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ceilidho · 16 hours ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 20 / epilogue)

masterlist

Black trees against a yellow sky at evening time.

It’s late when you finally reach home. Dark enough to almost be night—a full day longer to return than it took to leave, but then you hadn’t ridden as hard coming back, too sore and sleep-deprived to manage the same pace. Even the meager sleep you got on the road was hardly sufficient.

Then the shape of your house appears on the horizon and you nearly break down in tears. The sight of it fills you with such relief that you nearly lose your balance, your head slumping forward. Too long. Days that felt like weeks, your body and mind weary from the long trek home. Against the gold of the horizon light, it appears like a boat arriving at port.

You throw yourself off your horse and to the ground before John has even had a chance himself to dismount and come help you down. He stomps over when your foot nearly catches in the stirrup, nostrils flared and mustache twitching with his scowl.

“Don’t go breaking your leg before I’ve even gotten you home,” he growls when he reaches you, fitting his hand around the nape of your neck and giving it a squeeze. You’d shiver, but your body is too exhausted for your libido to manage more than a half-hearted twitch. Instead you nod, head bobbing like a baby doll.

John takes the horses to the stables while you clamber up the stairs on wobbly legs, headed straight for your bedroom, passing out the second your head touches the pillow. Your growling stomach will have to be addressed in the morning.

You aren’t conscious for when John comes up to join you, but you swear even in sleep you can sense his presence in the room. Certainly when he curls himself around you, the wall of warmth at your back briefly making your eyes flicker open before sleep claims you again and they slide shut.

In the morning, you eat a big breakfast before letting John rub a liniment onto your inner thighs and bandage the cuts on your hands and face. The doctor he takes you to see after breakfast for the shoulder that Graves dislocated prescribes bed rest and light stretching for recovery and laudanum for any lingering pain.

“What did you tell him?” you ask when the two of you head out for a light lunch in town before heading back home.

“Told him you fell off a horse.” He shrugs. “Not that uncommon around here.”

All you can do is roll your eyes.

Still, it’s as good an excuse as any. No one questions your story when you tell it to them over the following days, when your shoulder is still too tender for you to move it too vigorously. Only Kate lifts a brow knowingly, all but cornering you for the real story when you finally get a moment alone.

“That sonuvabitch,” she hisses when you finally break and tell her what happened.

“It’s fine,” you insist, shushing her. “John… Well, John handled it.”

She nods approvingly, then looks like she might say more before thinking the better of it. Silence falls between the two of you.

“He—” you pause in the middle of your sentence, unsure of how exactly to say it. “It wasn’t so bad. Telling him, I mean.”

Kate must catch the slight inflection in your voice because she stares at you expectantly, waiting for you to say more. “…I’m happy to hear that.”

You inhale as if gathering your breath to say more, but nothing comes out. You know what it is you want to say, but it’s getting it out that’s the tricky bit. What you want to tell her is that your trust wasn’t misplaced in the end; all of your fears that the truth would shatter the affection and trust that had finally been shown to you after a lifetime of nothing were unfounded, proven ultimately wrong.

“Was there something else you wanted to add?”

You chew your lower lip.

“No. Nothing else,” you say in the end. There’ll be a time someday to tell her that her trust wouldn’t be misplaced with John or Kyle either; perhaps that day will come sooner than you expect, but for now it remains on the distant horizon. It’s not your place to lecture or admonish; your place in her life is to offer the same feeling of security and companionship as she’s offered you.

Today, you loop your arm through hers and join her for lunch.

In town, people greet you like you never left. Only one person asks you about the man you were walking with the previous day, and Kate covers for you when you stumble over your answer, throat constricting in your panic. There’s no suspicion in the question, but still you anticipate it because life has conditioned you to expect pain as a response to any action or inaction.

You are surprised when pain doesn’t come this time. But still, you are wary.

When you get home, John fills the tub with hot water for you and lets you wash up on your own while he tends to the horses, the third now unofficially his. You lean your arms over the side of the tub and drift in and out of your daydreams, ears attuned only to the sound of his voice and the owls calling from the trees just beyond the house. Eyes fluttering shut until slipping deeper into the water kicks you back into wakefulness.

“You falling asleep in there?” he asks when he stomps back inside, the door slamming shut behind him and nearly giving you a heart attack.

“No,” you deny, discreetly wiping the rheum from the inner corners of your eyes. “Just resting my eyes.”

“Of course,” he snorts. Amused as ever by seemingly anything that comes out of your mouth.

A telegram comes in to the sheriff's office some weeks later asking about a missing bounty hunter, and though you pitch forward in your chair when John tells you this, he’s quick to remind you that as far as anyone else knows, Graves moved on after his first visit a month or so back.

It takes time to reassure you, but slowly your hands unclench from the edge of your seat.

Still, you make yourself scarce for a week after that. It takes some time for you to feel safe again. You spend those first few days after hearing about the telegram constantly looking over your shoulder, plagued by the worry that you’ll be found out. Sharing your worries with John doesn’t go a long way towards alleviating them because his confidence never wavers. It’s almost infuriating.

“Would it kill you to just pretend?” you huff, cracking an egg into the skillet.

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for him here. ‘Far as anyone knows, he made his way west a long time ago,” he says, dismissing your concerns while clipping his fingernails at the kitchen table. You scrunch up your nose when you glance over your shoulder.

“You better not think I’m sweeping those up.”

He barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head at the same time.

True to his word, the front door stays shut. No one comes knocking looking for an errant bounty hunter. Perhaps that is a lesson that you can take away from all of this—that there is no reward for isolating oneself. Your safety has only ever been assured in community, in putting your trust in others and safeguarding their secrets in turn. Only love has ever held out its arms for you to fall into.

And now the days pass like clouds in the sky.

Tranquility hovers on the periphery of your life with every intention of calling out your name. It’s waiting for you with open arms.

In the evenings, John takes you upstairs to the bedroom and pries you open enough to fit himself in. His mouth blazes a trail across your body, sucking your nipples until they’re beaded, wetting his beard with the essence of your pleasure, and bringing you to the brink of completion time and again before pushing you over.

After a while, he leaves a piece of himself behind.

Weeks pass and the seasons change. The changes you notice in your body are physical as well as emotional. At some point since coming home, you must have started to unwind. Shoulders loosening up, knots melting down your back. Is it just you, or does the air smell fresher too?

You pin the laundry up on the clothesline and wait for your husband to come home. The sun sets earlier these days with autumn just around the corner. Already the leaves have begun to redden and brown, some breaking off from the branches altogether and floating to the ground where you know eventually they’ll rot and dissolve into the earth, starting the cycle of death and rebirth all over again.

Winter is fast approaching and you know this one will be tough with a little one on the way. You’ve already started preparing for the winter months—canning and storing corn and potatoes and other root vegetables harvested from your garden, making preserves from the fruits of autumn—apples and pears sealed in jars of thick syrup—and filling the cellar with barrels of salted and cured meats. In town, you visit the seamstress for clothes of thicker material and leave with an armful of wool flannel petticoats, fur-trimmed bonnets, and corsets of a heavier cotton coutil.

You rest a hand on your belly as you stare off into the distant mountains. Even the sky darkens earlier these days. When all of the laundry is pinned on the line, you pick up the wicker basket resting by your feet and bring it back inside, shuffling into the kitchen to get started on supper.

There’s still much that needs to be done before winter arrives. Firewood to be chopped, furs and blankets to be hung on the walls, the fireplace to be swept, and more. Enough to keep you busy and your mind occupied when you aren’t bent over a book because that’s also your reality these days. The librarian in town now knows you by name and knows to set aside a few books a week for you to pick up when you pass by with Kate.

You don’t think much of the knock at the door at first, absent-mindedly thinking that it must be a neighbor come to visit. Only when you open the door to an unfamiliar face do you pause.

It’s a woman, not too dissimilar in looks from you. A bit taller, but otherwise if someone were to describe you from looks alone, they might be tempted to use the same words for either of you. She stands on your porch with a suitcase held by her side, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead from the short trip from town. She dabs her forehead lightly with a handkerchief before pocketing it again.

“Hello there,” she greets, a bright smile on her face. “I’m looking for John Price. I was told he lives here?”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at her nonplussed, not understanding why a strange woman might be at your door asking for your husband in such a familiar way. It takes a moment for it to sink in. Then the light goes on and your confusion shifts to disbelief with a twinge of rage.

“We’re engaged to be married,” the other woman hurries to explain, taking a step closer, foot wedged in the door almost as if intending to barge right in.

Her gall nearly makes you lose your temper. Months ago, you might’ve welcomed her arrival, eager to prove to John that you weren’t the woman that he mistook you for so that you could be on your merry way. But that time has long since passed. There isn’t anywhere else in the world you’d rather be than here. You’ve put roots down, entrenched yourself in every way.

Your lips pull into a hard line, face set in stone. “You must be mistaken. He’s already married.”

She blinks, uncomprehending. “That’s…—are you sure? We’ve been corresponding. I know I’m a few months late, but I was held up back in—”

You cut her off by sticking out your hand, topaz ring shining bright on your third finger. “I’m sure. But thank you for stopping by; I’ll let John know you send your apologies.”

And with that, you shove her foot out with yours and shut the door on her face. On another day, you’ll allow yourself to feel guilty for your rudeness; for now, this is your happy ending to enjoy.

And savor it, you will.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you #john price x y/n

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motorsportbarbie13 · 12 hours ago

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The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 2

In which you spend the weekend in Miami as Max's personal guest.

Warnings: smut at the end ;) Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k words (whoops) plus social media posts

(a/n: holy shit you guys absoltely blew up part one (its sitting at 1.7k notes last time i checked in under 3 days??? like WHAT???) so here's the much requested part 2. LMK if you want a part 3! Also going to try something different with the tag list tonight, so bare with me as I figure this out!! xoxo)

You play with the hem of the cornflower blue sundress, nerves ratcheting up another notch when the car pulls into the race track. After you had wrapped up filming the podcast two weeks ago, Max had taken you out to one of his favorite London restaurants where you had spent the next nearly five hours talking about everything and nothing all at once. The only reason you had left was that the staff of the restaurant had started cleaning up around you, literally sweeping up under your feet and turning off the music as you had lingered over the last bits of your dessert together.

The next day, Max had needed to go back to Milton Keynes to spend some time in the sim ahead of Miami weekend, unable to stay in London with you despite every bone in his body screaming that he didn’t want to leave you. It was weird, almost scary, to him how much space you took up in his thoughts so quickly. He didn’t usually get attached to anyone, much preferring to remain aloof and independent but in the two weeks that passed since he had seen you, he was unable (or unwilling, depending on who you asked, honestly) to think of anything else. The way you laughed, the way you smiled, the way you seemed to hang on every word that came out of his mouth simply mesmerized him.

So now, here you were, two weeks later, moments away from seeing him again. Because while Max was down bad and trying not to blow this, you were also completely smitten with the Dutch driver. You had spent hours editing the first and second part of his episode yourself, something you hadn’t done in years, because you insisted you wanted to keep the integrity of the interview under your total control. Your video editor had seen the way you spoke about Max and just nodded, knowing that there had been something that sparked between you and him and that there would be no arguing about it with you.

Max is in the garage when he gets the text from you that you’re in the parking lot waiting for him. As luck would have it, he’s just finishing up with some engineering meetings so he’s got some free time. He replies instantly, telling you to wait in the car for him and he’ll be right there.

“I’m running out for a bit, GP. I’ll be back before FP1.”

“I mean, you’d better be. Who else is going to get in that car? Horner?”

Max chuckles, clapping his racing engineer on the back before slipping out the back of the garage.

Max’s heart stalls when he sees the car you're in, nerves suddenly twisting in his gut. You two had been texting back and forth constantly since he left London the morning after you met. Evenings had been spent on FaceTime together when you could manage, but with your busy schedules it hadn’t been enough for Max. The relief he felt knowing you were less than 100 feet away had him swaying on his feet a bit.

You knew Max was coming to meet you at the car but it had been a long drive from the airport, so while you waited you decided to stretch your legs. Max watches helplessly from a distance as the rear door on the SUV swings open, your bare legs making his mouth go dry when you hop out out of the car.

It’s almost as if you sense his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze caressing your bare skin like the touch of a well known lover. It takes you a moment to recover when your eyes lock with his, the look on his face practically a billboard for how excited he is to see you. A wide grin spreads across your face when he starts towards you, heart tumbling down through your toes as he jogs your way.

“Hi.” He breathes, stopping just short of gathering you up in his arms like he truly wants to. Despite how close you’ve grown over the last two weeks, Max reminds himself that it truly only has been two weeks and he doesn’t want to come on too strong.

You look up at him, eyes sparkling with delight at finally being in his presence again. “Hey you.” You croon, nearly unable to stop yourself from throwing yourself into his arms.

This kind of behavior was as out of character for you as it was for Max. You’d been burned by men in your life that were supposed to be there for you, love you, and protect you and so those walls had been put in place high and strong for years now . Something about Max made you question those defenses, wondering if he was going to be the one to stick around long enough to tear them down. While you tried to remain calm, objective, and aloof it was utterly impossible to act that way when you were around him.

“How was your flight?” Max stuffs his hands in the pockets of his shorts, nerves turning the tips of his ears pink. He wants you in his arms so badly but didn’t want to push you away, didn’t want you thinking he had only brought you out to Miami this weekend for one thing. Because he hadn’t. He had simply wanted you by his side.

“Well I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to fly commercial ever again, so I’ll be sending you the bill for all my private flights from now on.” You wink.

“You can use my jet whenever you want, schatje.”

Your stomach does the same involuntary flip it does whenever he calls you that. At first it had been timid, slipped in at the end of a sentence almost like it was an afterthought or unconscious desire to claim you but as time goes on, Max settles into calling you either that or liefje more often than not.

“Don’t tempt me.” You grin up at him, knowing that he fully means what he says. He’d absolutely let you use his jet whenever you wanted, all you had to do was ask.

“So, your timing is really good.” Max nearly reaches for your hand but chickens out at the last minute, settling for just walking you back towards the car that sits idling behind you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I actually have an hour and a half break before I have to be back for the first practice session so I thought I could take you over to the hotel, get you settled in. I booked you your own room, of course and thought you’d maybe like to take a shower or a nap during the first session and then I could have an intern get you so you can watch the sprint quali later this afternoon.”

Your heart warms at the earnest look on Max’s face. The fact that he’s gone ahead and thought all of this through for you, clearly wanting to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of all while you’re sure he’s overwhelmed with work, softens those well built walls arond your heart a bit more.

“A shower and a nap does sound good.”

Max smiles down at you, those blue eyes of his taking in every inch of your face like he’s trying to commit it to memory. “Good. Lets get you to the hotel then.”

“Lead the way, Maxie.”

yourpersonalinsta posted a story

story replies: user9029 girl drop the diet and workout routine plsss yourdad baby girl, i love you but put some clothes on >>>yourpersonalinsta love you too dad! maxverstappen1 are those my socks??? >>>yourpersonalinsta my feet got cold while you were gone playing with race cars. >>>maxverstappen1 i was literally working! and how'd you get into my room??? >>>yourpersonalinsta a lady never reveals her secrets, maxie ❤️ >>>maxverstappen1 i was right, you are trouble >>>yourpersonalinsta i prefer the phrase 'joy to be around'. pls hurry though back. i'm hungry and i may die of starvation in the next twenty minutes if you don't feed me. >>>maxverstappen1 do your fans know you're this dramatic??? >>>yourpersonalinsta why do you think they're my fans?

The rest of Friday blurs together in a watercolor wash of heat, and people, and sounds that you’re utterly exhausted by the time you tumble into your bed late at night.

Alone, thank you very much.

The wine that you had drank at dinner with Max and a few other drivers has heat pooling low in your belly as you watched Max watch you all night. You had wanted to invite him back to your room, but something kept those words from slipping out all night and Max had been the picture of respectable, simply dropping a kiss on your forehead before wishing you goodnight at your hotel room.

Saturday’s sprint race is just as busy and loud as qualifying had been and by the time it’s over, you’re exhausted, hot, and sweaty. You’re over the moon when Max pulls off the win in the sprint, throwing your arms around his damp neck the moment you see him after his media duties are completed and he finds you waiting for him in front of Red Bull's hopsitality.

“That was amazing Max. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. You make it all look so easy.” You gush.

“It looks like you’re my lucky charm now, schatje. Won’t be able to win without you.”

You smile, cheeks aching a bit at how much you’ve been doing that this weekend. You’ve fit in so well with everyone it’s almost spooky, like your presence was expected and welcomed in the garage, slotting into Max’s world with uncanny ease.

As you follow Max back to his driver’s room that’s tucked away in the back of hospitality, his hand reaches for yours almost unconsciously. When his fingers twine with yours, the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in your stomach this week take flight yet again. If this is how you react when he reaches for you, you can’t imagine how you’re going to handle when he finally kisses you properly.

The hallway is quiet and long, with Max’s room at the end of the corridor. You’re only about half way there when a sudden wave of nausea washes over you, stopping you in your tracks. “Woah.” You whisper, free arm bracing against the wall for support.

Max turns to you in an instant, his handsome features a mask of concern. “You okay?”

You blink a few times, trying hard to fight the impending fainting spell you can feel yourself hurtling towards. “I..ummm…I think so?”

Max all but picks you up in his arms, ushering you the short distance that separates you from his drivers room. “Lets get you sitting down. Have you eaten today?”

A blush creeps up your cheeks. “Not since breakfast.”

Max frowns, “That was hours ago, liefje.”

The room is small with just enough room for a couch, massage table, and closet but it does the job, serving as a quiet respite from the mayhem of the paddock. Max gently leads you over to the navy blue couch. “Sit. I’m going to get you some water and food. The heat in Florida is no joke.”

You nod, already feeling a little better now that you’re sitting down. Max is gone for several minutes but comes back absolutely laden down with so much food, you can’t help but laugh. “Max, I don’t know who you think I am but I am not a 300 pound body builder.” You say though your giggles.

Max looks a little embarrassed but just tuts at you, placing the plates (of which there are three) down on the table in front of you. “I didn’t know what you liked. You had fish at dinner last night, much to Lando’s dismay, but they’re cooking salmon tomorrow, even though I asked for some today for you.”

The way your chest squeezes at his ramblings has nothing to do with the headache that’s forming between your eyes and everything to do with the man sitting next to you practically spoon-feeding you a roasted beet and goat cheese salad. You obediently open your mouth when he lifts the fork to your lips, only rolling your eyes a bit at his fussing. “I am an adult, Verstappen. I can feed myself.” You grumble between bites.

“I know but just humor me.”

You roll your eyes again but open your mouth, the beet and goat cheese salad actually tasting really good.

“Good girl.” He coos, setting your thighs squeezing together on their own accord.

Your eyes flicker up to his at the praise and something passes between you two, a little spark of heat igniting there in the small room.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper after a few more bites, tension hanging thick between you as you're tucked up together on the small couch.

“Don’t be.” He insists, pushing a bottle of icy cold water into your hands. “I’m just glad I was here to take care of you.”

“Me too.” You breathe, acutely aware to how close his body is to yours.

The urge to kiss you overwhelms Max, and it's not the first time this weekend this has happened. He’s been fighting the ever strengthening desire to just sweep you up and haul you back to his hotel room since you first stepped out of the Range Rover yesterday afternoon. Truthfully, he’d been wondering what you taste like ever since he’d walked into that recording studio in London.

He couldn’t explain how or why but your sudden appearance in his life seemed like some cosmic shift under his feet, his entire existence adjusting to this new normal of being in your orbit. He’d spent the last two weeks listening to all five years of your podcasts, even finding some old work you’d done in college and with each episode he found himself falling further and further into a rabbit hole that he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to climb out of.

Max falls silent then and so do you, a comfortable quiet settling over the room. The spark that had ignited so innocently just minutes before begins to smolder into something that has the energy between you two shifting. Like the entire reason for you being here this weekend had led up to this very moment.

You break the spell first, leaning in just a fraction closer to Max like he's is the magnet you’re elementally obligated to be attracted to. But Max is equally compelled in his desire to finally find out what you taste like so he closes the gap between your lips and his, mouth grazing yours with the slightest pressure. It starts out as a timid thing, unsure of if it should exist in such a charged atmosphere. Once it gains its footing though, the kiss lengthens and takes on a life of its own.

You sigh into Max’s mouth like it’s a relief to finally have him kissing you. Max lifts the tips of his fingers to your chin so he can tilt your head upwards, allowing him to deepen the kiss to a more heated pace. Your fingers grip at his Red Bull polo, desperate for something to hold on to while the taste of Max races through your veins.

Something akin to a purr rumbles in the back of your throat when Max’s hands sift through your hair and it grows a little hotter when he tugs on the ends, forcing your head back so the slender column of your neck is fully exposed to him. You try not to cry when his lips leave yours, unhappy with how you can’t taste him fully anymore, but that disappointment quickly evaporates when he trails open mouthed kisses towards the enticing hollow of your throat.

“I’ve been wondering what you taste like since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Max murmurs against your heated skin.

Your head spins at his words. So it hadn’t just been you that had felt the spark that first day. “Max.” His name is a reverent prayer on your lips, urging him to never stop touching you.

Max thinks he could go the rest of his life without winning another race and he’d still die happy because he’d finally kissed you. “You drive me mad, liefje. I am utterly consumed by you and I have no idea how you slipped this far under my skin so quickly.”

The words send shivers skittering down your spine and you find yourself leaning into his touch even more, heart hammering wildly against your ribcage.

A sharp and sudden knock sends you leaping out of Max’s arms so quickly, you nearly fall to the floor. “Holy fuck.” You whisper, hand flying to your lips like they’ve been burned.

“Christ.” Max breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah?” He calls, voice a strangled mess.

“Uh…” The hesitation in the person’s voice told you that they knew they had interrupted something. “Max, Christian and GP wanted to go over a few more things before quali.”

Max touches his forehead to yours, letting loose a breath to steady himself before he can answer. “I’ll be there in five.” He grumbles and you can hear the shuffle of feet retreating moments later.

“You are going to ruin me, schatje.” Max murmurs, even though he has a feeling he was already ruined.

You chuckle, rubbing your fingers over your swollen lips. You had never had a first kiss like that, ever. The way your body simply melted around Max like warm butter had your center turning molten. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” You joke.

Max just shakes his head and chuckles before his face pulls serious again.

“How are you feeling? Do you want to stay here and rest or come with me to the garage? I could have an intern take you back to the hotel?” Max lifts his hand so it frames your face, concern flickering across his features. Your chest constricts in the most delicious way when he pulls your hands into his lap.

“I’m good. I think your kisses may have healing properties actually.” You flirt, gazing at Max from under long lashes. “If I’m not too in the way, I’d like to stay with you.”

It crosses your mind then, a quick rabbit of a thought, darting across your consciousness that you’ve been so independent for so long, so bent on not relying on anyone for security or safety, only to have the entire rug of your resistantance ripped out from under you. It’s a gooey and warm feeling that you hope isn’t just a flash in the pan, although your gut tells you Max is the real deal.

You hadn’t given yourself this freely to anyone in so long, panic grips at your throat for a moment, the desperate need to flee suddenly choking you. Just when the panic of what’s transpiring here threatens to pull you under, Max’s cool blue eyes yank you back to him where you belong.

“I think I’m going to like having you by my side.” His breath fans out over your cheeks, pulling you further out of your tumble.

Max stands, sensing something shifting deep within you then. He saw something pass behind your eyes just then, the delicate shiver of hesitation. He’d been expecting it. No one who was as strong as you were got that way without having a story to tell. He knew that and had known this moment would come. What he hadn’t expected was to watch you pull yourself back from that precipice of panic. It had been a stunning thing to watch, even if the act was nothing more than a fleeting moment. But the way he watched you catch yourself spinning and knit yourself back together without so much as a whisper of a breath made him want to shield you from whatever had caused you the heartache to begin with.

He holds his hand out to you, which you gladly take, and leads you towards the door while knotting his fingers up with yours. The nerves in your stomach settle with his touch and it sort of scares you, how well this man can read you so soon. This had been the last thing you had ever thought would happen when the man you were falling for walked into your life just 2 weeks ago.

yourpersonalinsta posted

198,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbull racing, and others yourpersonalinsta omg miami if this is how you introduce yourself to a girl, i can't wait to see how the first date goes! super proud of @/maxverstappen1 for winning the spring race today. next up: quali. user992 girl is auditioning to be the next WAG in the paddock >>>user020 seriously thirsting for nothing but clout this weekend maxverstappen1 told you you'd bring me extra luck this weekend >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ >>>user0093 oh this is interesting user9392 the fact that she was such a genuine fan of the sport before and now she's AT her first race as Max's guest all because of her podcast. i just... >>>user223 now i'm crying, thanks. redbullracing so fun having you in the garage today! excited for sunday! >>>yourpersonalinsta thank you for having me!

There was just something so enticingly attractive about watching Max race on Sunday that had you feeling embarrassingly needy for him by the time he got you back to his hotel room that night. As you had watched him on the podium that afternoon, you just knew how messy you’d be below him later that night.

“I think your performance this weekend has earned you a reward.” Your rasp, voice a husky whisper in his ear as you glue yourself to him in the elevator that evening.

Max cocks an eyebrow at you while his fingers grip at your hips. “Oh yeah? And what would that be, lifeje?”

“Why don’t you take me back to your room and let me show you.” You lick at his neck, savoring the taste of sweat and champagne that clings to him despite his shower at the track earlier.

Max’s groan is enough of an answer and when the elevator slows, signaling your arrival at his floor, you follow him out into the quiet hallway, giggling when he playfully grabs a handful of your ass.

You had tried to convince yourself the entire drive back to the hotel that this wasn’t how the night was going to end. It was too soon, you thought. This was the first weekend you had spent any time with him and you didn’t want Max to get the wrong idea about you. And then he had spent the entire drive back to the hotel with one hand inching higher and higher up on your bare thigh. His thick fingers traced random patterns on your tanned skin, until the very tips had slipped just under the hem of your dress and all thoughts had eddied right out of your head.

Max, meanwhile, had been thinking of this moment since the second he had climbed out of the car. He didn't want to push you but the need to learn how you sounded when he was buried deep inside you was was out of control.

The moment the door snicks closed behind you, you're shoving Max against the wall, utterly desperate to get your mouth on him. Sinking to your knees in front of him, hands trailing down his torso. Your fingers drag over the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, long nails sending a shudder down Max's spine.

"Let me taste you, Max." You moan, reaching for the buckle of his belt.

"Please." He begs as he sinks his hands deep into your hair.

You have to stifle a gasp when you free his thick cock from his boxers, pushing the soft cotton down to his ankles along with his jeans. He's already desperatly hard, dick all red and angry with arousal, practically begging you to take it in your mouth.

Max can hardly believe the sight before him. You down on your knees for him, lips mere millimeters from his raging hard-on, was probably the prettiest sight he'd seen in a long time. When you first wrap your lips around the tip, tongue darting out to taste the salty precum that he's already leaking, it takes every ounce of control Max has to not sink deep down your throat.

"Holy fuck, baby." He shudders, fingers gripping your hair even tighter. Max would be lying if he said he hadn't played out this exact scenario several times over the past two weeks, only it had been his own hand fisting his cock instead of your lips.

All you do is hum in response, the vibration of your voice sending sharp new shivers bolting down Max's spine. One hand snakes up his toned thighs, enjoying the thick muscles bunching and flexing as you take him deeper down your throat. Your other hand, however, trails down your own thighs, dipping below the hem of your dress to find your own already ruined panties wet with the arousal Max has already drawn from you.

"You like touching yourslef while you suck me off, pretty girl?" Max's voice is all gravel as his hips snap towards you, forcing you to take him even deeper into your mouth.

You look up at him, eyes watering, thick lashes matted with tears and smile the best you can with your lips wrapped around him. You continue your work, head bobbing up and down on his length, enjoying the way his dick is slick with your saliva, a bit of it dripping down your chin as you take him even deeper. You swear you could spend the rest of the night down on your knees with how good Max feels and tastes in your mouth, your own fingers buried deep inside you. The release you've been wanting all week starts to build and Max begins to feel it too.

Max knows he's not going to last much longer and he doesn't want to come quite yet. Gently he pulls you off, chuckling at the mewl of protest that slips past your lips when he pushes you off of him.

"Max." You whine, wanting nothing more than to swallow his release down your throat.

"Get on the bed, lifeje." He orders.

You scramble to your feet, disappointment at not making him come with your mouth quickly replaced with the anticipation of what you know is coming next. You've tried so hard to resist the fact that you've wanted this since the moment you saw him Friday afternoon but as you lay down on the bed and watch Max stalk towards you like a lion after his prey, all reservations evaporate into thin air. You know deep within your chest that this is what's supposed to happen right now.

"Dress off." He commands and the thrill of being ordered around flashes through you.

You follow his directions before laying back on the pillow, watching as Max reaches behind him back to strip off the sweaty team kit you hadn't bothered taking off before sucking his dick. A sudden wave of vulnerability sweeps over you as Max stands at the foot of the bed, eyes raking over your bare frame.

"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on." Max murmurs, sensing your hesitation at being so vulnerable in front of him. He doesn't want you to be nervous, needing you to know how utterly obsessed he is with you. It staggers him when he thinks about how deeply you've dug yourself under his skin in such a short time. You've barely spent longer than a few days together and he's already so deeply lost in you.

"Do something, Maxie." You beg, squirming under his heated stare.

His weight is heavy and delicious when he finally covers your body with his, notching his cock just outside your dripping core. Max reaches down, letting out a heated moan when he feels how wet you are for him. "You are soaked for me, gorgeous girl. God, how did I get so lucky? Have you been like this all fucking day, schatje?"

"Been desperate for you all fucking day, Max." You breath, your hips lifting up off the bed in a needy search for the friction you crave.

"Lets see if we can get you some relief, yeah baby?"

When Max sinks into you for the first time, you can't help the desperately needy whine that escapes from your mouth. His name is a prayer on your lips, every nerve ending in your body sparking to life. The stretch of his cock burns in the most delicious way. "So full." You cry as Max's hips meet yours when he slides into you completely.

Max doesn't quite understand how you're so blissfully tight and wet and warm all at the same time but he thinks it's the best feeling he's ever experienced. His head drops to the crook of your neck as he buries himself in you to the hilt, the base of his dick grinding against your clit. "Fuck, you're to tight around me baby. How do you feel this fucking good?"

You and Max fall into a rhythm, the only sound in the room are the quieted sighs slipping their way from your lips before Max can steal them from your throat. The friction is amazing and before he can quell it, Max feel the lick of fire coiling at the base of his spine, telltale sign that he's about to spill. “Won’t last much longer.” He pants, lips falling to suck at the skin at your neck.

Max struggles to keep the pace up, diving into you with long, slow strokes that fill you up and empty you out over and over and over. Sweat forms on his brow that was tipped down in concentration and you have to resist the urge to lick it off. Every stroke deep into your pussy fills you up so fully it's almost too much. Too much sensation, too much heat, too much fullness. You can’t help the whines that slip from your lips but Max only encourages them by chanting your name over and over.

“I know, baby. I know.” He coos in your ear as your muscles tense beneath him. “You’re doing so good for me, taking it all so good.”

The praise is almost too much. “Don’t stop.” You beg when his fingers dip down between you to find my clit as he continues to stroke into you. Stars erupt on the back of your eyelids. “Holy fuck. Max.” You manage to bite out.

“Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my dick, please baby.” Blinding need consumes Max's entire existence, his full attention focused on the way you clench around him over and over.

That’s all it takes. The command sends you hurtling over the edge, right into a spine tingling orgasm. Your body goes rigid for a moment under Max's weight but as quick as it starts, a boneless languid feeling sweeps through you as the endorphins flood your system. Your own climax has pushed Max over he edge and he comes hard, groaning in your ear as he rasps your name.

Max collapses on top of you and you relish the heavy weight of his body on yours. Much too soon, he rolls off and you whimper, instantly feeling empty without him inside you. Max gathers you up in his arms though, the heat of his body quickly warming your chilled skin. Your hand settles on his chest, right over his heart, which is still racing.

“Jesus Christ, shactje.” Max finally breaks the silence, giving my hip a squeeze as he nuzzles into my hair. “You really are going to ruin me.”

maxverstappen1 posted:

838,291 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1: another great weekend with a good haul of points! Thank you Miami, you were good to us. On to the next! user2992 uh, max? care to explain that second photo >>>user92928 is that who I think it is??? yourpersonalinsta had so much fun with you this weekend! can't wait for the next one >>>maxverstappen1 ❤️ >>>user0221 EXCUSE ME. user0022 i ran into them late Sunday night at the hotel and let me tell you...there's nothing PR about their chemistry together. >>>user9288 i fucking KNEW it user05543 anyone else see @/yourpersonalinsta's dad in the likes!?

yourpersonalinsta posted

231,209 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, charlesleclerc and others yourpersonalinsta after this weekend, i think i can consider myself officially a red bull girlie. blissfully excited i got to see a MV1 podium AND sprint win! thank you for letting me into your world @/maxverstappen1. can't wait til next time ❤️ maxverstappen1 gonna need you at every race now that you're my lucky charm. user9282 'thank you for letting me into your world' YOU EXPECT ME TO ACT NORMAL AFTER THAT CAPTION MA'AM??? >>>user7623 kicking my feet and giggling and i'm not even @/yourpersonalinsta omg redbullracing you're welcome in the garage any time!! >>>user9935 even admin has a crush! >>>maxverstappen1 @/user9935 i mean, how can you not??? >>>user9935 omg hi king. glad you know how amazing she is! don't hurt our girl, k??? >>>maxverstappen1 i would never ☺️ (liked by yourpersonalinsta)

maxverstappen1 private stories

story replies: yourpersonalinsta god i look good in navy >>>maxverstappen1 no more ferrari red for you, sweet girl >>>yourpersonalinsta miss you already 😢 >>>maxverstappen1 i know. i'll see you soon, promise >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ danielricciardo excuse me but WHAT THE FUCK >>>maxverstappen1 : 🤭 charlesleclerc oh she's got you using the lip biting emoji. it's over, pack it up boys. MV1 is officially off the market. >>>maxverstappen1 accurate though

@shelbyteller @martygraciesversion381 @anilovessadbooks @formulaal @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff

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muwapsturniolo · 3 days ago

Text

𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐟💨 Matt sturniolo

“ did you just?”

✗ Awkward asf but realistic, NSFW, sex, mentions of queefing, secondhand embarrassment, that’s it me thinks.

You wanted the world to swallow you whole, you wanted to disappear.

You knew it was a semi-normal thing to happen, yet you were still embarrassed. It happened to most girls when having sex, although you never thought it would happen to you - It’s never happened to you until now.

Your legs were spread wide open, a pair of rough hands pushing the back of your knees on either side of your head - You were in heaven. “O-oh fuck Matt,'' he groaned in retaliation, his hips driving into you harder, the squelching of your essence filling the room.

Every once in a while, you noticed Matt would make a face, his hips stuttering. You didn’t know why, you figured he was just struggling not to cum quickly and paint your insides that shade of white that you both love.

You didn't think much of it, he always made faces when you two were having sex.

He was very expressive.

You were so lost in the pleasure Matt was providing you, you missed a specific sound that came from your body. When Matt suddenly stopped all movement, you were confused.

Why did he stop?

Did he cum already?

Why is he staring at you with wide eyes?

Did you accidentally call him daddy again?

All you two could do was stare at each other for a solid minute or so, before you finally spoke up.

“W-why did you stop?”

“I uh…d-did you just…”

Your brows furrow in confusion, did you what? What is he talking about?

“Did I what Matt?”

He stares at you silently, the only sound in the room being the both of you breathing harshly from the sexual escapades that had come to a halt.

“N-nothing, never mind.” He shakes his head as he tries to dismiss whatever he was talking about. You didn’t have the chance to interrogate him further, his hips resuming their actions.

However, he only got about five more pumps in before you finally heard it.

You were mortified, a soft gasp leaving your lips as you stare at him with wide eyes. He met your gaze, his eyes equally as big as his actions halted once more.

“Did you just far-No!” You quickly cut him off, your cheeks hot and your heart beating fast.

“It’s ok if you did…I mean, it doesn’t smell - Plus, I know you had dairy, and you’re lactose intolerant, so it makes sense.”

You could not believe the words coming out of his mouth, you couldn’t believe this is happening to you out of all people.

“Matt, I didn’t -'' you wave your hands around, hoping he would get the gist of what you were saying.

You didn’t know why you hated the word fart, maybe it was because your parents raised you to say ‘passed gas’, and the word fart was too cringy for you.

“You didn’t? Then what the hell was that?”

“I-I think I queefed I-I don’t know!" Matt could tell you were flustered, your tone becoming defensive. “Ok, ok! Just calm down!” He lowers your legs and rubs at your thighs for comfort, attempting to calm you down as he remains inside you.

After a few minutes of silence, he speaks up. “D-did you want me to keep going or…?” He trails off, unsure of what you want.

To be honest, the mood for both of you was somewhat ruined. He wouldn't be shocked if you told him to stop. Hell, he was sure you probably would hold off on having sex for a while after this as well.

Much to his surprise, you nodded.

“Y-yeah, yeah you can keep going.” You try to push the awkward tension away, hoping, praying, begging that you wouldn’t queef again.

He nods and begins to thrust softly once more. You were tense, anxious your body would do it again, but it didn’t. You allow yourself to relax, to feel the pleasure once more.

Matt sees this and picks up the pace, drawing out soft moans and mewls from you. Despite your orgasm dwindling from the first two times he had stopped his ministrations, it was quickly rebuilding itself.

Matt could tell, and he was determined to push you over the edge.

He grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder, planting his hands on both sides of your head as he drives his cock deeper into your aching cunt. The sexual energy in the room was potent, the previous moment long forgotten as you both explored each other's bodies.

"Oh fuck m'close. Come on ba-"

It happened....Again.

“Ok ok stop!” You basically yell out. He stumbles back as you push him, his cock slipping out of you with a small pop, followed by even more air being released.

It sounded like a deflating balloon, almost like Donald Duck was in the room himself.

You were on the verge of tears, this was too embarrassing. It didn't help that Matt was smirking, biting his lip as he held back laughter.

"D-don't you dare say anything!" Matt raises his hands in surrender, backing up even more and moving to the other side of the room. You sigh and sit up slowly, hoping you wouldn't release anymore more air from your vaginal canal.

It didn't work.

You could feel the air passing through your folds, creating that wet farting noise - thanks to the bodily fluids you secreted- and making your folds ripple softly.

A soft snicker is heard, making your head dart to Matt. "Shut up! Don't laugh, it's not funny!" You shout as you throw a pillow at him. He cackles loudly, dodging the pillow at the same time.

"I'm sorry but it's funny! She's speaking to me!"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, "Mmcht, you're such a fucking boy." You mumble. You want to stand up and rush to the bathroom, but you didn't know if you could handle Matt's laughter at your excessive queefing.

"Get out."

"What? Baby come on, I'm sorry for laughing!"

"No, you're not. Now shut up and get out so I can go to the bathroom!" He holds back another round of laughter and slips on his boxers and sweatpants, quickly leaving the room and leaving you alone.

You waddle awkwardly to the bathroom, cringing every time another gush of air escapes you. As you stand in the bathroom, you quickly search up "How to get rid of queefs."

All you could find were multiple sources telling you there wasn't a way.

"Absolutely not, fuck this."

You try another search, " How to get rid of air down there."

Thankfully, you found an answer.

"Squatting down, especially while peeing, can help trapped air escape."

"This is great, but how the hell do you squat over a toilet without getting pee everywhere?" You mumble to yourself. You won't even deny it, your eyes dart over to the tub but you quickly dismiss that thought.

No way were you going to pop a squat and pee in your boyfriend's tub. You wouldn't hear the end of it.

You end up sitting backward on the toilet, your chest facing the lid as you do your best to squat.

Sure enough, you could feel the excess air release, echoing in the bathroom.

You finish up quickly, making sure to wipe and wash your hands before exiting the bathroom. As you walk out of the bathroom, you see Matt back in the room, sitting on his bed.

"Did you get that.... situated?" You roll your eyes and throw on your pajamas, laying back down on the bed. "You shut your damn mouth...And yes." He snickers softly and begins to situate himself between your legs, just as he always does.

The both of you sit in silence before he looks down at your clothed mound.

"So since you can speak, how do you fee-OW!" He winces as your hand comes down on the back of his head. He watches as you climb off the bed.

"Wait, where are you going?!"

"To Nick's room! At least he won't try to talk to my vagina as if it could talk back!"

He watches as you walk out the room, slamming the door in the process. He lays back down and chuckles to himself,

"I'm definitely changing her name in my phone to queef queen...maybe donald duck."

purrrrr im making this an awkward series! send in stuff that you would want to see!!!

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #smut #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt girl #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x you

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keepingitformyself · 2 days ago

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there’s been no way for me to say (that i felt a certain way)

Synopsis: natasha romanoff has loved you for ages and she could never seem to get it right.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: college AU, fluff and angst.

warnings: angst?

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha met you in a very peculiar way.

it started at a friends of a friends party, in some internet starlet’s brooklyn loft.

drinks were going around, the music was loud, the smell of marijuana was very strong. she doesn’t quite remember it— after having been to a bunch of parties they all seem to blur into one— but she knows it was enough to leave a lasting impression on her.

she’d heard your piercing laugh from across the room. you, in a tight tank top and some black slacks. she could see the shine of sweat against your skin, the colorful lighting of the room making you seem so beautifully human.

everything sort of froze in the coming moments. she watched as you took your top off without a second thought. you were about to shotgun a beer and you stood tall as you did it atop the kitchen island. you didn’t need the attention, nor did you want it, but you had it.

it was a simple behavior. but it stayed with natasha long after you had crushed the beer can and tossed it on the floor somewhere.

natasha thinks you never notice her staring for the rest of the night but you do.

weeks later she sees you again at another party.

clint, wanda, tony and everyone else joins her this time. she isn’t surprised when she sees you. it was the same crowd, similar friend groups. but this time you made it easy for her to approach you.

somehow you end standing next to eachother near where all the drinks had been laid out.

"hey," you said, voice casual but warm. "didn’t expect to see you here again."

natasha smiled, though she hadn’t expected to talk to you at all. nor did she think you noticed her. "i guess we have similar taste in parties."

you laughed lightly. “guess so."

there was a beat of silence before you added, “you know, you were kinda staring at me last time.”

natasha froze for a second, unsure how to respond. she hadn’t thought you’d noticed. but before she could stammer out an excuse, you were already grinning.

“i’m just messing with you. it was funny. i didn’t think anyone would care enough to notice me.”

natasha was relieved, yet still unsure if you were actually joking. either way she felt this was going better than she planned.

the night wore on and you guys carried easy conversation. natasha was still unsure how to even approach talking to you. she felt kind of shy. so she improvised by making references to things she didn’t think you’d get, but you almost always did.

you dropped a reference to something obscure, a movie natasha had once obsessed over, and natasha stared at you for a moment longer than was socially acceptable. she couldn’t stop herself.

“you’re really into that, huh?” she said, and just like that, the bond started to form. it wasn’t immediate or instant, not the kind of connection that screams “best friends forever.” no, it was something stranger, something subtler, like two different puzzle pieces that had almost fit, only to get pushed back together by sheer happenstance.

“your references are spot on.” you laughed. natasha smiled at how easy you made it for her to be around you.

you and natasha started seeing each other more, slowly building this weird, unspoken routine. she’d text you at random, making some kind of sarcastic comment or joke only you would get, and you’d shoot back a meme that only someone with your specific sense of humor would understand. over time, you both ended up in the same circles, passing each other in the hallways of the university, at class, at parties—always just a little bit more than acquaintances, but never quite crossing into the territory of “best friends.”

there was something comfortable about it. easy, even. but for natasha, it was also strange. the more she saw you, the more she felt like there was something else there, something neither of you wanted to acknowledge. maybe it was a crush. maybe it was more than that.

it wasn’t as though either of you had been completely oblivious to the passing of time, to the fact that you were both growing older, moving through college with the same bittersweetness that everyone else felt. and yet, there was still this distance between you, an unspoken barrier that neither of you had broken down.

natasha thought about you a lot more than she’d like to admit. how she so badly wanted to cross the line between friendship and something more.

by senior year, natasha couldn’t ignore it anymore. her feelings for you weren’t just fleeting glances or passing thoughts. they were there, constant, sitting beneath her skin, running through her mind like a song she couldn’t shake. but it wasn’t just a crush. it was more. she could feel it. she knew it.

the desperation kept getting worse.

it was a slow burn.

you were months set from graduating, natasha felt it was time she’d try to test her luck.

it was late into the evening at yet another party—music blaring, laughter echoing through the crowded living room, and cups of cheap beer littering the tables. one last semester before graduation, before the "real world" set in. natasha was sitting on the couch, leaning against the back with her legs stretched out in front of her. her eyes roamed the room, scanning for someone to talk to. and then she saw you.

you were in the middle of a conversation with clint and wanda, your hands animatedly gesturing as you told some wild story about a disastrous trip to the beach, the kind of tale that had everyone in stitches. natasha couldn’t help but smile from across the room. there was something magnetic about you—how you lived so fully, how you pulled everyone into your orbit without even trying. natasha had been watching you for months now, always on the edge of your space, always wishing she could be more than just a silent observer.

she didn’t know when it started—when the simple admiration had turned into something else. but now, as she watched you laugh with your friends, something in her chest tightened. this wasn’t a crush she could just ignore.

it wasn’t the first time natasha had thought about asking you out. but tonight felt different. maybe it was the proximity of graduation, the sudden realization that this was it—that you both were on the brink of leaving behind this chaotic, unmoored time in your lives. she could either stay on the sidelines or take the chance.

she stood up, smoothing out her jacket and walking across the room. her friends—clint, wanda, and sam—noticed her approaching and exchanged knowing glances, all but daring her to make a move. natasha could feel the weight of their stares, but she ignored them. she focused only on you.

"hey," she said, stepping into the conversation, a little breathless from the nerves she’d kept hidden.

you turned, giving her that warm smile you always did. "hey, nat! what’s up?"

"not much, just wanted to, uh, ask you something," natasha began, her usual confidence faltering just a little.

“i was thinking about heading to this bar later, just to get away from all… this,” she gestured vaguely to the party around them, “and i was wondering if you wanted to join me? for drinks. just us. you know, before we all get caught up in the whole graduation mess.”

it was casual, maybe too casual. but natasha didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal. not with everyone watching.

there was a pause, just a beat too long, before you looked at her, a faint frown pulling at your brow. you were processing. “uh,” you hesitated, glancing at your friends.

clint, wanda, and sam all turned their heads at the same time, giving you the slightest raise of their brows. you bit your lip, clearly unsure, and natasha’s heart sank a little at the hesitation.

"i mean," you said slowly, looking back at natasha. "we’re friends, nat. i just… i’m not sure."

it was a gentle rejection, but it stung all the same. natasha swallowed, masking her disappointment with a shrug. "no, yeah, of course. no pressure." she let out a quiet laugh, her hand rubbing the back of her neck, trying to laugh it off. "i was just messing with you. don't worry about it."

you nodded, a small, apologetic smile on your lips. "i mean, i’d love to hang out more, just—"

"totally fine," natasha interrupted, her voice light but edged with something that made her own heart ache. she smiled, keeping it neutral. "maybe some other time."

she turned away quickly, but she felt your eyes on her as she walked back to the couch, her friends watching the entire scene unfold. clint raised his brows, and natasha just shook her head, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing how deeply that small exchange had affected her.

but inside, it stung. it stung more than she cared to admit. it wasn’t just a small rejection. it was the fear that maybe you had noticed her feelings all along and were just too scared to say anything about it.

that night, natasha tried to sleep, but her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing. you were everything she had wanted, but in this strange, liminal space, neither of you had been brave enough to admit it.

weeks passed, the semester came to an end, and graduation day loomed on the horizon. natasha and you both moved on in your own ways, starting to make plans for life after college. but something lingered. something unsaid. life became a little more faster, and faces got a little older.

you reached out to her a few times. it was never the same as before. it was different now, with this strange tension lingering between you both. but you kept in touch, as if you both were afraid of letting go of something that might have been, something that might have still been.

and maybe it was ridiculous, natasha thought, but she was okay with it. she had loved you for years, and maybe that was the most honest thing she could admit to herself.

because even if you two had never been the closest of people, you’d always been there. always in the background, always in between. and somehow, that was enough for natasha. enough for her to hold on to the hope that maybe, one day, you’d both be able to finally figure it out.

it had been two years since you both left the university. two years where natasha had started a career in marketing, constantly moving up, climbing the corporate ladder while trying (and failing) to suppress the things she didn’t want to feel about you. she had dated, of course. a couple of short-term relationships, nothing serious. but nothing had ever lasted, and she had never quite understood why until now. the answer had always been there, hovering just out of reach, in the form of a text, a call, a passing thought about you.

as for you, you’d moved across the country for a job in graphic design. you didn’t think much about natasha at first. life had been busy—new city, new friends, new routine—but every now and then, you'd wonder if she'd thought of you. if she remembered how everything had felt when you were both on the brink of something, but never quite dared to cross the line.

and then it happened.

it wasn’t planned. it wasn’t expected. but one saturday evening, natasha found herself sitting at a bar in brooklyn after a long week at work. she’d had a rough day. one of those days where everything felt like too much. and then, as she nursed her gin and tonic, she heard someone call her name.

it was a voice she hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

“natasha?”

she turned, already recognizing the voice before she even saw your face. and there you were, standing in the doorway of the bar like a memory coming to life. your hair had grown a little longer, and you looked different, older in a way that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat. but you were still you—the same you who had been in those parties, those late-night study sessions, the one who had always made her laugh with a look or a passing reference.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. just stood there, eyes locking, as if trying to figure out whether this was real.

“i didn’t know you were in new york,” natasha said, her voice betraying the sudden weight in her chest. she couldn’t keep the smile from forming, even though she tried.

“i wasn’t planning on being,” you said, grinning. “work sent me here for a few weeks. i was meeting some friends, but it’s been a while, so i thought i’d just see if you were around.”

it wasn’t exactly casual. but you both knew it wasn’t entirely random, either. it felt like fate had decided that you two were finally going to do this.

you sat down, and the conversation flowed as naturally as it always had. the awkwardness of the past melted away. you didn’t need to pretend anymore. there were no more games, no more hesitations.

just you and natasha, picking up where you left off, though this time, the space between you felt a little different. there was an understanding now, a quiet knowing in the way you both spoke, a recognition that time had done its job.

“so…how’s life?” natasha asked, pushing her drink aside and leaning in a little closer.

you shrugged, but there was something different about you too, something less guarded. “it’s been alright. busy. but you know how that goes. i’ve been thinking about home, though. about—” you paused, then looked directly at natasha. “about people i should have kept in touch with.”

natasha’s heart was thudding in her chest, but she kept it together. she was a master of hiding emotions, after all. “yeah?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“yeah,” you said, with a smile that made natasha’s stomach flutter. “it’s funny how things work out. you don’t realize what you miss until you’re standing in front of it again.”

time had always been a strange thing between natasha and you—something both distant and close at the same time, like a thread that wound its way through your lives, never quite snapping, always lingering. you’d known each other for years, seen each other at parties, shared quiet moments, and laughed at the same jokes. but all that time, there had always been a hesitation. a space between the two of you, filled with something—something both of you had been aware of but had never dared to name.

it was the kind of thing that was easier to ignore in college, easier to pretend it wasn’t there while you were both busy with classes, with your lives, with the thrill of being young and not yet knowing what you wanted out of the world.

but that something between you had always been there, pulling at both of you, quiet but undeniable. the way you caught each other’s eyes a little too long. the way your conversations turned into something more meaningful without either of you intending it. the way natasha would see you at parties and catch her breath for just a moment. the way you’d smile, as if you both knew, but neither of you was brave enough to act on it.

you’d both dated people. tried relationships. but it had never lasted, had it? there was always that nagging feeling in the back of your mind—something missing, something not quite right. as if your lives couldn’t fit together because they weren’t ready to yet. you didn’t have the words for it, and neither did natasha. but you both knew. you always knew.

the things that had once seemed complicated—life, timing, fear—suddenly didn’t feel as big as they once had. there was a quiet honesty between you now, as if you both had grown enough to stop pretending you didn’t feel it. the awkwardness, the hesitation, the “maybe” that had been there before was gone.

it was you. it had always been you. and you knew it too.

“so,” natasha said after a beat, her voice softer now, quieter than before. “what are we doing here, really? we’re not strangers. we’ve known each other for, what, almost four years now?”

you looked at her, your lips curling into a smile that didn’t hide the tension in your gaze. “we’ve known each other longer than that,” you said. “we’ve always known.”

“i think i’ve always been afraid of this,” natasha admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “afraid that i’d say the wrong thing, or that it would mess things up between us. that maybe the timing was never going to be right.”

you nodded slowly. “i’ve been afraid of that too.” you paused, then added with a wry smile, “i was never good with timing.”

“maybe we don’t need perfect timing,” natasha said softly, her gaze meeting yours with something she hadn’t let herself feel before—a quiet certainty. “maybe it’s just the right time now. after all this time.”

you didn’t answer right away. you didn’t have to. instead, you reached across the bar, your hand brushing gently against hers, and just like that, it all clicked. there was no more hesitation. no more waiting. you both knew what this was, what it always had been.

“yeah,” you said, your voice low and certain. “i think you’re right.”

and that was it.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda maximoff

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helen-with-an-a · 2 days ago

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Putting on a Show (18+)

This is thoroughly, thoroughly self-indulgent as it is my birthday. It's a long one and almost entirely all smut, so I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think.

Ona Batlle x Reader

Description: Ona has a plan

TW: Smut; 18+ only

Word Count: 8.1k

I am no better than a man

Ona had a plan, one that had been simmering in the back of her mind for weeks. It was a simple idea at first, a fleeting thought that had gradually grown into something more substantial with each passing day. She had nurtured it quietly, letting it develop in the quiet moments between matches, in the late-night hours when sleep was elusive, and in the rare, fleeting minutes of solitude. Today, finally, she was ready to bring it to life.

It was the first day off she’d had in well over 6 weeks. The relentless pace of the season had been gruelling. International camps had wedged themselves between a never-ending stream of commitments – Liga F fixtures, intense Copa de la Reina showdowns, and the high-pressure Champions League matches. The packed schedule had left little room for anything else, least of all for the two of you to spend any meaningful time together. Every moment was consumed by the game, leaving her little chance to focus on anything other than training, tactics, and recovery.

But today was different. The plan, meticulously crafted and eagerly anticipated, was set to unfold. Ona had been waiting for this moment – a chance to break free from the rigid routines and the demands of professional football, even if just for a day. A chance to reconnect with you, to remind herself of the life beyond the pitch, and to bring to life the idea that had danced around in her head for so long.

Her plan had technically started the night before. With a sense of purpose that belied her casual demeanour, Ona had set things in motion. She joined some of the girls for an evening out, knowing full well how the night would unfold. They hit a few favourite spots, laughed over drinks, and soaked in the rare moment of freedom away from the rigours of their usual routine. But while the others might have been intent on letting loose, Ona had a different objective in mind. She made sure to enjoy herself – laughing, dancing, and sipping just enough to reach that perfect balance where she could still think clearly, yet feel a little lighter, a little more carefree.

She was careful, though, never crossing the line from pleasantly tipsy to outright drunk. Every move she made was deliberate, every drink measured. She had a plan to follow, after all, and it required her to stay in control. When the others decided to continue the night, she graciously bowed out, offering an easy smile and the excuse that she wanted to rest up. But really, Ona knew this part of the plan was crucial.

You had opted out of the evening from the start, claiming pure exhaustion after the relentless weeks of training, travel, and matches. The prospect of a quiet night and an early bed was too appealing to resist. Ona hadn’t been surprised by your decision; in fact, she had counted on it. It worked perfectly in her favour.

She made sure to put on a bit of a show as she prepared for the night out. It was all part of the plan, every detail carefully considered. With a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips, she switched on some gentle music, the kind that filled the room with a soft, inviting rhythm. The melodies flowed through the air, creating an atmosphere that was both relaxed and intimate. As the music played, Ona began to move, letting the beat guide her. Her hips swayed effortlessly, a subtle, rhythmic motion that was as natural as breathing, yet deliberately captivating.

Ona knew you were watching her. She could feel your eyes on her as she made her way through the room, and she leaned into it, letting the music draw her movements out, make them more fluid, more intentional. She moved with a grace that seemed almost unconscious, but every step, every turn, was a silent invitation for you to keep watching.

Taking her time, Ona lingered over her skincare routine, something that was usually a quick and functional process. Tonight, though, she turned it into a ritual. She smoothed the lotions and creams onto her skin with slow, deliberate strokes, as if savouring the feel of the products, letting them soak in not just to nourish her skin, but to heighten the anticipation that hung in the air. She caught your gaze in the mirror, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, and smiled softly to herself, knowing she had your full attention.

Applying her makeup became an art form, each brushstroke and touch of colour done with care and precision. She took significantly longer than usual, drawing out the process, knowing you were watching her every move. The way you followed her with your eyes, tracking her as she moved around the room, was exactly what she wanted. It was part of the game she was playing, a way to keep you intrigued, to keep you wondering what was going through her mind.

For the final act, Ona had saved her outfit – or at least, part of it. She had chosen a tight white crop top, the fabric hugging her torso and finishing just below her bra line, though she had conveniently "forgotten" to wear that particular item. The top clung to her curves, the soft fabric hinting at the shape beneath, while leaving just enough to the imagination. But it wasn’t just the crop top that made a statement. As she sat at the vanity in your shared bedroom, her dark blue thong was on full display. The fabric, or lack thereof, hugged her in all the right places, accentuating her figure and adding an extra layer of allure to the scene.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Every movement, every choice was part of a calculated plan to captivate you, to draw you in, and to leave you wanting more. And as she caught your gaze in the mirror once again, a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. Ona was in control, and she knew that tonight, the night she had carefully orchestrated from the very beginning, was only just beginning.

"Bub, do you have to go out?" you asked from the bed, your voice carrying a note of quiet pleading, as she slipped on her trousers, purposefully turning around and struggling to pull the material over her curves. The question hung in the air; your words softened by the drowsiness that had settled over you after the long, exhausting weeks. You watched her from where you lay, the comfort of the bed pulling you deeper into its embrace, yet your eyes remained fixed on Ona as she moved around the room with an almost hypnotic grace. The dim light of the room, combined with the gentle music in the background, made everything feel dreamlike, and you couldn’t help but wish she would abandon her plans and stay with you instead.

"Why don’t you just stay in?" you continued, your tone taking on a more persuasive edge as you propped yourself up on one elbow, trying to meet her gaze. The thought of her leaving after the demanding schedule you both had endured over the past few weeks made your heart sink a little. It had been such a hectic time, with barely any moments to breathe, let alone spend quality time together. The idea of her heading out into the night, while you remained behind, felt almost unbearable.

"It’s been a long couple of weeks," you argued softly, trying to appeal to her weariness, hoping she would see the sense in staying home. Your eyes followed Ona’s every movement, the way she meticulously finished getting ready, and you couldn’t help but notice the little details – how her skin glowed from her careful skincare routine, how the soft material of her crop top clung to her in all the right ways. Despite how stunning she looked, a part of you wished she would change her mind, slip out of her outfit, and climb back into bed with you, where you could both relax and enjoy each other's company without any distractions.

You could hear the faintest hint of longing in your own voice, a subtle plea for her to choose you over the night out. The quiet intimacy of your shared space, the warmth of the bed, and the comfort of simply being together seemed like the perfect alternative to whatever the night might hold for her outside. You knew how much she enjoyed these rare moments of freedom, but still, you couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd decide that tonight, staying in with you was the better option.

She pouted, her lips forming a soft, irresistible curve, accentuated by the sheen of the lip gloss she had just applied. The gloss caught the light, making her lips look even fuller, the subtle sparkle adding a touch of allure to her playful expression. It was a look designed to tug at your heartstrings, a mix of teasing and genuine consideration, as if she was weighing your suggestion against her own plans.

For a moment, Ona’s eyes lingered on you, taking in the sight before her. You did look thoroughly inviting, wrapped in the familiar comfort of your shared space. One of her ratty old Nike tops, well-worn and slightly oversized, draped over your frame, the fabric soft from years of use. It was one of those shirts that held a certain nostalgia, infused with memories of countless lazy mornings and late-night talks, a tangible piece of the life you two had built together. The sight of you in it stirred something warm and tender within her, a reminder of the simple, quiet moments you both cherished.

The fluffy duvet was tucked around you, enveloping you in its warmth, adding to the picture of cozy domesticity. You looked so at ease, so content, with your head resting lightly on the pillow, the soft material of the duvet pulled up to your chin. Your hair, slightly tousled from your earlier nap, framed your face in a way that made you look even more endearing, and the faint trace of a smile on your lips only deepened Ona’s internal conflict.

The way you looked at her, with that irresistible blend of sleepy affection and a hint of desire, made it abundantly clear that you wanted her to stay. It tugged at Ona’s heart in a way she hadn’t anticipated. For a moment, as she stood there with those glossy, inviting lips pouted just so, she seriously considered giving in. The idea of abandoning her plans and curling up next to you, of letting the night slip away while the two of you revelled in each other's warmth, was incredibly tempting. The image of the two of you tangled up in the duvet, talking softly or just lying in comfortable silence, made her heart flutter. She could almost feel the softness of the sheets, the way your body would fit perfectly against hers, the steady rhythm of your breathing lulling her into a state of peaceful contentment.

But then she caught herself. No. She had a plan – a carefully crafted plan that she’d been piecing together for weeks. That was the whole reason she was doing this, the reason she’d put on the show, the reason she was dressed and ready to go out.

Ona took a deep breath, steeling herself against the temptation. She reminded herself of how she wanted tomorrow to go, how all the little pieces she’d set into motion would come together. This was the kind of plan that required patience and a bit of sacrifice. And as much as she wanted to climb into bed with you right then and there, she knew that sticking to her plan would make everything even more worth it in the end.

So, she held onto that pout just a little longer, letting it soften into a small, knowing smile. “You know I’d love to stay, bellesa meva” she said, her voice warm and affectionate, “but I promise, this will be worth it.” She leaned down to give you a soft, lingering kiss, the taste of her lip gloss lingering on your lips as she pulled away. It was a kiss full of unspoken promises, a reminder that she wasn’t going out to escape you, but to create something memorable for the both of you.

With one last glance at you, tucked so comfortably in bed, she straightened up and gave a little wink. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she added, her tone playful yet full of intent. She leaned back down, gifting you a sweet kiss, filled with the promise of more.

And with that, she turned and headed for the door, her heart beating a little faster as she reminded herself of what was to come. The plan was in motion, and as much as she wanted to stay, she knew that leaving was the right choice. The night was just beginning, and when she returned, everything would be just as she had envisioned.

When Ona woke up in your arms the next morning, she felt a wave of contentment wash over her, knowing that the second part of her plan was now in motion. The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over the room and highlighting the peacefulness of the moment. She lay there for a few seconds, savouring the feel of your body pressed close to hers, the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath her. She could tell you were awake – your fingers were drawing random patterns on her ribs, the feeling making her tingle and goosebumps rise up on her skin.

Her head was nestled against your collarbone, a spot that had become so familiar and comforting over time. With each breath she took, she could feel the warmth of your skin against her cheek, and as she exhaled, her breath fanned out gently against your neck. The closeness between you was palpable, a kind of intimacy that came not just from physical proximity but from the deep bond you shared. Your legs were tangled together in a way that made it impossible to tell where you ended and she began, your bodies seamlessly intertwined in a comfortable heap of limbs.

Ona marvelled at how natural it felt to wake up like this, how your limbs, no matter how intertwined, seemed to fit perfectly together, as if they were meant to be like this. Her arm was draped over your torso, her hand gripping onto the fabric of your shirt.

She knew you knew she was awake. The subtle shift in your breathing, the gentle tightening of your arm around her, and the way your hand began to drift slowly down her body were all telltale signs. You were playing a familiar game, one that she loved more than she could ever put into words. Your hand moved with an unhurried, maddening rhythm, fingers brushing over her skin with just the right amount of pressure, lingering in places that made her breath catch. It was a slow, deliberate dance of touch and sensation, designed to tease and heighten her awareness of every inch of her body that you explored.

Ona felt a shiver run down her spine as your hand traced the curve of her waist, sliding down the dip of her lower back before gliding back up again, repeating the motion with a rhythm that was both soothing and intoxicating. Each pass of your hand over her skin sent ripples of anticipation through her, stirring a heat that built with each gentle caress. The sensation was enough to make her want more, to crave the touch of your hand moving lower, pressing harder, but you kept the pace slow, drawing out the moment, savouring her reaction.

She couldn't help but shift her hips, instinctively seeking more contact, more friction, as your hand continued its torturous path. The slight movement brought her body closer to yours, pressing her body against yours in a way that her toes curl. Your thigh, firm and strong, pressed against her clit as she shifted, creating a pressure that was nothing short of heavenly. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her, making her gasp softly against your neck.

The pressure of your thigh against her was perfect – just enough to tease, to keep her on the edge, while leaving her yearning for more. She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, the tension building with each subtle shift of her hips. It was a delicious kind of torture, the kind that made her want to lose herself in the sensation, to let go of everything except the feeling of you against her. The maddening rhythm of your touch and the pressure of your thigh were driving her to the brink, her body responding with an urgency she could barely contain.

You smiled slyly at her movements, a knowing glint in your eyes as you watched her. The subtle shifts in her body, the way she shifted her hips and pressed closer to you, were all part of a carefully orchestrated plan that you were fully aware of. Last night, when Ona had sat down on the bench in front of you, wearing your favourite blue thong of hers, you had known exactly what she was up to. The thong, with its daring cut and dark colour, had been a deliberate choice – a bold statement that spoke volumes about her intentions.

From the moment she had switched on the slower, more sensual music as she began to get ready, you had recognised the cues. The music set a mood that was unmistakable, a deliberate contrast to the usual upbeat tunes that accompanied her preparations. The soft, seductive melodies had been a clear signal of her plans, an invitation to indulge in a night of intimacy and connection. You could practically feel the rhythm of the music syncing with your own heartbeat, heightening the anticipation for what was to come.

As you had felt Ona climb into bed beside you later that night, her short, tight top still hugging her body and her underwear on full display, it was evident that she was playing a game, and you were more than willing to play along. The sight of her dressed like that, with every curve and contour accentuated, had been a delicious tease. Her presence beside you, her warmth pressing against you, was an enticing mix of sensuality and closeness, perfectly aligning with the plan you knew she had in mind.

If she wanted to put on a show, to tease and tantalise, you were more than happy to let her. You were fully aware of her intentions, and rather than resisting or interrupting, you found yourself enjoying the dance she was performing. Her subtle hints, her knowing smiles, and the way she moved with purpose and grace were all part of a game you both enjoyed – a way to deepen your connection and explore each other's desires.

The way she looked at you, the way she deliberately brushed against you, was all part of the seductive choreography that had begun the moment she had started getting ready. If she wanted to turn up the heat, to push boundaries, or to indulge in promises that had been simmering all night, you were more than ready to let her. After all, it was a game you both enjoyed.

Just as she was about to tip over the edge, her body trembling with anticipation, you suddenly and roughly squeezed the flesh of her arse, halting her movements entirely. The unexpected pressure jolted her, causing a sharp intake of breath and an involuntary gasp that escaped her lips. The sensation was a mix of surprise and intense pleasure, the sudden, firm grip on her body sending waves of heightened sensitivity through her.

She let out a soft, frustrated whimper, her voice laden with a mix of irritation and desperation. “Wh-no, bellesa meva,” she whined pitifully, her words barely coherent in the throes of her near-release. The endearment rolled off her tongue in a blend of longing and annoyance, a testament to the frustration she felt at being so tantalisingly close yet abruptly denied. Her eyes fluttered open, locking onto yours with a pleading gaze, the heat in her expression both intense and vulnerable.

Her hips were still, frozen in the position you had left them, her body quivering slightly from the lingering intensity of the interrupted pleasure. The flush on her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest only underscored her agitation. She wanted to reach the peak, to feel the release she had been so close to achieving, but the sudden stop had left her hanging in a state of frustrated anticipation.

With a soft, almost desperate pout, she looked up at you, her voice catching slightly as she continued to whine. “I was so close,” she murmured, her tone a mixture of pleading and exasperation.

The way she looked at you, her eyes searching yours with an almost desperate hope, made it clear how much she had been invested in the experience. She had savoured the build-up, every touch, every movement that had led her to the brink, only to be pulled back just before she could reach the climax she had been yearning for. Her pout was an expression of the frustration that came from being tantalisingly close to release but abruptly denied, a stark contrast to the playful teasing that had marked the rest of the evening.

“Trust me, bubba, I am well aware of just how close you were,” you teased, a smirk playing on your lips as you tightened your grip once more. The firmness of your touch was both punishing and invigorating, accentuating the delicious tension that had been building between you. You knew precisely what you were doing, prolonging the game in a way that made her squirm with both anticipation and a hint of impatience.

“But you put on such a show last night,” you continued, your tone carrying a playful edge that was both affectionate and slightly mocking. You pouted theatrically, the gesture adding to the teasing atmosphere. “Did you really think I would let all your hard efforts go to waste?” The question was rhetorical, meant to underscore the fact that her deliberate display and the care she had taken to set the scene were not going to be disregarded so easily.

“You wanted me to watch you,” you said, your voice softening slightly as you looked into her eyes, the teasing edge giving way to a more tender undertone. “You wanted me to see you, to appreciate all the effort you put into this.” Your words were turning Ona on even more – she could feel herself get wetter by the second. The fabric of her underwear clung uncomfortably to her, damp and sticky, exacerbating the sensation of need and anticipation. Each slight movement caused the fabric to rub against her sensitive skin, intensifying the feeling of pressure and desire.

Your gaze remained steady, your eyes locked onto hers with a look that was both commanding and affectionate. The way you spoke, acknowledging the care she had taken in preparing for the evening and recognising her desire for you to witness it all, made her pulse quicken. She felt a delicious mix of embarrassment and thrill, knowing that her efforts were having the exact effect she had hoped for.

“So, Ona,” you continued, your voice now carrying a more provocative tone, “why don’t you put on a little show?” The challenge in your voice was unmistakable, the eyebrow you raised adding an extra layer of daring to your request. The playful, almost mischievous glint in your eyes dared her to fulfil your demand, to turn the moment into something even more exhilarating.

The invitation was clear: you wanted her to perform, to take the teasing you had started and turn it into an act of intimate exhibitionism. The thought of putting on a show for you, of turning the tables and making the night revolve around her display of desire, sent a thrill through Ona. Her mind raced with the possibilities, her body aching for the opportunity to respond to your challenge. She could feel the heat rising within her, the urgency of her arousal demanding release.

Ona didn’t like to back down from challenges. She was fearless on the pitch and just as brave off it. She thrived on pushing boundaries and embracing opportunities to showcase her strength, both physical and emotional.

With a determined smile curving her lips, Ona began to slowly shift her body, each movement chosen carefully and infused with purpose. Her eyes locked onto yours, a confident glint of mischief and resolve reflected in their depths. The smile on her face was both sultry and resolute, a clear signal that she was ready to rise to the occasion and meet your challenge head-on. You placed your hands on her hips, not guiding but as a silent acknowledgement that you were there, a subtle reminder of who she was doing this for.

She started by shifting her hips with a deliberate, twisting motion, the fabric of her tight top brushing against her skin as she moved. Her body rolled gracefully; every curve accentuated by the dim light that filtered through the room. The anticipation in the air was palpable, creating a charged atmosphere that seemed to hum with expectation. Each subtle shift of her hips, each arch of her back, was designed to captivate and tease, drawing you in and making every moment feel like a tantalising eternity.

As Ona continued her performance, she made sure every gesture was both seductive and purposeful. Her hands roamed over her body, lightly grazing her curves and creating a visual feast that was impossible to ignore. The fabric of her underwear, already damp with her arousal, pressed against her skin with a heightened intensity, making every movement feel electric. The way she arched her back and pushed her chest forward, the way she traced her fingers over her own body, was all part of an intricate dance designed to keep you enthralled.

You let your eyes roam freely, taking in every detail of Ona’s hypnotic performance. The movement of her body, fluid and captivating, drew you in completely. The dim light that bathed her in a soft, golden glow made her skin appear even more luminous, creating a halo effect that heightened the allure of her presence.

Your gaze followed the way her muscles rippled beneath her skin, the gentle movement of her abs and the curve of her waist as she moved. The sight of her body in motion, so perfectly attuned to the rhythm of the moment, made your heart flutter with a mixture of excitement and admiration.

You knew she was amping up the sounds as well. The moans and whines that escaped her lips were like a symphony tailored just for you. Each sound was a delicate note in the melody of her performance, a musical accompaniment that heightened the intensity of the experience. The soft, breathy moans were punctuated by occasional whimpers of frustration and longing, creating a soundtrack that matched the visual spectacle of her body in motion. The sounds were raw and unfiltered, a testament to the pleasure she was experiencing and a seductive invitation for you to share in it.

The combination of her visual allure and orchestra of moans was almost overwhelming. The rhythm of her moans matched the cadence of her movements, creating a seamless connection between sight and sound that left you captivated. Each time she arched her back or pressed her body closer to yours, the accompanying sounds grew more pronounced, a clear indication of how deeply she was immersed in the moment.

But you knew she wouldn’t be able to come from this – no matter how hard she tried, the thing that she so desperately craved would always stay out of reach without your input. The teasing show she was putting on was exquisite, a perfect blend of effort and seduction, but it lacked the final piece of the puzzle that only you could provide.

Her body was a masterpiece in motion, every curve and ripple a testament to her dedication and desire. Yet, as captivating as her performance was, it was clear that the final release she sought remained just beyond her grasp. The pleasure she was experiencing was intense, but it was unfulfilled – a longing that could only be truly satisfied by your touch, your guidance, and your complete engagement.

You waited for as long as you could. Ona’s eyes, filled with a mix of determination and need, continuously sought yours for reassurance and a hint of what you would do next. Her moans and whines, though beautifully melodic, were underscored by a subtle note of frustration, a reminder of the yearning that lingered in every sound she made.

“Si us plau,” she eventually whined, her voice trembling with a blend of desperation and vulnerability. The plea was soft, almost breathless, and it hung in the air between you, a poignant request for the very thing that had been eluding her. The simple words, spoken in a voice that carried the weight of her need, were a powerful testament to the intense longing she felt. The combination of her exquisite performance and her heartfelt plea made it clear that she was at the edge of her limits, her desire reaching a crescendo that demanded a response.

Her eyes locked onto yours with an earnest intensity, seeking not just acknowledgement but also action. The frustration that had tinged her moans was now replaced by a raw, open yearning that could only be addressed by your direct intervention. The sight of her so vulnerable, her body still quivering from the anticipation and effort, was both heart-wrenching and thrilling.

You took in the sight of her, every detail of her arousal and effort etched into your mind. The way her body still moved subtly with each breath, the way her skin glowed with the sheen of exertion and desire, were all compelling reasons to act. Her plea, spoken with such heartfelt longing, was an invitation to complete the intimate connection you had been building.

Without breaking eye contact, you sat up, leaning in so close that your breath mingled with Ona’s, the warmth of it sending a shiver through her. “Please, what?” you teased, your voice a soft whisper that vibrated against her skin.

Her eyes fluttered, a mix of desperation and desire reflecting in their depths. The playful challenge in your voice contrasted sharply with the raw need evident in her gaze. She took a ragged breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping herself composed under the strain of your teasing.

“Por favor, hazme correrme,” she murmured again, her voice more insistent now, though still trembling with vulnerability. The simple plea carried the weight of her frustration and yearning, a heartfelt request for the final piece of the puzzle that would bring her the satisfaction she so frantically sought. The way she said it, with a mixture of desperation and a soft plea for relief, made it clear just how much she needed you to complete the experience.

“I don’t know if slutty little brats like you deserve to come though, bubba.” Your voice, though soft and teasing, held a firm edge that underscored your control over the situation. The playful challenge in your tone contrasted with the intense longing in Ona’s eyes, creating a dynamic of anticipation and desire that was almost palpable.

Her reaction was immediate; her body tensed, a mixture of frustration and eagerness evident in her posture. The way her breath hitched, the slight tremble of her lips, and the way her eyes widened with a blend of need and playful defiance showed just how much she was affected by your words. She leaned closer, trying to close the gap between you, her movements a silent plea for the release she was craving.

“He sido buena. He sido buena para ti,” Ona stuttered, her voice trembling with a mix of desperation and a trace of defiance. The earnestness in her tone, coupled with the intensity of her gaze, highlighted Her plea was not just about the physical satisfaction she sought, but also about the emotional validation of being acknowledged and rewarded for her efforts.

She shifted slightly, her body pressing closer to yours, as if trying to bridge the final gap between your teasing and her ultimate fulfilment. Her movements were slow but deliberate, each gesture an attempt to demonstrate just how much she had been trying to meet your challenge.

You met her halfway, pulling her down into a kiss that was anything but gentle – a filthy, messy kiss that conveyed just how turned on you were by her little performance. The kiss was intense, filled with a raw passion that left no room for subtlety. Your lips moved against hers with a fervent energy, a dance of dominance and submission that mirrored the tension of the moment. The taste of her, the way her breath mingled with yours, and the way she responded with equal fervour, all combined to create a moment that was absolutely electrifying

“Hmmm,” you murmured against her lips, deliberately drawing out the anticipation. Your voice was a mix of mock contemplation and teasing affection. “I suppose you have been a muy buena niña for me, doing exactly as I said, putting on a fantastic show … just for me.” The words were spoken with a playful tone, though the underlying sincerity of your acknowledgement was clear. Ona felt a wash of calm flood over her, your words easing her fears.

“Just for you. Sólo para ti,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice a soft, eager echo of your words. The way she repeated the phrase, her eyes locked onto yours with so much love, made it clear how much she craved moments like this – the push and pull of your relationship made her head dizzy sometimes. The sincerity in her voice and the look in her eyes spoke volumes about her dedication and her desire to please you.

“Only for me? How kind of you, Oni,” you mocked gently, your tone a playful blend of admiration and teasing. The mockery was light-hearted, designed to keep the mood playful. You raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “I suppose I could let you come.” Your words, though teasing, carried a promise that hung heavily in the air. The decision to grant her the release she had been craving was now in your hands

In one swift movement, you had Ona lying on her back, her hair splayed out on the pillows, creating a halo of dark waves around her. Her chest rose and fell with each breath.

The room was filled with the soft rustling of sheets and the muffled sounds of her breaths, creating a backdrop of intimate noise that only heightened the tension.

You positioned yourself above her, your gaze unwavering as you took in the sight of her beneath you. Her eyes were wide and full of yearning, a mixture of vulnerability and unspoken desire. The way she looked up at you, her body slightly trembling with anticipation, added to the sense of charged expectation that filled the space between you.

Your hands moved with deliberate intention, tracing a path from her shoulders down to her hips, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin beneath your touch. Each movement was purposeful, a way to both explore and command, to reinforce the power dynamic that had been building throughout the night. Your fingers lingered just long enough to make her shiver, creating a teasing contrast to the more direct pressure you were about to apply.

“Remember,” you murmured, your voice low and intimate, “you’ve earned this. You’ve been so good, putting on that incredible show just for me.”

You let your hands glide further, exploring the contours of her body with a mix of tenderness and assertiveness, placing kisses as you went. Your touch was both comforting and electrifying, a blend of affection and authority that added to the intensity of the moment. The way she responded, the soft moans that escaped her lips and the way her body arched towards your touch, made it clear just how much she was craving the final resolution.

Finally, you reached where Ona wanted you most. The anticipation in the room was palpable as your fingers traced along the waistband of her thong. With a playful snap, you pulled the band gently against her hip, creating a slight, teasing sting that made her gasp. You couldn’t help but smile ruefully, your satisfaction evident as you watched her reaction.

“I like this,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of appreciation. You pressed a tender kiss to her hipbone, the warmth of your lips sending a shiver through her. The gesture was both intimate and affectionate

Her response was immediate, her eyes fluttering closed as she treasured the touch. “Gracias,” she murmured breathlessly, her voice carrying a note of pride and affection. “I bought it with you in mind.” The knowledge that she had chosen this particular piece of lingerie specifically for you, with the intention of enhancing your experience, made your heart skip a beat.

You looked up at her, your gaze meeting hers with a mixture of admiration and desire. The room seemed to shrink around you, the rest of the world fading away as you focused purely on the woman in front of you. Her body responded to your touch, her hips shifting slightly as if instinctively seeking more contact. The heat radiating from her skin was undeniable, a warm, inviting glow that contrasted sharply with the cool air of the room. The softness of her body beneath your fingers was a luxurious sensation, each caress sending ripples of pleasure through her.

You left a trail of kisses down the inside of her thigh, each touch deliberate and gentle, tracing a path of increasing anticipation. Her breath quickened with each kiss, a soft, rhythmic intake of air that was both a response to your touch and a testament to her mounting desire.

Slowly and deliberately, you peeled the damp fabric of the thong away from her, your movements careful and measured. Holding the delicate garment in one hand, you bunched it out of the way, your attention now fully on her exposed skin. With a tender, teasing touch, you settled yourself comfortably, one leg on either side of her shoulders, positioning yourself to offer her the most intimate kind of attention.

You blew gently on her clit, the unexpected coldness of your breath causing her body to react instinctively. Her muscles tensed, and she let out a sharp gasp, a sudden intake of breath that was both surprised and aroused. The delicate shock of the cold air made her entire body quiver, her hips twitching in response to the sensation.

As the initial shock of the cool air faded, Ona’s gasp morphed into a low, throaty moan. When you finally made contact, it was with the softest of kisses, a tender, deliberate press of your lips right where she had been craving. She arched her back, her hand flying down to grab at your head, her fingers instantly taking root in your hair.

With the kiss as a prelude, you began to lick up her sex, your tongue exploring her with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each lick was thorough and purposeful, your movements designed to maximise her pleasure. The softness of your tongue against her sensitive skin, combined with the lingering taste of her arousal, was an indulgent experience that intensified her moans. You traced each contour of her sex with your tongue, cherishing the way she responded to each stroke.

Her reactions were a continuous stream of pleasure; her breathing became ragged, her sounds a mix of soft whimpers and deep, satisfied moans. The way her body responded to your touch – her hips thrusting slightly, her legs trembling, and her head tilting back – was a testament to the pleasure you were giving her. The combination of the gentle kiss, the exploratory licks, and the way you maintained a steady rhythm created a symphony of sensations that drew her ever closer to the edge.

You knew Ona was close; after a night filled with teasing and edging, anyone would be on the brink of release. But as you slipped your finger inside her, you quickly discovered just how near she was to the edge. You effortlessly found that spot deep within her that elicited such a powerful reaction. The instant you touched it, her reaction was immediate and intense. Her eyes screwed shut, her entire body tensing as if a jolt of electricity had passed through her. Her toes curled tightly, her legs quivering with the force of the pleasure that was surging through her.

The sensation of finding that sensitive area was gratifying. Each subtle movement of your finger, each gentle pressure, elicited a series of responses from her – sharp intakes of breath, soft moans, and the way her hips instinctively pressed against your hand. You could feel her body reacting almost rhythmically to your touch, each spasm a testament to the pleasure you were giving her.

You adjusted the angle of your finger slightly, applying just the right amount of pressure and movement to maximise her pleasure. The rhythm of your touch became a steady, deliberate dance, designed to push her further and closer to the precipice.

Her moans grew more urgent, the sound a mix of need and impending climax. The way her body arched and shifted in response to your touch indicated that she was teetering on the edge, ready to fall into the abyss of pleasure you had meticulously prepared her for.

You could sense the exact moment when her control began to slip, when the dam you had carefully built up was on the verge of breaking. Her breathing became erratic, her body trembling with a combination of pleasure and exertion.

“Voy a... Estoy... mierda” she cried, her voice a mixture of desperation and ecstasy. The pleasure she was experiencing was now all-consuming, her entire focus narrowed to the sensations you were evoking. With each movement, each touch, you were guiding her to a powerful, fulfilling climax.

Ona came with a shout - raw and primal. Her body jerking and twitching as pleasure coursed through her veins. It felt as though she was on fire, her skin radiating an almost feverish heat as the intensity of her orgasm spread through her entire being.

The sheer force of her release caused her hips to buck uncontrollably against your hand, her breathing coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Her moans were punctuated by sharp cries, each sound a vivid indication of the depth of her pleasure. Her fingers tugged harshly at your hair.

As the climax took hold, her body arched beautifully, her back curving in a graceful line as she succumbed to the pleasure. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face contorted in a mask of bliss and concentration. The muscles in her legs and abdomen twitched and spasmed in time with the waves of pleasure that surged through her, making it clear just how intense the experience was for her.

You worked her through it gently, maintaining a steady rhythm as she rode out the peak of her orgasm. Your touch was both deliberate and tender, ensuring that the pleasure remained intense but not overwhelming. Each caress and stroke was designed to prolong her satisfaction, to help her enjoy every last moment of the euphoria that had taken over her senses.

The room seemed to echo with the sounds of her pleasure – the rhythmic gasps, the soft whimpers of aftershocks, and the occasional, breathless cries. As the climax began to ebb, her movements gradually slowed, her body relaxing into a state of deep contentment. Her breathing, still ragged, started to return to a more regular pattern, the intensity of her release giving way to a blissful, tranquil aftermath.

“Merda santa,” she gasped, the words escaping her in a breathless rush. Her body continued to tremble as the last waves of her orgasm rippled through her. Her voice, though still tinged with awe and satisfaction, was now softer, a lingering whisper of the intensity she had just experienced.

Her eyes fluttered open, the heat of her climax still evident in the flushed cheeks and the slight sheen of sweat on her skin. You shifted, kissing your way back up her body until you were face to face again. You smiled down at her, your eyes scanning her flushed face, taking in the way her lips were slightly parted and the glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes

“Well, that was fun,” you teased, the playful note in your voice contrasting with the tenderness of your touch. Your smile was a mix of gratification and affection, a reflection of the pleasure you had both shared. You brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, your fingers lingering gently on her skin.

Her lips curved into a soft, exhausted smile, the kind that spoke of complete contentment. “You could say that,” she murmured, her voice still carrying the remnants of her earlier intensity. There was a warm glow in her eyes, a look of deep happiness that mirrored your own feelings.

You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “You are so beautiful. That was incredible,” you said softly, your tone sincere as you lay down beside her, pulling her into your chest.

She responded with a contented sigh, her body relaxing further into the pillows. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she whispered, her eyes closing as she let herself fully unwind.

You continued to hold her, your touch gentle and reassuring. The aftermath of her climax had left both of you in a state of serene satisfaction, the bond between you strengthened by the intimacy of the experience. The room was quiet, the only sounds being the soft rustle of the sheets and the steady rhythm of your breaths.

As she began to settle, her breathing slowing to a steady, peaceful rhythm, you took a moment to simply enjoy the closeness you shared. ““T'estimo molt,” she whispered, her voice a soft murmur of affection as she nestled closer into your embrace.

“Yo también te amo mucho,” you replied, your tone equally tender,

You could feel her heartbeat gradually slowing, syncing with yours in a soothing rhythm that spoke of complete trust and contentment. Her body was relaxed against yours, her warmth a comforting presence as she let go of the lingering tension from the night.

You gently brushed your fingers through her hair, your touch both soothing and affectionate. The intimate atmosphere of the room, now filled with a serene quiet, was a stark contrast to the passionate intensity that had preceded it. The gentle hum of the world outside seemed distant, and in this cocoon of closeness, it felt as though time had slowed down just for the two of you.

Every so often, she would shift slightly, her movements subtle but full of unspoken communication. The soft sighs that escaped her lips and the way her fingers occasionally traced gentle patterns on your skin were a testament to her lingering satisfaction and the depth of your bond.

You let your fingers graze her back, your touch light and tender, reinforcing the sense of intimacy and connection between you. As the moments passed, you took in the peacefulness of her expression, the way her features had softened into a serene smile.

You could the moment she finally fell asleep, her breath evened out. The gentle rise and fall of her chest against yours was a soothing, rhythmic lullaby, a comforting reminder of the bond you shared.

Her body relaxed completely, her muscles softening as the tension from the night melted away. Her head nestled more deeply into the crook of your shoulder, and her fingers, which had been lightly tracing patterns on your skin, came to a still, relaxed rest.

“I am going to marry you one day,” you whispered into her skin, the quiet confession escaping your lips as a gentle promise. Your words were barely audible, a tender declaration meant only for her ears, a gently promise to the universe of you love for the woman sleeping in your arms.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3

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sitepathos · 6 hours ago

Text

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 10: The Meeting

As the Megamycete watches as you stomp around your room and vent your frustrations about the last few days, it begins to wonder how the Bats came to remember their little black sheep and why they are so insistent you return to Gotham.

It searches through your memories and experiences all the sadness, fear, anger, hatred, and loneliness you experienced for years, all those emotions still so potent even after your departure from the manor four years ago, having been dredged up by their unwelcome visits. It was clear that, besides the butler, none of them considered you a part of their merry band of misfits, not even bothering to spare you a passing glance.

The exception to this is the youngest one, Damian, who constantly went out of his way to make your life harder by mocking you, hurting you, and releasing his menagerie of pets on you, forcing you to run through the endless halls of the mansion barricade yourself in the closest room you could find.

Now, after four years after your escape and maintaining little contact with the family butler, they show up on your door, one after the other, trying to force you to leave your perfect life for one that brought you nothing but pain and misery.

Why?

Why do they want you so much?

Why do they insist on you returning to a place you clearly hate?

Why do they now wish to give you the love they denied you for so long?

Why—

Wait, they are meeting in their little cave, gathering around the massive computer in the center of the massive cavern.

Its roots have long since surrounded the cave and it is still connected to the main colony back in Gotham, but when it took you as its host, it has had no need to tap into its roots to see the world above when it can see the world through your eyes and experience it through your senses.

Using its roots to see the outside world no longer has the same appeal when your senses are far more vibrant and provide far more detail.

When it proposed you become its host, it must admit, it never thought it would be so mutually beneficial. Of course, it would be able to leave the cavern and finally experience a world firsthand that had been forever just out of reach for over four-hundred years, but you would recover from your injuries and be akin to a god among men with your newfound abilities. You were the one who had more to gain from your joining, but it was willing to trade one prison for another if it meant finally seeing the world above and having someone to talk to.

But you proved it wrong.

When it became a part of you, you treated it like a person, not a thing. You value its input and alter your plans if it desires to see or experience something. You frequently talk to it, telling it things that you haven’t told anyone else and speaking to it like it was a lifelong friend.

It has no further use for that toxic city and its citizens when it has the warm haven of Goodsprings and you to keep it company.

It has come to admire you, even going as far as to see you as a friend and confidant, and wants nothing but the best for you as you so rightfully deserve and to see you suffer teaches it a new definition of rage.

“Running blood tests,” your failure of a father says as he types on the keyboard, causing a machine next to the massive device to make noises.

“If Master Y/N does test positive for the Meta Gene, what do you intend to do, Master Bruce,” the butler, the only one in this crowd it respects, asks.

“If Y/N is a meta, I’ll have to find out what his powers are and how to counter it.”

So that’s what this meeting is about, they managed to put the pieces together that you are no mere human. But how did they manage to get a sample of your blood? Since your joining, you have had no need for doctors as its influence makes you immune against common illnesses and diseases.

“Getting his blood was a simple task,” Damian taunts. “Honestly, this would have been solved already if you sent me, Father.”

Of course. It should have known the little menace gave up too easily.

While you hate Bruce Wayne in every sense of the word, Damian Wayne is right behind him. From the moment you met him, he went up of his way to make your life a living nightmare and was allowed to get away with impunity due to obvious favoritism from Dick Grayson.

The memory of Dick defending Damian after he gave you a scar made the Megamycete furious. No matter his upbringing, he had no right to harm you, and yet, he was allowed to draw his sword on you. It was only pure luck that you managed to move to avoid being critically wounded, only resulting in a scar.

The Megamycete has seen your many fantasies of hurting Damian and making him feel inferior and wants to help you make them a reality.

“Results are in,” Bruce announces, making them all crowd around the computer.

“No Meta Gene,” Tim remarks, staring at the monitor with alarming intensity.

“Yeah, but look,” Jason exclaims, pointing at one of the results. “He’s got something in him that doesn’t belong.”

“For once, Todd is right. The tests show foreign substances in his blood.”

“Wait,” Tim mutters as he leans over and begins typing on the computer, bringing up an extensive menu and going through various files. “That looks so familiar.” An image is pulled up on the monitor. “Here it is! The stuff in his blood matches the stuff found in what remained of Joker.”

Well, this is rather unfortunate. It had hoped that there would be very little of the clown left to examine after his execution by your hand, but as usual, these people cannot resist poking into areas they do not belong.

“If this is substance is in Master Y/N’s blood, does that mean he is responsible for Joker’s death?”

“Bruce, you can’t lock up Y/N after bringing him home,” Dick whines. “You have to admit, your thing with Joker was only going to end one way!”

“We don’t even know if Y/N killed Joker,” Tim interjects. “It’s possible this strain of mold was in both of them and Joker’s was somehow activated, killing him.”

“That’s not exactly comforting, Drake,” Damian responds, glaring at Tim. “That means that Y/N could be in danger. If I had my pick, I would he be responsible for Joker’s death. Knowing he can take down as formidable as the Joker is proof he is a Wayne and my brother.”

If it had eyes, the Megamycete would roll them. This insecure little terror spent years making it clear he saw you as an interloper into his “perfect world” and not as a brother and that you are a disgrace to the Wayne bloodline (although that bloodline was tainted far before you came to be). He has some nerve to call you his brother now.

It still made it angry that he had the nerve to critique your mother (your memories of her painted the woman as a saint) when his mother, the daughter of a millennium-old maniac with delusions of grandeur (yes, you are very aware of his familiar secrets) who drugged Bruce in order to bring him into the world.

“We need to bring him back here, Bruce,” Dick says, defusing a fight between the two. “If he’s in danger, he needs to be back home.”

“I agree,” Bruce responds. “Cass, you and I will go. I’ll distract him and while he’s busy yelling at me, you’ll sneak up behind him and inject him with a tranquilizer.”

The mute nods and the Megamycete wishes it has a mouth so it can scream. Not only is it offensive that they believe you are stupid enough to fall for such an obvious trick, but that they believe they have the right to decide something like this on your behalf.

If they have failed to realize that you want nothing to do with them after you have yelled it at them, perhaps they will understand if it tells so itself.

And it knows the perfect form to take.

He stands up from the chair and makes his way to the armory where they keep the tranquilizers meant for the larger criminals, like Bane and Killer Croc.

He hates the thought of using such methods against you, but you’ve made it clear you aren’t going to come back to Gotham willingly and the discovery of this mysterious mold inside you has forced their hand.

Nevertheless, improvisation is one of their many skills, a requirement in their line of work. Once they have you back home, they’ll be able to conduct more in-depth tests and be able to find out what’s wrong with you and go from there.

As much as he hates the idea of you possibly being in pain and may even be in danger, he can’t deny there’s a small inside him that’s glad this has happened. This discovery accelerates their plans and will have you brought home far sooner.

And, there’s the chance that this mold may explain most of your hatred towards them. Sure, he knows you have every right to despise them, but when he saw the look in your eye when you pushed him down that night of the award ceremony. He could tell you enjoyed inflicting pain on him.

This stuff in you must’ve made your temper more volatile and made you lash out at them.

It’s the only explanation.

“Excuse us,” a familiar voice calls throughout the cave, stoping his dead in his tracks.

That voice… No, it can’t be. There’s no way…

He turns around to see you, standing in the cave, all of them looking right at you. The small smile on your face making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“We believe there are some things we should talk about,” you say as you walk closer to them, making his children back up with each step you take.

“No fucking way,” Jason remarks, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Wait,” Tim says as he rushes over to the computer and rapidly types on the keyboard. “You can’t be Y/N. His phone says he’s still in Goodsprings and we’ve been monitoring his GPS signal, so there’s no way you could’ve come all the way to Gotham from Nevada without us knowing!”

That’s right, they’ve been monitoring your phone ever since Alfred helped them remember you, tracking you every move and committing your searches, social media usage, and all your texts and phone calls. They would’ve done the same to your computers that are linked to your phone, but your cybersecurity is tougher than they anticipated (clearly custom) and they haven’t been able to crack the encryption.

He knew you were skilled at making videos games, but he didn’t know your skills with technology expanded into cybersecurity. Ever since they made that discovery, Tim’s spent nearly all day trying to pierce your firewalls, but hasn’t made any progress. He’s also made it clear he wants to have lengthy conversations on computers and programming with you once you’re back home.

So, you’re still in Goodsprings, so who the hell is this, why the hell would they take your form, and how the hell did they get into the Cave without setting off any of the dozens of alarms or sensors?

“Who are you” Damian hisses, taking a defensive posture. “And what gives you the right to assume the form of my brother?”

“You have some nerve calling him your brother,” the Not-You hisses back, the smile morphing into an all-too familiar snarl. “He is too good for you, for any of you.”

Even though he knows this isn’t you, hearing those words in your voice still hurts him.

“Do you know Master Y/N,” Alfred interjects, trying to bring tensions down, most likely so he can learn more from this person.

“Yes, we do,” Not-You responds, looking at the butler, the snarl morphing into a look of… admiration? “And we know you, Alfred Pennyworth. We know of you and how you helped him during his stay in this wretched mansion. You have our gratitude.”

“Look, whoever you are, stop taking Y/N’s form,” Steph exclaims. “You’re obviously a shapeshifter, so turn back to normal! Or the very least, take a different form!”

“Oh, do you all wish for us to take another form,” the Not-You asks, a ghost of a smirk gracing “your” face.

“Yes,” Bruce says without hesitation.

It’s bad enough to see you look at them with such hatred, he won’t tolerate some imposter doing the same thing.

“Very well.”

Before them all, the Not-You turns into a shifting mass of some type of black organic mass before taking on a humanoid shape once again and Bruce’s heart stops when he takes in the new form.

“Hello, Bruce,” the shapeshifter says in a voice he hasn’t heard in years.

Not since that fateful night in Crime Alley.

“Good God,” Alfred says, his eyes wide and his jaw practically on the floor.

In front of them is his mother, every detail exactly how she was that night, still adorned in her favorite pearl necklace and wearing her green dress.

As he stares at her looking at him with those eyes that use to look at him with nothing less than unconditional love, he feels his breathing start to become erratic and eyes begin to mist up.

“What’s wrong, Bruce,” the shapeshifter says in her voice (god, even her voice was exactly how he remembered) as they begin to walk towards him, making him step back. “I thought you would be happy to see me. It has been so long since I was killed.”

“No,” he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “You’re not her. You can’t be.”

“But I am. Do you not see? I know everything you have done.” His mother’s face then morphs into a disgusted snarl, making him sick to his stomach. “And I am absolutely disgusted in you! Why did we have to die that night? Why not the disgrace we once called our son!”

He knows this isn’t his mother and she never would’ve called him a disgrace, but hearing those words in a voice he’s longed to hear for so long makes him want to cry.

He’s had dreams of seeing his mother’s in the flesh again and now he has to endure this berating? Is he truly that horrible of a man to deserve this?

“Stop it, you bitch,” Jason exclaims as he steps between Bruce and the shapeshifter. “Take another form or get the fuck outta here!”

“Oh, you want us to another form?” His… the shapeshifter shifts once again and in his mother’s place is…

“Hiya, Dead Hood,” Joker exclaims before exclaiming in that all-too familiar cackle and waving around a crow bar in his hand. “Did you miss me?”

It doesn’t take a detective to notice Jason tense up and his breathing stop; Joker left a mark on Jason that unfortunately will never be erased (another shortcoming that eats away at Bruce everyday) and whenever news of Joker escaping Arkham would bring up all the anger, fear, and sadness that was planted in Jason that night he died.

After Joker was killed, he noticed a weight seemed to be lifted off of Jason’s shoulders. Sure, he made jokes about the clown burning in hell, but Bruce could see he was genuinely happy and was ready to move on form that horrible chapter in his life.

And now, all that trauma is about to be dug back up after four years.

“You have five fucking seconds to take another form before I beat the shit outta you,” Jason says in a tone that says he means business, his eyes flickering into that shade of Lazarus green.

“How about this form,” the shapeshifter says in Joker’s voice before changing into John Grayson, making Dick tense up. “Or this form?” John Grayson then shifts into Janet Drake, making Tim tense up.

“Alright, you made your point,” Barbara shouts. “Just turn back into Y/N.”

And with that, the shapeshifter takes your form again.

“Who are you,” Bruce growls, pissed that his sons have had their trauma jabbed at. “We know you’re not Y/N, but you know him and us.”

You may call us the Megamycete.”

“Megamycete,” Tim asks. “So, you’re not human?”

“No, we are a super colony of mold given sentience via a Lazarus Pit.”

“Of course a fucking pit’s involved,” Jason mutters.

“What’s your tie to Y/N,” Dick interjects.

“Y/N is our host. Before, we were confined to a cavern beneath this city, but when we joined with him, we were freed from our prison.”

“So, you’re using him.”

The Megamycete glares at Bruce for his accusation.

“No, he and us operate on mutual trust and respect. Y/N is a respectable young man.” A smirk appears on “your” face. “A trait he clearly did not inherent from you.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Even though this thing is probably the reason why you feel so much hate towards them, it still pains him to know this is his reality.

“Were you responsible for the Joker’s death,” Steph chimes in. “We found weird strains of mold in his remains and you’re a walking, talking pile of mold.”

“While we are not directly responsible for the Joker’s death, we do not deny we were involved. That night, Y/N took us out to Amusement Mile to celebrate when we learned the Joker was sighted in an arcade. Upon seeing the many deaths left in his wake, our host took matters into his own hands and eliminated the biggest threat this city had ever seen.” It gives Bruce a wide smirk. “In a single night, our host did more to help Gotham than you and your brood have done in years.”

Knowing you were responsible for killing Joker didn’t sit well with him. Sure, he’d accepted that Joker’s games were only going to end with one or both of them being dead a long time ago, but knowing that you, his son, had killed him…

“What about Harley,” Dick asks, breaking Bruce out of his thoughts. “He killed her too?”

“She forced his hand. He had no choice.”

“What do you mean he had no choice,” Dick shouts. “Did you force him?”

“Do not be stupid,” it says, glaring at his first son. “Our host was in complete control of his actions that night. We no more control his actions than you. The woman was a lost cause, without Joker to keep her in line, she would have punished all of Gotham as retribution for the loss of her love. Also, she would have informed you of him, causing you to devote all your resources to finding him. In order to both save Gotham from her wrath and himself from your scrutiny, Harley had to die.”

No, this thing has to be lying. There’s no way you, one of his sons, could ever rationalize killing someone. It had to have forced you to kill them. It had to…

“How did you even find Y/N,” Damian interjects.

Upon being asked that question, it smiles. And not a normal smile, but a smile that says it knows something they don’t know and something tells Bruce he’s not going to like it.

“He was thrown into our cavern after being left for dead.”

Bruce hears the words, but they just don’t process.

You were… left for dead? When? How?

“It was four years ago, while the butler was on his vacation. That day, his boss was forced to retire due to Gotham’s high crime, so he was forced to find another bus stop within Crime Alley as he had no other way of returning here, where he was unfortunately captured by three thugs and takes to a cabin in the nearby forest. They intended to ransome him off for a high price due to his school uniform.”

You were held hostage? Why didn’t you call for them? For him?

He knows you have no reason to think he’d help you with homework, but surely you’d call him if you were ever—

Just then, memories from that time frame kick in.

Random…

Phone call…

Oh… Oh no…

“Since the butler was out of the country, he actually reached out and gave the thugs the phone number for this manor.”

He so desperately wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“You said all your children were with you and you all laughed and mocked the leader of the thugs.”

He sees all his children tense up at the realization and Alfred looks at him to see if it was true. Based on the butler’s look of shock and disbelief, he knows it’s the truth.

“The one time he reaches out to you for help, you laugh and mock. He needed you and you failed him in the worst way possible.”

He remembers that night. He thought it was so stupid that someone would think he wouldn’t know when one of his kids were missing. He said all his children were with him and meant it.

God, he really is the worst, isn’t he?

“After that phone call, the leader took all his frustrations out on our host, beating him until he could cry out for mercy no longer before shooting him in the head.”

He wants to cry when the image of you being beat up enters his head, and based on the way he flinches, so does Jason, who looks like he wants to cry.

Alfred looks like he’s ready to go nuclear and Bruce doesn’t blame him. Hearing all this years later and he had no idea what happened just proves he was never worthy of being your father.

“He was on the brink of death and had he not accepted our offer to become our host, he would be dead and the world would have been deprived of a brilliant mind.”

The thought of you dying brings a brunch of thoughts to the surface.

How long would it had taken him to notice you were missing?

How would he reacted upon learning you were dead?

Chances are your body would’ve never been found and all there would be to remember you by would be a tombstone with your name in the Wayne Cemetery. Hell, you’ve made it clear you want nothing to do with the Wayne name, so you probably would’ve never agreed to be buried with the rest of the Waynes.

“Our joining restored him to full health and gave him access to many powers, including our records.”

“Records,” Tim asks, clearly interested in this.

“We have existed for four-hundred years, our roots expanding towards every corner of this city. As our roots touched those buried beneath the ground, not only have we watched the goings-on of Gotham, but we absorbed the memories, knowledge, and structure of the deceased. As horrible as the city is, it has attracted many brilliant minds, like artists, scientists, engineers, and many more. He has access to the knowledge of these people, making him one of the smartest humans alive.” It chuckles. “In fact, many of your employees are in our records and he used this knowledge to get revenge on you, selling the secrets of your company to Lex Luthor for a tidy sum.”

You were the one who did that? He’s been racking his brain and reviewing network logs to find any sort of security breach and it was you using the remains of his dead employees.

“Alright, so that solves a lot of mysteries,” Dick interjects. “But that still leaves one: why are you here?”

“We have been by our host’s since that fateful night, peering through his memories and seeing the world through his eyes. Ever since he was forced to move to Gotham, none of you ever made him feel welcome here. For years, he wanted nothing more than to return to his rightful home, where he knew nothing but love. Now, after four years since his departure from this wretched manor, you appear, one after another, trying to bring him back to a place he despises more than anywhere else. We wish to know why.”

“He’s my son,” Bruce answers, not liking what this thing has to say.

“He’s family,” Dick adds. “Of course we’d want him back.”

“But none of you have ever made him feel that way. And if you are honest with yourselves, you never saw him as one of your own. You only want him because you feel guilty about how you treated him, and that guilt is making you believe you are owed a second chance. And you seek to obtain that second chance, no matter how much harm it does to him.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re taking about,” Jason exclaims, clearly getting more and more pissed. “Yeah, we fucked up! But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a part of this fucked up family!”

“He was never a part of this family. We know for a fact that he wishes he could take out the Wayne DNA and return it.”

“That’s because you’re manipulating him,” Damian interjects. “Nothing will change the fact that he’s my blood brother.”

“It is funny you say that when the last interaction you had with him was a fight.” It lifts hits arm and manifests a gold pen in its hand. “Do you remember this? This is the pen you tried to steal from him and then threw out into the rain when he gave you a much deserved slap upside your head. Do you know the significance of this item to our host?”

Bruce gets the feeling that he’s not going to like why that pen is so important to you and based off Alfred’s expression, that feeling gets even worse.

“This pen once belonged to his mother, made by her father when she set out to become an author. When she was taken from him, this pen was the only thing he had to remember her by. And you, the arrogant beast that you are, felt you had the right to take this, his most treasured possession, from him.” It turns its gaze from Damian to the rest of them. “And the rest of you supported this irreverent mongrel and condemned our host without listening to him before passing judgment.”

It seems like a day can’t go by that Bruce feels like the scum of the earth; ever since he learned of how he neglected you for years and forgot you even existed, his sense of worth has taken hit after hit. He was thinking about that argument you had with Damian and how furious he was when you refused to obey him not too long ago, thinking how stupid it was for you to cause so much trouble over a simple pen. Now to find out that “simple pen” was the only thing you had to remember your mother by…

It just never ends, does it?

He could spend the rest of his life atoning for everything he’s ever done to you, spend his last dollar to make your wildest dreams come true and he’d never come close to earning your forgiveness.

He knows he’s not the best father for his children, but he was never worthy of being your father and he’s certainly not that now.

“Y/N,” he whispers, knowing this isn’t you, but it has your face, your vice, and your memories, so it’s the next best thing. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He knows tears are falling from his eyes, surprising both Alfred and his children. He doesn’t want them to see him like this, but he can’t help it; the last few days have been one emotional turmoil after another and he’s reached his limits.

He failed his baby in every way possible.

“Now you understand,” it responds as it walks closer to him. “You fulfilled your purpose, Mr. Wayne. You brought Y/N into this world and had him brought to Gotham, where he was delivered into our custody. Now please, do not worry for him, we assure you we will provide him with true happiness. Go on, all you have to do is stay in Gotham and out of our host’s business.”

“Father,” Damian exclaims. “You can’t possibly be considering this!”

“Bruce,” Dick adds. “You aren’t going to actually do it, right?”

“Don’t fuck this up, Bruce,” Jason adds.

“We can’t just give up on him,” Tim adds.

“Yeah, he’s your son,” Barbara adds.

“He’s our brother,” Steph adds.

‘Family doesn’t give up on one another,’ Cass signs.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred warns, clearly not pleased at the thought of giving up on you.

He should, though. He knows that he’ll never be worthy of calling himself your father and you’ve made it clear you hate him and your siblings in every sense of the word. You wanted to go back to your childhood home in Goodsprings, a place that made you feel loved, something his home never made you feel. And the last four years were good to you based off your appearance and success. Plus, you had the Megamycete, that apparently has been more of a family to you than them.

If he was a good person, he’d put your needs and wants ahead of yours and agree to leave you alone and tell his children to do the same. Repeatedly harassing you would only make you hate them more and widen the gap between you and them. You don’t need them and clearly learned how to live without them. Over the past few days, he’s gathered every piece of information about you he can find and from what he sees, you love it in Goodsprings and fully intend on living in the house you and your mother lived.

But he’s not a good person, not by a long shot.

The night his parents were gunned down like animals in that disgusting alley, his sadness had turned into a bright inferno of rage; he wanted to inflict on every criminal that he met every ounce of his never ending vengeance and make them so afraid of him that they refuse to step outside whatever hole they call home, so that no one ever has to lose a child, a parent, a friend, or a loved one to some scumbag with a gun. That was his reason for donning the cowl.

After his parents were taken from him, he made it his mission to never lose anything of his ever again and two things that he holds dear more than anything in this world are Gotham and his family. And as long as he’s breathing, he’ll hold onto those two things until the bitter end.

Is it possible that in his mission to protect his city from Arkham’s inmates have made him forget the little details? Of course, Gotham needs Bruce Wayne as much as it needs Batman.

Is it possible that his need to hold onto his children with an iron grip has made him lose them on multiple occasions? Absolutely, he’s constantly remembering that his children are their own people and that even though they may leave him, they’ll always come home.

And that’s what his situation is with you. He knows he fucked up with you and he can never undo the damage he’s done to you, it doesn’t change the fact that you are his blood, his son, his firstborn.

You belonged to him the moment you were born and there’s nothing that can change that. He wishes he could go back in time and accept the gift of your affection that his past self spurred, but he can’t (his time as a Justice League member has taught him that going back in time is more trouble than it’s worth) and his only option is to move forward and make you see that the only place in this world for you is with him and your siblings here in Gotham, a city that has and always will belong to the Waynes.

And right now, this Megamycete is an obstacle standing in his way of completing his family. And if there’s one thing Bruce is very good at over the years, it’s overcoming obstacles.

“No.”

“Pardon,” it says, confusion etched onto its face.

“No,” he says loudly, making it clear he has no intention on letting you go. “Y/N is my son and their brother. He belongs here, with me and his family, not in some backwater town with some sentient mushroom. We’ll find a way to bring him back here and separate the two of you. And when we do, he’ll have all the time in the world to realize this is where he needs to be. Once he realizes that, all of Gotham will celebrate his return.”

He looks around and sees not only does his family seem happy with that statement, but they think the same as him.

The Megamycete looks at him, silent, seemingly shocked at his statement.

Then, it begins to laugh. First, just soft chuckles, then a laugh so loud, it echoes off the walls of the cave.

“Our host was right, you have clearly lost what sanity you had left. You reject him for years and now that you realize your folly, you seek to make amends? Please, spare us your delusions. This has nothing to do with our host and everything to do with your guilt. The moment you feel absolved, you will return to the status quo and forget he exists.” It motions to his children. “You have plenty of children here to drown in your need for forgiveness, surely you can make do with one of them.”

Then, it leans closer towards him, a smug look adorning its face.

“Also, Y/N belongs to us. He has the moment he fell into our cavern and will continue to until the end of time. Attempt to take him from us and you will suffer the same fate as those three thugs who left him for dead.”

It’s then another mystery gets solved: the slaughter at My Alibi. The three men in the back of the dining room who looked like they had gone through a meat grinder. That was your doing and they had been the ones to kidnap you and leave you for dead.

While he never advocates for killing people, he’s more than happy to make an exception for them. If they tried to kill you, they deserved to be slaughtered.

He only wishes they were still alive so he could pay them a visit before being turned over to Red Hood.

“We’ve fought plenty of Metas in the past. Do you really think you’ll be any different?”

“We have the knowledge and wisdom of countless people over the course of four-hundred years, all of them at the disposal of our host. You still think of him as that timid little thing from all those years ago, but he has become so much more since our joining. You believe yourselves superior than the rest of the general population, but you will find our host far surpasses you in every respect. He also possesses one thing your past adversaries never will.”

“And what’s that?”

“Unbridled hatred towards you.”

He wants to laugh at that. This thing must not have watched too carefully if it thinks people like Joker, Penguin, Poison Ivy, and so many in Arkham don’t hate his guts. He’s spent years being cursed at by all of Gotham’s rogues and beating all of the Riddler’s countless murder attempts to know Batman is at the top of many people’s Most Hated lists.

“If you don’t think half of Arkham doesn’t have dart boards with our pictures on them, you’re not as smart as you think you are,” Steph mocks.

“We do not doubt the genuine animosity the inmates hold towards you, but they are too far gone to imagine a life without any of you; you have foiled many of their crimes so many times, it has become one of the few constants in their lives. Every time they are put back in Arkham, they devote their time to coming up with their next attempt to best you until it is the only thing they care about. If any one of them were to ever defeat you, they would eventually realize how empty their lives are without you and their victory would soon sour.

“Joker would be a perfect example of this as he was as obsessed with you as you were of him.”

As much as he hates to admit it, the talking pile of mold is right. The clown made it clear that as much as he hated Batman, he was just as obsessed with him, going as far as to go after any criminal that took up too much of his time, Harley included in that.

And Bruce was just as obsessed with Joker, coming up with countless contingencies to counter any plot his sick and twisted mind could come up with, as well as devising security protocols and measures for Arkham to keep him contained and treatment plans to find a way possible bring his sanity back (assuming he had any to begin with).

“But our host is not like them. He has longed for a life free of you lot and now that he has that, he has no intention of surrendering it. Attempt to force him to return to this wretched manor and he will be more than happy to bring his fantasies of killing you a reality.”

He knows you hate them, but hearing that you hate them enough to fantasize about killing them cuts him deep.

“Please, I tried to kill Tim and Bruce back when I returned to Gotham,” Jason mocks, but Bruce can see Jason’s obviously concerned about hearing you thinking about killing them. “And Damian took a few tries at Tim. Everyone in this fucked up family’s got anger issues, it’s nothing weird.”

“You are kidding yourself if you believe you and that monster can a hold a candle to his fury. Your so-called anger is nothing more than a candle compared to the inferno that is his rage. You will feel the full might of his righteous fury, which will swallow you whole and leave nothing behind. And when you all are dead, you will be denied entry into our records.”

“So you don’t plan to absorb us,” Dick asks.

“Our host is the one who made that decision. To be added to our records is to be a part of us, and to be a part of us is to be a part of our host. He refuses to have you in his life in any way.” A small smile etches across its face. “We agree with his way of thinking. When you are gone, there will be nothing left and the world will forget any of you ever existed. And that is when our host’s revenge will finally be complete.”

It takes everything Bruce has to not flinch.

With this… thing inside you, what are you capable of? Would you really attack them with intent to kill? Would you really murder your own family?

“Make all the threats you want, creature,” Damian boldly states. “Nothing will stop us from bringing Y/N home.”

“Then this concludes our meeting, we suppose. We had hoped that we could convince you the best thing for you and our host would be to leave him alone and let the past rest, but we see now you all are too deep into your delusions to see reason. We look forward to seeing our host tear you apart, bit by bit.”

In the blink of an eye, the Megamycete turns bone white and crumbles like chalk, scattering all over the floor, leaving them all to stare at the remains in silence.

“So,” Alfred says, breaking the silence. “Was anyone ever going to tell me about a call regarding a random?”

The tension becomes so think, Bruce thinks he’ll start to choke on it. He racks his brain to come up with any answer, but doesn’t find any. At lease not one that won’t make Alfred pissed.

Clearly his children came to the same conclusion, because they remained silent as well, looking away or at the floor when he met their gaze.

“I have to say out of all the disgraceful things all of you have done throughout the years, this definitely takes the cake. I know Master Y/N wasn’t a priority for any of you, but I never would’ve dreamed you would allow him to be put in danger like being held hostage by common thugs.” Every word he says is dripping in venom. “I am absolutely disgusted with all of you.”

The words cut him deep and he deserves it. It was thanks to his incompetence that led to you being kidnapped, beaten to a pulp, shot in the head, and tossed into a cavern like trash and left for dead in a place no one would ever find you.

There’s nothing he can do that will ever make up for all that he’s done to you. He can apologize until he loses his voice permanently, spend all his money to buy you apology gifts, and subject himself to whipping by your hand until he’s lost every bit of his skin and he’d never scratch the surface of everything he’s done to you.

You came to him, a scared little child who just lost his mother and was forced to move to a massive city to live with a man he’s never met and all you wanted was for him to tell you that he loved you and that everything was going to be alright, but no, he was too caught up in his work as Batman instead of finding a healthy way of dealing with losing Jason.

But that’s not all he did, was it?

As much as he wants to, he can’t deny that he replaced you with Tim after the boy lost his parents. He suffered the same loss as you, but he gave Tim the help he needed while denying it to you. But that’s his fault, not Tim’s. His inadequacies are his alone to deal with, not any of his children’s (a lesson he keeps forgetting).

And he did the same thing several more times, bringing in more children and giving them all the love and affection you were denied as a child. He can’t help but wonder what went through your mind as you saw him spending time with them, both in groups and individually. And when you watched them hanging out in the dining room when they came home from patrol, enjoying themselves and each other while you were left alone in some room barely the size of a closet.

God, how many times did you wonder when you’d be asked to join before giving up?

When exactly did you give up on them?

And of course, he can’t forget about how he handled you and Damian meeting, another sign he was never fit to be a father. He knew Damian’s LoA upbringing left him unable to interact with others the proper way, but he still allowed him to see you (because he never considered your safety a priority) and allowed the boy to draw a sword on you, give you a scar on your face, and make several threats on you and insult your mother.

And what did he do after that?

Did he do the responsible thing by taking away the sword, scold the boy for his unacceptable behavior, and make it clear you were his brother and that he’s not allowed to hurt you?

No, of course not.

He did nothing but carry Damian off while allowing him to shout even more threats and insults, thinking nothing about the harm you just experienced and thinking Damian would just outgrow of his behavior on his own.

If he had to guess, it was probably that day you realized you didn’t matter to him and that Damian was the only one he considered a biological son.

Y/N, his baby boy.

He’s so sorry.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Bruce finally says, making his family turn their eyes to him. “We still need to bring Y/N home. Meeting this Megamycete just makes it more important we get him back to the manor.”

“And if Master Y/N fights you? Based off what you were able to gather from both crime scenes, this Megamycete appears to make him a formidable opponent.”

“We can find a way to neutralize it,” Tim chimes in, motioning to the crumbled remains. “I’ll analyze the remains to find a weakness.”

“And if that’s not enough, it said it has roots all over Gotham,” Barbara adds. “I can use the Clocktower to locate the closest sample.”

“Say you manage to subdue Master Y/N and rid him of the Megamycete. What then?”

“Then we make it clear he’s a part of our family now. And we’ll keep telling him that until he believes it. And when he does, we’ll give him the love we should have given him.”

Alfred looks at him before glancing at his children, all of them nodding in agreement.

“I shall hold all of you to that promise. We have a second chance to right our wrongs. I highly doubt we’ll be given another. But don’t think for a second this conversation is over.”

And with that, the butler turns on his heel and promptly makes his way out of the cave, clearly still furious at them.

“Alright, everyone,” he says, getting their attention. “We have work to do. Barbara, get to the Clocktower and start searching for the Megamycete’s roots. Tim, start analyzing the remains and see what you can find. And be ready to receive new samples. The rest of you, be ready to go out and retrieve the roots.”

They nod and set out to work, leaving him with his thoughts.

Fuck, after hearing all that, his mother probably sees him as a failure now. He had so many opportunities to make this right, but he being the complete and total fuck up that he is, missed them, leaving you all alone to fall into the hands of low-life thugs and a sentient mushroom.

He balls his fists so tight so tight he draws blood, but not caring at the pain or the drops of crimson falling onto the cave floor.

All he had to do was be there for you, love you, tell you he’d always be there for you, but he couldn’t do that. When he first learned of you, he was shocked to hear that he had actually been stupid enough to not take precautions to prevent getting a woman pregnant and actually thought you were an inconvenience, blaming you for something that wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t asked to be born, you didn’t ask to lose your mother in such a tragic way, and you sure as hell didn’t ask to be given to a man who had no right to be called a father.

He—

No, this line of thinking isn’t doing him any favors.

He takes a deep breath and releases it, throwing all his thoughts and emotions into a dark corner of his mind and locking them behind a massive door (like he always does instead of dealing with them in a healthy way). He’s done the same thing to so many other thoughts and feelings, what’s the harm in doing it now?

What he needs to do now is find a way to deal with a Megamycete and figuring out a method of getting close to you to administer it so they can bring you back home. While that’s already an uphill battle, the true war will be convincing you that they’ve changed and that you need to come back to the manor and live with them.

You’re his son and the brother to his children. And as much as you want to deny it, you have Wayne blood coursing through your veins, tying you to him and Gotham. You belong here, by his side.

And when this is over, he’ll throw the largest gala Gotham’s ever seen to show his love for you.

He’ll do whatever it takes if it means having you back home so h and your siblings can bathe you in their love and affection.

Even if it means taking away your powers and dragging you back here.

Like he said, he’s not a good person.

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#from gold to mold #yandere batfamily #male reader #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #batman #dc x male reader #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown #yandere alfred pennyworth

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phantom-0-writer · 19 hours ago

Text

Tim stepped cleanly inside the room, and carefully shut the door behind him after checking if anyone was in the hallway. “What are you-” Danny started confused. Tim was acting very unusually right now.

“I’m Red Robin.” He said.

Danny stared at him for a few seconds. Tim had expected him to be more shocked, Danny wasn’t like Damian and Bruce in the aspect of holding back his reactions. He watched Danny carefully and noticed that he wasn’t even surprised at all.

His shoulder shifted a little, and a look passed in his eyes. He was relieved. That didn’t make any sense unless, “You knew.”

It made an irrevocable amount of sense. The stupid excuses he didn’t question, the easy slide bys on things that didn’t add up. Tim had wondered why Danny never brought it up with any of them. He was always quick to call bullshit on things but conveniently never on their mission cover ups.

“Yeah.” He admitted quietly, findling with the small screwdriver in his hand.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Tim asked. He felt a little ridiculous about it all now, “How long have you known?” Tim’s mind went back to the dining room argument from last night and he rolled through it in his head. “Wait, Jason knows you know, doesn’t he?” Tim blurted, “That why he- why didn’t I realize this sooner?”

“I mean I know you guys can’t just tell whoever you want. It’s a secret identity for a reason. You guys didn’t want me to know. So I acted like I didn’t.” Danny shrugged. “I figured it out when Dick and Bruce were in Amity, and yeah, Jason knows. He also knows I’m Phantom. Cass knows too- not the Phantom thing. Or maybe she does, I don't know.”

“You knew the whole time?” Tim balked. All the effort they put in to hide the proof before he came, and he knew the whole time. Wait, did he say- “You’re Phantom?” Tim practically yelled.

Danny blinked at him, “I thought you knew that.” He pointed the end of the screw driver at him, “Why were you guys so okay with him being in the cave then?”

“We thought he was Thomas Jr.” Tim threw his hands up, rethinking his entire career choice. “I mean, yeah he was in Amity with you, but we figured it was like a guardian ghost thing since the time Dick met him that one time when you got lost or something he was the one- holy shit, you were following them the whole time weren’t you.”

“You thought Thomas was Phantom?” Danny laughed, finding this ridiculous.

“Isn’t that how supernatural stuff works or something. Like, you guys are linked because you were switched with each other and because you were with the family he was supposed to be with so he turned into a protective spirit to, like, watch over you or something.”

Danny's look of appalment only deepened as Tim continued explaining. “Who told you that?”

“I mean we just kinda figured it out ourselves based on past experiences.”

“Past experience?”

“With supernatural stuff the right conclusion is always the most unexpected and slightly irrational one.”

Danny snorted at that. “That is a really bad rule of thumb.”

“Right, then explain how you’re the ghost Phantom when you’re also human and alive Danny.” Tim crossed his arms. He was trying really hard not to over analyze that right. Did that mean Danny was dead or that Phantom was alive? How could he be both? Well according to Schrödinger's theory- not now Tim. He should make a new file for this later and then he’d think about it. Alone. In his room where he could properly freak out over this.

“Touche.” Danny clearly thought this was funny so no need to put a damper on the mood. Especially after everything that already happened.

This information changed a lot of things. Tim would have to refer this back to the Fenton-Masters case. What about Damian? Did he know Danny was Phantom? Probably not, considering none of them had, apparently aside from Jason. It would be almost impossible for Tim to not tell him that since they were supposed to be working it together. Tim wasn’t sure how he would take the information. Not only that, but gave a new scope to the vultures that had attacked and the monster that had showed up from the pits.

Later. File. Many lists.

“Do you want to come to Mt. Justice?” Tim asked him.

“Like the museum?”

“Yes and no. It’s also the Young Justice base. It’s top secret and no ones supposed to know about it.”

“What! Then why are you telling me?”

“Do you wanna go or not?”

“Is that even allowed?”

“Definitely not.”

Danny raised a brow. “Then we can’t go?”

“It’s far but we can just take the jet. It’s like 30 minutes tops. We could take the zeta-tubes but then Bruce would find out you took the zeta-tubes and then we’d be fucked. Well, mostly me. But still.”

“Wouldn’t he find out we took the jet then?”

“He wouldn’t know you were on the jet. It’s not weird for me to be going there since it is my team.”

“What if we get in trouble?”

“We’ll only get in trouble if we get found out.” Tim shrugged, “Do you want to go or not?”

Danny considered it for a moment before a grin tipped his face. “Yeah.”

“Sweet.” Tim reached for his phone only not realizing he didn’t have it. “I’ll let them know we’ll be coming around. They’re all already there. Tell Alfred you’ll be going out with some friends and then come meet me at Drake Manor.”

Danny seemed to embrace the situation now, forgoing his earlier hesitance. “I’ll wrap up some stuff. I should do breakfast too so Alfred doesn’t think anything is up. I’ll give you a heads up before I’m out the door. I’ll take my bike.”

“Take the long way round since the Manor’s in the opposite direction of the city.”

Danny nodded. “What about you?” he asked.

“No one’s gonna ask if I go in costume.” Tim shrugged, “Speaking of costume…” Tim turned to where he knew the wardrobe to be, “Let me see your clothes.” He opened the double doors in the bathroom where the closest would be and blinked at the largely empty room. “Where are the rest of your clothes?” He asked. Danny looked confused by that, “Oh,” Tim realized, “You used a second closet. Smart. Is it in the lab?”

“No, Tim.” He said, pacing his words, “These are all my clothes.”

“Oh. Why?”

“This is a normal amount of clothes to own.”

“But it’s like barely covering a fourth of your closet. And that’s only because everything is so spread apart.”

“That's because the closest is the size of a literal barn. Why on Earth would I need that many clothes?”

“I thought Bruce gave you an allowance?”

“He did.”

“Is it not enough?”

Danny balked at him. “Did you ask to see my closet just to make fun of me?” He huffed.

“I’m not making fun, I’m concerned.” Tim said genuinely. Did Danny not feel comfortable asking for things? It must be because they were keeping so many secrets and he thought they didn’t trust him. This clearly ran deeper than Tim originally thought.

Danny shoved his hand in Tim’s face, pushing him back. “Can we get back to the point?”

“Right.”

--- later ---

“Give it back!”

“No, I had it first!

“Nu-uh. I just put it down for like two seconds when you grabbed it.”

“You were gone for the whole round.”

“Where’s the controller you had before?”

“It died.”

“There's a bunch of other ones in the drawer.”

“You can have one from there, then.”

“No! I want the one I had back.” Tim insisted.

“No.” Danny moved so he couldn’t reach it.

“That controller is player 1, so give it back.”

“Exactly why I’m not giving it back.”

“Why would you be player 1?”

Danny looked so smug at that, “If you recall, I’m actually older than you which gives me sovereign right over player 1.” He said pushing Tim away.

“That doesn’t even mean anything!”

“Ah, to be young and naive.”

“Fuck you.” Tim said, tackling him off the sofa.

“What on God’s green Earth is going on here?” Cass asked, returning from their small intermission for snacks.

Bart rushed up to join her. “Is Danny winning?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No you're not! Give it back.”

“Get off me.”

Kon was the last to come onto the site. “Guys.” He said seriously, “Superman’s coming. And there’s someone with him.”

Tim stopped trying to strangle Danny, sharing a look of panic with his team.

“So?” Danny asked, confused.

“Danny, you're not supposed to be here.” Tim hissed at him. “Shit. How do we hide you from Superman?”

“It was nice knowing you.” Kon said with a sarcastic smile.

“How far is he?” Cassie asked.

“He’ll be here in like two minutes.”

“I’ll hide under the couch, he probably won’t look under there.” Danny offered.

“He can hear your heartbeat.”

Danny smiled widely. “I got it covered.” He said, pulling himself into the small space.

Bart giggled in excitement.

“How-”

Kon gave a silent sign that Superman was here, sending a confused look towards the couch Danny had slid under. Tim’s phone buzzed with a notification.

Just then, “Konner?” Clark called from the Mission Room.

The team shared a silent look. They’d just have to trust Danny had this covered.

“We’re in here.” Bart called even though Clark would already know that.

Tim put up two fingers to silently ask Kon if there was someone else with him. He received an affirmative. This was a horrible day for prospective teammate introductions.

“Hey guys.” Clark smiled, then confused “Why are you sitting on the floor Red Robin?” He asked.

“I was checking something.” Tim said, picking up the controller Danny had been forced to abandon.

“Oh, okay.” He nodded, not questioning it further. “I’m glad all of you are already here.”

“Are we getting a mission?” Cassie asked.

“Sort of.” Clark said, excited. Then in Kryptonian, “ Come .” He said to someone behind him they couldn’t see. Tim couldn’t hear any footsteps. And he found out it was because the person Clark was introducing them to could fly. And Tim also found out that Clark had spoken in kryptonian because this new person was a kryptonian. One that Tim had never met before. “This is Kara. She’s my cousin. The entire situation isn’t all clear yet but as it stands we understand that her pod, while launched at the same time as mine, was caught in an asteroid belt and was only left free recently, when it landed near the Fortress of Solitude.” Clark turned to Kara and introduced them to her in Kryptonian and then added, “ Tim and Kon-el speak Kryptonian which is why I thought you would be more comfortable here instead of the Watch Tower. Though, Kon’s could use some work. ” He teased.

“Hey, my Kryptonian is fine.”

“Why don’t you try saying that in Kryptonian?”

“ My fine is Kryptonian .” Kon said confidently.

Clark laughed and Kara looked at Kon like he grew a second head.

“I don’t even speak Kryptonian and I could tell that didn’t sound right.” Cassie laughed.

Tim took his turn to introduce himself to the nervous and quite blonde. “ I’m Red Robin. ” He pointed to the symbol on his chest. “ It’s nice to meet you. ” He put out a hand for her to shake but Kara just stared at it. Maybe they don’t have hand shakes on Krypton. Since Clark had grown up on Earth he didn’t really know much about the customs of his home planet for them to have learned it beforehand.

“ Nice to meet you. I am Kara Zor-el, daughter of Captain Zor-El and the Lady Alura. ” Then she stuck out her hand like Tim had. When Tim took it to shake Kara seemed surprised by it.

“ You’ll be in good hands here, Kara. I’ll be back to check on you later but if you need anything Kon or any of the others can get a hold of me for you, okay ?” Clark said softly trying to gauge if she’d actually be okay here without him.

Kara started at Clark for a moment like she was processing what he’d said, “ Why will anyone need to hold you? ”

“Oh.” Clark pondered it, “ It’s an Earth phrase. It just means that they’ll send me a message or contact me if you feel like you want me to come back. ”

Kara took another pause to process and then, “ I see. ” And does a hand gesture that Tim didn’t understand. And neither did Clark. No one commented on it.

After Clark left the atmosphere of the room went stale. Danny was still under the couch and they weren’t sure how willing Kara would be to not tell Clark about it. But they couldn’t leave Kara. And Tim’s phone was buzzing with notifications that he did not want to check because he recognized the haptics of the health app he had. The one that had everyone, including Danny’s, vitals. Danny, who Tim was pretty sure had just stopped his heart for the entire duration of Clark being here. Which had been a very long duration.

Kara looked between them, confused. “ Is there something meant to be done? ”

“ How’s your english, Kara?” Tim asked.

“ Only a little . Kal-El said it will take time .”

“ Langage harding learn. ” Kon nodded. Kara lipped his words back to herself trying to make sense of it.

“What do we do about our stowaway?” Cass whispered to Tim. She didn’t speak Kryptnoian, but she understood enough to know what Tim had asked.

“I could dash him out. Maybe we could spend the day together at the mall and then we’ll be best friends and then he won’t want to hang with Tim anymore because he’d rather hang out with me because I’m so much more fun.” Bart said all in one breath, his words afterwards speeding up too fast for Tim to make any sense of.

“She’ll know something’s up. We need to test her loyalty.” Tim strategized while Kon attempted to keep Kara in conversation.

“How? And why haven't any of the supes been able to hear him yet?” Cassie asked.

Bart took a pause on his earlier ramblings to make Tim’s life more difficult. “Oh it’s because he’s not breathing. Isn’t that so cool.”

Cassie shot Tim an alarmed look. “He’s a meta.” Tim said off handedly, “Can we focus?”

“Are you aware that your brother might be suffocating to death? In fact, we may need to hide a corpse and I sure as hell would love to hear how you're going to explain that away at family dinner.”

“Oh, don’t worry Danny’s fine.” Bart said flippantly. “Danny, if you can hear us, make the room one degree colder.”

Tim couldn’t feel anything but Kon and Kara did. Kara eyed the room confused about the change but fortunately she didn’t comment on it.

“So cool.” Bart whistled, lapping the room.

“Convinced yet?” Tim asked Cassie.

“He’s an ice meta how- you know what, I don’t want to know. So how are we going to test our warden?”

The lounge room was decorated to look like a regular living room, including hanging “family pictures” on the wall. Everyone on the wall was in costume, for security reasons, but they were actual nice pictures of the team and their mentors. Tim pulled out a batarang from his pocket, and played around with it for a while, talking aloud about random things. It only needed to sound like a real sentence since Kara couldn’t understand what he was saying anyway. Then the batarang “slipped” out of his hand landing right in one of the larger framed pictures. The impact was loud and the glass of the frame shattered and spilled on the floor.

Cassie didn’t have to fake her flinch in surprise at that, turning to Tim alarmed. Tim adding to the performance acted shocked. Kara and Kon obviously hadn’t missed the commotion and their conversation stopped. Kara looked at the destruction of the frame, analyzing Tim and Cassie’s reaction.

“Dude.” Bart turned to him wide-eyed, stopping in his tracks, “We’re so dead.” Kara didn’t speak english, sure, but the dread in Bart’s voice was obvious enough.

“Why did you do that?” Cassie scolded, “That was Red Tornado's favorite.”

Tim held his head in his hands dramatically, then he let realization dawn on his features. Slowly he turned to face Kara. “ I’ll get in really big trouble if Kal-El or anyone finds out. I can hide it, but you won’t tell will you? ” He made himself sound really worried.

“ Won’t it be noticed? The image is large .” Kara asked. She was beginning to share their concern on her face, but that didn’t necessarily mean that she would keep her mouth shut about it.

“ Clean up can. ” Kon said in a reassuring tone. Kara looked at him sideways, clearly confused.

“ They don’t really come in here often so we can pass it off. But you can’t tell. ” Tim told her.

Kara looked like she was having a hard time understanding him as well. An easier time than with Kon for obvious reasons but still not an easy time. Tim couldn’t understand why since he had made sure their Kryptonian was in perfect condition. “ Pass it off? ” She echoed, confused.

Kara must not have understood the phrase.“ Pretend like it didn’t happen .” Tim explained.

She thought about it and nodded. “ An Earth phrase? ”

“ Yes. ”

Kara didn’t answer right away and Tim wasn’t sure if it was because she was still deciphering what he’d said or if she was thinking about telling. “ I will not tell Kal-El or his associates since no one was hurt and it was only a minor incident .” Cassie and Bart had already cleaned up most of the mess why Tim talked to Kara. Tim had made sure to hit the frame so only the glass would be shattered and the actual picture was mostly unharmed except for the small tear in the corner. That would be easy enough to cover up.

Kara's body language was stiff and she was watching everything very carefully. It wasn’t strange since she had been left with a group of strangers in a new environment and she didn’t speak the local language. She seemed around Tim’s age or maybe a little older. Kara was meant to land on Earth with a mission to watch and protect Clark. This implied that she was of a status and position to receive missions. This meant she would work by a set of rules and report to a supervisor. The supervisor was likely Clark who was most likely to take responsibility for her for a variety of reasons.

Cassie gave Tim a raised eyebrow to ask how it was going as she walked away to dispose of the glass shards.

It would be a gamble. A deadly one. But if Tim made it look like Danny being here wasn’t that big of a breach of the rules he could convince her to keep it to herself. He shared a look with Kon.

“ I’m really thankful, Kara. ” Tim says, smiling. He pulls out his phone and texts Cassie and Bart their half of the plan. “ We can show you around the rest of the base. Would you like to do that? ”

“ Okay .”

“ Room fun lounge after work. Play TV on games .” Kon said.

Kara stared at him.

“How about I do the talking?” Tim put a hand on Kon’s shoulder.

“Why? I’m doing so good.” Kon said genuinely. Tim doesn’t respond to that.

The tour lasted minutes and Tim made sure to bide their time well so Cassie, Bart and Danny could be fully settled in before they returned. It would take a while for Danny’s heart rate to return to normal, and it would be better that he was all there before they tried to pull this off.

Tim checked his phone when they were nearing the end of the tour. Cassie had texted him they were good on their end.

“ Let’s go back to meet the others. They don’t speak Kryptonian but we can translate for you so don’t worry. ” Tim said. Kara seemed nice, it was the circumstances that were a bit stressful. But that didn’t mean they should let her feel left out.

“ This is your team ?” Kara asked, following Tim back to the lounge room.

“ Yes we do missions together sometimes. When we’re not working we spend time at the base because we’re friends. ”

“ It is nice to have friends. ” Kara nodded.

“ Did you do missions with your friends on Krypton? ” Tim asked. Maybe he could gauge what her position had been to see how she would react.

“ Only practice. We did not graduate from training yet. ”

“ Going what’s there ?” Kon asked. Tim had no idea what he was saying.

“ What dialect does he speak? ” Kara asked Tim. “ I cannot understand it. ”

“ We learned the same Kryptonian, Kon just doesn’t practice. ” Tim laughed. Kon understood enough that he elbowed him. “ Are there dialects in Kryptonian? ”

“ Many. You and Kal-El speak very… proper. ” She said sheepishly. “ No one speaks that way where I am from. Only in important meetings with outsiders .” Then she paused sadly, “ Mother always said it was important to learn but I did not listen. ” Tim had figured Kara spoke so rigidly because she was nervous or shy. This explained why she was having such a hard time understanding them.

They reached the lounge to Cassie and Danny locked deeply in a game of rock, paper, scissors. Danny had pulled his hood back up and was wearing his cowl from earlier. He had picked one of the older models that covered most of his face until the end of his nose and past his cheekbones. Danny shot scissors at Cassie, beating her paper. Bart cheered loudly, throwing his hands in the air and Cassie groaned in defeat. Danny cackled as he took the last cookie.

“Hey, D. When’d you get here?” Tim asked for the sole purpose of silently telling the others to not call Danny by his real name.

With a mouth full of cookie, “A while ago. Who’s this?” He asked, gesturing his head to Kara.

Tim made wide gestures and spoke clearly in english so Kara could pick up what he was saying. It would be important for her to learn. “This is Kara, she’s Superboy’s cousin.”

“I thought she was his aunt?” Cassie asked.

Danny didn’t look nervous, fortunately, and smiled easily at Kara. Then to Tim’s surprise, “ Nice to meet you. ” he said in perfect kryptonian.

“ He speaks as well. ” Kara commented.

“You can speak Kryptonian, too?” Kon asked.

“Duh.” Bart answered.

“Dead languages are my speciality.” Danny said pointedly. Bart giggled at that.

“ Should we build a hole by playing a game? ” Danny asked, moving on the couch to give everyone else more room.

“ Build a hole? ” Tim laughed, “What?”

Kara looked at Danny surprised, “ You know of that? ” She asked excitedly, her eyes lighting up.

“It’s a phrase, basically like “break the ice’.” Danny answered, then for Bart and Cassie, “Do you guys know any games we can play?”

“ You speak very well .” Kara complimented excitedly, leaving Tim’s side to talk to Danny. “ Did you also learn? ” Meaning is he a native speaker.

“ Kind of? ” He laughed, “ You can speak more comfortably if you’d like. ” He gestures for her to sit.

Kara seems hesitant at first, but then she says something. It sounded Kryptonian but the accent was different to what Tim was used to and he could only make out some of it. To Kara’s delight and Tim’s further surprise Danny not only understood exactly what she’d said but even responded in the same way.

It takes a while for them to settle on a game to play given all the language barriers. Kara spoke in what Tim learned was Standard Kryptonian but would often switch to her local dialect when she didn’t know how to say things. Kon and Tim could only understand Standard, and in all honesty, between them Tim was the only one who could speak it. Bart and Cassie couldn’t speak at all.

They decided to play charades. It was awkward and hard at first, but they all got really into it by the third round. They kept the categories simple since Kara wouldn’t know any movies. Fortunately, she seemed to feel a lot more comfortable and talked a lot more, even if it was mostly just to Danny. There were times she would make an effort to say things in english. It was really broken but they all made sure to appreciate it and tried her best to understand.

“I’m hungry guys.” Cassie said after her turn to act out her word, plopping herself in her spot between Bart and Kon.

“Me too.” Bart agreed mournfully.

“You’re always hungry.”

“Should we order Pizza?” Tim asked, pulling out his phone.

“I want pineapples on mine!” Bart said.

“Ew. No.” Cass kicked him. “I’ll have my usual.” She told Tim.

“Like mushrooms and olives are any better.” Kon snickered.

“It’s better than pineapples.”

Kara looked between them curiously.

“Danny, ask Kara what she wants.” Tim instructed.

After hearing them talk for the last hour Tim had finally been able to pick on some of the words but the grammar of it still eluded him.

“ Everyone, something, something, food. ” Danny said.

Kara looked intrigued, “ What, something, eating, something. ”

“ Something, something, like, something. ” He paused thoughtfully, making a circle in the air presumably to explain what a pizza was. “Something… ” Then, he pulled Tim’s phone to face them and pointed to the picture of a pizza on the website. “ This .”

Kara looked hesitant, “ ...Some…thing? ”

Danny nodded encouragingly, “Something. Something, good.” He said.

Glancing back at the picture, Tim could see on her face that she’d made a decision but she didn’t say anything. “Okay.” She said in english with a nod. “Have.”

“Great!” Finishing it up, “Kon, Bart.” Tim signaled.

“Ugh. Why do we have to get it every time?” Kon complained, throwing a pillow at Tim.

“I’m not going because I was the one that paid for it.”

“I’m not going ‘casue I don’t want to.” Cassie said, kicking her foot onto the coffee table.

“But you were the one who said you wanted food.” Kon complained, already standing up.

“I could go.” Danny offered.

“You're funny. Absolutely not.” Tim shut down.

Kara looked at Danny curious, “ Saying, something, what? ”

“ Something, food, something, go. ”

In english, “...Kitch...en?” She pointed in the direction of it and spoke in Standard Kryptonian, “ Is it not there? ”

“ No. ” Tim shook his head, “ The store cooks it and we just have to give them money and take it from them .” He was careful not to throw in phrases she didn’t know.

Kara looked confused by the concept but accepted it.

“Wait until she finds out about Drive-Thrus.” Danny joked to Tim.

“I’m going to go check on the left-overs.” Cassie said heading to the kitchen.

Tim checked everyone's location on his phone. Danny’s was offline for obvious reasons, fortunately no one had freaked out about it yet. But he couldn’t be too sure. “I’m going to check on our smoke screen in the mission room.” Tim told Danny, “You’ll be okay here with her?”

“What if we get abducted by non-friendly aliens in the five minutes you’ll be gone?” Danny’s tone was serious but his face was mischief.

“I hope you do.” Tim scoffed, walking out.

---

“It’s just one slice, Red.” Danny tried to reach over his shoulder

“No.” Tim blocked his food with his body, “You have your own.”

“I just want to try!”

“No! Eat yours.”

“You let Kara have some!”

“That’s because I like Kara and I don’t like you.”

“But yours looks so much more better than mine.” Danny whined, still reaching.

“Lesson for next time then.”

“C’mon, you’re not even going to finish it.”

Everyone watched them like a sitcom while they got to enjoy their food without meddling siblings. “I will. Just so you can’t have any.” Tim shoved as much of the slice in his mouth as he physically could. He was actually already full.

“You're the worst.” Danny said, shoving Tim.

“And you're worse.” Tim countered, pushing him back.

Tim hadn’t pushed Danny very hard. Danny probably took harder hits during hockey practice. Tim had pushed him just hard enough that it forced Danny to take a step back to balance himself. Which was when he’d stepped on a wrapper Bart had left on the floor. Danny lost his balance and fell. But not before hitting his head hard on the metal fridge door behind him.

Cassie gasped in shock. Kon and Bart rushed over to check on him. Kara watched wide-eyed, not sure what to do.

Tim quickly stepped forward, “Hey, are you-” Next thing he knows there's a whole tube of ranch being squirted on his costume. His freshly washed costume.

Danny watches Tim’s face morph from concern to absolute disgust with a deep satisfaction and cackles like the villain he is.

“You are such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one.” Danny’s on his feet and Tim chased him with a packet of garlic sauce that came with the pizza.

Apparently feeling left out, Bart decided to dump his glass of juice all over Kon’s head.

“Dude.” Kon shouts, but he’s quick to retaliate.

“Missed me.” Bart teases using the speed force to dodge.

Cassie and Kara, the only civilized people here, sit and eat their pizzas at the island watching them.

“They’re so dumb.” Cassie says to Kara, exasperated.

Kara smiles following the action with her eyes. “ How fun .” She replies and they share a laugh even without understanding each other.

snipbit from this fic

#dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #batpham #dpxdc fics #regular boy: daniel wayne #danny and tim #tim drake #young justice #red robin #kon el #kara danvers #yjxdp

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blackleatherjacketz · 3 days ago

Text

Tell Me

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Notes: I've been stressed, I had a dream, don't judge me for this little drabble...

Warnings: Explicit Smut, 18+ Only!, Daddy Issues, Power Dynamics, Alcohol, Vaginal Fingering (Implied), Teasing, Talking You Through It

Word Count: 585

“Tell me what you want.” Desire melted his chestnut eyes to an inky black as they raked over your figure, that darkness finally reaching the very rims of his irises as he stepped closer to you. He held his breath as his palms carefully cupped your kneecaps as if they were coming into contact with something sacred, as if he’d been waiting ages just to touch you.

“Aaron…” You pleaded softly, still unable to believe that this was finally happening as he took a step further between your parting legs.

His hips were now flush against the kitchen counter as his thumbs tickled the skin of your inner thighs, his scent now flooding your senses. You’d caught hints of it before in mere passing… a hug here, a handshake there; that crisp, clean scent driving you absolutely wild as you often let your mind wander to places far too similar to where it is now. Only you never thought that you’d actually wind up here in person until the two of you finished that bottle of red tonight after work. Those fantasies you’d played out a dozen times were on the brink of coming true.

“Do you really need me to say it?” You felt your cheeks blush a brief yet scalding shade of pink, hoping that he wasn’t really expecting you to ask for it out loud.

“Yes.” That single syllable dripped with the authority he reserved only for his suspects, his whispered baritone cutting to your core as he spread your knees even farther apart. “I need to hear you say it.”

His command made you shiver as his fingertips began kneading the muscles in your thighs, forcing every inch of your skin to tingle with a twinge of prolonged anticipation that’s been building since the day you met. You could see the excitement growing beneath the black cloth of his dress pants as his hands traveled even further north, those well manicured fingertips of his already teasing the hem of your underwear as he ignored the evidence of his own growing arousal.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” His stoic tone faltered a bit as his fingers smoothed over the cloth that covered your swollen warmth, dampening a small spot on your panties.

“Yes,” you whispered back, his touch so electric it nearly sizzled up your spine.

“Then tell me.” He repeated, moving his fingers slowly up and down your length, rubbing over your clit just briefly enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want… I want you to keep touching me.” You admitted, eyelids fluttering as he spread your juices all the way across your underwear over and over again until they were completely soaked through, darkening their color.

“Like this?” He looked deep into your eyes as he slid two fingers beneath the saturated fabric, a hint of a grin curling at his lips as he touched your bare, sensitive skin. That grin turned into the first smile you’d ever seen on his face, your essence now coating his fingers down to the first knuckle as he spread it down your entrance, between your swollen lips and back up against your bud, tugging on it ever so slightly. “You want me to make you come?”

All you could do was nod as his magic fingers sent bursts of pleasure up through your skin and into your muscles, warming your entire body as your breath quickened.

“Good. Now say it out loud.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #thomas gibson #criminal minds #aaron hotchner smut #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fanfic

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gabessquishytum · 3 days ago

Note

It’s been like. Five whole minutes since I’ve turned fun sex things into hurt/comfort. So. :)

human au, when Dream and Hob get together Hob thinks Dream has a run-of-the-mill oral fixation. He always seems to want to suck Hob’s cock, warm his cock In his mouth for ages, when they have sex he insists he wears some kind of gag.

The truth is though… it’s not that Dream doesn’t like those things, but that’s not why he does it. He’s just very insecure about any noise that could come out of his mouth.

People always tell him how awkward he is and that he can barely hold a normal conversation (he has no idea how he landed people-person, charismatic Hob) so he’s certain he’d fail at dirty talk. And his laugh is so ugly, surely any moans or noises he makes during sex would be equally awful. And of course, his worst nightmare is getting caught up in the moment and letting an “I love you” slip FAR too early in the relationship than is acceptable. There is simply no way anything good could come from his mouth (ever, but especially during sex) so he deals with it by keeping his mouth occupied.

I can’t decide how Hob figures it out- if he puts all the pieces together during sex or foreplay, or if it somehow comes out during a more domestic moment. Either way, he insists on ravishing Dream with his mouth free and uncovered so he can hear every lovely sound he makes (and prove that he loves his silly boyfriend no matter what).

-🦇

We love the hurt/comfort smut here!!!! Hell yeah!!!!

I have a certain idea about how Hob finds out about Dream’s whole complicated relationship with his own vocality. It all comes out when Dream, quite suddenly loses his voice altogether. He gets a little bout of laryngitis during flu season, and while he's not super sick, he also can't speak. He's reduced to texting and writing little notes while Hob fusses over him and makes him plenty of nice cups of tea.

During his illness, Dream is visited by his sibling Desire. Hob has never met them before, but honestly he's more focused on Dream than anything else. He has a vague notion that the two siblings don't exactly get on, however, and this becomes apparent when Desire makes a series of quips about what a relief it is to have Dream silenced. If only he would be quiet all the time! He's so much more bearable when he's not making any noise.

Hob clocks Dream’s face during this series of bad jokes and all he sees is... resignation. He realises that Dream believes Desire's cruel words. Everything starts to make sense.

After the laryngitis passes and bedroom activities are back on the menu, Hob cautiously broaches the fact that he really doesn't want Dream to be gagged this time. He doesn't want him to muffle his face in the pillow, either. He'd quite like to have some very boring and tender missionary sex, and he'd like to hear Dream’s voice and his noises the whole time.

Unfortunately for Dream he's in love, and he can't deny Hob anything, let alone something so sweet and pure. He's sure that Hob will be disgusted by his noises, but he agrees anyway. Maybe Hob will forgive him for being so loud, if he behaves himself well in other ways...

In reality Hob is the one making the most noise because he absolutely sobs his way through the sex. Hearing his sweet Dream's pleasure for the first time is so overwhelming and almost spiritual, he can't help but cry. There's a long way to go, but Hob is determined: he's going to make sure that Dream is never silenced again. Hob wants to hear everything that comes from his beloved's mouth - especially if its an "I love you!"

#🦇 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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lets-play-our-game · 3 days ago

Text

Old Spidey, New City

I just came to my senses

Peter looked around groggily, taking in his surroundings. He was laying supine on a flat rooftop, several other building towering over him, the sight of huge digital billboards flashing brightly, incomprehensively, around him..

He had hit the ground, - Roof? - hard, and while the city around him was blindingly bright, he was sure it had been daylight he had seen before passing out. Either way, it was a dark sky that shone above him now, with just as many stars as he was use to (which was close to none on a good night)

In fact, he wasn’t even sure the spell had worked, it still looked like his city, but Strange wouldn’t have left him unconscious on a rooftop. They were both assholes, but not that kind. Not “cast a spell but fuck off before the other person realised it didn’t work” kind of asshole. Peter certainly wouldn’t have hurt him if it hadn’t, Strange had been upfront about the chances.

Must have worked then.

I live in another dimension

Fuck! It worked.

At least, the jump did. Time and research would show if this was the right universe. Had to make sure there wasn’t already a Peter Parker in this one, that mutants existed and he wouldn’t be dissected the first chance the government got, that superhero was still a job he could avoid signing up for..

Regardless, he was out of the old one, and his family would be safe.

Just, without him.

Peter stood and released a deep breath.

Fear is nonexistent

There was nothing he could do now, just hope the doctor could carry out the rest of the plan. He’d done his part.

Peter pulled his mask down over his face, whatever emotions he was showing gone from view, grabbed his small pack from where it had landed, and stepped to the edge of the roof.

*thwip*

Suit up and swing through the city

He swung high, avoiding lit windows and people out of their balconies. He was tired. So, bone dead tired and a fight was the last thing he was itching for. He knew a few good spots to crash in his old city, but who knew if they existed here.

As spiderman swung, he slowly became aware of the differences between the two cities. The ads were different for one, and what few brands recognised seemed to have picked different colours. Coke-a-cola had radioactive-orange packaging. He was not looking forward to a neon christmas, if that was a thing here.

Police lights were still red and blue, but the siren was different. That was hardly a surprise.

The biggest difference, and he almost fell out of the sky when he finally noticed it, was all the cars drove on the wrong side of the road.

“What the fuck..” He perched on the side of a building and watched the traffic, letting his camo take hold and blending in with the concrete he gripped to.

He shook himself free after a few minutes and swung on.

He was so fucking tired.

Annihilate, I’m wide awake Be very afraid

He found a rooftop that even in this universe didn’t have stairwell access, internal or external, which was perfect. He threw down his small bag, which contained little more than a change of civilian clothes, a few snack bars and a one or two mementos, onto the dirty concrete.

I’m in my own world give me space

Exhausted, he lay down, the bag as a make-shift pillow, and stared up at the sky, letting the noises of his new city, his new life, surround him.

Tomorrow, he might go looking for a better bed, food, a job maybe, hopefully a shower

Tonight - he just needed to get some fucking sleep.

I’m in my own universe give me space..

#Please accept this humble offering for peer review #Hunting!Spider #Spiderman #Peter Parker #hemlock-dreams #Hemlock's Hunting!spider #Turns out recovering from surgury gives you plenty of time to write #Going feral over this spiderman ngl

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justanotherescapism · 3 days ago

Text

Shitty Landlords

Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Tags: drinking, flirting, implied smut

A/N: This is unedited, might come back later and edit it but idk :/

Word Count: 638

Summary: You and Billy bond over your shitty landlord as the power goes out for the 4th time that week.

Billy knocked on Apartment 5, hoping she was in, but also not. The power had gone off for the 4th time this week. After the second time, he had gone out and bought a torch so at least he wouldn't have to traverse in the dark or burn hundreds of candles.

He heard some rustling around in the apartment, before she opened the door, and her face looked both relieved and annoyed to see it was Billy.

"I was hoping you were the landlord." She said.

"That shithead ain't coming anywhere near this building."

"True, but a girl's gotta hope." Billy chuckled at that. She moved out of the way, allowing him in. Her apartment was filled with candles - it was kind of romantic he thought, if it wasn't because the landlord had failed to fix the power...again.

He sat down on her couch for the fourth time that week. As neighbours, they had been cordial if not a little flirty...but never a conversation longer than five minutes. The first time the power went out, he went to make sure she was okay. After all, they were the only people living on this floor. He was pretty sure one of the other apartments was been used to grow...illegal substances and the other had been condemned on account of toxic mould.

She brought through two glasses and a bottle of wine. Billy gave her a quizzical look.

"What? You got any other ideas?"

"Fair enough, love." The nickname gave her butterflies in her stomach. She knew that it was just his British tendencies but the way he said, more...intensely. She took a sip of her wine, hoping to calm the heat inside, but it only made it worse.

Billy downed his drink, hoping it would help him not act brashly...he knew it wouldn't work but regardless he downed the whole glass. She laughed at him.

"Bad day, huh?"

"Bad week."

"Yup," She turned towards him, he feet facing him, her skirt riding up, Billy noticed it immediately. "So, what do we do now?"

"Wait until the power comes back on? Cunt's got to do it eventually."

"It took hours last time. This will be the fourth take out I've had this week." They both chuckled, looking back down at their laps. It was rare to see Billy so shy, but she was, in his opinion, way out of his league. Not just looks, but also she was funny and nice, he had a sense of humour but also killed for a living.

"Y'know love, there is something we could do to pass the time." Billy looked at her both seriously and teasingly. She knew what he meant, they had flirted with the line many times. But never had either of them been so bold. Her heart was racing, she had hoped this would happen for a while but thought he would never catch on.

"And what's that?"

"I don't have to answer that now do I, love."

Before, she could say anything, Billy closed the distance between them. He put his hands on either side of her body, before leaning in. She placed a hand on his lips, before he could.

"Does this mean anything, Billy?"

"Maybe, maybe not, love. But I've been thinking about doing this since you moved in." He leaned in, and their lips met. It started slow, both of them unsure. Billy pulled away.

But she grabbed his face and pulled him back in, roughly kissing. His tongue found hers, pushing her back into the couch. His hands began to roam her body, down her sides, her chest, her legs. She moaned into his mouth.

"Should we move this to the bedroom, love?"

"No light in there." She said breathless, as he began kissing her neck.

"Here will do then."

#the boys #the boys prime #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys fanfic #billy butcher headcannons #billy butcher imagine #billy butcher x you

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lavellane · 11 hours ago

Text

very still, without reaching

(ashara lavellan x solas. 2250 words. post-solavellan ending. hurt/comfort. major veilguard spoilers. read on ao3)

The nature of her own regrets become apparent soon enough. Mostly, as they appear to her in the fade, they relate to her regretting so very little.

There are exceptions, of course. She and Solas pass them sometimes on long, silent walks together; small, ugly things carved into barren rock, almost impossible to catch in the shadow of Solas's own towering monuments of despair. But they are there, and Ashara can always sense them before she sees them. Her least favorite recurrence pertains to a rock she threw at some shemlen farmers when she was a girl. They had returned later in the day, but they could not distinguish the difference between Dalish vallaslin , and so chose to take out their vengeance on the whole of her clan, instead.

They had never truly forgiven her. Of all the statues of contrition this place has manifested over the months they've been here, this is the one she can't yet bring herself to face.

But there are, unexpectedly, great works of beauty here, too. Oftentimes she sees herself and Solas carved into the cliff faces, or jutting out of canyons. Old echoes of embraces, stolen kisses, intertwined fingers. She suspects their prison doesn't quite know what to do with these complicated memories, but it does its best to use them against her even so. She had regretted those moments once, after all. Or at least she thought she had. Her time in this place offers an alternative school of thought; that she had never truly regretted the choices leading her down this dinan'shiral of theirs, but rather the heart of her shame is more that she could never truly bring herself to regret them at all.

Once the fade understood this, it course-corrected. Now if she sees those statues at all, it is because she wants to.

Solas has made little progress. It is harder for him, with his regrets so numerous and so at odds with his ego. On a good day he makes her worst mistakes look infinitesimal by comparison. Sometimes he disappears for days on end, wandering aimlessly, pulled one way or another by the compass of his guilt alone. When he returns, as he always does, he says nothing, only holds her very tightly and does not let go.

In all the months (or perhaps even longer) that they've been here, they have spoken very little. More time is needed before either one of them is ready to face that looming conversation. For now, quiet comfort takes priority. For now, sex suffices. For now they sit on the edge of yawning chasms for hours on end, watching the shifting rocks, the starless skies, the shadows in mournful, flittering dance at the edge of their vision, and find solace through a tender silence in which no words are yet necessary. And when he begins to get it in his head that perhaps they are necessary, she stops him with a long, languid kiss until she feels those worries melt away between them.

It is a terrible place he's built, but it is not so terrible facing it together.

And it gets easier still. The nature of the Evanuris' prison was always to contain the regrets of beings who thought themselves gods, but she is not a god, and neither is he. Her regrets are not so insurmountable to overcome, given time, and soon, slowly, she finds the world around her starts to mirror the world inside her. At first, a singular star in the sky. Then, below it, a wisp of elfroot growing between the crack of a barren rock. The fade cannot be mapped by mere cartography or magic, but a learned mage can always find their way with enough discipline. And Ashara was, before stepping through that final rift, a very learned mage.

When Solas departs on his lonely journeys, she cultivates the place in secret. She was never one for dishonesty, and so it's the only real secret she has. She shapes the space sporadically over many months in the image of her late mother's patch of camp among their clan. With some . . . creative liberties here and there. The tent is warm and green like her mother's was, but with all the ample space and utility (and — admittedly — luxury) she had grown accustomed to over her many years as the Inquisitor. Some ugly shemlen cottage wouldn't do, and she never had a full night sleep in her Skyhold quarters, anyway.

She dreams up the smell of incense, and many multicolored rugs, and a bed that's warm but not too soft. Books; a table with two chairs; a big bathtub to share. The small fire pit in the centre might have burned the whole tent down around her were it abiding by the laws of the physical world, but it does not. It abides her.

The hardest part was the damned trees. Several times she nearly lost everything, locked in a seemingly endless standoff against the will of the very prison itself. But Solas made this place to contain monsters, and Ashara need only remind herself that she is not one. She never was. Whether the magic of this place recognises that — or if she truly did best the fade by sheer audacity alone — she couldn't really say. All she knows is that one day the trees stood tall — leafless but very much alive — as if they'd been there all along, and her impossible little clearing was all but complete.

"I've found a place I think you ought to see," she tells Solas soon after, reunited in their usual spot after several long days apart.

He seems especially exhausted this time around. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and breathes deeply. "Then I am yours to guide, as you see fit."

He clings tightly to her hand as she leads them on, aided by the lonely light of her beloved star. Samahl , as she's come to calling it — named after her nephew. Solas would see Samahl too if he ever looked up, but he keeps his eyes defiantly low, avoiding the overhead statues of a handsome, crumbling man with Mythal's vallaslin , whose wounded gaze seem to follow Solas wherever he goes.

He will find it in himself to meet those eyes one day, a long time from now. In the meantime she lifts her head to the sky for both of them, and presses onward through the gloom.

He stops short when he sees the clearing of trees in the distance, bordered by infinite wasteland. Ashara squeezes his fingers with her own and urges him forward. "Come."

"That . . . cannot be."

"It is. Come."

Soon the cracked earth beneath their feet sprouts small, unassuming blades of grass. The riverbed they pass remains as dry as bone, but carries the unmistakable smell of wet earth after recent rain. Closest to the centre of the clearing, Ashara herself notes leaves on trees that were not there the day before.

Solas's brow furrows, and he makes a strange noise when they reach the point where the grass is most concentrated. As it exists now, the grass is too patchy to be called a meadow, and yet it grows strongest and greenest in a perfect circle around her little tent as if it were the sun itself, nourishing by proximity.

The tent glows faintly, lit up by the hearth and candlelight within. But it is a strange glow, which seems to extend to the whole of the outer clearing, cutting through the endless mist and shadow. For months her world has been a haze of muted gray and monochromes. This space, by comparison, bears a subtle vibrancy she might've missed if she hadn't grown so used to its absence.

The violets of his eyes are clearly visible for the first time since they arrived, shining as they scan about the clearing. "How can it be that I feel you so vividly in this place?" he finally whispers, incredulous.

"I made it," she says. "It's mine. Will you come with me a little further? I didn't bring us here to watch grass grow."

She had hoped he might at last be baited into a smile, or a sultry retort, but he only frowns at her with those same sad, uncertain eyes, and takes her hand once more.

"It's much larger inside," she says. "Come."

"As you say."

He has to duck his head to slip inside the tarp, but the interior is as large and spacious as promised. Her fire bathes the walls in bright flickering hues of yellow and orange, and Ashara watches him give an involuntary shiver of pleasure as its warmth passes over and through him. It's a nice sight. Her pyromancy has inspired no shortage of pain and terror over the years, but in truth, it was always watching the relief of her companions faces when she warmed their soup in midwinter that had made her feel the most accomplished.

Maybe she could dream up soup next? There are several potted plants next to her little bed. Elfroot and crystal grace, and some others even she doesn't recognise. Not quite right for soup, and yet . . . Had she put those there? Or has this dream of hers now taken a life of its own? She ponders as much, settling in amid her thick fur blankets, waiting for Solas to compose himself.

"I made this place for you as well," she tells him when he makes no move to join her.

He shakes his head despairingly. "No."

"What?" Ashara scowls. " Yes ."

"No."

" Yes ."

"This cannot be, Ashara," he snaps. "The very will of this domain is such that —"

"I don't know what to tell you. I outwilled it."

He scoffs. "The greatest tyrants of the Evanuris could not outwill it."

"I am not the Evanuris. Neither was your little bird friend, and she flew free."

"That is different. Rook had —"

He stops himself. For a moment he looks briefly shocked, as if struck. And then his features settle. Lips pressed tight, eyes down. He seems impossibly small inside this place, and not just because it's bigger on the inside. The light doesn't touch him quite so eagerly as it touches everything else. His very presence in her room casts a long, misshapen shadow which seems to crawl unnaturally across the floor, cutting through the glow of her fire until it's very nearly pooled at her feet.

A chill follows.

" Varric ." Ashara holds his gaze in silence until he looks at her. "Deiadre had Varric ."

Beside her, a candle flickers. "Yes."

Ashara reminds herself: his regrets made this place. They unmade Skyhold, and nearly the world itself. They will do worse to them both now, if she allows it.

"She had Varric, Solas."

Even in the rapidly dimming light, she can make out the unsteady rise of his chest. "She had Varric," he echoes.

"And you have me."

Solas's face falls. But then the room brighten. A little.

He lets out a long, unsteady breath and closes the distance between them. Her little wooden bed creaks under his weight. She shifts the blankets to better drape over his broad shoulders, and he reaches out in turn, hesitating before resting his hand on her thigh. He leans down to press a kiss to the gooseflesh raised on her clavicle, courtesy of the lingering chill.

"That you would offer such a thing at all is more a testament to you than any clemency I've not earned," he murmurs against her collar. He tilts his head up as if to look upon the room, though his gaze remains soft and steadily focused on her. "This is a gift, asha'era. I did not mean to undermine your efforts, or the feat of having made this. It is perfect, just as you are. But it may not survive my presence."

"Why not? I did."

Now Solas looks away. She cringes; inhabiting the fade has done nothing to improve her eloquence. Quickly she continues, "But even so; if it does not, we'll just have to get over it and bring it back come morning."

"And do you think you'll feel the same a dozen centuries from now? Perpetually warring with my regret?"

"I know which side I'd place my bets in a fight between regret and love."

If he has a retort for that, he's wise enough to keep it to himself.

Time in the fade passes imperceptibly. Surely their kiss lasts days, and what comes after even longer. The candles are less a gauge for the passing minutes but instead the strength of her resolve when his own doubts creep in. When the light flickers, when the incense sours, when the wind outside picks up to a roaring howl; then she focuses her efforts. Her fingers scraping down his chest, a well timed roll of the hips, a kiss with enough tongue to remind him how much he used to enjoy using his own. And still does, apparently.

In the morning — or what, at least, finally feels like morning — the trees have dried up and grass outside their tent is dead. But the tent itself is warm as ever and the air outside feels crisp and fresh and, above her, if she squints, she can make out the faint but ever-present glint of her Samahl in the sky.

The grass will grow back. She will see to it . . .

. . . Tomorrow. This morning, she would sooner crawl back into bed and see to other things.

#datv #datv spoilers #veilguard #dragon age #solavellan #solas #dragon age fic #solavellan fic #oc: ashara #mine: writing #hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii its time for my One fic per year again <3 #went for a sort of abstract fairytale vibe for this one and im not super confident i pulled it off #so next time i think i'll just write about them fucking and call it a day <3

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musedeluce · 2 days ago

Text

Exhaustion

Love and Deepspace Headcanons - You're so tired, all you want to do is sleep and go to see them. They're in the same situation.

A/N: Canonically, in the game we have a motorcycle hence the assumption the MC has their own transportation. Assume they're wearing the proper protective gear and that it's easy to get off XD (Though I know biker gear can be quite hard to actually take off. Just go with it pls lol) Brought to you by me being tired as hell, and thinking it would be nice to be able to go to someone and rest. ^J^

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, exhaustion, loneliness.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Work had been rather grueling, long, and tedious, all in one, and there was still more to do. Sighing internally, you shot off a text in order to sadly, cancel the plans you had to visit. It looked like you'd have to stay at least an extra 10 hours, due to extremely unforeseen and urgent circumstances for the Hunter's Association.

Your final message felt inadequate to convey the warmth and happiness you felt knowing that he wanted to see you as much as you wanted to see him. Bolstered, the rest of the shitshow was just a bit easier to deal with as you had something to look forward to.

Wind whipping around you, the ride was something you needed. The sense of freedom, the speed, the music and the lights all gave you a sense of solace as you headed towards your destination.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Xavier

You appreciated the irony as the elevator passed your floor and stopped at his. As you approached his door, you finally let yourself feel the exhaustion weighing down on you. Your body felt heavier, and it took more effort to move. Sleepiness hovered just beyond consciousness, and you fought it off. Looking at your watch, you sigh. 3:07, your estimate had been right on the money.

Still, despite how tired you were, you did want to see Xavier, even if this visit would probably just amount to you sleeping over.

Knocking to make Xavier aware of your arrival, you're just about to enter the door code, when it opens and Xavier stands before you, his arms open for a hug.

Wordlessly, you accept his invitation, hugging him tightly. His embrace is firm, warm and comforting and you can't help but relax into him.

"I thought you'd be asleep." You murmur softly, hugging him just as tightly.

"I woke up when I heard your bike." He nuzzles his face into your neck. "It's the signal for your arrival after all." Reluctantly, he breaks the embrace as you pull away to take off your shoes and put your satchel, helmet and jacket on one of the hooks. He makes his way back to his bed, turning to look at you as you follow, undressing down to your underwear.

Collapsing into the soft blankets, you burrow under the sheets with him. Xavier carefully, gently adjusts your position so you lay against him, your head resting on his arm, your back against his chest. Together, you drift off to sleep.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Sylus

Unsurprisingly, he met you at the entrance to Onychinus Headquarters

"Sweetie, I would have preferred picking you up." Sylus takes your helmet and satchel from you, handing them off to the twins to deal with. "How rude of them to overwork you like this." Normally, you'd respond in kind, a fun playful exchange that flowed naturally. But frankly, you were too tired to really talk.

He gazed at you, taking everything about you in, and after he did so all he did was wordlessly kneel down and support you as he took off your shoes. "You look exhausted, Kitten. Let me help you." Sylus slips your jacket off your shoulders

Providing support, he guides you towards his room. You're absolutely sure that if he thought you'd allow it, he'd pick you up and carry you, but he didn't. You appreciated it as you much prefer to walk on your own, when you can. "I took the time to fluff your pillow

You may be tired, so much so that its obvious that once you relax you'll fall alseep, but you are very good at ignoring it, soldiering though until your body decides to force sleep.

How lucky it is then, that you can go to Sylus and rest, before it comes to that.

Ultimately, you crawl onto Sylus's bed and collapse, and he's not far behind, climbing in with you despite his wonky sleep schedule.

He faces you, pulling your head into his chest and your body flush against him as you both drift off for some much needed sleep. You feel safe and relaxed with his arms around you.

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Zayne

Unfortunately, this was a more common occurrence than either of you would like. Both of your jobs were quite intense and often required long hours.

Still, you both made a conscious effort to make time for each other, even if it ended up being strange hours sometimes. The times he got home before you were not rare, but infrequent, and this was one of these time.

Taking of your gear and shoes as you entered his home, you hoped that he was at least resting, hopefully asleep. It was something he deserved, and right now all you wanted to do was rest with him.

A warm glow cascaded over the room, making you smile. Zayne had left a light on for you.

Padding softly through the foyer, you quietly open the door to his room, making sure the light from outside doesn't disturb him. Much to your relief, Zayne was sleeping peacefully, his handsome face relaxed. He had an unguarded quality about him that you rarely saw.

A rush of affection suddenly overcame you. Carefully, you went over to him and kissed his forehead. As you withdrew, you felt him grab your hand, his eyes still closed. "Stay here" he murmured, his voice gentle and low, hazy with sleep as his hand falls from yours.

You move over to your side, ensconcing yourself in bed, growing cozy and warm with him next to you.

He gravitates towards you, intertwining his legs with yours and nuzzling his head into your neck, and you fall asleep, your eyes gently closing as you're tangled together comfortably.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Rafayel

The solitary lamplight from Rafayel's studio illuminates the path as you walk up to his door. Although he had given you a key, you knock gently, just in case Rafayel was absorbed in his art.

A small clatter sounds after you knock, and you can't help but feel amused despite the haze of tiredness dulling your senses.

When he opens the door, a playful, soft smile pulls at his lips. "I don't suppose you have any news of my wayward companion?" He steps aside and helps you with your gear and shoes.

"Hmmm I think I have some news. It seems your companion has made it to their destination." Rafayel cleans up the box of paintbrushes he spilled, making sure your path is clear.

"Well! Now that they've arrived, they can't leave for a while. It's mean of them to leave me alone for so long, and so often." His pout is playful, his eyes focused on you as he intertwines his fingers in yours, holding your hand gently, as if it was some priceless thing, something to be cherished and treated with care.

You squeeze his hand as the two of you make your way to his room, his bed looking like the most luxurious, comfortable place in the world despite it really just being a slightly messy, normal bed.

"As much as your wayward traveler loves to explore, I'm sure they love being here too and would always make an effort to return to you." With that, you climb onto bed, letting go of his hand, your exhaustion amplifying the soreness of your body, making every movement take extra effort. As soon as you're comfortable, you open your arms to Rafayel, who had merely just stood beside his bed as you did so.

You open your arms for him, and he joins you in bed, almost clinging to you under the covers, entangling all his limbs with yours and burying his face into your neck, head resting on your chest, near your shoulder. "I missed you." Together you drift of, feeling safe and sound with each other under the covers.

#love and deepspace #reader insert #x reader #l&ds sylus #l&ds x reader #l&ds reader insert #Anyway I think I'm getting the hang of these characters! Pretty proud of this actually!! ^J^#Especially Rafayel's I think that's the best one in this batch #But all of them are very lovely ngl I love how they turned out #lnds rafayel #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads xavier #lads zayne

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yeyinde · 3 days ago

Note

Lev? Uncle Simon? I’m excited. I don’t even know what it’s about but I like the sound of it already

out of all the untitled documents to choose from who knew the uncle Simon one would stand out so much lmao this is super choppy but here's my little idea for the new version:

At first, she's a name on a piece of paper.

An abstract concept. Black lines stamped into stark white. An idea—

(a phone call in the middle of the night that he wasn't expecting.

"Mr Riley? Is this—right. Well, the reason I'm calling is because the adoption agency received a request from one of the adoptees about tracking down their biological family, and you were the only match.")

—a ghost.

Out of everyone, he thinks he mourned her the most. This tiny, insignificant thing swathed in pale pink and cradled in the arms of her mother, his almost sister-in-law. Tommy leaning over her shoulder, eyes glazed in an artificial gloss (c'mon, Tommy) as they smile, vacantly, at the camera.

At the time, elbow deep in a shallow grave as he stared at the photo his mother sent him, all he could think was: she never stood a fuckin' chance.

And she didn't. Her first night home from NICU was when his past came back for revenge. Bloodthirsty, vengeful. They sunk their claws into his family, tearing them into pieces. A nightmarish massacre they called him to discover.

(pinch me, Tommy, pinch me—)

Better off this way, he remembers thinking. Cruel. Callous. Staring down at a tiny grave—her name etched in stone; only days old before the monsters in his closet came searching for their due—and knowing that this was all his fault. And then: sorry, little bird.

Sorry. Sorry—

But that little bird crawled out of the dirt. Made it out alive somehow.

(better this way, the higher up said, resting a neat, unblemished hand on the folder marked Simon Riley. next to it, a mask lay on the table. generic. he hums around his grief, thinks of Tommy in the grave—milkwhite bones. "a clean break—"

he thought it was their attempt at humour. maybe an odd way to comfort him. but with the roaring in his ears, he couldn't hear much beyond the ache in his chest, and the ice-cold fury coiling in his belly.

"she's in a better place."

fuckin' hell—

he thought they meant some idea of heaven, not Salford.)

And now—

That name on a piece of paper has a face.

A pretty one, too.

And though he tries to find pieces of Tommy in the symmetry of her profile—and feels antsy, restless, when he does—she takes after her mother. Same complexion. Eyes. The slope of her nose. All of it the woman he met once—stumbling home to find them both passed out on the couch, heads knocked together as a dense cloud of smoke plumed around them. Her eyes, heavy lidded and red, gazing up at him uncomprehendingly.

"who're you?" slurred out in a smokey rasp. Tommy didn't even stir at the sound of her voice.

It's her but healthy. Youthful. Clear eyes. Hands that don't shake. Teeth that gleam white under the fluorescent light of the cafe she works at, not willow-brown. Stained yellow with nicotine. She's softer, too. The harsh, fragile angles of her mother tucked away under a thick pelt. Solid. Steady.

Happy.

He spends a lot of time just staring at her in the back of the dimly cafe, hood pulled over the black ballcap hung low on his brow. Medical mask in place of his typical knit balaclava. Barely blending in to the passel of the teenagers that seem to congregate, em masse, in the small coffeeshop.

Sometimes, she looks back at him. Catches his eye. Offers a smile that's only a little wobbly around the edges, brow pushed together as she tries to make sense of his presence here. With the chocolate trim and the cream walls, the heady scent of ground coffee in the air, chatter of schoolkids and professionals that skirt around him with a considerable dearth to reach the trashbin next to his table. It's clear he doesn't fit.

Doesn't belong.

It glues to the roof of his mouth. The passing, mean thought that neither does she.

Or—

She wouldn't.

If Tommy survived, she'd be leaning against the wall with him, listening to the distant echo of flushing toilets while the world seemed to carve out a steep chasm between them. Them and us. That's how it's always been with him and Tommy.

But she—

She fits.

Offers smiles as easily as breathing. Something that would have netted them a black eye from their raging old man, bellowing out that he'd give them something to smile at.

She doesn't look like anyone has ever raised a hand against her. And he supposes, thinking back on the information he managed to get the private detective hired by her new parents to squeal out, that she doesn't. Not her. No.

Grew up in Salford with her adoptive parents—much older than most looking to adopt, already in their late forties when she was just a year old. Lived a life on the right side of the tracks: spelling bees, private tutors. Vacations to Disneyland. They weren't rich. Not exorbitantly so, but they managed a comfortable lifestyle. Food on the table every night. Chores. Movie nights on Saturday where she got bring a friend for a sleepover. Pizza and popcorn and candy and her mother asking, want some more snacks, honey? Soft and gentle. That's what they were. Are. Doting. Kind.

Punishments were drenched in disappointment. Voices never raised. Hands never furling into fists.

She was a good kid raised by good people.

And he should be happy for her.

He is happy for her.

They raised her good and proper. Put food in belly. Never let her know hunger. Or pain. Neglect.

But he finds Tommy in her smile. The little dip of her chin, tucking her happiness into her collar as if she doesn't want it to be seen. It's all—him. Them.

Simon just can't seem to think around the idea of her belonging to someone else—

(she's his family, after all. his baby bird. his brother's daughter. his niece. his. his—

and maybe it's time baby bird—Baby Riley—came home.)

#it wont be in third person when i finish it #this is just #storyboarding?????#my raw notes but without the comments lmao

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mizusugii · 3 days ago

Text

late night hits ✩ (sam winchester x reader)

↳ you came back from a hunt with the winchesters but couldn't get to sleep, so you decided to smoke to ease your mind. sam joined you.

↳ cw: smoking w33d and sharing a bed! just kinda that tbh

You were just coming back from a particularly hard vampire hunt, and you were fucking exhausted. As you drudged up the stairs of the motel, shoulders barely able to hold up the straps of your bag, you groaned. Dean laughed, as if his ass wasn’t beat just as bad.

“That bad, y/n?”

You couldn’t do much else but grumble in response and keep trudging forward, hobbling down the upper deck until the three of you reached the room. Dean used the key, freshly picked up from a particularly pissy receptionist, and unlocked the door. You were so tired of sharing a dingy motel room with two boys, but at the moment you were too out of it to care. You wanted nothing more than to take a shower and go to bed, immediately dropping your things the second you got through the door and slumping down to kick off your boots.

“You know, that might work better if you actually untie the laces…” Sam quipped, undoing his own.

“Bite me.” You responded, managing to (painfully) shimmy out of the heavy shoes. Dean, as he tended to do when he was feeling especially diva-like, took a whole bed to himself. For once, you didn’t feel like fighting him on it- especially not when he immediately stripped down to his boxers and jumped into the bed.

You looked at Sam and shrugged. It wasn’t the first time you had shared a bed, and nothing weird ever came of it. You rifled through your bag for a bit before landing on your toiletries and PJs. You took both into the bathroom, getting ready for bed. As you stepped into the shower, a murky beige color with…questionable…stains adoring the tile, you felt the hot water hit your skin and wash away all the dirt and blood from the hunt. The more you hunted, the more you got used to the look of scars and scrapes on your own body. You ran body wash over your skin and washed your face, finally feeling the weight of the day lift off your body as you cleaned up. You stepped out and wrapped one of the paper-y feeling white towels around your body before sliding into your soft pjs. You brushed your teeth, looking at yourself in the mirror and noticing the bags under your eyes… you really needed to sleep.

You spat out the last of your toothpaste, rinsed your mouth out and put your brush back down on the counter. You lazily slapped the light off before stepping out, already hearing Deans loud snores from his bed. You looked to Sam, who had changed and had his laptop propped in his lap as he sat up against the headboard on your shared bed.

“She’s all yours.” You said, making your way to the bed. Sam’s eyes looked up from his research and looked at you, lingering for just a bit too long before he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hopped off.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking some of his own toiletries before switching out with you.

You had an unspoken agreement where you got to shower first (you HATED how gross you felt after hunts), and Sam would go after, insisting you could turn the lights off and go to bed without waiting up on him. Sometimes to be nice you’d wait for him to get out, but tonight you just wanted to lay down, so you quickly reached over to his side of the bed and turned the light out from the bedside table, letting the darkness and consistent drone of Deans snoring absorb your senses. You could hear the light sound of water hitting the tile from the bathroom from behind the door, and you tried to let that pull you to sleep. Ten minutes passed and you were still wide awake. Sam stepped out of the bathroom, newly cleaned and changed into his pjs. He assumed you were asleep and tried to crawl into bed as quietly and gently as he could, and a part of you felt grateful for his consideration despite your restlessness. You felt him shift on the other end, doing his best to give you as much distance as possible. The stiff, pressed sheets pulled up against your body as he got settled, and you tried your best to ignore the cold feeling creeping up your back from the blasting AC. Another ten minutes went by… then another…. and then another, and you started to feel like you were never going to get sleep. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel so exhausted but so incapable of getting rest.

When you couldn’t stand it anymore, you remembered something you left in your bag. As silently as you could, you slowly stood up and pulled yourself out of bed, hissing at the feeling of the cold air on your now bare skin. As you slowly made your way to your open bag, you dug around blindly until you felt a small, thin object. You grabbed your jacket and room key from near the door and, as gently as you could, pulled and turned the handle. You quickly glanced back to make sure the boys were sleeping, and then stepped outside, closing the door behind you. You walked forward a bit before hitting the railing of the motel balcony, overlooking the parking lot and shitty neon sign that was missing over half the letters. One of these days, you really gotta bitch Dean out for nesting you up in these 1-star prisons. You pulled your pen up to your lips, inhaling slowly and allowing the smoke to enter your lungs. You held it for a moment, then exhaled, watching as the smoke drifted lazily out of your open lips. You were in Texas, at least you were pretty sure, so the nighttime air felt warm against your skin. You could hear the sound of relentlessly loud cicadas chirping from nearby, and somewhere ahead you could hear traffic from an overpass. For a few minutes you stood there, taking small hits and trying to clear your mind from your racing thoughts. A part of you was still on edge after the day's activities.

You heard a soft click before the door behind you creaked open, and you glanced behind your shoulder. Sam stood outside the doorway in his sweatpants and gray sleep shirt, looking at you with a hazy expression.

“Y/N, what are you doing out here?”

You flipped around to face him, trying to conceal the pen behind your back. “Nothing.”

Sam laughed before cocking a brow. “Oh, I don't smell nothing.”

You gave him a puzzled look back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hey, I’m not going to judge you… Just ‘cos I went to law school doesn’t mean you’re in trouble.” He smiled, stepping towards you a bit and away from the shut door. You felt your face go red, somehow embarrassed by the situation.

“Listen…” You pulled the pen from behind your back, now coaxed out of hiding. “I couldn’t sleep, and this helps sometimes.”

“Mhm…” Sam teased sarcastically. You just rolled your eyes before attempting to slide the device back into your pocket, but Sam held his hand out. “Like I said, you’re not in trouble. By all means…” He walked up beside you, leaning his waist against the railing and looking out into the parking lot, a slight smile on his face.

You shot him another skeptical look, but then turned to face the same way, taking another inhale. As you blew smoke out, Sam watched and studied the way it poured out of your mouth, some of it drifting his direction.

“You can’t tell Dean,” You said, looking up to the other. “He’ll never leave me alone about it.”

Sam smirked. “Can’t tell Dean what? Our little passenger princess is a stoner? I’m sure he’d be just as shocked as me.”

“Sam! I mean it…” You said, angrily fidgeting with the hem of your jacket.

“Hey, hey, I know…” He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to tell him.”

You nodded, and the two of you fell into silence. You both listened to the drone of the AC unit and the distant sounds of cars and bugs, the comfort of one another’s presence enough to allow the background noise to flood in for a bit. You took another hit and exhaled before hesitantly holding the pen up to him, looking into his curious eyes.

“For me?” He asked skeptically. You rolled your eyes before nodding. He seemed to think for a moment before taking the pen into his fingers and lifting it to his lips. He took a long inhale, allowing the vapor to fill his lungs before squeezing it back out.

“Now who’s the stoner?” You asked with a smirk.

“Not me… I haven’t had this stuff in years. You on the other hand…” He took another inhale. “You sneak out and smoke a lot? Hm?”

You shrugged as he took another hit. “Not a lot…”

He gave you a fraction of a look with a quirked brow, the kind of look that you had grown to understand meant, Really? He didn’t push you on it, though. You both sat in silence for quite a bit, passing the pen back and forth. The quiet would normally be uncomfortable, but you and Sam had grown close enough where conversation never felt forced. As he passed it back from his fifth hit, he looked into your eyes and laughed a bit.

“What’s so funny, hm?” You asked, taking one last hit before pocketing the device.

“You’re a lightweight.” He said, slightly cocky.

“Am not!” You retorted.

“Uh, are too.” He laughed. “Your pupils are dilated, and your face got all pink.”

“You’re so full of shit.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head, but you knew he was right. You knew exactly your own tells, and you could feel the high creeping up on you.

“Oh yeah?” He pulled out his phone and put it up to your face. He took a photo and clicked on it, laughing to himself. You peered over his screen to see your own face, caught off guard in a half smile with flushed cheeks and heavily lidded eyes. You were nearly taken back by how incredibly noticeable it was.

“Oh…. yeah.” You said sheepishly, watching as he got his kicks out of how out of it you were. You watched his fingers slide across the screen and you grabbed his bare wrist. “Do NOT send that to the group chat.”

“Awe, man.” He said, but pocketed his phone, respecting your wishes. “You’re no fun.”

“If Cas knew… actually, wait… If Cas knew that might be kinda funny. Can angels get high?”

Sam chuckled, tilting his head and looking down on you. “I get the feeling the lore won’t have an answer to that question.”

“Probably not… maybe one day we can try it. Just, uhm, don’t tell them right now. I feel like they’ll be, like, disappointed parents.” You said, pulling at the end of your jacket sleeves as you gently swayed. The more it kicked in, the more you wanted to lay down and try to sleep again. You could see it in his eyes, too, as they got heavier and his gaze directed at you became more hazy.

“I think you worry too much.” He smiled.

“Yeah, probably…” You said, staring down at your feet like they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Your limbs felt so heavy.

“You tired now?” He asked, smiling to himself as you nearly fell asleep standing up, blinks growing slower and heavier.

“Maybe a little…”

“Let’s get you to bed.” He guided you back towards the door, hand gently hovering over the small of your back.

“I’m not a kid you know, I can get myself to bed.” You said, yet smiled as he held the door for you. Your voices fell into whispers once Dean fell into view, sprawled out on his own bed.

“I know you can.” He whispered. “But you have to admit, you were about 20 seconds away from falling asleep standing up.”

You rolled your eyes, but as you shrugged off your coat onto the floor and your back hit the sheets, you almost didn’t stay awake enough to respond.

“Nuh uh…” Was the best you could muster as he crawled in beside you. You both fell into silence for a few moments before you felt a chill run through your body. If it was cold before, it was frigid now. Every sense was heightened, and it felt like your limbs were about to go numb. The paper thin motel sheets didn’t do a thing to retain heat, and you kept your arms wrapped around yourself to try to warm up. You involuntarily started inching towards Sam, whose back was facing you as he laid on his side. You tried to ignore it, but when yet another chill jolted your body you couldn’t take it.

“Sam…?” You whispered so quietly, you barely registered your own voice.

“Mhm?” He mumbled, now turning to face you. You suddenly felt embarrassed, even with your judgment clouded by the high.

“‘M cold..” You mumbled back. He sleepily smiled and opened his arms up, scooting towards you and wrapping them around you. Maybe it was both of your clouded judgements, but neither of you felt uncomfortable in the embrace. His arms and broad shoulders pulled you in, and your face fell to his chest. You could smell the cheap pine soap he used, and the feeling of his warmth could have knocked you out in seconds. You felt his hands lightly brush through the back of your hair, and you wouldn’t admit it but you loved the feeling.

“Thanks…” You mumbled against his chest. You felt him hum back in response, just seconds away from falling asleep. You smiled contently and, finally feeling comfortable, you rested.

↳ a/n: hiii! i randomly got back into writing one shots again so forgive me if i'm rusty lol... but anyways if anyone sees this pleaseeee send me prompts and stuff! thank uuu :)

also i really wanted to use this gif cos it reminds me of the w33d coughs so i'm leaving it here as a parting gift lmao

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural #spn #supernatural one shot #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #pleaseijustwannagethighwiththisbeautifulman

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