like you and his dad?”

Janet hummed, “Maybe. He enjoys coming out to digs on holidays and summer vacations. But he also enjoys his photography and he keeps making jokes, that I’m not entirely sure are actually jokes about becoming a professional skateboarder.”

Tim snorted in amusement, “Well, I’m rooting for him if he goes for it.”

Janet grinned. “I will too, if that’s his passion in life, though I will expect him to have a backup plan, of course.”

“Of course.” Tim agreed.

“Anything but vigilante!” She shook his shoulder gently, “I already have one of those to worry about!”

He laughed, and he didn’t sound like her own Tim when he laughed.

He sounded like her, or well, she thought, another version of me.

——

I wrote a lot of words just to say I’m not over Batman (2016) #134 & I never will be ^.^

[reallygroovyninja]

Read the tags

Clarke stepped into the practice area, her presence commanding, the sunlight catching the gleam of her sword. She locked eyes with her trainer, a seasoned warrior known for her sharp mind and unmatched combat skills.

"Clarke," the trainer's voice rang with authority, tempered by respect, "show me your skill. Let me witness the strength and precision of a true warrior."

Clarke's lips curved into a confident smile. She adjusted her stance with practiced ease, the weight of her sword a familiar extension of herself. "Prepare to be impressed," she replied, her voice steady with determination.

The trainer circled her, eyes keen and critical. "Your movements are swift, deliberate," she observed, approval lacing her tone. "But remember, even the most skilled warrior can fall into predictability. Keep your opponent guessing."

Clarke absorbed the advice, her gaze unwavering. "Understood," she said, her voice firm with the confidence of experience.

"Vary your approach, strike from unexpected angles, and adapt to the rhythm of battle." The trainer’s words carried the weight of years of wisdom. "A true warrior knows when to wield power and when to conserve it," she advised. "Master the art of timing, and you will become an unstoppable force."

Determination flared within Clarke as she unleashed a series of strikes, the clash of steel ringing through the air. Each movement was precise, a testament to her rigorous training and the battles that had shaped her.

The trainer’s gaze remained sharp, her voice guiding Clarke to greater mastery. "Channel your focus," she urged, her tone tinged with admiration. "Let the rhythm of combat guide your instincts and trust the skills you’ve honed."

Clarke’s sword sliced through the air with fluid precision, her strikes a perfect balance of strength and control. The dance of combat flowed through her, each move instinctive yet calculated, a reflection of the teachings she had embraced.

As the session wore on, exhaustion crept in, but Clarke pushed forward, her spirit unyielding. She knew that to stay at the pinnacle of her abilities, she had to continually challenge herself. The trainer’s words echoed in her mind, driving her toward excellence.

At last, the session came to an end. Clarke lowered her sword, breath heavy but triumphant. She turned to her trainer, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you," she said, her voice sincere. "Your guidance has sharpened both my blade and my spirit."

The trainer’s gaze softened, a nod of acknowledgment passing between them. "You’ve become a formidable warrior, Clarke," she replied, pride evident in her tone. "Your skill and dedication are a testament to your journey. But remember, a true warrior’s path is one of constant growth and self-reflection."

Clarke nodded, her smile resolute. "I will never stop seeking improvement," she vowed. "I will carry the spirit of a seasoned warrior, always striving to protect and inspire."

With a final nod, the two shared a moment, the bond between teacher and student deepened by the trials they had faced together.

As Clarke completed her sword practice in the bustling training area, she noticed a messenger weaving through the crowd, his pace quickening with each step. His voice, strained with urgency, cut through the noise to reach her.

"Clarke! The elders request your presence immediately," the messenger called, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Clarke's brow furrowed, her focus shifting from her blade to the anxious figure before her. The summons from the elders stirred a mix of curiosity and concern within her. Without hesitation, she sheathed her sword and nodded to the messenger.

"Lead the way," she replied, her voice calm but laced with resolve.

The messenger, visibly relieved by her swift response, turned on his heels and set off at a brisk pace. Clarke followed closely, her senses heightened by the unexpected call. Questions swirled in her mind, each one adding to the tension that hung in the air. What could have prompted such an urgent summons from the elders?

As they navigated the winding paths that led to the heart of the pack's dwelling, Clarke's thoughts raced. She replayed recent events, searching for any clue that might explain the urgency. Was there a looming threat? A crucial decision awaiting her input? Or perhaps news that could alter the future of the pack?

Each step brought her closer to the unknown, her mind bracing for whatever awaited her. The path seemed longer than usual, each turn adding to the weight of anticipation. By the time they reached the elders' chambers, Clarke's resolve was steeled, ready to face whatever challenge or revelation lay ahead.

Clarke entered the meeting room, her footsteps steady but her heart pounding with apprehension. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with anticipation, as the elders awaited her arrival. She took her place among them, her gaze shifting from one elder to another, searching for clues about the weighty announcement to come.

The head elder, their countenance grave yet tinged with empathy, rose from their seat. Their voice resonated with authority as they addressed her. "Clarke," they began, their voice carrying a weight that settled over the room. "Our pack is at a crucial juncture, and it is with great consideration that we inform you of the decision we have reached."

Clarke listened intently, her instincts already whispering of the unexpected path that lay ahead. Her apprehension grew as the head elder continued, their words unfolding the intricate web of their alliance. "In order to strengthen our position, we have entered into an alliance with the rival kingdom of Silvarond" they explained, their voice measured yet resolute. "And it is you, Clarke, who will be joined with their Omega."

A mix of shock and disbelief washed over Clarke as the words sank in. Joining with an Omega from a rival clan was not what she had anticipated. The prospect of uniting with someone she didn't know was daunting enough, but to do so with an Omega from a clan that had been their adversary for generations left her questioning the wisdom of this decision.

She mustered the courage to speak, her voice laced with skepticism and concern. "Forgive me, esteemed elders, but is this truly the best course of action?" Clarke questioned, her words echoing the doubts that swirled within her. "The animosity between our kingdoms runs deep. Can we truly expect unity and harmony from such a union?"

The elders exchanged glances, acknowledging the complexity of the situation. The head elder responded, their voice carrying a mix of understanding and determination. "Clarke, we understand your reservations," they said, their tone compassionate. "But we believe that through this union, we can forge a path towards reconciliation and prosperity. Our hope is to build bridges and mend the wounds that divide our kingdoms."

Clarke's mind raced, grappling with the conflicting emotions that surged within her. The gravity of this decision, the implications it held for both clans, and the responsibilities it would place upon her shoulders weighed heavily on her conscience.

Before she could voice her thoughts further, the head elder spoke again, their words final and resolute. "The joining will take place in one month's time," they announced, their voice leaving no room for negotiation. "Your father will provide you with additional details regarding the stipulations and expectations of this union."

Clarke's heart sank as the reality of the situation sank in. The joining was imminent, and the elders' decision was final. She knew she needed to face her father, to seek guidance and clarity amidst the uncertainty that clouded her thoughts.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Clarke left the meeting room, her steps heavy with the weight of her responsibilities. She sought out her father, their connection a pillar of strength and guidance in times of uncertainty.

[enkephallic]

LCB Sinner Analysis: The Original Sins

I think the original LCB sinners' sin affinities for their skills are definitely related to them as people. My current theory is that S1 represents a surface level read of their personality, and their S3 is the true sin embedded deeper into themselves.

Gregor: His S1 is gloom, which is how he initially appears to be. He's carrying a lot and it seeps put. But his S3 is sloth. In Limbus Company, sloth seems to be tied in with giving up on taking action and making things better.

Rodya: S1 gluttony, which makes sense considering her want for money and good food. Her S3 is wrath, which was what drove her to axe the old hag who had been exploiting people.

Sinclair: S1 is pride, I guess this is how he comes off rich and privileged to some others. S3 is jealousy which confuses me a little, but I think it's related to the behaviour he exhibited in class that ultimately led to the tragedy.

Yi Sang: S1 is gloom - he's quiet and reserved, but is hinted not to have been. S3 is sloth, which definitely is the sin that fits him the most pre-limbus. He admits himself he simply observed without taking control.

Ishmael: S1 is wrath. She seems annoyed at perceived stupidity and often shows exasperation. S3 is gloom. She's scared of losing people and is hurting, which makes her extremely unstable and difficult for Dante to work with.

Heathcliff: S1 is jealousy. He's jealous on the surface level and is written to have an inferiority complex on his file, but his S3 is lust. He wants to relentlessly pursue something/transform himself, which will most likely hurt him along the way. also maybe hes horny

Don Quixote: S1 is lust. She has lots of things she wants to become and accomplish. S3 is gluttony, which I'm assuming was her wanting too many things that potentially conflicted (maybe her idea of justice involved two things clashing - eg. is it justice to steal when you're desperate? is it justice to stop the thief?).

Hong Lu: S1 is pride, much like Sinclair. His innocent curiosity comes off as arrogant to others. His S3 is lust - I speculate that he really wanted to become something, or change his own self in some way.

Ryoshu: S1 is gluttony. This does confuse me a little, but I'm guessing it's her obvious desire to create/observe Art and beauty. S3 is pride. She perhaps overestimated herself and fucked over someone she cared for

Meursalt: S1 is sloth. Yeah. Sinclair having a panic attack? Well he wasn't told to report on it so. S3 is ... gloom? Oh he must be carrying a lot. I have not read his novel yet so I won't make rash assumptions, but I guess it's something to do with grief.

Outis: S1 is sloth. I'm guessing this is her paper thin veneer of sucking up to Dante and treating his word as absolute, though it's clear it's not sincere. More suprisingly her S3 is gloom. I think this makes a lot more sense after reading her Schutz ID story - she has someone she loves, even at her absolute lowest.

Faust: S1 is pride. Yea. Yeah. yeah. yea. S3 is also gluttony. It's difficult to know much about her, but I'm guessing she really wanted to accomplish something, which would involve a lot of resources and potentially cause a lot of danger due to it.

[v3nusxsky]

OKAY Okay i love the sex pollen fic with Emily. So I was wondering if we could get a part two where Emily and reader would be like. ‘The pollen was quite actually fun. Let’s do it again but this time we know what are we getting into so we’re going to have it under control.’ But guess what they didn’t and it lead to rough and toe curling smut?

Could there also be face sitting and squirting?

Thank you so much and have wonderful pride month <3

Who's in control 18+

*Authors note~ the long awaited part two for my first ever sex pollen fic*

Trigger warnings~ oral face sitting dom Emily sub r squirting strap a vibe praise kink degrading kink daddy kink mutual pinning mentioned

Prompt~see ask^^^^^

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Previously~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course when you awoke and went to meet the team before boarding the plane, Derek couldn't hold eye contact, JJ looked at you both with knowing smirks and Rossi was conversing with Hotch about what could've caused such odd reactions. Spencer was a clueless as ever. "So you two, did the pollen give y/n a reaction?" JJ teased spotting the hickeys on your neck. "N-no?" You whimpered feeling embarrassed and shy at them seeing them. You weren't embarrassed of Emily rather knowing you felt worthless compared to anyone else who could want her. "Daddy? Oh sorry Prentiss, your girl is rather loud I thought you were murdering her" Morgan teased causing you to flush bright red and Emily to come and hold your waist, your back to her front as she kissed your neck, "jealous because my game is better than yours?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Your girl" was going round and round in your head. Being Emily's girl. As you sat on the jet fiddling with your own fingers as you were in your own world remembering the night before. So stuck in your own mind in fact, you even missed the fact the raven haired women had moved to sit near you, only realising when she smoothly slipped her hand into yours. "Hey pretty girl" she whispered to you. Instead of responding verbally you just allowed your head to lull to the side and rest on her shoulder, "hey."

The ride on the jet was peaceful as the two of you caught up on the sleep that you missed the night before. The power nap on the jet allowed you to get through the paper work of the case before grabbing your go bag and intended to head home. "Angel! Wait up" you caught before leaving the pen. "Em?" You whispered, getting lost in her eyes. "Come back to mine? So we can talk."

And that was how you found yourself on the way to Emily's apartment. You allowed Emily to guide you to the sofa as she went around to feed Sergio before coming to join you. "The pollen stuff, can we do it again? But more of us in control?" She murmured watching as you nodded rather shy. "Why so shy angel? You weren't shy last night" she teased and you flushed a bright red colour. "So fucking pretty!"

Your lips soon found one another as if it was a decades old dance. You being tugged onto the other woman's lap as her hands found your skin. And it wasn't long before you were subtly rolling your hips against Emily in hopes of finding some friction. Only when breathing became necessary did you tilt your head, exposing your neck to the raven haired woman who was now happily biting and sucking on your pulse point, adding to the marks that already lay there.

To say Emily was fit was an understatement so there was no surprise when the woman lifted you up and carried you to her bedroom and gently placed you on the bed without losing contact with your throat. "Daddy" you whined hoping she would get the message. "Shh Angel, daddy's gonna take care of you" was mumbled against your throat. Clothes torn from each others bodies as your hands roamed familiar yet unknown skin. "Daddy, please I need to taste you" you whimpered causing a smirk to adorn her lips.

That was how Emily found herself straddled your head gently as you hooked your warms around her thighs. A small tug from you had the older woman sitting on your face, allowing you to lick and suck on the soft skin of her thighs before finally bringing your mouth to where she wanted you. "Oh fuck Angel, god I've wanted this for so long" she mumbled in between curses of overwhelming pleasure.

Emily whined in surprise as your tongue slipped into her soaking hole. Your nose bumping her sensitive clit as her hips ground down against you. "Oh god! Yes fuck me y/n more please" she mewled finally approaching that edge. "Oh god Angel, gonna cum fuck!" Was all she offered before her legs began to shake and she drenched your chin and mouth with her slick.

It took her a few minutes to gather herself before shimming down the bed and spending your legs. Your scent hit her instantly like a freight train. "Oh Angel, did pleasing daddy really cause all this?" She muttered trailing her fingers through your slick. "Oh daddy knows just what to do with you my slutty little fuck toy" her filthy words turning you on even more, so much so you missed her leaning over to grab a small vibrator and a strap that you honestly thought wouldn't fit. "Daddy it's too big" you whined, eyeing the strap on cock curiously.

"I'll make it fix Angel but first we are gonna attach this first okay?" With a nod from you she easily attached the little toy to your sensitive clit and strapped up. "Daddy please" you whimpered as your hips involuntarily bucked upwards, only to feel the vibrations start rolling against your clit. Your whimpers and pleads for more had Emily slipping her thick faux dick into your slick folds. "Oh daddy! Fuck please" you whimpered as she began to move in a rhythm. It was maddening, slow but deep strokes managing to hit your G-spot every time.

But before long Emily's patience faltered and she slipped from your quivering slick hole, flipping you on your hands and knees as if you were nothing more than a mere rag doll. She was quick to re enter your cunt hitting a new depth. "Daddy daddy fuck gonna cum" you chanted over and over, "please god please daddy can I ?" Instead of a verbal response Emily thrusted her cock into you harder and faster than before. "Cum my slutty doll" she purred as you tumbled over the edge.

Fucking you into oblivion was quickly becoming Emily prentiss's favourite pass time. The little whimpers and pleads and mewls of pleasure before you crowed out for her as you tumbled over the edge over and over. Yes, Emily was obsessed with you. So it was only natural the woman kept up her brutal pace as the vibrations rolled mercilessly over your clit. "Daddy! No no no more too sensitive" you stumbled only to be ignored, the toy being ripped of your sensitive bud and you were roughly flipped onto your back once more. Her talented fingers rubbing tight fast circles as she whisper the most filthy yet beautiful words down your ear. "Cum for me darling" was murmured to you causing you to let the coil snap.

"Such a pretty slut for daddy! Gorgeous girl" she praised as your body shook with the waves of pleasure. "Daddy no stop please gonna- I'm gonna" you whimpered before wetness gushed from your abused cunt. "Oh god I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't" you whimpered fearing the worst, that had never happened to you before. "Oh you good good girl! So pretty Angel, you did so good for daddy! I have so many ideas for your slutty cunt Angel" her praise doing wonders in calming your nerves. "Just need to clean you up sweetheart okay?" She murmured and gently cleaned you up as quickly as she could without hurting you. The sheets swiftly changed as you dozed in her bed. And truly she had that crazy un sub and a wild night of passionate sex, months of pining for each other to thank for this moment.

Word count~ 1394

[smolgloves]

Devil Games 2

Part 1

Summary: Karlach finds out what Mizora did

Tw: mentions of murder

“So Mizora knows.” Tav's voice carried a heavy tone through the air. Tension had struck all three, a pact was made by the group that no one was to know of Freya's existence unless they were staying at camp for an extended period of time. They made an exception for that annoying bard named Volo, but a devil… that was going to make Freya look over her shoulder for a while.

She sat cross legged on a crate, running her fingers across a pebble. “Do you think she'll come after me?”

Wyll rubbed the back of his neck. “There's a chance she might, but she tends to target me or Karlach.”

“Who's targeting me?” The tiefling marched up to their three, cracking her knuckles. “Do we need to bust some heads?”

“Unfortunately not,” Tav let out a sigh. “Mizora found out about Freya.”

“WHAT?!” Karlach dropped to her knees to be eye level with the borrower. Heat radiated off her red skin. “She didn't hurt you, little soldier?”

“N-no… well she almost did.”

“She tried to force Wyll to kill her.” The tone in Tav's voice almost matched Karlach's growing fury. Their fierce eyes locking onto each other as if they were forming a psychic plan to get back at the devil.

“You should know, Freya did fight her off.” Wyll spoke up before Karlach could go into a rage. “She did shoot her before she could go through with her petty revenge.”

The flames slowly began to dial down as Karlach glanced between Freya and Wyll. “No way.”

“You should have seen her, Karlach. A fierce display of bravery, I'd say.” He flashed a grin Freya's way, making her cheeks flush a bit.

A boisterous laugh erupted from Karlach's belly. “That's fucking amazing! I wish I was there to see the look on her face when you shot her!”

“I just panicked, really.”

“Don't sell yourself short, shorty! You stopped a devil, and not just any devil- but Mizora herself!” Karlach gave another chuckle. “Take pride in that.”

There were times when Freya watched Karlach knock an enemy dozens of feet away from where they were, bash their skulls in, or simply made them cower away before they could even land a blow. Her strength was unlike anything she had ever seen before, compared to her, Freya's attack seemed miniscule. And yet, this barbarian was praising her!

“I guess you're right.” Freya responded with an awkward chuckle.

Her smile brightened. “Good, but next time, try to get me next time you go toe to toe with Mizora.”

Tav cleared their throat. “I don't think we should be hoping for a next time.”

“I guess you gotta point, soldier.” The giddiness in Karlach faded. She shot a proud look over to Freya, before jumping up to her feet. “But I'd say we give Freya the largest thimble of our finest ale!”

Wyll smiled. “I second that.”

“Me too!” Freya exclaimed.

“Alright, Alright, I'll see what we have.” Tav sighed, but couldn't help but crack a smile. “Just stay out of trouble while I'm gone.”

“But of course.” Freya giggled, but it wasn't her fault; trouble always seemed to find her, at least now she had an odd group of friends to help her out when things get out of hand.

[sleekervae]

Wicked Games ❅ 7

Masterlist

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x socialite!fem!reader

Summary: Coriolanus confides in Sable

Warnings: blood and flesh wound, mentions of violence and murder

Word Count: 5,073

It was no surprise that the attack had been the forefront of the news tonight, instead of highlighting any details from the debate. There was talk of whether another debate should be rescheduled to make up for the lost time, while some late night news outlets had the gaul to call the attack a "publicity stunt". After all, Coriolanus was a hero -- to some people, at least.

He had been rushed to the infirmary, besides the wound in his shoulder he only suffered some minor bumps and bruises. Garrison and Tigris finally managed to rendezvous with Coriolanus as well, fearful yet so, so grateful that he was okay. Sable wasn't family, so she wasn't allowed into the infirmary ward. Nevertheless, she sat outside in her dress and her heels, staring blankly at the stone white wall as she waited for... something. Any update would at least give her reeling mind something else to focus on.

Coriolanus killed a man.

Growing up in the rebellion, Sable had unfortunately come across her fair share of deaths; some more violent than others. She never really watched violence become so glorified until she came to the Capitol, where she couldn't escape the wretched Hunger Games no matter where she went. Oh sure, she'd do her best to avoid the violent acts the best she could, but tonight there was no getting away from it.

Terror flooded Sable’s veins, raw and relentless. It wasn’t just the nightmarish vision of blood spilling across the convention floor that clung to her, or the horrific sounds of panic from the crowd—it was Coriolanus. He had stood on that stage, unflinching, so utterly composed as he loomed over the poor soul’s lifeless body. His face was a mask, devoid of emotion, as if the violence had merely been a task to complete, something mundane. That was what truly frightened her.

She replayed the moment in her mind, over and over again. The way his grip had tightened on the microphone stand, the lethal focus in his eyes as he stared down his attacker. And afterward, the eerie calm that settled over him, like nothing had happened. Like taking a life was just another part of the game. There was no trembling, no shock in his demeanor. Only cold, calculating detachment.

Sable’s heart twisted, her stomach knotting with unease. It was one thing to be ambitious, to make strategic moves in their political arena, but to be so unaffected by the death of a man—that unnerved her in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

She had no qualms about continuing their partnership. It was still mutually beneficial, and they both needed this arrangement to further their ambitions. But now, she had something new to look out for. Coriolanus had always been driven, determined, and a little dangerous, but now she understood how far that danger could go. It wasn’t just a game for him anymore—he was willing to do whatever it took, no matter the cost.

The realization weighed heavy on her chest. She had always prided herself on being able to read people, to anticipate their next moves. But now she wasn’t sure what Coriolanus would do next, or how far he would go to secure his position. And that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

Sable drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t afford to show weakness now. Not when the stakes were so high.

"Sable," Tigris's voice carried down the hall, effectively snapping the socialite from her own head, "You're still here," she sounded more surprised than anything, though she appeared grateful as she came to stand before her.

Sable nodded, her shoulders tense as her face flooded with concern, "Yes -- I... I mean I wanted to know if he's... is he--?"

"He's fine," Tigris assured her, taking the seat next to her, "The wound is superficial but the doctor wants him to rest for a couple days. Good luck, I guess," she simpered anxiously.

The girls sat side-by-side, their eyes drawn to the far wall as if the chaos from earlier still lingered in the shadows. It was only now, in the heavy silence of the room, that Sable realized how little she truly knew about Tigris Snow. Despite their occasional meetings and the growing partnership between her and Coriolanus, she had never really spoken to Tigris, never dug deeper into the woman who had been by his side for so long. Their connection was shallow at best—much like her connection to Coriolanus himself.

"That was scary," Sable admitted, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress until her knuckles turned white. The tension was still humming in her veins, her thoughts spiralling back to the bloodshed and the disquieting calm in Coriolanus’s eyes, "I haven’t seen such chaos since… the rebellion, I guess."

Tigris nodded, her expression distant but knowing, lips pursed as if she, too, was wandering down those dark corridors of memory. The rebellion had been a lifetime ago, yet the scars it left were still visible, woven into the very fabric of their world, "It never really leaves you," Tigris said quietly, her voice low and measured, "The fear. The uncertainty,"

She didn’t need to say more for Sable to understand. They all carried the weight of the rebellion on their shoulders, some heavier than others. For Coriolanus and Tigris, it was not just the loss of their family’s fortune or status—it was survival. The things they’d done, the lines they’d crossed, and the decisions made during those desperate times had shaped them into who they were now.

"He’s changed," Tigris continued, her eyes lowering to her lap as though the admission cost her something. "Corio… he’s not the boy I remember. So much was taken from him. Not just the rebellion, but the Hunger Games. What you saw tonight… it’s not the first time..."

Sable swallowed hard, her stomach twisting at the thought. The rebellion had been brutal, sure, but it hadn’t stripped her of her ability to feel. She could still remember the panic, the helplessness, the way the Capitol turned against itself. But Coriolanus? He had been in the thick of it, navigating survival in ways she couldn’t imagine. Even in the Hunger Games, eighteen-years-old and despite all the chagrins, he somehow managed to keep his head on.

"He's always been able to detach like that?" Sable asked, though she already suspected the answer.

Tigris looked away, her gaze distant as though reliving moments from years past, "There have times he had no choice. It’s how he survived." Her voice was tight with emotion, a trace of sadness lacing her words. "But now… I don’t know if he remembers how to stop. Or if he even wants to,"

Sable bit her lip, the weight of Tigris’s words settling in her chest. This wasn't just about survival anymore—it was about power. Control. Coriolanus was chasing something far more dangerous than mere victory, and she was tethered to him, willingly or not.

"Is that what this is for him?" Sable murmured, almost to herself. "Another battle to survive?"

Tigris glanced at her, a faint sadness in her eyes, "Perhaps. But it’s also a battle he intends to win at any cost,"

Sable shivered, her mind replaying the way Coriolanus had stood over the attacker’s body, unbothered, unshaken. She had agreed to this partnership knowing it was dangerous, knowing that Coriolanus was driven by ambition. But now, she was beginning to realize just how far that ambition could go—and how little room there might be for her, or anyone else, should they get in his way.

"Be careful," Tigris said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "Whatever this is between you two… just be careful,"

Sable nodded, though she wasn’t sure what else to say. The line between her and Coriolanus was becoming dangerously blurred, and for the first time, she wondered whether she was in over her head.

Coriolanus went home that night, though sleep remained elusive. He lay in the dark, his mind racing, the events of the evening playing on a loop in his head. The moment the attacker had rushed the stage, the instinctual way he had grabbed the microphone stand, the sharp crack of the impact—those seconds had felt both agonizingly slow and lightning fast. Even now, hours later, the adrenaline still hummed faintly beneath his skin.

He turned over, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting to Sable. What must she have thought as she watched him, calm and calculated in the midst of chaos? He had caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye—her wide, shocked expression, the way her body had gone rigid in her seat. She’d seen him in control before, but never like this. Never so cold, so utterly detached from the violence.

There was no denying it—she had to be scared of him now.

He couldn’t blame her. The calm that had come over him wasn’t something he could easily explain, not in a way that would make sense to her. She hadn’t been through what he had—hadn’t seen the Hunger Games and its fallout the way he did. He learned to keep his emotions in check because emotions were liabilities, distractions. And in the world he was aiming to rule, there was no room for those.

Still, a part of him wondered if he had overplayed his hand. Sable was his ally, a vital part of his campaign. He couldn’t afford to lose her trust. But after tonight… had that trust been shattered? He knew how observant she was, how quickly she could read a situation, and tonight she had witnessed something deeper than the charm he’d usually wrapped around himself like armor.

He thought back to her gaze when their eyes had locked after the attack. There was no relief, no reassurance. Only fear. It was a look that he couldn’t shake.

What would she do now?

Sable was smart, calculating in her own way, and he knew better than to underestimate her. But he also knew she wasn’t like him. She wasn’t built for the kind of ruthlessness that came as second nature to him. Would she still see him as her partner, or would she start seeing him as a threat? Would she try to distance herself, put space between them as a way to protect herself? Or would she play along, pretending nothing had changed while silently reassessing everything?

He couldn't quite predict her next move.

He winced as he rolled over again, the wound under his bandage tugging painfully at his shoulder. Coriolanus shut his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts swirling in his mind. He had bigger things to focus on—the debate, the campaign, his rise to the top. But in the back of his mind, Sable lingered like a shadow, and he knew that this partnership, whatever it was becoming, had shifted. She had seen something tonight that couldn’t be unseen.

And she wasn’t the only one.

Coriolanus knew the audience had been watching too. Every move, every reaction, carefully documented and filed away in their minds. He had remained cool in the face of chaos, but was that what they wanted? Or had they seen a man too comfortable with violence, too detached from the humanity of it all?

Was this the beginning of his rise—or the start of his downfall?

In the shadows of that question, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he heard the doorbell reverberate through the penthouse. Coriolanus sat up sharply, the chill of the night air biting at his skin as he glanced at the clock. It was far too late for visitors, and his security detail was supposed to prevent unannounced guests from even reaching his door. Tigris or Garrison would've let him know beforehand if they dropped by.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling on a robe before padding silently toward the entrance. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. The events of the night had already left him on edge—was this another escalation?

As he neared the door, Coriolanus took a steadying breath, his hand hovering over the handle before he yanked it open. His eyes widened in surprise.

There, standing in the dim light of the hallway, was Sable.

"How did you get in here?" His voice was sharp, more out of confusion than aggression. He searched her face, noting the tension in her jaw, the slight tremor in her hands as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Sable shrugged casually, but there was an edge to her voice, "Nice to see you, too,"

"Sable..."

"Your doorman likes me, what can I say?"

Her answer didn't satisfy him. His grip tightened on the doorframe as he scanned the empty hall behind her. No guards. No sign of how she had bypassed the extensive security measures.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said, though his words lacked conviction. A part of him was relieved to see her, despite the suddenness of her appearance.

Sable took a step closer, her gaze piercing as she looked up at him. "I wanted to see you."

"For what? To tell me you want out?" His words hung in the air, heavy still. He studied her, trying to gauge what had driven her to show up at his door in the middle of the night.

"I don't want out," she said softly, though he could hear the waver in her voice.

"Then what do you want?" He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, his eyes narrowing.

For a long moment, Sable didn't answer. She just stood there, her eyes locked on his, as if searching for something—maybe the man she had thought he was, or maybe a glimpse of the one who had calmly taken a life hours before.

"I wanted to see if you're okay," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're my friend."

Coriolanus stared at her, her words hanging in the air, heavy and unfamiliar. Friend. The weight of that single word settled over him like a shroud, pressing against the image he had so carefully crafted of himself. There was no simple answer to that sentiment, and he knew it. Sable had witnessed something tonight that couldn't be undone, something darker—something that had always existed beneath the surface, now laid bare for her to see.

He looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of fear or doubt, but all he saw was concern. Genuine concern. And that unnerved him more than anything else.

"I don't need you to worry about me," Coriolanus replied, his tone measured but distant. "I'm fine,"

Sable took a step closer, the tension in the space between them thickening. "I know you're fine. But that doesn’t mean you’re okay." Her gaze softened, lingering on him as if she could see through the layers of composure he wore.

Coriolanus let out a breath, his eyes narrowing slightly, "This is what we signed up for. What I signed up for," he said, though it felt like a hollow justification even as the words left his mouth.

Sable didn’t respond right away. She simply stood there, watching him with that same unreadable expression, "It doesn’t mean you have to go through it alone,"

Her words, simple as they were, stirred something in him—something dangerous, something he couldn’t afford to feel.

"...Are you gonna' invite me in, or do I just get to stand here and look pretty?" Sable teased, the tension between them shifting with her playful tone, though the weight of the night still lingered.

Coriolanus blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the change in mood. Her lightness was disarming, and for a moment, it almost felt like things could return to their usual banter. He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter, "I’m sure you’re more than capable of doing both,"

She glided past him, her usual air of confidence intact, but as she crossed the threshold into his space, there was a subtle hesitation in her step. Coriolanus noticed. It was as if, despite the teasing, she was still processing what had happened. And, in truth, so was he.

As he closed the door behind her, a part of him wondered why he had let her in—why he hadn't kept her at arm's length, as he had with everyone else.

Sable had changed out of her dress from before, now wrapped in a cozy grey wool sweater and a black skirt that fell just above her knees. It was the first time he’d seen her in anything other than blue, and the sight made him simper as she settled into his couch. She wasn't so much sultry now as she was... cute. Plainly and simply cute.

“So, you do own other colors,” Coriolanus remarked, sitting across from her, his tone lightly teasing.

Sable met his gaze, smirking back, “That’s more than I can say for you,”

He let out a low chuckle, leaning back, "I have other colors," he assured her. Sable cocked her head, glancing up and down at his broad physique in the rich red housecoat, "... Besides this,"

“Oh, of course,” Sable nodded, her eyes softening with a hint of concern. His bandage was peaking from under the lapel of his house coat, a faint shade of red soaking through, “How’s the wing?”

“Fine,” Coriolanus replied, though the physical wound wasn’t what truly ached. “I just have to take it easy for the rest of the week.”

“Did the doctor tell you that, or is it more of a 'suggestion'?” she asked, an eyebrow quirking up.

“I’m fine, Sable,” he assured her, a touch more firmly this time, trying to dispel the topic with his tone. He didn’t want to discuss it, not when other wounds—the deeper ones—were still fresh.

She leaned back slightly, her fingers absentmindedly grazing the edge of the couch. There was a silence between them, the kind that felt loaded, waiting for one of them to break it.

“You’ve… done it before, haven’t you?” Sable’s voice was barely above a whisper, but her words sliced through the quiet like a blade. Her eyes met his, no judgment in them—just curiosity. Maybe even fear.

Coriolanus stared at her, the weight of her question sinking in. He could feel it—the unspoken horror of what she’d witnessed, still hanging between them. She had seen him in a way no one else had -- no one still alive, anyway -- and that knowledge made this moment heavier than it should have been.

“Why do you ask?” he finally responded, his voice low, cautious.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, looking away for a moment as if searching for the right words, “The way you handled it… You were so calm. Like it wasn’t anything new,”

She glanced back at him, waiting for him to fill the silence with an answer that could either draw them closer or push her further into the distance.

"... Are you scared of me?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

Sable shrugged, her eyes drifting down to the coffee table between them. An empty mug sat there, faint tea stains lining the inside—clearly neglected for some time. Next to it, a well-worn book on chess lay open, its spine cracked and frayed from overuse. Of course. Coriolanus treated life like a chess game. Every move calculated, every decision a strategy. That much was obvious.

But this? This wasn’t just a game.

"No," she murmured, though her voice faltered, uncertain. Her gaze remained fixed on anything but him. "I grew up in the peak of the rebellion. District 3 was in chaos—neighbors turning on neighbors, people killing over the smallest scraps of food. There was a time when we had no housing, and we had to sleep in the church basement… surrounded by rats," she paused, a shudder passing through her, "So many nights I'd wake up screaming, finding them chewing at my fingers,"

Coriolanus's eyes drifted down to her hands, now perfectly manicured and moisturized. He again noticed the faint, almost invisible scars that lined her fingers and palms, remnants of a past she’d never spoken of until now.

"That's terrifying for an adult, let alone a child," he noted.

"Yes," she looked at him again, "You've killed before, haven't you?" she asked again.

With bated breath, Coriolanus tentatively admitted, "Yes, I have,"

"Who?"

"... three or four people,"

Sable scoffed quietly, "We're not counting candies, Coriolanus. Was it three or four people?"

Coriolanus slumped back in his seat, weighed down by memories that clung to him like shadows. The faces, the names, they never left him: Bobbin, Mayfair, Sejanus... He hadn't pulled the trigger on his friend, but his actions had sealed Sejanus’s fate. He may as well have been the one to execute him. And then there was Lucy Gray...

“I don’t know if... the fourth might’ve gotten away,” he muttered darkly. “I never found her again.”

He half-expected Sable to recoil, to stand up and walk out of his life. It would’ve been the smart choice. She should’ve left him sitting there, a man with too many bodies weighing on his conscience. But she didn’t move. Instead, she stayed rooted in her seat, her gaze fixed on him, watching an exhausted predator licking his wounds.

"Were they a means to an end?" she asked, her voice a careful balance between cautious and curious.

“Yes,” he admitted.

"... Would you kill again if you had to?" she asked.

He hesitated before he answered, the weight of his actions bearing heavily on him. The answer however was clear in the depths of his conscience:

"Yes,"

Sable’s eyes never wavered, though he could see the gears turning in her mind. “And if pushed far enough, would you... do the same to me?” Her question hung in the air, both fair and terrifying.

"I can't think of a reason—"

"If pushed, would you hurt me?" Sable asked again, leaving no room for ambiguity.

He didn’t want to answer that, didn’t want to admit the truth that gnawed at him in the quiet corners of his soul. But he knew better. His nature was too greedy, too ruthless. He’d take what he wanted, just like she would. Only, there was one stark difference between them: Sable had never crossed that line. She’d never killed anyone. He wasn't sure if she ever could. She was delicate in a way he no longer was.

But him? He had crossed that line long ago. He’d become something else, something darker—a ticking freak who could snap at any given moment.

And if Sable ever pushed him far enough, he feared the truth. He feared that he could snap at her, too.

"If pushed enough, yes," he finally admitted it, "I don't want to... but I could,"

A tense silence settled between them, the weight of his answer hanging heavily in the air. Two months ago, Coriolanus might not have cared. Sable would have been just another casualty, someone who could easily be added to his secret body count. He could make her disappear with a perfectly crafted lie, something so convenient no one would question him.

But now? Something had shifted. He'd grown to like having her around, grown to appreciate her wit, her sharpness. There was something magnetic about her presence. He might have even been attracted to her in ways he hadn’t fully acknowledged.

Yet that was the problem. One stray decision, one wrong move, and he could destroy her completely. The thought lingered like a dangerous temptation, reminding him that, no matter how close they became, he was capable of destroying her.

Sable should be terrified.

However, she stayed on the couch, looking at him -- through him, really -- and he had to wonder what gears were turning in her mind. Her gaze averted to his bandage, her brow quirked.

"You should change that," she noted, "It's bleeding through,"

Coriolanus followed her gaze to the bandage, brow furrowing as he peeled back his coat lapel. Sure enough, the white gauze was stained with fresh crimson, seeping through in small patches. He hadn't even noticed.

"I’ll manage," he muttered, brushing it off as if it didn’t matter.

But Sable didn’t seem convinced. Without hesitation, she stood from the couch, crossing the room before he could even think to protest.

"Oh, please," she insisted, already finding his bathroom, "Men say they're fine one day, then they're having catheters put in the next,"

Coriolanus blinked, momentarily stunned. The last thing he expected was for her to offer help like this, especially after his... admission. It wasn’t just that she cared, it was that she didn’t seem rattled by the idea of getting close, even after what he’d just admitted to her.

He followed her to the bathroom, finding her rummaging around in what little he had in his medicine cabinet. Her brows furrowed in frustration, "God, you really need to fill this up! Maybe with some pain meds, at least. Some bandages, burn cream..." she huffed, "Everybody burns themselves in the kitchen,"

Coriolanus couldn't help but be amused by her frustration, "You may find this a shock, but I don't cook often," he reached for a drawer in the bathroom counter and pulled it open, revealing a basic collection of gauze and medical tape. Sable glowered back at him.

"Now, was that so hard to tell me?"

"Maybe I just like watching you struggle?"

She hummed as she picked through his supplies, "You must truly be a sadist. Sit," she directed him to the lid-down toilet.

Coriolanus sat back, unsure, watching as she kneeled down beside him, delicate fingers carefully peeling away the blood-soaked bandage. It dawned on him then that this was the closest, physically, they had been in private. No Capitol elites, no rubbernecking reporters, no cameras blinding him. It was just the two of them, blood beginning to stain her fingers as she cleaned up around his gash.

He found Sable maddeningly complex—annoying in her ability to read between his carefully crafted lines, manipulative in the way she twisted conversations to suit her agenda. Yet, despite the frustration she stirred in him, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She moved through his world like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, and it drove him to the edge, tempting him with the allure of understanding her layers. He knew there was danger in letting her get too close, yet her unpredictability only deepened his fascination. Even as she knelt before him now, tending to his wound with a gentleness that clashed with her sharpness, he was drawn to her in a way that defied all logic.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, his voice softer than he intended.

Sable didn’t look up, her focus on his wound, "Maybe I’m just not scared of you like you think," she replied.

"You should be," he muttered.

Her eyes flicked up then, catching his gaze with an intensity that made his heart skip. Those deep brown eyes, flecked with gold, shimmered in the dim bathroom light. Her lips—so soft, so close—shimmery with gloss, full and inviting. The thought flashed through his mind again, unbidden but undeniable, wondering how they would taste, how she might react if he leaned in just a little closer, if he dared to cross that line.

"Are you telling me, or threatening me?" she asked, her gaze never wavering.

"I'm telling you," he assured her, "I might not be the shiny gold prince you think I am,"

Sable’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as she continued to tend to his wound, "Well," she said, her tone light but thoughtful, "I'm not exactly a polished princess either, if you think about it. And yet, here we are,"

Coriolanus chuckled, the sound low and amused, “Are you joking? You're the very definition of 'princess'” he said, his gaze still locked with hers.

"But I got parts of me I'm not gonna show to everyone, just like you," she told him.

"I told you that I could kill you not five minutes ago," he reminded her.

“And do you want to?” she asked, sitting back on her knees, her gaze unwavering and challenging.

The question hung in the air, charged with unspoken tension. Coriolanus observed Sable as she knelt on the bathroom tiles, the flickering light casting delicate shadows across her face. Her position made her appear vulnerable, her delicate frame small and exposed in the dimly lit room.

He couldn't help but notice the way her breath hitched slightly with each movement. Their proximity stirred his thoughts, he could think of a plethora of things he could to do to her... even right here in the bathroom, up high in front of the full scale window. No one in the Capitol would be the wiser to all the carnal things he could do to her, no one would hear how he would make her scream.

Coriolanus shook off the darker thoughts, his gaze returning to her eyes, which remained steady and defiant. The contrast between her calm demeanor and his tumultuous thoughts only deepened his fascination.

“Not right now,” he finally replied, his voice softer, “But I can’t promise you forever,"

Her smile widened as she continued to tend to his wound. "I'm not asking for forever, remember? Just until after the election," she teased, her tone light, "After that—you can do whatever you want with me,"

Coriolanus raised an eyebrow, "Sable..."

Her hand rested on his knee, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of his trousers. She sat back on her knees, her gaze steady and her voice serious, "But if I ever do something that irks you or makes you angry... talk to me first before you consider murder. I'd appreciate it more,"

He couldn’t help but smile at her nonchalance. Despite the gravity of their conversation, her ease brought him a strange comfort, "You're crazy," he remarked.

"So I've been told," she shrugged, rising to her feet.

Coriolanus watched her head toward the sink, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer, "You might be even crazier than I am," he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Sable glanced back at him, a playful glint in her eye as she washed her hands, “I’ll take that as a compliment,”

[rkfollower]

Garden

Kara Danvers had never been so distracted in her life.

The wedding ceremony had been beautiful—Alex and Kelly looked happier than ever, and Kara had felt her chest swell with pride for her sister. She was supposed to be focusing on the love in the air, the vows, the music, and the shared joy of everyone around her. But 90% of her attention? Well, that had been stolen the moment Lena Luthor walked in wearing that purple ensemble.

It wasn’t just the cut of the suit, though Kara couldn't deny how the plunging neckline had made her heartbeat quicken. It was the way Lena carried herself, confident and effortless, like she was completely at ease with the power she exuded. The rich purple fabric seemed to caress Lena’s skin, contrasting with her dark hair and those striking green eyes. Kara tried—really tried—to focus on anything else, but her gaze kept drifting back to Lena every chance it got.

She had caught Lena’s eye more than once during the ceremony. Each time, Kara quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in whatever was happening in front of her. But Lena’s presence felt magnetic, pulling her in no matter how hard she resisted.

By the time the reception rolled around, Kara was hopeless. She mingled, congratulated Alex and Kelly, made toasts, but it was all a blur. Lena's smirk from across the room? That was what lingered in her mind.

As the night wound down, Kara found herself searching for Lena. She wandered through the reception, not entirely sure what she was going to say, but knowing she needed to say something. When she couldn’t find Lena inside, she decided to check the garden, which had been decorated with soft lights and flowers, a peaceful retreat from the lively celebration.

Stepping outside, Kara spotted her.

Lena stood among the blooms, the purple ensemble catching the dim glow of the garden lights. The suit was elegant yet daring, and while it had been designed to make a statement, here, surrounded by the delicate flowers and greenery, Lena seemed perfectly at home. The plunging neckline, which had been a bold choice in the ballroom, now looked more like the petals of a flower unfolding under the soft glow of the night.

For a moment, Kara simply watched her. Lena's beauty was undeniable, but this—this was something else. There was a serenity to her, an ease that made Kara’s chest tighten. The flowers around her, pale pinks and whites, seemed to frame her like a painting, each petal and leaf enhancing the rich purple of her outfit. Despite the boldness of her clothing, Lena didn’t clash with the garden; she belonged in it, like she was another piece of the beauty that surrounded her.

Kara finally stepped closer, the gravel crunching softly under her shoes. Lena turned at the sound, her lips curving into a smile the moment she saw Kara.

“Looking for me?” Lena asked, her voice low and teasing, but there was something softer underneath.

Kara swallowed hard, struggling to find her voice. “Yeah… I was, actually.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, the cool night air brushing over them. Kara’s heart raced as she tried to organize her thoughts. The words that came out felt clumsy in her head, but she pushed forward anyway.

“You… you looked amazing tonight. I mean, you always look great, but tonight… wow.”

Lena’s smile widened, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Thanks. I thought I might have caught your attention once or twice.”

Kara’s face flushed, and she laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t very subtle, huh?”

Lena stepped closer, her gaze locked onto Kara’s. “You weren’t. But I didn’t mind.”

There it was—that tension that always seemed to hum between them, electric and charged, but tonight it felt different. Stronger. Maybe it was the soft glow of the garden lights, or the way Lena’s eyes seemed to glimmer like emeralds in the dark. Maybe it was the way Kara’s heart had been beating for Lena all night long.

“You look perfect out here,” Kara found herself saying, her voice barely more than a whisper. “With all these flowers around you. It’s like… like you belong here.”

Lena’s expression softened, and for a moment, she looked almost vulnerable. “I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere,” she admitted quietly, her eyes searching Kara’s face. “But here… with you, maybe I could.”

Kara’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected that, but now that the words were out there, it felt like everything she had been feeling all night—everything she had been feeling for months—was suddenly right at the surface, impossible to ignore.

She took another step closer, her hand reaching out to gently brush against Lena’s. “You do belong,” she said softly. “With me.”

Lena’s eyes widened slightly, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Lena’s fingers curled around Kara’s, her grip firm yet tender. The space between them disappeared as they stood together in the garden, the night blooming around them like a quiet promise.

Kara’s heart swelled with hope as she realized this was the beginning of something new, something she had wanted for so long but hadn’t known how to reach.

But now, standing there with Lena, hand in hand among the flowers, Kara knew they had finally found their way to each other.

And it was perfect.