#i know its not good for me i see that its not good for me but still i just wanna ignore everyone and stay at home thats it

[nereidprinc3ss]

in infinite universes

in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

fluff:) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, university!reader x professor!spencer but you're not his student, unspecified age gap, um statistic about deaths from drunk driving, spencer is a nerd a/n: this is accidentally so romantic I'm gonna puke

The night is chilly—a still, dry type of cold that comes before snowfall. It’s quiet, like the world is preparing for that heavy blanket of white. Even the pounding bass from the frat house doesn’t make it very far before falling flat at the end of the yard. By the time Spencer gets you to his car down the block, it’s a thready pulse. 

“Thanks for walking me,” you say, giving him a saccharine smile as he opens the passenger door for you. His scoff is a thick white cloud, crystallizing against cold, shining skin, slightly pinkened from the temperature. Spencer is glowing like a star tonight. You don’t know if it’s the blurriness from the alcohol in your system smudging the edges of him, or if it’s just that incandescent halo that always seems to follow him around.

“You know I wasn’t going to let you walk down frat row by yourself at one in the morning.”

You pout and look up at him, leaning close. 

“So you don’t want me to say thank you?” 

Spencer’s mouth is curved in absent-minded affection as he takes advantage of the opportunity to study you up close with darting eyes, entertaining your girlish flirtation, and you in turn get to admire the starlit flush of his cheeks, the way his hair falls around his face and thick eyelashes frame irises that could melt ice. You’re not entirely conscious of the huge grin that cracks open your face, but you suspect its presence when his own lips part, still smiling, like he’s maybe going to say something sweet. Or teasing. 

“You’re drunk.”

At this absolute and unarguable truth, you frown. He’s grinning now as he adjusts the thick scarf around your neck, shielding your ears and neck further from the chill that the open car door can’t block. 

“No I’m not.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and before you can process it he’s leaning down, so of course your eyes are going to flutter shut and of course you’re going to kiss him back. The gentle ferocity of it only has you stumbling in place a little bit, and he steadies you with hands around your waist. It’s over entirely too soon. You blink up at him, your shock and fluster betrayed by the visible huff of air dispelled as soon as he pulls away. He’s smiling even wider now. Vindicated. Eyes sparkling. “Gin? Wow. You are drunk.”

It takes you a moment longer than it usually would to decipher how he figured this out. 

“So you just kissed me to prove your theory right?”

The sparkling satisfaction from his indictment softens around his eyes. 

“I knew you were drunk when you almost fell down the stairs a minute ago. The kiss was purely selfish.”

“It’s icy,” you defend, and your heart flutters as he comes in for another kiss. It’s soft and still shockingly deep for being on the street, where anyone could see—although everyone smart is inside, and anyone else is too drunk to care that his mouth is open against yours and the heat of it is translating deep in your stomach. You’re dizzy by the time he laughs quietly against you. 

“What college student is pounding gin and tonics at a frat party?”

The thick wool of his coat bunches under your searching fingers. 

“Me,” you whisper. “I was classing up the joint.”

The final kiss he presses to your lips is sweeter and half smile. “Drunk.”

The murmured accusation shouldn’t make you feel so giddy. Maybe it’s all the gin. 

“Not.”

Another little chuckle warms the tip of your nose and your lips as he breathes it out.

“So you’re good to drive us home?”

You itch to kiss him again, but instead, you respond, “One person dies every thirty nine minutes in America from drunk driving.”

“Good job. You passed.”

The praise is accompanied by a thumb rubbing at your hip through denim. He probably thought you weren’t listening when he’d spouted that particular statistic a few hours ago. 

“Do I get a gold star?”

He kisses your head. 

“We’ll see. Get in.”

On the way home, that last shot hits you. You slump down in your seat and hide your face in your hands. 

“Oh, Spencer. I’m… I’m drunk.”

You feel him glancing at you before he sets a concerned hand on your thigh. 

“You okay?”

Morosely you nod. 

“Yeah. I took a shot with this… Delta Phi Epsilon guy, right before you got there. I wasn’t gonna, but he was like, no, you have to! And now I realize that was dumb.”

Spencer’s hand finds the back of your head, stroking your hair. 

“Do you know what I’m going to say about frat boys pressuring you to drink?”

“It wasn’t like that. He was really nice.”

“I’m sure he was,” Spencer says dryly. “Lots of men become really nice when they think they might have something to gain.”

“I thought he was gay!” You laugh, uncovering your face. “Sorry, dad. I won’t drink alcohol or talk to boys anymore.”

Spencer makes a face and you know you’ve successfully traded pounds of flesh. 

“If you call me dad again I’m making you take an abnormal psych class.”

You give him a lazy smile which he only takes his eyes off the road for a few seconds to admire. 

“I’d take abnormal psych if you were my professor.”

That perpetual upturn at the corners of his perfect mouth flickers wider. 

“Wow. Does gin make you sexually frustrated?”

“It makes me lazy. The professor-student thing is really low hanging fruit.”

“Yeah, it is. You know I’ll expect better material from you once you’ve sobered up.”

You sigh and let your head loll to the front again, studying the tunneling road through the windshield. A few flakes slash the headlights. Your mind wanders. You don’t bother reeling it in. 

“I’m really glad I’m not your student. I’d have the worst crush on you.”

Spencer casts you another side-long glance before adjusting the rear-view mirror. 

“You don’t have a crush on me now?”

“Of course I do. But you like me back. If I was your student you’d never look at me like that. I would just have to pine after you and fall in deep unrequited love like all your other female students.”

He hums skeptically. 

“I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t imagine not being in love with you.”

“There are universes where you’re not. There are infinite realities where I am your student and you don’t like me back and you’re dating other girls who aren’t me and you’re saying this exact stuff to them.”

“True. There are also infinite realities where I find you and I fall in love with you.” Spencer reaches over again, taking your hand and settling them, joined, in your lap. “For each trillionth of a billionth of a second of the life I’ve lived thus far, there are infinite universes which exist solely so I can fall in love with you in a new way. Over and over again. There’s not a choice I could make in any timeline, or in any universe, that doesn’t lead an infinite number of me’s to an infinite number of you’s.” 

The engine hums. The tires roll. 

Other than that—it’s dead silent. 

Because how could he ever expect anyone to respond to that?

You slink low in your seat and bring his hand to cradle your face, warm against your cheek. 

“I hate you,” you mumble. Spencer strokes your jaw absentmindedly, not at all concerned by your dramatics. 

“You hate me? I just said I love you.”

“No, you did not. You said th—I don’t even wanna call it romantic. Romantic doesn’t—I don’t even know what that was. You can’t just say things like that, Spencer! You can’t just casually say stuff like that to me, and especially not when I’m drunk, because I’m gonna start crying!” 

The last word pitches up and perfectly illustrates your point as tears begin to roll down your cheeks—still nipped by the cold. 

Spencer quickly pulls the car off to the side of the abandoned road. 

He’s all affection as he twists to face you and take your face in his hands properly, thumbing away tears. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“You j-just love me so much,” you sob.

“Yes,” Spencer laughs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I do. I love you so much. I didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart.”

“You—you don’t even realize, that you said the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to anyone, and you love me more than anyone’s ever loved anyone, and—and—”

You cut yourself off with another hot wave of tears and a shuddering cry. 

“Oh, my girl,” Spencer coos through an adoring little laugh as he pushes hair out of your face. “You are so drunk, baby. Come here.”

You let him undo your buckle and pull you across the console-less seat (thank you, vintage car) into his arms. For a minute or two you can hardly speak, crying into the warmth of his jacket as he holds you. 

Eventually, you manage to raise your head and pull back enough to look at him. Immediately he’s assessing you with those soft eyes, watching how you wipe away whatever tears didn’t soak into his clothing. Under his watchful gaze, you exhale a sniffing laugh. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

It’s so immediate you’re knocked off balance again. “Well—you were just being nice, and I—”

“I do love you more than anyone has ever loved anyone.”

Usually, you dislike being interrupted. 

In this instance, you’ll let it slide. 

It’s simply too earnest, too honest as his eyes dart between yours like he couldn’t contain it. Like you said it and the thought struck him right in the face—an obvious truth he hadn’t considered before. 

“In infinite universes?” You sniffle. 

“In infinite universes,” he agrees. 

Both of you notice the snow has started to come down outside. Over the course of a few silent minutes, it gets heavier and heavier—a soft hail, sheets of whispering white. 

You’ve never been afraid to break the silence with him. 

But maybe if you weren’t drunk you could keep your questions to yourself. 

“How many snowflakes are we looking at?”

Spencer hesitates, drawn from some kind of hypnosis. 

“Hard to be sure. Heavy snowfall like this could easily put us at six inches within the hour. In that case we’ve watched around point two inches fall. Visibility is probably reduced to about a quarter mile… point two inches across a square quarter mile is a hundred and seventeen thousand five hundred square feet of snow, average density of flakes at this temperature being about three kilograms per cubic foot of snow, and a snowflake weighs maybe… point zero zero zero zero zero two kilograms, so, roughly… very roughly… we’re looking at one hundred and forty two million snowflakes. That’s my best guess.”

You look up at him from where you’d been resting your head on his shoulder. 

“You’re the coolest person ever.”

He blushes. 

Tries to reply. 

Looks back out the window and huffs a nervous laugh, like you’ve flustered him. 

“Lots of people could do that. The math isn’t too complicated. It’s also probably wrong.”

A slow smile blossoms on your face. 

“You’re never wrong. So… what percentage of infinity is a hundred and forty two million?”

“Uh… undefined,” he laughs, looking back down at you. “But… in tangible terms, which is inherently contradictory because infinity is completely intangible, and actually pretty meaningless to mathematicians—more of a philosophical concept than a numerical one… it is a very small fraction. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t want philosophical,” you murmur, reaching up to graze your knuckles along his cheekbone. “I want hard numbers.”

He catches your hand and holds the tips of your fingers to his lips as he thinks, watching hundreds of millions of snowflakes falling from the wide black heavens through narrowed eyes. 

“A googol is written as a one followed by a hundred zeros, and a googolplex is a one followed by a googol of zeros. That’s the largest named number we have. It surpasses the estimated number of atoms in the universe. It’s too large to conceptualize. Mathematicians don’t really have any practical use for numbers above one trillion, but the largest number you’ll find in a dictionary and which might be formally accredited is a centillion, which is a one followed by three hundred and three zeros. It’s bigger than a googol but hardly a fraction of a googolplex. But—okay, we’re setting aside the conceptual numbers. What was your question?”

Your head spins as you laugh. 

Too much gin. Too many IQ points. 

“Infinity divided by, uh… the number of snowflakes I can see right now.”

The engine is still on—heat blows steadily, warming your arm through a coat and sweater, and whatever it can’t reach is warmed by Spencer. 

“Right. Okay. Well—to put it into perspective, with snowflakes, you have around one septillion that fall each year. That’s twenty four zeros, so… a lot. Are you with me?”

“No.”

“Great. So, a hundred and forty two million is basically infinity.”

This earns a clumsy, drunken laugh from you, and he smiles like he’d been hoping for that. 

It’s so warm in the cab of his car. It’s so warm under his gaze. 

Outside, the snow continues to fall. 

For each flake, there is a world where you and Spencer fall in love. And in the grand scheme of things, you’re not looking at very many. 

In infinite universes, you’ll find each other. For eternity. 

You’d be happy with just this one. 

[twinkletfout]

Baby making with 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

You both decided to take it easy after marriage before trying for a baby, and kento was perfectly fine with it. But when you finally approached him, telling him that you wanted a baby, with him. He didn't know that it had such an effect on him when it fell from your lips. Of course he did not expect that, you were tying his tie like usual before he leaves for work, a simple routine that he grew to love. "About having a baby.." you started, your eyes anywhere other than his.

Oh but kento couldn't be more happier, a slight smile tugging on the corners of his lips before he hums, "yes..?" He urges you to go on. Your eyes peeked up to face him, to see him already looking at you, intently. Watching every expression flashing across your face, your body language making it clear that you were shy. "Don't you think we should start trying..?" You said, the red tint spreading across your cheeks didn't go unnoticed by him. "Well, yes of course." He leaned in, his hands coming to wrap around your waist to pull you in before he whispered before kissing, The little goodbye kiss you both shared right before he goes to work. "Cant wait, for tonight"

The last dialogue of his was still replaying in your mind all day, your mind seems to wander to what he said, even when you were trying to focus on your work, even when you went up to open the door to him, even when he pushed you on to the wall as he kissed you impatiently like he was waiting for this moment all day, just like you.

He didn't know he was waiting this much for this moment with you, until now. Your nails gently clawed on his back as he entered you, shushing and murmuring sweet nothings and praises in your ear. And when he finally reaches all the way in, you could feel him whole, twitching uncontrollably against your deepest parts, you knew he was just as excited as you were. You whimpers and moans only fueling his desire before he starts moving, he holds you so close, so gently, his big hands wrapping you whole before he increases his pace, "shh, its okay, love, fuck— princess its too much, relax f' me?" He groans, because of the way you are squeezing down on him, cause god, you were feeling too good that you coudnt even control yourself.

Your mind was so full of pleasure, as you were laid on top of him, one of his hands wrapped around your waist and the other one holding your head gently as he rammed inside you. His face cuddled to the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "Gon fill you up soo good, hmkay?" And he holds you close to him, when he finally cums, pushing into you deeper as his hips thrust for one last time as he dumps his final load inside. Gosh it feels warm, the way you could feel him pumping you so full. "Fuck- you look so beautiful like this, sweetheart" he whispered as he pulled out, to see your pussy dripping with him. GAHHHH I WANT HIM SO BADD

[prokopetz]

"But doesn't having a notion of 'balanced' combat inherently imply that all combat encounters are expected to be fair and winnable" well, no – it implies only that the GM has the ability to know whether a given combat encounter is fair and winnable.

There's a story that's been going around for decades about a Dungeons & Dragons party who encountered a large room full of treasure while exploring a dungeon. Immediately suspicious, they asked their GM a series of detailed questions about the room, but no obvious dangers were identified. Satisfied, they moved into the room – and were immediately set upon and eaten by the dragon that had been sitting atop the pile of treasure the whole time, which the GM hadn't mentioned because the players never specifically asked about the presence of living creatures within the room.

While this is obviously an extreme and ridiculous case, it illustrates an important point: as GM, you're the group's eyes and ears. If you don't describe something, the player characters literally can't see it – that dragon was effectively invisible from their perspective. The trick is that active malice isn't the only way to invisible-dragon your players; a group can also find themselves invisible-dragoned because the GM simply failed to provide sufficient information for the risk in question to be identified. This can happen through neglect, but it can also happen because the GM themself was unaware that the risk was present.

Now, hold on, you might be saying: the GM "plays" the entire world. How is it possible for the GM not to know that a risk is present? Well, that brings us back around to the subject of combat balance.

A game in which "balanced" combat is a meaningful thing to discuss is typically going to be one in which both the players and the GM are actually making strategic, tactical, and/or logistical decisions, rather than merely producing a description of their characters making such decisions. Without a good handle on the interplay of these decisions, it's completely possible for the GM to be wrong about the level of risk the scenario they've constructed entails.

That's actually pretty critical, because even if you don't care about the game being fair and winnable (and that's a perfectly valid stance), your players are still depending on you to be their eyes and ears, and to give them enough information to make good decisions about whether the fight in front of them is one they can win. A game where not every fight is expected to be winnable needs to be a game where the players have the opportunity to walk away.

No matter how objective you try to be, your own sense of the answer to that question is inevitably going to colour how you communicate about it. You being wrong about the level of risk at hand inherently increases the chance that your players will make bad choices. The party eating a TPK because they made a stupid decision is one thing; the party eating a TPK because they made a decision that looked reasonable from their perspective based on your unwitting miscommunication of the level of risk involved is quite another!

Sure, once the dice hit the table I'm probably going to realise that I fucked up, and I can adjust things on the fly to bring the level of risk that's actually present in line with the level of risk I communicated – but that's extra work I don't need with everything else that's on my plate. And that's a best-case scenario; if I'm running the game for a hardcore let-the-dice-fall-where-they-may group (and such groups tend to have a pretty significant overlap with groups that are cool with not every fight being winnable), I may not be able to adjust the fight's parameters on the fly without violating the social contract of the table.

Basically, whenever I see an OSR game with tactically crunchy combat brag about how its author never even thinks about "balance", what that's telling me is that running this game is going to create a whole lot of extra work for me as a GM. This is not a selling point.

[patricia-taxxon]

I want to set the record straight regarding a certain OST for a short film that should be coming out later this year, because one of its directors is making false and hurtful claims about me and my business ethic. After he made a prominent appearance on a drama stream about me & wrote a section of my callout doc, I told him that I wasn't interested in dragging him publicly, but that has felt more impossible as time goes on and I realize the extent of his misrepresentation. I had a vision of this film being able to release quietly in spite of everything, but I don't think that can happen, and I fully expect him to try and hurt my chances at further work.

In 2023, between techdogs 4 and 5, I worked on music for a then good friend's student film. It is by far the most technically difficult job I've ever had, and I did it for free. Now, before you get mad, this is partially (mostly) my fault. I never negotiated a price beforehand, and when I found out partway through that I was working for free, I let it slide for fear of being disruptive. If I was asked to quote a price today, it would have been approximately 900 USD. The work was a hellish and grueling experience, technical in ways I'd never been prepared for, and I sorely regret not putting my foot down, because I was hollowed out by the end of it.

A big portion of his callout against me is concerned with, bafflingly, my decision not to contribute my own money to the film, which at that point would have been a negative paycheck. I didn't pay the thirty dollars that I would've had to pitch in for the film to be screened, and I considered that a fine payment for the nine hundred dollars of work they got from me. He goes on to write that I'm rich anyways, I pay hundreds of dollars on album art (business expenses that I know I'll make back when the music is released) and "furry porn," because apparently if I am occasionally willing to drop a pretty penny on a pleasure purchase then I should simply be compelled to pay them randomly for things I hold no stake in and that I signed no contract for. He also mentions that I paid them later for the DCP file at another screening, of course by that point I had gotten the vibe that they were wanting for me to drop money on their project, so I did, giving the post-hoc justification that "i guess in this case I also care about the film sounding good." He writes "well I guess that was something she deemed worthy" without realizing the implication would then be that he did not see my own work as worthy.

Let me make this clear, this is like if a voice actor worked on my video game for free as a favor with no expectations of royalties, and then I asked them to help me pay to get the game on steam. This is presented along reheated second, third, fourthhand accounts of sexual misconduct.

And before we move on, to the claim that one album artist had to wait for years before receiving payment, this is true. I did forget to pay one artist, and only found out after their assistant contacted me years later, where I then paid six times the asking price as a late fee. I was commissioning over ten album arts every year, and as of now, this is the only time I have made this mistake.

It is impossible for me to refute his claims about the personal time we spent together in Omaha, as it would just be my word against his. I will just say that he should know the omitted reasons that I have grown to feel I was disposed, discarded, and taken for granted by him, and how he has nothing to do with why I hold those memories at that film festival so highly. He also does the classic thing where he positions allowing me to pick the movie in the evening as this favor he did, making me unknowingly rack up debt for a bargain I never consented to.

During all this, he has expressed an existential fear of being harassed for going public about me, and for this reason I want to say that I still hope that this film can be released without a fuss, but his continued participation in a harassment campaign against me has done far more to tarnish his reputation than I ever could. If you really cared about your image, pressure Crim to re-record that drama stream without your embarrassing petty grievances in it & delete your testimony from the callout doc. Thanks.

[transgenderer]

Give me your Islam trutherism stance. Lay out the whole position. I think I've asked about this before but I forgot. I'm kind of an Islam head. Islam is the only Abrahamic religion I give a shit about. I think the other ones are bullshit. Academically I think critical scholarship on Islam is like just getting off the ground so we barely know anything about it yet. Anyway drop the trutherism. Mohammad was a girl... Mohammad was actually a beautiful anime woman...

well see the thing is. mohammad was almost certainly a real guy, who was some sort of leader of a group of people. POSSIBLY he never lead a large group, and the large group didnt form until afterwards. but it seems like he led at least a large-ish group. he probably had some sort of religious teaching, altho its unclear if he had any original doctrine or was just a passionate judeo-christian monotheist. oh and yknow, he lived and did stuff around arabia (well. some people say syria. probably not syria).

and that's...sort of all we can say for sure about the real muhammad! there's all sorts of other stuff that MIGHT be true about muhammad, especially after they got to medina. but his early life is a blank to us, the same way jesus' life before his ministry is a blank to us. who knows! but people who confidently tell you "mohammad lived in a city of pagans and converted them all" are exceedingly credulous. we have no good evidence that happened

one interesting thing the shwepisode talks about: so, obviously the islamic conquests "happened". in the sense that there wasn't a state there, and then there started being a large state there. but we dont see them archeologically! which is not crazy, they allowed people to surrender. they didnt just raze everything to the ground. but it's unfortunate, it would be nice if we could use archeology to say stuff about early islam. in part, we cant use archeology re: early islam because a huge number of artifacts were destroyed, there's a weirdly small amount of surviving stuff that could tell us about early islam. but it's not clear! posssibly even the *stories* about uthman destroying a whole bunch of alternate qurans aren't true!

its a very weird field. something that is clearly very important to a huge number of people, and yet is in some ways even more poorly evidence than the early history of the christian church, which we have a large number of texts from (i mean, starting in the early 2nd century. but christianity grew much more slowly, so "early christianity" lasted much longer than "early islam")

[fortunapre]

𝐖𝐡at Happens 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐬… | 𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢

SUMMARY★ the internet gets suspicious after Oscar Piastri’s childhood best friend shows up to the USA GP after swearing off races a year ago…

(multiple face claims)

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y/nusername home sweet home *read in southern mama accent*

View comments⇩

oscarpiastri: hey! no way i’m going to be there too what a coincidence!

➜ y/nusername: its not a coincidence im stalking you

➜ oscarpiastri: 😀 what.

y/nbff: tell me you’re joking

➜ y/nusername: lemme tell you something... LEMME TELL YOU SUMTHING!

user1234: why does @y/nbff sound mad? Did she not tell her bsf or something?

➜ user999: don’t quote me on this but i’m pretty sure it has to do with the drama about y/n and her ex.

➜ user 1234: wait what?!? Im new what is that???

➜ f1updatesfans: well like i think 2 years ago y/n was seen around with this guy while she was in Austin (her home town) for the USA race.

➜ f1updatesfans: Then suddenly he like disappeared and y/n didn’t go to another race since. but now apparently she’s going to this one??? it’s all very speculative but yeah.

➜ user1234: ok but what does y/n have to do with formula one? Wait was she dating a driver?

➜ f1updatesfans: No! I dont think so... And shes Oscar’s friend I think. Best friend.

imessages- y/n's POV

Once y/n got off of the plane and through the gate, she stood waiting for Oscar. Considering he was already in town for the race, he had no problem coming to get her. They were best friends after all.

y/n had a hand on her suitcase and leaned against a pillar. She looked worn out and utterly tired. Her eye bags could practically be called carry-on luggage. She rested her head on the wall and scrolled through her contacts before choosing Oscar's name.

Her phone only rang once before Oscar's voice answered from the other side.

"Hey, y/n." He said in his signature sweet tone that always made y/n smile. The corner of her mouth lifted at his voice while she closed her eyes. Maybe tired was an understatement.

She was exhausted. Usually she just sleeps on planes, but for the whole 6-hour trip she never dozed off. The closest she got was simply closing her eyes.

She couldn't sleep. Not when she was so worried about what would happen once she landed.

"Yeah, hey Oscar." she murmured, and let out a long yawn. "My gate is A6." She held her phone between her shoulder and cheek while she tried to fish out her wallet from her purse.

"You good? You sound tired. Or sad. I can't really tell over the phone." Oscar spoke through the speaker pressed up against her ear.

"Yes, I'm fine..." Once she found her wallet, she pulled out cash to buy something to drink at the mini market across from her gate.

"Oh, I see you! Stop walking I'm coming to your right now." Oscar said quickly. Y/n looked around her, trying to find him. Eventually, she spotted his familiar smile.

They both hung up the phone as Oscar got closer. He was smiling at her, almost smirking really. When he stood next to her, he took a moment to look at her state, no doubt remembering it to make fun of later.

Y/n smiled back and then continued walking to the minimarket, with Oscar alongside her.

Once she got her water, they both started walking towards the exit.

"Here, I can take this." Oscar stopped y/n and put his hand on top of her hand which was holding her suitcase. His touch felt familiar and warm. His hands always felt rougher than they looked, but y/n felt comfort in knowing it was Oscar. At first, she didn't speak.

She was too busy staring at their hands because something different was happening.

She felt different. Suddenly, she wanted his hand to never leave. She wanted his hand to grab hers and lace their fingers. She wanted his hand to touch her more.

She shook her head and looked away from their hands. She must be really tired, and sleep deprived.

Instead of agreeing verbally, y/n just let go, suddenly conscious of Oscar's burning touch, and nodded, letting him take her suitcase.

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ynusername airport fit check

photo credits: lando norris’s teammate, i think?

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oscarpiastri shut up

landonorris *my future boyfriend

➜ ynusername LANDO WHAT! is this a hard launch for you two???? wdym your bf

➜ landonorris WAIT HAHA NO I MEANT MY AS IT YOURS

➜ landonorris I WAS CORRECTING YOU AS YOU

➜ landonorris WAIT DONT

➜ landonorris i’m deleting this.

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imessages- oscar's POV

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imessage- oscar's POV

"Who are you texting?" Y/n asked casually, wanting to start conversation. She sat comfortable in a sofa across from him. Originally, they were both laying down on the sofa's facing each other, a table in the middle.

But once Oscar got the first message, he sat up quickly.

At one point y/n caught him looking at her, with the most confused face she's seen on him, but he just went back to typing.

"What?" His head shot up from his phone, and his eyes got wide.

"I asked who you were texting." She replied. Y/n sat up slowly, matching him and then leaned in, with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped together.

"Oh. um. no one. Just Lando"

"Oh ok." This conversation was just making her more bored, and she wanted to talk to Oscar. There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. "What about?"

"Hmm?" Oscar seemed extremely distracted.

"What about?"

Instead of answering, he ran a hand through his hair and looked down. Y/n was going to ask what was wrong but he suddenly stood up and walked around the sofa.

He was still silent, and he changed positions to now stand behind the sofa and leaned on back, arm folded, facing away from her.

"Osc-" Y/n was going to ask why he was so distracted, but he cut her off.

He turned around, now looking her in the eye. "y/n can I ask you something?"

Now y/n was worried, because what could be on his mind that he needed to ask her about.

"Of course, Osc"

Oscar looked at her as she waited for his question. Like really looked at her. She was wearing Mclaren merch with his number on the back of course. She looked gorgeous. The realization made Oscar run a hand through his hair again, no doubt messing it up this time.

"It's kind of personal, y/n. I understand why you haven't said anything about it before. It's your personal life and I want you to know that i understand."

"Oscar what-"

"Is your ex in Austin?"

Y/n was surprised to say the least. She knew that questions about her past relationship would come up, but Oscar asking was surprising. She told him last year about how her ex broke up with her.

She was devastated. He had broken up with her over the phone, on the way back from last year's Austin Grand Prix. His reasons were stupid, and his apologies sounded incredibly forced.

She immediately called Oscar and told him everything. Well, everything except from his name. Oscar can be protective when it comes to y/n, so she kept her ex's name secret. It sounds stupid now that she thinks about it because even if Oscar did get mad, he would never do anything Y/n didn't like.

"Yeah. He's here, in Austin, but I haven't talked to him at all. You know what he did, and I want nothing to do with him." Y/n didn't know why she was trying to explain herself so much. She felt like she needed to make it known that there was nothing between her and her ex anymore. What this had to do with Oscar? she didn't know.

He nodded and walked towards her. They both sat next to each other on the small sofa while Oscar overthought everything.

"You want nothing to do with him? like at all? because Lando was making me think that you were possibly here to get back together with him..." He needed to know for sure.

"What? Oscar not of course. Why would Lando think that?"

"I don't know." he was going to run a hand through his hair for the third time, but y/n grabbed his wrist instead. She held his hand softly and intertwined their fingers.

Oscar felt relieved. Y/n was probably wondering why Oscar had so many sudden questions about her love life, but neither of them brought up the suddenness of the conversation. They instead sat close together; hands intertwined, hoping that the other couldn't tell how fast their heart is beating at the they're simple touch.

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oscarpiastri new merch that even I'd wear (it's a white shirt, get it?)

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ynusername cool now I have another shirt i can steal

➜ oscarpiastri get your own! https://mclaren.com

➜ oscarpiastri hope this helps!

➜ ynusername you're going to give it to me anyways I know it

➜ oscarpiastri probably...

landonorris @.ynusername where have you beeeeeen I haven't seen you all weekend

➜ ynusername clearing my calendar for you right now!

➜ landonorris tell oscar to stop keeping you to himself!!!

➜ oscarpiastri no go away

➜ landonorris *cough* jealous *cough*

➜ oscarpiastri 😐 that’s enough

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2 days later, and neither Y/n nor Oscar had made any progress on acknowledging their feelings. Even the internet and gossip columns knew more about it then each other.

a/n:

just a small smau i wanted to try. i’ve never done one of these types of stories, so sorry if its bad or confusing!

not sure if i’ll do a part 2…do we like?

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 12: The Fight (Warning: this chapter will feature blood and violence. Proceed at your own risk)

“Look at all this,” you whisper as you take in the sights of the Strip, all the various casinos and hotels lighting up the night sky. “I returned to Nevada four years ago and I’ve never been here before. What the hell was I thinking?”

(You were trying to set up your new life, which was the responsible thing to do back then. But, we agree, coming here sooner would not have been unwelcome. This city seems to be a source of endless entertainment.)

You had finished the DLC for Salvage Rights earlier today and to celebrate both its release and its positive reception, you decided to treat yourself by going to Sin City and indulging in its various casinos and restaurants; you have the knowledge and experience of countless gamblers from Gotham, so you should be able to play blackjack and poker with the best of them.

You thought you were prepared to handle and glitz and glamor Vegas has to offer, but seeing it with your own eyes has left you speechless. The lights have you mesmerized and you’re loving it! Everywhere you look, there’s something beckoning you, like a moth to a flame and right now, you don’t care if you get burned.

“Hey, look over there,” you say, stopping to look at something above you in the distance.

The sight is a towering building proudly bearing the name “Caesar’s Palace” in lights. During your brief research for your trip to the Strip, you read Caesar’s Palace is one of the most popular casinos in the city and is also a popular destination for dining.

(You did say you wanted the “full Vegas experience.” Going to one of the largest establishments in the city would be a step in the right direction.)

When you first thought of this little excursion, you wanted to have fun, but didn’t want to get trapped in the larger ones and lose all the money you brought in with you, instead opting to stay in the smaller casinos. “Keep it simple, keep it safe,” you said a few hours ago.

Now, the lights of the massive casino before you has ensnared you and is luring you towards it like an angler fish does with its prey.

“Ave, true to Caesar,” you say as you begin the trek towards the towering monolith.

If the outside was mesmerizing, then the inside is absolutely enthralling! As expected of a place named after a Greek emperor, the interior looks like a palace plucked from the Greek Empire, complete with marble and gold, making you feel like royalty.

(We take it we are going to play here?)

“Damn right,” you say as you enter the casino part of the resort, taking in the seemingly endless rows to slot machines, card tables, and other various gambling set ups.

As you look at each slot machine and table, you’re flooded with information from the Megamycete’s archives on what you want to see when playing slot machines and when is the best time to stand when playing blackjack. While Gotham doesn’t have shit on Vegas, it did have a passable gambling scene, which attracted many expert gamblers to that City of the Damned.

With your newfound knowledge in hand, you exchange the thousand bucks you brought with you for chips and make your way to a roulette table with only one other person.

“Good evening, sir,” the dealer greets you as you situate yourself of the other side of the table, away from the other player. “Will you be joining us?”

“Deal me in,” you respond, pushing a few chips on the table to test the waters. You may know the basics from playing Fallout New Vegas, but this is real life with real money being risked and this time you don’t have a maxed out Luck stat to cheat the system with.

A few hands in and you can say for sure you love gambling. Sure, you’ve lost a few rounds, ruining a couple hot streaks, but right now, you have more money than you came in with.

“Fifteen, odd, black,” the dealer says when the ball finally stops spinning before giving you the pot, much to your delight.

“Goddamn it,” the other man exclaims, shoving himself away from the table and storming off, hopefully towards the exit as tonight has not been his night.

“I apologize for that display,” the deal says as he readies the spinner for the next round. “Will you be playing another round?”

“Definitely,” you respond, sliding three-hundred dollars worth of chips onto red.

“Have room for one more,” a masculine voice rings out next to you.

You tense up when the voice registers in your head and you look to your right to see Bruce fucking Wayne, looking down at you with that fake ass smile he gives the idiots of Gotham. Your anger only intensifies when he places a thousand dollars worth of chips into the pot.

What the hell is he doing here?

(How dare he,) the Megamycete practically growls. (This is a night meant for you to enjoy yourself and he intrudes upon it, and in your city no less.)

“Welcome, Mr. Wayne,” the dealer says as he spins the spinner after the bastard places his bet.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says to you, his focus on you and not the spinner. “I have to say, I don’t peg you as the gambling type.”

You say nothing, not wanting to give him any sort of satisfaction, and focus on the game.

“It’s a very dangerous habit if you’re not careful,” he chides you as the baller begins to slow down. “And coming to a place like Vegas? It’s not safe for someone like you. You should be back home, where you belong.”

You know the “home” he’s referring to isn’t your house in Goodsprings, but Wayne Manor in Gotham and it’s taking all your willpower not to pimp smack the shit out of him right now. This was meant to be a night for you to have fun in Vegas and you’re not gonna let him ruin that like he did the night you won your award.

“Gotham has plenty of high-end casinos where you can play all the games you want. I could take you to each of them and make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

“Vegas is far safer than Gotham,” you retort. “Here, the biggest threat you face is losing your money when you don’t know when to quit. In Gotham, you have nut jobs running around killing people on a nightly basis and the biggest nut job of them all beating the crap out of them.” You give him a mocking look, knowing something that would get under his skin. “No one in their right mind would live in that cesspit of a city. If you ask me, that place should be nuked to hell.”

While he manages to hide it well, you can see just the faintest of winces and you let your smirk show. For whatever reason, he thinks Gotham is the best place on the planet and is worth protecting. You learned about Gotham’s seedy history from its early days as a colony established in 1635 and you can say for certain that area is cursed. If you had your way, a giant wall would be built around Gotham and everyone inside would be left to kill each other and rot in that cursed city, especially the Waynes.

“Gotham has its flaws, sure,” he responds. “But I’m able to look past its dark side and see a bright future for both the city and everyone that calls it home. As you know, Wayne Enterprises has been the vanguard of breathing new life into the city.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I heard WE’s stock has practically become worthless in the last few days. Rumor has it all major stockholders are demanding for you to step down as CEO.”

“I’ve been in tight spots before and I’ve always come out on top. This will be no different. I’m sure things will turn back around in no time.”

“Six, even, black,” the dealer announces, bringing you back to the game. “Congratulations, Mister Wayne.”

You roll your eyes as the pot goes to the son of a bitch. You mentally shake your head and place your chips on the table for the next round.

“Maybe you should step down,” you say as the dealer begins the round. “I was stuck in that manor of yours for over a decade and I know it’s a mess. You should really get your house in order before you go around ‘fixing’ Gotham.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my family,” he growls. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

“No one’s buying that story anymore, Mister Wayne. I take it you haven’t read Lois Lane’s latest article?”

“Of course I have,” he says, glaring at you and it makes you want to laugh knowing how you’re testing his limits. “How could you say those things about your family?”

“You’re not my family,” you snap. “You all made it quite clear I wasn’t a part of it over and over. The only family I’ve ever had was Momma and she was taken from me.”

The anger in his eyes fade and he was silent for a moment. “I know we made mistakes during your time with us and we’re sorry about that.”

“It’s too little, too late, Mister Wayne.”

“Twenty-four, even, black,” the dealer states, clearly more interested in your conversation than the game.

You can’t help but smile as the chips make their way back to you and you place a bet of five-hundred for the next round. Of course, Bruce doesn’t go way and instead places another bet.

“Please, Y/N, come home,” he pleads as the spinner is spun. “We all miss you. Especially Alfred.”

“He’s welcome to visit me whenever he wants. The rest of you can go to hell.”

“Like it or not, they’re your siblings, Y/N,” he growls, getting closer to you. “And I’m your father. You will show them, and me, the respect that entails.”

“Respect is earned, not given,” you retort, getting close and looking up at him. He may terrify Gotham’s criminally insane, but you know you’re better than him in every way, so you’re not scared. “And don’t get it mixed up, you’re a sperm donor, not my father. God knows you never acted like it.” You lean close so that your face is mere inches away from his. “If you want, we can take this outside, Mister Wayne. Just remember what happened last time things got physical between us.”

“Now, now, gentlemen,” the dealer says. “Let’s keep this friendly. We’re all here to have fun, right?”

(Listen to him, Y/N. Do not let him ruin your first trip to Vegas. There will be plenty of time to put him in his place after we have had our fun.)

You continue to stare at him and direct all your anger and hatred towards him until he finally concedes and backs off and you do the same, just in time for the ball to finally stop.

“Nineteen, odd, red,” the dealer says as he slides the chips to you.

“I just want to make things right,” he says as he places his bet. “I know I treated you wrong and I want to fix that. So we can be father and son.”

You roll your eyes at the pathetic words and even more pathetic look as you place your bet and the deal begins the round. “You’re not sorry, Mister Wayne, you just feel guilty. Whatever conscious you have in your twisted little soul is making you feel bad and you can’t stand it, so that’s why you’re humiliating yourself trying to earn something I can never and will never give you: my forgiveness.”

He winces enough for both you and the dealer to see, but you find yourself taking no joy in fracturing his mask. This was supposed to be a night of fun and games, but he had to come all the way from Gotham and ruin it. It’s actually made you despise him even more, a task you thought impossible until now.

“Twelve, even, red,” the dealer states as he slides the chips towards Bruce.

It’s then you notice that you and him have almost the same amount of chips and the sight of it ignites an inferno of competition, which fuels your desire to assert your superiority over this pathetic creature before you.

(We are with you,) the Megamycete states firmly. (Show this interloper his place!)

“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he says as you place all your chips on red, your mother’s favorite color, glaring at him as you do. It’s then he does the same thing, but places his chips on black, the color of the Bat.

How predictable.

With both your bets placed, the dealer spins the roulette, signaling the final round between you two. When that little ball stops spinning, one of you will take all and the other will lose all.

“Please, there must be something I can give you to show you I’m sincere. And you of all people should price is no object for me. Just name it and it’s yours.”

(How pathetic! He thinks all those years of abuse and neglect can be erased by buying you some insignificant trinket? Does he think you some whore that can be bought? Show him how wrong he is, Y/N!)

“You want to know what I want, Mister Wayne,” you ask, malice dripping with your every word, as the ball begins to slow down and clatter around. “I want you to know that I hate you more than anything else on this world; I want it to rattle around in your head for the rest of your life, from when you’re around your collection of misfits to when you lay your head down at night, that there’s no word or phrase in any language that has ever existed or ever will exist on this planet that can fully express how much animosity and hatred I have for you.”

It’s then that you get in his personal space has he had done with you earlier and use the mold so you can stretch your body ever so slightly so your face is almost touching him and stare into those eyes you’ve come to despise so much and they stare back at you, full of hurt and shock.

In the background, you can hear the ball beginning to slow down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the game. Right now, all that matters is conveying just how much you hate Bruce Wayne.

“I want you to grow old and die knowing that, in the end, I was the one that rejected you.”

His response? Nothing but the widening of his eyes and stepping back, as if you had struck him.

“Seven, odd, red,” the dealer says, obviously shocked at what you just said.

You say nothing as you gather your chips and walk away, leaving Bruce Wayne behind to reflect on your words.

As you walk, you notice your heart is beating enough to burst out for your chest and your face is molten hot, even without touching it. In the moment, you had no idea how your words affected you as much as they apparently did that bastard.

(Perhaps we should return home,) the Megamycete suggests. (The night has been ruined and you need to rest after that interaction. We can always return another night for entertainment.)

As much as you hate to admit it, it’s right; after that display, you’re not in the mood to see what else you can get up to in your first night in Vegas. Being around him has brought back much of the anger you thought you had finally buried after moving back to Goodsprings and getting your life together and it’s killed any desire for gambling, dining, and everything in between.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice sounding weak even to you. “Let’s go home.”

You quickly cash in your chips and pocket the check the cashier gives you before making your way towards the exit. From there, you walk around until you find an alleyway tucked into an isolated and desolate part of the city to sprout mold armor and wings before taking off into the night sky.

“You know, the city looks even more breathtaking from up here,” you remark as you enter the vast expanse of the Mojave.

(Indeed. Maybe when we return, we will earn enough money from playing games that we can stay in the highest level of the tallest hotel of the city and see it again.)

“Yeah,” you respond with a throaty chuckle. “That’d be nice.”

You look down at the desert beneath you when you feel something hit your wings, slicing through and severing them, leaving you to fall to the ground. You shout as you harden your armor just in time as you impact with the sand, creating a deep crater.

(Are you alright,) it asks as you climb your way out.

“Yeah,” you respond with a groan. “What the hell happened?”

You get your answer once you make your way to the top and see Bruce, donned in his Batman gear, looking down at you.

“Are you alright,” he asks, as if he wasn’t the cause of the incident.

You dismiss your mold helm and look at him square in his eye slits, taking a deep breath and exhaling before saying, ever so calmly, “I’m going to kill you now.”

And with your intentions declared, you summon a new pair of wings and launch yourself towards the bastard and before he can react, you grab him by the face with one hand and propel the both of you backwards, using to wings to fly as you forcibly shove his head into the sand and push him forward, creating a trail in your wake.

His hands fly to yours and attempt to free himself from your grasp, but you don’t give him the chance and throw him towards a nearby rock formation as hard as you can.

He can only flail around like a rag doll as he flies through the air and lands on the rock formation with a satisfying crash, sending debris and sand flying in all directions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough to keep him down as he’s quickly back on his feet. He reaches into his utility belt and throws a batarang at you and you respond by creating a similar object out of mold and send it flying towards it, the two of them hitting each other and falling to the ground.

Of course, he’s quick to act and before you can see it, he’s thrown something at you and you’re trapped in some kind of cable.

“What the hell,” you exclaim as you try to break free of the wire, but find yourself unable to.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says as he closes the gap between the two of you. “But you’re coming home and I’m gonna find a way to get rid of this thing inside you.”

You’re already pissed, but the way he says something so batshit crazy with a tone similar to one that you’d use to calm a startled animal enrages you even more.

How he can still be so determined to drag you back to Gotham when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate him and his family after everything they’ve done to you is nothing short of astounding.

(He seeks to separate us,) the Megamycete practically hisses. (Do not let him! Kill him, Y/N! Kill him!)

Your rage towards the man before you explodes like a blast furnace and you reduce your body to a murder of crows and fly towards Bruce at top speed.

He raises his arms to protect his face and you use your mold hardened beaks and talons to slice into his suit, leaving at least two dozen bloody cuts all over his body.

(Good! Hurt him even more! Bleed him dry!)

Your murder of crows fly around him, forcing him into a defensive posture, and you gather them all so you can reform into your armored form right behind him. He realizes what’s happened, but he can only turn around to face you when you grab his wrist as hard as you can, and wave him around in the air and slam him into the rock below you over and over, taking pleasure in the sounds of rock breaking with every hit.

It’s then you slam him into the rock and summon a mold sword. When he looks up at you and realizes what’s about to happen, he raises his hand just in time for your sword to go through his hand and the tip of your sword pierce the hardened Bat symbol on his chest; you know the symbol is the strongest part of his suit so it can protect whatever he has beating in his chest, but you’re determined, so it begins to crack and crumble as you drive the sword deeper in.

He tries to say something, but the damage you’ve done to him takes its toll as he can only gurgle something as blood begins to seep from the corner of his mouth.

You dismiss your helm as you lean down towards him, a vicious, bloodthirsty grin etched across your face, and the sword goes down just a little more.

“Let’s get rid of this, shall we,” you mock, grabbing his cowl, ignoring the shock the suit gives you in response. “I want to see the life fade from your eyes!”

And with that declaration, you rip the cowl off him, exposing his face, marred with bloody cuts and bruises, before you.

When you look into his eyes, you can see past the look of struggle is fear and terror.

(He knows this is the end! Finish him! Put an end to the Bat!)

“Goodbye, Mister Wayne!”

Just then, you see something fly past you and it’s then you realize the arm holding your sword has been sliced through. Bruce takes advantage of the situation and kicks you a few feet away from him and he backflips so he can put even more distance between the two of you.

You quickly collect yourself to see the source of the disruption: Dick and Cass, donned in their vigilante gear.

“You ok, B,” Dick asks as Bruce joins them.

“I’m fine,” he grunts out. “What are you doing here?”

“Alfred told us you were coming here and we knew something like this was going to happen. We all wanted to come, but we knew we couldn’t all leave Gotham, so we drew straws.”

The way he sounds so joyful pisses you off even more. How dare he! You were so close to putting an end to him and Dick had to come and ruin it!

(You should rip his limbs off! Strip him of his wings and cast him into the dam!)

Cass looks at you and you instantly know she’s analyzing you, determining possible strengths and weaknesses. When she sees that you’re missing a limb, her eyes widen.

“Oh,” Dick exclaims when he follows her gaze. “I’m so sorry, baby bird! I didn’t mean to do that! I just wanted to get you off of Bruce!”

You look down to find the severed appendage lying near your foot and go to pick it pick it up. While Dick is spouting endless apologies and pleas for you to stay calm, you merely place the limb where it once was and it begins to stitch itself back together. Once your arm is reattached, you fix your gaze back to them to find that they’re starring at you in shock at what just happened.

“Oh,” Dick manages to spit out after a few seconds of silence.

“This is between me and him,” you say as you take a few steps towards them. “Fuck off.”

“You need to stop this, baby bird,” Dick retorts. “We’re family, you shouldn’t be doing this!”

“You’re kidding, right,” you say with a mocking chuckle. “You people are constantly fighting with one another! If you’re not giving each other black eyes, you’re either breaking bones or slitting throats! You’re all a bunch of emotionally constipated psychopaths who belong in padded cells with the rest of Arkham’s lunatics! And I want nothing to do with any of you! So, for the last time, leave me the fuck alone!”

The only answer you get is the three of them getting into combat postures, indicating they’re ready to go on the attack.

“I give you the chance to walk away, and this is the thanks I get,” you sigh.

From the bottom of your feet, you command two mold tendrils to burrow into the sand below and snake their way over to them and once in place, you order them to burst out from beneath them; such a tactic would spell the end for normal people, but the Waynes are anything but normal, so they somehow knew you were up to something and scatter just as the tendrils emerge.

Still, you put them on the defense by ordering the tendrils to lash out at them, separating them from one another and forcing them to put all their focus on the tendrils while Bruce and Dick are dodging the lashing tendrils, you make your way to the nearest vigilante: Cass.

Just as you near her, she turns around and counters the slash of your mold sword with a blade of her own. You quickly realize that the few dozen people that possess any type of sword fighting prowess pale in comparison to Cass’ and decide to swap to hand-to-hand combat by punching her in gut when your blades were clashed together, sending her flying several feet.

She quickly recovers by the time you close the gap and she not only evades most of your punches, but she manages to give you a few.

What the hell, she shouldn’t be winning.

(Her fighting style is more advanced than anything we possess in our archives,) the Megamycete responds, sounding shameful. (We are unable to find a successful counter to her assault.)

Of course, it makes sense now! While Gotham may have attracted a few dozen experts in fighting over the centuries, Bruce has been trained by masters in every form of combat, including Ra’s Al Ghul, whose lifespan makes the Megamycete seem infantile in comparison. And he’s no doubt taught all of them his fighting style.

Just then, you feel something hit your back and explode, sending you flying. When you recover, you see Bruce and Dick have cut your tendrils and are now heading towards Cass to reinforce her.

(Their armories also seem to be more than we can handle,) it says as it repairs the damage done to your armor. (We have hardened your armor as much as we can, but it seems their tools will be able to penetrate our defenses.)

Shit, so that leaves you vulnerable to their fighting styles and their gadgets.

“Alright,” you mutter to yourself as you ready yourself. “We’ll just have to rely on the one thing none of them have ever had: powers.”

You repeat what you had done before and disperse your body into a murder of crows and send them flying around the Bats, causing them to huddle together and raise their arms in an attempt to protect themselves. You have enough crows continue to fly around them to keep them distracted while the rest of them form together to form your body, but with the addition of four, oversized spider-like legs extruding from your back.

You allow yourself to fall to the ground, the legs pointed down to form four very sharp stabbing implements. They look up just in time to see what’s about to happen, so they force their way through the swarm just as you land where they once stood. The remaining crows reintegrate into your body as you make your way towards them, jabbing your spider limbs in an attempt to stab any of them.

Dick and Cass have narrow frames, so they’re harder to hit, but Bruce’s more bulkier body makes him a more feasible target, so you shift your focus to him. After a few failed slashes, you manage to land a decent hit that causes him to fail onto his back. He tries to reach for his utility belt, but you use two of your limbs to pierce his shoulders and he lets out a pained yell s he struggles in vain to free himself from beneath you.

He looks up at you, a painful expression etched on his face, while you summon two small tendrils from your back, ready to deal the final blow.

“If I can’t rip out your non-existent heart, I’ll just have to settle for your head!”

But, just as you’re about to make good on your declaration, you feel something attach itself onto your back, throwing you off balance.

“Y/N, don’t,” a voice says from behind and it’s then you realize it’s not something on your back, but someone.

Specifically, Dick.

“Get off me, circus freak,” you snarl as you begin to struggle with him.

Deeming Dick the bigger threat, you shift your focus from Bruce to shaking off the acrobat any way you can, flailing around and reaching out to grab him so you can finally finish him off; while you want to kill Bruce more than anything right now, you want him to suffer before you shed his blood.

Making him watch as you rip his golden child’s head off while he’s powerless to stop it? Yes, that’ll do the trick.

It’s then you feel something at your spider feet and when you manage to look down while holding Dick at bay to see Cass, batarang in hand, cutting the feet pinning Bruce to the desert floor in an attempt to free him.

(She attempts to free the bastard,) the Megamycete hisses. (Kill her! Kill her now!)

But in typical fashion, Dick butts in where he’s not wanted and hurls himself towards you, latching onto your upper body, forcing you to brace your back spider legs to prevent you from tumbling down.

You watch in pure frustration as Cass slices off the parts of your legs pinning Bruce down and before you can react, the two of them hurl themselves onto you, joining Dick in trying to wrestle you to the ground.

You grab Dick with one hand and Cass with the other and just as you ready to summon a tendril to deal with Bruce and stabs you with some type of syringe, making you howl in pain at the sensation; instead of injecting you with something, you feel your blood being drained from you.

“Enough,” you hiss, hurling the two smaller vigilantes as far as you can before grabbing Bruce by both his shoulders and pulling him up so that the two of you are eye-to-eye.

It’s at this point your rage reaches its apex; this was suppose to be a night of fun out on the Strip, but the man before you not only had to ruin it by showing up, but now he’s come full circle on his batshit craziness by blasting you out of the sky and try to apprehend you like you’re one of the crazies from Arkham.

And to make matters worse, he had to bring two of his children, Dick being one of them! While you will always hate Bruce with every fiber of your being and Damian being an extremely close second, you’ve always had a strong resentment towards the eldest Wayne son. While the bastard will always say he loves all his children equally (minus you, of course), you know Dick will always be number one in Bruce’s heart due to him being the first child and being a capable Gotham socialite and vigilante.

And to add insult to injury, everyone always says Dick is everything an eldest brother should be: reliable, responsible, and doting. For years, you could nothing but cry as you saw him going out of his way to help and hang out with the other Wayne children, no matter how loudly they tried to reject it. Watching such the love and affection you craved be handed out so willingly and carefree to anyone but you made you think you would never be loved by anyone other than your deceased Momma.

You let out an inhuman howl in Bruce’s face as you shove your head into his right shoulder and latch onto it with your teeth with enough force to rival a hydraulic press. He lets out a pained yell and attempts to pull you off by your hair, but you apply more force until you eventually pierce through the armor, followed by the skin, then the muscle, and finally bone.

You pull your head back, bits of bone and flesh dangling from your teeth. You look to see his right arm practically dangling from just the barest of flesh and blood oozing from it like a waterfall. You shift your gaze from your handiwork to Bruce’s face to see the most delicious expression of pain etched on it and his complexion is pale and clammy.

At this point, you’re a crazed animal, chomping at the bit to go in for the kill on the wounded prey before you and rip it apart until it’s unrecognizable.

(Yes,) the Megamycete roars, its voice a symphony of bloodthirsty cheers. (Do it! Exact your vengeance upon him!)

Before you do anything, you feel something hit your back and explode, but unlike the first one, this one sends some sort of freezing gases scattering across your body, sending feelings of burning as your armor and spider legs rapidly freeze.

You howl in pain as you drop Bruce so you can slap at the affected areas, trying to find some way to relieve yourself of the freezing feeling.

(Hurts,) the Megamycete hisses. (Hurts!)

You rid yourself of your armor and spider legs by ripping it off your body, the frozen mold constructs shattering upon impact with the ground.

It’s then you realize you’re exposed and quickly turn around, ready to defend yourself when you see the three of them flying away on the Batwing at top speed. You could go after them, but after the fight with the Bats and their freezing grenade, you can only fall to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

(We had no idea we possessed such a vulnerability to the cold,) the Megamycete says, its voice sounding weak. (The winters of Gotham drove us to a state of near hibernation, but this is the first time we have ever had a reaction like that.)

“And now you know,” you manage to gasp out. “And so do they.”

You can only watch as the vehicle flies away as fast as it can, carrying three of the Bats away where they will no doubt share what’s happened here with the others, which will no doubt lead to even more encounters like this in the future.

“Shit.”

In the Batwing, Bruce knows Dick is talking to hi, his words quick and high pitched as he tries to dress his wound, but right now, he can’t bring himself to take his focus off the syringe filled with your blood.

When he set out for Vegas, he was determined to find a way to provoke you into showing him your powers and obtain a blood sample so he could perform more tests, but he didn’t think he’d discover a major weakness in your defenses.

While he hated to see the cryo grenade caused you so much pain, he can’t help but rejoice at the knowledge that there’s a crack in your armor and if he approaches it at the right angle, he can have you home far sooner than he anticipated.

And when you’re back home, he can find a way to get that damn thing out of you and return you to normal. And when that’s done, he can begin to make things right with you.

He grips the syringe harder, seeing the key to making his daily whole once again within your blood.

Tag List: @lunaluz432 @type-ink @bat1212 @eyeless-kun @deathbynarcisstick @orbitingtraveler @1s3v3n1 @nosyrobin @roseytheteacup @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @bellethesleepypotato @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @exactlynumberonekryptonite @paolexsstuff @fantasyhopperhea @c0l1fl0r @ellaprime7 @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @ratchetprime211 @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @bunbunbread @starsdotalk @luna57765 @solelifauna @jsprien213 @diejager @lizz-lrm @v0idl1nq @chericia @wizzerreblogs @tinybrie @lilyalone @thickasthievingtoads @creativechaosx @randomlyappearingartist @ferchu0406 @kik1010 @butterflycardigann @1-800-crazy

[specialgradefckr]

nerd!gojo is so cute! please give him a kiss on the cheek for me.

you stare at the note you found in your locker. it's written in glittery purple ink, which only adds to the insult.

gojo, "cute"??? give him a kiss on the cheek???

like an ill omen summoned by its name, a terrible presence looms over your shoulder, "watcha got there?"

"hate mail." you say dispassionately as you quickly shove gojo away.

when you face him, you see gojo's face change - smooth features and rounded eyes hardening into anger.

"hate mail?" gojo frowns, "in your locker? who would send that?!"

"you want a list?" comes geto's snarky voice. "she's kind of a bitch."

you shoot him a glare, but gojo speaks before you can.

"don't talk about her like that."

the room feels a little bit colder. since when did gojo sound so... mean?

"i'm just saying," geto says, shrugging, "you'd know better than anyone, she's always on your ass."

"yeah, my ass," gojo turns to you, a pout on his face, "you're not bullying other people, are you? i don't have any other bullies."

only satoru gojo could get into an argument this stupid.

"no," you drone, "your drain on my time and attention is uncontested."

rather than being ashamed of this, gojo looks absolutely tickled.

even when you punch him in the shoulder, his good mood is undampened.

"nerd," you grouse, stalking off to your next class, which gojo naturally follows.

it sucked being in the same classes as him, but at least it meant you could get his help. he really is a huge nerd. all those hours you put into it, and he seems to understand everything effortlessly.

the class feels like it takes hours. you pay diligent attention, take so many notes, and somehow, gojo comes out of it completely chipper.

you're left in peace for a few blessed minutes afterwards as he bolts out of the room for some reason or another.

is he finally starting to fear you as his bully? took him long enough -

"here!" pressed into your hands, your favorite snack from the campus vending machine.

gojo smiles at you, that big, boyish smile that makes him look extra stupid. "sorry i messed up last time."

you don't know what comes over you. maybe it's pure delirium brought on by hunger. or the joy from having something nice to eat.

maybe it's a new form of torture, humiliating him by making him endure a kiss from his bully.

it's just a kiss on the cheek. it's whatever.

he stands there, still, face completely red, blue eyes wide in shock. gojo looks even dumber than usual, which shouldn't even be possible.

you fan your face for a moment as you turn to leave.

"come on, you idiot. we've got a test to study for."

gojo whistles some unbelievably stupid tune, practically skipping the whole way to the library.

"i can't believe it! she kissed me on the cheek!!! a real kiss!" "uh-huh." "don't uh-huh me, suguru, it was REAL! anyways, it all makes sense now. she was just hangry. no wonder she shoved me into a locker. it's my fault for not taking better care of her..." "would you listen to me if i reminded you that you're not dating and this is all pure delusion?" "not dating yet." "so a no, then," suguru says, rolling his eyes as he returns to his work. satoru's already finished with the homework and scrolling through his text message history with you, no doubt spamming you again with memes or pictures or just remarks. but you haven't blocked him yet, have you? suguru smiles to himself, closing his notebook, tucking away a shimmering violet pen.

[mewhenimanangel]

need that, hamzahthefantastic

prev pt 3*

—synopsis. hamzah invites you over to be in their new video

—warnings!: freaky uti, dry humping, undressing

notes 🫧: the fight was so tuff, i’m a die hard noob

—🐞

you parked your car outside hamzah’s house, fixing your lip gloss and zipping up your sweater before going to knock on his door.

him and martin invited you to be in one of their sims videos since mandy was on vacation and they knew you played as well.

it’s been around two weeks since you and hamzah made out in his car. since then, you’d been texting a lot more and you hung out twice with mandy and martin. though, you haven’t done anything to continue what he started.

hamzah answered the door with a grin, “come on in boi, we haven’t started playing yet. martin’s still connecting the camera and the mic” he closed the door behind you.

you felt something brush against your leg, looking down to see his cat rubbing itself on your leg. “awwww he’s so cute” you reached down to see if he’d let you pick him up.

when he did you held him in your arms and rubbed behind its ear. “which one is this?” you asked hamzah. “this is blue. red’s probably upstairs somewhere clawing at something.” he said, reaching over your arm to pet blue.

“i had to put a child lock on my fridge cause they figured out how to open it bruh” he shook his head.

you giggled looking at him with a smile.

“oh hey y/n, didn’t know you were here already. i just finished setting up the camera” martin said. “heyy” you put blue down on the floor, following martin.

“you ready to get your sims on?” he asked. “try freaking born ready” you giggled, hamzah following behind you.

you sat off to the side on the couch in hamzah’s office while they started the video. “hello everynyan-” hamzah interrupted him “dude what” “it’s like a meme like have you ever seen it? it’s like oh my gahhh” martin awkwardly repeated the video, hamzah stifling a laugh. “anyways we’re back and better than frigging ever” martin started off.

“now it has been a while-“ “definitely been a while-“ “right, a while since our regularly scheduled programming” hamzah said. “i hope you guys enjoyed the fight, we worked super hard literally for like six months”

“and you may realize we’re not in our usual spot, wanna tell them why that is?” martin said. “yes we are, we’re in my house this time because mandy’s on vacation and martin, feeling like a sad little lonely boy wanted to come over and play with me”

“yes mandy is gone. she is in spain right now because she doesn’t love me anymore. you know what they say, ‘go to spain when your lover’s a pain’. that’s why she hasn’t proposed to me yet in the big year of twenty twenty-five” martin went on. “literally nobody says that”

“but speaking of mandy, today we’re playing the sims. something we haven’t done in a long time and we need a little bit of a refresher” “yes, the sims is a girl game and since we don’t have mandy, we brought back up” hamzah added.

“yes, we obviously cannot play this game ourselves so we brought in another expert” they looked at each other before counting down from 3 and snapping their fingers. you knew they were gonna put some silly transition effect over this.

hamzah got up to get another chair for you “you good?” he asked you, making sure you were comfortable. and you nod your head before sitting between them. “hellurr. yes i am mandy’s back up today. because obviously, they don’t know what they’re doing so im taking over.”

“dude what is it with girls and the sims. only girls know how to play the sims” martin and hamzah riffed while you logged into your sims account.

“now this is your first time on here y/n, how do you feel in the presence of such greatness” martin asked. “well im honored to be on but i don’t know about ‘greatness’” you joked.

after two hours of creating sims and making them kill, cheat, fornicate, and find love, they ended the video. “banger video alert” hamzah turned the computer off. “uhh yeah that was really good if i do say so myself.” you pat yourself on the back.

the three of you lounged around hamzah’s living room for another hour after that. “are you guys hungry?” hamzah asked “i was gonna order some food” “actually i still have some packing to do for my flight tomorrow” martin sighed while playing with red. “oh shit right, i forgot” hamzah shrugged.

“i’m gonna head out now bro i’ll see you next week” he dapped hamzah up before doing the same to you. hamzah followed him out before closing the door behind him.

“i could eat” you shrugged and hamzah smiled. he pulled his phone out and ordered chick-fil-a, adding in your order.

you sat criss crossed on his couch as blue jumped into your lap, snuggling up against you and purring. “his ass definitely likes you” hamzah chuckled.

“do you want one?” he asked, coming back from his bedroom with a little jar of edibles. “sure” you reached to grab one with your nails.

hamzah grabbed one too and you tapped them together in a ‘cheers’ motion before eating them.

you soured your face and gagged “okay these are nasty oh my god” you laughed. “yeah they taste like butt but they do the job. the food should be here in like twenty minutes” he said, joining you on the couch.

you helped him review the footage from the video before he sent it to their editor. by now the edible was beginning to kick in and you were growing hungrier by the minute. his door bell rung and he got up to answer the door.

he came back holding the bags of food up with a smile on his face and plopped down onto the couch, this time much closer to you, legs and arms touching.

“fuck i’m starving. is that shit kicking in for you yet?” he asked, handing you your sandwich and fries. “oh it is” you grinned.

“have you ever had the mac and cheese?” he asked you. “no i usually go for the fries” “okay here you gotta try it.” he took some on his fork and put it in front of your mouth, paying close attention to the way your lips wrapped around the fork. “right?” he nod his head at your reaction.

“wait here, you’ve got some cheese on your mouth” he said, brushing your lip off with a napkin. “oh..oops” you giggled through your slowed words.

the two of you tore through your food, turning on family guy in the background. “that was so fucking good” you looked at him, eyes low and red.

“right…..i’m stuffed.” you slowly sipped on your milkshake. “do you ever think about what they do with the cut out pieces of fries?” you asked, just chatting. “i always wonder but they probably just throw them away.” he added.

you leaned back into the couch, cross legged, knee resting atop of hamzah’s as he put his arm on the back of the chair behind you.

he slowly rubbed your bare shoulder that peeked from under your hoodie that was falling off. you leaned your head back, resting it on his arm before looking at him.

“so, are we just never gonna talk about it again?” you addressed the elephant in the room. “hm?” he looked at you. “the kiss, are we just gonna act like it didn’t happen?”

“no of course not, i just wasn’t sure if i had made you uncomfortable so i didn’t wanna push anything again” he shrugged. “hamzah i kissed you back for a reason. i wanted it” you reassured. “and i still do” you said, looking away for a second.

he grabbed your chin, turning your face back to his before kissing you. you leaned into the kiss, rubbing your nails at the back of his neck.

the room filled with your mutual satisfied sounds, hamzah pushing his hand up under your sweater. he laid you down against the couch arm, keeping himself steady atop of you.

he slowly pulled the zip down, taking off your sweater off, you willed yourself to follow his lead, wrapping your arms around him. he broke the kiss, “you good, right?” he asked. “yeah, keep going. i want you, hamzah” you reassured. he kissed you again before lining kisses down your jawline and throat. he sucked down on your skin “wait don’t leave any hickeys” you said through a moan.

“too late” he let out a breathy laugh, making you giggle. hamzah let out a soft noise at the feeling of your nails rubbing through his hair. he slowly eased his up under your tank top, reaching up he grabbed a handful of bra. “here, hang on” you sat up, taking off your shirt and throwing it by your sweater. you fiddled with your bra clasp and eased the straps off your shoulders, letting your boobs rest.

hamzah stared at them, mouth agape. “that was a push up bra by the way, so don’t be too disappointed” you joked. “how would i be disappointed. you’re fucking hot” he pulled you atop of him and kissed you, hands firm on your ass.

he kissed down the middle of your chest before his mouth latched on. you sighed in satisfaction when he rolled his tongue.

you subconsciously grinded your hips on his, feeling him grow. “fuck” you winced. you stayed in that position for a while, dry humping each other as he kissed and sucked all over your upper body. you felt yourself getting needier by the minute. “hamzah-“ you started before being interrupted by a knocking on the door. “dude let me in, i forgot my wallet” it was martin.

you looked at hamzah before getting up. he kissed you “go to my bedroom, i’ll be there in a second” he told you and you smirked before leaving the room.

hamzah let him in “ugh thank you, i was worried you fell asleep” martin said, spotting his wallet on the side table.

hamzah looked over his shoulder realizing your shirt and bra were still thrown around on the couch. “imagine i went all the way to spain and forgot this just sitting here” martin chuckled before turning around, hamzah missing the chance to let him not to.

“oou you got chick-fil-a? anything left?” he looked inside a bag before he came face to face with your bra. he turned around, jaw dropped “dude!” he gasped and hamzah grinned.

lvryn

Liked by hamzahthefantasfic, clairedrakee and others

lvryn alright who pressed fast forward on my weekend 😂

mandys_iphone cute

user HELLO? is this a soft launch?????

ynlover omg this and how touchy they were in the sims video last month, they’re definitely dating ?)!(!;$:

— 🐞 the end

[halomancer]

I was originally gonna talk about this on my sideblog because a very relevant thing happened to me today, but I realized it’s incredibly important (and blog-relevant) information that I want as many people as possible to see:

There are certain mental disorders where difficulty staying on medications is an actual (sometimes very common) symptom, and by telling people they don’t need them/Big Pharma is poisoning them/etc. you may be actively endangering them.

When I’m manic, my brain is convincing me 24/7 that I do not need my medication. At best, I believe I’ll never feel this happy again if I start taking them (which is true, I guess, but that level of happiness isn’t exactly good for me in the first place). At worst, I’m actively delusional thinking I’m being poisoned by my psychiatrist. If someone said that to me when I was trying to avoid an episode*, things could spiral very badly, very quickly.

If you’re reading this post you’re probably already in the mindset of “why would you tell people to go off their meds that’s fucking ghoulish” but I think it’s important to know exactly why you don’t pull that shit. Not everyone is able to easily brush off anti-med bullshit.

*My original bitchy post was about how I took my meds too late today and my brain started screaming at me when I looked at my pills, so I said “would we take the lithium if we had it with sparkling apple cider :3 with some yummy yummy beverage :3 in a gay little wine glass :3” and it somehow worked and now my shed is filled with a small stockpile of Martinelli’s because apparently I’m a dog who needs high-value treats to take its pills

Some rando: You should think about stopping your prescription

Me: My pills make me not want to die tho

They: You shouldn’t want to die, that’s not normal

Me: Yeah that’s why I’m taking my pills

[vbecker10]

Stop Saying it Like That

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Just a little blurb based off the meme below (from Loki:intotheowenverse), hope you like it 💚

"Loki, you need to stop saying it like that," you laugh, shaking your head as he opens the door to the small bakery for you.

He follows you out onto the street carrying a small box full of treats, "Saying what?"

You stop, clearing your throat so you can do your best impression of your boyfriend's accent, "Enjoy the next twenty-four hours."

The God of Mischief chuckles at your poor attempt, "Was that supposed to sound like me?"

"I sounded exactly like you," you answer with a wide smile despite knowing it wasn't even close.

"Look, that's not my point," laughing as you try to get the conversation back on track. "Its really creepy when you say it like that," you inform him.

He wraps his free arm around your waist and starts walking again, leading you back towards the Tower. "It was truly awful darling," Loki shakes his head with a smile.

"Creepy?" he raises an eyebrow as he looks down at you.

"Don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about," you roll your eyes. "It literally sounds like a threat, like they only have twenty-four hours left to live or something."

He chuckles, "Trust me darling, when I threaten people they know." You sigh, trying to look annoyed but he bends to kiss your cheek and your smile slips free. "What would you prefer I say?" he asks genuinely curious.

"Just say 'have a good day'," you tell him.

"Y/N, that's the same thing," Loki states and you shake your head. Before you can argue back he presses his lips to yours to silence you. "Fine, I will try that next time," he agrees and you smile.

Loki walks with you in comfortable silence for two more blocks, his arm still around your waist, slowing his pace when he notices your attention is caught by the bouquets outside a flower shop. "See something you like?" he asks as you both stop in front of the colorful display of mixed flowers.

You smile, pointing to a bundle of your favorite flowers. Loki picks them up and you follow him into the shop where he pays the employee.

She hands Loki his change, he looks down at you briefly then back at the woman behind the counter. "Have a good day, mortal," he tells her with a wide smirk that causes the florist to let out a nervous laugh before thanking him quietly.

You walk back outside, your flowers in one hand and swat Loki's chest lightly in a joking manner. He chuckles, "What did I do wrong now? I told her to have a good day like you insisted."

"Mortal?" you tilt your head and look up at him.

"Would 'human' have been better?" he smiles.

You ignore his question, knowing he is only asking to see your reaction. "And the evil smirk, really?"

"Evil?" Loki let's go of your waist, putting his hand over his heart dramatically. "You wound me Y/N."

You laugh, reaching up to kiss his cheek when he tries to act as if he's offended. "You're cute when you're being annoying on purpose," you tell him and he chuckles, holding on to you again.

"I'm glad someone thinks so," he smiles.

"But stop talking to people when we go out," you add with a laugh.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mischief2sarawr @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @kneelingformyloki @jiyascepter @eleniblue @ash-muses @muddyorbsblr @alyeskathewave @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @javagirl328 @princess-asgard @morally-grey-variant @soulpiercing @km-ffluv @glitterylokislut @biodegradable-glitter-fest @wolfsmom1 @simone818283 @hopefuldreamers-world @blackhawkfanatic @sabspoetic @anukulee @lovinglokilaufeyson @beaniemoon @hotburreaux

[youngsadlesbian]

hi! i’ve been reading your works and they are so brilliant! one of ny fav authors in here! 🥹

i would like to request popular!wanda x popular!reader wherein they are known to be rivals when it comes to both academics and just, popularity and general. their parents are well-known and everyone assumes they despise eachother, because they feign to be so.

but they’re actually dating eachother. it’s just nice to see everyone worked up about them. and then one day, when wanda hears someone talking bad about reader, she reveals their relationship in the most affectionate way! 😆

thank you!

— 🍂

HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: for years, you and wanda maximoff have been rivals—battling for the top spot in academics, popularity, and everything in between. the entire school believes you despise each other, fueling the most talked-about feud in westview high history. but here’s the twist: you’re actually dating. and it's definitely fun keeping up with this lie.

a/n: thanks for the request and i'm sorry for any mistakes <3

word count: 956

warnings: fluff and kinda enemies to lovers.

Westview High had two reigning queens.

There was you—a household name, thanks to your influential parents and undeniable charm. Top of the class, president of multiple clubs, effortlessly cool. People either wanted to be you, date you, or just stay out of your way.

And then there was Wanda Maximoff.

Equally brilliant, equally popular, equally untouchable. Her mother was a renowned politician, her father a high-profile businessman. She dominated academics, ruled the social scene, and had a fan club that rivaled yours.

And the two of you?

You hated each other.

Or at least, that’s what everyone thought.

It was a feud so legendary that teachers sighed at the mention of your names. You were always neck and neck—fighting for valedictorian, student government president, even the coveted title of Homecoming Queen.

Students thrived off the drama.

Every eye-roll. Every sarcastic remark. Every competitive smirk in the hallways.

People ate it up.

Little did they know…

You were very much in love with Wanda Maximoff.

And had been for a while.

It started a year ago.

An accidental run-in at a party led to an argument that led to… well… a heated moment alone in an empty hallway.

One stolen kiss turned into another.

And another.

And suddenly, hating Wanda became loving her.

But the drama of your rivalry was too good to let go.

So, naturally, you both pretended to still hate each other.

It was perfect.

No one suspected a thing.

You’d exchange insults in class but secretly text each other under the table.

You’d have intense debates during school meetings and then make out in Wanda’s car afterward.

You were the ultimate power couple in disguise.

And you loved watching the school lose its mind over your “feud.”

\*/

Everything was going great—until one day, Wanda overheard something she did not like.

You had just walked into the school library, carrying your usual confidence. The rivalry was still going strong, and as per tradition, the minute you stepped inside, people started whispering.

Wanda sat at a table near the back, pretending to study, but her ears perked up when she heard two girls from the cheerleading squad whispering nearby.

"I don’t get why people like her so much," one of them muttered. "She’s so fake."

"Right?" the other scoffed. "Like, she just acts all perfect, but she’s probably super insecure. I bet she just uses her parents’ money to stay relevant."

Wanda’s blood boiled.

Excuse me?

Sure, she and you acted like enemies, but there was a big difference between playful rivalry and people actually talking down on you.

Wanda Maximoff had zero tolerance for anyone disrespecting her girlfriend.

And so, for the first time in a long time, she dropped the act.

"Excuse me," Wanda said, standing up.

The entire library froze.

Because Wanda never started public drama. That was your thing.

The cheerleaders looked startled. "Uh… hi, Wanda?"

Wanda’s voice was deadly calm. "I just wanted to make sure I heard you correctly."

The girls exchanged a look. "What—?"

"You think Y/N is fake?" Wanda raised an eyebrow. "That she only stays relevant because of her parents?"

You, still by the entrance, had no idea what was happening—until you noticed the way everyone suddenly turned to look at Wanda.

Oh no.

Wanda was doing something.

And that something was not planned.

You started walking toward her. "Wanda—"

She cut you off. "You know what’s funny?" Her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "You sit here, talking about Y/N, when you don’t even know her. Do you know how hard she works? How late she stays up studying? How much pressure she’s under?"

The girls gawked at her.

You?

You froze.

Because—

Was she—?

Wanda turned toward you, eyes burning with fury and something else entirely.

Affection.

Possession.

Love.

"You know what?" she continued, stepping toward you. "I’m tired of pretending."

And then—

In front of everyone—

She kissed you.

If you thought the school lost its mind over your rivalry—

This?

This was nuclear.

The library exploded.

People gasped.

Someone screamed.

A freshman fainted.

Your brain short-circuited.

And Wanda?

Wanda looked smug as hell.

She smirked against your lips before pulling back slightly, her voice teasing. "You gonna say something, baby?"

The whole school malfunctioned.

"Baby???"

Your enemies-to-lovers fantasy had just become the biggest scandal in Westview High history.

And honestly?

It was amazing.

\*/

The news spread like wildfire.

By lunchtime, your phones were blowing up.

"Is this a PR stunt???"

"HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN HAPPENING?"

"ARE WE IN A FANFICTION?"

Even your teachers looked shook.

But the best part?

The absolute best part?

You and Wanda just sat at your usual separate lunch tables—grinning at each other from across the cafeteria.

You took a sip of your drink.

She blew you a kiss.

Someone dropped their tray.

This was so much better than the rivalry.

Because now?

You were the school’s power couple.

And you loved every second of it.

By the end of the week, people adjusted.

The rivalry turned into an iconic romance.

Teachers sighed but secretly rooted for you.

The school paper ran a dramatic headline: "THE GREATEST LOVE STORY EVER TOLD?"

And you?

You walked down the halls hand-in-hand with Wanda Maximoff—owning it.

"You know," Wanda teased one day, leaning against your locker, "we could’ve just told people normally."

You smirked. "Where’s the fun in that?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "We are so dramatic."

"That’s why we work, babe."

And with that, you kissed her again—in front of everyone.

Because at the end of the day?

You and Wanda Maximoff weren’t just rivals.

You were legendary.

And now?

You were legendary together.

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

The disquiet these word choices cause is because they dehumanize the subjects. Humans, from Davenport's perspective, are essentially the same as agricultural plants or animals, which in turn are assets, sources of economic gain---they are things.

"There's no grays, only white that's got grubby. I'm surprised you don't know that. And sin, young man, is when you treat people like things. Including yourself. That's what sin is."

"It's a lot more complicated than that--"

"No. It ain't. When people say things are a lot more complicated than that, they means they're getting worried that they won't like the truth. People as things, that's where it starts."

"Oh, I'm sure there are worse crimes--"

"But they starts with thinking about people as things..."

Granny Wetherwax, Carpe Jugulum by Terry Pratchett

there is a good amount of popular belief in inherent aptitudes for art or music or math or what have you.

Well some people DO have an inherent aptitude for things

In general, the genetic architecture for aptitude and talent was similar in men and women. Genetic factors contribute to a large extent to variation in aptitude and talent across different domains of intellectual, creative, and sports abilities.

I's just that aptitude alone isn't enough, ask Marie Anna

Her natural aptitude was meaningless ...

Success is teh sum of natural aptitude + opportunety + willingness to practice

So if you are born wih the natural aptitude to be the best ice scater the word has ever seen, but you are born in the american south to a poor family

That natural aptitude and willingness to practice is gonna get you shit becasue you wil propaby never in your live step a foot on to an ice rink

Or take my dad

He has a natural aptitude for numbers

As a kid he saw a collection of numbers and imidiately and correctyl deduced that it was a way of describing the solar sytem with coordinates

You could just plot it out by reading teh numbers correctly

Even after expalining it to me

I can't SEE it

I can't plot it out

I don't understand it

Math isn't my forte, never has been I still managed to get good gardes in math through a combination of a good teacher and a lot of hard work at home

My sister on the other hand has inherited my dads apitude for math. She is excellent at it. And it was always easy for her. But she studied Sinology and has now a job in IT that has nothing to do with either math or sinology ...

Aptitude isn't everything ...

There is even genetic traits that do make you less susceptiple to illnesses

My favorit mutation the delta 32 mutation makes you immune to the plague AND HIV

BUT

It also means a normal flue can kill you ...

SO breeding for either delta 32 OR against it will lead you to a population that is over all weaker ...

Sorry ... XD

Same with Tay–Sachs disease

Fully expressed it kills ... so get rid of it right? Breed that fucker out of the human genome!

BUT

Tay–Sachs disease if its in it's partially expressed form protects you from tuberculosis

So ... better keep it ... you never know if you might need it ...

I've been reading some more of the works of eugenicists while thinking about the state of education about this ideology. Yes, "Eugenics" is a dirty word nowadays; in my opinion, it's not nearly dirty enough.

Here's a fact to make your head spin: Eugenics wasn't about killing people. Yes, it ended up killing people, and if you examine the way eugenics has influenced the world, you realize it still does kill people, but the architects of eugenics weren't leading with, "My fellow countrymen, we should On Purpose Kill People."

The reason that's important is, people keep coming up with ideas labeled (by their critics) "uncomfortably similar to eugenics"--- ideas for a compassionate, scientifically-grounded way of improving humanity by understanding the heredity of good and bad traits and influencing the fertility rates of people with different genetic traits.

There is already a word for this kind of idea. That word is: eugenics. It is silly to set yourself apart from eugenicists by explicitly repudiating killing people or forcibly sterilizing them, when many founding eugenicists also explicitly repudiated killing people or forcibly sterilizing them.

Here is an Internet Archive link to "Heredity in relation to eugenics," a work by Charles Benedict Davenport, an early eugenicist. Please read at least the first four pages.

I'm afraid that his brief introduction to eugenics could sound, to the layperson, surprisingly less scary and disgusting than expected. Mister Davenport's word choices may provide a "red flag" to the reader: he refers to human babies as a "valuable crop," to marriage between people as "mating." The disquiet these word choices cause is because they dehumanize the subjects. Humans, from Davenport's perspective, are essentially the same as agricultural plants or animals, which in turn are assets, sources of economic gain---they are things.

Davenport articulates the contribution of a human being to the United States: "...forming a united, altruistic, God-serving, law-abiding, effective and productive nation." However, relatively few people are "fully effective" at this purpose, because a proportion of society is "non-productive"---either criminals or disabled, or among the people required to care for and control criminals and the disabled.

After you read the introduction of Davenport's book, read his wikipedia page. He was a Nazi. He was a Nazi until the day he died. He was rabidly and repugnantly racist, so much so that his later scientific works fudged together garbage conclusions that contradicted his actual data in order to prop up his racist beliefs. He lobbied Congress to restrict immigration into the USA, out of the belief that the immigrants would poison the blood of our country with inferior genetics.

Overwhelmingly, eugenicists were concerned with disability. They believed that disability would normally be eliminated by natural selection, and that caring for the disabled and allowing them to grow up and to have children would cause a steady increase in the proportion of society made up of disabled people---who were, as Davenport puts it, a "burden" on society.

Eugenicists were also concerned with race. They wanted to gather data that demonstrated what they already believed: that race was a biological reality, a reality that could only appear unclear or malleable because of harmful, aberrant, unnatural scenarios, namely miscegenation or race mixing. Basically, race was both a natural reality, and in need of enforcement.

But eugenicist ideology was not just about the inferiority of disabled people or people of color. Eugenicists thought of their ideas as a science and thought of themselves as scientists, and they broadly addressed virtually everything we would now consider a matter of "public health." Eugenicist writings almost universally address crime, and often don't recognize a clear distinction between crime and mental disability, or between either of those things and poverty. Criminals, disabled people and poor people were basically the same; they had something wrong with their genes that made them that way.

"Sexual deviance" is generally included in this, and Davenport explicitly references this in his introduction, where he says that "normal" people are not likely to have the kind of sex that leads to the transmission of STIs.

For many proponents (including Davenport), the key dogma of eugenics was that genes predetermined everything about a person. Tuberculosis was a huge problem at the time, and eugenicists were insisting that, although the disease was known to be bacterial, susceptibility to the disease was genetic, and therefore people who became sick with tuberculosis were genetically defective. Likewise if a child developed epilepsy after a head injury, the injury did not cause the epilepsy but instead revealed an inherent genetic weakness that was already there. This implied that spending resources on healing or rehabilitating anybody was a waste of time.

If you read more of Davenport's book, you will see that he makes some WILD statements---he asserts that artistic talent is a Mendelian trait controlled by a single gene, basically that you are either born an artist or you aren't. This seems absolutely absurd but, there is a good amount of popular belief in inherent aptitudes for art or music or math or what have you.

Eugenics isn't just about named prejudices like racism or ableism, it is even bigger than that, it is a set of beliefs encompassing how the potential and value of human beings is determined and how society should care for its members as a result of that.

[gold-onthe-inside]

critical asset

n. def. a specific entity that is of such extraordinary importance that its incapacitation or destruction would have a very serious, debilitating effect on the ability of a nation to continue to function effectively.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you and spencer finally get closer, even if it's just because penelope's too busy. content warnings: pining spencer, r and penelope argue word count: 1.8k

It’s painful how much Spencer likes you, wishing he could just transfer to counter-intelligence and be around you all the time, especially these days. You don’t come downstairs as often anymore, not since they put away Doyle, and it makes him all the more restless. He pursed his lips, looking at the chess game he was playing out, his interest in it sapping the more aware he was of your absence.

A few weeks ago, you would have been sitting right across from him, contemplating your next move, toying with the bishop between your fingers, so focused on the game that he could stare at you as long as he liked. He liked watching your sharp eyes dart around the board, assessing threats to your victory, liked watching you chew your lip as you thought about what to do. He could notice the exact shift in your expression when you knew you were either going to win or lose.

“I see it in 4,” you said, running the tip of your tongue over your teeth, glancing up at him as his gaze shifted to the pieces, the litte furrow in his brow as he wet his lips, trying to see what you did.

“How?” he asked. He was so sure he hadn’t given you a way out… until he watched you arrange each move delicately and his lips pursed into a pout. “Rematch?” he would ask, noticing your smug smile.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you’d say, standing up and squeezing his shoulder before you’d walk away, and he’d sigh, like he’s doing right now, sweeping the pieces into the cloth drawstring bag and folding up the wooden board to put back in his desk.

He’d get one over you more often than not when playing chess at least. He couldn’t say the same for everything else. But if anyone would say yes to a meditation sci-fi film, he knows it’s you — you’re one of the rare few people in his life who has obscure interests like his.

“My Russian isn’t that good,” you said as he waited by your cubicle for an answer, watching you turn off your desktop, drumming his fingers on the top of your transparent divider.

“I can translate anything you don’t understand,” Spencer offered, able to sense that he was close to prying a ‘yes’ out of you.

“I’ve heard your Russian,” you replied, raising a brow at him as the two of you stroll to the elevatory. “Just cause you can memorise the language doesn’t make you fluent, Reid.”

“Well, how am I supposed to become fluent if I don’t immerse myself in the language?” he asked, knowing exactly how to modulate his voice to melt your resistance. He sees your nose twitch and he knows he’s got you.

“Fine, but you’re buying dinner,” you replied, pointing at him and he frowned at you.

“How’s that fair if I’ve bought your ticket too?” he asked, pressing the elevator button. “Plus paying for snacks, and you know those places charge extra than normal—”

“Ugh, fine, jeez,” you replied, leaning against the wall. “I’ll buy dinner.” He was content with that, waiting for you to get in the elevator before following you. A thought crosses his mind, unbidden, that he had never said anything about getting dinner together, and hope flares in his chest. Maybe you wanted this to be a date as much as he did.

It’s dashed when he overhears your argument with Penelope when he’s supposed to be asking her to track down gas stations close to their crime scene — “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling left out if you weren’t constantly shutting me out!” you cried. “God, I mean, you didn’t even let me know you were going to work this early, but you seemed fine calling up Kevin to carpool with.”

“It’s… That’s… It’s just complicated, okay?” Penelope cried, already on the edge since they’d lost Emily.

“Yeah, a lot of things seem complicated with you lately,” you said, scoffing. “It’s kinda hard to support you when I don’t know what’s going on with you, Pen. You’re either working or you’re with Derek or you’re with Kevin—”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same about you!” Penelope shot back. “Been on any dates with Reid lately?” she asked and his breath stuttered where he stood, out of sight, behind the slightly ajar door.

“What else am I supposed to do when you’re always bringing Kevin home?” you demanded. “Seriously, it’s starting to feel like he’s a third roommate lately. He certainly eats like one.” His heart sinks at your words — were you only hanging out with him because you had nowhere to go? Spencer pressed himself back against the wall. “You know what, if he’s gonna hang around that much, you could at least get him to split the groceries,” you snapped at her, heading for the door.

“Yeah, well…” Penelope struggled to come up with a retort as fast as you did — she didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. Or at least, she wasn’t as quick with using it. “Well, if you’re gonna spend that much time with Reid, the least you could do is throw that boy a bone,” she called after you as you stormed out, slamming the door behind you and letting out an enraged huff as you stalked down the corridor, oblivious to Spencer.

He swallowed, watching your retreating figure and letting a beat pass before contemplating whether he should go to Penelope. Maybe he should just have Morgan talk to her instead. He turned on his heel, making his way back to the briefing room instead.

Spencer stared at the clock, watching the hands tick round until you would finally leave. All this week he had been trying to convince himself that you were avoiding him, but that was just his paranoia talking. You’d been avoiding everyone, really — him, Garcia, Morgan… your behaviour towards other people was almost exactly the same. Almost, but not quite. You had been colder to him specifically.

He just couldn’t help thinking you were upset with him.

“You okay?” he asked, catching up to you outside the building, a slight pant to his voice due to the short sprint he had to do to catch up to you in time. Your pace had slowed, and with your gaze to the floor, you let him fall in step beside you. Spencer tried not to pay too much attention to the distance you kept between the two of you.

He noticed everything about you. He couldn’t help it. He had noticed the stiffness in your shoulders, the rigid way you carried yourself.

"Fine," you replied half-heartedly, turning your keys over in your pocket. "I just hate taking the train home."

“Why not get an apartment that’s closer to here?” he suggested, stuffing his hands in his own pockets, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he fell into step beside you. He’d noticed you had been taking the metro a lot more than usual. He wondered if everything was okay with your roommate.

"I like living in DC," you replied, walking with him to the station. He hated driving as much as you hated the train.

He nodded, walking alongside you. He wished you’d look at him, though. He could never guess what was going on in your head — was everything okay? Had he done something wrong? You seemed colder to him these days. “What’s been going on with you?” he asked, his voice soft. “You’ve been a bit down lately, are you sure you’re alright?” You finally looked up at Spencer and he had to catch his breath — he’d never get used to your eyes, the sharp intelligence in them, the focus.

You sighed, looking ahead again. "Penelope's been... I dunno, things aren't great between us."

“Why’s that?” he asked, reminded of your argument again. The two of you were always together, you were inseparable. “Is everything okay?” He was about to reach out, touch your arm, but he second-guessed himself, not wanting you to push him away. He couldn’t take it if you did.

"I don't know," you confessed, your nose tinged red with the cold, still turning over the key in your pocket to keep yourself grounded. "She's working overtime, if she's not on a case, she's working on something with Derek that she won't tell me about, which is fine, I get it. If anyone understands classified projects, I do. And then she's always with Kevin and I just..." You let out a breath, like you haven't let all of it out in a while, and it fogs up a little, your eyes glassy. "You know, you see yourself as this central person in someone's life and then suddenly... all these other figures come in and you just... don't know where you fit in anymore."

The look in your eyes made him ache to comfort you and he had to look away to stop himself from being overwhelmed by what he saw there. “People get busy,” he said, softly. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t value your friendship, or that she doesn’t want you around as much as you want to be.” His fingers twitched against his own palm as he spoke — he knew the feeling in your words all too well. He hated the idea that you were going through what he did on a daily basis.

You blinked the dampness in your eyes away, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. "It's whatever," you murmured, tucking hair behind your ear.

Spencer looked at your profile as you walked and he had to look away again. He was starting to lose count of how many times he’d stopped himself from reaching out to you. He wanted to, he wanted to so desperately… but he was also terrified of rejection from you. He didn’t have an endless well of confidence, and he couldn’t bear it if you pushed him away. So he settled with wishing he could help you more than he currently was.

"How are you doing?" you asked, glancing at him. "With Emily and everything."

Spencer cleared his throat as he walked beside you, staring at the ground in front of him. “I think I’m still in shock,” he said, softly. “I miss her a hell of a lot, I’ve never connected with someone so quickly.” He didn’t even hesitate before he added: “Except maybe with you.”

You huffed a little, smiling. "Nerds of a feather, right?"

He nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He glanced over and met your gaze, and he couldn’t help the way a grin bloomed on his face, your eyes meeting his.

You smiled at him, your eyes lighting up in that way he loves — not just with amusement, but with warmth, and his chest started to ache, just a little. He could do this forever.

His heart skipped, and for a moment he could forget everything. For a moment, everything was perfect, just you and him.

[loganbcrnes]

Sheltered in His Arms

Alpha!Logan Howlett x female!reader

Summary: You go through a heat and your alpha is there to help you through it.

Words: 1,800

no warnings, just pure smut with soft Logan. No description of reader

requests are open.

The moment you stepped inside the cabin, your body shivered—not from the cold outside, but from the heat rolling beneath your skin. Your limbs felt heavy, your head light, and the ache pooling deep in your belly warned you of what was coming. 

Logan was already aware. 

You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed as he dropped his bag by the door, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. His keen amber eyes darkened, pupils dilating as his instincts flared to the surface. The scent of your heat had begun to rise, thickening in the small space of the cabin, making the air humid, intoxicating. 

"You should’ve told me it was this close, sweetheart," Logan murmured, his voice rougher than usual. He made his way over, his movements slow, measured—like a predator keeping himself in check. 

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the wooden table for balance. "Didn’t know it’d hit this fast," you admitted, your voice already breathy. 

Logan exhaled sharply, stepping in close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. He was warm, solid, safe. He cupped your cheek, his rough thumb brushing over your burning skin. "Alright. We’ll get you settled in first," he said, voice thick with restraint. 

He turned away and made quick work of preparing the space. He’d stocked up on supplies earlier, anticipating that you'd need to stay put for the next few days. Blankets were already laid out on the bed, extra water bottles within reach, and the air carried the faint scent of lavender from the candles he'd lit—an effort to keep you as calm as possible. 

"Here," Logan said, offering you a glass of water. "Drink." 

You obeyed, though your fingers trembled as you held the cup. He watched you carefully, his eyes tracing over every minute reaction—your quickened breaths, the way your thighs pressed together, the soft whimper you tried to suppress. 

His jaw clenched. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his dark hair. 

His own scent was changing, sharpening. Even in your dazed state, you knew this wasn’t just affecting you. Your heat was pulling at his instincts, drawing him into a rut just as fast. Logan was doing his best to fight it back, but his breathing had grown heavier, his hands twitching as if they ached to grab, to touch. 

"Logan," you whispered, stepping closer before you even realized what you were doing. 

His hands caught your hips, holding you still, though his grip wasn’t rough. He let out a shuddering breath, leaning forward until his forehead nearly touched yours. "We gotta take this slow, sweetheart. I need to make sure you're comfortable first." 

You nodded, trusting him completely. 

Logan led you to the bed, guiding you down onto the soft blankets. He sat beside you, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh, his heat pressing into your side like a furnace. 

"Just focus on me, alright?" he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. "Let me take care of you." 

His touch was steady, careful despite the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He helped ease the worst of your discomfort, coaxing soft sighs and relieved whimpers from you. His presence alone was grounding—his scent, his warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing as he murmured reassurances in your ear. 

"You’re doin’ good, darlin’," he praised, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "I got you." 

As your discomfort eased, desire began to take its place. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your pussy growing slick with need. Logan's nostrils flared, his eyes darkening as he caught your scent. His hand moved from your thigh to your stomach, his touch growing bolder. 

"Logan," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. He responded by pressing his lips to yours, his kiss hungry and demanding. His hand moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. His fingers found your wetness, stroking you gently. 

You moaned into his mouth, your hips bucking against his hand. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as his fingers continued to work their magic. "Fuck, Logan," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair. 

He chuckled, the sound low and throaty. "You like that, sweetheart?" he asked, his fingers slipping inside you. You could only whimper in response, your body arching off the bed. 

He continued to stroke you, his fingers sliding in and out of your wetness. Your moans filled the cabin, mingling with the sound of his heavy breathing. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing in anticipation. 

"Come for me, sweetheart," Logan growled, his thumb brushing against your clit. You cried out, your body convulsing as your orgasm washed over you. Logan's fingers continued to move, drawing out your pleasure until you were left panting and gasping for breath. 

He pulled his hand from your panties, his fingers glistening with your wetness. He brought them to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he tasted you. "Fuck, you taste good," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. 

He moved over you, his body pressing you into the bed. His hard cock pressed against your thigh, the heat of it making you moan. "I need you, Logan," you gasped, your hands moving to his pants. He takes your hands and pushes you back down to the bed, and removes the rest of your clothes.

His lips found your pussy, his tongue licking and sucking. He ate your pussy, his beard brushing against your thighs, making you shiver. Your hands gripped his head, holding him against you as he licked and sucked, his tongue dancing around your clit.

His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it. You gasped, your body trembling as he licked your pussy, his beard rubbing against your wetness.

Logan pulled away, his eyes dark with lust. He leans back up, his massive body covering yours. His cock rubbed against your pussy, the rough hair of his pubic bone brushing against your clit. You gasped, your body arching as he rubbed his cock against you, his hands squeezing your breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples.

His lips found your neck, his teeth nibbling as he leaned down to suck on your tits. You gasped, your body trembling as he rubbed his cock against your pussy. His hands roamed your body, his touch rough and demanding.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep. "ready, bub?," he murmured, you didn't respond, only wrapping your hand around his thick cock, stroking him gently. 

He groaned, his head falling back as you continued to stroke him. "Fuck, that feels good," he gasped, his hips bucking against your hand. 

You continued to stroke him, your movements growing bolder. He groaned, His hand moved between your legs, his fingers slipping inside you once again. 

You moaned, your hips bucking against his hand. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to fuck you now, sweetheart," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. 

Logan didn't waste any time, he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock pressing against your wetness. He pushed inside you, his cock filling you completely. Your pussy clenched around him, your body welcoming his intrusion. You gasped, your body arching into him as he thrust into you. 

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the cabin as he slammed into you, the force of his thrusts pushing you further up the bed. His rough pubic hair rubbing against your clit. You moaned, your hips bucking against him, desperate for more. Logan, his body glistening with sweat, a smirk on his face, pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach. He positioned you on your hands and knees. The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and the slap of skin.  

"Want my knot?." He asked his voice low and rough. He pushed back into you, the new position allowing him to go even deeper. You could feel every inch of his cock, and you knew you could never get enough. You reached back, grabbing his hip, encouraging him to go deeper. 

"Fuck yes, Alpha," you moaned, your body shuddering as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pounded into you. The smell of sex and sweat filled the air, a heady scent that only served to heighten your arousal. Logan leaned down, his hairy body pressing against yours as he reached around, his fingers finding your clit.  

"You're so fucking wet," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "You're dripping for me." 

You moaned, your body shaking as he continued to pound into you. His fingers were working magic on your clit, and you knew you were close to the edge. His other hand reached up and wrapped around your throat, his grip firm but gentle. You could feel the power in his touch, sending shivers down your spine. 

His grip tightened slightly, and you gasped, your body shuddering with pleasure. "Please," you begged, your voice a soft whimper. "Please, Alpha, I need to come." 

Logan's grip on your throat tightened slightly, and he leaned down, his breath hot on your ear. "Come for me, 'mega," he growled. "Come all over my cock." 

You moaned, your body shuddering as you came, your pussy clenching around his cock. Logan continued to pound into you, his grip on your throat tightening as he chased his own release. He let out a low growl, and you could feel his cock swelling inside you, his knot locking into place. 

You moaned, your body shuddering with pleasure as he filled you with his seed. He held you close, his body pressed against yours as he rode out his own orgasm. His grip on your throat loosened, and he pulled you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.  

After a few minutes catching your breath, Logan began scenting you. his rough hands trailing soothing circles along your stomach. His scent wrapped around you like a protective cocoon—earthy, rich, and undeniably Logan. He pressed a lazy kiss to your temple, his lips lingering as he exhaled slowly like he was breathing you in. 

"You alright, sweetheart?" His voice was a low rumble, thick with exhaustion, but still full of concern. 

You let out a soft hum, snuggling closer against the heat of his body. "Mhm…" 

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and affectionate. "That ain't a real answer, bub." His fingers combed through your hair, untangling the strands with surprising gentleness. "You need anything? Water? Somethin' to eat?" 

You shook your head, feeling too content to move. "Just you." 

His chest rose with a slow breath, and he pulled the blankets higher around your shoulders, tucking you in even as he kept you in his arms. "You got me, sweetheart. Ain’t goin’ anywhere." 

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to their s/o suggesting going raw for the first time

Request: May I request something a little spicy SVT reaction to their partner tell them they are on birth control now and suggested on using no condoms for the first time. (if they both agree) P.S You have such good writing!

A/N: I'm not sure if I did this justice, but my writing style shifts depending on my mood and the request. This time, it just felt right to make most of them take the lead—so here we are. And ofc, they’d be thrilled to finally experience this without any barriers, but y’all, be smart and stay safe, alright? NOT PROOFREAD!

Content: MDNI ! reader is on birth control, heavy implications, mild degradation & possessiveness, several members take on dominant/assertive roles, mature language, grip-tightening, caging, and restraint, raw/unprotected sex implication, loss of control themes. Lmk if I missed anything

Seungcheol: His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a mix of surprise and something primal. "Are you sure?" His voice is low, just above a whisper, almost a growl as he steps closer, his hand cupping your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. "You've got to know this means something,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. There's an intensity in his stare is deeper than lust. His fingers trace the curve of your jaw before tilting your chin up, "We can take it slow, but I trust you." His lips press to your forehead, lingering for a moment, as if he's grounding himself of what's about to happen. His hands find your waist, his grip firm. "Tell me if you're ready,” he whispers, his voice laced with restraint, as if he's holding himself back. But you see it_the simmering desire in his eyes, the hunger behind his control.

Jeonghan: The moment you speak, Jeonghan's expression falters, his eyes darkening with a barely contained desire. His fingers reach up to trace along your jaw, slow, sending shivers through you. "Are you sure, angel?" he murmurs, yes he'll angel you in this moment his voice softer now, thoughtful, but there's an edge to it. "Because once we do this, there's no way we can go back to how things were, I'll love it." His lips brush against yours, feather-light at first, teasing. "I want you to be all in," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin, "to feel every sensation with me." Then, without warning, he closes the distance, capturing your lips fully, deeply, drawing a gasp from you. His hands skim down your sides, a slow, lazy exploration. But you can feel the tension in his body, the way he's holding himself back, waiting for you to pull him closer, to give in completely to him.

Joshua: Joshua steps toward you, his gentle eyes now filled with dark clouds, with lust, love and longing. His fingers brush against your cheek, his touch too soft for the way his smirk is beginning to form. "If you're sure..." his voice trails off, as if giving you one last chance to reconsider, but the glint in his eyes tells you he already knows your answer. Then, before you can react, he's pushing you back onto the bed, hovering over you in an instant, caging you in beneath him. His lips crash onto yours, slow but demanding, as his teeth graze your lower lip, a light bite before he deepens the kiss. His hands slide under your blouse, fingertips tracing over your skin exploring every little definition. "You feel so warm," he murmurs, his lips now trailing down your jaw, your neck. "I've been waiting for this." His voice is smooth, restrained but utterly consuming.

Jun: Jun's lips curl into a teasing smile, but there's a pretty undeniable sharpness in his gaze. "Is that what you want?" His voice is smooth, almost playful, but there’s a darkness underneath—to say the least, it’s possessive. You nod, barely breathing as he steps closer, your bodies now only inches apart. He watches you carefully, like a predator watching its prey. "Say it," he demands, his fingers gripping your waist. "I want to hear you say it" Once the words leave your lips, the atmosphere shifts. The teasing glint in his eyes fades into more serious. Then, in one swift move, he pushes you back against the wall, his hand tilting your chin up before his lips crash into yours. His kisses are intense, his other hand sliding down, unbuttoning your shirt one-handed with an ease that makes your breath hitch. "You make it too easy for me" he murmurs against your lips, before pressing another deep kiss to them, his grip tightening ever so slightly, just enough to make you shiver.

Hoshi: His grin shifts into something raw immediately. His fingers brush against your arm before trailing up to your collarbone, his touch feather-light but burning all the same. "You want that, huh?" His voice is teasing, but there's a weight behind it. His smirk grows as he watches you, waiting, savoring your reaction. You barely have time to respond before he's stepping forward, walking you back until the back of your legs hit the bed. "Sit," he instructs, voice low. You obey, heart hammering as he crawls onto the mattress, kneeling before you. He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips but not quite kissing you yet. His hands slide over your thighs, slow, deliberate. Then, with a smirk, he says, "Take it off." When you hesitate slightly flustered cause of his so forward reaction, his fingers tilt your chin up. "Oh, come on," he coaxes. "Don't get shy on me now," he says as a low chuckle escapes him, his fingers trail down your arm. "I want to see you," his lips brushing against your ear, gaze never wavers, as he leans in just a little closer, his warmth pulling you in like gravity.

Wonwoo: His face remains impassive at first, but there's a shift in the air. His fingers graze your arm, soft yet searing. "If we do this, it's not just a step... it's a leap," he says, his voice a quiet storm. He leans in, lips hovering just over your skin, breath warm and intoxicating. "You sure you want to cross that line with me?" There's something about the way he says it—low, deliberate, a dare wrapped in restraint that makes you want him even more. His grip on your wrist tightens slightly, just enough to make you gasp. But then you nod. And suddenly, there's no hesitation. His mouth crashes onto yours, ferocity unraveling between you both in waves. He lifts you effortlessly, pressing you against the nearest surface as his lips trail down your neck, fingers tracing paths of fire along your skin. "You have no idea what you've just started," he whispers, voice thick with lust and danger. Your breath hitches as his grip tightens, anchoring you against him. His teeth graze your pulse point, a teasing scrape before his tongue soothes the sting, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His hands roam lower, fingers pressing into your hips with just enough force to make you shiver. "You still have time to change your mind," he murmurs, though the way his body molds against yours tells a different story. His eyes lock onto yours, waiting for the final word that will unravel everything between you.

Woozi: Woozi doesn't react immediately, but the way his body stills speaks volumes. His eyes flicker with something intimate yet laced with danger. Slowly, he steps forward, erasing the space between you until your breaths are mingling. "You sure?" His voice carries a weight that sinks into your skin. His fingers brush against your waist, tentative at first, but when you don't pull away, his grip tightens. "I'll be gentle... but you'll feel every bit of me." It's a promise that makes your pulse stutter. Then, with no warning, he moves. His hands find your hips as he pushes you down onto the mattress, hovering over you, his smirk barely visible in the dim light. "You knew what you were doing when you said that," he murmurs, his lips tracing down your jaw. His body presses against yours, liquid seeping through the fabric of your underwear. "No going back now." His fingers trail along the hem of your shirt, teasing, testing, before slipping beneath the material, his touch searing against your skin. His lips follow the path of his hands, leaving ghostly kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, marking every inch as his own. The heat between you coils tighter, your heartbeat matching his as he meets your gaze and in the next second, the last barrier on you is gone.

Dokyeom: Kyeom blinks, as if processing your words, and for a split second, you see flashes in his eyes—excitement, hesitation and hunger beneath it all. His hands find your shoulders, grounding both of you, as he exhales slowly. "If we do this..." he swallows, his voice dropping an octave, "...I won't ever go back." His grip tightens just slightly, enough to make your breath hitch. "I trust you, but I want to make sure you trust me too." His lips brush against your ear, his voice a whisper, soft yet laced that makes your stomach coil. The moment you give him the green light, the hesitation vanishes. In one swift movement, he throws himself at you, knocking you onto the bed with a breathless laugh that quickly turns into something more heavier. His hands explore, his touch reverent but eager. "You don't even realize what you've done to me," he murmurs against your skin before his mouth captures yours completely.

Mingyu: Mingyu's smile falters—not in hesitation, but in something else entirely. The puppy boyishness drains away, replaced by something raw. His fingers find the curve of your neck, trailing down slowly, deliberately, as he tilts his head. "You sure you're not playing around, are you?" His voice is softer than expected, but there's a warning. He steps closer, so close that your bodies almost touch, and the air between you grows heavier. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip before he leans in, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss. His hands grip your waist, firm yet careful. "I'll make sure you're okay," he breathes against your lips, "but once we do this... it's just us. No second thoughts." His body presses against yours, his warmth intoxicating. "I'm not going back." Then, with a smirk that's nothing short of sinful, he adds, "And if you think I'm stopping anytime soon... you're sorely mistaken." Before you can react, he moves swiftly and unrelenting, pinning you beneath him that steals your breath. His lips find yours again, demanding and feverish, his hands roaming memorizing every inch of you. "You started this," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a husky whisper. "Now, let me finish it."

Minghao: Minghao's eyes darken, his composed exterior cracking just enough to let something else slip through. He tilts his head, watching you carefully, calculating every flicker of emotion in your face, "Sure." His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering, almost possessive. He lets the silence stretch, watching your reaction, waiting for that final confirmation. Then, when he sees the resolve in your eyes, his lips curve into a slow smirk. "You sure you're ready for this?" His voice drops lower, softer, but it sends a shiver down your spine. "Because I don't do things halfway." His grip tightens on your waist as he pulls you flush against him, his mouth ghosting over yours before finally claiming it in a kiss that leaves no room for hesitation. "Guess we're doing this raw," he mutters against your lips, and the sheer confidence in his tone makes your breath hitch. He draws back slightly, eyes dark with lust and a hint of playful mischief. "Hope your pill work, sweetheart. Because pulling out isn't exactly my strong suit." He punctuates his words with a sharp nip at your bottom lip, followed by a sensual swipe of his tongue.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan's expression shifts from surprise to darkness, his brightness dimming into something far more intense. His eyes narrow, a slow smirk playing at the edges of his lips. "So, you really want this?" His voice is teasing, but laced with an intensity that mirrors the dark undercurrent of the situation. He steps forward, crowding into your space, his fingers skimming over your waist with a feather-light touch that makes you shiver. "You know there's no going back once I start indulging, right?" His voice dips lower as he presses his lips to yours, slow at first, teasing until his grip tightens, pulling you flush against him. His breath is hot against your skin when he speaks again, his fingers tracing patterns along your sides. "Don't look at me like that unless you're ready to take everything I'm about to give you."

Vernon: For a moment, Vernon just looks at you, his eyes searching for yours, as if giving you one last chance to take it back. But then, something shifts—his gaze softens, but the flicker of danger remains, a smoldering heat beneath the surface. "So... we're doing this for real?" His voice is low, yet it reverberates through you. His fingers brush against your cheek, barely touching, before sliding down to tilt your chin up toward him. "I won't rush you. But if this happens..." He pauses, leaning in so his lips ghost over yours, his breath warm against your skin. "You're not going to forget it." He seals his promise with a kiss, His lips move against yours slowly at first, teasing, testing, like he’s savoring the anticipation crackling between you. But then, his grip tightens on your hips, pulling you flush against him, and all restraint shatters. The kiss deepens, turning hungrier, more demanding, his tongue sweeping against yours. His hands roam, tracing over your back, slipping under your shirt, fingertips grazing heated skin. "You have no idea what you’ve just started," he murmurs against your lips. Then, in one swift motion, he guides you back, your body sinking into the mattress as he hovers over you. His gaze locks onto yours, "Last chance," he says, his fingers trailing down your arm, his weight pressing just enough to keep you beneath him. "Tell me you want this." His breath fans over your lips, waiting. But the moment you whisper yes, everything else disappears.

Dino: For once, Dino hesitates. His energy is tempered. His eyes search yours, his hands settling at your sides. "Are you sure?" His voice is quieter than usual, lacking its playfulness, yet there's an undeniable intensity there. You nod, and the hesitation melts away, replaced by hunger. His grip tightens as he pulls you in, his forehead resting against yours for just a second like he's holding onto the last thread of control he has. "If we do this..." He swallows, his voice husky now, "It changes everything. You get that?" But the second you whisper yes, it's over. The restraint snaps, and he's on you. His lips capturing yours in a kiss that's all consuming, his hands exploring, pressing, claiming. "Too late to back out now," he mutters against your lips before pushing you down, his body following right after. He pins your wrists above your head, one hand holding them together while his other trails down. "Fuck, you're sexy when you look at me like that..." His voice trails off as he leans in, kissing along your jawline, then nipping at your earlobe. He releases one of your wrists to unbuckle his belt, smirking wickedly as he slowly unzips his pants and freeing his large, hard erection. He grips it firmly, giving it a slow stroke as he looks down at you with pure hunger and lust. "Last chance to back out, baby. After I'm inside you, there's no turning back."