#like it’s just simmering and it’s so good!
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Hi! Can I ask for a Sylus fluff, where he gives the reader his bank card for her to go shopping, and he expects a bill to be at least $10,000, but all he sees is about $100. So he asks her if she bought everything she wanted, and she says something like "yeah, there were such good discounts, I didn't spend too much, did I?"
And man is just ಠ益ಠ GIRL GO SPEND MY MONEY I WANT TO SPOIL YOU
My beloved @lalaluch I cannot explain to you just how much fun this was to even imagine but let alone even WRITE 🩷 like I was losing my mind trying to bust out my Google docs to even make this. But my sickness was literally getting to me that all I could do was imagine--but anywhoo now that it's finally done I hope you all enjoy it ✨️
p.s: I hope this sickness finally leaves me because it be making me internally cry on the inside ...I pray for prayers lol 💅🏻
BUDGET QUEEN
It had taken weeks of gentle coaxing, half-joking remarks, and the occasional exasperated sigh before you’d reluctantly agreed. You had this stubborn streak, an insistence on independence that both irritated and fascinated him. But today, you’d finally caved.
“You’ll take it,” Sylus had said that morning, slipping the sleek card into your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm. “No arguments. No excuses.”
You had sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But I’m not going crazy with it?!”
He had only smirked, knowing full well you would—and knowing full well that he wanted you to.
And now, hours later, he awaited the results.
Sylus leaned back in his leather chair, his crimson eyes flicking lazily over the documents cluttering his desk. A rare break in his usual chaos had him sipping on his usual drink, savoring the brief quiet. That was until his phone buzzed. He set his glass down and checked the notification, a message from his bank popping up.
He expected it—he wanted it. You had finally caved to his insistence after a literal month of convincing and taken his black card to go shopping. He’d envisioned the inevitable message all morning, something like:
One-hundred million spent at Celine and The Row’s combined?
Or perhaps?
Fifty million at Loro Piana?
You’d mentioned their beauty and elegance more than once.
Nevertheless, the man wanted indulgence, excess—you deserved it, after all.
Instead, the message read:
$157.45 at… Assorted Stores.
Sylus stared at the screen, unblinking. Surely, this was a mistake. He refreshed his balance multiple times. Same amount. He checked for pending transactions. None.
“…What?” he muttered, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. He slammed his phone down, crossing his arms as he waited for you to return.
Minutes later, the front door opened, and you walked in, humming happily, two bags dangling from your arms. You looked utterly content, your warm smile sending a pang through Sylus’s chest. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, but he had questions.
“You’re back,” he said, leaning against the doorframe to his study, watching you set the bags down in the living room. His towering presence cast a shadow over you, his white hair catching the light, giving him an almost otherworldly aura.
“Yup!” you chirped, rifling through the bags. “You wouldn’t believe the deals I found today! It’s like the universe knew I had your card!”
Sylus squinted. “Deals?”
“Yeah! Everything was on sale! I even had coupons for some things. Oh, and this boutique downtown was having a clearance event! It was amazing!” You beamed at him, oblivious to his growing disbelief.
“Clearance? ..…How much did you spend?” he asked, his voice neutral. Too neutral.
“Um…” You frowned, pulling your phone out to check. “About a few hundred, I think? Oh, wait—like one-fifty! I didn’t spend too much, did I?” You tilted your head, as if genuinely concerned.
Sylus stared at you, his expression shifting to one of incredulous disbelief. His red eyes seemed to glow, and his lips pressed into a thin line. It was the look of a man deeply offended. Not by you—but by the principle.
“…That’s it?” he asked, his voice sharp but measured, as if he were trying to comprehend an alien concept. “One-fifty?”
You blinked up at him, a little confused by his tone. “Well, yes… I mean, I didn’t want to waste your money—”
“Waste my—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his snowy hair. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “Sweetheart,” he said slowly, “do you have any idea why I gave you my card?”
“To… buy some stuff?” you offered, suddenly feeling like you were missing something obvious.
“To spoil you,” he emphasized, stepping closer. “To treat you like the queen you are. To shower you in luxury. And you—” He gestured to the modest shopping bags on the floor, his voice taking on a dramatic edge. “—come back with clearance items?”
Your cheeks flushed. “But… I didn’t need anything expensive! I found good deals, and I thought—”
“No.” Sylus leaned down slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “Listen to me, love. I don’t care about the price tag. I want you to have the best. The fact that you’re this thoughtful is adorable—don’t get me wrong—but next time…” He paused, his voice dropping into a softer, more commanding tone. “…I want to see receipts that would make the average person cry.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m not.” He straightened, towering over you again, his arms crossing. “Do you know how much money I make? How much I’ve set aside specifically to spoil you?”
“I can guess?…”
“Clearly not if you’re spending less than a casual dinner out on everything.” His voice was calm, but laced with unmistakable disapproval.
Then, with a breath, he softened—only slightly. “I just want to see you dressed in diamonds,” he corrected, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “To watch you slip into golden heels that make you shine like the goddess you are. To drape you in silk and velvet, to see you standing before me in a dress that costs more than a car and still doesn’t compare to your worth.”
Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the sudden weight in his words.
“I gave you my card,” he continued, voice lower now, intimate, “because I want you to indulge. To spoil yourself the way I ache to spoil you. Because you deserve to walk into a store and not think—just watch and admire”
Your throat went dry.
He lifted his hand, fingers brushing over your wrist before tracing upward, his touch featherlight against your skin. “I want to see you try on jewelry without looking at the price tag,” he murmured. “I want to sit back and watch as a saleswoman fumbles to put a necklace around your throat because her hands are shaking too much from the sheer amount of wealth wrapped around you.”
His gaze dipped lower, lingering on your frame as he exhaled through his nose. “And instead… you bring me deals?”
Your heart pounded, a mix of amusement and something else entirely stirring in your chest. “I didn’t think I needed to spend that much—”
“You don’t need to,” he interrupted, thumb ghosting over your jawline. His voice was softer now, but no less commanding. “But I want you to.”
Your face heated.
“Next time, I’m going with you.”
“What, to make sure I spend enough?” you teased.
“Yes,” he said, dead serious. “And to carry your bags. And to remind you that you can have whatever you want.” His red eyes softened slightly, and he tilted your chin up with two fingers. “All I want is to see you happy. No discounts required.”
You smiled at his sincerity, warmth blooming in your chest. “Okay, fine. Next time, I’ll go a little crazier. Maybe five million?” you joked.
Sylus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”
You laughed, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”
“And you’re too frugal for your own good,” he shot back, pulling you into his arms. His voice softened, turning almost playful. “But I guess I’ll just have to teach you how to spend properly.”
“Looking forward to it,” you said, grinning against his chest.
Sylus sighed, resting his chin atop your head. As much as he wanted to spoil you senseless, he couldn’t help but love your thoughtful, practical side. It was part of what made you you—and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.
Still, next time… he was definitely making sure you left the store with at least an entire closet filled with designer bags.
For his sanity—and yours.
#suiwrites🍒#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace sylus#sylus x reader#sylus x mc#sylus x you#sylus x y/n#lads x reader#lnds x reader#l&ds x reader#lads sylus x reader#lnds sylus x reader#l&ds sylus x reader#sylus fluff#lads sylus#lnds sylus#l&ds sylus#sylus#lnds x you#lnds x mc#lads x you#lads x mc#l&ds x you#l&ds x mc
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EARNED IT | MATTHEW STURNIOLO. PT.5
pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4
brothersbestfriend!matt x innocent!reader
You're an 18-year-old high school senior, the innocent little sister of Matt's best friend. Which means off-limits in every way. But 22-year-old college hockey player, Matt can't ignore the way you cling to him, asking dangerous questions with trusting eyes. You don't understand the fire you're playing with- but Matt does. And he's burning to teach you what happens when you get too close.
story warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap) p in v, virginity loss, squirting, creampie, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, corruption kink (if u squint), brothers best friend, getting caught, pet names (sweetheart, angel, my love), age gap (four years), etc. all characters are of age. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!
word count: 6k
ib: @ariestrxsh’s young god
“You’ve earned it now for sure, sweetheart. You ready?”
His words send a sharp thrill down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach at the sheer possession in his tone. His fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up further, forcing you to hold his gaze. His blue eyes are still dark, still hazy, but there’s something new simmering beneath the surface now- something wicked, something insatiable.
“Did you like that, angel?” His voice is rough, still laced with the remnants of his pleasure, but now there’s an edge to it- low and dangerous, laced with the promise of something more.
You don’t answer, but the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together instinctively, tells him everything he needs to know.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips as his grip shifts, fingers ghosting along your jaw before trailing lower, his knuckles grazing the rapid pulse at your throat. His touch is featherlight, teasing, as if testing just how much you can take.
“You’ve were so good for me,” he murmurs, his thumb swiping across your lower lip, pressing just enough to part your lips slightly. “I think it’s time I take care of you again, yeah?”
The anticipation coils tight in your stomach as he leans forward, his breath hot against your skin. His free hand slides down, fingertips skimming your arm before tracing over your waist, your hips, until he’s gripping you firmly, pulling you closer.
“You want that, don’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs, his lips brushing just below your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine.
Your body betrays you before you can even answer- your fingers gripping onto his thighs, your breath coming out in a shaky exhale.
Matt chuckles, low and knowing, the sound vibrating against your skin.
“That’s what I thought.”
His hands tighten, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulls you onto his lap in one swift motion, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands landing against his chest. His skin is still warm, his dick hard beneath your slick heat.
The way his gaze drags over you- slow, possessive, like he’s already imagining all the ways he’s about to ruin you makes your stomach flip.
His hands slide down, gripping your hips, holding you there like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you feel against him.
“You’re shaking,” he notes, voice dark with amusement. “What’s the matter, angel? Too much?”
You shake your head, but he tuts, tilting his head.
“No? Then why don’t you show me just how much you can take?”
The challenge hangs between you, thick with heat, and before you can second-guess yourself, your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you move- shifting against him, running your slick folds him. You don’t know why you’re doing it, but for whatever reason you had the painful urge to create friction between you and him.
Matt’s breath hisses through his teeth, his grip on your hips tightening like a warning.
“Careful, sweetheart, ” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, rough with restraint. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
You don’t understand what he’s saying and your mind is too polluted with the feeling of him hard and warm against you so you shift again, just slightly, and that’s all it takes. Matt’s patience snaps.
A low growl rumbles from his chest, and before you can react, his hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he moves.
Your gasp barely has time to escape before you’re in the air, weightless for a moment as he lifts you with ease. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, legs dangling around his waist as he carries you, his grip firm and unyielding, his movements purposeful.
Your heart pounds, breath catching in your throat as he strides across your room.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” Matt murmurs against your ear, his voice deep and wrecked, laced with something raw, something possessive.
Your body shivers in response, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him, your nerves warring with your excitement.
You feel your cool silk sheets against your back as he lays you down, his weight following immediately after, pressing you into the mattress.
His hands roam, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of you beneath him. His blue eyes are dark, hooded, filled with something almost reverent as he takes you in- every curve, every inch of skin exposed to him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing path down your side, his touch featherlight, making you shiver.
His lips find yours- soft at first, coaxing, but quickly turning hungry, desperate. He kisses you like he’s been starving, like he can’t get enough, his hands never still, never stopping.
“You sure about this?” he rasps against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot, uneven.
The concern in his voice tugs at something deep in your chest, and it only makes you fall harder.
You nod, biting your lip, eyes wide and full of trust as you whisper, “I want this. I want you.”
Matt groans, his hand slipping beneath your thigh, dragging it higher around his waist as his lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint, his self-control hanging by a thread.
But he won’t rush. Not with you. Not when he finally has you where he’s always wanted you- completely his.
And tonight that’s exactly what you’ll be.
Matt exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours for just a second as he gathers himself, as if grounding himself in this moment. His fingers trail lightly along your side, tracing the delicate curve of your waist, his touch so careful- like he’s handling something precious.
Because to him, you are.
“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, lower, laced with something almost tender. His fingertips ghost over your arm, your shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s okay, my love. You don’t have to pretend you’re not.”
Your breath hitches, and you nod, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as you try to steady yourself. He’s right- you are nervous. Your heart is racing, your stomach tight with anticipation, with the weight of everything this moment means. But you trust him.
“I just… I don’t know what to do,” you whisper softly, your voice a squeak. Your cheeks heat at the confession even though he already knows. It’s still embarrassing to you how inexperienced you sound, how vulnerable.
Matt groans, his hands flexing against your hips. “Fuck,” he breathes, shaking his head slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself in. “You have no idea how much that turns me on, do you?”
Your lips part, confused, and his gaze darkens, his fingers tilting your chin up.
“You’re so innocent,” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he can’t believe it, like it’s something he’s savoring. “So sweet. So fucking pure.”
His thumb brushes against your lower lip, dragging it down slightly, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours. “And you’re giving yourself to me,” he says, voice thick, reverent. “Letting me be your first.”
A shiver runs down your spine at the weight of his words, at the intensity in his gaze, like he’s memorizing every second of this, like this means just as much to him as it does to you.
“I want it to be you,” you whisper, your fingers curling around his wrist, holding onto him, grounding yourself in him. “I trust you, Matt.”
He groans again, low and wrecked, his restraint visibly unraveling at the edges. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
His lips trail lower, slow and deliberate, down your throat, to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. He takes his time, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of exposed skin, his hands never rushing, never demanding.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he reassures you, his voice gentle but firm. “Just let me take care of you. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”
His fingers slide down your sides, mapping out your body with reverence, learning you, memorizing you. He’s slow, patient, making sure you feel everything, making sure you have time to adjust, to breathe.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “So perfect.”
Matt hovers over you, his weight supported on his forearms as he strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers, his touch impossibly gentle. His blue eyes search yours, dark but soft, so full of something deep and unspoken.
“You’re absolutely sure?” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, but beneath it is a layer of concern, of restraint.
You nod, swallowing hard, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”
Matt exhales slowly, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “Okay, angel,” he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”
His hand traces down your sides again, warm and steady, grounding you as he uses his other hand to position himself, swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds a few times, collecting your arousal that’s dripping onto your thighs.
You both moan at the contact, your eyes glued to his cock, his eyes glued to you. Every movement is unhurried and deliberate- like he’s savoring every second, like he’s making sure you’re ready.
But when he finally starts to push in, your breath catches- your entire body tensing at the unfamiliar stretch, the slow, burning pressure.
Matt freezes immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his forehead drops against yours. “Shit,” he breathes, voice tight. “You’re so -fuck- so tight, angel.”
A small whimper escapes you, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s more than you expected- it aches, a deep, overwhelming pressure that steals the breath from your lungs.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Matt-” Your voice wobbles and comes out small and uncertain. You knew he looked big, but you didn’t know it would feel this big.
His head snaps up, and the second he sees your expression, his entire demeanor shifts. His hands cup your face instantly, his thumbs wiping at the wetness gathering beneath your lashes.
“Hey, hey- sweetheart, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, soothing. “I’ve got you. We don’t have to do this, okay? Just say the word, and we stop.”
You shake your head quickly, your fingers tightening around his biceps. “No- I want to,” you insist, though your voice is barely a whisper. “It just… it just hurts a little.”
Matt swallows hard, his restraint written all over his face, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push any further. Instead, he leans down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he breathes against your mouth. “So good for me.”
His hands stroke your sides, slow and reassuring, easing the tension in your body. He kisses you again. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck- each one gentle, patient, as he gives you time to adjust.
“Just breathe for me,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “Relax, my love. Let me in.”
You take a shaky breath, trying to will your body to unclench, and slowly, bit by bit, the burn starts to fade. It’s still overwhelming, still a stretch, but the pain begins to dull, replaced by something warmer, something deeper.
Matt watches your face carefully, his fingers brushing soothing circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You nod hesitantly. “Yeah… better.”
He exhales in relief, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before he moves, just a little, just enough to make you gasp.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re taking me so well.”
You feel so impossibly full- stretched beyond anything you ever thought possible. It’s overwhelming, an ache that borders on too much, like your body is being split apart, struggling to take all of him.
A fresh wave of tears prick at your eyes, your breath coming in shaky, uneven gasps as you shift slightly, trying to adjust.
“Are you… are you all the way in?” you whisper, your voice small.
You prop yourself up on trembling elbows, forcing yourself to look down and the second your gaze lands between your bodies, your stomach drops.
He’s not even halfway there.
Your eyes widen, lips parting in silent disbelief, and when you snap your head up to meet his gaze, Matt is already watching you.
His blue eyes are dark, searching, laced with nothing but pure lust, his jaw tight as he takes in your expression.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low, strained, like he’s barely holding on.
You swallow thickly, your fingers clutching onto his arms, your entire body trembling beneath him.
“I…” You trail off, unable to form words, the realization hitting you like a freight train as you lay back down.
Matt exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and uneven.
“We’ll go slow,” he murmurs. His hands stroke over your thighs, your waist, smoothing over your skin in silent reassurance. “I’ve got you. I promise.”
His lips brush against yours, soft and patient, as he whispers against your mouth. “Just breathe for me.”
And as he finally, finally sinks in all the way, filling you completely, his hands never stop touching you, never stop soothing you.
Matt stills the moment he’s fully inside you, his breath ragged, his arms nearly trembling as he holds himself still. His forehead presses against yours, and for a long moment, the only sound in the room is the shared rhythm of your breathing, the quiet hum of your bodies pressed so intimately together.
“Fuck,” he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so good, angel- so warm, so tight.”
You whimper softly, still adjusting to the overwhelming fullness, the deep stretch that leaves you breathless. Your body is still tense, still unsure, but Matt doesn’t move, doesn’t rush, doesn’t do anything except hold you close, his lips brushing against your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his fingers tracing slow, comforting circles against your hip.
You nod hesitantly, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath your touch. “It’s… a lot,” you admit, your voice small, shaky.
Matt exhales sharply, his grip tightening like he’s barely holding himself together. “I know, my love,” he soothes, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “I know. Just breathe for me, yeah? Let your body relax.”
His hands continue moving- gliding up and down your sides, ghosting over your stomach, slipping beneath your thighs to pull you just a little closer. He kisses you again, deep and slow, his tongue tracing along your lower lip, distracting you, coaxing you into letting go of the last bit of tension.
And when you finally, finally exhale, your muscles softening beneath him, Matt groans, his jaw clenching.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s my good girl.”
He pulls out just an inch before easing back in, slow and careful, watching your face the entire time. You gasp, nails digging into his back, overwhelmed by the sensation, the way he fills you so completely, like he was made to fit against you, inside you.
Matt’s breathing is ragged now, his control visibly fraying, but he keeps his pace slow, keeps his movements gentle as he only pushes about and inch out and back into you. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw. “Taking me so well- being so good for me.”
Your body starts to adjust, the discomfort slowly fading, replaced by something warmer, something that makes your toes curl and your breath stutter. A soft moan escapes you, and Matt groans in response, his fingers tightening against your hips.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice rough, strained. “Feels better, doesn’t it?”
You nod breathlessly, your hands sliding up his arms, over his shoulders, clinging to him as the warmth between your legs grows, the pleasure building in slow, tantalizing waves.
“Please,” you whisper, not even sure what you’re begging for, only knowing that you don’t want him to stop, don’t want this moment to end.
Matt groans like the sound of your voice is his undoing. “Fuck,” he breathes, his movements still slow but deeper now, more deliberate. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”
He presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that feels like a confession, like worship. Every roll of his hips is measured, controlled, like he’s savoring you, like he wants this to last forever.
“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, his voice thick with possession. “You know that, right?”
You shiver beneath him, nodding without hesitation. “Yes,” you whisper.
His lips curl into a smirk against your skin, and his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head.
“Good girl.”
And then he moves, slow and deep and perfect, and you finally, finally surrender completely.
Matt’s slow, controlled thrusts start to falter, his breathing growing heavier, more uneven. He’s been holding back, reining himself in, treating you like something fragile, something delicate. But the second you moan his name, the second your nails scrape down his back, something snaps inside him.
“Fuck-” he groans, his grip on your hips tightening. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. So perfect for me. I can’t hold back anymore. Tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?”
His pace picks up immediately, his movements more desperate, more intense. The deep, steady thrusts give way to something rougher, something needier, like he can’t get enough of you, like he needs to feel every inch of you wrapped around him.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he growls against your ear, his voice dark, strained with pleasure. “Wanted me to ruin you?”
You whimper beneath him, barely able to form words, your body overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you now, by the way he’s making you feel.
He smirks against your neck, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his lips tracing down your jaw. “Taking me so fucking well. Such a good girl for me.”
His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body arching against him, craving more. He notices, of course he notices, and groans, one hand slipping between your bodies, fingers finding the most sensitive part of you.
“Fuck- listen to you,” he breathes, his fingers working you in slow, devastating circles. “So fucking needy for me. You like this, don’t you? Like being my good girl?”
You nod frantically, barely able to think straight, the pleasure building so fast it leaves you dizzy.
Matt chuckles, dark and satisfied, his other hand gripping your thigh, pulling your leg over his shoulder to take him even deeper.
“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his pace relentless now, his hips slamming into yours with every thrust. “God, you feel so fucking good. So perfect. All mine.”
You’re close- you can feel it, the pleasure coiling tight, ready to snap. Your hands grip his shoulders, your body trembling beneath him, and he notices that too.
“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna let me feel you fall apart on me?”
You nod, whimpering his name, and that’s all he needs.
His fingers move faster, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper, hitting that spot that makes you cry out, your entire body tightening around him.
“Come on,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “Be the good girl you know you are and cum for me.”
Everything shatters.
Pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as you fall apart beneath him.
Matt groans, feeling your body tense and shudder around him as your climax washes over you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps, and he watches you unravel beneath him with a look of pure possession.
“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his fingers still working you through your high, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. “So fucking beautiful when you cum around me.”
But he isn’t done. Not even close.
His hips never stop moving, never stop thrusting deep into you, and the overstimulation has you whimpering, your body twitching as he keeps pushing you past your limit.
“Too much?” he teases, smirking against your neck as he rolls his hips just right, making your back arch off the bed. “You can take it, sweetheart. Just let me make you feel good.”
You whimper, overwhelmed, but the heat in your stomach is already building again, the sensitivity morphing into another wave of unbearable pleasure.
“You wanted me to make you feel good, didn’t you?” Matt growls, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open wider as he pounds into you with deep, bruising thrusts. “Wanted me to use this perfect untouched little body until you crumble?”
You can’t even answer, your words turning into breathless moans, and Matt groans, his pace rough and unrelenting.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, his head falling against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “So tight, so fucking perfect- God, I’m not gonna stop. Not until I’ve had my fill of you.”
He moves your other leg over his shoulder, sinking even deeper, and you cry out, your whole body jolting from the intensity of it.
“That’s it,” he praises, his hands roaming over your body, gripping your waist, your thighs, your breasts. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”
You’re already close again- your body hasn’t had time to recover, the pleasure slamming into you with relentless force.
“You gonna cum for me again?” Matt grits out, his voice wrecked, strained. “Come on, baby, give me another- wanna feel you squeeze me again.”
His fingers press harder, rubbing tight, devastating circles against your swollen clit, matching the deep, punishing rhythm of his hips. The pressure is unbearable, the heat coiling so tightly in your stomach that you can barely breathe.
“Matt-” you gasp, your entire body locking up, your back arching as white-hot pleasure rips through you.
But this time it’s different.
Your orgasm hits you like a fucking tidal wave, crashing into you with so much force that your vision blurs, your breath catches, your legs shake uncontrollably over his shoulders. A sharp, helpless cry rips from your throat as your body clenches so hard around him that he groans, his rhythm faltering.
A sudden rush of liquid spills between you, soaking the sheets, drenching his stomach, your thighs, everything.
For a split second, your mind goes blank.
Your body shudders violently, your chest heaving, your limbs weak, your head spinning.
Matt stills.
You’re panting, shaking, blinking up at him in shock, completely dazed, barely able to comprehend what just happened.
Matt exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls back slightly, looking down at the mess between you.
His lips part, his eyes darkening, and then he lets out a low, guttural groan.
“Holy fuck.”
Your face burns, your stomach twisting in embarrassment. You have no idea what just happened.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, mortified, trying to close your legs, trying to hide, but Matt’s hands clamp down on your thighs, spreading you open again.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, his voice low, feral, dripping with pure, unfiltered desire. His thumb swipes through the wetness, his breath shaky, his body tense.
“You just fucking squirted all over me,” he mutters, almost like he can’t believe it, like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
You let out a small, humiliated whimper, covering your face with your hands, but Matt just chuckles darkly, shaking his head.
“Sweetheart,” he purrs, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, caging you in. “You think I’d be anything other than completely fucking obsessed with this?”
Your eyes widen as he grinds against you again, still hard, still throbbing inside you.
“You’re gonna do that again,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking against your pulse, his hips pulling back only to slam into you again.
“And this time, I want you to scream my name when you do it.”
Matt doesn’t give you a second to recover- doesn’t give you time to process what just happened.
Before you can catch your breath, before you can even close your legs, he’s already moving again, thrusting deep into you, stretching you all over again, his hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go.
“Oh my god- Matt-” you gasp, your voice wrecked, shaking, your entire body still tingling from the last orgasm.
But Matt- Matt is relentless.
“That’s right, sweetheart, say my fuckin name,” he growls, snapping his hips forward, his pace turning brutal, needy, unforgiving. “You’re gonna give me another one. I know you can.”
His fingers slip between your bodies, rubbing tight, torturous circles over your clit again, zeroing in on your most sensitive spot.
You whimper, thrash, tremble, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming, too intense.
“Matt- I-” you choke out, your legs twitching, your thighs trying to squeeze together, but he doesn’t let you.
“Shh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough, desperate, obsessed. “Let it happen. Let me see you cum all over me like that again.”
His pace grows punishing, his fingers unrelenting, and you can feel it building again.
The heat, the pressure, the sharp coil of pleasure tightening in your stomach so fast it nearly blinds you.
You try to fight it- try to pull away, the overstimulation too much, too intense.
But Matt doesn’t let you.
“Don’t you fucking run from it,” he growls, pinning you down, holding you still, his breath hot against your ear. “Be a good girl and fucking take it.”
That’s all it takes.
Your body seizes, your back arching off the bed, and then-
A sharp, helpless scream rips from your throat as another rush of liquid spills from you, gushing between your legs, soaking the sheets, drenching him all over again.
“Holy fuck-” Matt groans, his jaw clenching, his hips faltering as he watches it happen, as he feels it happen.
Your entire body shakes, your vision going white, your mind blanking completely as wave after wave of pleasure crashes into you.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls, his voice strained, wrecked, completely gone as he pounds into you one last time.
“Fuck- Y/N-”
.A deep, wrecked groan tears from his throat as he buries himself inside you, his entire body shuddering as he spills into you, his fingers gripping you like he never wants to let go.
For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the warm press of your bodies still tangled together as he pulls out.
Matt collapses against you, his lips brushing over your damp skin as he exhales shakily. “Fuck,” he mutters, still catching his breath. “You’re… unreal.”
You hum softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. But just when you think you’re done, Matt’s lips curl into a smirk against your skin.
“You didn’t think we were finished, did you?” he murmurs, his hands already sliding down your body, already spreading your legs apart again.
Your breath hitches. “Matt-”
But he’s already kissing down your body, already pressing his fingers against your still-sensitive core.
“You can give me one more,” he coaxes, his voice smooth, confident. “And then another. And then another.”
His blue eyes flicker up to yours, dark and filled with something insatiable.
“You’re mine for the night, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh. “And I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”
Within seconds he’s moving again, his hands pulling the teeshirt over his head and throwing it across the room, hands gripping your thighs and spreading you open beneath him. His blue eyes are dark, wild, still hungry as he drags his fingers down your oversensitive core, teasing, testing.
“You can give me more, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing. “I know you can.”
Your body jolts as his fingers slip between your folds, his touch slow but deliberate, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your already throbbing clit. A cry escapes your lips, your body twitching from the complete and utter overstimulation, but he just smirks, watching you squirm beneath him.
“Too much?” he teases, tilting his head as he leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “That’s what you said last time, too- and look at you now.”
His fingers push inside you, and you gasp, your nails digging into his arms as he starts pumping them at a devastating pace, curling them just right. His thumb continues rubbing tight circles against your clit, and the pleasure slams into you again, sharp and overwhelming.
“Matt- ” you cry out, but your words dissolve into breathless moans as he keeps working you, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin.
“Shh, my love,” he soothes, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open for him. “Just let me make you feel good again.”
His fingers work you faster, deeper, and you’re already spiraling, already teetering on the edge again, your body writhing beneath him. He watches your face, his lips curling into a smirk as he sees the way your eyes squeeze shut, the way your mouth parts in desperate pleasure.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Cum for me again, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”
It crashes over you so fast you barely have time to prepare- your 5th orgasm of the night tearing through you, your entire body seizing up as you cry out his name, your hands clutching onto him like he’s the only thing grounding you.
Matt groans, feeling the way you clench around his fingers, the way your body trembles from the sheer force of it. He keeps his movements steady, dragging out your pleasure until you’re twitching from the overstimulation, whimpering against his shoulder.
“God damn,” he breathes, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw. “So fucking good for me. So fucking perfect.”
But he’s not done. Before you can even process what’s happening, he’s gripping your hips and flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. Your breath catches, your body still trembling, but Matt’s hands are firm, steady, guiding you exactly where he wants you.
“You can give me one more,” he murmurs, his hands smoothing over your hips before gripping them tight. “Just one more, baby.”
He pushes inside you in one slow, deep thrust, and the stretch makes you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets as he fills you up completely.
“Fuck,” Matt groans, his hands tightening on your waist. “You’re still so fucking tight. How are you still this tight?”
He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in, and you let out a strangled moan, your back arching as he sets a brutal, relentless pace.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he growls, his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you harder and unbelievably faster and deeper, like he’s finally letting himself go. “So fucking perfect for me.”
His hands slide up your back, one gripping the back of your neck, the other slipping between your legs, rubbing rough, desperate circles against your puffy and abused clit. Your body jolts at the contact, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach again, and Matt groans at the way you squeeze around him.
“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate. “One more. Come with me this time.”
You’re so close, the pleasure slamming into you so hard it leaves you breathless. Matt’s grip tightens, his movements growing frantic, and his voice is wrecked as he whispers,
“You’re mine, baby. All fucking mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice, the way he’s taking you, claiming you—it sends lightning through your veins, the coil in your stomach tightening dangerously fast.
“Matty- ” you choke out, your nails digging into his back, your body clenching around him, and he feels it, notices it, because his thrusts somehow become even harder, faster and deeper.
“That’s it, sweetheart, don’t hold back,” he groans, his thumb slipping between you, pressing even rougher circles against your swollen clit. “You’re gonna come for me again. I can feel it.”
His free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider for him, letting him sink in even deeper, hitting that spot that has you seeing stars.
It’s too much.
Your whole body locks up, your mouth falling open as a strangled, wrecked cry rips from your throat. Your orgasm slams into you, wave after violent wave, and you can’t stop it-
The release pours out of you, drenching the sheets, soaking him, the mess between you completely obscene.
Matt loses it.
“Holy fucking shit-” he groans loudly, his hips slamming into you one last time, his entire body tensing hard as he buries himself deep inside you.
His release spills into you again, hot and endless, mixing with yours, his grip on you tightening, his body shuddering from the sheer force of it.
Matt finally pulls out, groaning softly as he watches his release spill out of you, dripping onto the already ruined sheets beneath you. He lets out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, looking down at the complete mess you both made. “We absolutely destroyed these sheets.”
You let out a whimper, covering your face with your hands, still dazed, still trembling from everything that just happened.
Matt grins, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against your temple before rolling off the bed.
“Stay there,” he murmurs, pulling the soaking wet sheets off the mattress in one swift motion. The fabric lands on the floor with a heavy thud, and he’s already reaching for fresh ones, moving quickly, effortlessly, like he’s done this before.
Your face burns at the thought.
Matt glances over his shoulder at you, smirking, noticing your expression.
“Don’t go getting all shy on me now, baby,” he teases, snapping the new sheet over the mattress, smoothing it out with practiced ease. “Not after you just squirted all over me, what? Three times?”
You groan, burying your face in a pillow as he lets out a low, satisfied laugh.
“Adorable,” he muses, tossing the ruined sheets into the corner before climbing back into bed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms.
“All set, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair, grinning as he wraps himself around you again. “Now get over here and let me hold you.”
And even as exhaustion starts to take over, his grip never loosens- his body never stops pressing against yours, holding you close like he never wants to let go.
Matt groans softly, still catching his breath, his arms wrapped securely around you. His body is warm, his skin slick with sweat, but neither of you move for a long moment, both too blissed out, too exhausted.
You’re still blushing furiously, the aftermath of everything settling in.
But there’s one thing you can’t quite wrap your head around.
You shift slightly, looking up at him with wide, confused eyes, your fingers playing with the hem of the blanket.
“Matt…” you murmur, your voice small.
He hums in response, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip.
You hesitate before finally asking, genuine confusion in your tone,
“…What happened to me… when I… you know?”
Matt stills.
His lips twitch, and he lifts his head slightly, brows raising as he looks at you, almost like he didn’t hear you right.
“You mean… when you came?” he asks carefully, watching your expression.
You chew on your lip, your cheeks burning, your body curling in on itself slightly.
“I- I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling incredibly shy. “I just… it felt really good but then- then it was like…a lot.”
Matt’s eyes darken, his grip tightening slightly on your hip as he exhales through his nose, clearly holding back a smirk.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, amusement lacing his voice. “You really don’t know?”
You shake your head quickly, suddenly mortified.
Matt grins, propping himself up on his elbow, gazing down at you like he’s completely enamored.
“Baby,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back, his thumb stroking your cheek. “You squirted. Like I said”
You blink.
Your brows furrow, and you shift under the blanket, pulling it closer around you, feeling smaller, embarrassed.
“I- what?”
Matt chuckles, clearly loving this.
“You know…” he smirks, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “When a girl gets so worked up, so completely lost in pleasure that she-”
He gestures vaguely to the soaked sheets on the floor.
You follow his gaze- and suddenly, realization dawns.
Your eyes widen, your face going completely red, and you whip your head back to him, absolutely mortified.
“MATT!” you squeak, hiding your face in your hands.
He laughs, genuinely laughs, shaking his head as he pulls your hands away, his grip gentle but firm.
“Hey, hey,” he soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Don’t get all embarrassed. That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
You groan, your cheeks burning, trying to turn away from him, but he won’t let you.
“Sweetheart,” he purrs, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him.
His blue eyes are dark, filled with something warm, something possessive.
“You have no idea how much that turned me on,” he murmurs. “How fucking good you looked when you let go like that.”
Your stomach flutters violently, and you bury your face in his chest, whining softly.
Matt just laughs again, wrapping his arms tighter around you, completely obsessed with your innocence, your sweetness.
Then he shifts.
You blink up at him, bleary-eyed, as he carefully untangles himself from you and swings his legs over the side of the bed.
“Where are you going?” you murmur sleepily, frowning as you reach for him.
Matt chuckles, shaking his head as he stands. “Relax, sweetheart. I just need to clean you up.”
That wakes you up a little more.
You sit up, your brow furrowing in confusion. “You need to… what?”
Matt glances at you over his shoulder, smirking. “Clean you up,” he repeats simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He grabs a clean rag from the dresser and disappears into the bathroom.
You sit there, stunned, your legs still weak and trembling as you try to process the situation. He’s… he’s going to clean you up?
You don’t have time to overthink it before Matt is back, damp rag in hand, his expression calm and casual- like he hasn’t just spent the past however long wrecking you completely.
But then he kneels back onto the bed, his large hands gripping your thighs, and you suddenly feel very small, very exposed.
“Matt-” you start, but he just smirks, shaking his head as he spreads your legs apart again.
“Sweetheart,” he tuts, his voice low, teasing. “I just made you cum like six times. You can’t be all shy and shit now.”
Your entire face burns, your thighs instinctively trying to press back together, but Matt just grips them firmly, keeping you open for him.
“Matthew!” you squeak, but then you see it.
Your gaze drops, and your breath catches as you notice the mess between your legs- his cum, mixed with yours, spilling out of you, slick and warm against your thighs.
“Oh my God,” you gasp, absolutely mortified.
Matt chuckles, his eyes darkening as he watches your reaction. “It’s normal, angel,” he reassures you, his thumb stroking your inner thigh.
You look back up at him, eyes wide. “You’re not… grossed out?”
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. If anything…” He leans in slightly, his gaze flickering downward, his jaw clenching. “I’m almost getting hard again just looking at it.”
Your face somehow turns even redder.
“Oh my gosh,” you whimper, covering your face with your hands as you flop back against the pillows, absolutely overwhelmed.
Matt just chuckles again, his smirk unmistakably smug as he brings the warm rag between your legs and starting to clean you up, his touch gentle, careful.
But even as he moves with patience, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, and the way he looks at you makes you wonder just how much rest you’re actually going to get tonight.
After he finishes cleaning you up, Matt tosses the rag aside and looks down at you, his blue eyes softer now, filled with something warm, something that makes your stomach flutter. He brushes a hand over your thigh, his fingers tracing gentle, soothing circles.
“You sore?” he asks, his voice low, genuinely concerned.
You shift slightly, feeling the lingering ache between your legs, and nod. “Yeah… it hurts down here.”
Matt exhales, running a hand through his hair before he moves, standing just long enough to walk around the bed before slipping under the covers on the other side. He pats the mattress beside him.
“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, inviting.
You hesitate only for a second before scooting over, letting him pull you into his arms. His warmth surrounds you instantly, his body solid and comforting, his scent still intoxicating- like musk and something undeniably him.
His chin rests lightly atop your head, and he sighs, his hands lazily tracing up and down your back, grounding you both in the quiet afterglow.
“How was it?” he asks after a moment, his voice rumbling against your skin. “Your first time?”
You let out a soft giggle, nuzzling closer against his chest. “It was really good,” you admit, your voice muffled against his skin. “But… I don’t really know what it’s supposed to feel like.”
Matt chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you came six times, I’d say it was pretty damn good, sweetheart.”
“Is that normal?” Your cheeks flush, and you bite your lip, hiding your face against him.
He laughs again, clearly amused. “No. Not usually. But that’s a good thing,”
“Matt?” you ask, your voice quieter now.
“Mm?”
You shift, rolling over so you can face him. He tilts his head slightly, his brows raising at your expression.
“How many people have you done it with?” you ask, your gaze flickering downward, suddenly shy.
Matt blinks, visibly caught off guard. His mouth opens, then closes, and for the first time since the night started, he looks almost… awkward.
“Uh…” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why?”
You shrug, still not looking at him, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” you mumble, your voice suddenly small. “I was just… wondering.”
Matt watches you for a long moment, and then realization dawns. His lips twitch slightly, and he tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze.
“Are you jealous?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.
You immediately look down, avoiding his eyes entirely, and he exhales sharply, his smirk growing.
“Oh, you are,” he murmurs, his fingers tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes flicker with something playful, something teasing. “That’s adorable.”
You groan, covering your face with your hands, but Matt just chuckles, prying them away and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, “I don’t care about anyone before you. The only person I’m thinking about right now- the only person I want- is you.”
Your stomach flips at his words, and you finally look up at him, your lips parting slightly. His expression softens, and his thumb strokes over your cheek, his gaze filled with something deeper, something more sincere.
“Okay?” he murmurs.
You nod, swallowing thickly. “Okay.”
Matt grins, clearly satisfied, and pulls you back against his chest, his arms tightening around you.
“Good,” he says, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “Because I plan on keeping you all to myself.”
Matt tilts your chin up again, his blue eyes flickering between yours, his gaze deep, searching. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his breath warm as he leans in.
And then he kisses you.
It’s not like before- not rushed or desperate. This kiss is slow, deep, intimate. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your stomach flip, makes your body melt into his touch. His hands cradle your face like you’re something precious, his fingers tracing soft patterns along your jaw, down your neck.
You sigh into his mouth, your arms looping around his shoulders, pulling him closer. The heat between you starts to build again, your bodies pressing together under the covers, the slow drag of his lips against yours turning into something more heated, more urgent.
Matt groans softly, tilting your head back further as his tongue brushes against yours, deepening the kiss. His hands wander lower, slipping beneath the blanket, gripping your waist as he shifts, rolling you onto your back.
He hovers over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips trailing down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin.
“God,” he murmurs, his voice husky, wrecked, “I can’t get enough of you.”
He starts to crawl over you, his knee parting your thighs, his hands framing your face as his lips find yours again, this time more desperate, more claiming-
BANG.
The bedroom door swings open so suddenly it slams against the wall.
“Hey, Y/N, I was a fucking hour into the drive when I realized I forgot my wallet, do you know where I-”
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence.
You freeze. Matt freezes.
Your brother stands in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, taking in the scene in front of him:
Matt completely naked and hovering over you, your legs tangled together under the covers, both of you breathless, flushed, naked, and clearly caught in the middle of something.
Your brother’s face twists in absolute horror, his expression shifting from shock to pure rage in a matter of seconds. His jaw clenches, his fists tighten, and then-
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he bellows, his voice shaking the walls.
The room goes still.
Your stomach drops.
Matt’s chest rises and falls slowly, his body tense, frozen, unreadable.
Your eyes snap to his, wide, panicked, pleading.
Matt just meets your gaze, steady and sure, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.
Neither of you move.
Neither of you speak.
There’s not much you could say anyways.
What is there to do when you’re caught with one man who was off limits?
a/n: and with that, the earned it series has come to an end 🫡 thank you for all the love on this series. YOU ARE ALL INCREDIBLE!! you literally give me motivation to write. so thank you. i know i left on another cliffhanger…. sorry not sorry. the original draft of this chapter was actually like 8k words and included what happened after the brother walked in but i decided that I kinda wanna leave it up to the readers mind. yall get to decide what happens after this! (maybe I’ll put out an epilogue or smth idk) BUT THANK YOU AGAIN SO MUCH!!! SO MUCH LOVE!!!
-c🧡
for @mattsobvimyfav as always, i love you. thank you for being you. you are my sunshine.
tags: @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz
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Royal Flush
Authors Note: I'm currently recovering from surgery so I apologize for a lack of updates. I am recovering well, thankfully, but it's been really difficult to sit and write for long periods of time... I'm so sorry!!! However, we finally have an update~ If there are any grammatical errors I apologize most of this was written via voice to text my little loophole for writing right now.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.7K
Morning arrived with an unceremonious jolt as a series of sharp knocks shattered the fragile peace of your slumber. You groaned, barely able to push yourself upright before the door creaked open without waiting for your response.
Molly strode in with a bounce in her step, the morning sun catching on her copper curls as they bobbed with her movement. She wore her usual mischievous grin, her hands planted firmly on her hips like she was about to deliver some grand proclamation.
“Good morning, my lady,” she chimed, her voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness.
Still groggy, you blinked at her, confusion clouding your mind. “Molly— what are you—”
Before you could finish, she closed the door with a deliberate click and leaned against it, her grin widening. Her expression practically sparkled with mischief, and you suddenly felt very exposed.
“A little birdie,” she began, her tone light and almost singsong, “told me something very interesting this morning.”
A faint sense of dread began to creep into your chest. “What do you mean?” you asked cautiously, though a part of you already suspected where this was heading.
Molly tilted her head, her coy expression unwavering. “Oh, nothing much. Just that my brothers—lovely lads, part of the Griffyn Guard, as you know— happened to spot someone leaving your chambers at an awfully early hour.”
Your stomach dropped. Bolting upright, you felt the blood rush from your head, leaving you dizzy. “What?” you croaked, the word barely audible.
Molly raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Don’t look so scandalized, my lady,” she teased. “They weren’t sure who it was at first— until they got a better look. And wouldn’t you know it, the person bore an uncanny resemblance to Sir Sirius Black.”
Your heart leapt into your throat as her words hung in the air. You scrambled for a response, but your tongue felt like lead.
Molly’s grin turned positively feline. She crossed her arms, her eyes twinkling with glee. “So,” she drawled, “is there something you’d like to share? A midnight rendezvous, perhaps?”
You gaped at her, heat rushing to your face. “Molly!” you finally managed, your voice a mix of exasperation and embarrassment.
She chuckled, pushing off the door and sauntering closer. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not about to start spreading tales. But you can’t blame a girl for being curious.”
“Nothing happened,” you sigh, waving a hand dismissively toward Molly’s pointed, curious stare. “He was just helping me back to my room after I went for a stroll in the gardens.”
Molly tilted her head, her auburn curls swaying with the motion, her brows raised in a way that told you she didn’t believe a single word of it. Still, she offered a shrug, deciding— for now, at least— not to press the matter further.
“If you say so, my lady,” she said with a sly smile that suggested she wasn’t quite finished teasing you.
_____
The rest of the early morning passed in a whirlwind of Molly’s endless energy and rapid fire explanations as she led you through more of the castle. At last, you discovered the kitchens, tucked away in a cozy corner of the palace. The scent of fresh bread and simmering stews greeted you as Molly proudly declared, “And here’s where the magic happens.”
You were introduced to the bustling cooks and kitchen staff, their aprons dusted with flour and their sleeves rolled up as they worked around the large stone hearth. They greeted you warmly, one even offering you a freshly baked roll that you nibbled on thankfully as Molly dragged you back into the halls.
From there, she brought you by the meeting rooms, where, unsurprisingly, the princess was once again trapped in an endless string of meetings.
Mary and Marlene stood near the door to the meeting chamber, their postures casual yet attentive.
“Lily is still in there?” You ask, your tone equal parts amused and exasperated.
Mary sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the stone wall. “Still in there,” she confirmed with a knowing look.
“We can’t even go inside,” Marlene added, gesturing toward the grand double doors. “It’d be overkill for all of us to just stand around waiting for her highness. Besides,” she added with a grimace, “I’m not sitting through another one of those meetings unless I’m being forced.”
Mary turned to you with an understanding smile and waved you off. “Don’t worry about her. Our lady is used to this. She’ll find us when she’s free.”
Before you could even offer to wait with them, Molly was already ushering you away, her hands lightly pushing you down the hall like a mother shooing her child away from adult conversations.
“Come on, no use hovering around,” she said cheerily. “Let’s find something else to do.”
You glanced back over your shoulder at the closed doors of the meeting chamber, feeling a faint pang of sympathy for Lily. Then, sighing in resignation, you allowed Molly to steer you away, her chatter quickly filling the quiet corridors as the castle unfolded before you once more.
_____
You spent the remainder of the morning seated by the window, warm sunlight streaming through the frosty glass, as Molly animatedly filled the air with her knowledge about the capital’s shops.
It had started with a simple question about winter dresses— your wardrobe clearly unprepared for the fast approaching frigid temperatures— and Molly had launched into a detailed breakdown of every reputable boutique in town.
Her enthusiasm was contagious, her smile bright as she spoke of fabric selections, embroidery styles, and which tailors were secretly overrated. But as her words spilled forth like a rushing stream, you began to feel the sheer amount of information cloud your thoughts.
“Thank you, Molly,” you said finally, with a gentle laugh that masked your slight overwhelm. “When I’m able, I’d like to go into town to—”
Molly, never one to hesitate, practically bounced in place. “We can go now, if you’d like, my lady!” she offered eagerly, already standing and smoothing down the front of her skirts in preparation.
You glanced at the small ornate clock perched on the vanity. The delicate golden hands crept closer to midday. Your heart fluttered, and you quickly shook your head, reaching out to grasp Molly’s hand before she could get too far. “Perhaps tomorrow?” you suggested gently.
Her brows lifted in curiosity, the question clear in her expression even though she didn’t voice it.
You averted your gaze, busying yourself by tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and answered her unspoken query. “I promised Sir Sirius I would meet with him today. Around noon.”
Your voice dropped slightly, softened with a tone you hadn’t intended to use. Your head bowed just enough to mask the warmth spreading across your cheeks, though you doubted Molly missed it.
The memories of last night— the way Sirius had lingered just long enough for you to feel his sincerity— still hovered fresh and vivid in your mind.
Molly’s lips quirked upward, a knowing smile tugging at the corners. “Ah, I see,” she teased, leaning closer in mock secrecy. “Well, far be it from me to come between you and a certain knight, my lady.”
“Molly…” you groan, your cheeks as warm as they could be as you shoot her an admonishing look.
But she merely laughed, her giggles bright and carefree as they echoed through the room.
“Well, we should doll you up then,” Molly declared with a mischievous grin, already eyeing your hair and outfit as if she were mentally drafting a plan. “Not that you really need it—"
“It’s not a date,” you interrupted with a soft laugh, shaking your head at her enthusiasm.
Molly’s brows rose ever so slightly, clearly unconvinced. “Not a date?” she repeated, a teasing lilt in her voice as she crossed her arms.
You rolled your eyes, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. “It isn’t. I was asked to meet with Sir Sirius, Sir Remus, and His Highness after his classes this morning,” you explained, watching as her smile grew impossibly wider.
“Even more reason to doll you up!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together as if your explanation had only solidified her resolve.
Before you could protest, Molly had already begun rifling through your wardrobe with the fervor of someone on a mission. “Let’s see,” she muttered under her breath, pulling out gowns and holding them up against the light. “Too formal… too plain… oh, this one!” She spun around, holding a light blue gown trimmed with silver embroidery that shimmered faintly in the morning light.
“Molly, really—”
“Oh, hush,” she interrupted, her tone both firm and playful as she laid the gown on the bed and began fussing with your hair. “You may not think it’s a date, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look stunning. You’re meeting with the prince, my lady. A little effort never hurt anyone.”
You sighed in surrender, letting her take the reins as she braided your hair into an elegant, simple style. As she worked, her chatter filled the room, alternating between playful teasing about your 'not a date' and genuine compliments about how the color of the dress would bring out your eyes.
By the time she was finished, you couldn’t help but admire her handiwork. The gown fit perfectly, and the subtle sparkle of the embroidery caught the light whenever you moved. Your hair, braided and pinned just so, framed your face delicately.
“There,” Molly said with a satisfied smile, stepping back to admire her work. “Now you’re ready to meet your knight—and your prince.”
You shot her a pointed look, but the warmth of your smile betrayed you. “Thank you, Molly. But really, this isn’t—”
“Save it,” she interrupted with a wink, shooing you toward the door. “Go on, my lady. You don’t want to keep them waiting.”
As you left the room, you couldn’t help but feel a slight flutter of nerves mixed with anticipation. It wasn’t a date, you reminded yourself again, but something about the way Sirius had smiled at you the night before made it hard to ignore the possibilities lingering in the air.
_____
The walk to the library was nerve wracking. Your heart thrummed in your ears, each step feeling as though it drained the energy from your body. Yet, despite the nervous fluttering in your chest, you pressed on, determined to keep your promise.
Soon enough, you found yourself standing before the grand double doors of the library, slightly ajar to reveal a world of endless shelves and tables bathed in soft golden light.
Pushing the doors open wider, you stepped inside. The scent of parchment and aged leather greeted you, a soothing yet slightly overwhelming aroma. Rows upon rows of books stretched toward the ceiling, interspersed with towering ladders that hinted at the sheer scale of the collection.
At the center of it all stood an older man, his back straight and his movements deliberate. He cradled two hefty books against his chest, his expression warm and inviting. For a brief moment, you swore you'd seen his face before, and then it struck you— this must be the prince’s tutor and, by extension, Remus’s father.
The realization had you bowing your head quickly in a polite gesture as you stepped aside to let him pass.
“Ah, thank you, my lady,” he said with a gentle chuckle, his voice kind and refined.
You murmured a soft response, still bowing your head slightly, and watched as he left the library. The sound of his footsteps faded into the corridor beyond, leaving you alone with the three figures still in the room.
James sat at one of the tables across from Remus, a scattering of books and scrolls spread between them. James’s hand rested lightly on the edge of a page, mid-turn, while Remus appeared to be explaining something, his tone low and measured.
And then there was Sirius, leaning casually against a bookshelf just behind James. His dark hair fell across his face in soft waves, and his arms were crossed in a way that gave him a roguish, unbothered air. Yet the moment his gaze landed on you, his posture shifted ever so slightly— his shoulders straightened, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips.
“Well,” James said, his voice breaking the quiet reverie. He closed his book with a soft thud and grinned at you. “Look who decided to join us.”
You smiled nervously, stepping further into the room. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” you said softly, your gaze flitting between them.
“Not at all,” Remus assured, his tone steady and reassuring. “We were just finishing up.”
Sirius pushed off the bookcase then, walking toward you with an easy grace that belied the warmth in his stormy gray eyes. “You made it,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, though the smile on his lips widened ever so slightly.
You nodded, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. “I promised I would try to come by.”
James exchanged a knowing look with Remus, who merely raised a brow in quiet amusement before returning his attention to closing the books in front of him.
“Well,” James said, clapping his hands together and standing. “Since we’re done with lessons for the day, why don’t we get out of here? The library’s a bit too stuffy for a proper conversation, don’t you think?”
Sirius turned back to look at you, waiting for your response. Your throat felt dry, but you managed a nod. “That sounds lovely.”
“Perfect,” James said with a grin, looping an arm around Remus’s shoulder as they began to gather their things. Sirius lingered at your side, his presence both grounding and slightly overwhelming.
As the four of you made your way out of the library, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of ease and anticipation— like the faint hum of an incoming storm.
Though you trusted their lead, uncertainty began to creep in when you realized you had no idea where you were heading. Lingering just a step behind, you took note of every turn, trying to memorize the path. You knew it would be just your luck to wander into an unfamiliar wing later and find yourself hopelessly lost.
That thought proved prophetic when James turned into a hallway you hadn’t seen before. The cold, bare stone of the earlier halls gave way to a long, deep red carpet that ran the length of the corridor. The walls, too, grew more ornate, boasting intricate carvings and golden accents. This wing was somehow even more luxurious than the one you had been staying in with Lily.
The opulence only deepened as you were led into a sitting room. The space was warm and inviting, the kind of elegance that whispered of understated power. Wine colored velvet couches framed a glass table adorned with delicate gold trim, the craftsmanship so fine you almost hesitated to look too long.
Sheer white curtains framed tall windows, allowing sunlight to filter through the leaves of trees outside. The dappled light danced across the room in soft patches, adding a gentle glow to the otherwise regal atmosphere.
“Have a seat, my lady.”
Remus’s calm, steady voice drew you out of your thoughts. You blinked, startled by how deeply you had been observing the room, and turned to find him gesturing to one of the couches.
“Oh,” you breathed, your cheeks warming as you realized you had been standing there for longer than was intended. “Thank you.”
With a soft nod, you stepped forward and sank into one of the couches. The velvet cushions were as plush as they looked, enveloping you in a quiet sort of comfort. It was a stark contrast to the fluttering nerves in your chest.
James and Sirius took seats across from you, Sirius choosing the armrest rather than the couch itself, while James lounged with a carefree ease that only seemed to amplify the princely air about him. Remus, ever the gentleman, settled beside you, though he left a polite distance between you.
“So,” James began, his tone bright as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you think of the castle so far?”
“It’s… breathtaking,” you admitted honestly, your gaze flicking around the room once more. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how grand it all is.”
James grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’d be surprised. Give it a few weeks, and you’ll be wandering these halls like you own the place.”
“Or,” Sirius interjected, his tone light but teasing, “you’ll get hopelessly lost and end up in the kitchens. Not that it’s a bad place to be.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’m trying to avoid that fate, but I can’t make any promises.”
Remus chuckled quietly beside you, the sound low and warm. “If it happens, you’ll have plenty of people willing to guide you back. Sirius especially seems to enjoy playing the knight in shining armor.”
Sirius shot him a playful glare, but there was no heat behind it. “I don’t see you volunteering to help.”
“That’s because I have faith in her sense of direction,” Remus replied smoothly, his lips quirking into a small smile as he turned to you. “But should you need it, I’d be happy to help as well.”
The warmth in his gaze made your heart skip a beat, and you found yourself nodding before you even fully registered his words. “Thank you, Remus. I’ll keep that in mind.”
James clapped his hands together, breaking the quiet moment. “Alright, enough teasing. Let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we? We’ve got plenty of time before duty calls again.”
The casual rapport in the air eased the last of your nerves, and you allowed yourself to relax into the couch, a soft smile gracing your lips.
Sirius was the one to break the comfortable silence, his voice smooth but direct as he leaned forward from his perch on the armrest. “So,” he began, his grey eyes flicking between you and the others, “how did you want to go about this?”
His words hung in the air like a thread waiting to be pulled, and the mood shifted ever so slightly.
Remus let out a quiet sigh, his hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose in obvious exasperation. “Must we always jump straight to the point, Sirius? Can we not ease into this for once?”
James, lounging with his typical air of princely mischief, bit back a chuckle, his amber eyes glinting with amusement. “I hate to say it, but Siri has a point. I think being upfront might actually help here, Rem.”
At that, Remus’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling, the smallest twitch of a smile betraying his otherwise irritated expression. “Fine,” he relented, gesturing loosely with his hand as though passing the baton. “By all means, one of you take the lead.”
James straightened a little in his seat, clearly ready to jump in, but Sirius beat him to it. His gaze settled on you, steady but not unkind, the sharp edges of his humor softened for the moment.
“We wanted to talk to you about something important,” Sirius said, his tone unusually measured. “And, well, it’s not exactly the easiest thing to bring up.”
You tilted your head slightly, curiosity sparking in your chest as you met his gaze. “Important?” you echoed, your voice tentative.
Remus sighed again, though there was less frustration and more resignation in the sound now. “Yes, important,” he confirmed, sitting up straighter as if to lend weight to his words. “It concerns you… and us, I suppose.”
James, ever the bold one, leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees his hands intertwined as he grinned at you with that boyish smile. “We’ve all grown quite fond of you,” he said, his tone light but earnest.
Your brows knitted together in confusion, and you glanced between the three of them. “I… don’t quite understand,” you admitted, your heart thudding louder with each passing second.
Sirius exchanged a brief glance with James, then Remus, before turning back to you. “We’re trying to say that we care about you,” he explained, his voice softer now. “Not just as acquaintances or friends. Something more than that.”
The room seemed to tilt slightly, your breath catching as the weight of his words settled over you. “You mean… all of you?” you asked hesitantly, your cheeks warming as you tried to process.
Remus nodded, his expression as calm and reassuring as ever. “Yes. All of us.”
James smiled warmly, the sincerity in his eyes dispelling any lingering doubt. “You don’t have to give us an answer now,” he said quickly, his tone gentle. “We just… We just wanted you to know how we feel.”
Your gaze dropped to your hands, which were clasped tightly in your lap, your thoughts a whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t quite pin down. When you finally looked up again, the three of them were watching you with varying degrees of hope and apprehension, their vulnerability as evident as if they’d laid it bare.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You were flattered— their words sincere, their intentions genuine as far as you could tell— but something inside you hesitated. “Is it not too soon to talk of being so taken with someone like this? It’s barely been three days since—”
Sirius’s faint smile softened further, his usual cocky demeanor tempered by a rare tenderness. “Then don’t say anything,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “Just think about it. That’s all we ask.”
You nodded slowly, your chest tight with a mix of uncertainty and something far warmer, something that made your heart ache in the most confusingly wonderful way. “I will,” you promised, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.
The three of them seemed to relax at your words, and James, ever the optimist, clapped his hands together with a grin. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, shall we order some food? I’m starving.”
The tension in the room broke like a wave, leaving behind a tentative sense of relief. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound a welcome release after the intensity of the moment.
“Food does sound good,” you admitted, allowing yourself a small smile.
As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you found yourself glancing at each of them in turn, the weight of their confession still lingering in the air between you.
You didn’t have all the answers yet, but for now, you were content to simply exist in this moment.
tag list: @amatoanima @wolfstar4everbitches @bugworldsworld @ilovejamespottersomuch @garden-h0bbit @dearmy-diary @yejiswifex @bmyva1entine @emerald-jade1 @miliokumura3 @amandinhagg @thewitchesofart
#aisie writes#petals and plots#marauders#dead gay wizards from the 70s#fanfic#marauders era#marauders fic#the marauders#sirius being sirius#royal au#marauders fanfiction#poly marauders#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders fluff#james potter x you#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x y/n#sirius black#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x you#remus lupin x y/n
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|| A Planned Distraction? || Nagumo Yoichi x Reader || Sakamoto Days ||
in celebration of sakamoto days anime im here to write about my favorite sd man just to contribute to the x reader fandom id be down to write more if anyone is interested and yes i am working on the hsr requests too 🫶
synopsis: in which nagumo comes home to immediately distract you from making dinner.
fem!reader. established relationship.
cw: suggestiveness. slight sexual content. breasts fondling.
“Yoichi”
“Mhmm”
“Your hands.”
At the mention of his hands, Nagumo gives your breasts a squeeze. His body glued to you from behind. His large hands cupping your bosom you try to stir the stew that’s currently simmering. A deadpan look crosses your face although he doesn’t see it. The assassin doesn’t even try to remove them, just pressing himself closer to you - nuzzling his face into your neck. Even though it’s not physically possible to be any closer to you.
“You’re making it really difficult to cook.” You say with a sigh, giving the stew a stir. Trying to ignore the ticklish sensation from his hair brushing against your cheek. “I’m helping you…” He mumbles against your neck, his thumbs circling your nipples through your t-shirt.
You couldn’t help the shiver that runs through you at his actions. “You’re n-not helping! Go wait for me in the living room…!” You manage to squeak out as you slam the spoon down on the counter grasping his wrists in an effort to pull his hands away from you. Nagumo immediately whines, releasing his grasp on your breasts to wrap his arms tightly around your shoulders instead. Not wanting to be an inch apart from you.
You knew it was meaningless trying to peel him off of you. You wouldn’t be able to win against him when it came to strength but his naughty hands were so distracting!
“Yoichi, please..!” Your words come out as a whine as you frustratingly lower your own hands to turn off the stove. Not wanting to burn the stew you spent painstakingly making before his sudden arrival. The man shakes his head in response, his face still glued to your neck.
You let out a sigh leaning back against him, figuring that he wasn’t going to budge anytime soon. He was always like this whenever he came home from work. You don’t dislike it, but you wished he didn’t keep teasing you by fondling your breasts!
“What would it take for you to let me finish making dinner?”
A moment of silence lingers as the dark haired assassin ponders your question. He then speaks up.
“Give me attention.” He says way too quickly, of course he’d say that. “I’ll give you plenty if you let me finish making dinner.” You soothe his tattooed arm, trying to reason with him but the man shakes his head.
“I need it now.”
You couldn’t help the smile that creeps up your lips. For being a deadly assassin he sure is adorable. Dammit! Your boyfriend is way too cute for his own good! You lightly chuckle before relenting, unable to resist him. A part of you also craving his attention as well, dinner would have to wait you suppose.
“Okay, finー”
Before you could even finish your sentence Nagumo effortlessly picks you up bridal style. A bright smile on his face as he carries you towards your shared bedroom. “That’s the spirit!” He laughs at your shocked expression, walking in then using his foot close to the door behind him.
You yelp out his name as Nagumo lays you down on the bed. Your back coming into contact with the soft sheets. He swiftly climbs on top of you, his arms caging your head - his dark eyes peering down at you with indescribable hunger.
“Dinner can wait, you’re what I need right now��”
#nagumo yoichi#sakamoto days#sakamoto days x reader#sakamoto days x you#nagumo yoichi x reader#nagumo x reader#sakamoto days imagines#sakamoto days scenarios#sakamoto days reader insert#skipps writes
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Scars On My Mind (Agatha Harkness x Reader)
Ever heard of the Daughters of Liberty? When Agatha appears at your doorstep covered in blood with a knitting needle peeking out of her elbow, you certainly wish you hadn’t. Here’s how it went.
Content/Warnings: WitchKiller!Agatha, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Injury, So Much Blood, Open Wound, Angst, Mild Mentions of NSFW Content, no beta we die like the Daughters of Liberty
This fic is a gift for @marril96 who made a gifset for me in return! Ily, let's swap again! It was so so so much fun to dive a little deeper into Agatha’s Witch Killer days with this, and make her a little vulnerable for once!
The rain started on Thursday night and hadn’t stopped since. A continuous drumming against your window, the world outside tainted a muddy grey. It was the earliest hours of Saturday now, Friday had passed silently without you noticing, the continuous waterfalls of raindrops on the windows not letting up to let the days pass either. The vinyl player kept playing as Friday had slipped into Saturday too, the kettle kept simmering as you prepared a boiling cup of Agatha‘s favourite tea blend. Even as the days drifted away, the world kept going. Boiling hot water turned into lukewarm turned into cold, the vinyl finished playing, spinning to a halt. The rain kept thrumming.
You sighed, leaning back on the couch, eyes fluttering shut. Agatha was late, like, even later than usually. And you were tired, sleep tugging at your bones with gradually more and more urgency.
But it was useless to go to bed, no matter how often she insisted you shan’t wait for her. You wouldn’t find much sleep anyway. Not on nights like this. When Agatha was out with other witches, when she set out to … feed? Kill? Siphon?
Well, it was hard to find any rest while she was out there like that.
She may have laughed when you’d admitted to that, throwing her leather jacket over her shoulders before pulling you into a quick kiss by your neck.
„There’s nothing to worry about, darling. I do this all the time.“
But still, as the front door to your little nyc apartment swung open and she sauntered out, chirping a „See you tonight, honey!“, over her shoulder at you, the pit in your stomach remained. The ghost of her palm on the back of your neck remained.
You sighed, taking a sip of the cold tea you’d prepared. If she wasn’t coming home in time, you certainly wouldn’t let the water go to waste.
They’d just raised the prizes for utilities on you. And while Agatha had just laughed and mentioned some inactive bank account she had in Germany that she‘d simply pull from, you couldn’t help but stress about it.
It wasn’t that you didn‘t trust her, so far every time she’d mentioned some savings from one of her many, many lives it had always been true. But just because she was an undying, centuries old witch who didn’t have to concern herself with mundane things like paying bills didn’t mean you could just shake those things off the same.
You had no magick, but you did have your name on a lease. But so far, she’d always made it work somehow, whether that be with her old account of when she lived right beside the Berlin Wall ten years ago or by selling a quick spell or curse to some unassuming person desperate enough to pay for one. You weren’t even sure if she actually performed real spells all of the time. Your Agatha was a scam artist through and through, but you wouldn’t have her any other way.
You took another sip of tea, watching the rain pour down the window. Sometimes, you wondered how many more of you there had been. Agatha was good at dodging those questions, but one night, when you wouldn’t let off even after she’d made you come undone multiple times on the couch, she’d handed you a little cardboard box.
„I try not to be traceable and I can’t exactly show you baby pictures, but some stuff just sticks.“
The contents of the box were fragile, some paper so frail you barely wanted to touch it. Little notes, handwritten poems, a few pages torn out of books. A pencil sketch of the bunny that lived in a cage beside your bed, that she always made sure to drape a blanket over before going down on you. An ink sketch of her, without the worry lines on her forehead or the little wrinkles around her eyes. But, as always, with the amulet she never took off her body.
A few photographs. Black and white on flimsy film paper, Agatha in a flapper dress, feather in her hair and a cigarillo between her lips, legs spread as she leaned back on a barstool. Agatha in the same dress, smiling over her shoulder at the camera, a dark skinned woman in a matching dress sitting beside her, raising her champagne flute at the camera.
Jenny Kale, you knew from her stories, the most brilliant potions maker Agatha had ever met. And the most annoying one. They‘d fallen off, you assumed it had something to do with Agatha‘s habit of power grabbing.
But, there was also a Polaroid.
A Polaroid that lay on the coffee table in front of you now.
A Polaroid that had not left your mind since you’d found it.
Agatha with a wild, unkempt perm and uneven bangs, black liner smudged around her eyes, in a black tank top, arm stretched out to take the picture. But, what actually caught your eye was the arm wrapped around her waist, tight enough to bunch up the fabric of her shirt, revealing a thin line of pale skin of her lower stomach. The person hugging her was out of frame, all you could see was an arm, and a shoulder pressed into Agatha‘s, and the way the witch seemed to hold back a laugh. The handwriting under the picture was messy, and the black marker had faded over the years.
For my love A.H. 1982 - We can be heroes forever and ever
And then what you‘d assumed was once a heart, but got smudged by someone touching the ink before it had dried.
It was exactly what you‘d been looking for. Proof that there had been people before you. That you weren’t her first lover in the 350 long years of her life. Of course you weren’t, that’d be foolish to assume!
But still, the find had punched a hole into your stomach that had only hollowed out the more you thought about it.
How many other people had she taken a liking to, how many non magickal people had she moved in with, let them sign leases and contracts for her as she ran off to suck the magic out of the local witch community of wherever she found herself? How long had this been going on? How long until she’d move on?
Sure, you were young now, but other than her, the clock was ticking for you. Would you just wake up one day and find her gone? And would she bother to keep your picture? And, even if all of this was nothing, why would she hide it from you? She‘d told you about Jennifer Kale, but she‘d never ever mentioned living with someone during her time in Berlin, or any era before that.
You bit your bottom lip, hissing when you tasted the metallic tinge of your own blood.
Did you want to be just another picture in her little box of memories? Did she even deem you worth remembering?
It was stupid to think like that, and you knew that, but it was harder not to let the uncertainty consume you.
But, you were smart enough never to ask her about it directly. Your wild, fierce, unapologetic witch. You loved her, you had realised that the moment her eyes met yours for the first time, and you loved everything about the chaos and the magick and the passion that she brought into your life. Maybe that was why the potential answer scared you so much. Better to keep holding onto your belief than to risk knowing you didn’t mean as much to her as she did to you. Better to live in the harmony of what you had built with her.
You wish you‘d never asked her about her prior life, had never opened the paper box. Now that you had the Polaroid in hand, it was impossible to put down.
A sound ripped you from your self deprecating thoughts. A faint scratch, just loud enough that you were sure you hadn’t imagined it. Another one. Like a dog scratching at a locked front door … or a key that kept missing the hole it belonged into, and instead kept hitting the rough wood of your door.
You sat up. „Agatha?“
No answer. Fuck.
You knew Agatha had her enemies, it was impossible to live that long without them. Hell, there was a whole coven formed of the daughters of her prior victims, a piece of information you preferred to not think about too much. After all, you saw what she was capable of, saw her cast runes around the entire apartment to keep out evil spirits, the way she glowed after siphoning, the daily use of telekinesis and the occasional prodding your mind - which she swore was to remind you to keep up the mental wards she‘d taught you, and totally not because she enjoyed the image of her that danced around your thoughts since the day you met.
Wards you made sure you had up and intakt now as you grabbed a candelabra on your way towards the front door - the first weapon you‘d spontaneously found.
Another scratch at the door, then a grunt, and a little thud, like something was falling into the wooden frame.
„Agatha?“, you asked again, louder.
Panting, whoever was on the other side of the door was breathing heavily.
Here goes nothing. You bit down on your lower lip, fingers tightening around the candelabra. Twisting the doorknob, you held your weapon high, ready to strike. The wooden door flew open, you held your breath … only to immediately let it go in a loud shriek.
In front of you was in fact Agatha, however, this was not how you had expected her to return. Her shirt was torn and ripped apart, shreds of fabric barely clinging onto her. if you hadn’t known, you would have never guessed it used to be white fabric, for it was covered in mud and dirt and … a worrying amount of blood. There was so much blood. On her clothes, her face, her head. Like someone had dumped a bucket of red over her head. Agatha herself was shaking, her body leaning against the wooden doorframe, the key she was holding in her right hand quivering with every rattling breath she took. Her left arm … your stomach twisted. Her left arm was completely bare, the sleeve ripped away at the seam, and her skin was covered in dark red crusts of dried and fresh blood. It hung useless at her side, and as she shifted from one foot to her other, you saw a single, long piece of hard plastic sticking right out of her elbow.
Your stomach twisted at the sight, and you instinctively had to reach for the wall, not trusting your knees to support your weight right now.
Agatha’s eyes were open wide, blue piercing at you as she panted, a now dried drop of blood had run right between her eyes and down her nose. She looked insane. You felt insane.
And yet, she had the nerve to cock her brows at you. „The candlestick? Seriously? Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth these days?“
Slowly, you dropped your arm, the makeshift weapon sliding out of your grip and tumbling to the floor.
Agatha winced, like that was what really caused her pain right now.
„Agatha!“, you gasped, swallowing hard.
The witch bit her bottom lip, hard, before heaving her own body closer towards the entryway, pushing for you to let her in.
„I got ambushed“, she exclaimed, even though that didn’t explain anything at all, „This little bunch was smarter than they seemed. In theory at least“, she laughed, but it only made her grit her teeth, „All the spells and curses in the world, and they stab me with a fucking knitting needle!“
You gulped. So that was the thing peeking out of her elbow.
Glassy blue eyes found you, her glare bewildered, almost panicked. „Are you done now? I would love it if we could at least move this out of the hallway, before we wake the neighbors!“
Finally, you snapped back into reality. Agatha was injured, badly, and she was also leaving stains of red on your doorframe and the „Welcome Home“ doormat in the hallway. But those were problems for later.
Right now, you needed to get her to safety. You surged forwards, grabbing her by her uninjured shoulder, pulling her right arm around your neck.
„Lean onto me“, you instructed, kicking the candelabra out of your way as you slowly guided her into the apartment.
She was cold to the touch, too cold for your liking, but she still managed to tut at you anyway. „What would you say if i kicked your hairdryer around like that?“
You let the front door fall shut behind you, other arm wrapping around her waist to support her further.
“I would say Thank You Honey for not letting me bleed out on the doormat! but you can practice that later.“
That made her snort, and you felt her entire body wince in pain.
„Stop being funny“, she hissed, her right hand digging into your shoulder as you slowly guided her towards the couch, step by step, „It hurts.“
You finally reached the plush sofa and carefully sat her down. Agatha‘s body collapsed against the cushions with a groan, her head rolling back.
„Hey!“, you snapped your fingers right in front of her face, „Sit up! Don’t you dare faint on me!“
Her eyes fluttered, and you felt panic rise in your chest. Your palms found her cheeks, cupping her face gently as you pulled her head back up, forcing her to look at you. Blue eyes blinked up at you, pupils dilating when they closed in on your face.
„Agatha“, you said, taking a deep breath more to calm yourself than her, „I‘m gonna go grab the first aid kit, but I need you to stay with me, okay? No fainting. Can you curl your fingers for me?“
Her right hand curled into a weak fist with no issues, while her left hand laid beside her uselessly. You swallowed. „Okay, keep doing that. Clench, and unclench, exactly. I‘ll be back in a second.“
She blinked twice, and a small smile found her blood covered, cracked lips. „You’re worried about me“, she drawled deliriously, healthy hand coming up to poke your side. The touch was a lot weaker than you‘d like. „That’s hot.“
You bit down on your tongue. „You’re unbelievable“, you shook your head, making sure her own head was supported by the cushions behind her before letting go, „Keep clenching your fists!“
To your relief, the first aid kit was right under the sink in the bathroom, fully stocked and ready for you. On your way back out, you grabbed a towel as well.
Agatha was still sitting up when you came back, already digging through the first aid kit as you walked, pulling out bandages, alcohol wipes, and the little bottle of superglue you kept in the kit. You sucked your cheeks in, thumb running over the little tag on it. The next fifteen minutes were going to suck.
Glassy blue eyes watched you as you spread out your new findings on the coffee table. Her breath came in heaves, but at least they were even and her chest didn’t quiver with every gush of air that surged through her lungs anymore.
„How are you feeling?“, you asked, needing her to stay awake, stay with you at any costs.
Luckily, she had it back in her to let out a humourless chuckle. „Like shit. Those bitches betrayed me like I didn‘t teach them everything they knew.“
Even as you cut open the plastic baggy holding a bandaid, you had to give her a long look over your shoulder.
„Betraying the witch that was gonna betray them? How dare they.“
Agatha opened her mouth in protest, but then you sat back up on the couch next to her, the cushions she was resting her injured arm on shifting, and instead a high, pained whimper left her throat. The sound rang through your head and you pressed your lips together, carefully positioning her arm so the needle stuck in it was facing you.
„I‘m sorry“, you took a deep breath, „You‘re not gonna like me for the next few minutes, but I need you to stay still for me, okay?“ Your eyes found hers, and you gave her a firm little nod.
„What?“, Agatha's voice was weak, brows creased in confusion, her eyes barely focusing on you. You gave her a soft smile, hand closing around the knitting needle slow and firm. „Look out the window babe“, you softly hummed and Agatha‘s head rolled to the other side, lashes fluttering.
„Don’t turn around“, you said. But of course, she immediately turned back.
“The window Agatha!“, you sighed exasperated, not waiting for her to listen this time.
„Okay, one, two…“ Before you could say the next number, you gritted your teeth. With one firm tug, the knitting needle slid right out of her open wound.
Agatha screamed, flinching under your firm grip, head thrown back against the couch.
The needle made a wet sound as you pulled it out that made your stomach turn. Thick, red liquid was stuck to the plastic as well as fresh blood immediately pooling out of the wound at her elbow.
You quickly pressed the towel onto it, gripping Agatha’s arm tight so she couldn’t pull away, even as she screamed. The whimpers leaving her throat echoed through your bones, and you had to bite down on your cheek harder.
„I‘m sorry baby“, you pressed out, glancing over at her face. Fresh, salty tears ran down her face, parting the dried crusts of blood on her cheeks. She was biting down on her tongue, hard enough to draw blood, holding back her sobs as best as she could.
„Fuck you“, she sobbed weakly, eyes closed shut and you had to chuckle.
„That’s okay. Let it out.“, you hummed, pressing the towel down onto the wound with one hand. The pale blue fabric was quickly soaking up red, and you had to act fast, worried she was going to lose too much blood.
With your free hand you reached for the superglue, the lid already off, clear, stale liquid at the tip.
„I have to do one more thing that you‘re not gonna like“, you said, keeping your grip on her arm tight as she tried to pull away.
„No! Stop! That’s enough!“, she yelped and it took everything in you to stay firm. The wound needed closing, no matter how much it would hurt.
„Agatha!“, you held her tight, giving her a firm stare that held no room for discussion. When you saw the way her bottom lip was quivering despite her pushed forward chin, your voice softened.
“I‘m trying to help you. Just one more thing and you‘re done, I promise.“
Agatha swallowed hard, leaning towards you.
You let her, gently pressing your forehead to hers.
„That was scary“, she murmured, „They were so smart about it. Didn’t blast me once. Instead…“, her shoulders twitched in an attempt to shrug, the sharp pain causing her to wince.
„Instead you came home with a knitting needle in your arm“, you nodded, craning your neck. Your lips brushed over her forehead, the bittersweet mix of mud and blood on your tongue as you pressed a gentle kiss right over the crease she always pulled when she was in pain, but trying to be brave about it.
„This was terrifying, but you’re being so strong“, you leaned back again, enough to look her in the eyes one more time, „Let me close the wound and then it‘ll be over, I promise.“
And she let you.
As you pulled the towel away to inspect the wound closer, Agatha looked the other way, her right hand coming up to her mouth as you pulled the skin together. As you dropped the clear glue down onto the gash, pulling it closed with one hand and handling the bottle of superglue with the other, she let out another blood curdling scream, muffled only by her teeth digging into her own hand. But, it worked. The moment the liquid began to thicken, the bleeding stopped.
It took all the alcohol wipes of the kit to get her arm cleaned up, working quickly and in silence, knowing well not to talk to Agatha as hot tears ran down her cheeks. You made sure to save a wipe for the bite mark on her right hand too, and then once you were positive all of her injuries were cleaned, you finally reached for the bandaids.
By the time she was all patched up and in clean clothes (you‘d thrown her bloody shirt and all towels it had taken to get the muck off her face into the bathtub, a problem for later), the two of your curled up underneath a blanket, her healthy shoulder squeezed up against yours, the sun was coming up.
Finally, it had stopped raining too.
The two of you had shared a can of microwaved ravioli, and slowly but surely, the color was returning to Agatha‘s cheeks. You wrapped your arm tighter around her, nose nuzzling into the crown of her head. Her hair still smelled of metal and cinder, but that didn’t bother you right now. What mattered was that she was still with you, that her body was warm against yours and her breathing even.
The blanket rustled as she shifted in your hold, right hand coming up to rest over yours.
„Now.“, Agatha took a long breath, thumb running over your knuckles as she held your hands in hers. Finally, she seemed fully back to consciousness.
„Tell me why you‘ve been pondering all night instead of sleeping like I told you to.“
„What?“, your brows furrowed, tilting your head to the side in confusion as you glanced down at her.
Agatha nodded towards the coffee table, blue eyes fixed on a specific object scattered between the leftovers of your once organised and stacked first aid kit. „I doubt you‘re using that as a bookmark.“
Between scissors and a piece of bandage you‘d cut off, there was still the Polaroid you‘d taken from the box of her private possessions. Now, there was a single drop of blood on it, right above the black marker writing.
„Oh my god!“, you quickly reached for it, „I‘m so sorry, I‘ll clean that off!“
Before your hand could reach the photo, Agatha‘s unharmed arm lunged forward, hand closing around your wrist. Despite how pale she still looked, she pulled you back to her with no trouble, wrapping the blanket around you two tighter. Injury or not, there was still magick power running through her veins.
„Darling“, her pale eyes found yours, „Look at me.“
You didn’t dare break the eye contact she established, even though it was the last thing you wanted to do right now, ears hot with embarrassment.
„Have you been thinking about that?“ she asked, and you knew exactly what she meant. Her long, long life before you, the nature of your relationship. The only thing on your mind for days now.
„I mean, it‘s stupid!“, you shook your head „It’s naive to think I‘m something special, you’ve had such a long life already,“ you poked her side, „Even though that‘s hard to believe right now.“
Agatha‘s hoarse chuckle made you smile despite everything weighing on your mind.
„I‘m going to stop you right there.“
With her healthy hand, she tried to push herself up, eyes fluttering shut as she groaned in pain. You instinctively reached for her shoulders, helping her sit up and lean against the sofa cushions.
Her hand found your cheek, palm gently cupping your cheek.
„You are something special“, her voice was low and you swallowed hard.
„Do you think I could do this with just anyone? I was just bleeding out on your couch.“ Her eyes found yours, giving you a firm little nod. „Have there been others? Of course. A witches lifespan depends on her powers, and I‘m not exactly the type other witches want around for long. It can get lonely.“ Her lips pursed into a little smirk, brows rising. „But thanks to you, it‘s not. And thanks to you, it won’t end just yet either.“ She chuckled, raising her bandaged elbow with a sharp inhale.
Your hold on her shoulders tightened just the smallest bit, holding her upwards. Her thumb ran over your cheek, and you couldn’t suppress your smile at the touch.
„What I am saying is yes, there have been lovers before you. But that does not diminish your presence in my life, and it does not make you any less special. To be quite honest, you‘re the first person to have pulled a knitting needle out of my elbow.“
She let out a little laugh and soon, you joined in. Agatha‘s hand tugged at the back of your neck, and you willingly let her pull you into a sweet, gentle kiss. Her lips brushed against yours with the familiarity of someone who had practiced plenty, pushing her chin forward into the kiss like she knew you loved her to do, and you let out a little laugh in return, teeth grazing over her bottom lip just the slightest bit. Exactly the way that made her groan, pull you in tighter, kiss you with more and more fervour, until you’d bite down on her plump lip for real.
But not right now. You pulled away before she could coax you into something more, giving the shoulder of her injured arm a gentle tap as you raised your brows at her.
„Not now Agatha! You literally almost died today.“
She let out an exasperated sigh, but then opted to wrap her healthy arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer. „But I didn’t, thanks to you.“
You gave her a warning glare but obliged as she pulled you into her lap, arm wrapped around you and your hands resting on her shoulders. She leaned forward, lips grazing over your neck just enough to make you gasp before nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck and shoulder, a spot she had found she fit perfectly into one time while napping and loved ever since. Your hands found her hair, fingers slowly running through the thick, dark waves falling down her back. She hummed against your neck at the feeling, and you felt your heart swell at the sound. Even if all of this was fleeting, at least right now, you could provide a safe space for her.
You pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, inhaling the faint scent of the lavender oil she liked to brush through her hair.
Even if you were but a fleeting moment in her life, maybe in 10, 20 years she‘d think back to you and miss the way her nose perfectly nuzzled into the crook of your neck.
“I love you, Agatha“, you whispered, so quiet, you could barely hear it yourself, „Try not to get killed while I‘m still around.“
If she heard you, she didn’t answer.
You pulled her even tighter.
#agatha all along#agatha harkness#agatha harkness x reader#berry writes things#aaa#marvel#mcu#agatha harkness x fem!reader#agatha harkness x gn!reader#agatha coven of chaos#agatha x reader#Im like kind of really proud of this hahaha
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WIP excerpt behind the cut; "grief-soup clonebaby". (( chrono || non-chrono ))
“No!” the kid’s–the–the kid’s three selves all shout in unison, whipping around to make three different faces at him. Tim stares at them, not–“That’s dumb. Like you’re dumb. Super, super super-dumb. I got a real name.”
“You–want a name?” Tim asks, and swallows again. What is he even supposed to–to call them, then, if they want a–
“I got a name,” one of the kids says dubiously, and one of the others rolls their eyes, and the third one puts their hands on their hips and sticks out their tongue at him again. “Duh.”
“You . . . do?” Tim–blinks, immediately thrown off. “Where did you . . . ?”
“I’m not stupid, stupid,” the third kid says in exasperation. "I know how names work.”
Tim . . . blinks, again, and swallows again, senselessly, and . . .
Kon had never named himself. He–hadn’t thought it’d count, maybe, or maybe he’d thought it would’ve been pathetic or embarrassing, or maybe he just really genuinely hadn’t known how, so he’d–so he’d never–
But the kid did, apparently. Tim doesn’t . . . Tim doesn’t know how he feels about that, still, but whatever it is, it fucking hurts.
And whatever it is, it’s more about Kon than it is about the kid, shitty as that is of him.
“You picked your own name?” he asks carefully, his voice a little tight in his throat; a little painful.
“Duh,” the first kid says again, the other two briefly scuffling with each other on the ceiling behind them, for . . . some reason, Tim assumes. Probably. Maybe. “I thought maybe I'd be ‘Robin’ ‘cuz you suck at Robin-ing so you shouldn’t be it anyway and Steph was Robin but I don’t wanna be a bird or a plane and I thought maybe ‘Suzie’ ‘cuz Greta’s not using it anymore since she’s not dead anymore but I’m made of dead people and I like the ‘eee’ at the end, but I don’t like the ‘ooo’ in the middle, so Rallie.”
“. . . ‘Rallie’?” Tim repeats, briefly distracted from his still-simmering panic attack and nausea-inducing levels of disappointment. He would’ve expected–well, “Robin” and “Suzie” both have a logic he could follow even before the kid started prattling on about said logic, if not one literally anyone older than ten would ever actually use, but where in hell did they get “Rallie”?
“I don’t like ‘Ralph’ but Cissie said it was a good one but also she was fake VR Cissie anyway but I think probably the real one said it first ‘cuz you were tryin’ to make me think I was Kon and I still like the “eee” at the end so I like Rallie, Rallie sounds good,” the second kid says reasonably, popping their head up from their wrestled two-out-of-three tangle.
“So I’m Rallie,” the third agrees, popping up too. “Eeeeeeeee.”
“. . . ah,” Tim says. Well . . . that’s technically also logic, he guesses. Still little-kid logic, but . . . logic. Or at least, well–reasons.
And at least he isn’t going to have to call them anything that’ll cut him to call anyone who isn’t–
And then Tim very suddenly realizes something that he really should’ve realized right away, which is definitely proof of just how upset he is right now, because–
“Wait,” he says, his shoulders stiffening. That’s not–he didn’t–“I was trying to make you think–how do you know about Steph and Bart?”
He didn’t tell them they weren’t Kon, and he definitely didn’t tell them he used Steph and Bart’s DNA to stabilize the blend of Superman and Luthor’s that he made them from. How would they–how did they find out that information, and how the hell did they figure out how to access the Speed Force when they shouldn’t even have known that was an option for them, much less an option that should’ve been possible for them, when–
“I can read,” Rallie says, making a face at him again. “An’ you didn’t even lock your dumb computers that good. I just did all the numbers until I got the right one.”
“Every terminal is a randomized eighteen-digit pin number,” Tim says a little incredulously. Which–admittedly just using numbers and not including mixed-case letters and special characters is not ideal cybersecurity, but–“That would take six years to brute-force crack. Each.”
“Yeah,” Rallie says.
“. . . did you just . . . try every combination you could think of?” Tim asks, still feeling a little distant and–disconnected, maybe.
“Yeah,” Rallie says. Tim can’t imagine how the kid not only did that but did that without getting bored for–however long it took, subjectively.
“But you accessed the Speed Force before that,” he says, and Rallie rolls all three sets of their eyes.
“You put me in your dumb VR,” they say. “An’ you ran all your dumb VR on your same dumb computers that weren’t even locked that good. So I went in them instead.”
“. . . what?” Tim says. A couple of Rallie stick their tongues out at him; the third one just looks dubious.
“So I read all your stuff before I came out, dummy,” they say. “So then I knew ‘bout Steph an’ Bart an’ the Speed Force an’ I could fix myself so I could use it right an’ look better an’ everything. Duh.”
Oh, okay. That is actually even worse than what he thought had happened, Tim realizes distantly. That shouldn’t even have been . . . that couldn’t even have been possible.
Could it?
“You’re not even the world’s third-greatest detective,” Rallie informs him scornfully, as apparent proof that it was, and then all three of them snap back together into one solid body again and they fall off the ceiling with a too-perfect twist and land on their feet on top of the computer terminals with a performer’s flourish.
Tim didn’t teach Experiment 103 gymnastics either. But if Rallie got into the computer system, somehow . . .
How far did they get into the computer system?
And did they figure out how to use it to get into any other computer systems?
Oracle helped him build the programs that he recreated to build this system. Oracle gave him some of the programs he recreated for this system, even. If Rallie had access to those and however long they had in subjective time while they were growing and any idea how to figure any of them out . . .
“Rallie,” Tim asks very slowly. “How long did you spend reading my . . . stuff?”
“I dunno,” Rallie says with a shrug, walking backwards across the computer terminals like they’re on a balance beam and then doing a too-perfect back walkover. “A while. Then I got bored and came out instead and then you took like eighty-four years and four months and seven hours and sixteen minutes and twelve seconds to get back and I got real bored so I went back in and read some other stuff and then I got bored again so yeah. Also I peeked upstairs but nobody was there so that was boring too so I just ate the fridge and played in the training room and read all their stuff and then I came back and read the rest of your stuff. And stuff. I'm not Kon but I found that sour squishy candy stuff he liked that somebody left in the pantry and your dumb VR was right, that's super good, but the waffles were only okay."
Tim feels nauseous.
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I wish you would write a fic where the kitchen gadget Carlos has been eyeing goes on sale and TK surprises Carlos with it.
Something they don’t tell you about losing your home to a fire, is that the grief comes in uncontrollable waves.
There’s the initial numbness, the tears they share together in the quiet comfort of a shower stall that’s not quite big enough for two grown men. There’s the days of unknowing—of waiting to completely survey the damage, of insurance reports, of phone calls that never seem to end. There’s the blooming hope of community as their friends and coworkers and old neighbours offer condolences; bring over old clothes and donated books and bits and pieces they can use to start to rebuild.
For the most part, it’s about taking things day by day, as they come back to life under his dad’s roof.
A week after the fire, TK leaves Carlos passed out in bed with a kiss to his cheek. He wants to get some errands done, to scratch some things off their list, and maybe he’ll get some coffee on his way back. The sky’s full of swollen grey clouds, rain threatening to fall at any moment, and so TK moves quickly to and from his car as he hits store after store. He finds nicer towels, he finds the skincare he’d been missing out on this past week, he finds the shampoo Carlos had asked him to look for. He’s taking a shortcut through the home and kitchen section of the store when he spots it.
The fancy pasta maker has been something Carlos has been eyeing for months. He loved making TK lavish homemade meals, and TK would often come home to the stand mixer out with the pasta attachment going, as Carlos wiped his flour-covered hands and greeted TK with a wide smile and kiss to his jaw. It’s not something Carlos would prioritize now, when they have so much to do. It’s exactly why TK picks up the box and puts it in his cart, determined to purchase it even before he spots the 30% off sticker, and it feels like a sign.
“Hey baby,” TK says, smiling as Carlos looks up from the kitchen island where he’s nursing a smoothie left for him by Owen. He holds up the carrier with two large coffees stamped with their favourite local cafe’s logo, and Carlos’ expression softens as he accepts the cup. “I got something for you.”
“I see that,” Carlos smiles, taking a long sip before pressing his lips to TK’s temple; to the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, babe.”
TK presses his lips together. “Something else.”
Carlos furrows his brows at him and TK holds up a finger; he dips back out of the house and winces at the rain that’s pouring, now, as he grabs the canvas bag and tucks the big box under his arm. Carlos is waiting for him in the doorway, his mouth slightly parted in unexpected surprise. “Babe, what—”
“I know how much you’ve wanted a proper one,” TK says, putting it down on the counter. “And after everything, I just wanted you to have something nice.”
“You’re too good, TK,” Carlos murmurs, not even looking at the pasta maker anymore and instead squishing TK’s face between his palms. “Thank you.”
“Love you,” TK says, as Carlos ducks in close and kisses him properly. He feels it down in his toes.
“I love you too,” Carlos says, the words pressed into the next kiss. “So much.”
(Years later, TK will walk into the home they made together, always sparing a moment to bask in the late-afternoon sunlight pouring in the windows and the soft music playing from the kitchen. Years later, Carlos will have pots on the stove, of slow simmering sauce he’s had going for hours while he feeds a dough he’s long-since perfected into their cherished pasta maker, looking over his shoulder at the right moment to watch TK, soft-eyed, take in the sight before him. Years later, the grief still curls around their spines, but as they kiss with flour marking their skin and rings on their fingers, love is what conquers all).
(i wish you would write a fic where…game!)
#answered#tarlos#my fic#this was the last one in my inbox so!! happy to take a few more as we wait for the episode tn :-)
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Our Gentle Sins: Part 15: Jeannie
Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!
Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader
Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist
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Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi
Chapter summary: Past. Jean's POV Present. Jean is over them all.
Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religious trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.
EXTRA WARNING: Male manipulator incel Logan
2k words
His mind was somewhere else.
“Scott, baby.” Jean tried to get him to come back to her. Lingerie, hair done up, waiting for Scott on her knees in the bedroom… and it worked. At least for a little bit.
But even as she ground herself over his growing bulge, she could tell he was somewhere else in his head. His cock stiffened and softened at the same time as he’d begin looking over her shoulder or his mouth stopped moving and she’d have to call him back to reality.
It was her fault. No, Jean, not her fault. Jean had to remind herself that just because Logan and Scott were playing out their latest pissing match with you instead of her this time, it wasn’t your fault. You were just a girl that needed help. Logan and you seemed happy, whatever the state of your relationship was… but she couldn’t help missing that attention Logan gave. Logan was a single focus man, and when that focus was on you, it was all consuming.
Before you entered the picture, even then Scott could be distant. That wasn’t his fault either, she tried to remind herself. He had OCD and worries left him spiraling. It wouldn’t be so bad if he just let her help him. She just wanted to help him. Instead, he internalized it, isolated himself and disappeared sometimes, leaving Jean worried and only knowing he hasn’t hurt himself from their telepathic connection.
She tries, she really tried to be empathetic to him and to you.
But when her husband can’t even get hard because his thoughts are with someone else, it’s kind of hard to not be angry.
Still, Jean was nothing if not able to tamper down that dark side, the anger that she felt simmering just below the surface. Usually, she could channel it into something good, something productive… but Jean didn’t want to be good.
She sighed, signalling her giving up with a drop of her head that encased Scott in red. “Get some rest, Scott. I think you need sleep.” He doesn’t sleep much these days, nor eat. His already slim figure is looking underweight with his cheekbones gaunt and the darkness peaking out under her visor. He’s not himself, and she doesn’t know what to do.
He reaches over to cup her face. “Sorry baby…” And he does look apologetic, despite the exhaustion in his voice. He carried to much on his shoulders, but it’s not like she hasn’t tried to lighten the load. “You look really fucking hot, I just…” Scott didn’t like talking about his mental issues, which was a major chunk of the problem. Until he lets her in, there’d always be a gap between them. A gap she used to fill with Logan, but now is just a hollow point inside her; an emptiness threatening to swollow her whole and break them apart. She loved Scott, but loving him meant always feeling a little alone, even on the good days.
“Rest.” Jean smiled softly. “I’ll stay here with you.” A lie, but if Scott caught on, she didn’t say. When he was asleep, she snuck out to find Logan.
*
How did she sink so low she was begging to get fucked? She just wanted someone to love her, to pay attention, she felt like she was drowning and needed to not feel so alone. Why wouldn’t Logan give it to her? Why couldn’t Scott? What had changed that she was no longer worthy of being loved?
Logan was good at that, at making her feel loved and desired when he wanted to. When he didn’t want to, he could pull it away just as quickly. It was embarrassing; humiliating even though the only person who knew was him. No one else could tell how subtly he wormed his way into her head, they all thought she had the control. She did, for a while anyway. Being chased, being hunted and stalked like prey was enticing especially on days Scott wouldn’t even look at her.
However once Logan knew the power he had, once her built her up himself he had control over her self esteem. And he knew how to wield that. She was a fool to offer it up to him again willingly, but here she was.
“He doesn’t pay attention to me.” The embarrassing admittance that she wasn’t enough for her own husband, but she laid herself bare to Logan in a way she couldn’t with Scott, not with his barriers.
“And you think I will?”
“You always did before.” She didn’t care if he was dangerous, a little unhinged. She just needed to feel.
“That was before her.”
Before her. Before his little child bride.
Logically, she knew better than to be mad at a 24 year old for catching Logan’s eye. She couldn’t even blame Logan; she liked you. You were kind, that's what everyone said about you (either before or after calling you weird, generally), but you were also a very capable teacher, taking on several grades, sometimes at once, and giving your all. You’d made an impact on many students, and you were incredibly smart; your brain had been wasted on the abusive prick you’d killed.
Jean knew she should be better than this, more evolved, beyond the mean girl nature of how she was acting but she was so desperate to fill that gap caving inside her she let the cruelty slide out more when he finally fucked her.
“Does your baby doll do it like this?”
A mistake, she knew. His fist tightened around her neck, and her nervous system kicked in. Logan was a dangerous man to play around with. Still, he wouldn’t hurt her. Not really, right? Just fuck with her mind again and again until she lost all sense of herself.
“No, but my baby doll can give me what you can’t.”
She had to laugh at that, the idea of Logan wanting to settle down. “What, you want to settle down, have a family, live a normal life?”
“So what if I do, Jeannie?”
A blink. A breath. She knew what she was offering was a risk, but she wasn’t thinking clearly. Whatever it took to be loved. She disappointed her parents at an early age, never hearing from them again. She always felt she scared Charles, her darkness too great. Erik disapproved of her hiding that darkness. She wasn’t enough to fix Scott, to make him let her in, to truly be one.
She could be enough for Logan. If a family is what he wanted.
“I can be that.”
“Oh yeah, you’re gonna abandon everything here? The students? Charles?”
She shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a family Logan.”
For a moment, his grip grew deathly tight but he threw her to the ground before she could comprehend what he had been about to do.
They went back and forth, Jean feeling vulnerable and like Logan was prying down her defenses until it slipped out. Until she admitted he had gotten her pregnant.
Her choice had been easy. With telepathy, she knew early, very early, and she knew she couldn’t have a kid with Logan. She didn’t want a baby with Logan, or a baby at all.
Logan, at that point, would have been a bad dad, and she didn’t think he would have wanted to be one anyway.
It would have broken Scott, broken him even worse when the affair got outed. Broken him enough that he might not have survived that blow.
But here she was, telling Logan he could knock her up, just for him to feel like er loved her again.
After
“She seems happy.” Jean commented, nodding to where Wade and you were giggling at the table. She was glad you had more friends now, not just Remy. It seems Remy never told Logan he was the one who outed their affair to Scott, otherwise Jean doubted Logan would hang around him as much as they do, even if his girl is his friend.
He beamed, looking at you. “Yeah, she’s do’n real well. Much better, I think.”
Swallowing some of her pride and jealous, Jean tried to do better, to be better. “It’s nice to see you happy too, Logan” She was sincere, but Logan seemed to try and brush it off. “I mean it. I’ve never seen you so pussy whipped.” It was meant as a joke, but the way Logan whipped his head back to her made Jean startle. She’d been more nervous around him lately; after the incident in the closet anyway.
“The fuck you mean?” He was angry, and she didn’t know why. It was always like this with Logan; the mood swings she couldn’t predict, the sudden withdrawal of affection that left her clamoring. They were having a nice chat, now he was mad.
She tried to remain firm and calm, not wanting to rile him up more. It was a nice party, she didn’t want to ruin it. “I just mean- Logan it’s a good thing. I mean you’ll do anything for her. She’d do anything for you, by the way.”
“She better. She’s my fucking wife.”
“Logan.”
“You know why I chose her, Jeannie? Because she don’t fuck’n sass off like you. Knows her place. Knows when to keep her mouth shut.”
“Or her mouth open, I assume.”
Logan looked like he wanted to slap her, his knuckles whitening where he gripped the counter.
Still, he tried to goed her on. “Yeah, because she’s a good girl, likes to please me. You wouldn’t know anything about that.” Jean opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. “Maybe you just need God too and you wouldn’t have to cry for the attention your husband won’t give you.”
He was trying to get under her skin, so she tried to let it roll off. “Using her trauma to keep her submissive isn’t the flex you think it is, Logan. Now I know why you chose her. Lot easier to get a girl to stay with you when you knock her up if she won’t have an abortion.”
You were playing with fire here.
“Shut up.”
Jean glared at him, taken aback by his sudden change, but growing tired of his childish behavior. She leaned in, whispering to keep nice for the party and for you. “You tell me to shut up again and will tell your little dolly that you fucked me while you were ‘taking it slow’ with her.”
Logan glared right back. “Yeah, and risk Scott finding out?”
“I am done wasting my time on either of you. Get fucked, Logan.”
Resisting the urge to throw her drink in his face, Jean walked off as she heard Wade squeal and wrap you into a big hug. Logan would be too busy handling that to follow her.
She was going to fucking be free of him. One way or another.
He could tell Wade and Kurt whatever he wanted. He could tell them she was cruel, indecisive, played with him; all of it was true to some extent.
But that was the game he laid out for her. He set up the chess board and got mad when she took his queen. He taught her the rules and when backed into check, he broke them. And when she got checkmate, he ran away and cried crazy ex to his friends.
Wade wasn’t a fan of Jean, she knew that. That’s fine, he was too crass and loud for her taste.
Kurt was too nice to treat her with anything but kindness, but he didn’t go out of his way to talk to her like before. People had chosen their sides, and that was fine. But it was sick the way that Logan created a standard in their relationship of playing mind games, only to move the goalpost when she had the upper hand.
She was done with his incel ass. She was done with trying to get Scott to care about her above anyone else. She was done trying to prove herself constantly to get nothing back.
Jean was done.
Thank you so much for reading! i had a breakthrough on my writers block for the end FINALLY!!!! Ah, the magic of boiling pasta at the OG <3
anyway I also had an idea for a married logan x reader series dealing with cheating but lemme finish this and IIBH first XD
SO JEAN!!!!! what do we think?
@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia a @new-genesis100 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2 @bugsinmyeyez @groundclueless @cosmolight @nonamevenus
#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett#wolverine x reader#fem reader#wolverine smut#logan x reader
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Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 2
Jason Todd x Fem!Reader
TW: Angst. mentions of death
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Chapter 2
The themes explored in Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster take on a new meaning each time I pick it up. I first read the novel in middle school, where I immediately saw pieces of myself in Jerusha Abbott.
While the mysterious benefactor, Jervis Pendleton, offers her an opportunity to experience a world beyond the orphanage, I don’t believe he’s the hero of this story. A door is opened thanks to his financial aid, but the hard work and dedication from Jerusha Abbott allows her to achieve success and independence.
This storyline resonated with me and still does. As new chapters of my life unfold, I find myself returning to Jerusha Abbot, wondering what I might accomplish if given the chance.
In this essay, I will cover...
His fingers drummed the surface of his helmet as Jason scanned your essay, the pages spread out across his scuffed kitchen table. Most of its content was ruined, streaks of mud and ink staining the page, but what remained was good—better than good.
It had been years since he read Daddy Long Legs or even thought about it. Jason remembered the basic plot—a benefactor paying a young woman’s way through college—your essay made him yearn to pick it up again, to see what you did in its message and themes.
You deserved a full ride with writing this good, but Crime Alley had a nasty habit of snuffing out dreams. Jason picked up the first page and reread your opening paragraphs once more. Regret coated his tongue like ash.
He should have shot that bastard dead. If he had, this wouldn’t have happened.
His anger simmered, flushing his skin. He sank back in his chair, willing it to recede. You never asked for his anger, nor could he explain why he felt it at all. Bad things happened—worse than a ruined essay and a crushed dream—but this was the second time he’d crossed paths with you this week. He should have guessed it was you when he saw that yellow hoodie.
And the way you looked at him... Did you always look at people with such blatant distrust? Or did he just have that kind of effect on people?
Jason scrubbed his face, chiding himself. This fixation with your paper, with you, couldn’t be healthy. It was late. He needed to sleep so he could do the same thing all over again. Patrol, eat, sleep. The monotony was grounding. At least that’s what he tried to tell himself.
He gathered the pages and dumped them in the trash before he lost himself. You said you weren’t going to sweat it, so why should he?
A heavy silence settled over his apartment as he shrugged off his jacket. He had yet to turn on the lights, accustomed to navigating in the dark, so why bother? He undid the buckles and zippers that fitted him into his uniform as he steeled himself for another restless night. Sleep never came easy, regardless of where he slept.
Despite his best efforts to ignore the temptation, his gaze drifted back toward the trash bin.
I find myself returning to Jerusha Abbot, wondering what I might accomplish if given the chance.
Jason was no hero, not that he had claimed to be one since taking up the mantle of Red Hood. There was always a new villain trying to know the hero off their pedestal. Sometimes the hero won, sometimes they lost, but the battle was never truly over. They gave more than they got, and the public didn’t always appreciate their efforts. Being a morally ambiguous vigilante was only slightly better without a moral compass to weigh him down, but he digressed.
You had a shot he never had, and he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to make things right.
“Fuck,” he grumbled as he fitted himself back into his uniform.
***
Breaking into Wayne Enterprises was easy.
Stupidly so.
Honestly, Jason should have taken that as a bad sign, but he was too focused on the task at hand.
He proceeded with caution down the hall toward the foundations department. The mission was simple. Find your application and approve it. The foundation's board blew through money faster than Batman blew through batarangs. What was one more recipient added to the pool? They probably wouldn’t even notice.
The office didn’t require a badge and opened with a soft click. Two desks sat facing each other, each outfitted with their own computer. His lip curled as he took in the blank white walls and a window that looked out onto nothing. Talk about depressing.
He sank behind one of the computers and got to work. Passing the initial lockscreen was easy, but the information he sought was heavily encoded and buried behind other security measures. Unless all he wanted to play a quick game of solitaire, he needed to put a little more work into this. He expected as much given how paranoid Bruce was about his digital information. It would take more than a few passwords to hack this system.
It would have been easier to simply ask Bruce for a favor, but he’d rather stick his dick into a live socket than be in his debt.
His screen flickered once, twice, before it went black. He swore under his breath. He clicked a few keys before checking the back of his monitor. It came back to life when he jiggled the connection, but when he saw what was awaiting him, he swore more overtly.
“Fuck me.”
Tim glanced off screen, the harsh light from the monitor casting harsh shadows across his pale face. Jason squinted at the screen to try to discern the muddled shapes behind him. Not the cave, nor his bedroom, so he could only assume he was somewhere in the building too.
“Why are you here?”
“Why am I here?” Jason wheezed, “Why are you here?”
“I do work here.”
Jason sneered. Sure, Bruce named Tim a majority shareholder once upon a time. But it didn’t come with a job. Lucius managed most of the day-to-day operations in Bruce’s stead, leaving Tim to do Tim things. It still didn’t explain why he was still here, well after midnight. At least, Jason had a valid reason for sneaking around.
“How did you know I was here?”
Tim flicked a strand of black hair from his eyes. “Lucius had new cameras installed after Bane tried to infiltrate the building last month. You would have known that if you hadn’t disappeared with your band of misfits.” His fingers flew across the keyboard, the clack of the keys biting into the audio in a way that set his teeth on edge. “Now, answer my question. Why are you here?”
Of any Wayne or Wayne-associated person he could run into, Tim was the best option. They might not always agree on which methods to employ to get the job done, but he was the best suited to help him with this particular problem. He was also clearly distracted by something else, which helped his case.
“I’m looking for a scholarship application.”
“Our applications are available on our website. You didn’t have to break in and hack our systems.” Tim paused, his lips pursing. “But I don’t think you can get a scholarship if you’re still legally dead.”
His eye twitched. Tim was a shit, and from the subtle curve of his lips, he knew it too. Jason forced himself to breathe through the irritation and clarified, “I’m looking for a specific applicant. She already applied.”
Tim finally looked at him. “She?”
“I saved a woman from getting mugged, but they tossed her bag in a puddle. He scholarship essay was ruined and I—”
He tried to play it cool, but from the slow furrow of Tim's brow, Jason missed the mark. Going to college had been a dream of his long before Bruce found him in that alley. He loved books. They saved him when he had nothing, and the knowledge that came with reading was just as deadly as his guns, but there were limits to self-education. Higher education always seemed like an unattainable goal until he stepped foot in Wayne Manor for the first time. Suddenly, that dream felt more like a promise.
And then he died.
Dead kids didn’t get to go to college.
Hell, they didn’t even get to finish high school.
Even after the League brought him back, his dreams dimmed like embers on a fire, little more than a whisper of the time he lost. He never shared his dream with anyone, but if someone was going to connect the dots, it was Tim. Ironic, seeing as Tim never wanted for anything.
Jason licked his teeth. “I feel bad about it, alright? She mentioned she also applied for a scholarship with Wayne Enterprises, so I thought I could help her out.”
“Hm.”
Tim appeared unmoved. Jason expected that. Unless the problem immediately concerned him or whatever case he’d fixated on at the time, he couldn’t be bothered to expend the emotional effort to care. His lack of empathy bordered on psychopathy at times, but Jason wasn’t about to call him on it. Seemed hypocritical for the pot to call the kettle black while he was currently in the kettle’s domain.
“Forget it,” Jason said as he stood, “I’ll try again la—”
“What’s her name?”
He hesitated. “What?”
“Her name. I can look her up for you.”
Jason knew the way your mouth pinched when you were upset, or that you chewed on the strings of that stupid yellow hooding, but that wasn’t what he asked. “Right, her name. Her name is...”
Tim stared at him. “You don’t know her name.”
“Shut up.” He threw up his hands. “There wasn’t a lot of time for formal introductions. I scared off the mugger and made sure she made it home.”
“Fine. Do you remember where she lives?”
That he could answer with a little more confidence. He gave a rough estimation based on where you had parted ways. There were two complexes on that block, but that seemed to be enough information for Tim to work with. His hands flew across the keyboard, staring unblinkingly at the screen. That had to be a strain on the eyes.
“Want to try blinking?”
Tim did, though it looked painful to do so. “Happy?” He turned his attention back to the screen, eyes wide and unblinking once more. Jason suppressed a shudder.
“Found her. Sending her application now.”
A new window appeared on his screen with your information laid out for him. Your name, address, among other personal details. He had no way of knowing it was you until he reached the essay portion. You had a distinct written voice. One that he clocked immediately.
With the wave of relief came a poignant shame that hollowed his chest. Genuine intentions aside, this felt a little too close to stalking for his liking. He minimized the screen to avoid temptation.
“Why didn’t she get the scholarship?”
“We give scholarships to students from the university’s business or science schools, and it looks like she planned to go to school for...” Tim skimmed your application. “Classics and writing.”
The unimpressed look he received was unwarranted.
“You’re a sap and painfully predictable.”
So, was that.
Jason chewed on his response. The fact that you wanted to be a writer and study the classics had little to do with his motivations to help you, but it did look pretty damning that they coincided with his special interests. He just wanted to see someone succeed. If it couldn’t be him, he wanted it to be you.
And if he lived vicariously through you as a result, well, that was just two birds with one stone.
“Can’t Bruce, I don’t know, sponsor a new scholarship?”
“The board doesn’t pull scholarships out of their asses,” Tim chided, “There’s protocol and paperwork for these things. Not to mention the screening process for applicants and we’re already wrapped for the year.”
Jason curled his fists. “Can you do it or not?”
Tim paused, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t appreciate your tone.”
“Answer the damn question. You're supposed to be the smart one here.”
He sniffed and tapped a key. The screen went dark.
“W-Wait, no! Don’t I—” Jason gripped the screen and shook as if it were a magic eight ball that would bring Tim back. A growl ripped from his throat as he sank back into his chair. Well, so much for that plan.
He shut down the computer and made sure the office was how he found it before heading for the door. It swung open before he could grip the knob. Tim stood a head shorter than him, but his presence held a sharp intensity that had Jason stepping back in surprise.
“Jesus. Can you not?”
Tim spun on his heel and motioned for him to follow down the hall. “I have something to show you.”
They walked past his (often grossly underutilized) office and toward Bruce’s at the end of the hall. The lights were off, the only light coming from the curved monitor on his desk. A blanket and pillow sat discarded in the corner, recently used.
Jason stared at the Tim-made nest before shifting his attention to the perfectly acceptable couch that overlooked the Gotham skyline. “Are you sleeping on the floor?”
“I was sleeping on the floor before you tripped the cameras,” he said as he settled behind the desk, “I’m awake now and sitting in a chair. Try to keep up.”
His fingers twitched as he resisted the overwhelming urge to wring his neck. “What did you want to show me?”
Tim stiffened. “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
That was reassuring.
“Or maybe you will, I don’t know, but I found this a few months back.” He angled his screen toward Jason, who bent down to squint against the harsh light from his monitor. What kind of psychopath worked with their monitor on full bright—
His thoughts guttered as the words on the screen finally sank in.
The Jason Todd Memorial Foundation
Jason recoiled. It would have been less painful for Bruce to kick him in the fucking teeth. Physical pain was fleeting, easier to stomach, but this... he had no idea what to do with the kind of pain that dug beneath his skin and festered like an infection.
He tried to make peace with Bruce, and the hard truth that his death had meant very little in the grand scheme of things. Villains like the Joker continued to wreak havoc on the streets. He refused to go against his morals, and so nothing got better.
It was a tough pill to swallow, but he managed to move forward and carve out a place for himself that wasn’t wholly fueled by anger and spite. His methods weren’t good or pure, some might argue he was just as bad as Black Mask, but no one could say they didn’t yield results. Drug trafficking to minors was cut in half overnight, and he kept dealings tightly contained within Park Row. While Jason couldn’t stop the distribution that plagued Gotham, he could contain it.
Red Hood could be the change that Jason Todd never was.
But seeing this now… knowing Bruce had…
He shoved away the complicated feelings that twined around his heart as he continued to read. The foundation would fund scholarships for low-income students seeking higher education in honor of Bruce Wayne’s late son. That included a full ride to Gotham University, an opportunity that Jason would never have.
A lump lodged in his throat as he choked out a strangled, “Why?”
“Bruce tries his best. He’s far from perfect, yeah, but he does try to make up for his shortcomings in his own way. From what I can tell, this never went live, not to the public at least. I have my guesses as to why that happened given his mental state after…” Tim let the statement die there. They both knew what after meant without having to rehash the gritty details. “I asked Lucius and the money is there. It’s been there, waiting for someone to do something with it.”
His throat constricted around the lump until it threatened to burst. He looked away to blink away the sting in his eyes. How was this supposed to make him feel? Good, bad, a nauseating combination of the two?
“I would argue the money is yours, seeing as your name is attached to it. This is a need-based foundation, and it sounds like your girl needs it. You can tweak the parameters to suit your needs. I really don’t care.”
His computer pinged, signaling the end of a download. Tim bent down to grab a thumb drive and stuffed it in his pocket.
“What was that?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
In other words, Bat business.
Jason let the matter die without much fuss.
Tim sighed and said, “Look, I know this is messy given your tepid relationship with Bruce.”
Tepid was an understatement.
“You don’t have to use the money or the foundation, but if you want to help her, this is your best option. It’s exactly what you asked for.”
He exhaled sharply. Tim made a valid point. Bruce created this for a reason, even if he never had the balls to make it live. It was time the ghost of Jason Todd finally did some good. “What do I have to do?”
“I’ll get you in touch with Lucius.”
#writing#fanfiction#batfam#batman#jason todd#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#red hood#tim drake
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Just listened to Greater Boston Episode 10 and holy shitttttt.
Nica Stamatis is soooooo- I love her character, and honestly before this episode I wasn’t really feeling her. But the mix of anger and disappointment at herself and others is so relatable. The horrible feeling that she is Trying and Trying and Trying and Trying to change but she can’t. Her body won’t let her.
The comedy club scene is so great, there’s this lovely heart wrenching cry for help in the form of a monologue. But it’s tempered with the constant background noise of people not listening. Incredible. The need to be famous being reframed as the need to be loved for who she isn’t. It pairs so beautifully with her simmering self hatred. Like if Nica has decided that who she is, is not lovable, of course she’s going to try and become something that is loved for no reason.
The fact that she Did save someone’s life and she just doesn’t know it, is heart wrenching. It’s such a good use of the ensemble nature of the podcast.
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The way that they’re showing the kids be angry/resentful/upset at their godly parent’s lack of involvement in their lives is soooo good. It presents the idea that Percy or Annabeth or any other camper could very easily turn and support Luke later on down the line since that’s the one thing they all have in common.
#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo series#pjo spoilers#like it’s just simmering and it’s so good!#really sets up future dynamics#like the whole dialogue bit about Thalia and seeing Percy get upset over it is so good
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find another role, carry on the show
#EDIT IT DIDNT SAVE MY TAGS. hey so this post got a thousand notes huh. interesting. surely nothing will change#i'll leave all the old tags. for my thought process. and its kinda funny#take a bow stupid idiot (throws a tomato at them)#in stars and time#isat#siffrin#siffrin no middle names no last name ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧#... or is it. Smiles#i'd like to draw mira for her birthday but um (hasnt open artfight website in a few days) im scared.#also i have NICE ASKS TO ANSWER.... But im scared. give me a minute#Uawaaaaagh i drew this bc i was trying to animate a little bit but it just . Didnt look good. im not good ag 2d animation#tch. ill keep trying cause there ar e way too many songs that and now about isat because i have brain worms. i need amvs.#IM SCARED TO POST THINGS THAT ARE SPOILERY BECAUSE I WANT MY FRIENDS TO PLAY ISAT. BUT.#isat spoilers#in stars and time spoilers#sasasap#sasasa:p#WHAT IS THE PROLOGUES TAG.#tshirt that says 'i <3 killing the image in the mirror and taking its place' on the fromt#and a list of megan thee stallions tour dates on the back. お金稼ぐ俺らはスター#Im kind of tempted to edit this to be the versiom with the eyes. or maybe twt can have that. or. well#all of my friends are on twt (trombone slide sfx) so maybe thats where i should worry about spoilers.#ill see if i want to slap an eyepatch on them in the morning#Im one of those people who was like idgaf about twohats (lets it simmer for a week) Oh my god. Oh my god. Ohmy god#EDIT. i swapped it out for the Eyes version it should be fine as long as its tagged formspoilers right...#ill post eyepatch vers on twt partly bc spoilers but also ppl over there can be .. annoying ..... ....#i fear i would get 800 You Forgot The Eyepatch replies. PLEASE JUST SEE MY VISION.#[BANGING MY HANDS ON THE GLASS] HIS HAND. LIKE IN THE PROLOGUE. WHEN THEYE. HANDS. HELD[EXPLOSION
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mac "every sexual fantasty i've ever had coming true rn" mcdonald
#rob's a little TOO good at looking at glenn like that tbh#like his eyes are positively ALIGHT#girl simmer down ur being recorded.#but like whatever i look at glenn howerton like that too so he's not special#anyway i just think mac is neat#macdennis#mac mcdonald#dennis reynolds#it's always sunny in philadelphia#iasip
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i’m sorry but there is just something SO endearing about jack quaid’s boimler drawing. like i’ve genuinely been thinking about it all day
the scratchy lines at the top of the circle, the “raisin fields” label, boimler’s dead expression, the obvious garfield inspiration, his stupid hat, the wheat in his mouth…… like i have spent all day picking this drawing apart and it just never gets old for me. it’s so endearing.
even the description is endearing!
“Star Trek Lower Decks has gone where no Star Trek has gone before — Modesto, California. The home of Brad Boimler’s family vineyard, where the grapes are so dry that the ladies are thiiirsty for some farm boy. But nothing can bring Boimler back to his vineyard roots, not even a sexy jaunt to the pickery shed. Voice actor Jack Quaid has expertly depicted Boimler’s traumatic grape years with the Boimler Grape Escape Tee, now ripe for the pickin.”
it’s so obvious so much love has gone into this show from not just him, but the rest of the cast & people behind it
EDIT: made this post when i was on the brink of falling asleep and didn’t even think about linking the shirt for some reason. but here it is if you want :^)
#jamesdottxt#star trek#star trek lower decks#lower decks#brad boimler#boimler#bradward boimler#jack quaid#guys im actually so fucking sad its about to be over#like its starting to feel real#when it first got announced i was so upset and mad#but then it kind of simmered down#and then. That Other Show took over my life for a few months#but im back to lower decks and im just. :( im so sad#so so sad#this season has been so good tho#pure fanservice in the best way possible
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Loz fandom stop being angsty and give the daydreaming kids on big fun adventures with a cool glowing sword some actual whimsy and joy challenge
#It's like the happy media equals angsty fandom and vice versa but like. Video game series about the dreams and adventures of childhood with#A fandom full of angst and abandonment and depression and smut#It's why I don't really stay in the loz fandom long each time I circle back around#There's so much potential for good things and comfort and snuggly warmth and lightheartedness.#Like yeah messed up things happen in front of and to link but kids are resilient beasts and most importantly they fix it#He's literally wearing the Peter pan hat to invoke that sort of eternal wonder that's the DESIGN of the hat that's why it's so identifiable#Fanart captures it a lot. The gorgeous landscapes and quiet moments and dappled sunlight#But fics???? Oh lu fics are just full of miscommunication and resentment and sour interactions and pain and simmering anger#I prefer to read trusted authors because it's so wearing but the problem is you have to go out and find them lol#It's a very controversial belief of mine that every link enjoyed their adventure even if it was scary or sad and would not be averse to#Another. Oh the circumstances they might hate. But link has never been one to refuse the call#That's the POINT they stepped up when the adults couldn't it's their COURAGE that they'd be fastest to volunteer.#Unrelated but post game botk is adhd central you can do literally whatever you want and whatever pace and you just drift around getting#Distracted and teleporting all over and setting challenges and poking around every nook and cranny#Like botw I had over 300 koroks and 98% map completion. I maxed out hero's path twice over. Totk I've just been wandering around#Speed farming lynels like 17 different goals drifting from one to the other as I wish. Still missing the last 2 sage orbs NO idea where#There's like a million hinoxs now tf#loz#legend of zelda#lu#linked universe#ao3
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Princess Legacy Genetics Study ~
Because I think it's interesting and I like looking at these details. Spoilers below for Gen 8:
HEIR | CHILD | SPOUSE
#Princess Extras#spoilers#Tiana was born in game and she is just SO PRETTY#and someone on my discord pointed out that#even with all these genetics from other simmers#the heirs all still look like Sam Sims#and I kind of love seeing what genes came from who#now some skin details make details change#But overall I love seeing them all together#I never realized Aurora was just a copy of Parker#And Ariel is such a good mix of her parents#anyway just wanted to share
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